SCENE XIX.

POLONIA. -- THE SAME.

POLONIA. Oh, stay,

Wandering from the path astray,

Hapless crowd, rash, indiscreet,

Turn away your erring feet,

For misfortune lies that way.

Here from myself with hurried footsteps flying,

I dared to treat this wilderness profound,

Beneath the mountain whose proud top defying

The pure bright sunbeam is with huge rocks crowned,

Hoping that here, as in its dark grave lying,

Never my sin could on the earth be found,

And I myself might find a port of peace

Where all the tempests of the world might cease.

No polar star had hostile fate decreed me,

As on my perilous path I dared to stray,

So great its pride, no hand presumed to lead me,

And guide my silent footstep on its way.

Not yet the aspect of the place has freed me

From the dread terror, anguish and dismay,

Which were awakened by this mountain's gloom,

And all the hidden wonders of its womb.

See ye not here this rock some power secureth,

That grasps with awful toil the hill-side brown,

And with the very anguish it endureth

Age after age seems slowly coming down?

Suspended there with effort, it obscureth

A mighty cave beneath, which it doth crown;--

An open mouth the horrid cavern shapes,

Wherewith the melancholy mountain gapes.*

[footnote] * "But I remember,

Two miles on this side of the fort, the road

Crosses a deep ravine; 'tis rough and narrow,

And winds with short turns down the precipice;

And in its depth there is a mighty rock

Which has from unimaginable years,

Sustained itself with terror and with toil

Over the gulf, and with the agony

With which it clings seems slowly coming down;

Even as a wretched soul hour after hour

Clings to the mass of life: yet, clinging, leans;

And leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss

In which it fears to fall. Beneath this crag,

Huge as despair, as if in weariness

The melancholy mountain yawns."--THE CENCI.

Shelly says, "An idea in this speech was suggested by a most sublime

passage in 'El Purgatorio de San Patricio' of Calderon." The same

idea is to be found in "Amor despues de la Muerte," "Los dos amantes

del Cielo," and other dramas of Calderon.

[end of footnote]

This, then, by mournful cypress trees surrounded,

Between the lips of rocks at either side,

Reveals a monstrous neck of length unbounded,

Whose tangled hair is scantily supplied

By the wild herbs that there the wind hath grounded,

A gloom whose depths no sun has ever tried,

A space, a void, the gladsome day's affright,

The fatal refuge of the frozen night.

I wished to enter there, to make my dwelling

Within the cave; but here my accents fail,

My troubled voice, against my will rebelling.

Doth interrupt so terrible a tale.--

What novel horror, all the past excelling,

Must I relate to you, with cheeks all pale,

Without cold terror on my bosom seizing,

And even my voice, my breath, my pulses freezing?

I scarcely had o'ercome my hesitation,

And gone within the cavern's vault profound,

When I heard wails of hopeless lamentation,

Despairing shrieks that shook the walls around,

Curses, and blasphemy, and desperation,

Dark crimes avowed that would even hell astound,

Which heaven, I think, in order not to hear,

Had hid within this prison dark and drear.

Let him come here who doubts what I am telling,

Let him here bravely enter who denies,

Soon shall he hear the sounds of dreadful yelling,

Soon shall the horrors gleam before his eyes.

For me, my voice is hushed, my bosom swelling,

Pants now with terror, now with strange surprise.

Nor is it right that human tongue should dare

High heaven's mysterious secrets to lay bare.

PATRICK. This cave, O king, which here you see, concealeth

The mysteries of life as well as death:

Not, I should say, for him whose bosom feeleth

No true repentance, or no real faith;

But he who boldly enters, who revealeth

His sins, confessing them with penitent breath,

Shall see them all forgiven, his conscience clear,

And have alive his Purgatory here.

KING. And dost thou think, O Patrick, that I owe

My blood so little, as to yield to dread,

And trembling fear like a weak woman show?

Say, who shall be the first this cave to tread?

What silent! Philip?

PHILIP. Sire, I dare not go.

KING. Then, Captain, thou?

CAPTAIN. Enough to strike me dead

Is even the thought.

KING. Leogaire, thou'lt surely dare?

LEOGAIRE. The heavens, my lord, themselves exclaim forbear!

KING. O cowards, lost to every sense of shame,

Unfit to gird the warrior's sword around

Your shrinking loins! Men are ye but in name.

Well, I myself shall be the first to sound

The depths of this enchantment, and proclaim

Unto this Christian that my heart unawed

Nor dreads his incantations nor his God!

[Egerius advances to the cave, and on entering sinks into it with

much noise, flames rise from below, and many voices are heard.

POLONIA. How terrible!

LEOGAIRE. How awful!

PHILIP. What a wonder!

CAPTAIN. The earth is breathing out its central fire.

[Exit.

LEOGAIRE. The axes of the sky are burst asunder.

[Exit.

POLONIA. The heavens are loosening their collected ire.

{Exit.

LESBIA. The earth doth quake, and peals the sullen thunder.

[Exit.

PATRICK. O, mighty Lord, who will not now admire

Thy wondrous works?

[Exit.

PHILIP. Oh! who that's not insane

Will enter Patrick's Purgatory again?

[Exit.

* * * * *

ACT THE THIRD.

A STREET. IT IS NIGHT.

SCENE I.

JUAN PAUL, dressed ridiculously as a soldier, and LUIS ENIUS, very pensive.

PAUL. Yes, the day would come I knew,

After long procrastination,

When a word of explanation

I should ask to have with you.

"Come with me," you said. Though dark,

Off I trudged with heavy heart

To point out to you the part

Where at morn you could embark;

Then again, with thundering voice,

Thus you spoke, "Where I must fly

Choose to come with me, or die."

And, since you allowed a choice,

Of two ills I chose the worst,

Which, sir, was to go with you.

As your shadow then I flew

'Cross the sea to England first,

Then to Scotland, then to France

then to Italy and Spain,

Round the world and back again,

As in some fantastic dance.

Not a country great or small

Could escape you, 'till, good lack!

Here we are in Ireland back:--

Now, sir, I, plain Juan Paul,

Being perplexed to know what draws

You here now, with beard and hair

Grown so long, your speech, your air,

Changed so much, would ask the cause

Why you these disguises wear?

You by day ne'er leave the inn,

But when cold night doth begin

You a thousand follies dare,

Without bearing this in mind,

That we now are in a land

Wholly changed from strand to strand,

Where, in fact, we nothing find

As we left it. The old king

Died despairing, and his heir,

Lesbia, now the crown doth wear,

For her sister, hapless thing!

Poor Polonia . . . .

LUIS. Oh, that name

Do not mention! do not kill me

By repeating what doth thrill me

To the centre of my frame

As with lightning. Yes, I know

That at length Polonia died.

PAUL. Yes; our host was at her side

(He himself has told me so)

When they found her dead, and . . . .

LUIS. Cease!

Of her death, oh! speak no more,

'Tis sufficient to deplore,

And to pray that she's at peace.

PAUL. Leaving heathen sin and crime,

All the people far and near

Are become good Christians here.

For one Patrick, who some time

Now is dead . . . .

LUIS. Is Patrick dead?

PAUL. So I from our host have heard.

LUIS [aside]. Badly have I kept my word!--

But proceed.

PAUL. The teaching spread

Of the faith of Christ, and gave,

As a proof complete and whole

Of the eternity of the soul,

The discovery of a cave.--

Oh! it's the very name doth send

Terror through me.

LUIS. Yes, I have heard

Of that cave, and every word

Made my hair to stand on end.

Those who in the neighbourhood

Dwell, see wonders every day.

PAUL. Since, 'mid terror and dismay,

In your melancholy mood

You will no one hear or see,

Ever locked within your room,

It is plain you have not come

Aught to learn, how strange they be,

Of these things. It doth appear

Other work you are about.

Satisfy my foolish doubt,

And say why we have come here.

LUIS. to your questions thus I yield:

Yes, I forced you, as you mention,

From your house, and my intention

Was to kill you in the field;

But I thought it best instead

You to make my steps attend

As my comrade and my friend,

Shaking off the mortal dread

Which forbad me to endure

Any stranger, and in fine,

That your arms being joined with mine,

I might feel the more secure.

Many a land, both far and near,

Passing through you fared right well;

And now answering I will tell

Why it is that we come here.

And 'tis this: I come to slay

Here a man who did me wrong,

'Tis for this I pass along,

Muffled in this curious way,

Hiding country, dress, and name;

And the night suits best for me,

For my powerful enemy

Can the first position claim

In the land. Since I avow

Why I hither have been led,

Listen now how I have sped

In my project until now.

I three days ago was brought

To this city in disguise,

For two nights, beneath the skies,

I my enemy have sought

In his street and at his door;

Twice a muffled figure came

And disturbed me in my aim,

Twice he called and stalked before

Him I followed in the street;

But when I the figure neared,

Suddenly he disappeared

As if wings were on his feet.

I this third night have brought you,

That should this mysterious shape

Come again, he sha'nt escape,

Being caught between us two;

Who he is we then can see.

PAUL. Two? who are they?

LUIS. You and I.

PAUL. I'm not one.

LUIS. Not one? How? Why?

PAUL. No, sir, no. I cannot be

One, nor half a one. These stories

Faith! would frighten fifty Hectors;

What know I of Lady Spectres,

Or of Lord Don Purgatories?

All through life I've kept aloof

From the other world's affairs,

Shunning much superfluous cares;

But, my courage put to proof,

Bid me face a thousand men,

And if I don't cut and run

From the thousand, nay, from one,

Never trust to me again.

For I think it quite a case

Fit for Bedlam, if so high,

That a man would rather die,

Than just take a little race.

Such a trifle! Sir, to me

Life is precious; leave me here,

Where you'd find me, never fear.

LUIS. Here's the house; to-night I'll be,

Philip, your predestined fate.

Now we'll see if heaven pretends

To defend him, and defends.--

Watch here, you, beside the gate.

* * * * *

SCENE II.

A Muffled Figure. -- LUIS and PAUL.

PAUL. There's no need to watch, for hither

Some one comes.

LUIS. A lucky mortal

Am I, if the hour draws nigh

That will two revenges offer.*

Since this night there then will be

Naught to interrupt my project,

Slaying first this muffled figure

And then Philip. Slow and solemn

Comes this man again. I know him

By his gait. But whence this horror

That comes o'er me as I see him,

This strange awe that chills, that shocks me?

[footnote] *Asonante in o -- e to the end of Scene VIII.

THE FIGURE. Luis Enius!

LUIS. Sir, I've seen you

Here the last two nights; your object?

If you call me, wherefore fly thus?

If 'tis me you seek, why mock me

By retiring?

THE FIGURE. Follow me,

Then you'll know my name.

LUIS. I'm stopped here

In this street by a little business.--

To be quite alone imports me.--

Wherefore first by killing you

I'll be free to kill another

[He draws his sword, but merely cuts the air.

Draw, then, draw your sword or not,

Thus the needful path I shorten

To two acts of vengeance. Heavens!

I but strike the air, cut nothing,

Sever nothing else. Quick! Paul,

Stop him as he stalks off yonder,

Near to you.

PAUL. I'm bad at stopping.

LUIS. Then your footsteps I will follow

Everywhere, until I learn

Who you are. [Aside.] (In vain his body

Do I strive to pierce. Oh, heavens!

Lightnings flash from off my sword here;

But in no way can I touch him,

As if sword and arm were shortened.)

[Exit following the figure, striking at it without touching it.

* * * * *

SCENE III.

PHILIP. -- PAUL.

PAUL [aside]. God be with you both! But scarce

Has one vanished, when another

Comes to haunt me. Why, I'm tempted

By strange phantoms and hobgoblins

Like another San Antonio:--

In this doorway I'll ensconce me,

Till my friend here kindly passes.

PHILIP. Love, ambitious, bold, deep-plotted,

With the favours of a kingdom

Me thou mak'st a prosperous lover.

To the desert fled Polonia,

Where, mid savage rocks and forests,

Citizen of mighty mountains,

Islander of lonely grottoes,

She doth dwell, to Lesbia leaving

Crown and kingdom; through a stronger

Greed than love I Lesbia court,--

For a queen is worth my homage.

From her trellis I have come,

From a sweet and pleasant converse.

But, what's this? Each night I stumble

On a man here at my doorstep.

Who is there?

PAUL [aside]. To me he's coming.

Why on earth should every goblin

Pounce on me?

PHILIP. Sir, Caballero.

PAUL. These are names I don't acknowledge;

He can't speak to ME.

PHILIP. This house

Is my home.

PAUL. Which I don't covet;

May you for an age enjoy it,

Without billets.

PHILIP. If important

Business in this street detains you

(Not a word whereon I offer),

Give me room that I may pass.

PAUL [aside]. Somewhat timid, though quite proper,

Goblins can be cowards too.--

Yes, sir, for a certain office

I am here; go in, and welcome;

I no gentleman would stop here

Bound for bed, nor is it right.

PHILIP. The condition I acknowledge.--

[Aside.

Well, fine spectres, to be sure,

Haunt this street: each night I notice

That a man here comes before me,

But when I approach him softly,

Hereabouts on my own threshold,

I, as now, have always lost him.

But what matters this to me?

[Exit.

[PAUL draws his sword and makes several flourishes.

PAUL. As he's gone, the right and proper

Thing is this:-- Stay, stay, cold shadow,

Whether you're a ghost or ghostess,

I can't reach it. Why, by heaven!

Air alone I cut and chop here.

But if this is he we wait for

In the night-time like two blockheads

Faith! he is a lucky fellow

To have got to bed so promptly.

