Thus we see how, as time went on, the doctrine of Purgatory was brought

home to the minds of the faithful as a portion or form of penance due

for post-baptismal sin. And thus the apprehension of this doctrine, and

the practice of Infant Baptism, would grow into general reception

together. Cardinal Fisher gives another reason for Purgatory being then

developed out of earlier points of faith. He says: "Faith, whether in

Purgatory or in Indulgences, was not so necessary in the Primitive

Church as now; for then love so burned that every one was ready to meet

death for Christ. Crimes were rare; and such as occurred were avenged

by the great severity of the Canons.... The doctrine of post-baptismal

sin, especially when realized in the doctrine of Purgatory, leads the

inquirer to fresh developments beyond itself. Its effect is to convert

a Scripture statement, which might seem only of temporary application,

into a universal and perpetual truth. When St. Paul and St. Barnabas

would 'confirm the souls of the disciples,' they taught them 'that we

must, through much tribulation, enter into the kingdom of God.' It is

obvious what very practical results would follow on such an

announcement in the instance of those who accepted the apostolic

decision; and, in like manner, a conviction that sin must have its

punishment, here or hereafter, and that we all must suffer, how

overpowering will be its effect, what a new light does it cast on the

history of the soul, what a change does it make in our judgment of the

external world, what a reversal of our natural wishes and aims for the

future! Is a doctrine conceivable which would so elevate the mind above

this present state, and teach it so successfully to dare difficult

things, and to be reckless of danger and pain? He who believes that

suffer he must, and that delayed punishment may be the greater, will be

above the world, will admire nothing, fear nothing, desire nothing. He

has within his breast a source of greatness, self-denial, heroism. This

is the secret spring of strenuous efforts and persevering toil; of the

sacrifice of fortune, friends, ease, reputation, happiness. There is,

it is true, a higher class of motives which will be felt by the Saints;

who will do from love what all Christians who act acceptably do from

faith. And, moreover, the ordinary measures of charity which Christians

possess suffice for securing such respectable attention to religious

duties as the routine necessities of the Church require. But, if we

would raise an army of devoted men to resist the world, to oppose sin

and error, to relieve misery, or to propagate truth, we must be

provided with motives which keenly affect the many. Christian love is

too rare a gift, philanthropy is too weak a material, for that

occasion. Nor is there an influence to be found to suit our purpose

besides this solemn conviction, which arises out of the very rudiments

of Christian theology, and is taught by its most ancient masters,--this

sense of the awfulness of post-baptismal sin. It is in vain to look out

for missionaries for China or Africa, or evangelists for our great

towns, or Christian attendants on the sick, or teachers of the

ignorant, on such a scale of numbers as the need requires, without the

doctrine of Purgatory. For thus the sins of youth are turned to account

by the profitable penance of manhood; and terrors, which the

philosopher scorns in the individual, become the benefactors, and earn

the gratitude of nations."--_Essay on the Development of Christian

Doctrine_, [1] p. 386.

[Footnote 1: Nevertheless, means must be taken to pay back this sum so

seasonably advanced. Hence it is, that at the request of the Minister

General of the Franciscans, Father Marie, of Brest, has made a touching

appeal to all.]

OUR DEBT TO THE DEAD.

CARDINAL MANNING

The Saints, by their intercession and their patronage, unite us with

God. They watch over us; they pray for us; they obtain graces for us.

Our guardian angels are round about us: they watch over and protect us.

The man who has not piety enough to ask their prayers must have a heart

but little like to the love and veneration of the Sacred Heart of

Jesus. But there are other friends of God to whom we owe a debt of

piety. They are those who are suffering beyond the grave, in the silent

kingdom of pain and expiation--in the dark and yet blessed realm of

purification; that is to say, the multitudes who pass out of this

world, washed in the Precious Blood, perfectly absolved of all guilt of

sin, children and friends of God, blessed souls, heirs of the kingdom

of Heaven, all but Saints; nevertheless, they are not yet altogether

purified for His kingdom. They are there detained--kept back from His

presence--until their expiation is accomplished. You and I, and every

one of us, will pass through that place of expiation. Neither you nor I

are Saints, nor, upon earth, ever will be; therefore, before we can see

God, we must be purified by pain in that silent realm. But those

blessed souls are friends of God next after His Saints; and in the same

order they ought to be the objects of our piety; that is, of our love

and compassion, of our sympathy and our prayers. They can do nothing

now for themselves: they have no longer any Sacraments; they do not

even pray for themselves. They are so conformed to the will of God that

they suffer there in submission and in silence. They desire nothing

except that His will should be accomplished. Therefore, it is our duty

to help them--to help them by our prayers, our penances, our

mortifications, our alms, by the Holy Sacrifice of the Altar. There may

be father and mother, brother and sister, friend and child, whom you

have loved as your own life: they may now be there. Have you forgotten

them? Have you no pity for them now, no natural piety, no spirit of

love for them? Do you forget them all the day long? Look back upon

those who made your home in your early childhood, the light of whose

faces you can still see shining in your memories, and the sweetness of

whose voice is still in your ears--do you forget them because they are

no longer seen? Is it, indeed, "out of sight, out of mind"? What an

impiety of heart is this!

The Catholic Church, the true mother of souls, cherishes, with loving

memory, all her departed. Never does a day pass but she prays for them

at the altar; never does a year go by that there is not a special

commemoration of all her children departed on one solemn day, which is

neither feast nor fast, but a day of the profoundest piety and of the

deepest compassion. Surely, then, if we have the spirit of piety in our

hearts, the holy souls will be a special object of our remembrance and

our prayers. How many now are there whom we have known in life? There

are those who have been grievously afflicted, and those who have been

very sinful, but, through the Precious Blood and a death-bed

repentance, have been saved at last. Have you forgotten them? Are you

doing nothing for them? There may also be souls there for whom there is

no one to pray on earth; there may be souls who are utterly forgotten

by their own kindred, outcast from all remembrance; and yet the

Precious Blood was shed for their sakes. If no one remember, them now,

you, at least, if you have in your hearts the gift of piety, will pray

for them.--_Internal Mission of the Holy Ghost, p._ 247.

PURGATORY

CARDINAL WISEMAN.

I need hardly observe, that there is not a single liturgy existing,

whether we consider the most ancient period of the Church, or the most

distant part of the world, in which this doctrine is not laid down. In

all Oriental liturgies, we find parts appointed, in which the Priest or

Bishop is ordered to pray for the souls of the faithful departed; and

tables were anciently kept in the churches, called the _Dyptichs_,

on which the names of the deceased were enrolled, that they might be

remembered in the Sacrifice of the Mass and the prayers of the

faithful. The name of Purgatory scarcely requires a passing comment. It

has, indeed, been made a topic of abuse, on the ground that it is not

to be found in Scripture. But where is the word Trinity to be met with?

Where is the word _Incarnation_ to be read in Scripture? Where are

many other terms, held most sacred and important in the Christian

religion? The doctrines are, indeed, found there; but these names were

not given, until circumstances had rendered them necessary. We see that

the Fathers of the Church have called it a purging fire--a place of

expiation or purgation. The idea is precisely, the name almost, the

same.

It has been said by divines of the English Church, that the two

doctrines which I have joined together, of prayers for the dead and

Purgatory, have no necessary connection, and that, in fact, they were

not united in the ancient Church. The answer to this assertion I leave

to your memories, after the passages which I have read you from the

Fathers. They surely speak of purgation by fire after death, whereby

the imperfections of this life are washed out, and satisfaction made to

God for sins not sufficiently expiated; they speak, at the same time,

of our prayers being beneficial to those who have departed this life in

a state of sin; and these propositions contain our entire doctrine on

Purgatory. It has also been urged that the established religion, or

Protestantism, does not deny or discourage prayers for the dead, so

long as they are independent of a belief in Purgatory; and, in this

respect, it is stated to agree with the primitive Christian Church.

But, my brethren, this distinction is exceedingly fallacious. Religion

is a lively, practical profession; it is to be ascertained and judged

by its sanctioned practices and outward demonstration, rather than by

the mere opinions of the few. I would at once fairly appeal to the

judgment of any Protestant, whether he has been taught, and has

understood that such is the doctrine of his Church. If, from the

services which he attended, or the Catechism which he has learned, or

the discourses heard, he has been led to suppose that praying for the

dead, in terms however general, was noways a peculiarity of

Catholicism, but as much a permitted practice of Protestantism. It is a

practical doctrine in the Catholic Church, it has an influence highly

consoling to humanity, and eminently worthy of a religion that came

down from heaven to second all the purest feelings of the heart. Nature

herself seems to revolt at the idea that the chain of attachment which

binds us together in life, can be rudely snapped asunder by the hand of

death, conquered and deprived of its sting since the victory of the

cross. But it is not to the spoil of mortality, cold and disfigured,

that she clings with affection. It is but an earthly and almost

unchristian grief, which sobs when the grave closes over the bier of a

departed loved one: but the soul flies upward to a more spiritual

affection, and refuses to surrender the hold which it had upon the love

and interest of the spirit that has fled. Cold and dark as the

sepulchral vault is the belief that sympathy is at an end when the body

is shrouded in decay, and that no further interchange of friendly

offices may take place between those who have lain down to sleep in

peace and us, who for awhile strew fading flowers upon their tomb. But

sweet is the consolation to the dying man, who, conscious of

imperfection, believes that even after his own time of merit is

expired, there are others to make intercession on his behalf; soothing

to the afflicted survivors the thought, that instead of unavailing

tears they possess more powerful means of actively relieving their

friend, and testifying their affectionate regret, by prayer and

supplication. In the first moments of grief, this sentiment will often

overpower religious prejudice, cast down the unbeliever on his knees

beside the remains of his friend, and snatch from him an unconscious

prayer for rest; it is an impulse of nature, which for the moment,

aided by the analogies of revealed truth, seizes at once upon this

consoling belief. But it is only like the flitting and melancholy light

which sometimes plays as a meteor over the corpses of the dead; while

the Catholic feeling, cheering, though with solemn dimness, resembles

the unfailing lamp which the piety of the ancients is said to have hung

before the sepulchres of their dead. It prolongs the tenderest

affections beyond the gloom of the grave, and it infuses the inspiring

hope that the assistance which we on earth can afford to our suffering

brethren, will be amply repaid when they have reached their place of

rest, and make of them friends, who, when _we_ in our turns fail,

shall receive us into everlasting mansions. [1]

[Footnote 1: "Lectures on the Catholic Church," often called the

"Moorfield Lectures," from being delivered in St. Mary's Moorfields, in

the Lent of 1836. Vol. I., Lecture xi, pp 65,68. This lecture upon

Purgatory is an admirable exposition of the Catholic doctrine,

supported by numberless testimonies from the Fathers.]

REPLY TO SOME MISSTATEMENTS ABOUT PURGATORY.

ARCHBISHOP SPALDING, OF BALTIMORE.

"The Synod of Florence," says this writer, [1] "was the first which

taught the doctrine of Purgatory, as an article of faith. It had,

indeed, been held by the Pope and by many writers, and it became the

popular doctrine during the period under review; but it was not decreed

by any authority of the universal, or even the whole Latin Church. In

the Eastern Church it was always rejected."

[Footnote 1: Rev. Wm. A. Palmer of Worcester College, Oxford, in his

"Compendium of Ecclesiastical History."]

Even admitting, for the sake of argument, that the Council of Florence

was the first which defined this doctrine as an article of faith, would

it thence follow that the doctrine itself was of recent origin? It

could only be inferred that it was never before questioned, and that,

therefore, there was no need of any definition on the subject. Would it

follow from the fact, that the Council of Nice was the first general

synod which defined the doctrine of the consubstantiality of the Son

with the Father, that this, too, was a new doctrine, unknown to the

three previous centuries? Mr. Palmer himself admits that this tenet of

Purgatory "had become the popular doctrine during the period under

review;" which, in connection with the solemn promises of Christ to

guard His Church from error, clearly proves that it was an article of

divine revelation,--on the principles even of our Oxford divine!

It is not true that "it was always rejected in the Eastern Church." The

Greek Church admitted it in the Council of Florence and, at least,

impliedly, in that of Lyons. It had never been a bar to union between

the churches, however their theologians may have differed on the

secondary question, whether the souls detained in this middle place of

temporary expiation are purified by a material fire. "The ancient

Fathers, both of the Greek and Latin Church, who had occasion to refer

to the subject, had unanimously agreed in maintaining the doctrine, as

could be easily shown by reference to their works. All the ancient

liturgies of both Churches had embodied this same article of faith. And

even at present, not only the Greek Church, but all the Oriental

sectaries still hold it as doctrine, and practice accordingly."

COUNT DE MAISTRE ON PURGATORY.

