# Gesta Romanorum Vol. I (1871)/Of the Life of Alexius, son of the Senator Eufemian

TALE XV.
OF THE LIFE OF ALEXIUS, SON OF THE SENATOR EUFEMIAN.
In the reign of one of the Roman Emperors, lived a youth, named Alexius, the son of Eufemian, a noble Roman, at that time the chief ornament of the emperor's court. He was attended by a band of three thousand youths, girded with golden zones, and habited in silken vestures. His expenditure was princely. He daily maintained three tables, to which the widow and the orphan were ever welcome. Their necessities were often supplied by his own person; and at the ninth hour, in ​company with other devout men, he sat down to dinner. His wife, whose name was Abael, was as religious and charitable as himself. But there is ever some bitterness mixed up with the draught of human joy; and in the midst of so much splendour, the want of a successor was long a source of unavailing affliction. At length their prayers were heard; Heaven, in its benevolence, blessed them with a son, who was carefully instructed in all the polite learning of the period. Arriving at the age of manhood, he proved himself an acute and solid reasoner. But reason is no barrier against love; he became attached to a lady of the blood-royal, and with the consent of their friends was united to her. On the very evening of their nuptials, when the clamour of the feast had subsided, the pious youth commenced a theological disquisition, and strove with much force and earnestness to impress his bride with the fear and love of God. When he had concluded, recommending her to preserve the same modesty of demeanour for which she had always been distinguished, he consigned to the care of a servant his gold ​ring, and the clasp of the sword-belt which usually begirt him, "Take charge of these vanities," said he, "for I abjure them; and as long as it shall please God, keep them in remembrance of me: may the Almighty guide us." He then provided a sum of money, and the same night embarked in a ship bound for Laodicea. From thence he proceeded to Edessa, a city of Syria. It was here that the image of our Lord Jesus Christ, wrought upon linen by supernatural hands, was preserved. On reaching this place he distributed whatever he had brought with him to the poor; and putting on a worn and tattered garment, joined himself to a number of mendicants who sat in the porch of the temple dedicated to the Virgin Mary. He now constantly solicited alms; but of all that he received, only the smallest portion was retained,—an unbounded charity leading him to bestow the residue upon his more needy, or more covetous brethren.
The father of Alexius, however, was ​overwhelmed with sorrow at the inexplicable departure of his son; and despatched his servants in pursuit of him to various parts of the world. These servants were very diligent in their inquiries; and it chanced that certain of them came to the city of Edessa, and were recognized by Alexius; but, pertinaciously concealing himself under the garb of want and misery, he passed unknown and unsuspected. The men, little aware who was experiencing their bounty, conferred large alms upon the paupers amongst whom he sojourned; and his heart silently but gratefully acknowledged the benefaction. "I thank thee, O my God, that thou hast thought good to dispense thine alms by the hands of my own servants."
On this unsuccessful issue of their search, the messengers returned; and when the intelligence of their failure reached his mother, she shut herself up in a remote chamber, and there gave utterance to her griefs. She slept upon the ground, with sack-cloth only for a covering; and solemnly vowed never to change her way of life until she recovered her lost son. ​The husband, thus left alone, quitted his own residence and abode with his father-in-law. In the mean time, Alexius remained a beggar in the porch of St. Mary's church for the space of seventeen years; until at length the image of the Virgin, which stood within the sacred edifice said to the warden, "Cause that Man of God to enter the sanctuary: for he is worthy of the kingdom of Heaven, upon whom the spirit of God rests. His prayer ascends like incense to the throne of Grace." But the warden knew not of whom she spake, and said, "Is that the man, who sits at the entrance of the porch?" The Virgin answering in the affirmative, he was immediately brought in. Now a circumstance of this extraordinary nature soon attracted remark; and the veneration with which they began to consider Alexius, approached almost to adoration. But he despised human glory, and entering a ship, set sail for Tarsus, in Cilicia; but, the providence of God so ordered, that a violent tempest carried them into a Roman ​port. Alexius, informed of this circumstance, said within himself, "I will hasten to my father's house; no one will know me, and it is better that I prove burthensome to him, than to another." As he proceeded, he met his father coming from the palace, surrounded by a large concourse of dependents, and immediately he shouted after him—"Servant of God, command a poor and desolate stranger to be conveyed into your house, and fed with the crumbs which fall from the table: so shall the Lord of the wanderer, recompense thee an hundred-fold." The father, out of love to him whom he knew not, gave him into the charge of his followers, and appropriated to him a room in his house. He supplied him with meat from his own table, and appointed one who was accustomed to attend upon himself, to serve him. But Alexius discontinued not the fervency of his devotion, and macerated his body, with fasts and other austerities. And though the pampered servants derided him; and frequently emptied their household utensils on his head, his patience was always invincible. In this ​manner, for seventeen years under his own father's roof, his life was spent; but at last, perceiving by the spirit, that his end approached, he procured ink and paper, and recorded the narrative of his life. Now on the succeeding Sunday, after the solemnization of mass, a voice echoing like thunder among the mountains, was heard through the city. It said, "Come unto me all ye that labour, and I will give you rest." The people, terrified and awe-struck, fell upon their faces; when a second time the voice exclaimed, "Seek out a man of God to offer a prayer for the iniquity of Rome." Search was accordingly made, but no such man could be found; and the same voice waxing louder, and breathing as it were with the mingled blast of ten thousand thousand trumpets, again spoke, "Search in the house of Eufemian." Then the Emperors Arcadius and Honorius, in conjunction with the Pontiff Innocent, proceeded towards the house to which the words of the Invisible ​directed them, and as they approached, the servant who attended upon Alexius came running to his master, and cried, "What think you, my lord? Is not the mendicant stranger a man of exemplary life?" Eufemian, following up the suggestion, hastened to his chamber, and found him extended upon the bed. Life had already passed, but his countenance retained a dazzling emanation of glory, like the countenance of a cherub in its own pure and beatified element. A paper occupied the right hand, which Eufemian would have borne away, but he was unable to extricate it from the grasp of the dead man. Leaving him, therefore, he