But another noise I hear

Sounding from that dark street yonder.

'Tis of swords and angry voices:--

There I run to reconnoitre.

[Exit.

* * * * *

SCENE IV.

ANOTHER STREET.

The Muffled Figure and LUIS.

LUIS. Sir, already we have issued

From that street; if aught there stopped us,

We are here alone, and may

Hand to hand resume the combat.

And since powerless is my sword

Thee to wound, I throw me on thee

To know who thou art. Declare,

Art thou demon, man, or monster?

What! no answer? Then I thus

Dare myself to solve the problem,

[He tears the cloak from the Figure, and finds beneath it a skeleton.

And find out . . . . Oh, save me, heaven!

God! what's this I see? what horrid

Spectacle! What frightful vision!

What death-threatening fearful portent!

Stiff and stony corse, who art thou?

That of dust and ashes formed

Now dost live?

THE FIGURE. Not know thyself?

This is thy most faithful portrait;

I, alas! am Luis Enius.

[Disappears.*

[footnote] *The interview between Luis Enius and the Skeleton, says

a recent writer, "is a scene truly Calderonic -- the hour, the place,

the intended assassin, and the sudden reflection of himself, with his

guilty conscience impersonate before him; it reminds us of that wild

fable of Jeremy Taylor or Fuller, about the bird with a human face,

that feeds on human flesh until it chances to see its reflection in a

stream, and then it pines away for grief that it has killed its

fellow." -- WESTMINSTER REVIEW, vol. liv. p. 306.

LUIS. Save me, heaven! what words of horror!

Save me, heaven! what sight of woe!

Prey of shadows and misfortunes.

Ah, I die.

[He falls on the ground.

* * * * *

SCENE V.

PAUL. -- LUIS.

PAUL. It is the voice

Of my master. Succour cometh

Opportunely now in me.

Sir!

LUIS. Ah! why return, dread monster?

I am overwhelmed, I faint here

At your voice.

PAUL [aside]. God help his noddle!

He's gone mad! -- Dread monster? No,

[Aloud.

I am Juan Paul, that donkey

Who, not knowing why or wherefore,

Is your servant.

LUIS. Ah! good, honest

Paul, I knew you not, so frightened

Am I. But at that why wonder,

If myself I do not know?

Did you see a fearful corse here,

A dead body with a soul,

An apparent man supported

By his skeleton alone,

Bones from which the flesh had rotted,

Fingers rigid, gaunt, and cold,

Naked trunk, uncouth, abhorrent,

Vacant spaces whence the eyes,

Having fallen, left bare the sockets?--

Whither has he gone?

PAUL. If I

Saw that ghost, upon my honour,

I could never say I saw it;

For more dead than that dead body

I had fallen on the other side

At the moment.

LUIS. And no wonder;

For my voice was mute, my breath

Choked, my heart's warm beat forgotten,

Clothed with ice were all my senses,

Shod with lead my feet, my forehead

Cold with sweat, I saw suspended

Heaven's two mighty poles upon me,

The brief Atlases sustaining

Such a burden being my shoulders.

It appeared as if there started

Rocks from every tender blossom,

Giants from each opening rose;

For the earth's disrupted hollows

Wished from out their graves to cast

Forth the dead who lay there rotten;

Ah, among them I beheld

Luis Enius! Heaven be softened!

Hide me, hide me, from myself!

Bury me in some deep corner

Of earth's centre! Let me never

See myself, since no self-knowledge

Have I had! But now I have it;

Now I know I am that monster

Of rebellion, who defied,

In my madness, pride, and folly,

God Himself; the same, whose crimes

Are so numerous and so horrid,

That it were slight punishment,

If the whole wrath of the Godhead

Was outpoured on me, and whilst

God was God, eternal torments

I should have to bear in hell.

But I have this further knowledge,

They were done against a God

So divine, that He has promised

To grant pardon, if my sins

I with penitent tears acknowledge.

Such I shed; and, Lord, to prove

That to-day to be another

I begin, being born anew,

To Thy hands my soul I offer.

Not as a strict judge then judge me,

For the attributes of the Godhead

Are His justice and His mercy;

With the latter, not the former,

Judge me, then, and fix what penance

I shall do to gain that object.

What will be the satisfaction

Of my life?

[Music (within). The Purgatory.

LUIS. Bless me, heaven! what's this I hear?

A sweet strain divine and solemn;

It appears a revelation

From on high, since heaven doth often

Help mysteriously the sinner.

And since I herein acknowledge

A divine interposition,

I will go into the Purgatory,

Called, of Patrick, and fulfil,

Humbly, faithfully, the promise

Which I gave him long ago,

If it is my happy fortune

To see Patrick. If the attempt

Is, as rumour hath informed me,

Most terrific, since no human

Strength avails against the horrors

Of the place, or resolution

To endure the demons' torments,

Still my sins I must remember

Were as dreadful. Skilful doctors

Give for dangerous diseases

Dangerous remedies to stop them.--

Come, then, with me, Paul, and see

How here penitent and prostrate

At the bishop's feet I'll kneel,

And confess, for greater wonder,

All my awful sins aloud.

PAUL. Go alone, then, for that project,

Since so brave a man as you are

Has no need of an accomplice;

And there's no one I have heard of

Who e'er went to hell escorted

By his servant. I'll go home,

And live pleasantly in my cottage

Without care. If ghosts there be,

I'm content with matrimony.

[Exit.

LUIS. Public were my sins, and so

Public penance I will offer

In atonement. Like one crazed,

Crying in the crowded cross-ways,

I'll confess aloud my crimes.

Men, wild beasts, rude mountains, forests,

Globes celestial, flinty rocks,

Tender plants, dry elms, thick coppice,

Know that I am Luis Enius,

Tremble at my name, that monster

Once of pride, as now I am

Of humility the wonder.

I have faith and certain hope

Of great happiness before me,

If in God's great name shall Patrick

Aid me in the Purgatory.

[Exit.

* * * * *

SCENE VI.

A WOOD, IN THE CENTRE OF WHICH IS SEEN A MOUNTAIN, FROM WHICH POLONIA DESCENDS.

POLONIA.

POLONIA. To Thee, O Lord, my spirit climbs,

To Thee from every lonely hill

I burn to sacrifice my will

A thousand and a thousand times.

And such my boundless love to Thee

I wish each will of mine a living soul could be.

Would that my love I could have shown,

By leaving for Thy sake, instead

Of that poor crown that press'd my head,

Some proud, imperial crown and throne --

Some empire which the sun surveys

Through all its daily course and gilds with constant rays.

This lowly grot, 'neath rocks uphurled,

In which I dwell, though poor and small,

A spur of that stupendous wall,

The eighth great wonder of the world,

Doth in its little space excel

The grandest palace where a king doth dwell.

Far better on some natural lawn

To see the morn its gems bestrew,

Or watch it weeping pearls of dew

Within the white arms of the dawn;

Or view, before the sun, the stars

Drive o'er the brightening plain their swiftly-fading cars.

Far better in the mighty main,

As night comes on, and clouds grow grey,

To see the golden coach of day

Drive down amid the waves of Spain.

But be it dark, or be it bright,

O Lord! I praise Thy name by day and night.

Than to endure the inner strife,

The specious glare, but real weight

Of pomp, and power, and pride, and state,

And all the vanities of life;

How would we shudder could we deem

That life itself, in truth, is but a fleeting dream.

* * * * *

SCENE VII.

LUIS. -- POLONIA.

LUIS [aside]. True to my purpose on I go,

With footsteps firm and bosom brave,

Seeking for that mysterious cave

Wherein the pitying heavens will show

How I salvation there may gain,

By bearing in this life the Purgatorial pain.

[To POLONIA.

Tell me, O holy woman! thou

Who in these wilds a home hast found,

A dweller in this mountain ground

Obedient to some sacred vow,

Which is the road to Patrick's cave,

Where penitential man his soul in life may save?

POLONIA. O, happy traveller! who here

Hast come so far in storm and shine,

Within this treasury divine

To feel and find salvation near,

Well can I guide thee on thy way,

Since 'tis for this alone amid these wilds I stray.

Seest thou this mountain?

LUIS. Ah! I see

My death in it.

POLONIA [aside]. My heart grows cold.

Ah! who is this that I behold?

LUIS [aside]. I cannot think it. Is it she?

POLONIA [aside]. 'Tis Luis, now I know.

LUIS [aside]. Perhaps illusion it may be

To baffle my intent, and lead

My erring feet astray. -- [to POLONIA}. Proceed.

POLONIA [aside]. Say, can it be to conquer me

The common enemy doth send

This spectre here?

LUIS. You do not speak.

POLONIA. Attend.

This mighty mountain, rock bestrown,

Full well the dreaded secret knows;

But no one to its centre goes

By any path o'er land alone:

He who would see this wondrous cave

Must in a bark put forth and tempt the lake's dark wave.

[Aside.] I struggle with a wish to wreak

Revenge, which pity doth subdue.

LUIS [aside]. It doth my happiness renew

Once more to see and hear her speak.

POLONIA [aside]. Within me opposite thoughts contend.

LUIS [aside]. Ah, me! I die. -- You do not speak.

POLONIA. Attend.

This darksome lake doth all surround

The lofty mountain's rugged base,

And so to reach the awful place

An easy passage may be found:

A sacred convent in the island stands,

Midway between the mountain and the sands.

Some pious priests inhabit there,

And for this task alone they live,

With loving zeal to freely give

The helping hand, the strengthening prayer --

Confession, and the Holy Mass,

And every needful help to all who thither pass.

Telling them what they first must do,

Before they dare presume to go,

Alive, within the realm of woe.--

[Aside.] Let not this enemy subdue

My soul, O Lord!

LUIS [aside]. My hopes are fair.

Let me not feel, O Lord! the anguish of despair,

Seeing before my startled sight

My greatest, deepest crime arise;

Let not the fiend my soul that tries,

Subdue me in this dreadful fight.

POLONIA [aside]. 'Gainst what a powerful foe must I defend

Myself to-day!

LUIS. You do not speak.

POLONIA. Attend.

LUIS. With quicker speed your story tell,

For well I know my soul hath need

That I should go with swifter speed!

POLONIA. And me it doth import as well

That you should go away.

LUIS. Agreed.

Now, woman, point the way to where my path doth lead.

POLONIA. No one accompanied can brave

The terrors of this gloomy lake;

And so a skiff you needs must take,

And try alone the icy wave;

Being in that most trying strait

The absolute master of your acts and fate.

Come where within a secret cave

Beside the shore the boat doth lie,

And trusting in the Lord on high,

Embark upon the crystal wave

Of this remote lone inland sea.

LUIS. My life and all I have I place, O Lord! in Thee.

And so I trust me to the bark;

But, O my soul! what sight is here,

A coffin doth the bark appear;

And I upon the waters dark

Alone must cross the icy tide.

[He enters.

POLONIA. Oh! turn not back, but follow and confide

LUIS [within]. I've conquered! sweet Polonia's shade,

Since sight of thee has not undone

My shuddering soul.

POLONIA. And I have won,

Here in this Babylon delayed,

O'er wrath and rage the victory.

LUIS [within]. Thy feigned resemblance does not frighten me,

Though thou dost take a form

Might tempt my steps astray

And make me turn despairing from my way.

POLONIA. Thy fear doth badly thee inform,

Poor to be brave and rich to be afraid,

For I Polonia am, and not her shade,

The same that thou didst slay,

But who by God's decree

Restored to life, even in this misery,

Is happier far to-day.

LUIS [within]. Since I my sinful state

Confess, and feel too well its fearful weight,

Thy wrong, oh, pardon too!

POLONIA. I give it, and approve of thy design.

LUIS [within]. My faith, at least, I never will resign.

POLONIA. That grace will be thy safeguard.

LUIS [within]. Then, adieu!

POLONIA. Adieu!

LUIS [within]. May God in pity save.

POLONIA. And bring thee back victorious from the cave.

* * * * *

SCENE VIII.

THE ENTRANCE OF A CONVENT -- AT THE END THE CAVE OF PATRICK.

Two Canons Regular; afterwards Luis.

FIRST CANON. See, the waters of the lake

Move although no breeze doth blow:*

Without doubt to-day some pilgrim

Roweth to this island shore.

[footnote] *Single asonante in the long accented o, which is kept up

to the end of the Scene.

SECOND CANON. Come unto the strand to see

Who can be so brave and bold

As to seek our gloomy dwelling,

Crossing the dark waters o'er.

[Enter LUIS.

LUIS. Here my boat, my coffin, rather,

On the billows I bestow.

Who his sepulchre has ever

Steered, as I, through fire and snow?

What a pleasant spot is this!

Here has Spring, methinks, invoked

Flowers of high and low degree

To assemble at her court.

But this dismal mountain here,

How unlike the plain below!

Yet they are the better friends

By the contrasts that they show.

there the mournful birds of prey

Hoarsely croak, presaging woe,

Here the warblers in their joy

Charm us with their tuneful notes.

There the torrents leaping headlong

Fright us with their frenzied roar,

Here the crystal streamlets gliding

Mirror back the sun's bright gold.

Half way 'twixt that ugliness

And this beauty, I behold

A plain building whose grave front

Fear and love at once provokes.

FIRST CANON. Happy wanderer, who here

Hast arrived with heart so bold,

Come unto my arms.

LUIS. The ground

That you tread on suits me more.

Oh, for charity conduct me

To the Prior of your fold,

To the Abbot of this convent.

FIRST CANON. Though unworthy, you behold

Him in me. Speak. What's your wish?