You have heard, in countries separated from the Roman Church, the

_doctors of the law_ deny at once Hell and Purgatory. You might

well have taken the denial of a word for that of a thing. An enormous

power is that of words! The minister who would be angry at that of

Purgatory will readily grant us a _place of expiation_, or an

_intermediate state_, or perhaps even _stations_, who knows?

without thinking it in the least ridiculous. One of the great motives

of the sixteenth century revolt was precisely _Purgatory_. The

insurgents would have nothing less than Hell, pure and simple.

Nevertheless, when they became philosophers, they set about denying the

eternity of punishment, allowing, nevertheless, a _hell for a

time_, only through good policy and for fear of putting into heaven

at one stroke Nero and Messalina side by side with St. Louis and St.

Teresa. But a temporary hell is nothing else than Purgatory; so that

having broken with us because they did not want Purgatory, they broke

with us anew because they wanted Purgatory only.

WHAT THE SAINTS THOUGHT OF PURGATORY.

In the Special Announcement of the "Messenger of St. Joseph's Union"

for 1885-6, we find the following interesting remarks in relation to

the devotion to the Souls in Purgatory: "St. Gregory the Great,

speaking of Purgatory, calls it 'a penitential fire harder to endure

than all the tribulations of this world.' St. Augustine says that the

torment of fire alone endured by the holy souls in Purgatory, exceeds

all the tortures inflicted on the martyrs; and St. Thomas says that

there is no difference between the fire of Hell and that of Purgatory.

Prayer for the souls in Purgatory is a source of great blessings to

ourselves. It is related of a holy religious who had for a long time

struggled in vain to free himself from an impure temptation, and who

appealed earnestly to the Blessed Virgin to deliver him, that she

appeared to him and commanded him to pray earnestly for the souls in

Purgatory. He did so, and from that time the temptation left him. The

duration of the period of confinement in Purgatory is probably much

longer than we are inclined to think. We find by the Revelations of

Sister Francesca of Pampeluna that the majority of souls in Purgatory

with whose sufferings she was made acquainted, were detained there for

a period extending from thirty to sixty years; and, as many of those of

whom she speaks were holy Carmelites, some of whom had even wrought

miracles when on earth, what must be the fate of poor worldlings who

seldom think of gaining an indulgence either for themselves or their

departed friends and relatives? Father Faber commenting on this

subject--the length of time that the holy souls are detained in

Purgatory--says very justly: 'We are apt to leave off too soon praying

for our parents, friends, or relatives, imagining with a foolish and

unenlightened esteem for the holiness of their lives, that they are

freed from Purgatory much sooner than they really are.' Can the holy

souls in Purgatory assist us by their prayers? Most assuredly. St.

Liguori says: 'Though the souls in Purgatory are unable to pray or

merit for themselves, they can obtain by prayer many favors for those

who pray for them on earth.' St. Catherine of Bologna has assured us

that she obtained many favors by the prayers of the holy souls in

Purgatory which she had asked in vain through the intercession of the

saints. The Holy Ghost says: 'He who stoppeth his ear against the cry

of the poor, shall also cry himself and shall not be heard,' and St.

Vincent Ferrer says, in expounding that passage, that the holy souls in

Purgatory cry to God for justice against those who on earth refuse to

help them by their prayers, and that God will most assuredly hear their

cry. Let us, therefore, do all in our power to relieve the holy souls

in Purgatory, and avert from ourselves the punishment that God is sure

to inflict on those whose faith is too dead, or whose hearts are too

cold to heed the cry that rises, day and night, from that sea of fire:

'Have pity on me, have pity on me, at least you my friends!'" Job xix.

21.

PURGATORY.

CHATEAUBRIAND.

That the doctrine of Purgatory opens to the Christian poet a source of

the marvellous which was unknown to antiquity will be readily admitted.

[1] Nothing, perhaps, is more favorable to the inspiration of the muse

than this middle state of expiation between the region of bliss and

that of pain, suggesting the idea of a confused mixture of happiness

and of suffering. The graduation of the punishments inflicted on those

souls that are more or less happy, more or less brilliant, according to

their degree of proximity to an eternity of joy or of woe, affords an

impressive subject for poetic description. In this respect, it

surpasses the subjects of heaven and hell, because it possesses a

future which they do not.

[Footnote 1: Some trace of this dogma is to be found in Plato and in

the doctrine of Zeno. (See Diog. Laer.) The poets also appear to have

had some idea of it (Æneid, v. vi), but these notions are all vague and

inconsequent.]

The river Lethe was a graceful appendage of the ancient Elysium; but it

cannot be said that the shades which came to life again on its banks

exhibited the same poetical progress in the way to happiness that we

behold in the souls of Purgatory. When they left the abodes of bliss to

reappear among men, they passed from a perfect to an imperfect state.

They re-entered the ring for the fight. They were born again to undergo

a second death. In short, they came forth to see what they had already

seen before. Whatever can be measured by the human mind is necessarily

circumscribed. We may admit, indeed, that there was something striking

and true in the circle by which the ancients symbolized eternity; but

it seems to us that it fetters the imagination by confining it always

within a dreaded enclosure. The straight line extended _ad

infinitum_ would, perhaps, be more expressive, because it would

carry our thoughts into a world of undefined realities, and would bring

together three things which appear to exclude each other--hope,

mobility, eternity.

The apportionment of the punishment to the sin is another source of

invention which is found in the purgatorial state, and is highly

favorable to the sentimental.... If violent winds, raging fires, and

icy cold, lend their influence to the torments of hell, why may not

milder sufferings be derived from the song of the nightingale, from the

fragrance of flowers, from the murmur of the brook, or from the moral

affections themselves? Homer and Ossian tell us of the joy of grief

_aruerou tetarpo mesthagolo_.

Poetry finds its advantage also in that doctrine of Purgatory which

teaches us that the prayers and other good works of the faithful may

obtain the deliverance of souls from their temporal pains. How

admirable is this intercourse between the living son and the deceased

father--between the mother and daughter--between husband and wife--

between life and death. What affecting considerations are suggested by

this tenet of religion! My virtue, insignificant being as I am, becomes

the common property of Christians; and, as I participate in the guilt

of Adam, so also the good that I possess passes to the good of others.

Christian poets! the prayers of your Nisus will be felt, in their happy

effects, by some Euryalus beyond the grave. The rich, whose charity you

describe, may well share their abundance with the poor, for the

pleasure which they take in performing this simple and grateful act

will receive its regard from the Almighty in the release of their

parents from the expiatory flame. What a beautiful feature in our

religion to impel the heart of man to virtue by the power of love, and

to make him feel that the very coin which gives bread for the moment to

an indigent fellow-being, entitles, perhaps, some rescued soul to an

eternal position at the table of the Lord. [1]

[Footnote 1: "Genius of Christianity." Book II., Chap. xv. pp. 338-

340.]

MARY AND THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED.

BY BROTHER AZARIAS.

Mary, from her nearness to Jesus, has imbibed many traits of the Sacred

Heart of Jesus. She shares, in a preeminent degree, His Divine

compassion for sorrow and suffering. Where He loves and pities, she

also loves and pities. Nay, may we not well say that all enduring

anguish of soul and writhing under the pangs of a lacerated heart, are

especially dear to both Jesus and Mary? Was not Jesus the Man of

Sorrows? and did He not constitute Mary the Mother of suffering and

sorrowing humanity? And even as His Divine breast knew keenest sorrow,

did not a sword of sorrow pierce her soul? She participated in the

agony of Jesus only as such a Mother can share the agony of such a Son;

in the tenderest manner, therefore, does she commiserate sorrow and

suffering wherever found. Though now far beyond all touch of pain and

misery, still as the devoted Mother of a pain-stricken race, she

continues to watch, to shield, to aid and to strengthen her children in

their wrestlings with these mysterious visitants.

II.

Nor does Mary's interest cease upon this side of the grave. It

accompanies souls beyond. And when she beholds those souls undergoing

their final purgation, before entering upon the enjoyment of the

beatific vision, she pities them with a pity all the more heartfelt

because their suffering is so much greater than any they could have

endured in this life. See the state of those souls. They are in grace

and favor with God; they are burning with love for Him; they are

yearning, with a yearning boundless in its intensity, to drink

refreshment of life, and love, and sanctification, and to be

replenished with goodness and truth, and to perfect their natures at

the Fountain-head of all truth, all goodness, all love, and all

perfection. They are yearning; but so clearly and piercingly does the

white light of God's truth and God's holiness shine through them and

penetrate every fold and recess of their moral natures, and reveal to

them every slightest imperfection, that they dare not approach Him and

gratify their intense desire to be united with Him. Their weaknesses

and imperfections; the traces in them of, and the attachments in them

to, former sins, incident upon the frailties of feeble human nature,

still cling to them, and must needs be consumed in the fiery ordeal of

suffering before their enjoyment of the beatific vision can be

completed and their union with the Godhead consummated.

III.

That there should be for souls after death such a state of purgation is

all within the grasp of human reason. It is a doctrine that was taught

in the remotest ages of the world. Here is a condensed version of the

tradition as handed down in clearest terms, beautifully expressed by

one of the world's greatest thinkers and writers: "All things are

distinctly manifest in the soul after it has been divested of the body;

and this is true both of the natural disposition of the soul and of the

affections that the man has acquired from his various pursuits. When

therefore the soul comes before the Judge ... the Judge finds all

things distorted through pride and falsehood and whatsoever is

unrighteous, for as much as the soul has been nurtured with untruth ...

and he forthwith sends it to a prison state where it will undergo the

punishment it deserves. But it behooveth that he that is punished, if

he be justly punished, either become better and receive benefit from

his punishment, or become a warning to others.... _But whoso are

benefited ... are such as have been guilty of curable transgressions;

their benefit here and hereafter [1] accrues to them through pains and

torments; for it is impossible to get rid of injustice by other manner

of means._" This reads like a page torn from one of the early

Fathers of the Church. [2] More than five centuries before the

Christian era it was penned by Plato. [3] Clearly does he draw the line

between eternal punishment for unrepented crimes and temporal

punishment for curable _Idmpa_ trangressions. Virgil in no

uncertain tone echoes the same doctrine, making no exception to the

rule that some corporeal stains and traces of ill follow all beyond the

grave; _and therefore do they suffer punishment and pay the penalty

of old wrongs._ [4] What antiquity has handed down, and reason has

found to be just and proper, the Church has defined and decreed. She

has gone further. She has supplemented and completed the pagan

conception of expiation by that of intercession; and she has added

thereto, for the comfort and consolation of the living and the dead,

that the souls so suffering "may be helped by the suffrages of the

faithful, but principally by the acceptable Sacrifice of the Altar."

[5] And in her prayers for deceased friends, relatives and benefactors,

she is mindful of Mary's sweet influence with her Son, and asks their

deliverance through her intercession. [6]

[Footnote 1: Kai enthude kai en Aidou]

[Footnote 2: There is a passage in Clement of Alexandria, not unlike

this in statement of the same doctrine ("Stromaton" 1. vi. m. 14, p.

794 Ed. Potter). The passage is quoted in "Faith of Catholics." Vol.

Ill p. 142.]

[Footnote 3: Gorgias, cap. lxxx, lxxxi.]

[Footnote 4: Æneid, lib. vi. 735, 740.]

[Footnote 5: Council of Trent, Sess. xxv. Decret. de Purgatorio, p.

204.]

[Footnote 6: Beata Maria semper virgine intercedente.]

The tendency to commune with the dead, and to pray for them, is strong

and universal. It survives whatever systems or whatever creeds men may

invent for its suppression. Samuel Johnson is professedly a staunch

Protestant, bristling with prejudices, but a delicate moral sense

enters the rugged manhood of his nature. Instinctively he seeks to

commune with his departed wife, after the manner dear to the Catholic

heart, but forbidden to the Protestant. He keeps the anniversary of her

death. He composes a prayer for the repose of her soul, beseeching God

"to grant her whatever is best in her present state, and finally to

receive her to eternal happiness." [1]

[Footnote 1: Boswell's Johnson, vol. 1, p. 100. Croker's Ed. There is

pathos in this entry, remembering the man: "Mar. 28, 1753. I kept this

day as the anniversary of my Tetty's death, with prayer and tears in

the morning. In the evening I prayed for her conditionally, if it were

lawful." _Ibid._ p. 97.]

