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.