LUIS. Father, if my name I told,

I'm afraid that swiftly flying,

With a terror uncontrolled,

You would leave me: for my works

Are so shocking to unfold,

That to see them not, the sun

Wraps him round in mourning robes.

I am an abyss of crimes,

A wild sea that has no shore;

I am a broad map of guilt,

And the greatest sinner known.

Yes, in me, to tell it briefly

In one comprehensive word

(Here my breath doth almost fail me),

Luis Enius behold!

I come here this cave to enter,

If for sins so manifold

Aught can ever satisfy,

Let my penance thus atone

To the Bishop of Hibernia

I've confessed, and am absolved,

Who informed of my intention

With a gracious love consoled

All my fears, and unto thee

Sent these letters I unfold.

FIRST CANON. Do not in a single day

Take, my son, a step so bold,

For these things require precaution

More than can at once be told.

Stay here as our guest some days,

Then at leisure we can both

See about it and decide.

LUIS. No, my father, no, oh, no!

Never from the ground I'll rise,

Where here prostrate I am thrown,

Till you grant to me this good.

It was God that touched my soul,

And inspired me to come here;

Not a vain desire to know,

Not ambition to find out

Secrets God, perchance, withholds.

Do not baffle this intention,

For the call is heaven's alone.

Oh, my father! yield in pity,

With me in my griefs condole,

Give my sorrows consolation,

Heal the anguish of my soul.

FIRST CANON. Luis, you have not considered

what you ask of me; you know

Nothing of the infernal torments

You must bear: to undergo

These your strength is insufficient.

Many are there, more the woe!

Who go in, but few, alas!

Who return.

LUIS. Your threats forebode

Much; but still they fright not me;

For I do protest, I go

But to purge away my sins,

Which if numbered are much more

Than the atoms of the sun

And the sands upon the shore.

I will ever have my hope

Firmly fixed upon the Lord,

At whose holy name even hell

Is subdued.

FIRST CANON. The fervid glow

Of your words compels me now

To unlock the awful doors.

Luis, you behold the cave:

See!

[He opens the mouth of the cave.

LUIS. Oh, save me, gracious God!

FIRST CANON. What! dismayed?

LUIS. No, not dismayed;

Still it scared me to behold.

FIRST CANON. I admonish you again,

For no lesser cause to go,

Than a firm belief that there

For your sins you may atone.

LUIS. Father, I am in the cave:

Listen to my voice once more,

Men and wild beasts, skies and mountains,

Day and night, and sun and moon,

To you all I here protest,

Ay, a thousand times make known,

That I enter here to suffer

Torments for my sins untold;

For so great, so dread a penance

Is but little to atone

For such sins as mine, believing

That the cave salvation holds.

FIRST CANON. Enter then, and in your mouth,

As within your heart's deep core,

Be the name of Jesus.

LUIS. Be

With me, Lord, O gracious Lord,

For here, armed but with Thy faith,

I am pitted 'gainst my foe

In the open field. That name

Will my enemy o'erthrow.

Crossing myself many times

I advance. Oh, save me, God!

[He enters the cave which they close.

FIRST CANON. Of the many who have entered

None has equal courage shown.

Oh, enable him, just Jesus,

To resist the demon host

And their wiles, relying ever

Upon Thee, divinest Lord.

[Exeunt.

* * * * *

SCENE IX.

LESBIA, PHILIP, LEOGAIRE, The Captain, and POLONIA.

LESBIA. Before we reach the place,

Whither you wish to lead us, for a space

Let us say why we came

To see you here to-day: a definite aim

All of us here has brought.

POLONIA. Speak as we go whatever be your thought,

Still following where I lead,

For I a sight that doth all sights exceed

Will bring you here to see.

LESBIA. What, then, our wishes were you hear from me.

Polonia, you desired

In this wild mountain waste to live retired,

Making of me the heir,

While living, of your kingdom. I would share

With you in turn my plans, however small,

And so I hither come to tell you all.

My will is in your hands;

I ask not counsel, sister, but commands.

A single woman scarce can ever be

Strong through advice, and of necessity

She must be married.

POLONIA. Yes; and if your choice

Has fallen on Philip I may well rejoice,

For then to me you'll owe

Both crown and husband.

PHILIP. May you live whilst glow

The sun's bright beams, that orb which dies at night,

And Phoenix of its rays is born with morning's light.

POLONIA. Then since you thus have gained

Your wish, ye two, now free and unconstrained,

Listen to what I tell,

And all who hear me listen too, as well.

With all the outward show

Of fervour came a man, whom we all know,

Seeking for Patrick's cave,

To enter there, and so his soul to save.

He entered it, and cometh forth today,

And 'tis because my terror and dismay

Are balanced by my wonder, that with me

I bring you to behold this holy prodigy.

I do not tell you who he is lest fear

Should so my heart make craven, that I ne'er

Could reach the end I sought:--

'Tis for this object that you here are brought.

LESBIA. It is but only right

That I should mingle terror with delight.

POLONIA. If strength from him hath fled,

And he extended in the cave lies dead,

At least 'twill show

His punishment; and if he comes, we'll know

The mystery that is here;

If safe he comes, who cometh forth, through fear

Perchance he may not speak,

But, flying men, some solitude may seek

To live and die alone.

LEOGAIRE. What mighty mysteries lie here unknown.

CAPTAIN. The time is opportune that we come here,

For the religious whom we see draw near,

All bathed in tears, now go

To the cave's mouth in solemn, silent row

To throw the gates aside.

* * * * *

SCENE X.

The procession advances to the cave; the gates are opened by the

Prior and his assistants. LUIS ENIUS comes forth, astonished.-- THE

SAME.

PRIOR. And those of heaven, O Lord, keep open wide

To penitent tears and sighs.

May this poor sinner from these dungeons rise,

This dark and dismal place,

Where never shines the radiance of Thy face.

POLONIA. The gate is opened.

PRIOR. Oh, what happiness!

PHILIP. 'Tis Luis!

LUIS. Bless me, heaven! in pity bless!

Ah! is it possible that I am here

Again on earth after so many a year,

And that once more I see

The light of the sun?

CAPTAIN. How rapt!

LEOGAIRE. How dazed is he!

PRIOR. Embrace us all, my son.

LUIS. My arms were prison chains to every one.

Polonia, since thou'rt here,

Thy pity I may claim without a fear.

And thou, O Philip, know

That thrice an angel saved thee from the blow

Of my sharp sword: two nights I watched for thee

To slay thee; may my error pardoned be.

Now flying from myself, oh, let me hide,

And in some wilderness abide --

Far from the world in solitude and pain,

For he who saw what I have seen would feign,

So suffering live, so die.

PRIOR. Then on the part of God, O Enius! I

Command thee what thou hast seen at once to say.

LUIS. So sacred a command I must obey:--

And that the startled world may now begin

A better course, and man from mortal sin

My words may waken like some midnight wail,

Listen, O grave assembly to my tale.

After all the preparations,

Fit and solemn were effected,*

Which in such a perilous case

Might be needed and expected,

And when I from all around me,

Firm in faith, with courage strengthened,

Tenderly farewell had taken

This dark cavern here to enter,

I my trust reposed in God,

And my lips repeating ever

Those mysterious, mystic words,

At which even the demons tremble,

I then placed me on the threshold,

Where, until, as I expected,

They would close the gate, I stood.

It was closed, and I remember

Then I found me in black night,

Whence the light was so ejected,

That I closed on it mine eyes.

(A strange way it seems, but certain

To see better in the dark.)

With my lids thus closed together

On I went, and felt a wall

Which in front of me extended;

And by following it, and groping

For about the length of twenty

Paces, came upon some rocks,

And perceived through a small crevice

Of this rugged mountain wall

That a doubtful glimmer entered

Of a light that was not light,

As when the day the dark disperses,

If 'tis morning, or not morning,

Oft the twilight is uncertain.

With light steps a path pursuing,

By the left-hand side I entered,

When I felt a strange commotion;

The firm earth began to tremble,

And upheaving 'neath my feet,

Ruin and convulsion threatened.

Stupified I stopped there, when

With a voice which woke my senses

From forgetfulness and fainting,

Loud a thunder-clap re-echoed,

And the ground on which I stood

Bursting open in the centre,

It appeared as if I fell

To a depth where I lay buried

In the loosened stones and earth

Which had after me descended.

Then I found me in a hall

Built of jasper, where the presence

Of the chisel was made known

By its ornate architecture.

Through a door of bronze twelve men

Then advanced and came directly

Where I stood, who, clothed alike

In unspotted snow-white dresses,

With a courteous air received me,

And too humbly did me reverence.

One, who seemed to be among them

The superior, said: "Remember

That in God you place your faith,

And that you be not dejected

In your battle with the demons;

For if moved by what they threaten,

Or may promise, you turn back,

You will have to dwell for ever

In the lowest depths of hell

Amid torments most excessive."

Angels were these men for me,

And so greatly was I strengthened

By their counsel and advice

That revived I once more felt me.

On a sudden then the whole

Hall unto mine eyes presented

Nothing but infernal visions,

Fallen angels, the first rebels,

And in forms so horrible,

So disgusting, that resemblance

It would be in vain to look for;

And one said to me: "Demented

Reckless fool, who here hast wished

Prematurely to present thee

To thy destined punishment,

And the pains that thou deservest;

If thy sins are so immense,

That thyself must needs condemn them,

Since thou in the eye of God

Never can have hope of mercy,

Why has thou come here thyself

To endure them? Back to earth, then,

Go, oh! go, and end thy life;

And as thou hast lived, so perish.

Then again thou'lt come to see us;

For hath hell prepared already

That dread seat in which thou must

Sit for ever and for ever."--

I did answer not a word;

And then giving me some heavy

Blows, my hands and feet they bound,

Tieing them with thongs together,

And then caught and wounded me

With sharp hooks of burning metal,

Dragging me through all the cloisters,

Where they lit a fire and left me

Headlong plunged amid the flames.

I but cried, "O Jesus! help me."

At the words the demons fled,

And the fire went out and ended

Then they brought me to a plain

Where the blackened earth presented

Fruits of thistles and of thorns,

'Stead of pink and rose sweet scented.

Here a biting wind passed by,

Which with subtle sharpness entered

Even my bones, whose faintest breath

Like the keenest sword-edge cleft me.

Here in the profoundest depths

Sadly, mournfully lamented

Myriad souls, their parents cursing

From whose loins they had descended.

Such despairing shrieks and cries,

Such blaspheming screams were blended,

Such atrocious oaths and curses

So repeated and incessant,

That the very demons shuddered.

I passed on, and in a meadow

Found me next, whose plants and grasses

Were all flames, which waved and bent them,

As when in the burning August

Wave the gold ears all together.

So immense it was, the sight

Never could make out where ended

This red field, and in it lay

An uncountable assemblage

All recumbent in the fire;

Through their bodies and their members

Burning spikes and nails were driven;

These with feet and hands extended

Were held nailed upon the ground,

Vipers of red fire the entrails

Gnawed of some; while others lying,

With their teeth in maniac frenzy

Bit the earth; and some there were

Piecemeal who themselves dismembered,

And who seemed to die, but only

To revive and die for ever.

There the ministers of death

Flung me from them bound and helpless,

But at the sweet name of Jesus

All their fury fled and left me.

I passed on, and found me where

Some were cured, by a strange method,

Of their cruel wounds and torments;

Lead and burning pitch were melted,

And being poured upon their sores

Made a cautery most dreadful.

Who that hears me will not mourn?

Who that hears this awful lesson

Will not sigh and will not weep,

Will not fear and will not tremble?

Then I saw a certain building,

Out of which bright rays extended

From the windows and the doors,

As when conflagration settles

On a house, the flame bursts forth

Where an opening is presented.

"This," they told me, "is the villa

Of delights, the bath of pleasures,

The abode of the luxurious,

Where are punished all those women

Who were in the other life,

From frivolity excessive,

Too much given to scented waters,

Unguents, rouges, baths, and perfumes."--

I went in, and there beheld,

In a tank of cold snow melted,

Many lovely women bathing,

With an upturned look of terror;

Underneath the water they

Were the prey of snakes and serpents,

For the fishes and the sirens

Of this sea they represented;

In the clear transparent crystal

Stiff and frozen were their members,

Icy hard their hair was lifted,

Chattering struck their teeth together.

Passing out, the demons brought me

To a mountain so tremendous

In its height, that as it rose

Through the sky its peak dissevered,

If it did not tear and rend,

The vast azure veil celestial;

In the middle of this peak

A volcano stood, which, belching

Flames, appeared as if to spit them

In the very face of heaven.

From this burning cone, this crater,

Fire at intervals ascended

In which issued many souls,

Who again its womb re-entered,

Oft repeating and renewing

This ascending and descending.

At this time a scorching wind

Caught me when I least expected,

Blowing me from where I stood,

So that instantly it set me

In the depths of that abyss.

I too was shot up: a second

Wind-gust came, that with it brought

Myriad legions, who impelled me

Rudely to another part,

Where it seemed I saw assembled

All the other souls I had seen,

But who here were all collected;

And though this was the abode

Where the pains were most excessive,

I remarked that all therein

Faces bore of glad expression,

Countenances calm and sweet,

No impatience in their gestures

Or their words; but with their eyes

Fixed on heaven, as if thus set there

To ask mercy, ever weeping

Tears of tenderness and penance.

That it was the Purgatory

I at once by this detected,

Where the happy souls are purged from

Their more venial offences.