IV

Of the nature and intensity of the sufferings of souls undergoing this

purgation, we on earth can form but the faintest conception. Not so

Mary. She sees things as they are. She sees the great love animating

those I holy souls. She sees their eager desire to be united to God,

the sole centre and object of their being. She sees and appreciates the

struggle going on in them between that intense desire--that great

yearning--that groping after perfect union--that unfilled and

unsatiated vagueness arising from their privation of the only fulness

that could replenish them, on the one hand, and on the other, the sense

of their unfitness, keen, strong, deep, intense, overwhelming them and

driving them back to the flames of pain and soul-hunger and soul-thirst

until they shall have satisfied God's justice to the last farthing, and

even the slightest stain has been cleansed, and they stand forth in the

light of God's sanctity, whole and spotless. She sees the terrible

struggle; and her motherly heart goes out in tender pity to these her

children, washed and ransomed by the Blood of her Divine Son, and she

is well disposed to extend to them the aid of her powerful

intercession. She is fitly called the Mother of Mercy. Her merciful

heart goes out to these, the favored ones of her Son, all the more

lovingly and tenderly because they are unable to help themselves.

V.

But whilst Mary looks upon those souls with an eye of tender mercy and

sweet compassion, and whilst Jesus is prepared to admit them to the

beatific vision as soon as they become thoroughly purified, still the

assuaging of their pains and the abridging of their time of purgation

depend in a great measure upon the graces and the merits that are

applied to them by us, their brethren upon earth. According to the

earnestness of the prayers we say for them, and the measure of the good

works we do for them, will the intercession of Mary and all the saints

be efficacious with Jesus in their behalf. It is unspeakably consoling

to the living and the dead to know that the members of the Church

militant upon earth have it within their power to aid and relieve the

members of the Church suffering. It is therefore really and indeed a

holy and a wholesome thought for us of the one to pray for those of the

other. It is more: it is an imperative duty we owe the faithful

departed. They are our brethren in Christ, bought at the same price,

nurtured by the same graces, living by the same faith, and sanctified

by the same spirit. Many of them may have been near and dear to us in

this life; and of these, many again may now suffer because of us;

whether it was that we led them directly into wrong-doing, or whether

it was that, in their loving kindness for us, they connived at,

permitted, aided or abetted us, in what their consciences had whispered

them not to be right. In each and every case it is our bounden duty to

do all in our power to assuage sufferings to which we may have been

accessory. In heart-rending accents do they cry out to us: "_Have

pity on me, have pity on me, at least ye my friends!_" [1] And as we

would have others do by us under like circumstances, so should we not

turn a deaf ear to their petition.

[Footnote 1: Job, xix. 21.]

VI.

Daily does the Angel of Death enter our houses, and summon from us

those that are rooted in our affections, and for whom our heart-throbs

beat in love and esteem. Daily must we bow our heads in reverent

silence and submission to the decree that snatches from us some loved

one. Perhaps it is a wife who mourns the loss of her husband. She finds

comfort and companionship in praying for the repose of his soul; in the

words of Tertullian, "she prays for his soul, and begs for him in the

interim refreshments, and in the first resurrection companionship, and

maketh offerings on the anniversary day of his falling asleep." [1]

Perhaps it is a husband whose loving wife has gone to sleep in death.

Then will he hold her memory sacred, and offer thereto the incense of

unceasing prayer, so that it may be said of him as St. Jerome wrote to

Pammachius: "Thou hast rendered what was due to each part; giving tears

to the body and alms to the soul.... There were thy tears where thou

knewest was death; there were thy works where thou knewest was life....

Already is she honored with thy merits; already is she fed with thy

bread, and abounds with thy riches." [2] Perhaps it is a dear friend

around whom our heart-strings were entwined, and whose love for us was

more than we were worthy of: whose counsels were our guide; whose soul

was an open book in which we daily read the lesson of high resolve and

sincere purpose; whose virtuous life was a continuous inspiration

urging us on to noble thought and noble deed; and yet our friendship

may have bound his soul in ties too earthly, and retarded his progress

in perfection; in consequence he may still dread the light of God's

countenance, and may be lingering in this state of purgation. It

behooves us in all earnestness, and in friendship's sacred claim, to

pray unceasingly for that friend, beseeching God to let the dews of

Divine mercy fall upon his parching soul, assuage his pain, and take

him to Himself, to complete his happiness.

[Footnote 1: "Dc Monogam," n. x. p 531. "Faith of Catholics," Vol.

III., p. 144.]

[Footnote 2: Ep. XXXVII]

So the sacred duty of prayer for the dead runs through all the

relations of life. From all comes the cry begging for our prayers. We

cannot in justice ignore it; we cannot be true to ourselves and

unmindful of our suffering brethren. Every reminder that we receive is

a voice coming from the grave. Now it is the mention of a name that

once brought gladness to our hearts; or we come across a letter written

by a hand whose grasp used to thrill our souls--that hand now stiffened

and cold in death; or it is the sight of some relic that vividly

recalls the dear one passed away; or it is a dream--and to whom has not

such a dream occurred?--in which we live over again the pleasant past

with the bosom friend of our soul, and he is back once more, in the

flesh, re-enacting the scenes of former days, breathing and talking as

naturally as though there were no break in his life or ours and we had

never parted. When we awaken from our dream, and the pang of reality,

like a keen blade, penetrates our hearts, let us not rest content with

a vain sigh of regret, or with useless tears of grief; let us pray God

to give the dear departed soul eternal rest, and admit it to the

perpetual light of His Presence. And in like manner should we regard

all other reminders as so many appeals to the charity of our prayers.

In this way will the keeping of the memory of those gone before us be

to them a blessing and to us a consolation.

VII.

Furthermore, every prayer we say, every sacrifice we make, every alms

we give for the repose of the dear departed ones, will all return upon

ourselves in hundredfold blessings. They are God's choice friends, dear

to His Sacred Heart, living in His grace and in constant communing with

Him; and though they may not alleviate their own sufferings, their

prayers in our behalf always avail. They can aid us most efficaciously.

God will not turn a deaf ear to their intercession. Being holy souls,

they are grateful souls. The friends that aid them, they in turn will

also aid. We need not fear praying for them in all faith and

confidence. They will obtain for us the special favors we desire. They

will watch over us lovingly and tenderly; they will guard our steps;

they will warn us against evil; they will shield us in moments of trial

and danger; and when our day of purgatorial suffering comes, they will

use their influence in our behalf to assuage our pains and shorten the

period of our separation from the Godhead. And so may we, in constant

prayer, begging in a special manner the intercession of Mary the Mother

of Mercy, say to our Lord and Saviour: "_Deliver them from gloom and

darkness, and snatch them from sorrow and grief; enter not into

judgment with them, nor severely examine their past life; but whether

in word or deed they have sinned, as men clothed with flesh, forgive

and do away with their transgressions." [1]

[Footnote 1: From prayer for the Faithful Departed in the Syriac

Liturgy. See "Faith of Catholics," Vol. III, p. 203]

DR. JOHNSON ON PRAYERS FOR THE DEAD.

BOSWELL. What do you, think, sir, of Purgatory, as believed by the

Roman Catholics?

JOHNSON. Why, sir, it is a very harmless doctrine. They are of opinion

that the generality of mankind are neither so obstinately wicked as to

deserve everlasting punishment, nor so good as to merit being admitted

into the society of blessed spirits; and therefore that God is

graciously pleased to allow of a middle state, where they may be

purified by certain degrees of suffering. You see, sir, that there is

nothing unreasonable in this.

BOSWELL. But then, sir, their Masses for the dead?

JOHNSON. Why, sir, if it be once established that there are souls in

Purgatory, it is as proper to pray for them as for our brethren of

mankind who are yet in this life.

BOSWELL. The idolatry of the Mass?

JOHNSON. Sir, there is no idolatry in the Mass. They believe God to be

there, and they adore Him.

* * * * *

BOSWELL. We see in Scripture that Dives still retained an anxious

concern about his brethren?

JOHNSON. Why, sir, we must either suppose that passage to be

metaphorical, or hold with many divines, and all purgatorians, that

departed souls do not all at once arrive at the utmost perfection of

which they are capable.

* * * * *

BOSWELL. Do you think, sir, it is wrong in a man who holds the doctrine

of Purgatory to pray for the souls of his deceased friends?

JOHNSON. Why, no, sir.

* * * * *

He states, that he spent March 22, 1753, in prayers and tears in the

morning; and in the evening prayed for the soul of his deceased wife,

"conditionally, if it be lawful." The following is his customary prayer

for his dead wife: "And, O Lord, so far as it may be lawful in me, I

commend to Thy fatherly goodness the soul of my departed wife;

beseeching Thee to grant her whatever is best in her present state, and

finally to receive her into eternal happiness."--_Boswell's "Life of

Johnson,"_ Pages 169, 188.

THE DOCTRINE OF PURGATORY.

BURNETT [1]

[Footnote 1: From his work, "The Path which Led a Protestant Lawyer to

the Catholic Church," p. 637.]

The Council of Trent declared, as the faith of the Catholic Church,

"_that there is a Purgatory, and that the souls there detained are

helped by the suffrages of the faithful, but principally by the

acceptable sacrifice of the altar._"

This is all that is required to be believed. As to the kind and measure

of the purifying punishment, the Church defines nothing. This doctrine

has been very much misrepresented, and has most generally been attacked

by sarcasm and denunciation. But is this a satisfactory method to treat

a grave matter of faith, coming down to us from the olden times? The

doctrine of Purgatory is most intimately connected with the doctrine of

sacramental absolution and satisfaction, and legitimately springs from

it. That there is a distinction in the guilt of different sins, must be

conceded. All our criminal laws, and those of all nations, are founded

upon this idea. To say that the smallest transgression, the result of

inadvertence, is equal in enormity to the greatest and most deliberate

crime, is utterly opposed to the plain nature of all law, and to the

word of God, which assures us that men shall be punished or rewarded

according to their works (Rom. ii. 6), as not to require any

refutation. Our Lord assures us that men must give an account in the

day of judgment for every idle word they speak (Matt, xii. 36), and St.

John tells us that nothing denied shall enter heaven (Rev. xxi. 27).

Then St. John says there is a sin unto death, and there is a sin which

is not unto death (I John, v. 16), and he also tells us that "all

unrighteousness is sin; and there is a sin not unto death." So we are

told by the same apostle, that if we confess our sins, God is faithful

and just to forgive us (I John, i. 9). Now we must put all these texts

together, and give them their full, harmonious, and consistent force.

We must carry out the principles laid down to their fair and logical

results. Suppose, then, a man speak an idle word, and die suddenly,

before he has time to repent and confess his sin, will he be lost

everlastingly? Must there not, in the very nature of Christ's system,

be a middle state, wherein souls can be purged from their lesser sins?

MALLOCK ON PURGATORY. [1]

[Footnote 1: William Hurrell Mallock, the author of "Is Life Worth

Living," from which this extract is given, and of several other recent

works, was, at the time when the above was written, as he says himself

in his dedication, "an outsider in philosophy, literature, and

theology," and not, as might be supposed, a Catholic. It has been

positively asserted, and as positively denied, that he has since

entered the Church. But it is certain that he has not done so. Mallock

is not a Catholic.--COMPILER'S NOTE.]

To those who believe in Purgatory, to pray for the dead is as natural

and rational as to pray for the living. Next, as to this doctrine of

Purgatory itself--which has so long been a stumbling-block to the whole

Protestant world--time goes on, and the view men take of it is

changing. It is becoming fast recognized on all sides that it is the

only doctrine that can bring a belief in future rewards and punishments

into anything like accordance with our notions of what is just or

reasonable. So far from its being a superfluous superstition, it is

seen to be just what is demanded at once by reason and morality, and a

belief in it to be not an intellectual assent, but a partial

harmonizing of the whole moral ideal.--_W. H. Mattock, "Is Life Worth

Living,"_ Page 297.

BOILEAU-DESPRÉAUX AND PRAYER FOR THE DEAD.

We love to see the truth of our dogmas proclaimed from amid the great

assemblies of choice intelligences. Boileau did not hesitate to do

homage to the Catholic doctrine of Purgatory on the following solemn

occasion:--

On the death of Furetière, the French Academy deliberated whether they

would have a funeral service for him, according to the ancient custom

of the establishment. Despréaux, who had taken no part in the expulsion

of his former associate, gave expression, when he was no more, to the

language of courageous piety. He feared not to express himself in these

words: "Gentlemen, there are three things to be considered here--God,

the public, and the Academy. As regards God, He will, undoubtedly, be

well pleased if you sacrifice your resentment for His sake and offer

prayers to Him for the repose of a fellow-member, who has more need of

them than others, were it only on account of the animosity he showed

towards you. Before the public, it will be a glorious thing for you not

to pursue your enemy beyond the grave. And as for the Academy, its

moderation will be meritorious, when it answers insults by prayers, and

does not deny a Christian the resources offered by the Church for

appeasing the anger of God, all the more that, besides the

indispensable obligation of praying to God for your enemies, you have

made for yourselves a special law to pray for your associates."

