The Purgatory of St. Patrick

Pedro Calderon de la Barca

This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.

http://www.blackmask.com

  • ACT THE FIRST. THE SEA-SHORE, WITH PRECIPITOUS CLIFFS .
  • ACT THE SECOND. HALL OF A TOWER IN THE PALACE OF EGERIUS.
  • ACT THE THIRD. A STREET. IT IS NIGHT.
  • Produced by Sue Asscher asschers@bigpond.com

    NOW FIRST TRANSLATED FULLY FROM THE SPANISH IN THE METRE OF THE ORIGINAL.

    BY

    DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.

    INTRODUCTION.

    Two of the dramas contained in this volume are the most celebrated of all Calderon's writings. The first, “La Vida es Sueno", has been translated into many languages and performed with success on almost every stage in Europe but that of England. So late as the winter of 1866-7, in a Russian version, it drew crowded houses to the great theatre of Moscow; while a few years earlier, as if to give a signal proof of the reality of its title, and that Life was indeed a Dream, the Queen of Sweden expired in the theatre of Stockholm during the performance of “La Vida es Sueno”. In England the play has been much studied for its literary value and the exceeding beauty and lyrical sweetness of some passages; but with the exception of a version by John Oxenford published in “The Monthly Magazine” for 1842, which being in blank verse does not represent the form of the original, no complete translation into English has been attempted. Some scenes translated with considerable elegance in the metre of the original were published by Archbishop Trench in 1856; but these comprised only a portion of the graver division of the drama. The present version of the entire play has been made with the advantages which the author's long experience in the study and interpretation of Calderon has enabled him to apply to this master-piece of the great Spanish poet. All the forms of verse have been preserved; while the closeness of the translation may be inferred from the fact, that not only the whole play but every speech and fragment of a speech are represented in English in the exact number of lines of the original, without the sacrifice, it is to be hoped, of one important idea.

    A note by Hartzenbusch in the last edition of the drama published at Madrid (1872), tells that “La Vida es Sueno", is founded on a story which turns out to be substantially the same as that with which English students are familiar as the foundation of the famous Induction to the “Taming of the Shrew”. Calderon found it however in a different work from that in which Shakespeare met with it, or rather his predecessor, the anonymous author of “The Taming of a Shrew", whose work supplied to Shakespeare the materials of his own comedy.

    On this subject Malone thus writes. “The circumstance on which the Induction to the anonymous play, as well as to the present Comedy [Shakespeare's “Taming of the Shrew"], is founded, is related (as Langbaine has observed) by Heuterus, “Rerum Burgund.” lib. iv. The earliest English original of this story in prose that I have met with is the following, which is found in Goulart's “Admirable and Memorable Histories", translated by E. Grimstone, quarto, 1607; but this tale (which Goulart translated from Heuterus) had undoubtedly appeared in English, in some other shape, before 1594:

    “Philip called the good Duke of Burgundy, in the memory of our ancestors, being at Bruxelles with his Court, and walking one night after supper through the streets, accompanied by some of his favourites, he found lying upon the stones a certaine artisan that was very dronke, and that slept soundly. It pleased the prince in this artisan to make trial of the vanity of our life, whereof he had before discoursed with his familiar friends. He therefore caused this sleeper to be taken up, and carried into his palace; he commands him to be layed in one of the richest beds; a riche night cap to be given him; his foule shirt to be taken off, and to have another put on him of fine holland. When as this dronkard had digested his wine, and began to awake, behold there comes about his bed Pages and Groomes of the Duke's Chamber, who drawe the curteines, make many courtesies, and being bare-headed, aske him if it please him to rise, and what apparell it would please him to put on that day. They bring him rich apparell. This new Monsieur amazed at such courtesie, and doubting whether he dreamt or waked, suffered himselfe to be drest, and led out of the chamber. There came noblemen which saluted him with all honour, and conduct him to the Masse, where with great ceremonie they give him the booke of the Gospell, and the Pixe to kisse, as they did usually to the Duke. From the Masse they bring him back unto the pallace; he washes his hands, and sittes down at the table well furnished. After dinner, the Great Chamberlain commands cards to be brought with a great summe of money. This Duke in imagination playes with the chief of the Court. Then they carry him to walke in the gardein, and to hunt the hare, and to hawke. They bring him back into the pallace, where he sups in state. Candles being light the musitions begin to play; and the tables taken away, the gentlemen and gentlewomen fell to dancing. Then they played a pleasant comedie, after which followed a Banket, whereat they had presently store of Ipocras and pretious wine, with all sorts of confitures, to this prince of the new impression; so as he was dronke, and fell soundlie asleepe. Hereupon the Duke commanded that he should be disrobed of all his riche attire. He was put into his old ragges, and carried into the same place, where he had been found the night before; where he spent that night. Being awake in the morning, he began to remember what had happened before; he knewe not whether it were true indeede, or a dream that had troubled his braine. But in the end, after many discourses, he concludes that ALL WAS BUT A DREAME that had happened unto him; and so entertained his wife, his children, and his neighbours, without any other apprehension.”

    It is curious to find that the same anecdote which formed the Induction to the original “Taming of a Shrew", and which, from a comic point of view, Shakespeare so wonderfully developed in his own comedy, Calderon invested with such solemn and sublime dignity in “La Vida es Sueno”. He found it, as Senor Hartzenbusch points out in the edition of 1872 already quoted, in the very amusing “Viage Entretenido” of Augustin de Rojas, which was first published in 1603. Hartzenbusch refers to the modern edition of Rojas, Madrid, 1793, tomo I, pp. 261, 262, 263, but in a copy of the Lerida edition of 1615, in my own possession, I find the anecdote at folios 118, 119, 120. There are some slight differences between the version of Rojas and that of Goulart, but the incidents and the persons are the same. The conclusion to which the artizan arrived at, in the version of Goulart, that all had been a dream, is expressed more strongly by the Duke himself in the story as told by Rojas.

    “Y dijo entonces el Duque: 'veis aqui, amigos, “Lo que es el Mundo: Todo es un Sueno", pues esto verdaderamente ha pasado por este, como habeis visto, y le parece que lo ha sonado.'“ —

    The story in all probability came originally from the East. Mr. Lane in his translation of the Thousand and One Nights gives a very interesting narrative which he believes to be founded on an historical fact in which Haroun Al Raschid plays the part of the good Duke of Burgundy, and Abu-l-Hasan the original of Christopher Sly. The gravity of the treatment and certain incidents in this Oriental story recall more strongly Calderon's drama than the Induction to the “Taming of the Shrew”. “La Vida es Sueno” was first published either at the end of 1635 or beginning of 1636.

    The “Aprobacion” for its publication along with eleven other dramas (not nine as Archbishop Trench has stated), was signed on the 6th of November in the former year by the official licenser, Juan Bautista de Sossa. The volume was edited by the poet's brother, Don Joseph Calderon. So scarce has this first authorised collection of any of Calderon's dramas become, that a Spanish writer Don Vicente Garcia de la Huerta, in his “Teatro Espanol” (Parte Segunda, tomo 3o), denies the existence of this volume of 1635, and states that it did not appear until 1640. As if to corroborate this view, Barrera in his “Catalogo del Teatro antiguo Espanol” gives the date 1640 to the “Primera parte de comedias de Calderon” edited by his brother Joseph.

    There can be no doubt, however, that the volume appeared in 1635 or 1636 as stated. In 1637 Don Joseph Calderon published the “Second Part" of his brother's dramas containing like the former volume twelve plays.* In his dedication of this volume to D. Rodrigo de Mendoza, Joseph Calderon expressly alludes to the First Part of his brother's comedies which he had “printed.” “En la primera Parte, Excellentissimo Senor, de las comedias que imprimi de Don Pedro Calderon de La Barca, mi hermano,” etc. This of course settles the fact of the prior publication of the first Part. It is singular, however, to find that the most famous of all Calderon's dramas should have been frequently ascribed to Lope de Vega. So late as 1857 it is given in an Italian version by Giovanni La Cecilia, under the title of “La Vita e un Sogno", as a drama of Lope de Vega, with the date 1628. This of course is a mistake, but Senor Hartzenbusch, who makes no allusion to this circumstance, admits that two dramas of Lope de Vega, which it is presumed preceded the composition of Calderon's play turn on very nearly the same incidents as those of “La Vida es Sueno”. These are “Lo que ha de ser", and “Barlan y Josafa”. He gives a passage from each of these dramas which seem to be the germ of the fine lament of Sigismund, which the reader will find translated in the present volume.

    [footnote] *In the library of the British Museum there is a fine copy of this “Segunda Parte de Comedias de Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca” Madrid, 1637. Mr. Ticknor mentions (1863) that he too had a copy of this interesting volume.

    Senor Hartzenbusch, in the edition of Calderon's “La Vida es Sueno", already referred to (Madrid, 1872), prints the passages from Lope de Vega's two dramas, but in neither of them, he justly remarks, can we find anything that at all corresponds to this “grandioso caracter de Segismundo.”

    The second drama in this volume, “The Wonderful Magician", is perhaps better known to poetical students in England than even the first, from the spirited fragment Shelley has left us in his “Scenes from Calderon.” The preoccupation of a subject by a great master throws immense difficulties in the way of any one who ventures to follow in the same path: but as Shelley allowed himself great licence in his versification, and either from carelessness or an imperfect knowledge of Spanish is occasionally unfaithful to the meaning of his author, it may be hoped in my own version that strict fidelity both as to the form as well as substance of the original may be some compensation for the absence of those higher poetical harmonies to which many of my readers will have been accustomed.

    “El Magico Prodigioso” appeared for the first time in the same volume as “La Vida es Sueno", prepared for publication in 1635 by Don Joseph Calderon. The translation is comprised in the same number of lines as the original, and all the preceding remarks on “Life is a Dream", whether in reference to the period of the first publication of the drama in Spain, or the principles I kept in view while attempting this version may be applied to it. As in the Case of “Life is a Dream", “The Wonderful Magician” has previously been translated entire by an English writer, (“Justina", by J.H. 1848); but as Archbishop Trench truly observes, “the writer did not possess that command of the resources of the English language, which none more than Calderon requires.”

    The Legend on which Calderon founded “El Magico Prodigioso” will be found in Surius, “De probatis Sanctorum historiis", t. V. (Col. Agr. 1574), p. 351: “Vita et Martyrium SS. Cypriani et Justinae, autore Simeone Metaphraste", and in Chapter cxlii, of the “Legenda Aurea” of Jacobus de Voragine “De Sancta Justina virgine”.

    The martyrdom of the Saints took place in the year 290, and their festival is celebrated by the Church on the 26th of September.

    Mr. Ticknor in his History of Spanish Literature, 1863, volume ii. p. 369, says that the Wonder-working Magician is founded on “the same legend on which Milman has founded his 'Martyr of Antioch.'“ This is a mistake of the learned writer. “The Martyr of Antioch” is founded not on the history of St. Justina but of Saint Margaret, as Milman himself expressly states. Chapter xciii., “De Sancta Margareta", in the “Legenda Aurea” of Jacobus de Voragine contains her story.

    The third translation in this volume is that of “The Purgatory of St. Patrick”. This, though perhaps not so famous as the two preceding dramas, is intended to be given by Don P. De la Escosura, in a selection of Calderon's finest “comedias", now being edited by him for the Spanish Academy, as the representative piece of its class — namely, the mystical drama founded on the lives of Saints. Mr. Ticknor prefers it to the more celebrated “Devotion of the Cross,” and says that it “is commonly ranked among the best religious plays of the Spanish theatre in the seventeenth century.”

