The Purgatory of St. Patrick - Pedro Calderón de la Barca (best novels in english .TXT) 📗

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.


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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