ALL SAINTS AND ALL SOULS. [1]

[Footnote 1: New York _Tablet_, Nov. 12, 1870]

MRS. J. SADLIER.

OF all the sublime truths which it is the pride and happiness of

Christians to believe, none is more beautiful, more consoling than that

of the Communion of Saints. Do we fully realize the meaning of that

particular article of our faith? From their earliest infancy Christian

children repeat, at their mother's knee, "I believe in the Communion of

Saints;" but it is only when the mind has attained a certain stage of

development that they begin to feel the inestimable privilege of being

in the Communion of Saints.

But how sad to think that even in later life many of those whose

childhood lisped "I believe in the Communion of Saints," neither know,

nor care to know, what it means. Outside the Church who believes in the

Communion of Saints?--who rejoices in the glory of the glorified, or

invokes their intercession with God? Who believes in that state of

probation whereby the earth-stains are washed from the souls of men?

Who has compassion on "the spirits who are in prison?" To Catholics

only is the Communion of Saints a reality, a soul-rejoicing truth. How

inestimable is the privilege of being truly and indeed "of the

household of faith,"--within and of "the Church of the Saints," the

Church that alone connects the life which is and that which is to come,

the living and the dead!

Year by year we are reminded of this truth, so solemn and so beautiful,

the Communion of Saints, by the double festival of All Saints and All

Souls--when the Church invites her children of the Militant Church to

rejoice with her on the glory of her Saints, and to pray with her for

the holy dead who are still in the purgatorial fire that is to prepare

them for that blessed abode into which "nothing defiled can enter."

Grand and joyous is the feast of the Saints, when we lovingly honor all

our brethren who have gained their thrones in Heaven, and with faith

and hope invoke their powerful aid, that we, too, may come where they

are, and be partakers in their eternal blessedness; solemn and sad, but

most sweetly soothing to the heart of faith, is the day of All Souls,

when the altars are draped in black, and the chant is mournful, and

sacrifice is offered, the whole world over, for the dead who have slept

in Christ, with the blessing of the Church upon them. For them, if they

still have need of succor, are all the good works of the faithful

offered up, and the prayers of all the Saints and all the Angels

invoked, not only on the second day of November, but on every day of

that mournful month.

Thus do we, who are still on earth, honor the glorified Saints of God,

and invoke them for ourselves and for the blessed souls who may yet be

debarred from the joys of Heaven. And this is truly the Communion of

Saints--the Church on earth, the Church in Heaven, the Church in

Purgatory, distinct, yet united, the children of one common Father, who

is God; of one common Mother, who is Mary, the Virgin ever Blessed.

LEIBNITZ [1]

[Footnote 1: Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibnitz, the eminent Protestant

philosopher. The above is from his "Systema Theologicum."]

ON THE MASS AS A PROPITIATORY SACRIFICE.

No new efficacy is superadded to the efficacy of the Passion from this

propitiatory Sacrifice, repeated for the remission of sins; but its

entire efficacy consists in the representation and application of the

first bloody Sacrifice, the fruit of which is the Divine Grace bestowed

on all those who, being present at this tremendous sacrifice, worthily

celebrate the oblation in unison with the priest. And since, in

addition to the remission of eternal punishment, and the gift of the

merits of Christ for the hope of eternal life, we further ask of God,

for ourselves and others, both living and dead, many other salutary

gifts (and amongst those, the chief is the mitigation of that paternal

chastisement which is due to every sin, even though the penitent be

restored to favor); it is therefore clearly manifest that there is

nothing in our entire worship more precious than the sacrifice of this

Divine Sacrament, in which the Body of Our Lord itself is present.

EXTRACTS FROM "A TROUBLED HEART."

How often have I been touched at the respect paid the dead in Catholic

countries; at the reverence with which the business man, hastening to

fulfil the duties of the hour, pauses and lifts his hat as the funeral

of the unknown passes him in the street! What pity streams from the

eyes of the poor woman who kneels in her humble doorway, and, crossing

herself, prays for the repose of the soul that was never known to her

in this life; but the body is borne towards the cemetery, and she joins

her prayer to the many that are freely offered along the solemn way

(pp. 151-2).

* * * * *

So passes the faithful soul to judgment; after which, if not ushered at

once into the ineffable glory of the Father, it pauses for a season in

the perpetual twilight of that border-land where the spirit is purged

of the very memory of sin. Even as Our Lord Himself descended into

Limbo; as He died for us, but rose again from the dead and ascended

into heaven, so we hope to rise and follow Him,--sustained by the

unceasing prayers of the Church, the intercession of the Saints, and

all the choirs of the just, who are called on night and day, and also

by the prayers and pleadings of those who have loved us, and who are

still in the land of the living.

The prayers that ease the pangs of Purgatory, the _Requiem_, the

_Miserere_, the _De Profundis_--these are the golden stairs

upon which the soul of the redeemed ascends into everlasting joy. Even

the Protestant laureate of England has confessed the poetical justice

and truth of this, and into the mouth of the dying Arthur--that worthy

knight--he puts these words:

"Pray for my soul! More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of; wherefore let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day;

For, what are men better than sheep or goats

That nourish a blind life within the brain,

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

For so the whole round earth is every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God." [1]

[Footnote 1: These exquisite lines will be found elsewhere in this

volume in the full description of King Arthur's death from Tennyson.

But they bear repetition.]

O ye gentle spirits that have gone before me, and who are now, I trust,

dwelling in the gardens of Paradise, beside the river of life that

flows through the midst thereof,--ye whose names I name at the Memorial

for the Dead in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass,--as ye look upon the

lovely and shining countenances of the elect, and, perchance, upon the

beauty of our Heavenly Queen, and upon her Son in glory,--O remember me

who am still this side of the Valley of the Shadow, and in the midst of

trials and tribulations. And you who have read these pages, written

from the heart, after much sorrow and long suffering, though I be still

with you in the flesh, or this poor body be gathered to its long home,

--you whose eyes are now fixed upon this line, I beseech you,

_Pray for me_!--_Anon_.

EUGÉNIE DE GUÉRIN AND HER BROTHER MAURICE.

[In Eugénie de Guérin's journal we find the following beautiful words

written while her loving heart was still bleeding for the early death

of her best-loved brother, Maurice--her twin soul, as she was wont to

call him.]

"O PROFUNDITY! O mysteries of that other life that separates us! I who

was always so anxious about him, who wanted so much to know everything,

wherever he may be now there is an end to that. I follow him into the

three abodes; I stop at that of bliss; I pass on to the place of

suffering, the gulf of fire. My God, my God, not so! Let not my brother

be there, let him not! He is not there. What! his soul, the soul of

Maurice, among the reprobate! ... Horrible dread, no! But in Purgatory,

perhaps, where one suffers, where one expiates the weaknesses of the

heart, the doubts of the soul, the half-inclinations to evil. Perhaps

my brother is there, suffering and calling to us in his pangs as he

used to do in bodily pain, 'Relieve me, you who love me!' Yes, my

friend, by prayer. I am going to pray. I have prayed so much, and

always shall. Prayer? Oh, yes, prayers for the dead, they are the dew

of Purgatory."

_All Souls'_--How different this day is from all others, in

church, in the soul, without, within. It is impossible to tell all one

feels, thinks, sees again, regrets. There is no adequate expression for

all this except in prayer.... I have not written here, but to some one

to whom I have promised so long as I live, a letter on All Souls'....

O my friend, my brother, Maurice! Maurice! art thou far from me? dost

thou hear me? What are they, those abodes that hold thee now? ...

Mysteries of another life, how profound, how terrible ye are--

sometimes, how sweet!

PASSAGES FROM THE VIA MEDIA.

[Written while Cardinal Newman was still an Anglican]

Now, as to the punishments and satisfactions for sins, the texts to

which the minds of the early Christians seem to have been principally

drawn, and from which they ventured to argue in behalf of these vague

notions, were these two: 'The fire shall try every man's work,' etc.,

and 'He shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire.' These

passages, with which many more were found to accord, directed their

thoughts one way, as making mention of fire, whatever was meant by the

word, as the instrument of trial and purification; and that, at some

time between the present time and the Judgment, or at the Judgment. As

the doctrine, thus suggested by certain striking texts, grew in

popularity and definiteness, and verged towards its present Roman form,

it seemed a key to many others. Great portions of the books of Psalms,

Job, and the Lamentations, which express the feelings of religious men

under suffering, would powerfully recommend it by the forcible and most

affecting and awful meaning which they received from it. When this was

once suggested, all other meanings would seem tame and inadequate.

To these may be added various passages from the prophets, as that in

the beginning of the third chapter of Malachi, which speaks of fire as

the instrument of purification, when Christ comes to visit His Church.

Moreover, there were other texts of obscure and indeterminate meaning,

which seem on this hypothesis to receive a profitable meaning; such as

Our Lord's words in the Sermon on the Mount, "Verily, I say unto thee,

thou shalt by no means come out thence till thou hast paid the

uttermost farthing;" and St. John's expression in the Apocalypse, that,

"no man in heaven, nor in earth, neither under the earth, was able to

open the book."--_Via Media, pp._ 174-177.

Most men, to our apprehensions, are too little formed in religious

habits either for heaven or for hell; yet there is no middle state when

Christ comes in judgment. In consequence, it is obvious to have

recourse to the interval before His coming, as a time during which this

incompleteness may be remedied, as a season, not of changing the

spiritual bent and character of the soul departed, whatever that be,

for probation ends with mortal life, but of developing it in a more

determinate form, whether of good or evil. Again, when the mind once

allows itself to speculate, it will discern in such a provision a means

whereby those who, not without true faith at bottom, yet have committed

great crimes, or those who have been carried off in youth while still

undecided, or who die after a barren, though not immoral or scandalous

life, may receive such chastisement as may prepare them for heaven, and

render it consistent with God's justice to admit them thither. Again,

the inequality of the sufferings of Christians in this life compared

one with another, leads the mind to the same speculations; the intense

suffering, for instance, which some men undergo on their death-bed,

seeming as if but an anticipation in their case of what comes after

death upon others, who, without greater claims on God's forbearance,

live without chastisement and die easily. The mind will inevitably

dwell upon such thoughts, unless it has been taught to subdue them by

education or by the fear of the experience of their dangerousness.--

_Via Media, pp. 174-177_.

ALL SOULS.

FROM THE FRENCH.

November is come; and the pleasant verdure that the groves and woods

offered to our view in the joyous spring is fast losing its cheerful

hue, while its withered remains lie trembling and scattered beneath our

feet. The grave and plaintive voice of the consecrated bell sends forth

its funereal tones, and, recalling the dead to our pensive souls,

implores, for them the pity of the living. Oh! let us hearken to its

thrilling call; and may the sanctuary gather us together within its

darkened walls, there to invoke our Eternal Father, and breathe forth

cherished names in earnest prayer!

When the solemn hour of the last farewell was come for those we loved,

and their weakened sight was extinguished forever, it seemed as if our

hearts' memory would be eternal, and as if those dear ones would never

be forgotten. But time has fled, their memory has grown dim, and other

thoughts reign paramount in our forgetful hearts, which barely give

them from time to time a pious recollection.

Nevertheless, they loved us, perhaps too well, lavish of a love that

Heaven demanded. How devoted was their affection; and shall we now

requite it by a cruel forgetfulness? Oh! if they suffer still on our

account; if, because of their weakness, they still feel the wrath of

God's justice, shall we not pray, when their voices implore our help,

when their tears ascend towards us?

Alas! in this life what direful contamination clings to the steps of

irresolute mortals! Who has not wavered in the darksome paths into

which the straight road so often deviates?

The infinite justice of the God of purity perhaps retains them in the

dungeons of death. Alas! for long and long the Haven of eternal life

may be closed against them! Oh, let us pray; our voices will open the

abode of celestial peace unto the imprisoned soul. The God of

consolation gave us prayer, that love might thus become eternal.--

_The Lamp_, Nov. 5, 1864.

AN ANGLICAN BISHOP PRAYING FOR THE DEAD.

Foremost among later Anglican divines in piety, in learning, and in the

finer qualities of head and heart, stands the name of Reginald Heber,

Bishop of the Establishment, whose gentle memory,--embalmed in several

graceful and musical poems, chiefly on religious subjects,--is still

revered and cherished by his co-religionists, respected and admired

even by those who see in him only the man and the poet--not the

religious teacher. I am happy to lay before my readers the following

extract from a letter of Bishop Heber, in which that amiable and

accomplished prelate expresses his belief in the efficacy of prayers

for the departed:

"Few persons, I believe, have lost a beloved object, more particularly

by sudden death, without feeling an earnest desire to recommend them in

their prayers to God's mercy, and a sort of instinctive impression that

such devotions might still be serviceable to them.

