[Footnote 1: St. Paul.]
"The fendes seyd to the Knight tho, "Ouer this brigge might thou nowght go, For noneskines nede; Fie peril sorwe and wo, And to that stede ther thou com fro, Wel fair we schul the lede."
"Owain anon began bithenche, Fram hou mani of the fendes wrenche, G.o.d him saved hadde; He sett his fot opon the brigge, No feld he no scharpe egge, No nothing him no drad.
"When the fendes yseigh tho, That he was more than half ygo, Loude thai gun to crie: Allas! Allas! that he was born!
This ich night we habe forlorn Out of our baylie."--_Minstrelsy of Scottish Border._
Sh.e.l.lEY AND THE PURGATORY OF ST. PATRICK.
It will be of interest to quote the following pa.s.sage from one of Sh.e.l.ley"s best known works, "The Cenci," of which he himself says: "An idea in this speech was suggested by a most sublime pa.s.sage in "El Purgatorio de San Patricio," of Calderon."
"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 depths 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 ma.s.s 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."
ON A GREAT FUNERAL. [1]
[Footnote: The above lines apply with peculiar impressiveness to the funeral of General Grant, so lately occupying public attention.]
AUBREY DE VERE.
No more than this? The chief of nations bears Her chief of sons to his last resting-place; Through the still city, sad and slow of pace, The sable pageant streams; and as it nears That dome, to-day a vault funereal, tears Run down the gray-hair"d veteran"s wintry face; Deep organs sob and flags their front abase; And the snapt wand the rite complete declares. Soul, that before thy Judge dost stand this day, Disrobed of strength and puissance, pomp and power; O soul! defrauded at thine extreme hour Of man"s sole help from man, and latest stay, Swells there for thee no prayer from all that host, And is this burial but a nation"s boast?
"MORTE D"ARTHUR."
TENNYSON.
Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, "Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a n.o.ble chance, And every chance brought out a n.o.ble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.
But now the whole Round Table is dissolved Which was an image of the mighty world; And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds."
And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And G.o.d fulfils Himself in many ways.
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within Himself make pure! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul.
More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of.
Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing G.o.d, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of G.o.d.
But now farewell!
I am going a long way With these thou seest--if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow; Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."
So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan.
That, fluting a wild carol, ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the meer the wailing died away.
GUIDO AND HIS BROTHER.
COLLlN DE PLANCY.
The brother who forgets his brother is no longer a man, he is a monster.--Sr. John Chrysostom.
Peter the Venerable relates the story of a lord of his time, named Guy or Guido, who had lost his life in battle; this was very common in the Middle Ages, when the n.o.bles were beyond all else great warriors. As this Guido had not been able to make his last confession, he appeared fully armed, to a priest, some time after his death.
"Stepha.n.u.s," said he (that was the name of the priest), "I pray thee go to my brother Anselm; thou shalt tell him that I conjure him to restore an ox which I took from a peasant," naming him; "and also to repair the damage I did to a village which did not--belong to me, by wrongfully imposing taxes thereupon. I was unable to confess, or to expiate these two sins, for which I am grievously tormented. As an a.s.surance of what I tell thee," continued the apparition, "I warn thee that, when thou returnest to thy dwelling, thou shalt find that the money thou hast saved to make the pilgrimage of St. James has been stolen."
The priest, on his return, actually found that his strongbox had been broken open and his money carried off; but he could not discharge his commission, because Anselm was absent.
A few days after, the same Guido appeared a second time, to reproach Stepha.n.u.s for his neglect. The good priest excused himself on the impossibility of finding Anselm; but learning that he had returned to his manor, he repaired thither, and faithfully fulfilled his commission.
He was received very coolly. Anselm told him that he was not obliged to do penance for the sins of his brother; and with these words he dismissed him.
The dead man, who experienced no relief, appeared a third time, and bemoaning his brother"s harshness, he besought the worthy servant of G.o.d to have compa.s.sion himself on his distress, and a.s.sist him in his extremity. Stepha.n.u.s, much affected, promised that he would, He restored the price of the stolen ox, gave alms to the wronged village, said prayers, recommended the deceased to all the good people he knew, and then Guido appeared no more.
BERTHOLD IN PURGATORY.
COLLIN DE PLANCY.
Miseremini mei, miseremini mei, saltem vos, amici moi.--JOB xix.
A short time after the death of Charles the Bald, there is found in Hincmar a narrative which it may be well to introduce here; it is the journey of Berthold, or Bernold, to Purgatory in the spirit.
Berthold was a citizen of Rheims, of good life, fulfilling his Christian duties and enjoying public esteem. He was subject to ecstasies, or syncope, which sometimes lasted a good while. Then, whether he had visions, or that his soul transported itself or was transported out of his body--an effect which, is evidently produced in our days by magnetism--he made, in his ecstasies, several journeys into Purgatory.
Having fallen seriously ill when already well advanced in age, he received all the sacraments which console the conscience; after which he remained four entire days in a sort of ecstasy, during which he took no nourishment of any kind. At the end of the fourth day he had become so weak that there was hardly any breath in him. About midnight, however, he begged his wife to send quickly for his confessor. He afterwards remained motionless. But, at the end of a quarter of an hour, he said to his wife:
"Place a seat here, for the priest is coming."
He entered the moment after, and recited the beautiful prayers for the departing soul, to which Berthold responded clearly and exactly. After this he had again a moment of ecstasy; and, coming out of it, he related his several visits to Purgatory, and the commissions wherewith he had been charged by many suffering souls.
He was conducted by a spirit, an Angel doubtless. Amongst those who were being purified, in ice or in fire, he found Ebbon, Archbishop of Rheims; Pardule, Bishop of Laon; Enee, Bishop of Paris, and some other prelates, clothed in filthy garments, torn and rusty. Their faces were wrinkled, haggard, and sallow. Ebbon besought him to ask the clergy and people of Rheims to pray for him and his companions, who made him the same request. He charged himself with all these commissions.
He found, farther on, or in another visit, the soul of Charles the Bald, extended in the mud and much exhausted. The ex-king asked Berthold to recommend him to Archbishop Hincmar and the princes of his family, acknowledging that he was princ.i.p.ally punished for having given ecclesiastical benefices to courtiers and worldly laics, as had been done by his ancestor, Charles Martel. Berthold promised to do what he could.
Farther on, and perhaps also on another occasion, he saw Jesse, Bishop of Orleans, in the hands of four dark spirits, who were plunging him alternately into a well of boiling pitch and one of ice-cold water. Not far from him, Count Othaire was in other torments. The two sufferers recommended themselves, like the others, to the pious offices of Berthold, who faithfully executed the commissions of the souls in pain.
He applied, on behalf of the bishops, to their clergy and people; for King Charles the Bald, to Archbishop Hincmar. He wrote besides--for he was a lettered man--to the relatives of the deceased monarch, making known to them the state wherein he had seen him. He went to urge the wife of Othaire, his va.s.sals and friends, to offer up prayers and give alms for him; and in a last visit which he was permitted to make, he learned that Count Othaire and Bishop Jesse were delivered; King Charles the Bald had reached the term of his punishment; and he saw the Bishops Ebbon, Enee, and Pardule, who thanked him as they went forth from Purgatory, fresh and robed in white.
After this account, whereto Berthold subjoined that his guide had promised him some more years of life, he asked for Holy Communion, received it, felt himself cured, left his bed on the following day, and his life was prolonged for fourteen years.
A LEGEND OF ST. NICHOLAS.