I was not subdued even here,

Though the demons stormed and threatened

Me the more: I rather felt

By the sight renewed and strengthened.

Then they, seeing that they could not

Shake my constancy, presented

To my eyes their greatest torments,

That which is in an especial

Sense called hell; and so they brought me

To a river, all the herbage

Of whose banks was flowers of fire,

And whose stream was sulphur melted;

The dread monsters of its tide

Were the hydras and the serpents;

It was very wide, and o'er it

Was a narrow bridge suspended,

Which but seemed a line, no more,

And so delicate and slender

That in my opinion no one

Without breaking it could ever

Pass across. "Look here," they said,

"By this narrow way 'tis destined

Thou must cross; see thou the means.

And for thy o'erwhelming terror

See how those have fared who tried

Before thee." and then directly

I saw those who tried to pass

Fall into the stream, where serpents

Tore them in a thousand pieces

With their claws and teeth's sharp edges.

I invoked the name of God,

And could dare with it to venture

To the other side to pass,

Without yielding to the terror

Of the winds and of the waves,

Though they fearfully beset me.

Yes I passed, and in a wood,

So delightful and so fertile,

Found me, that in it I could,

After what had passed, refresh me.

On my way as I advanced,

Cedars, palms, their boughs extended,

Trees of paradise indeed,

As I may with strictness term them;

All the ground being covered over

With the rose and pink together

Formed a carpet, in whose hues

White and green and red were blended.

There the amorous song-birds sang

Tenderly their sweet distresses,

Keeping, with the thousand fountains

Of the streams, due time and measure.

Then upon my vision broke

A great city, proud and splendid,

Which had even the sun itself

For its towers' and turrets' endings;

All the gates were of pure gold,

Into which had been inserted

Exquisitely, diamonds, rubies,

Topaz, chrysolite, and emerald.

Ere I reached the gates they opened,

And the saints in long procession

Solemnly advanced to meet me,

Men and women, youths and elders,

Boys and girls and children came,

All so joyful and contented.

Then the seraphim and angels,

In a thousand choirs advancing,

To their golden instruments

Sang the symphonies of heaven;

After them at last approached

The most glorious and resplendent

Patrick, the great patriarch,

Who his gratulations telling

That I had fulfilled my word

Ere I died, as he expected,

He embraced me; all displaying

Joy and gladness in my welfare.

Thus encouraged he dismissed me,

Telling me no mortal ever,

While in life, that glorious city

Of the saints could hope to enter;

That once more unto the world

I should go my days to end there.

Finally my way retracing,

I came back, quite unmolested

By the dark infernal spirits,

And at last the gate of entrance

Having reached, you all came forward

To receive me and attend me.

And since I from so much danger

Have escaped, oh! deign to let me,

Pious fathers, here remain

Till my life is happily ended.**

[footnote] *Asonante in e--e, which is kept up to the end.

[footnote] **For the account of St. Patrick's Purgatory, as given by

Messingham, see Notes.

* * * * *

For with this the history closes,

As it is to us presented

By Dionysius the Carthusian,

With Henricus Salteriensis,

Matthew Paris, Ranulph Higden,

And Caesarius Heisterbacensis,

Marcus Marulus, Mombritius,

David Rothe, the prudent prelate,

And Vice-Primate of all Ireland,

Belarminus, Dimas Serpi,

Bede, Jacobus, and Solinus,

Messingham, and to express it

In a word, the Christian faith

And true piety that defend it.

For the play is ended where

Its applause, I hope, commences.*

[footnote] *For an explanation of this list of names, now for the

first time correctly printed, see Note on "The authorities for the

Legend, as given by Calderon."

THE END.

* * * * *

NOTES.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE II., p. 247.

"Patrick is my name, my country

Ireland, and an humble hamlet

Scarcely known to men, called 'Empthor',

Is my place of birth."

The passage in the original is as follows:--

"Mi propio nombre es Patricio,

Mi patria Irland o Hibernia,

Mi pueblo 'es Tax.'"

'Hartzenbusch', t. I, p. 150.

This is the reading of all the editions, and has been adopted in the

German translation of the drama by Al. Jeitteles (Brunn, 1824).

"Tax" looks very unlike the name of a village, and it appears to me

to be simply a misprint. The whole of this speech of St. Patrick is

taken from the 'Vida y Purgatorio' of Juan Perez de Montalvan. The

description of St. Patrick's birth-place, as given by Montalvan, is

as follows:-- "En cuya jurisdicion ay un Pueblo, de pocos moradores,

Ilamado "Emptor". Aqui nacio un moco," etc. (edition of 1664, f. I.)

It is quite plain that "es Tax" in Calderon's play is an easily

understood misprint for the "Emptor" of Montalvan.

"Mi patria Irlanda o Hibernia,

Mi pueblo Emptor,"

even metrically, is a better reading than --

"Mi patria Irlanda o Hibernia,

Mi pueblo es Tax."

In the hymn of St. Fiacc, a contemporary of the Apostle, the

birthplace of St. Patrick is said to have been at "Empthor," or

"Nemthur," as it is sometimes printed. The same locality is assigned

to it in the "Tripartite Life of Saint Patrick", but considerable

controversy has arisen as to the exact position of the place. See

"The Life of Saint Patrick", by P. Lynch, Dublin, 1828: "St. Patrick,

Apostle of Ireland", by J. H. Todd, D.D. (1864); and "The Life of St.

Patrick", by M. F. Cusack, Kenmare, Co. Kerry (1869), a most

elaborate and very beautiful work.

SCENE II., p. 252.

This long address of Patrick is founded on the following passages of

the story as originally told in Montalvan's "Vida y Purgatorio de San

Patricio", Madrid, 1627. The translation is made as literal as

possible, to show how closely Calderon followed even the language of

Montalvan.

Chapter I. -- "Between the north and west is situated the Island of

Hibernia, or Ireland, as it is at present more usually called. It

was once known as the Island of Saints, because its inhabitants were

ever ready to shed their blood in the lists of martyrdom, which is

the highest proof of courage which the Faithful can give; since life

being so dear to us, it is a most heroic act for the sake of religion

to offer it to the sacrilegious hands of a tyrant that only lives in

seeing others die.

"In this island there was a village with a few inhabitants, called

Emptor, which the sea, like a cincture of snow, not only encircled

but appeared to bind. Here was born a youth of such virtuous

dispositions that he seemed to belie the promise of his years, since

virtue and adolescence are not easily reconciled. He gave himself

much to the reading of the Lives of the Saints, of whose exercises he

was a great imitator, very fearful of those snares which lie in the

way of youth, and which, though he escaped, he was not without a

disposition to fall into." . . . .

[This youth was St. Patrick's father, who married Conchessa, a French

lady, as mentioned by Calderon, who, in the older Lives of St.

Patrick, is said to have been the sister of St. Martin of Tours.

After the birth of Patrick, St. Conchessa, his mother, retired to a

convent, and his father became a priest. The story then continues.]

"Patrick remained in his early years under the tutelage of his aunt,

and God was so desirous of showing to the world the favours with

which He had pre-determined to honour that pure soul, that He did not

wait for the time when Patrick would be of an age to ask for them;

since before he could speak the words God declared Himself his

friend. For a blind man, Gormas (a neighbour of his in that

village), heard one day a voice in the air which said to him, that ifhe

went to Patrick (a child recently baptised), who would with his right

hand make the sign of the cross upon his eyes, he would be restored

to sight. He did so, and saw: God no doubt to foreshadow by this the

great things that he would eventually work through this His servant.

And this predestination, as it were, He made more remarkable by

another miracle, which, if it was not greater, was more acknowledged

and more widely known from the number of persons who were astonished

at beholding it. In a certain year, it happened that such a quantity

of snow had fallen from heaven, so great was the extent of the thaw

when the sun melted it, that the water covered all the ground, and

grew to the dimensions of a lake, which, spreading into the village,

inundated all the houses, putting even that of Patrick in the

greatest danger. But he, being then only ten years old, with a

lively and courageous faith made the sign of the cross upon the

waters, and in the sight of all compelled them to retire into the bed

of the sea, the land remaining as dry and as free from snow as in the

height of summer. . . . .

"One morning, being about the age of sixteen years, as he stood by

the shore of the sea, reciting the Psalter with some of his

companions, certain pirates made a sudden descent upon the coast, and

having seized them, re-embarked immediately through fear of being

baulked of their prize. Patrick was brought to a remote extremity of

Ireland, and, like another Joseph, was sold to a prince of that

island, who, thinking him fit for nothing else, gave to him the care

of his sheep. This was an occupation very agreeable to Patrick, for

as love can avow itself more openly in solitude, he spent all the

night and all the day in loving and conversing with God, making

altars of the rocks and of the flowers, on which to make to Him the

entire sacrifice of his heart.

"The astonishing increase of the flock, which multiplied every day

beneath his charge, soon became known to his master, who, being one

night asleep, saw among the obscure visions of his dreams his slave

Patrick rejoicing and surrounded by a great light, from whose mouth

issued a beautiful and resplendent flame, which touching his two

daughters, who he thought were by his side, burned them and reduced

them to ashes, leaving himself alone untouched by that sweet and

amorous flame. Frightened at such an astonishing vision, scarcely

had the day come, when he sent for his slave and related to him what

had occurred, asking him to explain the mystery of that terrible

dream. To which Patrick replied, with great tranquillity, that the

flame which he had seen come from his mouth could only be the Faith

of the most Holy Trinity, which for a long time he had desired to

preach to him and his daughters. And further, that it was because

this doctrine would make no impression on his soul the flame refused

to touch him, he dying blind in his infidelity. But because his

daughters would eventually be convinced of the truth, God permitted

them to be burned by the flame of His Faith and His Love, so as to

fulfil the end for which they were created. With this Patrick took

leave of his master and returned to his flock, leaving him so

confused that he did not know whether he should punish him for what

he had announced; all which happened in the manner the saint had

predicted.

"In this way he lived some years, and our Lord, seeing that the

solitude in which His servant passed his life in the fields was very

great, sent to him as a companion his guardian angel, Victor, to whom

he could communicate his thoughts, and from whom he would receive

consolation in his slavery. But one night, being engaged in prayer,

and yielding his spirit to a divine ecstasy and rapture, he saw as in

a mirror a man of dignified appearance, whose dress gave him to

understand that he was of the same country as himself. This

personage seemed to be the bearer of a letter, the superscription of

which Patrick approaching to read, he saw these words: -- 'The voice

of the Irish people'. And as he hastened to open the letter to see

its contents, it seemed that within it were all the inhabitants of

Ireland, men, women, and children, even the little infants, all

crying out to him and saying, "Patrick, Patrick, we implore that you

will come to us and free us from this slavery." The Saint upon this

awoke, and consulting his angel, asked him to be released from his

captivity, since he had a great desire to return to his country and

assist those who had such need of him." -- 'Vida y Purgatorio de S.

Patricio', per el Doctor Juan Perez de Montalvan. Madrid, 1628, and

Madrid, 1664.

[The visit to St. Germain in France is then described: his residence

with St. Martin of Tours, the journey to Rome, and all the other

events follow in detail, which Montalvan collected from Messingham,

Messingham's chief authority being the Life of St. Patrick, by

Jocelin. These are all briefly epitomised in the address of the

Angel Victor, as given by Calderon at the end of the first act.]

SCENE II., p. 262.

The story of Luis Enius, as given by Calderon in this long address,

seems to be entirely the invention of Montalvan. It is told in the

sixth chapter of his "Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio", and in the

edition of 1628 fills over forty pages. Calderon follows the

narrative very closely, but in one noticeable incident he greatly

improves upon his predecessor. This is in the celebrated skeleton

scene of the third act. The corresponding scene in Montalvan's story

is puerile enough. In Montalvan Luis Enius has no interview with the

skeleton, so powerfully described by Calderon. His conversion is

effected by a floating piece of paper which had eluded his grasp for

two nights, but which he seized on the third, and examined by a

mysterious light at the foot of a cross. On the paper he perceived

the representation of a skull, under which is written, "I am Luis

Enius". How utterly ineffective and commonplace this is compared

with the fine scene in Calderon need not be pointed out.

The story of the vision of himself at Lerici, as recorded in some of

the lives of the poet Shelley, which is almost identical with that in

Calderon, was evidently suggested by this scene. Shelley's reference

to the "Purgatorio de San Patricio" in a note to "The Cenci" shows

the attention with which he read this drama. The "Embozado" which

Captain Medwin and others supposed to be the name of one of

Calderon's dramas, and which, as might be expected, Washington Irving

vainly looked for in Spain, was the "Hombre embozado," the "Muffled

Figure" of Calderon's "Purgatorio de San Patricio", act 3, scene i.

A vivid description of this scene by Shelley to one of his friends

may have been mistaken for a circumstance that had actually happened

to the poet himself.

SCENE VIII.

The "Athenaeum", in its elaborate review of the earlier translation

of this drama, thus writes:--

"With the prayer of St. Patrick considerable licence has been taken;

but its spirit is well preserved, and the translator's poetry must be

admired.

"PATRICK. Thou art of all created things,

O Lord, the essence and the cause --

The source and centre of all bliss;

What are those veils of woven light,

Where sun and moon and stars unite --

The purple morn, the spangled night --

But curtains which thy mercy draws

Between the heavenly world and this?

The terrors of the sea and land --

When all the elements conspire,

The earth and water, storm and fire --

Are but the shadows of thy hand;

Do they not all in countless ways --

The lightning's flash -- the howling storm --

The dread volcano's awful blaze --

Proclaim thy glory and thy praise?