    In all that relates to the famous cave known through the middle ages as the “Purgatory of Saint Patrick", as well as the Story of Luis Enius —the Owain Miles of Ancient English poetry —Calderon was entirely indebted to the little volume published at Madrid, in 1627, by Juan Perez de Montalvan, entitled “Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio”. This singular work met with immense success. It went through innumerable editions, and continues to be reprinted in Spain as a chap-book, down to the present day. I have the fifth impression “improved and enlarged by the author himself,” Madrid, 1628, the year after its first appearance: also a later edition, Madrid, 1664. As early as 1637 a French translation appeared at Brussels by “F. A. S. Chartreux, a Bruxelles.” In 1642 a second French translation was published at Troyes, by “R. P. Francois Bouillon, de l'Ordre de S. Francois, et Bachelier de Theologie.” Mr. Thomas Wright in his “Essay on St. Patrick's Purgatory,” London, 1844, makes the singular mistake of supposing that Bouillon's “Histoire de la Vie et Purgatoire de S. Patrice” was founded on the drama of Calderon, it being simply a translation of Montalvan's “Vida y Purgatorio,” from which, like itself, Calderon's play was derived. Among other translations of Montalvan's work may be mentioned one in Dutch (Brussels, 1668) and one in Portuguese (Lisbon, 1738). It was also translated into German and Italian, but I find no mention of an English version. For this reason I have thought that a few extracts might be interesting, as showing how closely Calderon adhered even to the language of his predecessor.

    In all that relates to the Purgatory, Montalvan's work is itself chiefly compiled from the “Florilegium Insulae Sanctorum, seu vitae et Actae sanctorum Hiberniae,” Paris, 1624, fol. This work, which has now become scarce, was written by Thomas Messingham an Irish priest, the Superior of the Irish Seminary in Paris. No complete English version appears to have been made of it, but a small tract in English containing everything in the original work that referred to St. Patrick's Purgatory was published at Paris in 1718. As this tract is perhaps more scarce than even the Florilegium itself, the account of the Purgatory as given by Messingham from the MS. of Henry of Saltrey is reprinted in the notes to this drama in the quaint language of the anonymous translator. Of this tract, “printed at Paris in 1718” without the name of author, publisher or printer, I have not been able to trace another copy. In other points of interest connected with Calderon's drama, particularly to the clearing up of the difficulty hitherto felt as to the confused list of authorities at the end, the reader is also referred to the notes.

    The present version of “The Purgatory of Saint Patrick” is, with the exception of a few unimportant lines, an entirely new translation. It is made with the utmost care, imitating all the measures and contained, like the two preceding dramas, in the exact number of lines of the original. One passage of the translation which I published in 1853 is retained in the notes, as a tribute of respect to the memory of the late John Rutter Chorley, it having been mentioned with praise by that eminent Spanish scholar in an elaborate review of my earlier translations from Calderon, which appeared in the “Athenaeum", Nov. 19 and Nov. 26, 1853.

    It only remains to add that the text I have followed is that of Hartzenbusch in his edition of Calderon's Comedias, Madrid, 1856 (“Biblioteca de Autores Espanoles"). His arrangement of the scenes has been followed throughout, thus enabling the reader in a moment to verify for himself the exactness of the translation by a reference to the original, a crucial test which I rather invite than decline.

    CLAPHAM PARK, Easter, 1873.

          * * * * *

    THE

    PURGATORY OF ST. PATRICK.

    TO

    AUBREY DE VERE,

    WHOSE

    “LEGENDS OF ST. PATRICK”

    ARE AMONG THE MOST BEAUTIFUL OF ENGLISH POEMS,

    THIS VERSION

    OF THE CELEBRATED LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK'S PURGATORY,

    AS TOLD BY CALDERON,

    IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY

    THE AUTHOR.


    PERSONS.


          * * * * *


    EGERIUS, King of Ireland.
    PATRICK.
    LUIS ENIUS.
    A GOOD ANGEL.
    A BAD ANGEL.
    PHILIP.
    LEOGAIRE.
    A CAPTAIN.
    POLONIA, Daughter of the King.
    LESBIA, her Sister.
    PAUL, a Peasant.
    LUCY, his Wife.
    Two Canons Regular.
    Two Peasants.
    An Old Countryman.
    A Muffled Figure.
    Attendants, Friars, and others.


    * * * * * The Scene passes in Ireland, in the Court of King Egerius, and other parts. THE PURGATORY OF SAINT PATRICK. * * * * *

    ACT THE FIRST. THE SEA-SHORE, WITH PRECIPITOUS CLIFFS.




    SCENE I.




    The King EGERIUS, clad in skins, LEOGAIRE, POLONIA, LESBIA, and a Captain
    .


    KING
    [furious]. Here let me die. Away!


    LEOGAIRE
    . Oh, stop, my lord!


    CAPTAIN
    . Consider . . .


    LESBIA
    . Listen . . .


    POLONIA
    . Stay . . .


    KING
    . Yes, from this rocky height,
    Nigh to the sun, that with one starry light
    Its rugged brow doth crown,
    Headlong among the salt waves leaping down
    Let him descend who so much pain perceives;
    There let him raging die who raging lives.


    LESBIA
    . Why wildly seekest thou the sea?


    POLONIA
    . Thou wert asleep, my lord; what could it be?


    KING
    . Every torment that doth dwell
    For ever with the thirsty fiends of hell —
    Dark brood of that dread mother,
    The seven-necked snake, whose poisoned breath doth smother
    The fourth celestial sphere;
    In fine, its horror and its misery drear
    Within me reach so far,
    That I myself upon myself make war,
    When in the arms of sleep
    A living corse am I, for it doth keep
    Such mastery o'er my life, that, as I dream,
    A pale foreshadowing threat of coming death I seem.


    POLONIA
    . How could a dream, my lord, provoke you so?


    KING
    . Alas! my daughters, listen, you shall know.
    From out the lips of a most lovely youth
    (And though a miserable slave, in sooth
    I dare not hurt him, and I speak his praise),
    Well, from the mouth of a poor slave, a blaze
    Of lambent lustre came,
    Which mildly burned in rays of gentlest flame;
    Till reaching you,
    The living fire at once consumed ye two.
    I stood betwixt ye both, and though I sought
    To stay its fury, the strange fire would not
    Molest or wound me, passing like the wind,
    So that despairing, blind,
    I woke from out a deep abysm
    Of dream, a lethargy, a paroxysm;
    But find my pains the same,
    For still it seems to me I see that flame,
    And flying, at every turn
    See you consumed; but now I also burn.*



    [footnote] *The Dream of Egerius, as given by Calderon, agrees
    substantially with Jocelin's description, and differs only in one
    slight particular (the number of the flames) from that in Montalvan's
    “Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio”. In the latter, the name of the
    Irish prince to whom Patrick was sold is not given; in Jocelin he is
    called “Milcho.” Calderon was either ignorant of this, and gave the
    king a name that was purely imaginary, or, considering it less
    musical than he would wish, gave him the more harmonious one of
    Egerio. The following is Jocelin's version: “And Milcho beheld a
    vision in the night: and behold Patrick entered his palace as all on
    fire, and the flames, issuing from his mouth, and from his nose, and
    from his eyes, and from his ears, seemed to burn him; but Milcho
    repelled from himself the flaming hair of the boy, nor did it prevail
    to touch him any nearer; but the flame, being spread, turned aside to
    the right and catching on his two little daughters, who were lying in
    one bed, burned them even to ashes: then the south wind blowing
    strongly dispersed their ashes over many parts of Ireland.” —
    “Jocelin's Life of St. Patrick, translated by Swift” (Dublin, 1804),
    pp. 17, 18.



    LESBIA
    . Light phantoms these,
    Chimeras which an entrance find with ease
    Into the dreamer's brain.
    [A trumpet sounds.
    But wherefore sounds this trumpet?


    CAPTAIN
    . It is plain
    Ships are approaching to our port below.


    POLONIA
    . Grant me thy leave, great lord, since thou dost know
    A trumpet in my ear
    Sounds like a siren's voice, serene and clear;
    Ever to war inclined,
    In martial music my chief joy I find;
    Its clangour and its din
    Lead my rapt senses on: for I may win
    Through it my highest fame,
    When soaring to the sun on waves of flame,
    Or wings as swift, my proud name shall ascend,
    There it may be with Pallas to contend.
    [Aside.
    A stronger motive urges me to go:
    If it is Philip's ship I wish to know.
    [Exit.


    LEOGAIRE
    . Descend, my lord, with me
    Down where the foam-curled head of the blue sea
    Bows at the base of this majestic hill,
    Whose sands, like chains of gold, restrain its wilder will.


    CAPTAIN
    . Let it divert thy care,
    This snow-white monster fair,
    Whose waves of dazzling hue
    Shape silver frames round mirrors sapphire blue.


    KING
    . Nothing can give relief;
    Nothing can now divert me from my grief;
    That mystic fire will give my life no rest,—
    My heart an Etna seems within my breast.


    LESBIA
    . Is any sight more fair? can aught surpass
    That of a vessel breaking through the glass
    Of crystal seas, and seeming there to be,
    As with light share it cuts the azure mass,
    A fish of the wind, a swift bird of the sea,
    And being for two elements designed,
    Flies in the wave and swims upon the wind?
    But now no witchery
    Were it to any eyes that sight to see;
    For lo! the roused-up ocean,
    Heaving with all its mountain waves in motion,
    Wrinkles its haughty brow,
    And suddenly awaking,
    Neptune, his trident shaking,
    Ruffles the beauteous face so sweet and calm but now.
    Well may the sailor in his floating home
    Expect a storm, for, lo! in heaven's high vault
    Rise pyramids of ice, mountains of salt,
    Turrets of snow, and palaces of foam.


    POLONIA returns
    .


    POLONIA
    . O dire misfortune!


    KING
    . What so suddenly
    Has chanced, Polonia?


    POLONIA
    . This inconstant sea,
    This Babel of wild waves that seeks heaven's gate,
    So great its fury, and its rage so great,
    Driven by a drought accursed,
    (Who would have thought that waves themselves could thirst?)
    Has swallowed in the depths of its dread womb,
    But now, a numerous company, to whom
    It consecrates below
    Red sepulchres of coral, tombs of snow,
    In silver-shining caves;
    For from their prison out o'er all the waves
    Has Aeolus the winds let loose, and they,
    Without a law to guide them on their way,
    Fell on that bark from which the trumpet rang,
    A swan whose own sad obsequies it sang.
    I from that cliff's stupendous height,
    Which dares to intercept the great sun's light,
    Looked full of hope along that vessel's track,
    To see if it was Philip who came back;
    Philip whose flag had borne upon the breeze
    Thy royal arms triumphant through the seas;
    When his sad wreck swept by,
    And every sound was buried in a sigh,
    His ruin seemed not wrought by seas or skies,
    But by my lips and eyes,
    Because my cries, the tears that made me blind,
    Increased still more the water and the wind.


    KING
    . How! ye immortal deities,
    Would you still try by threatenings such as these
    What I can bear?
    Is it your wish that I should mount and tear
    This azure palace down, as if the shape
    Of a new Nimrod* I assumed, to show
    How on my shoulders might the world escape,
    Nor as I gazed below
    Feel any fear, though all the abysses under
    Were rent with fire and flame, with lightning and with thunder.



    [footnote] *Nimrod is here used for Atlas. “Nimrod aber ist hier,
    was den Profandichtern und auch dem Calderon oft Atlas ist.” —
    Schmidt, 'Die Schauspiele Calderon's' etc.,' p. 426.




          * * * * *



    SCENE II.




    PATRICK, and then LUIS ENIUS
    .


    PATRICK
    [within]. Ah me!


    LEOGAIRE
    . Some mournful voice.


    KING
    . What's this?


    CAPTAIN
    . The form,
    As of a man who has escaped the storm,
    Swims yonder to the land.


    LESBIA
    . And strives to give a life-sustaining hand
    Unto another wretch, when he
    Appeared about to sink in death's last agony.


