Chapter V. Fraud :—Miracles.

Rome ever has claimed, and does still claim, the power of working miracles. One of her most eminent historians says: “The Catholic Church being always the chaste spouse of Christ, continuing to bring forth children of heroical sanctity,—God fails not in this, any more than in past ages, to illustrate her and them by unquestionable miracles.” The Rev. James Kent Stone, a recent convert to Romanism, in his “Invitation Heeded” repeatedly and emphatically claims for the Church of his adoption the unquestioned ability to work miracles. He even undertakes a defense of those she has published to the world, affirming that they are as credible, nay, in some instances more so, than those recorded in the Bible. Here is a specimen :—“In 1814, a man who had his back-bone broken was made whole by making a pilgrimage to Garswood, and there getting the sign of the cross made on his back by some unknown priest called Arrowsmith, who was killed in the wars of Charles I.” The bull of the Pope assigning a reason why the Virgin Magdalene should be canonized, reads thus: “Not without good reason with that incorruption and good odor of her body, which continues to this day.” A “delicious odor” was emitted from her grave. St. Patrick sailed to Ireland on a millstone, and drove out all the snakes and toads with his staff.

St. Francis, founder of the Franciscan order of monks, who “had no teacher but Christ, and learned all by an immediate revelation,” and of whom St. Bridget had a marvellous vision testifying that “the Franciscan rule was not composed by the wisdom of men, but by God himself,” was, on one occasion, sorely tempted by a devil in the form of a beautiful, fascinating lady. On a certain evening, however, when again tempted, “he spit in the devil’s face.” His biographer solemnly adds, “ Confounded and disgusted the devil fled.” A miracle! This same holy St. Francis predicted the day of his death, and even after his decease wrought miracles by his intercessory prayers. He had a vision of a seraph, the effect of which was that “His soul was utterly inflamed with seraphic ardor, and his body ever after retained the similar wounds of Christ.” In consequence of these wounds, and the miracles he performed, so great became his honor, that in Roman books it is written, “Those only were saved by the blood of Christ who lived before St. Francis but all that followed were redeemed by the blood of St. Francis.” (Such blasphemy!)

Miracles were wrought in favor of the Immaculate Conception, and miracles were wrought against it. And what to Protestants seems strange, Rome confirmed both classes, and canonized those who achieved miracles in favor of, and those who achieved miracles against, this precious doctrine.

Take another of Rome’s unquestionable miracles. St. Wenefride being a nun, of course could not marry. Her suitor, young Prince Caradoc, in anger at this, cut off her head. This gave rise to three miracles:

1. St. Beuno caused the earth to open, and young Caradoc was swallowed up;
2. A well opened on the spot where the nun’s blood was shed, and the holy waters of this healing fountain work miracles unto this day;
3. St. Beuno placed the nun’s head on the bleeding body, prayed to the “Mother of Christ,” and behold St.” Wenefride was immediately restored to life.

Who will dare to say that these miracles are not far more wonderful than any recorded in Scripture? Protestants, in their ignorance, may be inclined to call them “lying wonders,” but Roman infallibility has pronounced them “unquestionable miracles.”

St. Dominic, on one occasion, during a dreadful tempest, exhorted the inhabitants of Toulouse to appease the wrath of heaven by reciting their prayers. The arm of the wooden image of the Virgin in the church was raised in a threatening attitude. “ Hear me,” shouted St. Dominic, “that arm will not be withdrawn till you have obeyed my commands.” The terrified worshipers instantly set to work, counting their beads. Dominic, satisfied with their spiritual devotions, gave the order, and the arm of wrath immediately fell. The storm abated. The thunder and lightning ceased.

The blood of St. Januarius, preserved in a small bottle at Naples, is wont to liquefy, and sometimes boil, when exposed to the adoration of the faithful. This miracle, Protestants might be excused from believing, especially as on one occasion, when it refused to dissolve because the French soldiers occupied the kingdom, it afterwards concluded to do so, inasmuch as the Vicar of the bishops received this order from the French Commander: “If in ten minutes St. Januarius should not perform his usual miracle, the whole city shall be reduced to ashes.” The obstinate saint came to terms! The blood boiled furiously !