* * * * *

"Having been led attentively to consider the question, my own opinion

is, on the whole, favorable to the practice, which is, indeed, so

natural and so comfortable, that this alone is a presumption that it is

neither unpleasing to the Almighty nor unavailing with Him.

"The Jews, so far back as their opinions and practices can be traced

since the time of Our Saviour, have uniformly recommended their

deceased friends to mercy; and from a passage in the Second Book of

Maccabees, it appears that, from whatever source they derived it, they

had the same custom before His time. But if this were the case, the

practice can hardly be unlawful, or either Christ or His Apostles

would, one should think, have, in some of their writings or discourses,

condemned it. On the same side it may be observed that the Greek

Church, and all the Eastern Churches, pray for the dead; and that we

know the practice to have been universal, or nearly so, among the

Christians a little more than one hundred and fifty years after Our

Saviour. It is spoken of as the usual custom by Tertullian and

Epiphanius. Augustine, in his _Confessions_, has given a beautiful

prayer which he himself used for his deceased mother, Monica; and among

Protestants, Luther and Dr. Johnson are eminent instances of the same

conduct. I have, accordingly, been myself in the habit, for some years,

of recommending on some occasions, as, after receiving the sacrament,

etc., my lost friends by name to God's goodness and compassion, through

His Son, as what can do them no harm, and may, and I hope will, be of

service to them."

THE "PURGATORY" OF DANTE.

MARIOTTI.

In the course of his remarks upon the _Divina Comedia_ of Dante, a

bitter opponent of the Holy See and of everything Catholic, Mariotti,

[1] an apostle of United Italy, expresses his views upon the ancient

doctrine of Purgatory. These views are but an instance of how its

beauty and truthfulness to nature strike the minds of those who have

strayed from the centre of Christian unity.

[Footnote 1: Mariotti, author of "Italy Past and Present," an

unscrupulous opponent of the Papacy and of the Church.]

"To say nothing of its greatness and goodness, the poem of Dante," says

Mariotti, "is the most curious of books. The register of the past,

noting down every incident within the compass of man's nature.... Dante

is the annalist, the interpreter, the representative of the Middle

Ages.... The ideas of mankind were in those '_dark_' ages

perpetually revolving upon that 'life beyond life,' which the

omnipresent religion of that _fanatical_ age loved to people with

appalling phantoms and harrowing terrors. Dante determined to

anticipate his final doom, and still, in the flesh, to break through

the threshold of eternity, and explore the kingdom of death.... No poet

ever struck upon a subject to which every fibre in the heart of his

contemporaries more readily responded than Dante. It is not for me to

test the soundness of the Roman Catholic doctrine of Purgatory, or to

inquire which of the Holy Fathers first dreamt of its existence. It

was, however, a sublime contrivance, unscriptural though it may be--a

conception full of love and charity, in so far as it seemed to arrest

the dead on the threshold of eternity; and making his final welfare

partly dependent on the pious exertions of those who were left behind,

established a lasting interchange of tender feelings, embalmed the

memory of the departed, and by a posthumous tie wedded him to the

mourning survivor.... Woe to the man, in Dante's age, who sunk into his

grave without bequeathing a heritage of love; on whose sod no

refreshing dew of sorrowing affection descended. Lonely as his relics

in the sepulchre, his spirit wandered in the dreaded region of

probation; alone he was left defenceless, prayerless, friendless to

settle his awful score with unmitigated justice. It is this feeling,

unrivalled for poetic beauty, that gives color and tone to the second

division of Dante's poem. The five or six cantos, at the opening, have

all the milk of human nature that entered into the composition of that

miscalled saturnine mind. With little more than two words, the poet

makes us aware that we have come into happier latitudes. Every strange

visitor breathes love and forgiveness. The shade we meet is only

charged with tidings of joy to the living, and messages of good will.

The heart lightens and brightens at every new stratum of the atmosphere

in that rising region; the ascent is easy and light, like the gliding

of a boat down the stream. The angels we become familiar with are

angels of light, such as human imagination never before nor afterwards

conceived. They come from afar across the waves, piloting the barge

that conveys the chosen spirits to heaven, balancing themselves on

their wide-spread wings, using them as sails, disdaining the aid of all

mortal contrivance, and relying on their inexhaustible strength; red

and rayless at first, from the distance, as the planet Mars when he

appears struggling through the mist of the horizon, but growing

brighter and brighter with amazing swiftness. They stand at the gate of

Purgatory, they guard the entrance to each of the seven steps of its

mountain--some with green vesture, vivid as new-budding leaves,

gracefully waving and floating in simple drapery, fanned by their

wings; bearing in their hands flaming swords broken at the point;

others, ash-colored garments; others again, in flashing armor, but all

beaming with so intense, so overwhelming a light, that dizziness

overcomes all mortal ken, whenever directed to their countenance. The

friends of the poet's youth one by one arrest his march, and engage him

in tender converse. The very laws of immutable fate seem for a few

moments suspended to allow full scope for the interchange of

affectionate sentiments. The overawing consciousness of the place he is

in, for a moment forsakes the mortal visitor so miraculously admitted

into the world of spirits. He throws his arms round the neck of the

beloved shade, and it is only by the smile irradiating its countenance

that he is reminded of the intangibility of its ethereal substance. The

episodes of "the Purgatory" are mostly of this sad and tender

description. The historical personages introduced seem to have lost

their own identity, and to have merged into a blessed calmness,

characterizing medium of the region they are all travelling through."

It is plain that, bitterly hostile as is this faithless Italian to the

Church of his fathers, and the truth which it teaches, his poetic

instinct, at least, rises above mere prejudice, and enables him to

penetrate into that dim but holy atmosphere created by the poet's

genius, and yet more fully by the poet's faith. This homage to the

union of religious grandeur, natural tenderness, and supernatural

fervent charity, which make this doctrine unconsciously dear to every

human heart, is of value coming from the pen of so prejudiced a

witness. It is but one of countless testimonies that in all times, and

in all ages, have sprung from the heart of man, as it were in his own

despite.

THE MOUTH OF NOVEMBER. [1]

[Footnote 1: New York _Tablet_, Nov. 26, 1859.]

MARY E. BLAKE (MARIE).

It is but a few days since the Church has celebrated the triumph of her

saints, rejoicing in the eternal felicity of that innumerable throng

whom she has given to the celestial Sion. She invites us to share her

joy. She bids us look up from the rugged pathway of our thorn-strewn

pilgrimage to that blissful abode which is to be the term and the

reward of all our trials. Yet, like a true mother, she cannot forget

that portion of her family who are sighing for their deliverance, in

that region of pain to which they are consigned by eternal justice. On

one day she sings with radiant brow and tones of jubilee her _Sursum

Corda_; on the next, she kneels a suppliant, chanting with uplifted

hands and tearful eyes her _Requiem Æternam_; and we, the

companions of her exile, shall we not sympathize with every emotion of

the heart of our tender Mother?

Among the pious customs which owe their existence to the fertile spirit

of Catholic devotion is that which dedicates the month of November to

the Suffering Souls in Purgatory. It would seem as though the annual

circle of commemorative devotion were incomplete without this crowning

fulfilment of charity.

Some years since, I met with a graphic description of a spectacle in

the Catholic Cemetery of New Orleans. It was the 2d of November, when

the friends and relatives of the dead came to scatter emblematic

wreaths and sweet-scented flowers on their graves. This custom was

observed by the French Catholics and their descendants; and the writer,

although a Protestant, was deeply impressed with its beauty and

significance. He asked why, among Americans, there was so little of

this eloquent affection for the dead. He might have found an answer in

the fact that the principle of faith was wanting--of that vivid and

active faith which seeks and finds by such means its outward

manifestation.

We, also, are the children of the Saints. We have inherited from them

the same faith in all its integrity, and how does our _practice_

correspond with it? What are we doing for that army of holy captives

who cannot leave their prison till the uttermost farthing be paid? Let

us not imitate those tepid Christians who are satisfied with erecting

costly monuments, and observing, with scrupulous exactness, the usual

period of "mourning," while the poor souls are left to pine forgotten,

if they have gone with some-lingering stains--some earthly tarnish on

their nuptial garment. Ah! there is so much that might be done if we

would only reflect, and let our hearts be softened by the intense

eloquence of their mute appeal....

These are a few of the thoughts suggested by the late solemnity, and

perhaps they cannot be concluded more appropriately than by introducing

the following poem, found in an old magazine. If the theme be

sufficient to inspire thus one who had but faint glimmerings of divine

truth, what should be expected of us, who rejoice in the fullness of

that light? I twine, then, this flower of the desert with the leaves I

have gathered, and offer my humble wreath as a tribute of faith and

affection on the altar dedicated to the dear departed.

_November_, 1859.

LITANY OP THE DEPARTED.

It is, therefore, a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead.--

II. Mach. xii. 26.

For the spirits who have fled

From the earth which once they trod;

For the loved and faithful dead,

We beseech the living God!

Oh! receive and love them!

By the grave where Thou wert lying,

By the anguish of Thy dying,

Spread Thy wings above them;

Grant Thy pardon unto them,

_Dona eis requiem!_

Long they suffered here below,

Outward fightings, inward fears;

Ate the cheerless bread of woe,--

Drank the bitter wine of tears:--

Now receive and love them!

By Thy holy Saints' departures,

By the witness of Thy martyrs,

Spread Thy wings above them.

On the souls in gloom who sit,

_Lux eterna luceat_!

Lord, remember that they wept,

When Thy children would divide;

Lord, remember that they slept

On the bosom of Thy Bride;

And receive and love them!

By the tears Thou couldst not smother;

By the love of Thy dear Mother,

Spread Thy wings above them.

To their souls, in bliss with Thee,

_Dona pacem, Domini_!

Grant our prayers, and bid them pray,

O thou Flower of Jesse's stem;

Lend a gracious ear when they,

Plead for us, as we for them.

_Deus Angelorum_,

_Dona eis requiem_,

_Et beatitudinem_.

_Cordibus eorum_

_Jesu, qui salutam das_

_Micat lumen animas_!

--_Acolytus_.

ALL SOULS' DAY [1]

[Footnote 1: New York _Tablet_, Nov. 12, 1864.]

MRS. J. SADLIER.

Nothing in the whole grand scheme of Religion is more beautiful than

the tender care of the Church over her departed children. Not content

with providing for their spiritual wants during their lives, and

sending them into eternity armed with and strengthened by the last

solemn Sacraments, blessing their departure from, as she blessed their

entrance into, this world, her maternal solicitude follows them beyond

the grave, and penetrates to the dreary prison in the Middle State

where, happily, they may be, as the Apostle says, "cleansed so as by

fire." With the tender compassion of a fond mother, the Church,

_our_ mother, yearns over the sufferings of her children, all the

dearer to her because they suffer in the Lord, and by His holy will.

By every means within her power she aids these blessed souls who are at

once so near Heaven, and so far from it; by solemn prayers, by

sacrifice, by continual remembrance of them in all her good works, she

gives them help and comfort herself, while encouraging the faithful to

imitate her example in that respect by numerous and great Indulgences,

and by the crown of eternal blessedness she holds out to those who

perform faithfully and in her own proper spirit this Seventh Spiritual

Work of Mercy--"to pray for the living _and the dead_." In every

Mass that is said the long year round on each of her myriad altars, a

solemn commemoration is made for the Dead immediately after the

Elevation of the Sacred Host, the great Atoning Sacrifice of the New

Law; in all the other public offices of the Church, "the faithful

departed" are tenderly remembered, and, to crown the efforts of her

maternal charity, the second day of November of every year is set apart

for the solemn remembrance of these her most beloved and most afflicted

children, for whose benefit and relief all the Masses of that day

throughout the whole Catholic world are specially offered up. Nay, more

than that, the entire month of November is devoted to the Souls in

Purgatory, and the good works and pious prayers of all the holy

communities who spend their lives in commune with God are offered up

with that benign intention during the month.

In Catholic countries, the faithful are touchingly reminded of this sad

though pleasing duty to their departed brethren, by the tolling of the

several convent and church bells at eight o'clock in the evening, at

which time the different communities unite in reciting the solemn _De

Profundis_, and other prayers for the dead. Solemn and sonorous we

have heard that passing-bell, year after year, booming through the

darkness and storm of the November night in a northern land [1] where

the pious customs of the best ages of France, transplanted over two

centuries ago, flourish still in their pristine beauty and touching

fervor.

[Footnote 1: Eastern, or French Canada, now known as the Province of

Quebec]

But, though all Catholics may not hear the _De Profundis_ bell of

November nights, nor all households kneel at evening hour to join in

spirit with the pious communities who are praying then for the faithful

departed, yet all Catholics know when, on the first of November, they

celebrate the great and joyous festival of All Saints, that the next

day will bring the mournful solemnity of All Souls, when the altars of

the Church will be draped with black, and her ministers robed in the

same sombre garb, whilst offering the "Clean Oblation" of the New Law

for the souls who are yet in a state of purgation in the other life.