Beneath the sunny summer showers

Thy love assumes a milder form,

And writes its angel name in flowers;

The wind that flies with winged feet

Around the grassy gladdened earth,

Seems but commissioned to repeat

In echo's accents -- silvery sweet --

That thou, O Lord, didst give it birth.

There is a tongue in every flame --

There is a tongue in every wave --

To these the bounteous Godhead gave

These organs but to praise his name!

O mighty Lord of boundless space,

Here canst thou be both sought and found --

For here in everything around,

Thy presence and thy power I trace.

With Faith my guide and my defence,

I burn to serve in love and fear;

If as a slave, Oh, leave me here!

If not, O Lord, remove me hence!"

The "Athenaeum", Oct. 26, 1853.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE X.

The account of St. Patrick's Purgatory given by Luis Enius in this

long narrative is taken immediately from the seventh, eighth, and

ninth chapters of Montalvan's "Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio",

which, as already stated, are themselves a translation from the

"Florilegium Insulae Sanctorum" of Messingham. The following

extracts are taken from the tract referred to in the Introduction,

the full title of which is as follows:--

"A BRIEF HISTORY OF SAINT PATRICK'S PURGATORY, AND ITS PILGRIMAGE.

Collected out of Ancient Historians. Written in Latin by the

Reverend MR. THOMAS MESSINGHAM, formerly Superior of the Irish

Seminary in Paris. [Paris, 1624.]

"And now made English in favour of those who are curious to know the

Particulars of that Famous Place and Pilgrimage so much celebrated by

Antiquity.

"Printed at Paris, 1718."

"CHAPTER IV.

"Of the Penitent Soldier, his going into this Purgatory, and of the

Messengers sent from God unto him.

"There was a certain Soldier called Owen, who had for many years

served in King Stephen's Army. This Man, having obtained Licence

from the King, came to the North of Ireland, his Native Country, to

visit his Parents; and when he had continued there for some time, he

began to reflect upon the wickedness of the Life he had led from his

Infancy; upon his Plundering and Burning in the Army; and (which

grieved him more) upon the many sacrileges he had been guilty of in

Robbing and Spoiling Churches; together with many other Enormous

hidden Sins. Being then interiorly moved to repentance, he went to a

certain Bishop in that country, and Confess'd all his Sins unto him.

The Bishop severely reproved him, and let him know how grievously he

had provoked God's indignation. The Soldier hereupon being

exceedingly sorrowful, resolved to do penance suitable to the

greatness of [his] Sins. For the People of that country have this

Naturally, that as they are more prone to evil thro' Ignorance than

Men of other Countries,* so are they more ready and willing to do

penance, when they are made sensible of the Enormity of their Sins.

When the Bishop wou'd then enjoin him such penance as he thought

reasonable, the Soldier answered: "Since you say that I have offended

God so grievously, I will undergo a penance more grievous than any

other whatsoever. I will go into St. Patrick's Purgatory". The

Bishop, to diswade him from so bold an attempt, related unto him, how

many had perished in that Place; but the Soldier, who never feared

any danger, wou'd not be diswaded. The Bishop advised him to take

the Habit of the Canon Regulars, or that of the Monks; and the

Soldier declared he wou'd do neither till he had first gone into the

said Purgatory. Whereupon the Bishop, perceiving he was inflexible

and Truely penitent, wrote by him to the Prior of the place and

charged him to deal with the Soldier, as was usually done with those,

who desire to enter this Purgatory. The Prior, upon perusal of the

Bishop's Letter, after that he had observed all the other Formalities

required, conducted the Soldier into the Church, where he passed the

accustomed time of fifteen days in Fast and Prayer. Then the Prior

having celebrated

Mass gave him the Sacrament, called together his own Brethern, and

the Neighbouring Clergy, conducted him to the door of the Cave,

sprinkled him with Holy-water, and made him this speech.-- "Behold

thou shalt now enter in here, in the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ,

and shalt walk thro' the Hollow of this Cave, till thou comest to a

Field, where thou shalt find a Hall artificially wrought; into which

when thou hast enter'd thou shalt find Messengers sent from God, who

shall tell thee in Order what thou art to do, and to suffer. When

these are gone and thou alone in the Hall, Evil Spirits will

immediately come to tempt thee; For so it happen'd to other that went

in here before thee, but be thou of Manly courage, and Stedfast in

the Faith of Jesus Christ."

[footnote] *It should be mentioned that this unfavourable opinion of

the Irish people is quoted by Messingham from the MS. of Henry of

Saltrey, an English monk, who appears never to have been in Ireland.

"The Soldier, who fear'd no Colours, was no way frighten'd at what

happen'd to others, having often before, Arm'd with Steel, fought

against Men, now arm'd with Faith, Hope and Charity, and confiding in

God's Mercy, went on boldly to fight against Devils; so recommending

himself to all their Prayers, and making the Sign of the Cross on his

Forehead, courageously enter'd the Door, which the Prior Locked on

the outside and Return'd in Procession with his Clergy to the Church.

"The Soldier, being desirous to War a new and an unusual Warfare,

marched on boldly through the Cave, tho' alone, where the Darkness

thickening upon him, he lost all manner of Light. Soon after a

little glimmering light appear'd thro' the Cave, which led him to the

Field and Hall aforesaid. Now there was no more light in this Hall

than we usually have in winter after Sun-set. The hall had no Walls,

but was supported by Pillars and Arches on every Side, after the

Manner of the Cloyster of a Monastry. Walking awhile in this Hall,

and admiring the Beauty of its Structure, he saw the Inclosure, whose

Structure he also admired as being more Beautiful. Wherefore having

gone into it he sat down, and Casting his Eyes about him to take a

full View, he observed fifteen Men clad in white Garments, shorn and

dress'd like Monks, coming in, who saluted him in the name of the

Lord, and sat down. Then after a short pause, he that seem'd to be

their Prior and Chief, spoke to him after this Manner: 'Blessed be

the Omnipotent God, who put the good purpose into thy Heart of coming

into this Purgatory for the cleansing of thy sins: But if thou doest

not behave thyself Manly, thou shalt perish both Body and Soul. For

immediately after we leave this House there will come a multitude of

unclean Spirits, who shall inflict great Torments upon thee, and

threaten thee with greater: They will promise to lead thee to the

Door, by which thou hast enter'd in here, to see if by this means

they might deceive thee, and get thee to go out. And if thou be

overcome by the violence of their Torments, or frightened by their

Threats, or deceiv'd by their Promise, and consent to their Demands,

thou shalt be destroy'd both Body and Soul. But if thou be strong in

Faith, and trust in the Lord, so as not to yield to their Torments,

or Threats, or Promise; but despise them with a generous Heart, thou

shalt not only be purged of all thy Sins, but shall also see the

Torments which Sinners endure, and the Place of Rest and Bliss which

the Just enjoy. Have God then always before thine Eyes, and as often

as they Torment thee, call upon our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the

Invocation of His Name, thou shalt be deliver'd from whatever Torment

thou art in. Lay all these Things up in thy Mind quickly; for we can

stay here no longer, but recommend thee to Almighty God.'

"So having given the Soldier their Blessing, they departed."

"CHAPTER V.

"Of the Coming of the Devils, and of the first Torment which the

Soldier endured.

"The Soldier being thus left alone by the Holy Men, began to exercise

himself for a new kind of Warfare, and having put on the Armour of

Christ, stoutly waited for him, among the Devils, who shou'd first

provoke him to Battle. He put on the Coat of Mail of Justice, girt

his Mind, as he wou'd his Head, with the Helmet of the Hope of

Victory and of eternal Salvation, cover'd his Breast with the Shield

of Faith, and armed his Hand with the Sword of the Spirit, which is

the Word of God, devoutly calling upon Jesus Christ, that being

defended by this Royal Fortress, his insulting Enemies might not

conquer him. Nor did Divine Providence, which always protects those

who trust in it, fail him. Being then, as aforesaid, sitting alone

in the Inclosure, and with an undaunted Courage waiting for a Battle

with the Devils, he heard all of a sudden so great a Noise as if all

the Earth had been turn'd upside down: And indeed, if all the Men,

and all the living creatures on Earth, in the Sea, and Air, had

bellowed out together, it seemed to him, they cou'd not make a

greater Noise: so that, had he not been protected by Divine Virtue,

and happily instructed by the aforesaid Holy man, he wou'd infallibly

have lost his Senses. But Lo, after this horrid Sound, there

followed a sight of Devils more horrid; for there appear'd an

innumerable multitude of Devils, in ugly frightful shapes; who

saluted him in a fleering manner and said: 'Other Men who serve us,

do not come to our Habitation till after Death; but thou art pleased

to Honour our Company so much, as that thou wouldst not, like others

wait for Death; but hast alive delivered both Body and Soul unto us:

Thou has done this, that thou mayst receive the greater Reward from

us: Thou shalt then be abundantly rewarded as thou hast deserv'd.

Thou art come hither to be tortur'd for thy Sins; thou shalt then

have what thou seekest, that is, Pressures and Grief. Yet for as

much as thou hast hitherto served us, if thou wilt follow our

Counsel, and return from whence thou camest, we will for thy reward

lead thee safe to the Door by which thou hast enter'd in here; that

thou mayest live joyfully in the World, and not lose the sweet things

which thy Body is capable to enjoy.'

"All these things they said with an intent to deceive him, either

with Terror or Flattery. But the stout Soldier of Jesus Christ was

not shaken by Terror, nor seduced by Flattery; and therefore

contemned with an equal Mind, as well those that wou'd terrifie, as

those that wou'd flatter him, in making them no Answer.

"The Devils, perceiving they had been despised by the Soldier, cast

up a prodigious flame; and having tyed him Head and Foot, cast him

into the Fire, and with Iron Crooks dragg'd him to and fro, making a

most hideous Noise. Then the Soldier having on the Armour of God,

and remembering the Documents given him by the Holy Men, neither

forgetting the Arms of his Spiritual Warfare, called upon the Name of

his pious Redeemer, saying: Jesus Christ have pity upon me.

Whereupon he was so fully deliver'd from the said Flames, that the

least spark of all that great Fire did not appear. The Soldier

perceiving this mighty delivery, became more bold, and resolv'd to

fear no more those whom he saw so easily overcome by calling for the

Assistance of Jesus Christ."

"CHAPTER VI.

"Of the Four Penal Fields to which the Soldier was Dragged.

"Then the Devils leaving this Hall with an hideous Cry, and an horrid

Tumult separated themselves. Some of them dragged the Soldier thro'

a vast Region, that was so dark and obscure, that he cou'd see

nothing but the Devils. There blew a burning Wind in it, which cou'd

scarce be heard, but yet so dry that it seemed to Pierce his Body.

From thence they dragged him towards those bounds of the Earth where

the Sun rises at Midsummer, and being come thither, as unto the end

of the World, they turn'd to the right Hand and extended themselves

over a large Valley towards that part of the Earth where the Sun

rises in the Middle of Winter. Here the Soldier began to hear, at a

distance, the most lamentable Groans and Sighs of a vast Number of

People; and the nearer he drew, the more he heard their doleful

Lamentations. Being brought at last by the Devils to an exceeding

long and large Field, whose bounds were out of sight, he there

discover'd an infinite Number of Men and Women lying naked, flat on

their Bellies, with great Iron Spikes red hot fastening their Hands

and Feet to the Ground, and Miserably torturing them. Nay and

observed them now and then, biteing the Earth for Rage and Pain,

crying and bawling out; "Spare, spare; Pity, pity: when there was

none by, who wou'd Spare or Pity. On the contrary, the Devils ran

over them with great Scourges in their Hands lashing the Wretches,

and saying to the Soldier: "Thus shalt thou be tortur'd if thou dost

not agree to go back to the Door from when thou camest, and to which

we will conduct thee in Peace." But the Soldier calling to mind how

God had before delivered him, despised their Menaces: Then the

Devils cast him down on the Ground, and began to torture him. But

upon his invocating the Lord Jesus, they failed in their attempt.

"Leaving then this Field, they drag him to another that was full of

great Misery; for between this and the former, there was this

difference, that whereas in the former the wretched People lay flat

on their Bellies, here they sat only on their Buttocks, some whereof

were surrounded with fiery Dragons, gnawing and biteing them after a

lamentable manner. Others had fiery Serpents twisted about their

Heads and Necks, fixing their Stings in their Hearts. Others in fine

had monstrous big Vultures perching upon their shoulders, and

sticking their horrid Bills in their Breasts as if they wou'd pull

out their Hearts. Besides all this, the Devils went running over

them with dreadful Scourges lashing and tormenting them, so as that

the poor wretches never ceas'd Crying and Lamenting. All these

Torments (say the Devils to the Soldier) shalt thou suffer, except

thou consent to return from whence thou camest. The Soldier despised

their Threats, and disabled them to do him any harm, by calling upon

the Name of Jesus.

"Quitting then this place, they led the Soldier to the third Penal

Field. This was also full of People of both Sexes, who lay fastened

to the ground with so many Iron Spikes on Fire, fix'd thro' them, and

so thick set in their Bodies, that from Head to Foot there was scarce

any where, the Breadth of a Finger, which had not been pierc'd.

These Wretches cou'd indeed form a voice to cry; but it was such as

Men in the Point of death usually do: They were naked also, like the

rest, and were tortur'd over and above with a cold and burning Wind,

besides what they suffer'd by the Scourges of the Devils. Now when

the Devils wou'd torture the Soldier after this manner, by calling

upon the Name of Jesus he escaped untouched.