    POLONIA
    . Poor traveller from afar,
    Whom evil fate and thy malignant star
    On this far shore have cast,
    Let my voice guide thee, if amid the blast
    My accents thou canst hear; since it is only
    To rouse thy courage that I speak to thee.
    Come!


    [Enter PATRICK and LUIS ENIUS, clasping each other.


    PATRICK
    . Oh, God save me!


    LUIS
    . Oh, the devil save ME!


    LESBIA
    . They move my pity, these unhappy two.


    KING
    . Not mine, for what it is I never knew.


    PATRICK
    . Oh, sirs, if wretchedness
    Can move most hearts to pity man's distress,
    I will not think that here
    A heart can be so cruel and severe
    As to repel a wretch from out the wave.
    Pity, for God's sake, at your feet I crave.


    LUIS
    . I don't, for I disdain it.
    From God or man I never hope to gain it.


    KING
    . Say who you are; we then shall know
    What hospitable care your needs we owe.
    But first I will inform you of my name,
    Lest ignorance of that perchance might claim
    Exemption from respect, and words be said
    Unworthy of the deference and the dread
    That here my subjects show me,
    Or wanting the due homage that you owe me.
    I am the King Egerius,
    The worthy lord of this small realm, for thus
    I call it being mine;
    Till 'tis the world, my sword shall not resign
    Its valorous hope. The dress,
    Not of a king, but of wild savageness
    I wear: to testify,
    Thus seeming a wild beast, how wild am I.
    No god my worship claims;
    I do not even know the deities' names:
    Here they no service nor respect receive;
    To die and to be born is all that we believe.
    Now that you know how much you should revere
    My royal state, say who you are.


    PATRICK
    . Then hear:
    Patrick is my name, my country
    Ireland, and an humble hamlet,*
    Scarcely known to men, called Empthor,**
    Is my place of birth: It standeth
    Midway 'twixt the north and west,
    On a mountain which is guarded
    As a prison by the sea,—
    In the island which hereafter
    Will be called the Isle of Saints,
    To its glory everlasting;
    Such a crowd, great lord, therein
    Will give up their lives as martyrs
    In religious attestation
    Of the faith, faith's highest marvel.
    Of an Irish cavalier,
    And of his chaste spouse and partner,
    A French lady, I was born,
    Unto whom I owe (oh, happy
    That 'twas so!), beyond my birthright
    Of nobility, the vantage
    Of the Christian faith, the light
    Of Christ's true religion granted
    In the sacred rite of baptism,
    Which a mark indelibly stampeth
    On the soul, heaven's gate, as it
    Is the sacrament first granted
    By the Church. My pious parents,
    Having thus the debt exacted
    From all married people paid
    By my birth, retired thereafter
    To two separate convents, where
    In the purity and calmness
    Of their chaste abodes they lived,
    Till the fatal line of darkness,
    Ending life, was reached, and they,
    Fortified by every practice
    Of the Catholic faith, in peace
    Yielded up their souls in gladness,
    Unto heaven their spirits giving,
    Giving unto earth their ashes.
    I, an orphan, then remained
    Carefully and kindly guarded
    By a very holy matron,
    Underneath whose rule I hardly
    Had completed one brief lustrum —
    Five short years had scarce departed —
    Five bright circles of the sun
    Wheeling round on golden axles,
    Twelve high zodiac signs illuming
    And one earthly sphere, when happened
    Through me an event that showed
    God's omnipotence and marvels;
    Since of weakest instruments
    God makes use of, to enhance his
    Majesty the more, to show
    That for what men think the grandest
    And most strange effects, to Him
    Should alone the praise be granted.—
    It so happened, and Heaven knoweth
    That it is not pride, but rather
    Pure religious zeal, that men
    Should know how the Lord hath acted,
    Makes me tell it, that one day
    To my doors a blind man rambled,
    Gormas was his name, who said,
    “God who sends me here commands thee
    In His name to give me sight;"
    I, obedient to the mandate,
    Made at once the sign of the cross
    On his sightless eyes, that started
    Into life and light once more
    From their state of utter darkness.
    At another time when heaven,
    Muffled in the thickest, blackest
    Clouds, made war upon the world,
    Hurling at it lightning lances
    Of white snow, which fell so thickly
    On a mountain, that soon after
    They being melted by the sun,
    So filled up our streets and alleys,
    So inundated our houses,
    That amid the wild waves stranded
    They were ships of bricks and stones,
    Barks of cement and of plaster.
    Who before saw waves on mountains?
    Who 'mid woods saw ships at anchor?
    I the sign of the cross then made
    On the waters, and in accents,
    In a tone of grave emotion,
    In God's name the waves commanded
    To retire: they turned that moment
    And left dry the lands they ravaged.
    Oh, great God! who will not praise Thee?
    Who will not confess Thee Master?—
    Other wonders I could tell you,
    But my modesty throws shackles
    On my tongue, makes mute my voice,
    And my lips seals up and fastens.
    I grew up, in fine, inclined
    Less to arms than to the marvels
    Knowledge can reveal: I gave me
    Almost wholly up to master
    Sacred Science, to the reading
    Of the Lives of Saints, a practice
    Which doth teach us faith, hope, zeal,
    Charity and Christian manners.
    In these studies thus immersed,
    I one day approached the margin
    Of the sea with some young friends,
    Fellow-students and companions,
    When a bark drew nigh, from which
    Suddenly out-leaping landed
    Armed men, fierce pirates they,
    Who these seas, these islands, ravaged;
    We at once were captives made,
    And in order not to hazard
    Losing us their prey, they sailed
    Out to sea with swelling canvas.
    Of this daring pirate boat
    Philip de Roqui was the captain,
    In whose breast, for his destruction,
    Pride, the poisonous weed, was planted.
    He the Irish seas and coast
    Having thus for some days ravaged,
    Taking property and life,
    Pillaging our homes and hamlets;
    But myself alone reserved
    To be offered as a vassal,
    As a slave to thee, O king!
    In thy presence as he fancied.
    Oh! how ignorant is man,
    When of God's wise laws regardless,
    When, without consulting Him,
    He his future projects planneth!
    Philip well, at sea might say so;
    Since to-day, in sight of land here,
    Heaven the while being all serene,
    Mild the air, the water tranquil,
    In an instant, in a moment,
    He beheld his proud hopes blasted.
    In the hollow-breasted waves
    Roared the wind, the sea grew maddened,
    Billows upon billows rolled
    Mountain high, and wildly dashed them
    Wet against the sun, as if
    They its light would quench and darken.
    The poop-lantern of our ship
    Seemed a comet most erratic —
    Seemed a moving exhalation,
    Or a star from space outstarted;
    At another time it touched
    The profoundest deep sea-caverns,
    Or the treacherous sands whereon
    Ran the stately ship and parted.
    Then the fatal waves became
    Monuments of alabaster,
    Tombs of coral and of pearl.
    I (and why this boon was granted
    Unto me by Heaven I know not,
    Being so useless), with expanded
    Arms, struck out, but not alone
    My own life to save, nay rather
    In the attempt to save this brave
    Young man here, that life to barter;
    For I know not by what secret
    Instinct towards him I'm attracted;
    And I think he yet will pay me
    Back this debt with interest added.
    Finally, through Heaven's great pity
    We at length have happily landed,
    Where my misery may expect it,
    Or my better fate may grant it;
    Since we are your slaves and servants,
    That being moved by our disasters,
    That being softened by our weeping,
    Our sore plight may melt your hardness,
    Our affliction force your kindness,
    And our very pains command you.***



    [footnote] * The asonante in a —e, or their vocal equivalents,
    commences here, and is continued to the commencement of the speech of
    Enius, when it changes to the asonante in e —e, which is kept up
    through the remainder of the Scene, and to the end of Scene III.


    [footnote] ** “Empthor” —see note on this name.


    [footnote] *** See note for some extracts from Montalvan's “Vida y
    Purgaterio de San Patricio”.



    KING
    . Silence, miserable Christian,
    For my very soul seems fastened
    On thy words, compelling me,
    How I know not, to regard thee
    With strange reverence and fear,
    Thinking thou must be that vassal —
    That poor slave whom in my dream
    I beheld outbreathing flashes,
    Saw outflashing living fire,
    In whose flame, so lithe and lambent,
    My Polonia and my Lesbia
    Like poor moths were burned to ashes.


    PATRICK
    . Know, the flame that from my mouth
    Issued, is the true Evangel,
    Is the doctrine of the Gospel:—
    'Tis the word which I'm commanded
    Unto thee to preach, O King!
    To thy subjects and thy vassals,
    To thy daughters, who shall be
    Christians through its means.


    KING
    . Cease, fasten
    Thy presumptuous lips, vile Christian,
    For thy words insult and stab me.


    LESBIA
    . Stay!


    POLONIA
    . And wilt thou in thy pity
    Try to save him from his anger?


    LESBIA
    . Yes.


    POLONIA
    . Forbear, and let him die.


    LESBIA
    . Thus to die by a king's hands here
    Were unjust. [Aside.] (It is my pity
    For these Christians prompts my answer.)


    POLONIA
    . If this second Joseph then,
    Like the first one, would unravel,
    Would interpret the king's dreams,
    Do not dread the result, my father;
    For if my being seen to burn
    Indicates in any manner
    I should ever be a Christian,
    As impossible a marvel
    Such would be, as if, being dead,
    I could rise and live thereafter.
    But in order that your mind
    May be turned from such just anger,
    Let us hear now who this other
    Stranger is.