To the deep heart of Catholic piety nothing can be more sensibly

touching than "the black Mass" of All Souls' Day. If the feast be not

celebrated by the laity as it so faithfully is by the Church, it

certainly ought to be, if the spirit of the faith be still amongst

them. The funereal solemnity of the occasion touches the deepest,

holiest sympathies in every true Catholic heart, reminding each of

their loved and lost, and filling their souls with the soothing hope

that the Great Sacrifice then offered up for all the departed children

of the Church may release one or more of their nearest and dearest from

the cleansing fires of Purgatory. Then, while the funeral dirge fills

the sacred edifice, and the mournful _Dies Iræ_ thrills the hearts

of all, each one thinks of his own departed ones, and recalls with

indescribable sadness other just such celebrations in the years long

past, when those for whom they now invoke the mercy of Heaven were

still amongst the living. Then comes, too, the solemn thought that

some, perhaps many, of those then present in life and health may be

numbered with the dead before All Souls' Day comes round again, and a

voice from the depths of the Christian heart asks, "May not I, too, be

then with the dead?"

When noting with surprise and regret how many Catholics neglect the

celebration of All Souls' Day, we have often endeavored to account for

such strange apathy. Surely, if the charity of the Church do not

inspire them--if they do not feel, with the valiant Macchabeus of old,

that "it is a holy and a wholesome thought to pray for the Dead that

they may be loosed from their sins"--if natural affection, even, do not

move them to think of the probable sufferings of their own near and

dear--sufferings which they may have it in their power to alleviate--at

least, a motive of self-interest ought to make them reflect that when

they themselves are with the dead, retributive justice may leave them

forgotten by their own flesh and blood, as they forget others now. But

to those who do faithfully unite with the Church in her solemn

commemoration of the faithful departed on All Souls' Day, nothing can

be more soothing to the deep heart of human sadness, as nothing is more

imposing, or more strikingly illustrative of that Catholic charity,

that all-embracing charity which has its life and fountain within the

Church.

CEMETERIES.

THE respect due to cemeteries is too closely connected with the

doctrine of Purgatory for us to omit observing here that those asylums

of the dead, being the objects of pious reverence, even amongst

infidels, ought to be still more so amongst us. It was in this

connection that Mgr. Pelletan, Arch-priest of the Cathedral of Algiers,

wrote thus on the 13th of March, 1843:

"Here in Algiers, do we not see, every Friday, the Mussulman Arab,

wandering pensively through his cemetery, placing on some venerated and

beloved grave bouquets of flowers, branches of boxwood; wrapped in his

bornouse, he sits for hours beside it, motionless and thoughtful; lost

in gentle melancholy, it would seem as though he were holding intimate

and mysterious converse with the dear departed one whose loss he

deplores....

"But for us, Christians, nourished, enlightened by the truth of God,

what special homage, what profound reverence we should manifest towards

the remains of our fathers, our brethren who died in the same faith!

Oh, let us remember the first faithful--the martyrs--the catacombs! The

cemetery is for us the land where grows invisibly the harvest of the

elect; it is the sleeping world of intelligence; sheltered are its

peaceful slumbers in the bosom of nature ever young, ever fruitful; the

crowd of the dead pressed together beneath those crosses, under those

scattered flowers, is the crowd that will one day rise to take

possession of the infinite future, from which it is only separated by

some sods of turf.

"Hence how lively, how motherly has ever been the solicitude of the

Church in this respect! She wishes that the ground wherein repose the

remains of her children be blessed and consecrated ground; she purifies

it with hyssop and holy water; she calls down upon it by her humble

supplications, the benediction of Him who disposes according to His

will of things visible and invisible, of souls and of bodies; she

wishes that the cross should rise in its midst, that her children may

rest in peace in its shade while awaiting the grand awaking; even as a

temple and a sanctuary, she banishes from it games, noise of all kinds,

and even all that savors of levity or irreverence."--_Dictionnaire

d'Anecdotes Chrétiens, p_. 993.

OPINIONS OF VARIOUS PROTESTANTS.

Some say, like Lessing in his "Treatise on Theology," "What hinders us

from admitting a Purgatory? as if the great majority of Christians had

not really adopted it. No, this intermediate state being taught and

recognized by the ancient Church, notwithstanding the scandalous abuses

to which it gave rise, should not be absolutely rejected."

Others, with Dr. Forbes (_controv. pontif. princip., anno_ 1658):

"Prayer for the dead, MADE USE OF FROM THE TIMES OF THE APOSTLES,

cannot be rejected as useless by Protestants. They should respect the

judgment of the primitive Church, and adopt a practice sanctioned by

the continuous belief of so many ages. We repeat that prayer for the

dead is a salutary practice."

Several others, rising to our point of view, drawing their inspiration

from the sources of Catholic charity, tell you, with the theologian

Collier (Part II. p. 100): "Prayer for the dead revives the belief in

the immortality of the soul, withdraws the dark veil which covers the

tomb, and establishes relations between this world and the other. Had

it been preserved, we should probably not have had amongst us so much

incredulity. I cannot conceive why our Church, which is so remote from

the primitive times of Christianity, should have abandoned or disdained

a custom that had never been interrupted; which, on the contrary, as we

have reason to believe from Scripture, existed in ancient times; which

was practiced in the Apostolic age, in the time of miracles and

revelations; introduced amongst the articles of faith, and never

rejected, except by Arius."

"It was evidently in use in the Church in the time of St. Augustine,

and down to the sixteenth century. If we do nothing for our dead, if we

omit to occupy ourselves with them and pray for them, as was formerly

done in the Holy Supper, we break off all intercourse with the Saints;

and then, how could we dare to say that we remain in communion with the

blessed? And if we break off in this way from the most noble part of

the universal Church, may it not be said that we mutilate our belief

and reject one of the articles of the Christian faith?"

"Yes," says the German Sheldon, in his turn, "prayer for the dead is

one of the most ancient and most efficacious practices of the Christian

religion."

You have just heard the sound of some bells; listen again and you shall

hear something different.

You think, then, that there are Protestants who admit Purgatory and

others who deny it? You are mistaken! There are some who at once admit

and do not admit it. This is difficult to comprehend, but it is so,

nevertheless, and this is how they take it:

On the one side, they will have nothing but hell, pure and simple; this

is the Catholic side; but on the other is the philosophic side, the

eternity of horrible pains is something too hard; and then, why not a

hell that will end a little sooner, or a little later? For, in fine,

there are small criminals and great criminals. So that their temporary

hell--that is to say, having an end--being, after all, nothing more

than one Purgatory, it follows that, having broken with us because they

did not want Purgatory, they broke off again because they wanted

Purgatory only.--_Dictionnaire d'Anecdotes_, 998-9.

Mr. Thorndike, a Protestant theologian, says: "The practice of the

Church of interceding for the dead at the celebration of the Eucharist,

is so general and so ancient, that it cannot be thought to have come in

upon imposture, but that the same aspersion will seem to take hold of

the common Christianity."

The Protestant translators of Du Pin observe, that St. Chrysostom, in

his thirty-eighth homily on the Philippians, says, that to pray for the

faithful departed in the tremendous mysteries, was decreed by the

Apostles.

The learned Protestant divine, Dr. Jeremy Taylor, writes thus: "We find

by the history of the Machabees, that the Jews did pray and make

offerings for the dead, which appears by other testimonies, and by

their form of prayer still extant, which they used in the captivity.

Now, it is very considerable, that since our Blessed Saviour did

reprove all the evil doctrines and traditions of the Scribes and

Pharisees, and did argue concerning the dead and the resurrection, yet

He spake no word against this public practice, but left it as He found

it; which He who came to declare to us all the will of His Father would

not have done, if it had not been innocent, pious, and full of charity.

The practice of it was at first, and was universal: it being plain both

in Tertullian and St. Cyprian, and others."

"Clement," says Bishop Kaye, "distinguishes between sins committed

before and after baptism: the former are remitted at baptism, the

latter are purged by discipline.... The necessity of this purifying

discipline is such, that if it does not take place in this life, it

must after death, and is then to be effected by fire, not by a

destructive, but a discriminating fire, pervading the soul which passes

through it."--_Clem_., ch. xii.

SOME THOUGHTS FOR NOVEMBER.

I stood upon an unknown shore,

A deep, dark ocean, rolled beside;

Dear, loving ones were wafted o'er

That silent and mysterious tide.

To most persons, the idea of Purgatory is simply one of pain; they try

to avoid thinking about it, because the subject is unpleasant, and

people's thoughts do not naturally revert to painful subjects; they

feel that it is a place to which they must go at least, if they escape

worse; they must suffer, they cannot help it, and so the less they

think about it beforehand, the better. Purgatory and suffering are to

them synonymous terms; perhaps fear keeps them from some sins which,

without this salutary apprehension, they would readily fall into; but,

on the whole, they take their chance, and hope for the best. This,

perhaps, is the view of a large class of people, and of those who will

scarcely own to themselves what they think on the subject; but their

lives are the tell-tales, and we cannot but fear that to escape hell is

the utmost effort of many who apparently are good Catholics. Still, we

would not say that they do not love God, that they are not in many ways

pleasing to Him; but, oh! how many there are who only want a little

more generosity to become Saints! Then, there is another class, further

on in their heavenward journey--souls who do love God, who do seek only

to please Him, who are generous, often even noble-hearted, in their

Master's service; souls who can say, "Our Father," and look up with

child-like love to Heaven; but even with such, and perhaps with almost

all, the feeling about Purgatory is much the same; it is a sort of

necessary evil; a something that must be endured. They feel strongly

all that justice demands; their very sanctity and goodness lead them to

desire that that which is evil in them should be taken out, even by

fire; but still there are few that do really see the deep, deep love of

Purgatory. We are very far from wishing to hinder people from thinking

less of its sufferings--nay, rather their very intenseness and severity

only pleads our case more strongly. All that has been revealed to the

Saints, all that has been made known to us by the Church or tradition,

proclaims the same fact. Suffering, intense, unearthly anguish, is the

portion of those most blessed souls; and it has been said that the

pains of Purgatory only differ in duration from those of hell. Still,

there is this difference--oh! blessed be God, there is this difference,

and it is all we could ask: in hell, the damned blaspheme their Master

with the demons that torment them; in Purgatory, the holy souls love

their God with the angelic choirs who await their entrance to the land

of bliss. If the souls of the damned could love, hell would cease to be

hell; if the souls of the blessed ones in prison could cease to love,

Purgatory would be worse to them than a thousand such hells.

* * * * *

Yes; Purgatory is love, and if it be true that the love of God extends

even to hell, because its torments might be worse, did not His infinite

mercy temper His infinite justice, how much more truly may this be said

of Purgatory! We have no wish to enter into any detailed account of

what the pains of Purgatory are supposed to be; this is a subject for

the pen of the theologian, or the raptures of the Saint. Awful and

terrible we know they are. But there is one suffering which we wish to

speak of, because we cannot but hope, if people reflected upon it

seriously, that they would learn to think of Purgatory less as a

necessary evil, and more as a most tender mercy, and be more inclined

to enter into a hearty co-operation with those who are anxious to help

the poor souls in this awful prison.

Surely, the one object of our whole lives is, not so much to get to

Heaven because we shall be happy there, as to see Jesus forever and

forever, to be near Him, to gaze on Him, and to love Him without fear;

for then love will be fearless, because suffering and sin will have

ceased.

And what will happen when we die? Oh! if we were sent to Purgatory

without seeing Jesus, we might bear it better. There have been souls on

earth privileged to suffer for months the pains of the holy souls, and

they have lived and borne the pain, and longed, if it were possible,

even for more; but they had not seen Jesus as we shall see Him at the

moment of our death. The very thought makes us shudder and our life-

blood run cold. What if we should indeed be saved, we who have so

trembled and feared, and known not whether we were worthy of love or

hatred? What if we should behold the face of Divinest Majesty gaze upon

us even for one moment in tenderness? And yet, unless we see it in

unutterable wrath, this will be. But what then? Shall we see it

forever? Shall our eyes gaze on and on, and feast themselves on that

sight for all eternity? ... Ah! not yet; we must lose sight of that

vision of delight; it must be withdrawn from us--not, thank God, in

anger, but in sorrow. Oh! what are the pains of Purgatory, what the

burning of its fire, in comparison with the suffering which the soul

endures when separated, even for a moment, from her God? Who can tell,

who can understand, who can even faintly guess, what will be the

anguish of longing which shall consume our very being? But why must

this be? Why does love, infinite, tender love, inflict such intense

pain? Why does the parent turn away from his child, and forbid him his

presence for a time? Is it that he loves him less than when he lavished

on him the tenderest caresses? ... Why, but because suffering is needed

as an atonement to justice, because love cannot be perfected without

fear. "It is here tried and purified, but hath in Heaven its perfect

rest." Oh! the love of Purgatory! we shall never know it, or understand

it, until we are there. Yes, we cannot but think that the greatest, the

keenest suffering of the soul will be the remembrance of that which it

has seen for a passing moment, and the pining to behold again and

forever the face of God. It has been revealed to Saints that so intense

is this desire, that the soul would gladly place itself even in the

most fearful tortures, could it thus become more quickly purged from

that which withholds it from the presence of God. Did we but well

consider, and enter into this feeling, we should be much more careful

about our imperfections and our venial sins.