returned to the Emperors and the Pontiff, and related what he had seen. They were astonished, and entering the apartment, exclaimed, "Sinners though we are, we direct the helm of State, and provide for the well-being of the pastoral government. Give us, then, the paper, that we may know what it contains." Immediately the Pontiff drew near, and put his hand upon the scroll which the deceased yet firmly grasped,—and he instantly relaxed his hold. ​It was read to the people; and when the father, Eufemian, heard its contents, he was paralyzed with grief. His strength deserted him, and he staggered and fell. Returning to himself a little, he rent his garment, plucked off the silver hairs of his head, and tore the venerable beard that swept his unhappy bosom. He even inflicted severe wounds upon himself, and falling upon the dead body, cried, "Alas! my son—my son! why hast thou laid up for me such deadly anguish? Why, for so many years, hast thou endured a bitterness which death itself cannot exceed? Wretched man that I am, he who should have been the guardian of my increasing infirmities, and the hope and the honour of my age lies upon this miserable pallet, and speaks not. Oh! where is consolation to be found?"—At this instant, like an enraged and wounded lioness breaking through the toils with which the hunters, had encompassed her, the poor broken-hearted Abael, who had followed in the press, rushed desperately forward. Her garments were torn, and hanging about her in shreds; her hair ​dishevelled and flying; her eyes, wild and sparkling with the violence of emotion, were raised piteously to heaven. With that strength which frenzy sometimes supplies, she burst through the multitude who struggled to detain her; and approaching the body of her deceased child, said, or rather shrieked, in a heart-piercing accent, "I will pass; I will look upon my soul's only comfort. Did not this dried fountain suckle him? Have not these withered arms supported him? Hath he not slept—ah! not such sleep as this!—while I have watched him? Oh my child!" Saying this, she threw her emaciated form upon the unconscious object of her solicitude; and again giving vent to her sorrows, exclaimed, "My own dear boy! light of the dimmed eyes that will soon close upon all, since thou art gone—why hast thou wrought this? why wast thou so inhuman? Thou didst see our tears—thou didst hearken to our groans—yet camest not forward to abate them! The slaves scoffed at and injured thee, but thou wert patient—too, too patient." Again, and again, the unfortunate mother prostrated ​herself upon the body; one while clasping him in her arms, at another, passing her hand reverently over his seraphic features. Now, she impressed a kiss upon the cold cheek and eye-lids which her tears had moistened—and now bending over him, muttered something in a low and inaudible voice. Suddenly turning to the spectators, she said, "Weep, I pray ye, weep: ye who are regarding the agonies of a bereaved parent—have ye no tear to spare her? Abiding together for seventeen years, I knew him not;—not him, my beloved and beautiful! They taunted him, and showered their unmanly blows upon his enduring head. Oh! who will again bring tears to my burning eyelids? Who—who, will bear a part in my misery?"
The wife, whom Alexius had married and quitted on the evening of their nuptials, had been borne along by the congregating populace; but distress, until now, had held her silent. As Abael ceased, she sprung ​forward and cried, "Thou, miserable! what then am I? Woe is me! to-day I am desolate; to-day I am all a widow! Now, there is none for whom I may look—none, whom I may yet expect, although he come not. Where shall mine eye see gladness? The glass of my joy is broken—shivered—shivered: my hope is extinct; and grief is all the portion of my widowhood." The multitude, penetrated by the various calamities of which they were witnesses, sympathized with the sufferers, and wept aloud.
APPLICATION.
My beloved, Eufemian is any man of this world who hath a darling son, for whose advantage he labours day and night. He obtains a wife for him, that is, the vanity of the world, which he delights in as in a bride; nay, the world's vanities are often more to a man than the most virtuous wife—for life is sacrificed to the one, but, alas! how seldom to the other! The mother, is the world itself, which greatly values her worldly-minded children. But the good son, like the blessed Alexius, is more studious to please God than his parents, remembering that it is said,—"He who forsakes land or houses, or father, or mother, or wife, for my sake, shall receive an hundred fold, and possess eternal life." Alexius enters a ship, &c. The ship is our holy Church, by which we ought to enter, if we would obtain everlasting happiness. We must likewise lay aside gorgeous raiment—that is the pomps of the world; and associate with the poor—that is, the poor in spirit. ​The warden, who conducted him into the Church, is a prudent confessor, whose duty it is, to instruct the sinner, and lead him to a knowledge of the sacred Scriptures, by which the soul may pass unharmed to immortality. But sometimes tempests arise, and hurry a man to his own country, as it happened to Alexius. The temptations of the Evil One, are symbolized by these tempests, which turn the voyager from his settled course, and prevent a life of goodness. If, therefore, you feel that you are subject to certain temptations, follow the example of the holy Alexius. Assume the dress of a pilgrim—that is, take the qualities necessary for the pilgrimage of this life, and disguise yourself from your carnal and worldly father, and become a man of God. But if it fall out, that when such a one aspires to a life of penitence, his parents lament, and decry their child's contempt of the world, and his voluntary choice of poverty for the love of God—still, it is safer to displease them, than Heaven. Obtain, therefore, a fair piece of paper, which is a good conscience, on which inscribe your life; and ​then, the High Priest with the emperors will draw near—that is, Christ with a multitude of angels—and convey your soul to the church of St. Boniface—that is, to eternal life, where all sanctity (or joy) abounds.
* ↑ It is proper to warn the reader that this tale is somewhat periphrastically translated.
* ↑ Before the close of the Tale we find it was in the reign of two.
* ↑ The Latin is caput; if it mean not this, I know not what it means.
* ↑ It has also borne the names of Antiochia, Callirrhoë Justinopolis and Rhoas, said to have been built by Nimrod.
* ↑ Tarsus is the capital of Cilicia, called by the Turks Tersis.
* ↑ Are we to suppose that the one emperor had been succeeded by the two since the commencement of the Tale? The Pontiff Innocent, seems supererogatory.
* ↑ The reader will not perhaps comprehend much occasion for the lady's sorrow.
* ↑ The monk is not often so poetical.
Note 12.Page 77.
"Allexius, or Alexis, was canonised. This story is taken from his legend. In the metrical "Lives of the Saints," this life is told in a sort of measure different from that of the rest, and not very ​common in the earlier stages of our poetry. It begins thus:—
"Listeneth all, and hearkeneth me, Young and old-e, bond and free, And I you tellen soon, How a stout man, gent and free, Began this world-es weal to flee, Yborn he was in Rome.