But perhaps some one may be inclined to question whether miracles so preposterously absurd are now offered to the faith of Papists. Possibly some, by reading “The Aspirations of Nature,” a work written to make converts to Catholicism, may imagine that Romanists are less credulous, less superstitious, less blindly bigoted now than in the middle ages. For the benefit of such we refer to miracles whose long drawn accounts are to be found in books now issuing, in this very country, under the official and authoritative endorsement of Rome. In the “Living Eucharist manifested by Miracles,” the infallible, authoritative, apostolic Church, the unerring teacher of divine truth, in this nineteenth century actually records some twenty or more miracles wrought in proof of the real presence.

Bishops, priests and nuns, we are solemnly told, certainly saw the wafer, after the benediction of the priest, changed into an infant. The bread became real flesh and blood, a perfect infant, Jesus himself. In one case a priest was seen laying a beautiful babe, Jesus, on the tongue of each communicant. Wafers carried several days in the pocket of a bishop, on being blessed became little infants. Did ever blasphemy and irreverence equal this? Dogmatically affirming that the testimony of the senses is not to be taken in matters of faith, Papists endeavor to establish a doctrine which is in itself so repugnant to reason that one would suppose none but an idiot could believe it. And this publication has the sanction of Papal infallibility. Now, therefore, heretics, doubt no longer. Believe that the priest creates a god, worships him, and then eats him. Presume not to smile at this precious doctrine of transubstantiation, this sublime mystery, which the Rev. James Kent Stone (who in a short fifteen months passed from a public defender of Episcopacy to a most ardent advocate of the Papacy) affirms is a doctrine so spiritual that purblind (slow in understanding or discernment; dull.) Protestants cannot be expected to comprehend it.

Another tract, published in London, “The Miracle of Liége, by the use of the water from the fountain of Our Lady of Lourdes,” deserves attention. This also can be purchased in almost any Catholic bookstore. “Mr. Hanquet’s Narrative.” —He was taken, he affirms, extremely ill in 1862. Continuing to grow worse, in July 1864 sitting up even for a few moments was an impossibility. In 1867, ulcers, erysipelas, “a back bent like a bow,” “a chest like a fiery oven,” and “bloodless withered legs,” rendered life a burden. The physician affirmed : “I find symptoms of almost all diseases.” In 1869 all hope of recovery faded away. His brother, however, on Oct. 13th, found in a bookstore the account of Our Lady of Lourdes. Already the dying man was praying most importunately to the Mother of God, Blessed Lady, Mary Immaculate. A bottle of water was sent for. A glass of it was poured down the throat of the dying man. Mary’s aid was invoked. For an instant the death rattle was heard; then one bound, and the man, well and strong, seized his hat and went outdoors wholly restored. A miracle indeed!!! And this, my dear Protestant friend, has the sanction of Papal infallibility. Who will not henceforth pray with devout Hanquet: “Holy Virgin, deign to ask for me from your divine Son that grace which is best for me, to die, to suffer or to be cured,” especially the last, to be cured? This wonderful account of a very remarkable miracle—unless you are sacrilegious enough to call it one of Rome’s lying wonders—this incontestable proof of the efficacy of prayer to the Blessed Virgin, you can make your own for twelve cents. This in the year 1870, and in New York.

M. C. Kavanagh, in her catechism and instructions for confession designed for very young children, having heartily commended the patience of St. Joseph, who, when a little lad, though bathed in tears, offered no reproach to those destroying his highly prized little garden (tradition, ¢. e. fiction pure and simple), our authoress gives, by way of enforcing the duty of penance, “a story of Our Blessed Lady.” Little Mary when three or four years old, informed the priest that she had imposed upon herself penances, to eat no fruit except one kind, to drink no wine or vinegar of which she was very fond, to eat no meat or fish, and to rise three times in the night to pray. Heartily do we join in the ejaculation of the narrator, “This at the age of three years!” We certainly think that the dogma of infallibility is really needed. How otherwise could such a dose as this be forced down even a Papist’s throat. The second instruction closes with this pious admonition: “Do not fail to pray to Our Lady and St. Joseph to help you.” Fed upon such food, is it any wonder that the children of our Catholic fellow-citizens grow up in the grossest ignorance, in superstition that would disgrace a heathen in Central Africa?