* * * * *

The Saints have ever desired suffering, and consider it as the greatest

favor which could be bestowed upon them; not that it is in itself

desirable, but because it perfects love. Let us, then, we who are not

Saints, think of Purgatory with more affection; let us rejoice that, if

we are not privileged to have keen, unearthly anguish in this life, we

shall yet suffer, and suffer intensely, in the next. Our love will be

purified; our dross be purged away; the weary pain which we feel

continually when we think how vile we are in the sight of God, how the

eye of Jesus, with all its tenderness, must often turn from us in

sorrow--the weary pain, the deep degradation of misery and sin, will

one day cease; we shall not tremble under our Father's eye, or long to

hide ourselves from our Father's countenance. Now we must often feel,

when trying with our whole hearts to please God, how impure, how

sullied we are before Him. Our pride, our vanity, our impatience, our

self-love, are all there. God sees them; how can He, then, look on us

as we desire He should? And often we almost long to be in those purging

flames, even should it be for years and years, that this vileness might

be burned away.

PART V.

LEGENDARY AND POETICAL.

Well beseems

That we should help them wash away the stains

They carried hence; that so, made pure and light,

They may spring upward to the starry spheres.

Ah! so may mercy tempered justice rid

Your burdens speedily; that ye have power

To stretch your wing, which e'en to your desire

Shall lift you.

--DANTE.

LEGENDARY AND POETICAL.

DIES IRÆ.

The day of wrath, that dreadful day

Shall the whole world in ashes lay,

As David and Sybils say.

What horror will invade the mind,

When the strict Judge, who would be kind,

Shall have few venial faults to find!

The last loud trumpet's wondrous sound

Must thro' the rending tombs rebound,

And wake the nations underground.

Nature and death shall with surprise

Behold the pale offender rise,

And view the Judge with conscious eyes.

Then shall with universal dread,

The sacred mystic book be read,

To try the living and the dead.

The Judge ascends His awful throne,

He makes each secret sin be known,

And all with shame confess their own.

O then! what int'rest shall I make,

To save my last important stake,

When the most just have cause to quake!

Thou mighty formidable King!

Thou mercy's unexhausted spring!

Some comfortable pity bring.

Forget not what my ransom cost,

Nor let my dear-bought soul be lost,

In storms of guilty terror tost.

Thou, who for me didst feel such pain,

Whose precious blood the cross did stain,

Let not those agonies be vain.

Thou whom avenging powers obey,

Cancel my debt (too great to pay)

Before the said accounting day.

Surrounded with amazing fears,

Whose load my soul with anguish hears,

I sigh, I weep, accept my tears.

Thou, who wast mov'd with Mary's grief,

And by absolving of the thief,

Hast given me hope, now give relief.

Reject not my unworthy prayer,

Preserve me from the dangerous snare,

Which death and gaping hell prepare.

Give my exalted soul a place

Among the chosen right hand race,

The sons of God, and heirs of grace.

From that insatiate abyss,

Where flames devour and serpents hiss,

Promote me to Thy seat of bliss.

Prostrate, my contrite heart I rend,

My God, my Father, and my Friend:

Do not forsake me in my end.

Well may they curse their second birth,

Who rise to a surviving death.

Thou great Creator of mankind,

Let guilty man compassion find.--_Amen_.

AUTHORSHIP OF THE DIES IRÆ.

O'BRIEN. [1]

[Footnote 1: Rev. John O'Brien, A.M., Prof. of Sacred Liturgy in Mount

St. Mary's College, Emmettsburg, Md.]

The authorship of the "Dies Iræ" seems the most difficult to settle.

This much, however, is certain: that he who has the strongest claims to

it is Latino Orsini, generally styled _Frangipani_, whom his

maternal uncle, Pope Nicholas III. (Gætano Orsini), raised to the

cardinalate in 1278. He was more generally known by the name of

Cardinal Malabranca, and was, at first, a member of the Order of St.

Dominic. (See _Dublin Review_, Vol. XX., 1846; Gavantus, Thesaur.

Sacr. Rit., p. 490.)

As this sacred hymn is conceded to be one of the grandest that has ever

been written, it is but natural to expect that the number of authors

claiming it would be very large. Some even have attributed it to Pope

Gregory the Great, who lived as far back as the year 604. St. Bernard,

too, is mentioned in connection with it, and so are several others; but

as it is hardly necessary to mention all, we shall only say that, after

Cardinal Orsini, the claims to it on the part of Thomas de Celano, of

the Order of Franciscans Minor, are the greatest. There is very little

reason for attributing it to Father Humbert, the fifth general of the

Dominicans in 1273; and hardly any at all for accrediting it to

Augustinus de Biella, of the Order of Augustinian Eremites. A very

widely circulated opinion is that the "Dies Iræ," as it now stands, is

but an improved form of a Sequence which was long in use before the age

of any of those authors whom we have cited. Gavantus gives us, at page

490 of his "Thesaurus of Sacred Rites," a few stanzas of this ancient

sequence. [1]

[Footnote 1: We subjoin this Latin stanza: Cum recordor moriturus,

Quid post mortem sum futurus

Terror terret me venturus,

Queru expecto non securus.]

* * * * *

To repeat what learned critics of every denomination under heaven have

said in praise of this marvellous hymn, would indeed be a difficult

task. One of its greatest encomiums is, that there is hardly a language

in Europe into which it has not been translated; it has even found its

way into Greek and Hebrew--into the former, through an English

missionary of Syria, named Hildner; and into the latter, by Splieth, a

celebrated Orientalist. Mozart avowed his extreme admiration of it, and

so did Dr. Johnson, Sir Walter Scott, and Jeremy Taylor, besides hosts

of others. The encomium passed upon it by Schaff is thus given in his

own words: "This marvellous hymn is the acknowledged master-piece of

Latin poetry and the most sublime of all uninspired hymns. The secret

of its irresistible power lies in the awful grandeur of the theme, the

intense earnestness and pathos of the poet, the simple majesty and

solemn music of its language, the stately metre, the triple rhyme, and

the vocal assonances, chosen in striking adaptation--all combining to

produce an overwhelming effect, as if we heard the final crash of the

universe, the commotion of the opening graves, the trumpet of the

archangel summoning the quick and the dead, and saw the King 'of

tremendous majesty' seated on the throne of justice and mercy, and

ready to dispense everlasting life, or everlasting woe." (See "Latin

Hymns," Vol. I. p. 392, by Prof. March, of Lafayette College, Pa.)

The music of this hymn formed a chief part in the fame of Mozart; and

it is said, and not without reason, that it contributed in no small

degree to hasten his death, for so excited did he become over its awe-

enkindling sentiments while writing his celebrated "Mass of Requiem,"

that a sort of minor paralysis seized his whole frame, so

Terret dies me terroris,

Dies irae, ac furoris,

Dies luctus, ac moeroris,

Dies ultrix peccatoris,

Dies irae, dies illa, etc, etc.

that he was heard to say: "I am certain that I am writing this Requiem

for myself. It will be my funeral service." He never lived to finish

it; the credit of having done so belongs to Sussmayer, a man of great

musical attainments, and a most intimate friend of the Mozart family.--

_Dublin Review_, Vol. I., May, 1836.

The allusion to the sibyl in the third line of the first stanza, "Teste

David cum Sybilla," [1] has given rise to a good deal of anxious

inquiry; and so very strange did it sound to French ears at its

introduction into the sacred hymnology of the Church, that the Parisian

rituals substituted in its place the line, _Crucis expandens

vexilla_. The difficulty is, however, easily overcome if we bear in

mind that many of the early Fathers held that Almighty God made use of

these sibyls to promulgate His truths in just the same way as He did of

Balaam of old, and many others like him. The great St. Augustine has

written much on this subject in his "City of God;" and the reader may

form some idea of the estimation in which these sibyls were held, when

he is told that the world-renowned Michael Angelo made them the subject

of one of his greatest paintings.... In the opinions of the ablest

critics it was the Erythrean sibyl who uttered the celebrated

prediction about the advent of our Divine Lord and His final coming at

the last day to judge the living and the dead.... The part of the

sibyl's response which referred particularly to the Day of Judgment was

written (as an acrostic) on the letters of Soter, or Saviour. It is

given as follows in the translation of the "City of God" of St.

Augustine:

[Footnote 1: As David and Sibyls say.]

"Sounding, the archangel's trumpet shall peal down from heaven,

Over the wicked who groan in their guilt and their manifold sorrows,

Trembling, the earth shall be opened, revealing chaos and hell.

Every king before God shall stand on that day to be judged;

Rivers of fire and of brimstone shall fall from the heavens."

DANTE'S "PURGATORIO."

The bright sun was risen

More than two hours aloft; and to the sea

My looks were turned. "Fear not," my master cried.

"Assured we are at happy point. Thy strength

Shrink not, but rise dilated. Thou art come

To Purgatory now. Lo! there the cliff

That circling bounds it. Lo! the entrance there,

Where it doth seem disparted."...

Reader! thou markest how my theme doth rise;

Nor wonder, therefore, if more artfully

I prop the structure. Nearer now we drew,

Arrived whence, in that part where first a breach

As of a wall appeared. I could descry

A portal, and three steps beneath, that led

For inlet there, of different color each;

And one who watched, but spake not yet a word,

As more and more mine eye did stretch its view,

I marked him seated on the highest step,

In visage such as past my power to bear.

Grasped in his hand, a naked sword glanced back

The rays so towards me, that I oft in vain

My sight directed. "Speak from whence ye stand,"

He cried; "What would ye? Where is your escort?

Take heed your coming upward harm ye not."

"A heavenly dame, not skilless of these things,"

Replied the instructor, "told us, even now,

'Pass that way, here the gate is.'" "And may she,

Befriending, prosper your ascent," resumed

The courteous keeper of the gate. "Come, then,

Before our steps." We straightway thither came.

The lowest stair was marble white, so smooth

And polished, that therein my mirrored form

Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark

Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block

Cracked lengthwise and across. The third, that lay

Massy above, seemed porphyry, that flamed

Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein.

On this God's Angel either foot sustained,

Upon the threshold seated, which appeared

A rock of diamond. Up the trinal steps

My leader cheerily drew me. "Ask," said he,

"With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt."

Piously at his holy feet devolved

I cast me, praying him, for pity's sake,

That he would open to me; but first fell

Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times

The letter that denotes the inward stain,

He, on my forehead, with the blunted point

Of his drawn sword, inscribed. And "Look," he cried,

"When entered, that thou wash these scars away."

Ashes, or earth ta'en dry out of the ground,

Were of one color with the robe he wore.

From underneath that vestment forth he drew

Two keys, of metal twain; the one was gold,

Its fellow, silver. With the pallid first,

And next the burnished, he so plyed the gate,

As to content me well. "Whenever one

Faileth of these that in the key-hole straight

It turn not, to this alley then expect

Access in vain." Such were the words he spake.

"One is more precious, but the other needs

Skill and sagacity, large share of each,

Ere its good task to disengage the knot

Be worthily performed. From Peter these

I hold, of him instructed that I err

Rather in opening, than in keeping fast;

So but the suppliant at my feet implore."

Then of that hallowed gate he thrust the door.

Exclaiming, "Enter, but this warning hear:

He forth again departs who looks behind."

As in the hinges of that sacred ward

The swivels turned, sonorous metal strong.

Harsh was the grating; nor so surlily

Rocked the Tarpeian when by force bereft

Of good Metellus, thenceforth from his loss

To leanness doomed. Attentively I turned,

Listening the thunder that first issued forth;

And "We praise Thee, O God," methought I heard,

In accents blended with sweet melody.

The strains came o'er mine ear, e'en as the sound

Of choral voices, that in solemn chant

With organ mingle, and, now high and clear

Come swelling, now float indistinct away.--_Canto IX_.