"In Rom-e was a doughty man, That was yclept Eufemian, Man of much might; Gold and silver he had enows, Hall and bowers, oxen and plows, And very well it dight."
When Alexius returns home in disguise, and asks his father about his son, the father's feelings are thus described.
"So soon as he spake of his son, The good man as was his wone, Gan to sigh sore; His heart fell as cold as stone, The tears fellen to his ton, On his beard hoar.
"With mochel sighs, and mochel song, That holy corse them all among Bishops to church-e bare.
"Amidst right the high street, So much folk him gone meet, That they rest a stonde, All they sighed that to him come, And healed were very soon, Of feet, and eke of honde."
"The history of Saint Alexius is told entirely in the same words in the Gesta Romanorum, and in the Legenda Aurea of Jacobus de Voraigne, translated through a French medium, by Caxton. This work of Jacobus does not consist solely of the legends of the saints, but is interspersed multis aliis pulcherrimis et peregrinis historiis, with many other most beautiful and strange histories."—Warton.
As it may be amusing to the reader to compare ​the translation in the text with that executed by the venerable patriarch of the press, William Caxton, in the fifteenth century, I am tempted to transcribe it. There are many little additional touches of manners which the antiquary will value; and while the general reader smiles at the primitive simplicity with which the story is narrated, he will, it is presumed, derive some pleasure from the strong contrast afforded by the past and the present æra—from the elevated situation on which he may seem to stand: a being, as it were, of another sphere; asserting the pre-eminence of civilization over uncultivated life: the polite refinement of modern manners, over the rude character of remote and barbarous times.
Here foloweth the lyfe of saynt Alexis.
And fyrst of his name.
Alexis is as moche as to saye as goynge out of the lawe of maryage for to keep virginite for ​goddes sake, and to renounce all the pomp and rychesses of the worlde for to lyue in pouerte.
In the tyme that Archadius and Honorius were emperours of Rome, there was in Rome a ryght noble lord named Eufemyen, which was chefe and aboue all other lordes aboute the emperours, and had under his power a thousande knyghtes. He was a moche iust man to all men, and also he was pyteous and mercyfull unto y$^e$ poore. For he had dayly thre tables set and couered for to fede y$^e$ orphans, poor wydowes, and pylgryms. And he ete at the houre of none with good and religyous persones. His wyfe y$^t$ was named Aglaes ledde a religyous lyfe. But bycause they had no childe, they prayed to god to send them a sone y$^t$ myght be theyr heyr after them, of theyr honour and goodes. It was so that god herde theyre prayers, and beheld theyre bounte and good lyvnge, and gave unto them a sone which was named Alexis, whome they dyd to be taught and enfourmed in all scyences and honours. After this, they maryed hym unto a fayre damoysel, which was of y$^e$ lygnage of y$^e$ emperour of Rome. Whan the daye of y$^e$ weddynge was comen to even, Alexis beynge in the chambre w$^h$ ​his wyfe alone, began to enfourme and enduce her to drede god and serue hym, and were all that night togyder in right good doctryne, and fynably he gave to his wyfe his rynge and the buckle of golde of hys gyrdle, both bounden in a lytel cloth of purple, and sayd to her. Fayre sister, haue this, and kepe it as longe as it shall please our lord god, and it shall be a token bytweene us, and he gyue you grace to kepe truly your virgynitie. After this he toke of golde and syluer a grete somme, and departed alone fro Rome, and founde a shyppe in which he sayled in to Grece. And fro thens went in to Surrye, and came to a city called Edessia, and gaue there all his money for the loue of God, and clad hym in a cote, and demaunded almes for goddes sake lyke a poore man tofore the chirche of our lady, and what he lefte of the almesses aboue his necessity, he gaue it to other for goddes sake, and euery sondaye he was housled and receyved the sacrament, suche a lyfe he ladde longe. Some of y$^e$ messengers y$^t$ his father had sent to seche hym through all the partyes of the world came to seek hym in the sayd cyte of Edyssia and gaue unto hym theyr almes, he syttynge tofore the chirche with other poore people, but they knew hym not, and he knewe well them, ​and thanked our Lord, sayenge—I thank the fayre lorde Jesu Chryst y$^t$ thou vouchest safe to call me, and to take almes in thy name of my seruants, I praye the to perfourm in me that which thou hast begon. Whan the messengers were returned to Rome, and Eufemyen his fader sawe they had not founden his sone, he layd hym down upon a matres stratchynge on the erth, waylynge and sayd thus, I shal holde me here and abide tyll y$^t$ I have tydynges of my sone. And y$^e$ wyfe of his sone Alexis sayd wepynge to Eufemyen, I shal not departe out of your hous, but shal make me semblable and lyke to the turtle, whiche after y$^t$ she hath lost her felowe wyl take none other, but all her lyfe after lyveth chaste. In lyke wyse, I shall refuse all felowshyp unto y$^e$ tyme y$^t$ I shall knowe where my ryghte swete frende is becomen. After that Alexis had done his penaunce by ryght grete poverte in y$^e$ sayd cyte, and ledde a ryght holy lyfe by y$^e$ space of xvij yere, there was a voyce herde y$^t$ came fro god unto the chirche of our lady and said to the porter, Make the man of god to entre in, for he is worthy to haue the kingdome of heven, and the spiryte of god resteth on hym. Whan the clerke coude not fynde ne knowe hym amonge the other poor men, he prayed unto god to shewe to hym who it was. ​And a voyce came from heven and sayd, he sytteth without tofore the entre of the chirche. And so the clerke founde hym, and prayd hym humbly that he wolde come into y$^e$ chirche. Whan this myracle came to the knowledge of the people, and Alexis sawe that men dyd to hym honour and worshyp, anone for to eschewe vaynglory he departed fro thens and came into Grece when he toke shyppe, and entred for to go to Cecyle, but as god wold there arose a grete wynde which made the shyppe to arryue at the porte of Rome. When Alexis sawe this, anone he sayd to hymselfe, By the grace of god I wyl charge no man of Rome, I wyl go to my fader's hous in such wyse as I shal not be beknowen of ony person. And when he was within Rome he mette Eufemyen his fader which came fro y$^e$ palays of y$^e$ emperours w$^h$ a grete meyny followynge hym. And Alexis hys sone a poore man ranne cryenge and sayd. Sergeaunt of god haue pyte on me that am a poor pylgrym, and receyve me into thy hous for to haue my sustenaunce of y$^e$ relefe y$^t$ shall come fro thy borde, that god [may] blysse the, and haue pyte on thy sone, which is also a pylgrym. Whan Eufemyen herde speke of his sone, anone his herte began to melt and sayd to hys servauntes, Whiche ​of you wyl haue pyte on this man, and take y$^e$ cure and charge of hym. I shall deliver hym from hys servage and make him free, and shall gyve hym of myn herytage. And anone he commysed hym to one of his servauntes, and commaunded y$^t$ his bedde sholde be made in a corner of y$^e$ hall, whereas