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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, the one true G.o.d!

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 G.o.d, the one true G.o.d.

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 pa.s.ses 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 pa.s.s.

If she really had departed, Then to one of the two places, Heaven or h.e.l.l, so named, O Patrick, By yourself, it must have gone.

If it was in heaven, 'twas hardly Merciful in G.o.d 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 h.e.l.l, '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 G.o.d'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 h.e.l.l must be its goal, Out of which, by G.o.d's commandment, Speaking of His usual power, It can never more be absent.

But if of His absolute power There is question, G.o.d could drag it Even from h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sage, 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 pa.s.s till these are cancelled.

And thus, there 'tis purified, Cleansed by fire from all that tarnished, Till to G.o.d's divinest presence Pure and clean at length it pa.s.ses.

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 G.o.d, 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.