"They drag him along to the fourth penal Field, which was full of

great Fires, in which all manner of Torments were to be seen. Some

were here hung up in the Air by the Hands with red hot Iron Chains;

others by the Hair; some by the Arms; others by the Legs with their

Heads downwards, and dipped into boiling Sulphur. Some hung by their

Nails, with Iron Crooks fixt in their Eyes, in their Ears, in their

Jaws in their Nostrils, in their Breasts, and in other parts of their

Bodies; others were fry'd in Pans; and others roasted by the Fire on

red hot Spits, which some of the Devils turned, while others basted

them with various melted Metals: Nor was the cruel scourging of the

Devils wanting, even among the dreadful Cries and Lamentations of

these wretched Souls. Here the Soldier saw many of his own

companions and knew them; yea, and saw all manner of Torments that

can be imagin'd, neither cou'd any Tongue express the various Cries

and Lamentations which he heard. The Devils having then expos'd all

these to the Soldier's view, said unto him: These, and a great many

more torments shalt thou endure, except thou go back out of the Cave.

But the Soldier despised their Threats, called upon the Name of

Jesus, when the Torments began, and so escaped."

"CHAPTER VII.

"Of the Fiery-Wheel, Smokey-House, High Mountain, and Cold River to

which the Devils dragged the Soldier.

"Then the Devils carry'd away the Soldier to an Iron Wheel, that was

red hot, and of a prodigious bigness. The Spokes and Stakes of this

Wheel were tarnished all round with Iron Crooks set on Fire, and on

them hung Men fixed. One half of the Wheel stood above, and the

other under ground: the horrid sulphurous Flame which issued from

the Earth and surrounded this Wheel, did exceedingly torment the Men

that hung on it. The same (say the Devils to the Soldier) that these

suffer if thou will not return, shalt thou endure, nay and even see

first what it is. Then they fasten'd Iron Bars to the Spokes of the

Wheel, and turn'd it about with such Celerity, that not one Man of

those that hung upon it cou'd be discern'd from another; for the

whole Wheel appear'd like a Circle of Fire: And when they had

fasten'd the Soldier to it and, by turning it about, lift him up in

the Air, he called upon the Name of Jesus, and came down unhurt.

"From hence they dragged him towards a Certain House of an

extraordinary breadth, and so long that the End of it was out of

sight. When they drew near this House the Soldier stood still, being

afraid to go forward in the excessive Heat that came out of it. Then

the Devils said unto him: What thou seest are Baths, and whether

thou wilt or no, thou shalt Bath in them, as others do that are there

now. Immediately after, there were heard the most dismal Cries and

Lamentations imaginable proceeding from thence; and being brought in,

he saw a cruel and horrid sight. The Floor of this House was full of

round Pits join'd so close together, that no Man cou'd walk between

them: and each of these Pits was full of boiling Liquors made of

various Mettals, in which were plunged an infinite Number of both

Sexes, and of Divers Ages. Some were dipped down over Head; some to

the Eyes only; Others to the Lips; Some to the Neck; Others to the

Breast; Some to the Navel; Others to the Thighs; Some to the Knees;

Others to half the Leg; Some had one Leg only in; Others both the

Hands: And thus were all these boiling Pits or Cauldrons filled with

wretched Sinners, who set forth such dismal Groans and Lamentations

as were sufficient to chill the Blood of the most hard-hearted Man.

Here (say the Devils to the Soldier) shalt thou Bath, and with that

they lifted him up and endeavour'd to cast him into one of the

Cauldrons, but upon hearing the Name of Jesus they cou'd not prevail.

Whereupon they quit this House, and Carry the Soldier to an exceeding

high Mountain, where they show him a Number of Men and Women far

beyond any of the former. These Wretches sat Stark Naked with their

Toes bent, and look'd towards the North, as if they expected every

minute to expire that way. And while the Soldier stood wondering

what they waited for, one of the Devils said unto him: Possibly thou

wondrest what these People expect with so much trembling and fear,

but if thou agree not to go back, thou shalt soon know to thy cost

the cause of their Fear. The Devil had scarce made an end of these

Words, when a Whirlwind from the North rushed upon them, and blew

away the Devils, the Soldier, and all the People, and cast them over

the other side of the Mount into a River, that stunk, and was

intolerably cold: and as often as any of these wretched people

attempted to raise themselves over the Water, the Devils immediately

plunged them down. But the Soldier, who had always in mind his

Divine Assistant, called upon his Redeemer Jesus Christ, and so found

himself ashore on the Other Side of the River."

"CHAPTER VIII.

"Of the Pit that cast up Flames, and of the High Bridge to which the

Devils led the Soldier.

"The Devils were not as yet satisfied with all the injuries they had

offer'd to the Soldier of Jesus Christ, and therefore dragged him

towards the South, where he saw before him a dreadful Flame of

Sulphurous Matter rising out of a Deep Pit, and vomiting up Men red

hot like Sparks of Fire, and as the force of the Flames abated,

falling down again into the Pit. When they came near this Pit, the

Devils said to the Soldier: 'This is the entrance to Hell; this is

our Habitation: and for as much as thou hast hitherto carefully

served us, here thou shalt for ever continue with us; for all those

who serve us dwell here everlastingly. And when thou shalt once go

in, thou shalt eternally perish both Body and Soul. Notwithstanding,

if thou wilt obey now, and return to the Door of the Cave into which

thou didst enter, thou may'st go safe home to thine own Dwelling.'

The Soldier, who had so often experienced God's Assistance before,

despised both their Threats and Promises. whereupon the Devils,

enraged to see themselves so often contemned, cast themselves

headlong into the Pit, and thrust the Soldier down before them. Who

the further he descended the larger he observed the Pit to grow, and

the more sensibly he felt the pain of the Fire: Here the poor Man

was put to the extent of his patience; for the pain was so

intolerably acute, that for a while he had quite lost his Senses, and

was not able to pronounce the Name of Jesus! but Almighty God taking

pity of him enabled him at last to utter in some manner that Divine

Name: Whereupon the Flame shot him up so as that he fell upon the

Brink of the Pit: but so disordered, that for awhile he knew not

where he was, neither cou'd he tell whither to turn himself. Then a

new and unknown Legion of devils rushing out of the Pit surrounded

him, and asked what he did there? 'Our Companions (say they) told

thee this was the Gate of Hell; but they told thee a lye, and thou

shalt know it is so; for we are always accustomed to tell lyes, that

we may deceive those we cannot by telling the Truth. This is not the

Hell, but now we will bring thee to it.' And having so said, they

dragged the Soldier along to a great and spacious River, that was

cover'd all over with a stinking sulphurous Flame, and filled up with

Devils and damned Souls. Know thou (say they unto him) that under

this River lyeth Hell. Now there was a great and lofty Bridge over

this River, in which three things appear'd very formidable, and

almost impossible to be overcome by those who were to pass over it.

The First, that the Surface of the Bridge was so slippery that it was

impossible for any Man to fix his feet upon it; the Second, that the

passage was so straight and narrow, that no Man cou'd stand or walk

on it. The Third, that the Bridge was so high up over the River, as

to create a Horror in any that shou'd look down. Thou must (added

the Devils) go over this Bridge, and we will raise a mighty Wind

which shall cast thee down into the River, where our Fellows that are

there shall take thee and drown thee in Hell: For we are resolv'd to

try how safe thou shalt think it for thee to attempt so dangerous a

Thing: However, if thou wilt consent to go back to the Door of the

Dave, thou shalt escape this Danger, and return safe home to thine

own Country.

"The faithful Soldier reflecting within himself, upon the great and

many Dangers from which his Pious advocate Jesus Christ had deliver'd

him, and calling often upon his Name boldly stepped in upon the

Bridge, and began to walk forward, feeling nothing slippery under his

Foot, but all firm and steady; because he firmly confided in God and

steadily adhered to his Promise: Nay the Higher he went up the

Bridge the broader he found the Passage; so as that in a short space

the way was equal to a Road where several carts may meet and pass.

Now the Devils who led the soldier by the Hands to the Bridge, not

being able to walk with him thereon, stood at the Bridge Foot,

expecting to see him fall down, but perceiving that he walked on

without any Danger, they raised a Cry and Noise so dreadful that it

put him into a greater fright than any of the Torments before had

done. Yet when he found that the Devils stood still, and did not

follow him, he went on securely, relying on the Assistance of his

Divine Protector. The Devils also that were in the River under the

Bridge, seeing him go on over their heads, ran about the Bridge, and

cast their fiery crooks and Darts at him; but being protected by the

Shield of Faith, he felt no harm, and so got clear of all their

Ambushes."

"CHAPTER IX.

"Of the Celestial Glory and Terrestrial Paradise shewn to the

Soldier, and of his Conference with the Bishops thereon.

"The invincible Soldier being now deliver'd from the Snares of the

unclean Spirits, saw before his Eyes an High Wall raised to the

Skies, the Beauty and Structure whereof was beyond Estimation. Its

Gate was adorn'd with costly Jewels, and divers precious Mettals,

that afforded a most agreeable Prospect. Having approached, as it

were within Half a Mile to it, the Gate seem'd to open, and sent

forth so sweet a smell, that, as it seem'd to him, if all the Earth

had been turn'd into Spice, it could hardly afford so agreeable a

perfume, which so refresh'd his tired Limbs and Spirits, that he

believed he could with ease undergo again all the Torments he had

endured. And looking in at the Gates, he discover'd a Door which

excelled the brightness of the Sun. As he stood then at a little

distance from the Gate, there came out to meet him so beautiful, so

great, and so orderly a Procession, as was never to be parallel'd to

his thinking in this World, with Crosses, Wax Tapers, Banners, and

Golden Palm Branches in the Hands of the Men that led this

Procession. After these follow'd Men of all Degrees and Orders, some

Archbishops, some Bishops, Abbots, Monks, Chanons, Priests, and

Clerks of every Degree, all cloathed in the sacred Apparel proper to

their Respective Degrees and Orders; and like in Shape and Colour to

those they wore, when they serv'd God here on Earth. Being come up

to the Soldier, they all embraced him with unspeakable joy, and

conducted him into the Gate with a concert of so Melodious an

Harmony, as could not be equalled by any in this World.

"When the Musick ceased, and the Procession ended, two Archbishops

took the Soldier apart, in order, as was thought to shew him this new

World and the Glory of it, but first they blessed God, who had

strengthen'd his soul with so much constancy, in all the Torments

thro' which he passed, and which he so resolutely bore.

"They then conducted him over all the pleasant places of this new

World, where his Eyes were so charmed, and all his Senses so ravished

that, in his opinion, neither the Tongues of the ablest Orators cou'd

explain, nor the Pens of the Nimblest Scriveners indite the Glory and

Splendor of the Things which he had seen and heard. So great was the

light of this happy Region, that as the light of a candle is Eclipsed

by that of the Sun, so was the light of the Sun by the brightness of

this. The Night doth never overshade this Land, for the light of a

Pure and Serene Sky keeps it constantly bright. All the Land was

like a pleasant Green Meadow diversified by various sorts of Flowers,

Fruits, Trees and Herbs; whose very perfumes, saith the Soldier,

wou'd keep him alive, were he allowed to dwell always there. The

Bounds of the Country he did not see for the greatness of its Extent,

only of that part by which he enter'd it; but discover'd in it so

great a multitude of both Sexes as he believes no Man ever saw in his

Life, or ever was together in any Age; of whom some dwelt apart in

one Community, and some in another; yet so as they passed from one

society to another, as they pleased. And by this means, it came to

pass, that they all enjoy'd one another's company; and choirs joyn'd

with choirs to sing God's Praise: And as one Star differs from

another in brightness; so was there an agreeable and harmonious

variety and difference in the Habits and Countenances of those thrice

happy People. For some of them seem'd to be clothed in Golden Vests;

others, in Purple, some in Scarlet; others in Blew; some in Green,

and others in White. And the Shape and Fashion of each habit was the

same as that which they wore in the World; so that the Soldier cou'd

easily discern of what Dignity, Order, and Degree, each of them had

been. Some wore Crowns like Kings, others carry'd Golden Palms in

their Hands. Glorious then and agreeable to the Eye, was the sight

of the inexpressible Harmony of their Melody, in Singing the Praises

of their Lord and Maker. Each of them rejoiced at his own Happiness,

and at that of every other. And all of them, who saw the Soldier,

Praised God upon his coming among them, and rejoiced at his

Deliverance from the Devils. Here was neither Heat nor Cold, nor

anything else that cou'd incommode or molest; but all things

peaceable, quiet, still, agreeable. Many more things did the

Soldier, see and hear in this happy Region than any Tongue or Pen

cou'd express.

"When he had then satiated his Eyes and Ears, the Bishops spoke to

him after this manner."

* * * * *

"After this discourse the venerable Prelates took the Soldier up to

the Top of a Mountain, commanded him to look up and tell them what

colour the Sky over his head appear'd to him to be of. The Soldier

answer'd that it appear'd to him to be of the colour of Gold in a

fiery Furnace. 'That (say they) which thou see'st is the Gate of

Paradise. By this Gate those that are taken up from us go into

Heaven. And you are to know further, that while we continue here, we

are constantly fed once a day with Food from Heaven, but that you may

know what sort of Food, and how pleasant it is, you shall, God

willing, Feel and Taste it with us.'