comers and goers myght se hym. And the servaunt to whom Alexis was commaunded to kepe made anone his bedde under the stayr and steppes of the hall. And there he lay right like a poore wretche, and suffred many vylanyes and despytes of the servauntes of his fader, which oft tymes cast and threwe on hym y$^e$ wasshynge of disshes and other fylth, and dyd to hym many euill turnes, and mocked hym, but he neuer complayned, but suffered all pacyently for the loue of god. Finally whan he had ledde this right holy lyfe w$^t$in his faders hous in fastynge, in prayenge, and in penaunce by the space of vij yere, and knewe that he sholde soon dye, he prayed the servaunt y$^t$ kepte hym to gyve hym a pece of parchement and ynke. And therein he wrote by ordre all hys lyfe and now he was maryed by the commaundement of his fader, and what he had sayd to hys wife, and of the tokens of hys rynge and bocle of hys gyrdell, ​that he had gyuen to her at his departynge, and what he had suffered for goddes sake. And all this dyd he for to make his fader to understande that he was his sone. After this whan it pleased god for to shewe and manyfest the vyctory of our lorde Jesu Christ in his servaunt Alexis. On a tyme on a sondaye after masse herynge all the people in the chirche, there was a voyce herde from god cryenge and sayenge as is sayd Mathei undecimo capitulo. Come unto me ye that labour and be trauayled, I shall comfort you. Of which voyce all the people were abasshed, whiche anone fell downe unto the erth. And the voyce sayd agayne. Seche ye the servaunt of god, for he prayeth for all Rome, And they sought hym, but he was not founden.
¶ Alexis in a mornynge on a good frydaye gaue his soul to god, and departed out of this worlde. And y$^e$ same daye all the people assembled at Saynt Peters churche and prayed god y$^t$ he wolde shewe to them where the man of god myght be founden y$^t$ prayed for Rome. And a voyce was herde that came fro god that sayd. Ye shall find hym in the hous of Eufemyen. And the people said unto Eufemyen, Why hast thou hydde fro us, thou hast suche grace in thy hous. And Eufemyen answered. God knoweth that I knowe no thynge therof.
​¶ Archadius and Honorius y$^t$ were emperours at Rome, and also y$^e$ pope Innocent commanded y$^t$ men shold go unto Eufemyens hous for to enquyre diligently tydynges of the man of god. Eufemyen went tofore with his servauntes for to make redy his hous agaynst the comynge of the Pope and emperours. And whan Alexis wyfe understode the cause, and how a voyce was herde that came fro god, sayenge. Seche ye y$^e$ man of god in Eufemyens hous, anon she sayd to Eufemyen. Syr se yf this poore man that ye have so long kepte and herberowed be the same man of god, I have well marked that he hath lyued a right fayre and holy lyfe. He hath euery sondaye receyved the sacrament of the awter. He hath ben ryght religyous in fastynge, in wakynge, and in prayer, and hath suffred pacyently and debonayrly of our servauntes many vylanyes. And when Eufemyen had herde all this, he ran toward Alexis and founde hym deed. He dyscouered his visage, whiche shone and was bryght as y$^e$ face of an aungell. And anone he returned towarde y$^e$ emperours and sayd. We have founden the man of god that we sought. And tolde unto them how he had herberowed hym, and how the holy man had lyued, and also how he was deed, and that he helde a byll or lettre in his ​hande which they might not drawe out. Anone the emperours with the pope went to Eufemyens hous, and came tofore the bedde where Alexis lay deed and sayd. How well that we be synners, yet neuertheless we governe y$^e$ worlde, and loo here is y$^e$ pope and generall fader of all the chirche, and gyve us the lettre y$^t$ thou holdest in thyn hande, for to knowe what is the wrytyng of it. And the pope wente tofore and toke the lettre, and toke it to his notary for to rede. And y$^e$ notary redde tofore the pope, the emperours and all the people. And whan he came to the poynt that made mencyon of his fader and of his moder, and also of his wyfe, and that by the enseygnes that he had gyuen to his wyfe at his departynge, his rynge and bocle of his gyrdle wrapped in a lytell purple clothe at his departynge. Anone Eufemyen fell downe in a swoone, and whan he came agayne to hymself he began to draw his heres and bette his brest and fell downe on the corps of Alexis his sone, and kyssed it, wepyng and cryenge in ryght grete sorrowe of herte, sayenge. Alas ryght swete son wherefore hast thou made me to suffre suche sorowe, thou sawest what sorowe and heuynes we had for the, alas why haddest thou no pite on us in so long tyme, how myghtest ​thou suffre thy moder and thy father wepe so moche for the, and thou sawest it well without takyng pyte on us. I supposed to have herd some tydynges of the, and now I se the lye deed, whiche sholdest be my solace in myne age, alas what solace may I haue that se my right dere son deed, me were better dye than lyve. Whan the moder of Alexis sawe and herd this, she came rennynge lyke a lyonesse and cryed, Alas! alas! drawing her heere in grete sorrowe, scratchyng her pappes with her nayles sayenge. These pappes haue gyven the souke, and whan she myght not come to the corps for the foyson of people y$^t$ was come thyder, she cried and said. Make rome and waye to me sorrowful moder y$^t$ I may se my desyre and my dere son that I have engendered and nourisshed. And as soon as she came to the body of her sone, she fell downe on it pyteously and kyssed it, sayenge thus. Alas for sorowe my dere son, y$^e$ lyght of myn age, why hast thou made us suffre so moche sorow, thou sawest thy fader, and me thy sorrowefull moder so ofte wepe for the, and woldest neuer make to us semblaunt of sone. O all ye y$^t$ haue y$^e$ hert of a moder, wepe ye with me upon my dere sone, whome I haue had in my hous vij. yere as a ​poore man, to whome my servauntes have done moche vylany. A! fayre sone thou hast suffred them right swetely and debonayrly. Alas, thou that were my trust, my comforte, and my solace in myn olde age, how mightest thou hide y$^e$ from me, that am thy sorowfull moder, who shall gyve to myn eyen from hens forth a fountayn of teres for to make payne unto y$^e$ sorowe of my herte. And after this came the wyfe of Alexis in wepyng throwynge herselfe upon the body, and with grete syghes and heuyness sayd, Right swete frende and spouse whome longe I haue desyred to se, and chastely I haue to y$^e$ kept myselfe lyke a turtle y$^t$ alone without make wayleth and wepeth, and loo here is my ryght swete husbonde, whome I have desyred to se alyue, and now I se hym deed, fro hens forth I wote not in whome I shall haue fyaunce ne hope. Certes my solace is deed, and in sorowe I shall be unto y$^e$ deth. For now fortho I am y$^e$ most unhappy amonge all women, and rekened amonge the sorowfull wydowes. And after these pyteous complayntes y$^e$ people wepte for the deth of Alexis. The pope made the body to be taken up and to be put into a shryne, and borne unto y$^e$ chirche. And whan it was borne through y$^e$ cyte ryght grete ​foyson of people came agaynst it and sayd. The man of god is founden y$^t$ the cyte sought. Whatsomever sike body myght touch the shryne, he was anone heled of his malady.