    LUIS
    . Then be attentive,
    Beautiful divinity,
    For my history thus commences:—
    Great Egerius, King of Ireland,
    I by name am Luis Enius,
    And a Christian also, this
    Being the sole point of resemblance
    Betwixt Patrick and myself,
    Yet a difference presenting:
    For although we two are Christians,
    So distinct and so dissevered
    Are we, that not good from evil
    Is more opposite in its essence.
    Yet for all that, in defence
    Of the faith I believe and reverence,
    I would lose a thousand lives
    (Such the esteem for it I cherish).
    Yes, by God! The oath alone
    Shows how firmly I confess Him.
    I no pious tales or wonders,
    Worked in my behalf by Heaven,
    Have to speak of: no; dark crimes,
    Robberies, murders, sacrileges,
    Treasons, treacheries, betrayals,
    Must I tell instead, however
    Vain it be in me to glory
    In my having such effected.
    I in one of Ireland's many
    Isles was born; the planets seven,
    I suspect, in wild abnormal
    Interchange of influences,
    Must have at my hapless birth-time
    All their various gifts presented.
    Fickleness the Moon implanted
    In my nature; subtle Hermes
    With and genius ill-employed;
    (Better ne'er to have possessed them);
    Wanton Venus gave me passions —
    All the flatteries of the senses,
    And stern Mars a cruel mind
    (Mars and Venus both together
    What will they not give?); the Sun
    Gave to me an easy temper,
    Prone to spend, and when means failed me
    Theft and robbery were my helpers;
    Jupiter presumptuous pride,
    Thoughts fantastic and unfettered,
    Gave me; Saturn, rage and anger,
    Valour and a will determined
    On its ends; and from such causes
    Followed the due consequences.
    Here from Ireland being banished,
    By a cause I do not mention
    Through respect to him, my father
    Came to Perpignan, and settled
    In that Spanish town, when I
    Scarce my first ten years had ended,
    And when sixteen came, he died.
    May God rest his soul in heaven!—
    Orphaned, I remained the prey
    Of my passions and my pleasures,
    O'er whose tempting plain I ran
    Without rein or curb to check me.
    The two poles of my existence,
    On which all the rest depended
    For support, were play and women.
    What a base on which to rest me!
    Here my tongue would not be able
    To acquaint you 'in extenso'
    With my actions: a brief abstract
    May, however, be attempted.
    I, to outrage a young maiden,
    Stabbed to death a noble elder,
    Her own father: for the sake
    Of his wife, a most respected
    Cavalier I slew, as he
    Lay beside her in the helpless
    State of sleep, his honour bathing
    In his blood, the bed presenting
    A sad theatre of crimes,
    Murder and adultery blended.
    Thus the father and the husband
    Life for honour's sake surrendered;
    For even honour has its martyrs.
    May God rest their souls in heaven!—
    Dreading punishment for this,
    I fled hastily, and entered
    France, where my exploits, methinks,
    Time will cease not to remember;
    For, assisting in the wars
    Which at that time were contended
    Bravely betwixt France and England,
    I took military service
    Under Stephen, the French king,
    And a fight which chance presented
    Showed my courage to be such,
    That the king himself, as guerdon
    Of my valour, gave to me
    The commission of an ensign.
    How that debt I soon repaid,
    I prefer not now to tell thee.
    Back to Perpignan, thus honoured,
    I returned, and having entered
    Once a guard-house there to play,
    For some trifle I lost temper,
    Struck a serjeant, killed a captain,
    And maimed others there assembled.
    At the cries from every quarter
    Speedily the watch collected,
    And in flying to a church,
    As they hurried to prevent me,
    I a catch-pole killed. ('Twas something
    One good work to have effected
    'Mid so many that were bad.)
    May God rest his soul in heaven!—
    Far I fled into the country,
    And asylum found and shelter
    In a convent of religious,
    Which was founded in that desert,
    Where I lived retired and hidden,
    Well taken care of and attended.
    For a lady there, a nun,
    Was my cousin, which connection
    Gave to her the special burden
    Of this care. My heart already
    Being a basilisk which turned
    All the honey into venom,
    Passing swiftly from mere liking
    To desire —that monster ever
    Feeding on the impossible —
    Living fire that with intensest
    Fury burns when most opposed —
    Flame the wind revives and strengthens,
    False, deceitful, treacherous foe
    Which doth murder its possessor —
    In a word, desire in him,
    Who nor God nor law respecteth,
    Of the horrible, of the shocking,
    Thinks but only to attempt it.—
    Yes, I dared . . . . But here disturbed,
    When, my lord, I this remember,
    Mute the voice in horror fails,
    Sad the accent faints and trembles,
    And as 'mid the night's dark shadows,
    The hair stands on end through terror;
    Thus confused, so full of doubt,
    Sad remembrance so o'erwhelms me,
    That the thing I dared to do
    I scarce dare in words to tell thee.
    For, in fine, my crime is such,
    So to be abhorred, detested,
    So profane, so sacrilegious
    (Strange upon thee so to press it),
    That for having such committed
    I at times feel some repentance.
    Well, in fine, I dared one night,
    When deep silence had erected
    Sepulchres of fleeting sleep
    For men's overwearied senses,
    When a dark and cloudy veil
    Heaven had o'er its face extended —
    Mourning which the wind assumed
    For the sun whose life had ended —
    In whose obsequies the night-birds
    Swan-notes sang instead of verses,
    And when back from waves of sapphire,
    Where their beauty was reflected,
    The clear stars a second time
    Trembling lights to heaven presented:—
    Well, on such a night, by climbing
    O'er the garden wall, I entered
    With the assistance of two friends
    (For when such things are attempted
    An associate never fails),
    And in horror and in terror,
    Seeking in the dark my death,
    Reached at length the cell (I tremble
    To remember it) in which
    Was my cousin, whom respectful
    Silence bids me not to name,
    Though all self-respect has left me.
    Frightened at such nameless horror,
    On the hard floor she fell senseless,
    When she passed into my arms,
    And ere she regained her senses,
    She already was outside
    Her asylum, in a desert,
    When if heaven possessed the power,
    It had not the will to help her.
    Women, when they are persuaded
    That the wildest of excesses
    Are the effects of love, forgive them
    Easily; and, therefore, pleasure
    Following tears, some consolation
    In her miseries was effected;
    Though, in fact, they were so great,
    That united in one person
    She saw violence, violation,
    Incest, nay, adultery even,
    Against God who was her spouse,
    And a sacrilege most dreadful.
    Finally we left that place,
    Being carried to Valencia
    By two steeds that well might claim
    From the winds to be descended:
    Feigning that she was my wife,
    But with little peace we dwelt there;
    For I quickly having squandered
    Whatsoever little treasure
    I brought with me, without friends,
    p 260
    Without any hope of help there,
    In my dire distress appealed
    To the beauty still so perfect
    Of my poor pretended wife:
    If for aught I did I ever
    Could feel shame, this act alone
    Would most surely overwhelm me;
    Since it is the lowest baseness
    That the vilest breast descends to,
    To put up to sale one's honour,
    And to trade in love's caresses.
    Scarce with shameless front had I
    This base plan to her suggested,
    When concealing her design
    She gave seeming acquiescence;
    But I scarce had turned my back,
    Hardly had I left her presence,
    When she, flying from me, found
    Grace a convent's walls to enter.
    There, a holy monk advising,
    She a saving port and shelter
    Found against the world's wild storms,
    And there died, her sin, her penance,
    Giving all a great example;
    May God rest her soul in heaven!—
    Seeing that the narrow world
    Now took note of my offences,
    And that soon the very land
    Might reject me, I determined
    To re-seek my native country;
    For at least I there expected
    To be safer from my foes,
    In a place so long my centre
    And my home. The way I took
    And to Ireland came, which welcomed
    Me at first as would a mother,
    But a step-mother resembled
    Before long, for seeking a passage
    Where a harbour lay protected
    By a mole, I found that corsairs
    Lay concealed within the shelter
    Of a little creek which his
    Out of view their well-armed vessel.
    And of these, their captain, Philip,
    Took me prisoner, after efforts
    Made in my defence so brave,
    That in deference to the mettle
    I displayed, my life he spared.
    What ensured you know already,
    How the wind in sudden anger
    Rising into raging tempest,
    Now chastised us in its pride,
    Now our lives more cruelly threatened,
    Making in the seas and mountains
    Such wild ruin and resemblance,
    That to mock the mountain's pride
    Waves still mightier forms presented,
    Which with catapults of crystal
    Made the cliffs' foundations tremble,
    So that neighbouring cities fell,
    And the sea, in scornful temper,
    Gathering up from its abysses
    The munition it collecteth,
    Fired upon the land its pearls
    In their shells, wherein engendered
    By the swift breath of the morning
    In its dew, they shine resplendent
    Tears of ice and fire; in fine,
    Not in pictures so imperfect
    All our time to waste, the crew
    Went to sup in the infernal
    Halls themselves; I, too, a guest
    Would have equally attended
    With them, if this Patrick, here,
    Whom I know not why I reverence,
    Looking with respect and fear
    On his beauteous countenance ever,
    Had not drawn me from the sea,
    Where, exhausted, sinking, helpless,
    I drank death in every draught,
    Agony in each salt wave's venom.
    This my history is, and now
    I wish neither life nor mercy,
    Neither that my pains should move thee,
    Nor my asking should compel thee,
    Save in this, to give me death,
    That thus may the life be ended
    Of a man who is so bad,
    That he scarcely can be better.*



    [footnote] *See note as to Montalvan's invention of this story.



    KING
    . Luis, though thou art a Christian,
    Which by me is most detested,
    Yet I so admire thy courage
    That I wish, before all present,
    Between thee and him to show
    How my power can be exerted,
    How it punishes as rewards,
    How it elevates and depresses.
    And so thus my arms I give thee,
    That within them thus extended
    Thou may'st reach my heart; to thee
    Thus beneath my feet to tread thee;
    [He throws PATRICK on the ground and places his foot upon him.
    The two actions signifying
    How the heavier scale descendeth.
    And that, Patrick, thou may'st see
    How I value or give credit
    To thy threats, thy life I spare.
    Vomit forth the flame incessant
    Of the so-called word of God,
    That by this thou may'st be certain
    I do not adore his Godship,
    Nor his miracles have dread of.
    Live then; but in such a state
    Of poor, mean, and abject service,
    As befits a useless hind
    In the fields; and so as shepherd
    I would have thee guard my flocks,
    Which are in these vales collected.
    Let us see, if for the purpose
    Of this mystic fire outspreading,
    Being my slave, thy God will free thee
    From captivity and thy fetters.
    [Exit.


    LESBIA
    . Patrick moves my heart to pity.
    [Exit.


    POLONIA
    . Not so mine, for none I cherish.
    Had I any, none would move me
    Sooner than this Luis Enius.*
    [Exit.



    [footnote] *It is difficult to account for Calderon giving the name
    of “Egerio” to the King of Ireland, when he bestows the proper one —
    “Leogaire” —on an inferior character. The name of the King of
    Montalvan. “Era Rey de aquella, y de otras islas comarcanas
    Leogardo, hijo de Neil.” —Cap. I., p. 19, ed. 1628. Calderon had
    to invent names for the king's daughters, as he did not find them in
    Montalvan. In the Book of Armagh they are called “Ethne the fair"
    and “Fedelm the ruddy.” —Todd, p. 451. Miss Cusack gives the names
    “Ethna” and “Fethlema.” —“Life of St. Patrick", p. 291. Of their
    baptism, the distinguished poet to whom this drama is dedicated, has
    thus sung:—


    “They knelt
    : on their heads the wave he poured
    Thrice, in the name of the Triune Lord:
    And their foreheads he signed with the Sign adored.
    On Fedelm the 'Red Rose,' on Ethna 'The Fair,'
    God's dew shone bright in that morning air.”
    —AUBREY DE VERE'S “Legends of St. Patrick”.




          * * * * *



    SCENE III.




    PATRICK and LUIS
    .


    PATRICK
    . Luis, though a low position
    Mine is here, and I observe thee
    Raised to fortune's highest summit,
    Yet I feel more grief than envy
    At thy rise. Thou art a Christian;
    Show thyself one now in earnest.


    LUIS
    . Patrick, let me now enjoy
    The first favours fate has sent me
    After so much sad misfortune.


    PATRICK
    . One word, then (if thou wilt let me
    So presume), I ask of thee.


    LUIS
    . What is that?


    PATRICK
    . Upon this earth here,
    Once again, alive or dead,
    That we two shall meet together.


    LUIS
    . Such a word dost ask me?


    PATRICK
    . Yes.


    LUIS
    . Then I give it.


    PATRICK
    . I accept it.
    [Exeunt.




          * * * * *



    SCENE IV.




    A HAMLET NEAR THE COURT OF EGERIUS
    .


    PHILIP and LUCY
    .


    LUCY
    . Pardon, if I have not known
    How to serve you as I ought.


    PHILIP
    . For much more than you have thought
    Must you my forgiveness own.
    For when I your kind face view,
    Pain and pleasure being at war,
    I have much to thank you for,
    And have much to pardon too.
    Thanks, with which my heart is rife,
    Are for life restored and breath;
    Pardon, for you give me death,
    As before you gave me life.


    LUCY
    . For such flattering declarations
    Rude and ignorant am I,
    So my arms will give reply;
    Which gets rid of explanations.
    Let their silent interfacing
    Figure what my words should be.




          * * * * *



    SCENE V.




    PAUL
    . —THE SAME.


    PAUL
    [aside]. Eh, sirs! what is this I see?
    Some one here my wife's embracing.
    What's to do? I burn, I burst.
    Kill her? Yes. 'Twas fortune sent me.
    One thing only doth prevent me,
    Which is, she might kill me first.


    PHILIP
    . For your hospitable care,
    Beauteous mountaineer, I would
    That this ring's bright diamond could
    Far outshine a star of air.


    LUCY
    . Think me not a woman who
    Lives intent her gain to make;
    But I take it for your sake.


    PAUL
    . [aside'. What I wonder should I do?
    But if I'm her husband, then,
    As I saw him give the ring,
    Silence is the proper thing.