But the third instruction contains the gem, “a true miracle.” Only five years ago, in a village of France (how unfortunate, these miracles always occur in some distant land), there resided a certain curé (priest bearing the responsibility of a parish). Among those who came to him was a gentleman who had great temptations against faith in the Blessed Eucharist. (Not so unreasonable when he was asked to believe, contrary to the testimony of his senses, that bread was flesh.) One day, as this doubter came to communion, the sacred host left the hands of the curé and placed itself on the tongue of the gentleman. Our authoress, in holy fervor exclaims, “What a miracle of love!” And we are impious enough to respond, What a transparent falsehood! (LOL!)

Obedience is a Christian duty which certainly ought to be commended to children. Here is Rome’s way of enjoining it. St. Frances whilst saying the office of Our Lady, which she did daily (how adroitly Mary’s worship is commended), was called by her servant. Leaving her prayers she attended to the request. Returning, scarcely had she begun the psalm when she was called a second time. Without loss of patience again she left her book to obey the command. Just after she had resumed her prayers for the third time her husband called. Leaving all, she ran to him. Returning, what was her surprise to find the words, written in letters of gold: “ Now, therefore, dear children, always obey the calls of duty.”

Lengthy as our list has become, we cannot pass the two hundred or more remarkable miracles contained in the ever-memorable book, so celebrated in Catholic communities, “The Glories of Mary,” by St. Alphonsus Liguori. This book was never intended for Protestant eyes. The original having been carefully examined, and every line, even every word found in perfect harmony with the doctrines of Holy Mother, and the translation in like manner “expurgated,” approved and earnestly commended to the faithful, the work was introduced “with the hope that it might be found to retain the spirit of the learned and saintly author, and be welcomed by the devout in this country with the same delight which it has universally called forth in Catholic Europe.” Whatever miracles are herein found may therefore be taken as duly attested and approved by Papal infallibility.

Here is one. A gentleman devoted to Blessed Mary was accustomed often in the night to repair to the oratory of his palace to bow in prayer to an image of the Virgin. His wife, jealous and angered, asked him, “Have you ever loved any other woman but me?” He replied, “I love the most amiable lady in the world; to her I have given my whole heart,” meaning Mary (?) The wife still more suspicious asked, “ When you arise and leave the room, is it to meet this lady?” “Yes.” “Deceived and blinded by passion,” this wife, one night during her husband’s long absence, “cut her throat and very soon died.” The heart-broken husband on learning this, implored help of Mary’s image. No sooner was this done than the living wife, throwing herself at his feet, bathed in tears, exclaimed, “Oh, my husband, the Mother of God, through thy prayers, has delivered me from hell.”

“The next day the husband made a feast, and the wife told her relatives the facts, and showed the marks of the wound.” Now, heretics, doubt if you dare.

Let us have one in the exact language of “the learned and saintly author.” “There lived in the city of Aragona a girl named Alexandra, who, being noble and very beautiful, was greatly loved by two young men. Through jealousy, they one day fought and killed each other. Their enraged relatives, in return, killed the poor young girl, as the cause of so much trouble, cut off her head, and threw her into a well. A few days after, St. Dominic was passing through that place, and, inspired by the Lord, approached the well, and said: ‘Alexandra, come forth,’ and immediately the head of the deceased came forth, placed itself on the edge of the well, and prayed St. Dominic to hear its confession. The Saint heard its confession, and also gave it communion, in presence of a great concourse of persons who had assembled to witness the miracle. Then St. Dominic ordered her to speak, and tell why she had received that grace. Alexandra answered, that when she was beheaded, she was in a state of mortal sin, but that the most Holy Mary, on account of the rosary, which she was in the habit of reciting, had preserved her in life. Two days the head retained its life upon the edge of the well, in the presence of all, and then the soul went to purgatory. But fifteen days after, the soul of Alexandra appeared to St. Dominic, beautiful and radiant as a star, and told him that one of the principal sources of relief to the souls in purgatory is the rosary which is recited for them; and that, as soon as they arrive in paradise, they pray for those who apply to them these powerful prayers. Having said this, St. Dominic saw that happy soul ascending in triumph to the kingdom of the blessed.”—”Glories of Mary,” American Ed., p. 274.

Of others we have merely time to give the briefest outline. Mary’s image furnishes written prayers to a penitent (p. 76); rescues a condemned murderer from the gallows (p. 78); bows to a murderer (p. 213); becomes and continues a nun fifteen years, in order to shield a devotee who willfully deserted the paths of virtue (p. 224); leaves a church during the trial, condemnation and beheading of an infamous bishop (p. 391); speaks to a young man about to commit sin (p. 559), ete., ete., almost ad infinitum.