There was a blynde man y$^t$ recouered hys syght, and lame and other he heled. The emperour made grete foyson of golde and syluer to be throwen amonge y$^e$ people for to make waye y$^t$ the shryne myght passe. And thus, by grete labour and reuerence, was borne the body of Saint Alexis unto the churche of Saynt Bonyface, y$^e$ glorious martyr. And there was the body put in a shryne moche honourably made of gold and syluer, y$^e$ seuenth daye of Juyll. And al the people rendred thankynges and laudes to our lorde God for his grete myracles, unto whome be gyuen honour, laude and glory in secula seculorum. Amen.
From the preceding narratives, the reader may discover some of the most prominent features of Roman Catholic worship. Let us glance at the story. Here is a young man connected by the closest of all ​ties to a deserving female, whom he marries to read a theological lecture, and then leave a prey to irremediable regret. He associates with a number of squalid wretches, and exists on the precarious bounty of strangers in the most unprofitable, not to say knavish indolence. In the mean time his broken hearted parents are devoured by an intense anxiety, of which he is totally regardless. I pass the miraculous part of this veritable history; if Prince Hohenlohe's marvels deserve credit, it would be incongruous and inconsistent to refuse it here. Our "pious Æneas," disguised in the accumulated filth of seventeen years, returns to his father's house. Here he breeds a race of vermin; and luxuriously battens upon the garbage, which the servants, aware of his peculiar taste, plentifully, and one might think, properly, communicated. All this while he is an eye-witness, and an ear-witness, of the misery his absence occasions; and, as if to complete the perfection of such a character, he leaves behind him a scroll, of which the only effect must necessarily be to arouse a keener agony, and to quicken a dying despair. And this is the monstrous compound, which a voice from Heaven proclaims holy, and which miracles are called in to sanction! This is to be emphatically, a "Man of God!" He, who neglects every relative ​duty; he who is a cruel and ungrateful son, a bad husband, and careless master; he whose whole life is to consume time, not to employ it—to vegetate, but not to exist—to dream away life, with every sense locked up, every capability destroyed, every good principle uncultivated—and that too in the most loathsome and degraded condition—this, is to be a Man of God!
That the story before us contains a faithful picture of the times, and of many succeeding times; that it describes the prevailing tenets of Popery, will be generally admitted. Some, indeed, whose charity "hopeth the best," will be ready to believe, that the colours of an imaginative mind have been scattered along it; and that, however correspondent the outline may be, the sketch has been filled up by the aid of exaggeration, while embellishment has stepped into the place of truth. But we have unfortunately too many prototypes in nature; history is too copious in examples to oblige us to have recourse to fiction for an illustrative comment. The life of Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the order of Jesus, presents a very singular and apposite confirmation of the remark; and I am happy to have received a most obliging permission to extract an able article on this subject from a late number of the Retrospective Review a work, which I have no ​hesitation in commending, whether for the soundness of its principles, the depth and accuracy of its researches, or the high intellectual superiority with which it has hitherto been conducted.
"We must commence our history in the year 1491, which was rendered important by the birth of Ignatius, who first saw the light in Spain, in the district called Guipuscoa. Being descended from an ancient family, the lords of Ognes and Loyola, and moreover well-shaped and of a lively temper, his father destined him for the court, where he was sent at an early age as page to king Ferdinand. Incited, however, by the example of his brothers, who had distinguished themselves in the army, and his own love of glory, he soon grew weary of the inactivity of a court life, and determined to seek renown in ​war. He applied himself with great assiduity and success to his military exercises, and soon qualified himself for the service of his prince. It is said, that on all occasions he displayed great bravery and conduct; but the writers of his life being more interested in the detail of his theological warfare, have passed over his military achievements with a slight notice, except the affair which was the more immediate cause of what is called his conversion. This was the siege of Pampeluna by the French; on which occasion Don Ignatius, then about thirty years of age, displayed great gallantry, and was wounded by a splinter in his left leg, and his right was almost at the same moment broken by a cannon shot. The wounds were for a time considered dangerous; and the physicians declared, that unless a change took place before the middle of the night they would prove fatal: it was therefore thought adviseable that the sacrament should be administered to him. This fortunately happened to be the eve of St. Peter, for whom Ignatius had a special veneration, and in whose praise he had formerly indited certain Spanish verses. This early piety, says Maffei, produced no small fruit, for before the critical time of the night arrived, the apostle appeared to him in a vision, bringing 'healing on his wings.'
