The Mysteries of All Nations Part 24

Although it would appear that all saints had many gifts and graces, certain of them possessed peculiar talents denied to others. St.

Francis Xaverius, for instance, held the elements in his power. He was almost constantly at war with the devil and the flesh. To frighten away the one he kept ringing a bell by night, and to subdue the other he wore a hair s.h.i.+rt, lived on spare diet, and slept on hard boards or lay on the cold ground.

St. Nicholas was so uncommonly good a Catholic, that, even when an infant at the breast, he would not suck his mother's breast but once on the Wednesdays and Fridays. He, too, controlled the winds and waves, and sent the evil spirit away howling through the tempest.

St. Ambrose, of ever blessed memory, controlled sorcerers and necromancers, and made even the evil spirits obedient to him. On the day of the saint's death the devils flew away, crying that they were tormented by St. Ambrose.

St. Lucy raised her mother from the dead, and conquered demons.

St. Anastasia had power over Satan, and was for two months sustained by bread from heaven. And what shall we say of St. Thomas and many of the other saints who triumphed so gloriously in their day? St. Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, we are told, endured martyrdom twice--once in life, and again after death. To subdue the flesh, he scourged himself until the blood ran down his body. He kept long night vigils, and wore a hair s.h.i.+rt. In a vision he was told that he would ill.u.s.trate the Church with his blood--a prediction that was fulfilled.

It being proved that Henry II. was implicated in the foul deed, he had to do penance in public and private before being absolved. Many years afterwards, Henry VIII. commanded the dead saint to be summoned before him, and having condemned him as a traitor, directed his name to be erased from the catalogue of saints; forbade, under pain of death, his day to be celebrated, or his name to be mentioned as a saint; and ordered that his name should be blotted out of every book and calendar in which it appeared. The revengeful king also commanded that the saint's relics should be burned, and the ashes thereof scattered to the winds.

With the following old tale in verse we close our collected information on Demonology--a tale founded upon one of the most extraordinary events recorded in the annals of the human mind. Not a century and a half ago all the circ.u.mstances which form the romance, with the addition of many others nearly as ridiculous, were not only firmly believed by the peasants of a few Sclavonian villages, among whom they were supposed to have happened, but were received as truths, and seriously commented upon by learned divines and physicians of the surrounding provinces. A superst.i.tion somewhat similar appears to have prevailed in Bohemia and Silesia previous to the days of Dr. Henry More, who details several of the stories to which it gave rise, in his _Philosophical Works_:--

"I left the chaulkie Cliftes of olde Englnde, And paced thro' many a Countrie faire to see, Thorowe the Reaulme of Greece and Holie-Londe, Untill I journeied into sadde Hongre.

I sawe olde Cecrops' Towne, and famous Rome; But Davyd's holie place I liked beste: I sawe dire Sightes before I found my Home, But much the direst at the Towne of Peste.

It was a goodlie Citie, fayre to see; By its prowde Walles and towering Mosques it gave A delicate Aspect to the Countree, With its Bridg of Boates acrosse the Danow's Wave.

Yet manie thinges with Woe I did surveie; The Stretes were overgrowne with spiery gra.s.se; And, though it was upon a Sabbath-daie, No Belles did ringe to calle the Folke to Ma.s.se.

The Churchyardes all with Barrs were closed fast, Like to a sinfulle and accursed place; It shewd as though the Judgment-daie were past, And the Dedde exiled from the Seate of Grace.

At last I met an old sadde Man, and asked Where a tired Traveller maye finde repose.

The Old Man shook his Hed, and wold have pa.s.sed; But I caught him by his Arme and held his Clothes.

'Straunger,' said he, 'in Marie's name departe!'

(Soe saying, wold agen have pa.s.sed me by); His hollow Voyce sank depe into my Harte: Yet I wold not let him goe, but asked Why?

'It now is Morne,' quoth he, 'the Sun s.h.i.+nes brighte, And the Springe is blithe, save in the Walles of Peste; But, were it Winter wylde, and a stormie Nighte, Not here, O Straunger, sholdst thou seeke to reste;

'Though Rayne in Torrents powred and cold Winds blew, And thou with travelling tired and with Hunger pale.'

'Though the Sun,' sed I, 's.h.i.+ne brighte and the Daie be new, I will not goe, till I have herd thy Tale.'

This woefull Wight then took me by the Hande; (His, like a Skeletonne's; was bonie and cold).

He seemed as though he sca.r.s.e cold goe nor stande, Like one o'er whom full fourscore years had rold.

We came together to the Market-Crosse, And the Wight all woe-begon spake not a Word.

No living thinge along our Waie did pa.s.se, (Though dolours Grones in evrie House I herd).

Save one poore Dogge that walked athwart a Court, Fearfullie howling with most pyteous Wayle.