    LUCY
    . In these arms I once again
    Give to you my soul, for I
    Have no other ring or chain.


    PHILIP
    . Where I ever could remain:—
    For such sweet captivity
    Lures me from the miseries
    Of remembering my sad fate,
    Caused, as you have seen, so late,
    By these crystalline blue seas.


    PAUL
    [aside[. What! a new embrace! Halloo!
    Don't you see, sir, Od's my life,
    That this woman is my wife?


    PHILIP
    . Here's your husband full in view;
    He has seen us. I must straight
    Leave you and return —[Aside.} Ah, me!
    Couldst thou this, Polonia, see,
    Thou mightst mourn, perhaps, the state
    Unto which I see me doomed.
    And. O heaven-aspiring sea,
    Say in what vast depths can be
    All the lives thou hast entombed?
    [Exit.




          * * * * *



    SCENE VI.




    PAUL and LUCY; afterwards PHILIP
    .


    PAUL
    [aside]. As he's gone, I'll louder speak.—
    This time, Lucy mine, I've caught you,
    So a present I have brought you:
    See this window-bar, 'twill wreak
    My revenge.


    LUCY
    . Oh, how malicious!
    Bless me, grumbler, what grimaces!


    PAUL
    . Then to witness two embraces
    Does not look at all suspicious?—
    Was it malice, then, in me,
    Not plain seeing?


    LUCY
    . Malice merely:
    For a husband, how so nearly
    He may pry, should never see
    More than half his wife doth do.


    PAUL
    . Well, with that I'm quite content,
    To that condition I assent,
    And since twice embraced by you
    Has that rascal soldier been,
    Whom the sea spewed out in spite,
    I will juggle with my sight,
    And pretend but once to have seen;
    And as I for two embraces
    Meant to give a hundred blows,
    I but fifty now propose
    For one half of my disgraces.
    I have totted up the score;
    You yourself the sentence gave;
    Yes, by God I swear, you'll have
    Fifty strokes and not one more.


    LUCY
    . I've admitted far too much.
    For a husband it would be
    Quite preposterous; he should see
    But the quarter.


    PAUL
    . Even as such
    I acknowledge the appeal.
    Patience, and your back prepare,
    For the now admitted share,
    Five-and-twenty blows you'll feel.


    LUCY
    . No, not so; you're still astray.


    PAUL
    . Then say what?


    LUCY
    . Between us two,
    You're to trust not what you view,
    But what I am pleased to say.


    PAUL
    . Better far, I think, 'twould be,
    Daughter of the devil, that you
    Held the stick and used it too,
    With it well belabouring me;
    Is't agreed what I propose?
    Yes; then let us both change places.
    Give to him the two embraces,
    And to me the hundred blows.


    [PHILIP returns.


    PHILIP
    [aside]. Has the peasant gone, I wonder?


    PAUL
    . At the nick of time you're here,
    So, Sir Soldier, lend an ear.
    Obligation I am under
    For the favours you have meant
    To bestow so liberally
    On my cot, my wife, and me;
    And although I'm well content
    With you, yet as you're progressing
    Day by day and getting stronger,
    It is best you stay no longer.
    Take the road, then, with God's blessing,
    Leave my house, for it would be
    Sad in it to raise my hand,
    Leaving you dead flesh on land
    Who wert living fish at sea.


    PHILIP
    . The suspicion that you show
    Is quite groundless, do not doubt it.


    PAUL
    . Zounds! with reason or without it,
    Am I married, sir, or no?




          * * * * *



    SCENE VII.




    LEOGAIRE, an Old Peasant, and PATRICK
    .


    LEOGAIRE
    . So 'tis ordered, and that he
    Serving here from day to day,
    In the open field should stay.


    OLD MAN
    . Yes; I say it so shall be.


    LEOGAIRE
    . But who's this? O happiness!
    Since 'tis Philip's form I greet.
    Mighty lord, I kiss thy feet.


    PAUL
    . Mighty lord does he call him?


    LUCY
    . Yes.
    Now lay on the blows you owe.
    Now, friend Paul, the moment charms.


    PHILIP
    . Give me, good Leogaire, your arms.


    LEOGAIRE
    . Honour in them you bestow.
    Is it possible, once more
    That alive I see thee?


    PHILIP
    . Here,
    Trophy of a fate severe,
    The sea flung me on this shore,
    Where, their willing aid secured,
    I have lived these peasants' guest,
    Till I could repair with rest
    All the sufferings I endured.
    And, besides, I thought with dread
    On the angry disposition
    Of the king: for his ambition
    When has it or bowed the head,
    Or with patience heard related
    The sad tragedies of fate?
    Hopeless and disconsolate
    In this solitude I've waited,
    Till some happy chance might rise
    When no longer I should grieve,
    And the king would give me leave
    To appear before his eyes.


    LEOGAIRE
    . That already has been given thee;
    For so sad was he, believing
    Thou wert dead, so deep his grieving,
    All the past will be forgiven thee
    Since thou livest. Come with me,
    Fortune will once more embrace thee,—
    In his favour to replace thee
    Let my happy privilege be.


    PAUL
    . For that late unseemly brawl
    See me humbly bending low;
    You, my lord Prince Philip, know
    That I am one Juan Paul.
    My suspicion and abuse
    Pray forgive, your majesty,
    Think that what I said to thee
    Was but cackled by a goose.
    At your service, night and day,
    Are whatever goods I've got —
    Lucy here, myself and cot;
    And God bless us all, I pray.


    PHILIP
    . For your hospitality
    I am grateful, and I trust
    To repay it.


    PAUL
    . If you must,
    Let the first instalment be
    Just to take my wife away.
    Thurs you will reward us two;
    She'll be glad to go with you,
    I, without her, glad to stay.


    [Exeunt PHILIP and LEOGAIRE.


    LUCY
    [aside]. Was there ever love so vain
    As is mine, a brief caress
    Cradled in forgetfulness?


    OLD MAN
    . Juan Paul, as we remain
    Here alone, 'twere well to greet
    As a friend this labourer,
    Newly sent us.


    PATRICK
    . Nay, good sir,
    I'm a slave, and I entreat
    That as such you understand me;
    I, the lowest of the low,
    Hither come to serve, and so
    I implore that you command me
    As a slave, since I am one.


    OLD MAN
    . Oh, what modesty!


    PAUL
    . What humility!


    LUCY
    . What good looks, too, and gentility!
    I, in truth, can't help being drawn
    By his face.


    PAUL
    . Came ever here
    (This is quite between us two)
    Any wandering stranger who
    Did not draw you so, my dear?
    Eh, my Lucy?


    LUCY
    . Boorish, base,
    Is your vile insinuation
    'Gains my innocent inclination
    For the whole of the human race!
    [Exit.


    OLD MAN
    . To your sharpness and good will,
    Paul, I trust a thing that may
    Cost my life.


    PAUL
    . Then don't delay.
    Tell it, since you know my skill.


    OLD MAN
    . This new slave that here you see,
    I suspect is not secure,
    And I hasten to procure
    Means by which he more may be.
    For the present I confide him
    To your care, by day or night
    Let him not escape your sight,
    Ever watchful keep beside him.
    [Exit.




          * * * * *



    SCENE VIII.




    PATRICK and PAUL
    .


    PAUL
    [aside]. I'm to keep what you discarded!
    Good in faith!—[To PATRICK] Behold in me
    Your strict guard; in you I see
    The sole thing I ever guarded
    In my life; with such a care
    I can neither sleep nor eat.
    If you wish to use your feet
    You can go, your road lies there.
    Nay, in flying quickly hence
    You to me a good will do,
    Since my care will fly with you.
    Go in peace.


    PATRICK
    . With confidence
    You may trust me, for I'm not,
    Though a slave, a fugitive.
    Lord! how gladly do I live
    In this solitary spot,
    Where my soul in raptured prayer
    May adore Thee, or in trance
    See the living countenance
    Of Thy prodigies so rare!
    Human wisdom, earlthly lore,
    Solitude reveals and reaches;
    What diviner wisdom teaches
    In it, too, I would explore.


    PAUL
    . Tell me, talking thus apart,
    Who it is on whom you call?


    PATRICK
    . Great primeval cause of all,
    Thou, O Lord, in all things art!
    These blue heavens, these crystal skies
    Formed of dazzling depths of light,
    In which sun, moon, stars unite,
    Are they not but draperies
    Hung before Thy heavenly land?—
    The discordant elements,
    Water, fire, earth, air immense,
    Prove they not Thy master hand?
    Or in dark or brightsome hours,
    Praise they not Thy power and might?
    O'er the earth dost Thou not write
    In the characters of flowers
    Thy great goodness? And the air,
    In reverberating thunder,
    Does it not in fear and wonder
    Say, O Lord, that Thou art there?
    Are not, too, Thy praises sung
    By the fire and water —each
    Dowered for this divinest speech,
    With tongue the wave, the flame with tongue?
    Here, then, in this lonely place
    I, O Lord, may better be,
    Since in all things I find Thee.
    Thou hast given to me the grace
    Of Obedience, Faith, and Fear;
    As a slave, then, let me stay,
    Or remove me where I may
    Serve Thee truly, if not here.*


    [An Angel descends, holding in one hand a shield in which is a
    mirror, and in the other hand a letter.



    [footnote] *For the earlier version of this prayer, see Note.




          * * * * *



    SCENE IX.




    An Angel
    . —THE SAME.


    ANGEL
    . Patrick!


    PATRICK
    . Ah! who calls me?


    PAUL
    . Why,
    No one calls. [Aside.] The man is daft,
    Poetry should be his craft.


    ANGEL
    . Patrick!


    PATRICK
    . Ah! who calls me?


    ANGEL
    . I.


    PAUL
    [aside]. Who he speaks to, I can't see.
    Well, to stop his speech were hard,
    I'm not here his mouth to guard.
    [Exit.




          * * * * *



    SCENE X.




    The Angel and PATRICK
    .


    PATRICK
    . Ah! it cannot be to me
    Comes such glory! For, behold!
    Pearl and rosy dawn in one,
    Shines a cloud, from which its sun
    Breaks in crimson and in gold!
    Living stars its robe adorning,
    Rose and jasmine sweetly blended,
    Dazzling comes that vision splendid,
    Scattering purple pomps of morning.


    ANGEL
    . PATRICK!


    PATRICK
    . Sunlight strikes me blind!
    Heavenly Lord, who canst thou be?


    ANGEL
    . I am Victor, whom to thee
    God thy angel-guard assigned:
    With this scroll, to give it thee
    [Gives him the letter.
    I am sent.


    PATRICK
    . Sweet messenger,
    Paranymph of all things fair,
    Who amidst the hierarchy
    Of the highest hosts of heaven
    Singest in melodious tone —
    “Glory unto Thee alone,
    Holy, Holy Lord, be given!”


    ANGEL
    . Read the letter.


    PATRICK
    . With amaze,
    I see here “To Patrick” Oh,
    Can a slave be honoured so?


    ANGEL
    . Open it.


    PATRICK
    . It also says —
    “Patrick! Patrick! hither come,
    Free us from our slavery!”—
    More it means than I can see,
    Since I do not know by whom
    I am called. Oh, faithful guide,
    Speedily dispel my error!


    ANGEL
    . Look into this shining mirror.


    PATRICK
    . Heavens!


    ANGEL
    . What seest thou inside?


    PATRICK
    . Numerous people there seem thronging,
    Old men, children, women, who
    Seem to call me.