​"Another of his biographers conjectures that the prince of the apostles effected his restoration to health, because he had a special interest in the cure of a man destined by heaven to maintain the authority of the Holy See against heresy. However this may be, Ignatius assuredly recovered, although a slight deformity remained on his leg, caused by the protrusion of a bone under the knee. Grievously afflicted that the symmetry of his person should be thus spoiled, he determined to have the obnoxious bone cut off, and the operation was performed almost without producing a change of countenance in the hardy soldier. Notwithstanding all his care, however, his right leg always remained somewhat shorter that the left. Restrained from walking, and confined to his bed, he requested, in order to amuse himself, to be furnished with some books of chivalry, the sort of reading which chiefly occupied the attention of people of quality at that time; but instead of Palmerin of England, or Amadis of Gaul, they brought him The Lives of the Saints. At first he read them without any other view than that of beguiling the time; but by degrees he began to relish them, and at length became so absorbed in the study of asceticism, that he passed whole days in studying The Lives of the Saints, and finally made a ​resolution to imitate men who had so distinguished themselves by warring against their own flesh and blood. These aspirations were succeeded by his former desire for military glory; but after various mental conflicts, and a great deal of reflection, the charms of penance at length completely triumphed.
"For the purpose of gratifying this passion, he determined to go barefoot to the Holy Land, to clothe himself in sackcloth, to live upon bread and water, to sleep on the bare ground, and to choose a desert for his abode; but in the mean time, as his leg was not sufficiently well to allow him to carry his wishes into effect, in order in a slight degree to satisfy the longings of his soul, he spent part of the night in weeping for his sins; and one night, prostrating himself before an image of the blessed Virgin, he consecrated himself to the service of her and her Son. Immediately he heard a terrible noise. The house shook, the windows were broken, and a rent made in the wall, which was long after, and probably may at this day be seen. These extraordinary signs are not noticed by Maffei; but his less cautious brother, Ribadeneira, relates the fact, although he is in some doubt whether it was a sign of the approbation of the Deity, or of the rage of the devils, at seeing their prey ravished from them.
​"Another night the Virgin appeared to him, holding her Son in her arms; a sight which so replenished him with spiritual unction, that from that time forward his soul became purified, and all images of sensual delight were for ever razed from his mind. He felt himself re-created, and spent all his time in reading, writing, and meditating on performing something extraordinary. At length he sallied forth from Loyola, where he had been conveyed after the siege of Pampeluna, and took the road to Montserrat, a monastery of Benedictines, at that time famous for the devotions of pilgrims, making by the way a vow of perpetual chastity, one of the instruments with which he proposed to arm himself in his contemplated combats. He had not ridden far before he fell in with a Moor, with whom he entered into conversation, and amongst other topics engaged in an argument about the immaculate purity of the blessed Virgin. The Moor agreed, that until the birth of Christ, Mary preserved her virginity; but he maintained, that when she became a mother she ceased to be a virgin. The knight heard this treason against his lady with the greatest horror; and the Moor, perceiving the discussion was tending to a disagreeable point, set spurs to his horse and made off. The champion of the honour of the blessed ​Virgin was for a while in doubt whether it was required of him to revenge the blasphemies of the Moor. He, however, followed him, until he arrived at a place where the road parted, one branch of it leading to Montserrat, and the other to a village whither the Moor was going; and being mindful of the expedient which errant knights of old frequently adopted to solve a doubt, he very wisely determined to be guided by his horse, and if the animal took the same road as the Moor, to take vengeance on him; if not, then to pursue his way in peace to Montserrat. The horse being of a peaceable disposition, took the road to Montserrat; and having arrived at a village, at the foot of the mountain on which the monastery stands, his rider purchased the equipage of a pilgrim, and proceeding to the monastery, sought out an able spiritual director, and confessed his sins, which he did in so full and ample a manner, and interrupted it with such torrents of tears, that his confession lasted three days. The next step which Ignatius took was to seek out a poor man, to whom, stripping himself to his shirt, he privately gave all his clothes; then, putting on his pilgrim's weeds, he returned to the church of the monastery. Here, ​remembering that it was customary for persons to watch a whole night in their arms, previously to their being knighted, he determined in like manner to keep his vigil before the altar of his Lady; and suspending his sword upon a pillar, in token of his renouncing secular warfare, he continued in prayer the whole night, devoting himself to the Saviour and the blessed Virgin, as their true knight, according to the practice of chivalry.
"Early in the morning he departed from Montserrat, leaving his horse to the monastery, and receiving in exchange certain penitential instruments from his ghostly father. With his staff in his hand, his scrip by his side, bare-headed, one foot unshod, (the other being still weak from his wound) he walked briskly to Manreza, a small town about three leagues from Montserrat. Resolved to make Manreza illustrious by his exemplary penance, he took up his abode at the hospital for pilgrims and sick persons; he girded his loins with an iron chain, put on a hair shirt, disciplined himself three times a day, laid upon the bare ground, and lived upon bread and water for a week. Not content with these mortifications, he sometimes added to his hair shirt a girdle of certain herbs full of thorns and prickles. He spent seven hours every day in prayer, and frequently ​continued a length of time without motion. Considering, however, that this maceration of his body would advance him but a little way to heaven, he next resolved to stifle in himself all emotions of pride and self-love, and for this end, he studiously rendered himself disgusting, neglecting his person, and to hide his quality, assuming a clownish carriage.