The sadde Man whistled in a dismall sort, And the poore thinge slunk away, and hid his Tayle.

I felt my verie Bloud creepe in my vaynes; My Bones were icie-cold; my Hayr on ende.

I wishd myself agen uponn the Playnes, Yet cold not but that sadde old Man attende.

The sadde old Man sate down upon a Stone, And I sate on another by his Side; He heaved mournfullie a pyteous Grone, And then, to ease my doubts, himself applied.

'Straunger!' quoth he, 'Behold my Visage welle, And graspe this bonie Hand so thinne agenn!

How manie Winters thinkest thou I telle?'

I answered doubtinglie: 'Three-Score and Tenn.'

'Straunger! not fourty yeares agoe I lay A puling Infant in my Nurse's arms: Not fourty daies agoe two Daughters gay Did blesse my Vision with their dawning Charms.

'Yet now I am an olde and worn-out Man, And evrie droppe of Bloud hath left my Vaynes; Als' my fayr Daughters twaine lie cold and wan And bloudless, bound in Deathe's eternal Chaynes.

'Straunger! This Towne, so pleasant to our sightes, With goodlie Towers and running Streames so faire, Whilom for tender Maydes and doughtie Knightes From all Hungaria's Londe the Prize did beare.

'But now, the verie fewe that here remayne Are sobbing out their Breath in sorie Guise; All that might flie, have fled this mournfull playne But onlie I, who wishe to close mine eyes.

'Seaven Weekes are gon since owr Townesfolke beganne To wax both pale and sadd, yet none knewe why: The ruddiest Visage yellowe seemed and wanne, Our stoutest Youthes for very cold did cry.

'Some Doctours sed the Lakes did Agewes breede, But Springe returning wold the same disperse; Whyles others, contrarie to Nature's creede, Averred the Heate itself wold make us worse.

'And though we leugh at these, like Doaters fonde, Or Menn that love in Paradox to deale; Yett, as the Sunn grew warme, throughout the Londe, All Menn the more did wintre s.h.i.+verings feele.

'One miserable Wight did pyne and wane, And on the seaventh Daie gave upp the Ghoste; His Corse was oped by a Chirurgeon of fame Who found that evrie dropp of bloud was loste.

'Nathless, our People though they pined and pined, Yet never did our appet.i.tes decaye; Whole Oxen sca.r.s.e suffised when we dined, And we cold drinke whole hogsheds of Tokaye.

'Soone Hundereds evrie daye gave up the Ghoste, (Els' we a Famine in our Lande had bredde).

And, to repayr the Bloud that we had loste, Our Beastes we killd and ate, but never bledde.

'Thus, by the Eve, our Colour freshe arose, And we did look agen more briske and gay.

All Nighte deepe Slumbers did our Eye lidds close, But worse and worse we wax by Breake of Daie.

'There was a taylour, Vulvius by name, Who long had dwelt at Peste in honest pryde; A G.o.dlie Man he was esteemed by Fame, And since some twelvemonths of a Feaver dyde.

'Now when at last this straunge Disease had growne To suche a Highte as neer was heard afore, Among the reste in our unhappie Towne My youngest Daughter was afflicted sore.

'One Nighte it happed, as she was slepyng laied, Her wayting Girle at Midnight left her roome To fetch some possett, brothe, or gellie, made To quelle the plague that did her life consume.

'When, as she softly shut the Doore, she heard An heavie Thinge come lumbering upp the Stayres, Whereon the buried Tailour soone appeard And She (poor Mayd) full loud 'gan saye her Prayres.

'Shrowded he was, as when his Corse was laied Under the Earthe, and buriall Service redde; Nor yet was he a Ghoste, for his Footsteppes made A Noyse more hevie than a Tunne of Ledde.

'She sawe him ope my Daughter's chamber-Doore, And had no Spirit to persewe nor flie, And Vulvius agen, in half an houre, Lumbered downe Stayres yett much more hevilie.

'This Storie herd, I cold not chuse, but smild To think the seelie Mayd such Feares cold shake, Yet the next Nighte, to prove such Phan'sies wild, I kept myself untille Midnighte awake;

'Whenn as the Midnight-Houre was past, I heard An hevie thinge come lumbering upp the Stayre; The Tailour Vulvius to my Sights appeard-- I could not follow to my Daughter fayre.

'Next Day, untoe a Convent nighe I hied, And found a reverend Father at his prayer; I told him of the Wonderres I had spied, And begged his ghostlie Counsel I may share.

'Together to Sainct Stevenn's Churche we went, And he a Prayer on evrie Gravestone made, Till at the Tailour Vulvius' Monument We stopped--we broughte a Mattocke and a Spade;

'We digged the Earthe wherein the Tailour lay; Tille at the Tailour's Coffin we arrived, Nor there, I weene, much Labour found that Day, For evrie Nayle was drawen and the Hinges rived.