    ANGEL
    . Nor do you
    Stay, but satisfy their longing.
    You behold the Irish nation,
    Who expect to hear God's truth
    From your lips. Oh, chosen youth,
    Leave your slavery. The vocation
    God has given thee is to sow
    Faith o'er all the Irish soil.
    There as Legate thou shalt toil,
    Ireland's great Apostle. Go
    First to France, to German's home,
    The good bishop: there thou'lt make
    Thy profession: there thou'lt take
    The monk's habit, and to Rome
    Pass, where letters thou'lt procure
    For that mighty work of thine,
    In the bulls of Celestine:
    Thou wilt visit, then, in Tours
    Martin, the great bishop there.
    Now upborne upon the wind
    Come with me, for thou wilt find
    God has given with prescient care
    His commands to all, that so
    Fitly thy great work be done;
    But 'tis time we should be gone:
    Let us on our journey go.
    [They disappear.




          * * * * *



    ACT THE SECOND. HALL OF A TOWER IN THE PALACE OF EGERIUS.




    SCENE I.




    LUIS and POLONIA


    LUIS
    . Yes, Polonia, yes, for he
    Who betrays inconstancy
    Has no reason for complaining
    That another love is gaining
    On his own; that fault will be
    Ever punished so. For who
    Proudly soars that doth not fall?
    Therefore 'tis that I forestall
    Philip's love howe'er so true.
    He is nobler to the view,
    As one nobly born may be;
    But in that nobility,
    Which one's self can win and wear,
    I with justice may declare
    I am nobler far than he;
    I more honour have obtained
    Than on Philip's cradle rained:
    Let the fact excuse the boast,
    For this land from coast to coast
    Rings with victories I have gained.
    Three years is it since I came
    To these isles (it seems a day);
    Three swift years have rolled away
    Since I made it my chief aim
    Thee to serve —my highest fame.
    Trophies numerous as the sand,
    Mars might envy, has my hand
    Won for thy great sire and thee —
    Being the wonder of the sea,
    And th' amazement of the land.


    POLONIA
    . Luis, yes, thy gallant bearing,
    Or inherited or acquired,
    Has within my breast inspired
    A strange fear, a certain daring,—
    Ah, I know not if, declaring
    This, 'tis love, for blushes rise
    At perceiving with surprise
    That at last hath come the hour,
    When my heart must own the power
    Of a deity I despise.
    This alone I'll say, that here
    Long thy hope had been fruition,
    But that I the disposition
    Of the king, my father, fear,
    But still hope and persevere.




          * * * * *



    SCENE II.




    PHILIP
    . —THE SAME.


    PHILIP
    [aside]. If to find my death I come,
    Why precipitate my doom?
    But so patient who could be
    As to not desire to see
    What impends, how dark its gloom?


    LUIS
    . Then, what pledge may I demand
    Of your faith?


    POLONIA
    . This hand.


    PHILIP
    . Not so,
    How to hinder it I shall know;
    More of this I must withstand.


    POLONIA
    . Woe is me!


    PHILIP
    . Wilt give thy hand
    to this outcast of the wave?
    And, oh thou, to whom pride gave
    The presumption to aspire
    To a sun's celestial fire,
    Knowing that thou wert my slave,
    Why thus dare to come between
    Me and mine?


    LUIS
    . Because I dare
    Be what now I am, nor care
    More to be what I have been.
    It is true that I was seen
    Once your slave: for who, indeed,
    Can the fickle wheel control?
    But in nobleness of soul
    The best blood of all your breed
    I can equal, nay, exceed.


    PHILIP
    . Exceed ME? Vile homicide!
    Wretch . . . .


    LUIS
    . In having thus replied
    You have made a slight mistake.


    PHILIP
    . No.


    LUIS
    . If such you did not make,
    You've done worse.


    PHILIP
    . Say, what?


    LUIS
    . You've lied!


    PHILIP
    . Villain! traitor
    [Strikes him in the face.


    POLONIA
    . Oh, ye skies!


    LUIS
    . For so many injuries
    Why not instant vengeance take,
    When volcanic fires awake
    In my breast, and hell-flames rise?
    [They draw their swords.




          * * * * *



    SCENE III.




    EGERIUS and soldiers
    . —THE SAME.


    KING
    . What is this?


    LUIS
    . A lasting woe,
    A misfortune, an abuse,
    A sharp pain, a fiend let loose
    From the infernal pit below.
    Let no one presume to go
    'Twixt me and revenge. Reflect,
    Fury breathes immortal breath,
    Vengeance has no fear of death,
    Nor for any man respect.
    I my honour must protect.


    KING
    . Seize him.


    LUIS
    . Let the man who sighs
    For his death obey! You'll see
    How the boldest fares, for he,
    Even before your very eyes,
    Shall be slain.


    KING
    . That this should rise!—
    Follow him.


    LUIS
    . In desperate mood,
    Plunging headlong in red blood,
    Like a sea both wide and deep,
    Thus courageously I leap,
    Seeking Philip through the flood.


    [All enter fighting.




          * * * * *



    SCENE IV.




    KING
    . I but wanted this alone
    After what I've heard, that he
    Who escaped from slavery,
    And to distant Rome had flown,
    Now with purpose too well known,
    Has to Ireland come again,
    Where proclaiming the new reign
    Of the faith, he has enticed
    Many to believe in Christ,
    Rending all the world in twain.
    A magician he must be,
    Since condemned, so rumour saith,
    By some other kings to death,
    He though tied upon the tree
    In an instant set him free,
    With such prodigies of wonder
    That the earth (within whose womb
    The dead lie as in a tomb)
    Trembled, the air groaned in thunder,
    Dark eclipse the sun lay under,
    Deigning not a single glance
    Of his radiant countenance
    To the moon: from which I see
    That this Patrick, for 'tis he,
    Lords it over fate and chance;
    Awe-struck by the prodigy,
    Fearing they may punished be,
    Crowds attend him on his way.
    And 'tis said that he to-day
    Comes to try his spells on me.
    Let him come, and once for all
    Wave in vain his conjuring rod!
    We shall see who is this God,
    Whom their God the Christians call.
    By my hand must Patrick fall,
    Were it but to see if he
    Can escape his destiny,
    Or my will subvert and master,
    He this Bishop, he this Pastor,
    He Pope's Legate, though he be.




          * * * * *



    SCENE V.




    The Captain, Soldiers, LUIS a prisoner, The King
    .


    CAPTAIN
    . Luis, sire, without delay
    We secured; but not before
    He killed three, and wounded more,
    Of our company.


    KING
    . Christian, say,
    Why do you no fear display,
    Seeing now in angry mood
    My hand raised to shed your blood?
    But in vain do I deplore,
    Since he this deserves and more
    Who has done a Christian good.
    Gifts, not chastisement, should be
    Thine to-day, for it is plain
    It is I should feel the pain
    For conferring good on thee.
    Take him hence, and presently
    Let him die; and be it known
    Why from him has mercy flown.
    'Tis not for his crimes or guilt
    That this Christian's blood is spilt,
    'Tis for Christ's belief alone.
    [Exeunt.




          * * * * *



    SCENE VI.




    LUIS
    .


    LUIS
    . If for this I die, to me
    Thou the happiest death allottest,
    Since he for his God will die,
    He who dies to do Him honour.
    And a man whose life is here
    But a round of cares and crosses,
    Should be grateful unto death
    As the end of all his sorrows;
    Since it comes the tangled thread
    Of a wretched life to shorten,
    Which to-day the evil Phoenix
    Of its works that now prove mortal
    Would revive amid the ashes
    Of my wrong and my dishonour.
    Then my life, my breath were poison,
    Venom would my breast but foster,
    Until I had shed in Ireland
    Blood in such a copious torrent,
    That though base it might wash out
    The remembrance of my wronger.
    Ah, my honour, low thou liest,
    By a ruthless foot down trodden!—
    I will die with thee, united
    We two will together conquer
    These barbarians. Then since little,
    But a span at best, belongeth
    To my life, a noble vengeance
    Let this dagger take upon me!—
    But, good God! what evil impulse
    With demoniac instinct prompteth
    Thus my hand? I am a Christian,
    I've a soul, and share the godly
    Light of faith: then were it right,
    'Mid a crowd of Gentile mockers,
    Thus the Christian faith to tarnish
    By an action so improper?
    What example would I give them
    By a death so sad and shocking,
    Save that I thus gave the lie
    To the works that Patrick worketh.
    Since they'd say, who worship only
    Their own vices most immodest,
    Who deny unto the soul
    Its eternal joy or torment,
    “Of what use is Patrick's preaching
    That man's soul must be immortal,
    If the Christian, Luis Enius,
    Kills himself? He can't acknowledge
    Its eternal life who'd lose it.”—
    Thus with actions so discordant,
    He the light and I the shadow,
    We would neutralize each other.
    'Tis enough to be so wicked
    As even now to feel no sorrow,
    No repentance for past sins,
    Rather a desire for others.
    Yes, by God! for if escape
    Fortune now my life would offer,
    Europe, Africa, and Asia
    I would fill with fear and horror;
    First exacting here the debt
    Of a vengeance so enormous,
    That these islands of Egerius
    Would not hold a single mortal
    Who should not appease the thirst,
    The insatiable longing
    That I have for blood. The lightning,
    When it bursts its prison portals,
    Warns us in a voice of thunder,
    And then 'twixt dark smoke and forked
    Fires that take the shape of serpents,
    Fills the trembling air with horror.
    I, too, gave that thunder voice,
    So that all men heard the promise,
    But the lightning bolt was wanting.
    Yes, ah me! it proved abortive,
    And before it touched the earth
    Was by dallying winds made sport of.
    No, it is not death that grieves me,
    Even a death of such dishonour,
    'Tis because at last are ended,
    In my youth's fresh opening blossom,
    My offences. Life I wish for
    To begin from this day forward
    Greater and more dread excesses.
    Heavens! 'tis for no other object.




        * * * *



    SCENE VII.




    POLONIA
    . —LUIS.


    POLONIA
    [aside] (Now with mind made up I come.)
    Luis, an occasion offers
    Ever as the test and touchstone
    Of true love. By certain knowledge
    Have I learned the imminent danger
    Of thy life. The wrath grows hotter
    Of my father, and his fury
    To evade is most important.
    All the guards that here are with thee
    Has my liberal hand suborned,
    So that at the clink of gold
    Have their ears grown deaf and torpid.
    Fly! and that thou mayest see
    How a woman's heart can prompt her,
    How her honour she can trample,
    How her self-respect leave prostrate,
    With thee I will go, since now
    It is needful that henceforward
    I in life and death am thine,
    For without thee life were worthless,
    Thou who in my heart dost live.
    I bring with me gems and money
    Quite enough to the most distant
    Parts of India to transport us,
    Where the sun with beams and shadows
    Scatters frost, or burning scorches.
    At the door two steeds are standing,
    I should rather call these horses
    Two swift lynxes, air-born creatures,
    Thoughts by liveliest minds begotten;
    They so rapid are, that though
    We as fugitives fly on them,
    An assurance of our safety
    We shall feel. At once resolve then.
    Why thus ponder? what delays thee?
    Time is pressing, therefore shorten
    All discourse; and that mischance,
    Which disturbs love's plans so often,
    May not offer an obstruction
    To so well-prepared a project,
    First before thee I will go.
    Issue, while in specious converse
    I divert thy guards, and give
    To thy coming forth a cover.
    Even the sun our project favours,
    Which amid the west waves yonder,
    Sinking, dips his golden curls
    To refresh his glowing forehead.
    [Exit.




          * * * * *



    SCENE VIII.




    LUIS
    .