"With his face covered with dirt, his hair matted, and his beard and nails of a fearful length, but his soul filled with inward satisfaction, he begged his bread from door to door, a spectacle of scorn and ridicule to all the inhabitants and children of Manreza. He persevered in this course, notwithstanding the suggestions of the wily enemy of mankind, who wished to tempt him to the world again, until a report was circulated that he was a person of quality, and the feelings of the people were converted from scorn and ridicule to admiration and reverence whereupon he retreated to a cave in the neighbourhood. The gloom of his new abode excited in him a lively, vigorous spirit of penance, in which he revelled with the utmost fervour, and without the least restraint. He chastised his body four or five times ​a day with his iron chain, abstained from food until exhausted nature compelled him to refresh himself with a few roots, and instead of praying seven hours a day, he did nothing but pray from morning until night, and again, from night until morning, lamenting his transgressions, and praising the mercies of God. These excessive indulgencies mightily impaired his health, and brought on a disease of the stomach, which at intervals afflicted him, until the time of his death: the spiritual joys which they had formerly brought, suddenly disappeared, he became melancholy, had thoughts of destroying himself, and then recollecting to have read of a hermit who, having fruitlessly petitioned for a favour from God, determined to eat nothing until his prayers were heard, he also resolved to do the same; he persevered for a week, and then at the command of his spiritual director left off fasting. His troubles ceased, and he now began to wax into a saint. He had a vision of the mystery of the Holy Trinity, of which he spoke, although he could only just read and write, with so much light, and with such sublime expressions, that the most ignorant were instructed, and the most learned delighted. Nay, he wrote down his conceptions of this mystery, but we lament to say, that his manuscript was unfortunately lost. His ​visions began to multiply, the most remarkable of which was an extacy, which lasted eight days, neither more nor less. These illuminations were so convincing, that he was heard to say, that had the revelations never been recorded in Scripture, he would still have maintained them to the last drop of his blood. The heavenly favours he thus received he opened in part to his ghostly directors, but with this exception, he shut them up in his own heart. His efforts to conceal himself from the eyes of men were vain, his austerities and extacies, aided by the belief of his being a man of quality in disguise, attracted crowds of people to see and hear him, and he was pronounced a saint.
"Notwithstanding that the necessary consequence of actions like these was to attract the attention of the world, he is described as being desirous of withdrawing himself from the notice and esteem of men, and he resolved to carry into execution a design, which he had long nourished, of visiting the Holy Land. He accordingly proceeded to Barcelona, where he embarked on board a ship about to sail for Italy, landed at Gayeta in 1523, and proceeded on foot to Rome, where he received the Pope's benediction, and obtained permission to make a ​pilgrimage to Jerusalem. From Rome he went to Venice, where he embarked, and arrived at Jerusalem, on the 4th of September in that year.
"Here his heart was touched with the most tender devotion, and he began to deliberate whether he should fix his residence on the illustrious soil of Judæa, and apply himself to the conversion of the infidels. For his greater satisfaction, he consulted the superior of the Franciscans, who had the care of the Holy Sepulchre; the superior remitted him to the Father Provincial, who counselled him to return to Europe, but Ignatius, having some scruples about abandoning his design, answered the Provincial, that nothing but the fear of displeasing God should make him leave the Holy Land. "Why then," said the Provincial, "you shall be gone to-morrow; I have power from the holy see to send back what pilgrims I please, and you cannot resist me without offending God." Ignatius submitted without another word, left Jerusalem on the following day, and arrived at Venice about the end of January, 1524. A Spanish merchant at this place forced him to take fifteen or sixteen reals, but on his coming to Ferrara he gave a real to the first beggar that held out his hand, a second came, and he gave him another. These ​liberalities drew all the beggars to him, and he refused none so long as his money lasted, and when he had done, he began to beg himself, whereupon they cried out, A saint, a saint! He needed no more to make him leave the place; he continued his journey through Lombardy to Genoa, where he embarked for Barcelona. During his voyage from the Holy Land, he had reflected a good deal on the subject of converting the infidels, and considering that without the aid of human learning his efforts would be comparatively inefficacious, he determined to put himself under the care of Ardebalo, the master of the grammar school at Barcelona. He was now thirty-three years of age. On his arrival at Barcelona, he fell to the study of the rudiments of the Latin language, and went every day to school with the little children; but whilst his master was explaining the rules of grammar, he was deeply engaged with the mysteries of faith. This distraction of attention he ascribed to the powers of darkness, and made a vow to continue his studies with greater application, nay, he requested of Ardebalo to require the same task from him as the rest of the boys, and if he did not perform it, to punish him as he punished them, by ​reprimands and stripes. We do not learn whether the master was necessitated to quicken his scholar's diligence in the way suggested, but it is certain that he now proceeded in his studies with much greater facility. About this time, he read the Enchiridion Militis Christiani of Erasmus, which had been recommended to him, but finding that it wanted fervour, and in fact, diminished his devotion and exercises of piety, (and was probably reducing him to a reasonable Christian) he threw away the book, and conceived such a horror of it, that he would never read it more, and when he became General of the Jesuits, ordered that the society should not read the works of Erasmus. Being reestablished in his health, he renewed his austerities, but, for the sake of study, retrenched a part of his seven hours of prayer. John Pascal, a devout youth, the son of the woman with whom he lodged, would frequently rise in the night to observe what Ignatius was doing in his chamber, and sometimes he saw him on his knees, at others, prostrate on the ground, and once he thought he saw him elevated from the earth, and surrounded with light, or as Butler expresses it in his Hudibras,
"Hang like Mahomet in th' air, Or Saint Ignatius at his prayer."
"About this time, Ignatius being afflicted with indisposition, partly from his austerities, and partly from the climate of Paris, was advised by his physicians to try the benefit of his native air; an advice which he the more readily adopted, partly because three of his companions had some business to transact in Spain before they could absolutely renounce all their worldly goods; and partly that he might repair the scandal of his youth by his present virtuous demeanour. Having committed the care of the society to Faber, he departed for his native country; making use, however, of a horse, on account of the weakness of his foot. He went to Azpetia, a town near the castle of Loyola, where the clergy, hearing of his approach, assembled to ​receive him. He refused, however, to take up his abode with his brother at the castle of Loyola; and instead of making use of the bed and provisions which he sent to him at the hospital, he chose to lie on the bed of a poor man, taking care, however, every morning to disarrange the other, as if he had slept in it; and distributed the provisions he received from Loyola amongst the poor, and begged his bread about the town. Once only he went, 'upon compulsion,' to visit the inmates of Loyola, the sight of which renewed the memory of his former life, and inspired him with an ardent love of mortification. In consequence, he forthwith put on a sharp hair shirt, girded himself with a great chain of iron, and disciplined himself every night. He catechised the children, he preached every Sunday, and two or three times in the week besides; until, the churches not being able to contain the great crowds who came to hear him, he was obliged to hold forth in the open fields, 'et auditores arbores complere cogerentur.' The first time he preached, he told the assembly that he had been, for a long time, grievously afflicted by a sin of his youth:—he had, he said, with other boys, broken into a garden, and carried off a quantity of fruit; an offence for which an innocent person was sent to ​prison, and condemned to pay damages. "I, therefore," he proceeded, "am the offender; he is the innocent person: I have sinned—I have erred!" and he called before him the man, who by chance was present, and gave him, before the public, two farms, which belonged to him. We shall pass over the particular circumstances of success which attended his preaching: it will be sufficient to apprize our readers, that as soon as he preached against the immodest attire of the women, it disappeared; that the same day he denounced gaming, the gamesters threw their dice into the river; that the courtezans made holy pilgrimages on foot, and the blasphemers ceased to curse.