"These words were no sooner pronounced, when Certain Rays like flames

of Fire cover'd the whole Region, and after a while dividing into

smaller Rays sat upon the Heads of every one in the Land, and at last

enter'd into them. And among the rest, sat upon the Soldier's Head

also, and enter'd into him. The Soldier was wrapt up in such extasie

at the Sweetness of this Food, that he cou'd not tell whether he was

dead or alive, but this soon passed over. This is the Food (added

they) with which God feeds us once a day; but they that are carryed

hence from us enjoy it without End. The Soldier wou'd willingly stay

there if he were allowed to enjoy the deliciousness of that Food.

But instead of so sweet and desirable, mournful things are related

unto him.

"For as much then (beloved Brother continue the Prelates), as thou

hast partly seen what thou didst desire to see, namely, the Rest of

the Blessed, and the Torments of Sinners; thou must now return by the

same Way thou camest hither; and if thou wilt for the future lead a

sober and godly Life; thou shalt be secure not only of this Rest; but

also of the Heavenly Mansions; but if thou wilt, which God forbid,

lead an ill Life and pollute thy Body with Sin; behold thou hast seen

the Torments that attend thee. Thou may'st now safely return; for

thou need'st not fear any of those Things; wherewith the Devils

attempted to frighten thee in thy way hither; because they dare not

approach thee any more, being afraid to appear before thee; neither

can all the Torments which thou hast seen hurt thee. The Soldier was

astonished at these Words, and began with Tears and Crys humbly to

beseech the Bishops, not to oblige him to return again to the Cares

of the World from so great a happiness. 'I cannot leave this place',

said he, 'for I fear I shou'd be intangled in the snares of the

World, so as to hinder me to come back here'; It shall not be as

thou wouldest, replied the Bishops; but as He who hath made thee and

us disposes, so shall it be; for He alone knows what is most

expedient for us all."

"CHAPTER X.

"How the Soldier went out of this Purgatory, made a Pilgrimage to

Jerusalem, and how he spent the rest of his days.

"Then Owen, the Soldier, having received their Blessing, set out, and

return'd the same way he came. The Prelates conducted him to the

Gate of Paradise, and shut it after him; and being sad and grieved to

be obliged to return again to the Miseries of this World, he went

back the same way till he came to the Hall, where he was first

infested by the Devils. He saw indeed the Devils on the way, but so

soon as they saw him, they vanished as if they had been afraid of

him. He also passed thro' the Places where he was before tormented;

but now they had no Power to hurt him. Being then come to the said

Hall, he went in boldly and Lo the fifteen Men, who had instructed

him in the beginning, met him, glorifying God, who had given him so

much constancy in his Torments, and having congratulated him upon his

victory, said unto him: 'Courage, Brother. We know thou hast

overcome the Torments which thou hast so manfully born; and that thou

art purged of all thy Sins. The Sun begins now to rise in thy

Country: Make haste then up to the Cave: For if the Prior, who when

he hath said Mass, shall come to the Door, finds thee not there, he

will lock the Door, as Despairing of thy salvation; and return to the

Church.' The Soldier hereupon, having first got their Blessing,

hasten'd up to the Cave, and at the very Minute that the Prior open'd

the Door, the Soldier appear'd. The Prior embraced him, glorified

God, and conducted him to the Church, and caused him to continue

there fasting and praying for fifteen Days. Then the Soldier put on

his Shoulder the mark of the Cross of Christ and went with great

Devotion to the Holy Land, to visit the Sepulchre of our Lord Jesus

Christ at Jerusalem, and all the holy Places round about it. Which

when he had Devoutly performed he came back, and went to Stephen,

King of England, to whom he had been before familiarly known, to

advise with him, after what Manner he might best for the future,

Warfare for the King of Kings, as he had heretofore carry'd Arms for

him.

"It happen'd at the same time, that Gervasius Abbot of Lude, had got

by King Stephen's Recommendation a Place in Ireland for the building

of a Monastry. This Abbot sent one of his Monks, called Gilbert, to

the King, to be recommended by him to the King of Ulster, and then to

proceed from thence to Ireland in order to erect the said Monastry:

who being Kindly received by the King, complained very much that he

was a stranger to the Irish Language; I shall find you, by God's

help, says the King, an excellent Interpreter. Then he called Owen,

the Irish Soldier, commanded him to go with Gilbert, and to continue

with him in Ireland. Owen readily obey'd the King's Orders, adding

with all, that he was obliged in gratitude to serve the Monks, whose

Charity he had so often and so remarkably experienced. They then

went over to Ireland, and began to build the Monastry, which they

finished in two years and a half. The Monk Gilbert took care of the

things within the Monastry; and Owen the Soldier was a trusty

Procurator, and devout Minister of the Things abroad; as also a

faithful Interpreter: And having taken the Habit of a Monk; he lived

an Holy and Religious Life all the rest of his days, as the said

Gilbert testifieth. Whenever this Gilbert and the Soldier happen'd

to be alone; Gilbert was very inquisitive to know from him the

particulars of all the Things he had seen and felt in this Purgatory;

and the Soldier who upon pronouncing the word Purgatory, used to

burst out into Tears, told him all that he had seen and felt, which

Yet he wou'd willingly have concealed, had he not been persuaded,

that it might tend to the Edification, and Amendment of the Lives of

many. Nay and affirmed upon his Conscience, that he had seen with

his corporal Eyes all the Things which he related. Now it was by the

Care and Industry of this Monk, and upon the Testimony and Credit of

the Bishops of this part of the Kingdom, who had the account from the

Soldier's own Mouth, and that of the other Religious and godly men of

those Times that these things were committed to Posterity."

The last chapter, which is "Of the Examination and Manifold Proofs of

this History," concludes with the following observations by

Messingham himself.

"This History of Owen the Soldier, as to that part of it that is

related by Henry Salteriensis, I borrow'd from an ancient Manuscript

of the said Author now extant in the Library of St. Victor, and that

related by Mathew Paris, I took from his printed History of England:

But if after all, any Man chuse rather to oppose, than piously to

believe the same, let him consult the Holy Fathers, St. Gregory,

Venerable Bede, Dionysius Carthusianus, and carefully read the

various Revelations, Visions, and Relations not unlike these recorded

by them; to which as to things very probable they themselves were not

afraid to give Credit, and which they would not presume to deny."

Calderon was not the only celebrated poet who made the Purgatory of

St. Patrick the subject of his song. Four centuries before the great

Spanish dramatist was born, a most elaborate and very lengthy poem

was written on the same attractive theme by Marie de France, the

first woman, as M. de Roquefort says,who ever wrote French verse, the

Sappho of her age.* Nor was Marie herself the only minstrel of that

early time who yielded to the fascination of this legend. Two

anonymous Trouveres of a little later period were unconsciously her

rivals in the attempt. M. l'Abbe de la Rue, in his valuable work on

Norman and Anglo-Norman Poetry, thus writes:--

[footnote] *"Poesies de Marie de France", par B. De Roquefort.

Paris, 1820. t.i., p.1.

"Quoique la celebre Marie eut, au XIIIe siecle, donne une assez ample

histoire du Purgatoire de St.-Patrice, puisqu'elle est de plus de

trois mille vers, deux autres Trouveres anglo-normands qui

probablement ne connaissaient pas son poeme, volurent dans le siecle

suivant traiter le meme sujet."**

[footnote} **"Essais Historiques sur les Trouveres", etc., par M.

L'Abbe de la Rue. Caen, 1834. t. iii., p. 245.

These poems, still unedited, are to be found in the Cottonian and

Harleian MSS. The reader is also referred to the very interesting

and exceedingly rare volume, 'Owain Miles' (Edinburgh, 1837), and

'The Visions of Tundale' (Edinburgh, 1843), in the Prefaces to both

of which, by the late lamented W.B.D.D. Turnbull, much curious

information on the subject will be found.

* * * * *

THE AUTHORITIES FOR THE LEGEND,

AS GIVEN BY CALDERON.

ACT III., SCENE X. (the concluding lines.)

The list of authorities at the end of the third act has been, and not

without reason, a source of great perplexity. Calderon is blamed

even by so thoughtful a critic as Mr. Ticknor for putting into the

mouth of Enius himself the names of a number of writers who have in

some way alluded to the Purgatory of St. Patrick, all of whom were of

periods long subsequent to the time at which he represents himself to

have lived, several of them being the very writers who nearly a

thousand years later described his own adventures. But this is quite

usual on the Spanish stage. There is scarcely a drama of Calderon

that does not end in the same way. The last speaker, whoever he may

be, and he is frequently the 'gracioso', abandons, for the last few

lines of his speech, his assumed character, and addresses the

audience as an actor in a brief epilogue. The list of authorities at

the end of "El Purgatorio de San Patricio" is nothing more. It is

simply an epilogue, perhaps a little longer than usual, which the

curious nature of the subject to some extent justifies. The manner

in which the names are printed is a different matter. But the reader

should recollect that this drama was not printed by Calderon himself,

but by his brother Joseph, who certainly in this instance at least

considered it no part of his duty as editor to verify the correctness

of the poet's references. Some of the confusion certainly is

attributable to Calderon himself, as he has separated and transposed

names for the purpose of adapting them to his versification. But

other mistakes remain behind which we may fairly divide between Don

Joseph and the printer.

The original lines, as given in all the editions, that of

Hartzenbusch included, are the following:--

"Para que con esta acabe

La historia, que nos refiere

Dionisio el gran Cartusiano,

Con Enrique Saltarense,

Cesario, Mateo Rodulfo,

Domiciano Esturbaquense,

Membrosio, Marco Marulo,

David Roto, y el prudente

Primado de toda Hibernia,

Belarmino, Beda, Serpi,

Fray Dimas, Jacob Solino,

Mensignano, y finalmente

La piedad y la opinion

Cristiana, que lo defiende."

Some of these names are obvious enough; it is with regard to those

that are rendered more obscure by the manner in which they are

presented that the difficulty arises. The list is taken for the most

part from the fourth chapter of Montalvan's "Vida y Purgatorio de San

Patricio", but with the names singularly disconnected and misplaced.

They are turned, too, so completely into Spanish as to be scarcely

recognised. Even in Messingham's "Florilegium", where they are all

to be found, though not in one place, they are not always correctly

printed. The following attempt at identification, now made for the first

time, will be found, it is believed, to be perfectly accurate.

The first name, "Dionisio el gran Cartusiano," scarcely requires any

explanation. The work referred to, in an edition of which I have a

copy, is as follows:--

"D. Dionysii Carthusiani liber utilissimus de quatuor hominis

novissimis, etc.," Parisiis, 1551.

The account "De Purgatorio Sancti Patritii" extends from fol. 235 to fol. 237.

"Enrique Saltarense" is Henry of Saltrey, a Benedictine monk of the

Abbey of Saltrey in Huntingdonshire, who about the middle of the

twelfth century first reduced to writing the Adventures of Owain, or

Enius, in the Purgatory of St. Patrick.

Of him Messingham writes thus. Referring to his authorities, he says:--

"What you shall find under the letter B, is taken from Henry

Salteriensis, an English monk of the Cistercian order, who had been

taught most excellent Precepts of a good Life as well as good Letters

by Florentianus, an Irish bishop, and Gilbert de Luda [Louth, in

Lincolnshire], Abbot of the Cistercian Monks, who also, being himself

well instructed, used to teach others the fear of the Lord as the

beginning of wisdom. . . . . And hence it is that he wrote unto

Henry Abbot of Sartis one Book of the Purgatory of St. Patrick and

one Book of the Pains of Purgatory. He flourished in the year of

Grace 1140." -- "A Brief History of St. Patrick's Purgatory". Paris,

1718. Preface.

"Cesario," which carelessness or the exigency of metre has separated

from the "Esturbaquense," of the next line is Caesarius of

Heisterbach, a well-known hagiological writer of whom Adrien Baillet

thus speaks:--

"Un religieux Allemand de l'ordre de Citeaux nomme 'Cesaire de

Heisterbach', qui mourut du tems de l'empereur Frederic II. travailla

aussi a la vie des Saints." He adds in a note:--

"Cesaire se fit moine l'an 1198, au Val de Saint de Pierre, dit

autrement Heisterbach, pres de la ville de Bonne, dans le diocese de

Cologne, et ne mourut que pres de quarante ans apres. Il avoit ete

maitre des novices dans son couvent, et ensuite prieur de la maison

de Villiers." -- 'Discours sur l'histoire de la Vie des Saints. Les

Vies Des Saints'. Paris, 1739. T. i., p. xlvii.

"Mateo Rodulfo," printed as the names of one author in Calderon,

separate into two persons in Messingham and Montalvan. The first is

the well-known Mathew Paris, whose 'Relation of the vision of Owen

the Irish Soldier' is expressly referred to in these words by

Messingham, who also alludes to him more fully in his preface. 'What

you shall find under the letter C,' says Messingham, 'is borrowed

from Mathew Paris, an English Benedictine Monk, who had from his

youth consecrated himself to a Monastic life, and polish'd most

excellent talents of nature with exquisite Arts and Sciences, and

adorn'd the same with all Christian virtues; being an Handicraft, a

Writer, a good Painter, a fine Poet, an acute Logician, a solid

Divine; and (which is much more valuable) pure in his Manners, bright

in the innocence of his life, simple and candid. Pitseus, upon the

year 1259, in which the said Mathew died, gives him a great many more

encomiums, which for brevity sake I hear omit.'