    LUIS
    . A most opportune occasion
    To my hands has fortune offered;
    Since Heaven knows that all the show
    Of apparent love and fondness
    Which I proffered to Polonia
    Was assumed, it being my object
    She should go with me, where I,
    Seizing on the gold and costly
    Gems she carries, so might issue
    From this Babylonian bondage.
    For although in my person
    Was esteemed and duly honoured,
    Still 'twas slavery after all,
    And my free wild life was longing
    For that liberty, heaven's best gift,
    Which I had enjoyed so often.
    But a great embarrassment
    And a hindrance were a woman
    For the end I have in view,
    Since in me is love a folly
    That ne'er passes appetite,
    Which being satisfied, no longer
    Care I for a woman's presence,
    How so fair or so accomplished.
    And since thus my disposition
    Is so free, of what importance
    Is a murder more or less?
    At my hands must die Polonia
    For her loving at a time
    When there's no one loved or honoured.
    Had she loved as others love,
    Then she would have lived as others.
    [Exit.




          * * * * *



    SCENE IX.




    The Captain; then The King, PHILIP, and LEOGAIRE
    .


    CAPTAIN
    . The sad sentence of his death
    Have I come, by the king's orders,
    Here to read to Luis Enius.—
    But what's this? The door lies open,
    And the tower deserted. Ha!
    Soldiers! No one answers. Ho, there!
    Guards, come hither, treason! treason!


    [Enter The King, PHILIP, and LEOGAIRE.


    KING
    . Why these outcries? this commotion?
    What is this?


    CAPTAIN
    . That Luis Enius
    Has escaped, and from the fortress
    All the guards have fled.


    LEOGAIRE
    . My lord,
    I saw entering here Polonia.


    PHILIP
    . Heavens! beyond all doubt 'twas she
    Who released him. That her lover
    He dared call him, you well know.
    Jealousy and rage provoke me
    To pursue them. A new Troy
    Will to-day be Ireland's story.
    [Exit.


    KING
    . Give me, too, a horse; in person
    I these fugitives will follow.
    Ah, what Christians are these two
    Who with actions so discordant,
    One deprives me of my rest,
    And the other robs my honour?
    But the twain shall feel the weight
    Of my vengeful hands fall on them;
    For not safe from me would be
    Even their sovereign Roman Pontiff.
    [Exeunt.




          * * * * *



    SCENE X.




    A WOOD, AT WHOSE EXTREMITY IS PAUL'S CABIN
    .


    POLONIA flying wounded, and LUIS with a naked dagger in his hand
    .


    POLONIA
    . Oh, hold thy bloody hand!
    Though love be dead, let Christian faith command.
    My honour take; but, oh, my poor life spare,
    That suppliant at thy feet pours out its humble prayer.


    LUIS
    . Hapless Polonia, since creation's hour
    Beauty has ever one unvarying dower,
    It brings misfortune with it, it is this
    Makes beauty rarely live long time with bliss.
    I, who less pity feel
    Than any headsman who e'er held death's steel,
    May by thy death procure
    My life, since with it I will go secure.
    If thee I bring where fortune's hand may guide me
    I bring the witness of my woes beside me,
    By whom they may pursue me,
    Track me, discover me, in fact, undo me
    If here I leave thee living,
    I leave thee angry, vengeful, unforgiving;
    Leave thee, in fact, to be
    One enemy more (and what an enemy!);
    Thus equally I grieve thee,
    Thus evil do whether I take or leave thee;
    And so 'tis better thus,
    That I a wretch, cruel and infamous,
    False, impious, fierce, abandoned, wicked, banned
    By God and man, should slay thee by my hand,
    Since buried here,
    Within the rustic entrails dark and drear
    Of this rude realm of stone,
    My worst misfortune shall remain unknown.
    My fury, too, shall gain
    A novel kind of vengeance when thou'rt slain,
    Remaining satisfied
    That Philip, too, by the same stroke has died,
    If in thy heart he lived; and then mine ire
    Will need no victim more except thy sire.
    Through thee first came
    My first disgrace, the cause of all my shame,
    And so the first of all
    On thee my vengeful strokes shall furious fall.


    POLONIA
    . Ah me! my fate pursuing,
    I have but only worked my own undoing,
    Like to the worm that by its subtle art
    Spins its own grave. Hast thou a human heart?


    LUIS
    . I am a demon. So to prove it, die.
    Thus —


    POLONIA
    . God of Patrick, listen to my cry!


    [He stabs her several times, and she falls within.


    LUIS
    . She fell on flowers, there sowing
    Both lives and horrors in her blood outflowing.
    Thus now with greater ease
    I can escape, and carry o'er the seas,
    In many a gem and chain,
    Treasure enough to make me rich in Spain,
    Until so changed by time,
    Disguised by wandering in a foreign clime,
    I may return to reap
    My vengeance; for a wrong doth never sleep.
    But whither do I stray,
    Treading the shades of death in this dark way?
    My path is lost: I go
    Whither I do not know;
    Perchance escaping from my prison bands
    To fall again into my tyrant's hands.
    If the dark night doth not my sight deceive,
    Yonder a rustic cabin I perceive.
    Yes, I am right. I'll knock; I can't much err,
    They'll know the way.
    [He knocks.




          * * * * *



    SCENE XI.




    PAUL and LUCY
    . —LUIS.


    LUCY
    [within]. Who's there?


    LUIS
    . A traveller,
    Benighted, his way lost, confused, distressed,
    Good worthy husbandman, disturbs thy rest.


    LUCY
    [within]. Ho, Juan! how you snore!
    Awake! there's some one knocking at the door.


    PAUL
    [within]. Why, I am well enough here in my bed.
    He knocks for you, so answer him instead.


    LUCY
    [within]. Who's there?


    LUIS
    . A traveller, I say.


    PAUL
    [within]. A traveller?


    LUIS
    . Yes.


    PAUL
    [within]. Then travel on, I pray.
    This cabin is no inn, sir, not a bit.


    LUIS
    . I'm getting weary of this fellow's wit.
    I'll try what kicking in the door will do.
    [Drives in the door.
    Ay, there it goes.


    LUCY
    [within]. Why, Juan Paul, halloo!
    Awake, I say, for if I don't mistake,
    The door's knocked in.


    PAUL
    [within]. Well, one eye is awake,
    But underneath its lid the other's laid.—
    Come with me, Lucy, for I'm sore afraid.


    [Enter PAUL and LUCY.
    Who's there?


    LUIS
    . Be silent, peasants, and attend
    If you would not that now your lives should end.
    Lost in this woodland waste
    I sought your door; and so, my friend, make haste
    To tell me the best way
    From this to the port, where I by break of day
    May from the coast get clear.


    PAUL
    . Go right ahead: first take the pathway here,
    They left, then right again,
    Rise where there's hill, descend where there's a plain,
    And going thus, in short,
    The port you'll reach when you have reached the port.


    LUIS
    . 'Tis better that you come
    Along with me, or by the heavens o'erhead,
    Your blood shall stain the ground on which you tread.


    LUCY
    . Were it not better, cavalier,
    To pass the night here till the dawn appear?


    PAUL
    . How very kind you are when least expected!
    Are you already to this knight infected?


    LUIS
    . Choose now, at once, I say,
    To die or guide me.


    PAUL
    . Don't be vexed, I pray;
    If I without more haggling or vain clack
    Select to go, and carry you on my back,
    If so you chose, 'tis not that death I fear,
    But just to disappoint my Lucy here.


    LUIS
    [aside]. That he may not betray
    Whither I go, to those who track my way,
    Him from some cliff I'll throw
    Headlong amid the icy waves below.—
    [To LUCY.
    You with this consolation here remain
    Your husband will be with you soon again.
    [Exeunt the two at one side, and she at the other.




          * * * * *



    SCENE XII.




    The King EGERIUS, LESBIA, LEOGAIRE, The Captain;
    afterwards PHILIP
    .


    LESBIA
    . Not a trace of them is found;
    All the mountain, hill and valley,
    Leaf by leaf has been explored,
    Bough by bough has been examined,
    Rock by rock has been searched through,
    Still no clue wherewith to track them
    Can we light on.


    KING
    . Without doubt,
    To preserve them from my anger,
    Has the earth engulphed the two;
    For not heaven itself could guard them
    From my wrath if still they lived.


    LESBIA
    . See the sun his disentangled
    Golden tresses far extends
    Over mountains, groves and gardens,
    Showing that the day hath come.


    [Enter PHILIP.
    PHILIP. Deign, your majesty, to hearken
    To a tragedy more dreadful,
    To a crime more unexampled
    Than has time or fortune ever
    Yet recorded in earth's annals.
    Seeking traces of Polonia
    Through these savage woods distracted
    Roamed I restless all the night-time,
    Till at length and amid the darkness
    Half awakened rose the dawn;
    Not in veils of gold and amber
    Was she dressed, a robe of mourning
    Formed of clouds composed her mantle,
    And with discontented light
    Hidden were the stars and planets,
    Though for this one time alone
    They were happy in their absence.
    Searching there in every part,
    We approached where blood was spattered
    On the tender dewy flower,
    And upon the ground some fragments of a woman's dress were strewn.
    By these signs at once attracted,
    We went on, 'till at the foot
    Of a great rock overhanging,
    In a fragrant tomb of roses
    Lay Polonia, dead and stabbed there.




          * * * * *



    SCENE XIII.




    POLONIA dead; and afterwards PATRICK
    . —THE SAME.


    PHILIP
    . Turn your eyes, and here you see
    The young tree of beauty blasted,
    Pale and sad the opening flower,
    The bright flame abruptly darkened;
    See here loveliness laid prostrate,
    See warm life here turned to marble,
    See, alas! Polonia dead.


    KING
    . Philip, cease! proceed no farther!
    For I have not resignation
    To bear up with any calmness
    'Gainst so many forms of wrong,
    'Gainst so many shapes of sadness,
    'Gainst such manifold misfortunes.
    Ah, my daughter! Ah, thou hapless
    Treasure fatally found for me!


    LESBIA
    . Grief my feeling so o'ermasters
    That I have not breath to mourn.
    Ah! of all thy woes the partner
    Let thy wretched sister be!


    KING
    . What rude hand in ruffian anger
    Raised its bloody steel against
    Beauty so divinely fashioned?
    Sorrow, sorrow ends my life.


    PATRICK
    [within]. Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!
    Woe to thee, unhappy people!
    If with tears thou dost not water
    The hard earth, and night and day
    Weeping in thy bitter anguish,
    Ope the golden gates of heaven
    Which thy disobedience fastened.
    Woe to thee, unhappy people!
    Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!


    KING
    . Heavens! what mournful tones are these?
    What are these sad solemn accents
    That transpierce my very heart,
    That cut through me like a dagger?
    Learn who thus disturbs the flowing
    Of my grief's most tender channels.
    Who but I should so lament?
    Who but I should wail thus sadly?


    LEOGAIRE
    . This, my lord, is Patrick, who
    Having as you know, departed
    From this country went to Rome,
    Where the Pontiff, the great father,
    Made him bishop, and a post
    Of pre-eminence imparted
    To him here; through all the islands
    He proceedeth in this manner.


    [PATRICK enters.


    PATRICK
    . Woe to thee, unhappy people!
    Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!


    KING
    . Patrick, thou who thus my grief
    Interrupted, and my sadness
    Doubled with thy golden words,
    Hiding false and poisonous matter,
    Why thus persecute me? Wherefore
    Thus disturb the hills and valleys
    Of my kingdom with deceptions
    And new-fangled laws and maxims?
    Here we know but this alone,
    We are born and die. Our fathers
    Left us this, the simple doctrine
    Taught by nature, and no farther
    Have we sought to learn. What God
    Can be this, of whom such marvels
    You relate, who life eternal
    Gives when temporal life departeth?
    Can the soul, when it is severed
    From the body, be so active
    As to have another life,
    Or of bale or bliss, hereafter?


    PATRICK
    . Being loosened from the body,
    And the human portion having
    Given to nature, it being only
    But a little dust and ashes,
    Then the spirit upward rises,
    To the higher sphere attracted,
    Where its labours find their centre,
    If it dies in grace, which baptism
    First confers upon the soul,
    And then penance ever after.


    KING
    . Then this beauteous one, that here
    Lies in her own blood bedabbled,
    There, is living at this moment?