"Although this sketch of the life of Ignatius Loyola bears no proportion to the details which have been given of it by about twenty biographers, it is, we conceive, sufficiently ample to enable the reader to form a correct judgment of his character. It has been thought that the society of Jesuits owed its origin to the enthusiasm, rather than the policy, of its founder. Let the reader trace him from his conversion to his death, follow him through his rigorous infliction of self-punishment, his fastings ​until exhausted nature was ready to sink under his severe austerities, his voluntary beggary, his growing reputation for sanctity, his flight from public notice and reverence whilst he pursued the very means to obtain them, his being stamped a saint, his application to human learning, the unfolding of his views, the alteration in his austerities, in his habits of life and mode of dress, and he will probably be of a different opinion. Enthusiasm was doubtless the inspiring fountain at which he first drank; not so much, however, the enthusiasm of an ardent and noble mind, as a preternatural excitement caused by the sort of reading to which accident invited him, working on a debilitated and feverish frame. His enthusiasm, after the first ebullition, seems to have had a method in it; it led him to just so must voluntary suffering as was necessary to gain him the reputation of a saint, and it was probably at that species of fame that he at first aimed: his affected humility was ostentation; his pretended seclusion, notoriety; he did not conceal from his left hand what his right hand did, he distributed the alms he had acquired to beggars, and as soon as he had done began to beg himself, to the admiration of the professors of mendicity; and it was no wonder they should cry out, a saint, ​a saint! He did not retire into trackless deserts like the 'eremites' of old, but like a retiring beauty, suffered his flight from the world to be seen, and was shocked when he was followed. Whilst rendering himself an object of loathing and disgust, and attenuating his body to the proper point of sanctity, it was swelling with holy pride and inward gratulation; but as soon as this part of his object was once accomplished, he threw off his tattered robes, and iron chain, he diminished his hours of prayer, and grander prospects and mightier power began to open before him. Not that he would have hesitated to continue them for the purpose of preserving his reputation or securing an important object; but what is to be remarked, is, that those things which he had formerly considered indispensable, were now no longer thought so, and that without any change of the circumstances which originally made them necessary, and it is not sufficient to resort to visions to account for the change. For, although an enthusiastic imagination might see such things 'in dim perspective,' the whole of the conduct of Ignatius marks him to be a cool persevering and calculating politician, and the visions themselves ceased, when ​no longer required to spread his name and consolidate his power. Though influenced by motives of ambition, they were not those of wealth or rank, but of real, substantial power; and, although some obscure thoughts of framing a religious Order might have obtruded upon his meditations at Manreza, it is probable that the precise nature of it was only gradually unfolded, and not completed until he was about to leave Paris."
The latter part of the life of Ignatius Loyola, bears no proportion to its outset. Enthusiasm had abated, and policy was the cynosure of his subsequent career. In this he differs from Alexius; as he became more active, he became less a Saint; and as his mind opened, and reason assumed her proper station, he gradually lost the fanatic in the designing founder of a sect. What he retained of fanaticism was chiefly external, and artificial; but the leading features of his life, accord surprizingly with the legendary character of the text. Had Loyola remained always ignorant, he had been always a bigot; and, judging by the commencement of his life, ​would have died as useless and as burdensome to society as the son of the senator Eufemian.
* ↑ Wont.
* ↑ Toes.
* ↑ Many.
* ↑ A moment.
* ↑ "Hystor. lxxxix. fol. clviii. edit, 1479, fol. and in Vincent of Beauvais, who quotes Gesta Alexii Specul. Hist. Lib. xviii. cap. 43. seq. f. 241. 6." Warton.
* ↑ Warton seems to be in error respecting this work, which he confounds with "The Lives of the Fathers, translated out of Frensshe into Englisshe by William Caxton of Westminster, late deed, and fynisshed it at the last day of hys lyff." The Golden Legend (properly so called) consists wholly of the legends of the Saints; but the Lives of the Fathers is interspersed with stories of the character given above.
* ↑ Syria.
* ↑ Sicily
* ↑ Many; Norm. Fr. Commonly a household.
* ↑ Committed.
* ↑ Signs, tokens.
* ↑ That is—Shew that thou wert our son.
* ↑ Partner, companion.
* ↑ Henceforward.
* ↑ Plenty, number.
* ↑ July.
* ↑ From the Golden Legend, Ed. 1527. Printed by Wynkyn de Worde, "at the syyne of the Sonne," in Fleet-street.
* ↑ This production deserves every share of public favour; and large as the present sale is said to be, I have no doubt of its increase. The nature of the publication, confined as it is to past ages of literature, will probably preclude that circulation to which its merits justly entitle it; but no man, who takes an interest in the progress of the human mind, and who would know something of works formerly so popular, though now subjected to the mutabilities of human caprice, "to time and chance, which happeneth to all," will neglect an occasion of acquiring as much as investigation can achieve, or ability communicate. In support of these remarks I refer to an article on Chaucer contained in the Seventeenth Number—not perhaps as the best, but as one among many good.
* ↑ Let the reader here turn to the "Life of Alexius;" and particularly to pages 66, 67, of this volume.
* ↑ Compare with this account what is said of Alexius in page 67, et seq.
* ↑ Vide page 69.
* ↑ See page 67.
* ↑ Robertson's Charles V., v. iii. b. 6. Bayle, Art. Loyola.
* ↑ Though his biographers considered him of an ardent temperament, his physicians thought him of a phlegmatic constitution.
* ↑ Retrospective Review, No. XVII.