* * * * *

Hell's dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark,

Of every planet reft, and palled in clouds,

Did never spread before the sight a veil

In thickness like that fog, nor to the sense

So palpable and gross. Entering its shade,

Mine eye endured not with unclosed lids;

Which marking, near me drew the faithful guide,

Offering me his shoulder for a stay.

As the blind man behind his leader walks,

Lest he should err, or stumble unawares

On what might harm him, or perhaps destroy;

I journeyed through that bitter air and foul,

Still listening to my escort's warning voice,

"Look that from me thou part not." Straight I heard

Voices, and each one seemed to pray for peace,

And for compassion to the Lamb of God

That taketh sins away. The prelude still

Was "Agnus Dei;" and, through all the choir,

One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seemed

The concord of their song. "Are these I hear

Spirits, O Master?" I exclaimed; and he,

"Thou aim'st aright: these loose the bonds of wrath."--_Canto_

XVI.

* * * * *

Forthwith from every side a shout arose

So vehement, that suddenly my guide

Drew near, and cried: "Doubt not, while I conduct thee."

"Glory!" all shouted (such the sounds mine ear

Gathered from those who near me swelled the sounds),

"Glory in the highest be to God!" We stood

Immovably suspended, like to those,

The shepherds, who first heard in Bethlehem's field

That song: till ceased the trembling, and the song

Was ended: then our hallowed path resumed,

Eyeing the prostrate shadows, who renewed

Their customed mourning. Never in my breast

Did ignorance so struggle with desire

Of knowledge, if my memory do not err,

As in that moment; nor, through haste, dared I

To question, nor myself could aught discern.

So on I fared, in thoughtfulness and dread.--_Canto XX._

* * * * *

Now the last flexure of our way we reached;

And, to the right hand turning, other care

Awaits us. Here the rocky precipice

Hurls forth redundant flames; and from the rim

A blast up-blown, with forcible rebuff

Driveth them back, sequestered from its bound.

Behooved us, one by one, along the side,

That bordered on the void, to pass; and I

Feared on one hand the fire, on the other feared

Headlong to fall: when thus the instructor warned:

"Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes.

A little swerving and the way is lost."

Then from the bosom of the burning mass,

"O God of mercy!" heard I sung, and felt

No less desire to turn. And when I saw

Spirits along the flame proceeding, I

Between their footsteps and mine own was fain

To share by turns my view. At the hymn's close

They shouted loud, "I do not know a man;" [1]

Then in low voice again took up the strain.-_Canto XXV_.

[Footnote 1: _I do not know a man._ St. Luke, i. 34.]

* * * * *

Now was the sun [1] so stationed, as when first

His early radiance quivers on the heights

Where streamed his Maker's blood; while Libra hangs

Above Hesperian Ebro; and new fires,

Meridian, flash on Ganges' yellow tide.

So day was sinking, when the Angel of God

Appeared before us. Joy was in his mien.

Forth of the flame he stood--upon the brink;

And with a voice, whose lively clearness far

Surpassed our human, "Blessed are the pure

In heart," he sang; then, near him as we came,

"Go ye not further, holy spirits," he cried,

"Ere the fire pierce you; enter in, and list

Attentive to the song ye hear from thence."

I, when I heard his saying, was as one

Laid in the grave. My hands together clasped,

And upward stretching, on the fire I looked,

And busy fancy conjured up the forms,

Erewhile beheld alive, consumed in flames.--_Canto XXVII._

[Footnote 1: At Jerusalem it was dawn, in Spain midnight, and in India

noonday, while it was sunset in Purgatory]

HAMLET AND THE GHOST.

SHAKESPEARE.

HAMLET. Where wilt thou lead me? Speak, I'll go no further.

GHOST. Mark me.

HAM. I will.

GHOST. My hour is almost come,

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames

Must render up myself.

HAM. Alas! poor ghost!

GHOST. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing

To what I shall unfold.

HAM. Speak, I am bound to hear.

GHOST. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

HAM. What?

GHOST. I am thy father's spirit;

Doomed for a certain time to walk the night;

And, for the day, confined to fast in fires,

Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,

Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid

To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;

Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end,

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine;

But this eternal blason must not be

To ears of flesh and blood.

CALDERON'S "PURGATORY OF ST. PATRICK."

In a work of this nature, it is essential to its purpose that the

compiler should take cognizance of the many legends, wild and

extravagant as some of them are, which have been current at various

times and amongst various peoples, on the subject of Purgatory. For

they have, indeed, a deep significance, proving how strong a hold this

belief in a middle state of souls has taken on the popular mind. They

are, in a certain sense, a part of Catholic tradition, and have to do

with what is called Catholic instinct. They prove that this dogma of

the Church has found a home in the hearts of the people, and become

familiar to them, as the tales of childhood whispered around the winter

hearth. If it appear now and then, in some such uncouth disguise, as

that which we, are about to present to our readers, we see,

nevertheless, through it all the truth, or rather the fragments of

truth, such as is often found floating about through Europe on the

breath of tradition. The curious legend has been turned by Calderon

from dross into precious gold. He presents it to us in his "Purgatory

of St. Patrick" with a beauty that divests it of much of its native

wildness. He presumably drew his materials for the drama from a work,

"The Life and Purgatory of St. Patrick," published in Spain in 1627 by

Montalvan, a Spanish dramatist. It was translated into French by a

Franciscan priest and doctor of theology, François Bouillon; as also

into Portuguese by Father Manuel Caldeira. When this work was issued

Calderon was wish the army in Flanders. He must have seen it, his

brilliant imagination at once taking hold of it as the groundwork for a

splendid effort of his genius.

We cite here an extract from an introduction by Denis Florence

MacCarthy to his translation of Calderon's "Purgatory of St. Patrick."

It will be of interest as following the thread of this weird legend:

The curious history of Ludovico Enio, on which the principal interest

of this play depends, has been alluded to, and given more or less fully

by many ancient authors. The name, though slightly altered by the

different persons who have mentioned him, can easily be recognized as

the same in all, whether as Owen, Oien, Owain, Eogan, Euenius, or

Ennius. Perhaps the earliest allusion to him in any printed English

work is that contained in 'Ranulph Hidgen's Polychronicon,' published

at Westminster by Wynkin de Worde, in 1495: 'In this Steven's tyme, a

knyght that hyght Owen wente into the Purgatory of the second Patrick,

abbot, and not byshoppe. He came agayne and dwelled in the abbaye of

Ludene of Whyte Monks in Irlonde, and tolde of joycs and of paynes that

he had seen.'

The history of Enio had, however, existed in manuscript for nearly

three centuries and a half before the Polychronicon was printed; it had

been written by Henry, the Monk of Salterey, in Huntingdonshire, from

the account which he had received from Gilbert, a Cistercian monk of

the Abbey of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Luden, or Louth, above

mentioned. [1] Colgan, after collating this manuscript with two others

on the same subject, which he had seen, printed it nearly in full in

his "Trias." ... Matthew Paris had, however, before this, in his

"History of England," under date 1153, given a full account of the

adventures of OEnus in the Purgatory. ... Sir Walter Scott mentions, in

his "Border Minstrelsy," that there is a curious Metrical Romance in

the Advocates' Library of Edinburgh, called "The Legend of Sir Owain,"

relating his adventures in St. Patrick's Purgatory; he gives some

stanzas from it, descriptive of the knight's passage of "The Brig o'

Dread;" which, in the legend, is placed between Purgatory and Paradise.

This poem is supposed to have been written early in the fourteenth

century.

[Footnote 1: Colgan's "Trias Thanmaturgæ," p. 281, Ware's "Annals of

Ireland," A.D. 1497.]

A second extract on the subject, taken from the Essay by Mr. Wright on

the "Purgatory of St. Patrick," published in London in 1844, gives

still further information with regard to it.

"The mode," he says, "in which this legend was made public is thus told

in the Latin narrative. Gervase (the founder and first Abbot of Louth,

in Lincolnshire) sent his monk, Gilbert, to the king, then in Ireland,

to obtain a grant to build a monastery there. Gilbert, on his arrival,

complained to the king, Henry II., that he did not understand the

language of the country. The king said to him,' I will give you an

excellent interpreter,' and sent him the knight Owain, who remained

with him during the time he was occupied in building the monastery, and

repeated to him frequently the story of his adventures in Purgatory.

Gilbert and his companions subsequently returned to England, and there

he repeated the story, and some one said he thought it was all a dream,

to which Gilbert answered: 'That there were some who believed that

those who entered the Purgatory fell into a trance, and saw the vision

in the spirit, but that the knight had denied this, and declared that

the whole was seen and felt really in the body.' Both Gilbert, from

whom Henry of Salterey received the story, and the bishop of the

diocese, assured him that many perished in this Purgatory, and were

never heard of afterwards." It is clear from the allusion to it in

Cæsarius of Heisterbach, that already, at the beginning of the

thirteenth century, St. Patrick's Purgatory had become famous

throughout Europe. 'If any one doubt of Purgatory,' says this writer,

'let him go to Scotland (i. e., Ireland, to which this name was

anciently given), and enter the Purgatory of St. Patrick, and his

doubts will be expelled.' This recommendation was frequently acted upon

in that, and particularly in the following century, when pilgrims from

all parts of Europe, some of them men of rank and wealth, repaired

thither. On the patent rolls in the Tower of London, under the year

1358, we have an instance of testimonials given by the king, Edward

III., on the same day, to two distinguished foreigners, one a noble

Hungarian, the other a Lombard, Nicholas de Becariis, of their having

faithfully performed this pilgrimage. And still later, in 1397, we find

King Richard II. granting a safe conduct to visit the same place to

Raymond, Viscount of Perilhos, Knight of Rhodes, and Chamberlain of the

King of France, with twenty men and thirty horses. Raymond de Perilhos,

on his return to his native country, wrote a narrative of what he had

seen, in the dialect of the Limousin (_Lemosinalingna_), of which

a Latin version was printed by O'Sullivan in his '_Historia Catholica

Ibernica.' ... This is a mere compilation from the story of 'Henry of

Salterey,' and begins, like that, with an account of the origin of the

Purgatory. He represents himself as having been first a minister to

Charles V. of France, and subsequently the intimate friend of John I.

of Aragon, after whose death (in 1395) he was seized with the desire of

knowing how he was treated in the other world, and determined, like a

new Æneas, to go into St. Patrick's Purgatory in search of him. He saw

precisely the same sights as the knight, Owain, but (as in Calderon)

only twelve men came to him in the hall instead of fifteen, and in the

fourth hall of punishments he saw King John of Aragon, and many others

of his friends and relations.

We will now select from the drama of "Calderon" a few characteristic

passages, to show how this subject was treated by the glowing pen and

fervid fancy of the greatest of all the poets of Catholic Spain, whose

poetry, indeed, is deserving of more widespread appreciation than it

has yet received at the hands of the Catholic reading public. We will

begin with those lines in which Ludovico Enio, the hero of the tale,

makes known his identity to King Egerio.

LUDOVICO. Listen, most beautiful divinity,

For thus begins the story of my life.

Great Egerio, King of Ireland, I

Am Ludovico Enio--a Christian also--

In this do Patrick and myself agree,

And differ, being Christians both,

And yet as opposite as good from evil.

But for the faith which I sincerely hold

(So greatly do I estimate its worth),

I would lay down a hundred thousand lives--

Bear witness, thou all-seeing Lord and God.

. . . . . . All crimes,

Theft, murder, treason, sacrilege, betrayal

Of dearest friends, all these I must relate.

For these are all my glory and my pride.

In one of Ireland's many islands I

Was born, and much do I suspect that all

The planets seven, in wild confusion strange,

Assisted at my most unhappy birth.

He proceeds with a catalogue of his crimes, most dark, indeed, and

relates how St. Patrick, who was present, had saved him from shipwreck.

The King, however, who is a pagan, takes the Knight into his service,

while he bids the Saint begone. Before they part Patrick asks of him a

favor:

PATRICK. This one boon I ask--

LUDOVICO. What is it?

PATRICK. That, alive or dead, we meet

In this world once again.

LUDOVICO. Dost thou demand

So strange and dread a promise from me?

PATRICK. Yes.

LUDOVICO. I give it to thee then.

PATRICK. And I accept it.

What follows is from a conversation between Patrick and the King,

wherein are explained many of the truths of faith, including the

existence of heaven and of hell. Thus the Saint:

PATRICK. There are more places

In the other world than those of

Everlasting pain and glory:

Learn, O King, that there's another,

Which is Purgatory; whither

Flies the soul that has departed

In a state of grace; but bearing

Still some stains of sin upon it:

For with these no soul can enter

God's pure kingdom--there it dwelleth

Till it purifies and burneth

All the dross from out its nature;

Then it flieth, pure and limpid,

Into God's divinest presence.