    PATRICK
    . Yes.


    KING
    . A sign, a proof, then, grant me
    Of this truth.


    PATRICK
    [aside]. Almighty Lord!
    For Thy glory deign to hearken!
    It behoveth Thee to show
    Here Thy power by an example.


    KING
    . What! you do not answer?


    PATRICK
    . Heaven
    Wishes for itself to answer.—
    In the name of God, O corse,
    [He extends his hands over the dead body of POLONIA.
    Lying stiff here, I command thee
    To arise and live, resuming
    Thine own soul, and thus make patent
    This great truth, before us preaching
    The true doctrine and evangel.


    POLONIA
    [arising]. Woe is me! Oh, save me, heaven!
    Ah, what secrets are imparted
    To the soul! O Lord! O Lord!
    Stay the red hand of Thy anger,
    Of Thy justice. Do not threaten,
    'Gainst a woman weak and abject,
    The dread thunders of Thy rigour,
    Of Thy power the lightning's flashes.
    Where, oh, where shall I conceal me
    From Thy countenance, if haply
    Thou art wroth? Ye rocks, he mountains,
    Fall upon and overcast me.
    Hating mine own self, to-day
    Would that to my prayer 'twas granted
    In the centre of the earth
    From Thy sight to hide and mask me!
    Ah, but why? if wheresoever
    My unhappy fate might cast me
    There I brought with me my sin?
    See ye, see ye not this Atlas
    Back recede, and this huge mountain
    Tremble to its base? The axes
    Of the firmament are loosened,
    And its perfect fabric hangeth
    Threatening ruin o'er my head,
    With terrific pride and grandeur.
    Darker grows the air around me,
    Chained, my feet proceed no farther,
    Even the seas retire before me.
    What, here fly me not nor startle,
    Are the wild beasts, which to rend me
    Bit by bit come on to attack me.
    Mercy, mighty Lord, oh, mercy!
    Pardon, gracious Lord, oh, pardon!
    Holy baptism I implore,
    That in grace I may depart hence.
    Mortals, hear, oh, mortals hear,
    Christ is living, Christ is master,
    Christ is god, the one true God!
    Penance, penance, penance practice!
    [Exit.




          * * * * *



    SCENE XIV.




    THE SAME, with the exception of POLONIA
    .


    PHILIP
    . How prodigious!


    CAPTAIN
    . How stupendous!


    LESBIA
    . What a miracle!


    LEOGAIRE
    . What a marvel!


    KING
    . What enchantment! what bewitchment!
    Who can bear this? who can grant this?


    ALL
    . Christ is God, the one true God.


    KING
    . What a bold deceit is practised
    Here, blind people, to deceive you,
    In the making of these marvels,
    Which you have not sense to see
    Are in outward show but acted
    And within are fraud! However,
    That the truth be now established,
    I will own myself convinced,
    If in argument shall Patrick
    Prove his case: and so attend
    As the grave dispute advances.
    If the soul was made immortal
    It could never be inactive
    Even for a single moment.


    PATRICK
    . Yes; and every dream that passes
    Proves this truth; because the dreams
    That engender numerous phantoms
    Are discourses of the soul
    That ne'er sleeps, and as these shadows
    Simulate the imperfect actions
    Of the senses, a strange language
    And imperfect is produced;
    And 'tis thus that in their trances
    Men dream things that are at once
    Inconsistent and fantastic.


    KING
    . Well, then, this being so, I ask
    Was Polonia when this happened
    Dead or not? For if but only
    In a swoon, what mighty marvel,
    Then, was done? But this I pass.
    If she really had departed,
    Then to one of the two places,
    Heaven or hell, so named, O Patrick,
    By yourself, it must have gone.
    If it was in heaven, 'twas hardly
    Merciful in God to send it
    Back into this world, to hazard
    A new chance of condemnation,
    When 'twas once in grace and happy.
    This is surely true. If, likewise,
    It had been in hell, 'tis adverse
    To strict justice, since it were not
    Just that that which by its badness
    Once had earned such punishment,
    Should again be given the chances
    Of regaining grace. It must,
    I presume, be taken as granted
    That God's justice and His mercy
    Cannot possibly be parted.
    Where, I ask then, was her soul?


    PATRICK
    . Hear, Egerius, the answer.
    I concede that for the soul,
    Sanctified by holy baptism,
    Heaven or hell must be its goal,
    Out of which, by God's commandment,
    Speaking of His usual power,
    It can never more be absent.
    But if of His absolute power
    There is question, God could drag it
    Even from hell itself; but this
    Is not what we have to argue.
    That the soul doth go to either
    Of those places, must be granted
    When 'tis severed from the body
    Once for all by mortal absence
    To return to it no more;
    But when otherwise commanded
    To it to return, it waiteth
    In a certain state of passage,
    And remains as 'twere suspended
    In the universe, not having
    Any special place allotted.
    For the Almighty mind forecasting
    All things, when from out His essence,
    As th' exemplar, the fair pattern
    Of His thought, this glorious fabric
    He brought forth to light and gladness,
    Saw this very incident,
    And well knowing what would happen,
    That this soul would here return,
    Kept it for awhile inactive,
    Seemingly unfixed, yet fixed.
    This is the authentic answer
    That theology, that sacred
    Science, gives to what you have asked me.
    But another point remaineth:
    There are other places, mark me,
    Both of glory and of pain,
    Than you think; and of these latter
    One is called the Purgatory,
    Where the soul of him who haply
    Dies in grace, is purged from stains,
    Sinful stains which it contracted
    In the world: for into heaven
    None can pass till these are cancelled.
    And thus, there 'tis purified,
    Cleansed by fire from all that tarnished,
    Till to God's divinest presence
    Pure and clean at length it passes.


    KING
    . So you say, and I have nothing
    To confirm what you advance here
    But your word. Some proof now give me,
    Give me something I can handle,
    Something tangible to convince me
    Of this truth, that I may grasp it,
    And know what it is. And since
    So much power and influence have you
    With your God, implore His grace,
    That I may believe the faster,
    Some material fact to give me,
    Something that we all can grapple,
    Not mere creatures of the mind.
    And remember that at farthest
    But an hour remains in which
    You must give me sure and ample
    Signs of punishment and glory,
    Or you die. These mighty marvels
    Of your God here let them come,
    Where the truth we can examine
    For ourselves. And if we neither
    Heaven or hell deserve to have here,
    Show us, then, this Purgatory,
    Which is different from the latter,
    So that here we all may know
    His omnipotence and grandeur.
    Mind, God's honour rests upon you,
    Tell Him to defend and guard it.
    [Exeunt all but PATRICK.




          * * * * *



    SCENE XV.




    PATRICK
    .


    PATRICK
    . Here, mighty Lord, dart down thy searching glance,
    Arm'd with the dreadful lightnings of Thine ire,
    Wing'd with Thy vengeance, as the bolt with fire,
    And rout the squadrons of fell ignorance:
    Come not in pity to the hostile band,
    Treat not as friends Thy enemies abhorr'd,
    But since they ask for portents, mighty Lord,
    Come with the blood-red lightnings in Thy hand.
    Of old Elias asked with burning sighs
    For chastisement, and Moses did display
    Wonders and portents; in the self-same way
    Listen, O Lord, to my beseeching cries,
    And though I be not great or good as they,
    Still let my accents pierce the listening skies!
    Portents and chastisement, both day and night
    I ask, O Lord, may from Thy hand be given,
    That Purgatory, Hell and Heaven,
    May be revealed unto these mortals' sight.




          * * * * *



    SCENE XVI.




    A Good Angel at one side, and on the other a Bad Angel
    . —PATRICK.


    BAD ANGEL
    [to himself]. Fearful that the favouring skies
    May accede to Patrick's prayer,
    And discover to him where
    Earth's most wondrous treasure lies,
    Like a minister of light,
    Full of scorn, I hither fly
    It to chill and nullify.
    Covering with my poison blight
    His petition.


    GOOD ANGEL
    . Then give o'er,
    Cruel monster; for in me
    His protecting angel see.
    But be silent, speak no more.—
    [to him.
    Patrick, God has heard Thy prayer,
    He has listen'd to thy vows,
    And, as thou hast asked, allows
    Earth's great secrets to lie bare.
    Seek along this island ground
    For a vast and darksome cave,
    Which restrains the lake's dark wave.
    And supports the mountains round;
    He who dares to go therein,
    Having first contritely told
    All his faults, shall there behold
    Where the soul is purged from sin.
    He shall see, with mortal eyes,
    Hell itself, where those who die
    In their sins for ever lie
    In the fire that never dies.
    He shall see, in blest fruition,
    Where the happy spirits dwell.
    But of this be sure as well —
    He who without due contrition
    Enters there to idly try
    What the cave may be, doth go
    To his death; he'll suffer woe,
    While the Lord doth reign on high,
    Who thy soul this day shall free
    From this poor world's weariness.
    It is thus that God doth bless
    Those who love His name like thee.
    He shall grant to thee in pity,
    Bliss undreamed by mortal men,
    Making thee a denizen
    Of His own celestial city.
    He shall to the world proclaim
    His omnipotence and glory,
    By the wondrous Purgatory
    Which shall bear thy sainted name.
    Lest thou think the promise vain
    Of this miracle divine,
    I will take this shape malign,
    Which came hither to profane
    Thy devotion, and within
    This dark cavern's dark abyss
    Fling it,—there to howl and hiss
    In the everlasting din.
    [They disappear.


    PATRICK
    . Glory, glory unto Thee,
    Mighty Lord; the heavens proclaim,
    Miracles attest Thy name,
    Wonders show that Thou must be.—
    [Calling.
    King!




          * * * * *



    SCENE XVII.




    The King, PHILIP, LESBIA, LEOGAIRE, The Captain, People
    . —PATRICK.


    KING
    . What would'st thou?


    PATRICK
    . Come with me
    Through this mountain woodland drear,
    Thou and all thy followers here,
    Thou and they shall see therein
    The dark place reserved for sin,
    And rewards delightful sphere.
    They shall have a passing view
    Of a sight no tongue can tell,
    An unending miracle,
    To whose greatness shall be due
    Their amazement ever new
    Who its secrets shall unveil.
    Yes, a perfect image pale
    In the wonders guarded here,
    Shall they see with awe and fear,
    Of the realms of bliss and bale.
    [Exit, followed by all.




          * * * * *



    SCENE XVIII.




    A REMOTE PART OF THE MOUNTAIN WITH THE MOUTH OF A HORRIBLE CAVE
    .


    THE SAME
    .


    KING
    . Look, O Patrick, for you go
    Turning towards a part forbidden,
    Where the light of the sun is hidden
    Even in the noon-tide's glow.
    Through this wilderness of woe
    Even the hunter in pursuit
    Of his prey ne'er placed a foot
    On its trackless wild walks green,
    Since for ages it has been
    Shunned alike by man and brute.


    PHILIP
    . We for many and many a year,
    Who have lived here from our youth,
    Never dared to learn the truth
    Of the secrets hidden here;
    For the entrance did appear
    In itself enough to make
    Even the bravest heart to quake.
    No one yet has dared to brave
    The wild rocks that guard this cave,
    Or the waters of this lake.


    KING
    . And for auguries we heard,
    Borne the troubled wind along,
    Oft the sad funereal song
    Of some lone nocturnal bird.


    PHILIP
    . Be the rash attempt deferred.


    PATRICK
    . Let not causeless fear arise;
    For a treasure of the skies
    Here is hidden.


    KING
    . What is fear?
    Could it ever me come near
    In an earthquake's agonies?
    No; for though the flames should break
    As from some sulphureous lake,
    And the mountains' sides run red
    From the molten fires outshed,
    They could ne'er my courage shake,
    Never make me fear.




          * * * * *



    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.