The remaining half of 'Mateo Rodulfo' turns out to be Ranulphus or

Ralph, Higden, the Monk of Chester, whose Polychronicon is quoted

both by Messingham and Montalvan. The 'Domiciano' of the next line,

which is 'Dominicano' in Montalvan, has so completely got rid of the

name to which it belongs, that without the aid of Calderon's

authorities, Messingham and Montalvan, it would be impossible to know

who was meant. In Messingham the reference is to 'Jacobus Januensis,

the Dominican, in the Life of St. Patrick,' and in Montalvan to

'Jacobo Januense, o Genuense, Dominicano.' The person thus disguised

is the famous Jacobus de Voragine, the Dominican, author of 'The

Golden Legend,' who was Bishop of Genoa in 1292, and died at a very

advanced age in 1298. Of the 'Legenda Aurea', the fiftieth chapter

is devoted to St. Patrick.

'Membrosio' is called 'Mombrisio' in Montalvan, and 'Mombrusius' in

Messingham. Correctly it was neither. The writer referred to is

'Boninus Mombritius', a fine copy of whose 'Sanctuarium' is in the

British Museum. At fol. 188, t. ii, there is a full account of the

Purgatory, the name of the adventurous visitor being 'Nicolaus'. Of

Mombritius, whom he calls Bonin Mombrice, the same writer (Baillet),

from whom I have already quoted, says:--

"Cet homme peu connu d'ailleurs etoit Milanois de naissance,

conseiller on fils de conseiller au senat de Milan; il vivoit du tems

de Galeas Marie, duc de Milan, qui fut tue l'an 1476, et du Pape

Sixte IV., qui mourut en 1484. Il s'etoit deja fait regarder comme

grammairien, poete, orateur et philosopohe par divers ouvrages, mais

aucun ne lui fit tant d'honneur que son 'Sanctuaire', qui est le

titre qu'il donna a son recueil d'actes des Saints dedie a Simonete,

secretaire des ducs de Milan." -- 'Discours', p. lvii.

'Marco Marulo' is Marcus Marulus, Cap. xiv., Lib. 6, of whose work,

"De religiose vivendi institutione per exempla," is entitled "De

revelationibus infernalium poenarum." -- 'Apul Sanctam Coloniam.

Anno M.D.XXXI.

In this there is an account of a certain Irish monk, "cui Petro nomen

fuit," who appears to have entered the Purgatory in vision. This is

probably the passage which Messingham and Montalvan quote, though a

different reference is given.

'Maurolicus Siculus', who follows next in Messingham and Montalvan,

is omitted by Calderon.

"David Roto, y el prudente Primado de toda Hibernia," are one and the

same person. This was the famous David Rothe, Bishop of Ossory, so

intimately connected in 1642 with the Confederation of Kilkenny, of

which an excellent history has been written by the Rev. Charles

Meehan, M.R.I.A. The epithet "prudente" seems to have been a happy

condensation of the many terms of encomium lavished upon this

celebrated man by Messingham. Alluding again to his classification

of his authorities under the first four letters of the alphabet,

Messingham says:--

"Whatever then you shall find written under the letter A, until you

come to the next letter, is taken from the Right Reverend Father

David Roth, Lord Bishop of Ossory, and Vice Primate of all Ireland, a

Man excellently well read in all parts of literature, an eloquent

Rhetorician, a subtle Philosopher, a profound Divine, a celebrated

Historian, a zealous chastizer of Vice, a steady Defender of

Ecclesiastical Liberty, a constant Assertor of the Privileges of his

Country, most devoutly compassionate upon the calamities of his

Nation, a diligent Promoter of Peace and Unity among the Clergy, and,

for that end, instituted the Congregation commonly called Pacifick,

in the year 1620, which has, with no little fruit and advantage to

the Clergy, spread itself over all the Kingdom, -- a Man, in fine,

who has left to Posterity many rare Monuments of his excellent

talents, the Catalogue of which I shall not here, for good reasons,

insert, but hope for more soon from him."

"Belarmino," "Beda." Cardinal Bellarmin and Venerable Bede are too

well known to require any observations.

"Serpi, Fray Dimas," cut into two lines, with the names transposed,

mean 'Fr. Dimas Serpi', one of whose works ('Aprodixis Sanctitatis,

etc', Romae, M.DC. IX.), though not the one referred to by

Messingham, is in the British Museum. In Montalvan the marginal note

gives, "Lib. de Purgatorio, cap. 26," as the reference. The German

translator of this drama (Brunn, 1824), misled by the punctuation of

the original, treats Dimas Serpi as two persons.

"Jacob Solino," the next authority for the legend, is perhaps the

most perplexing in the list. Like twin stars that seem one to the

naked eye, but resolve themselves into two beneath the telescope, so

the single author of the printed text of Calderon appears distinct

persons in the pages of Montalvan. He gives them thus: -- "Jacobo,"

"Solino," with a separate reference to each. Thus to "Jacobo," the

marginal reference is, "In sua historia Orientale;" and to "Solino,"

"cap. 35," without the name of the work.

From Messingham we at once learn who the former writer was. He calls

him in one place "Jacobus de Vitriaco," and in another more briefly,

"Vitriacus." The passage referred to in the marginal note of

Montalvan is given thus:--

"Further, Jacobus de Vitriaco, in his History of the East, chap. 92,

writes thus concerning this cave:-- 'There is a certain Place in

Ireland, call'd St. Patrick's Purgatory, into which whosoever enters,

except he be truly penitent and contrite in Heart, is snatched away

by Devils, and never returns. But he that with true contrition

confesseth his sins, and goes in there, tho' the Devils vex and

torture him, by Fire and Water, and many other Torments, yet is he

purged of all his sins: Now they that are thus purged, and return,

are never more seen to laugh or play; or to take pleasure in any

thing in this World, but constantly weeping and sighing, forget the

things that are behind, and stretch forward to the things that are

before them.' -- A Brief History of St. Patrick's Purgatory, Paris,

1718, pp. 9, 10.

"Solino," who is so strangely united by Calderon's printer to

"Jacob," presents some difficulty. In Messingham's list of

authorities this name does not appear. The first French translator

of Montalvan (Bruxelles, 1637) merely gives the Latin form of the

name, "Solinus." The second French translator, Bouillon, in his

'Histoire de la vie et du Purgatoire de S. Patrice' (Troyes, 1642),

turns both names into French, thus, "Jacques Solin, en son Histoire

Orientale, chap. 26." This is doubly a mistake. The 'Histoire

Orientale' is the work of Vitriacus, as already pointed out; and

"chap. 26" refers not to that work, but to some unnamed writing of

"Solino."

Of course the first name that suggests itself, as the author alluded

to, is that of Caius Julius Solinus. The latest date assigned as the

period when this celebrated writer flourished is A.D. 238 -- that is,

about 135 years before the birth of St. Patrick. To quote him as an

authority on the subject of St. Patrick's Purgatory would therefore

be a more absurd anachronism than any that has been pointed out in

this curious list. This difficulty appeared to me so strong, that

for a while I was led to believe that "Solino" was but a corrupted

Spanish form of "Joceline," or "Joscelino," as it is sometimes given,

whose 'Life of St. Patrick', written in the twelfth century, supplies

all the incidents of St. Patrick's early life recorded by Montalvan

and Calderon. He is also frequently referred to by Messingham. But

further reflection convinces me that the writer alluded to was in

reality the celebrated Latin author of the third century already

mentioned, Caius Julius Solinus.

Solinus has of course no allusion to St. Patrick's Purgatory; but in

his celebrated work, 'Polyhistor', compiled, it is thought, chiefly

from Pliny's Natural History, he has a remarkable chapter on Ireland.

Some of his statements are doubtful, and all are very curious; one of

them at least depriving St. Patrick, by anticipation, of one of his

most famous miracles. This is the banishment of the serpents, which

it appears was first mentioned by Jocelin in the twelfth century. It

is expressly stated by Solinus, who wrote in the third century, that

in Ireland "There are no snakes and few byrdes," to use the language

of the old English translator, Arthur Golding. This statement of the

previous exemption of Ireland from venomous reptiles was warmly

disputed by Dr. David Rothe, the Bishop of Ossory, early in the

seventeenth century. It will be remembered that "David Roto" has

already been quoted as an authority on the subject of St. Patrick's

Purgatory, and it is his collateral controversy with Solinus that

probably led Montalvan, and subsequently Calderon, to suppose that

Solinus had in some way alluded to that legend. A valuable 'Life of

St. Patrick', by P. Lynch (Dublin, 1828), contains many allusions to

this subject, of which the following may be given as an example.

"The objections which Doctor Roth raised to the testimony of Solinus

have as slender a foundation in reason. For Solinus (saith he) not

only mentions thisexemption of Ireland from venomous creatures, but

says further, that in Ireland there are few birds, and no bees; and

therefore concludes, that as he is mistaken in these latter

particulars, so he is not to be believed in the former,"-- p. 42.

The author of this Life of St. Patrick goes on to say that Solinus

may have been perfectly accurate in these statements. That other

writers have alluded to the time when bees were first introduced into

Ireland, and that the migration of some birds thither, among others

the magpie, took place at a comparatively modern period. He does not

add, however, that Solinus states that the very dust of Ireland was

so distasteful to the bees, where they are now as much at home as in

Hymettus, that if it is scattered about their hives even in another

country they abandon their combs. Thus writes quaint Arthur

Golding:--

"There is not any Bee among them, and if a man bring of the dust of

the stones from thence, and strew them among Bee-hyves, the swarme

forsake ye combes."

Another misstatement of Solinus may be pointed out. He says:--

"The sea that is betweene Ireland and Britayne, being full of

shallows and rough all the yeere long, cannot be sayled but a few

dayes in the summer time."

With the following picturesque passage referring to the warlike

training of their children by the Irish, as recorded by a Roman

writer in the third century of the Christian era, we take leave of

Solinus, who we have no doubt was the author referred to by Montalvan

and Calderon under the name of "Solino:"--

"If a woman be delivered of a man childe, she layes his first meate

upon her husband's sworde, and putting it softly to his prettie mouth

gives him the first hansel of his sworde upon the very point of the

weapon, praying (according to the manner of their country) that he

may not otherwise come to his death, than in Battel and among

weapons."-- 'The Excellent and Pleasant Worke of Julius Solinus

Polyhistor. Translated out of Latin into English by Arthur Golding,

Gent.' At London, 1587. p. 105.

The last name in the list of authorities on the subject of St.

Patrick's Purgatory is "Mensignano," with the reference in the margin

of Montalvan's 'Vida y Purgatorio' to his 'Florilegium'. This of

course is Messingham, out of whose book, aided by his own wild

imagination, Perez de Montalvan created the character of Luis Enius,

who is presented to us with such dramatic power by Calderon.

Notwithstanding the length of these notes, the following summary,

taken with some corrections from the Introduction to the former

translation of this drama (1853), may still be useful:--

The curious history of Luis Enius, on which the principal interest of

the 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 recognised as

the same in all, whether as Owen, Oien, Owain, Egan, Euenius, or

Enius. Perhaps the earliest allusion to him in any printed English

work is that contained in Ranulph Higden's "Polychronicon," published

at Westminster, by Wynkin de Worde, in 1495: "In this Steven's tyme,

a knyght that hyght Owen wente in to 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 joye and of

paynes that he had seen." The history of Enius had, however, existed

in MS. for nearly three centuries and a half before the Polychronicon

was printed; it had been written by Henry, the monk of Saltrey 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, in Lincolnshire (Colgan, 'Trias Thaumaturgae', p. 281.

Ware's 'Annals of Ireland', A.D. 1497). Colgan, after collating this

MS. with two others on the same subject which he had seen, printed it

nearly in full in his 'Trias', which was published at Louvain, A.D.

1647, where with the notes it fills from the 273rd to the 281st page.

Messingham, as we have seen, had printed it earlier from other

sources, in 1624. Matthew Paris, however, had before this, in his

History of England, under the date 1153, given a full account of the

adventures of Oenus in the Purgatory, and in the few places that I

have compared his account with that given in Colgan, I find both

generally agreeing in substance, though not in words. In the folio

edition of Mathew Paris, London, 1604, the history of Oenus begins at

the 72nd and ends at the 77th page. In Montalvan's life of St.

Patrick, the adventures of Enius are given much more fully than

either in Matthew Paris or Colgan. In their versions of the story

the early life of Enius, previous to his undertaking to enter the

Purgatory, is passed over with a few general remarks as to its

extreme wickedness -- while they give in great detail all that he saw

and heard therein. Matthew Paris, for instance, opens the story of

Enius in these words: "Miles quidam Oenus nomine, qui multis annis

sub Rege Stephano militaverat -- licentia a Rege impetrata, profectus

est in Hyberniam ad natale solum, ut parentes visitaret. Qui cum

aliquandiu in regione illa demoratus fuisset coepit ad mentem

reducere vitam suam adeo flagitiosam: Quod ab ipsis cunabulis,

incendiis semper vacaverat et rapinis, et quod magis dolebat, se

ecclesiarum fuisse violatorem et rerum ecclesiasticarum invasorem

praeter multa enormia quae intrinsecus latebant peccata," etc. --

'Mat. Par'., p. 72. In Henry of Saltrey's account, as given by

Messingham in 1624 and Colgan in 1647, this portion of the life of

Enius is despatched even with more succinctness, but in Montalvan's

'Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio', all his early crimes are

detailed nearly in the order and almost in the very words that

Calderon has used. Sir Walter Scott mentions, in his Border

Minstrelsy, that there is a curious MS. 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 late in the

thirteenth century. It was printed for private distribution in

Edinburgh, in 1837, but from the very limited impression, there

having been but thirty-two copies struck off, it must always remain

extremely scarce. A cognate work, however, "The Visions of Tundale"

(Edinburgh, 1843), published by the same lamented scholar (Mr.

Turnbull) who edited the former work, though rare, is more accessible.

THE END.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.