Blessed Mary herself cools the cheek of a dying devotee with a fan (p.110) ; with a cloth wipes the death damp from the brow of “a good woman” dying in a home of poverty (p. 112); secures from the devil a paper given by an abandoned sinner containing a written renunciation of God (p. 198) ; furnishes a letter to one of her ardent admirers (the same lady had entertained her admirers all night in “rooms richly furnished and perfumed as with an odor of paradise !”) (p. 454); burns an inn in which her children were sinning (five of the rescued affirm, on oath, that Mary, the Blessed Virgin, lighted the flames) (p. 659); by a second revelation of herself restores sight to one eye of a man who had regularly bargained with her for total blindness if he might be permitted twice to behold her (p. 512).

By the assistance of Our Lady, an ape becomes and declares himself a devil, and at the command of a priest goes through a hole in the wall, which hole no mechanical genius could fill up (p. 251); a man in spirit form comes to his friend and says, My dead body is in the street, my soul in purgatory, and I am here (p. 265); at the repetition of the magic rosary devils have been known to leave wretched men (p. 683). There, that is a dose sufficient for any Protestant stomach! If any, however, desire more, there are plenty in the “Glories of Mary.” Don’t the immutable Church need the dogma of infallibility? Barring the sense of shame for our race produced by such exhibitions of moral depravity and mental weakness, these “examples” are more interesting and certainly far more startling than the most exciting modern novel. And they are published as truth, approved by Papal inerrancy, earnestly commended to the devout, believed by Papists! They are sold in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and all large towns—sold in this nineteenth century, and in educated, enlightened, civilized, Christianized America! Can a republic long rest secure on a foundation of superstition? Judged by such literature, the present must indeed be the world’s midnight of ignorance! Did the dark ages produce anything more grossly absurd? And Rome anathematizes the times because there are some men so heretical, so unprecedentedly blasphemous as to make jest of such absurdities.

May we not apply to Popery the words of Pollok?

“The hypocrite in mask! He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of heaven
To serve the devil in.”

If any desire to see the account of a recent miracle, with all the embellishments, drawn out “ad nauseam,” we refer them to “Our Lady of Lourdes, by Henri Lasserre,” found in the Catholic World (September, October, November, December, 1870, and January, February, March, and April, 1871).

At a grotto near Lourdes in France, a poor, simple minded, invalid, fourteen-year-old shepherdess, who could neither read nor write, knowing almost nothing except the superstitious use of Mary’s rosary, had, we are gravely informed, daily visions, for more than two weeks, of the Blessed Virgin, and gave accurate, full, elegant descriptions of her dress, features and beauty. The honored recipient of Mary’s favors, Bernadette, so named for her patron, St. Bernard, saw the heavenly vision, though no single observer of a vast crowd was able to see anything save the barren rock and the climbing eglantine; and heard words from lips seemingly lisping prayers for poor sinners as her fingers counted the beads of her glittering rosary. After days of ecstatic beholding, this wonderful message was sent from the “Queen of Heaven and Earth,” by the vision-beholding Bernadette, to the priests—those prudent men who received the current rumors of the wildly excited populace with dignified silence, looks of disapprobation, and words of suspicion— “Go tell the priests that I want a chapel built on this spot.” When these words were spoken in ordinary tone, in the midst of several thousand breathless spectators of Bernadette’s transfiguration, no ear caught the sound save that of the little, ignorant, simple-minded, pale-faced, nervous peasant girl.

At a subsequent vision this command was received: “Go drink and wash at the fountain, and eat of the herbs growing at its side.” Fountain? — there was none. Bernadette, however, essaying obedience, walked on her knees over the rocks, and into the furthest corner of the grotto. As she dug up the earth with her hands a fountain sprung up. This, which has since flowed unceasingly for thirteen years and wrought miracles innumerable, possessed, from its first outgushing, miraculous healing properties. A quarryman, rubbing his blinded eye with the first water that filled the cavity, and kneeling in prayer to the Blessed Virgin, “immediately uttered a loud cry and began to tremble in violent excitement.” “Cured.” “ Impossible,” said the physician. “It is the Holy Virgin,” said the devout Catholic. Many arose from beds to which they had been confined for years. Paralyzed limbs were instantaneously restored. Sores were cured. Deaf ears were unstopped. A dying child—the shroud already made—plunged by its mother into “the icy cold fountain,” and held there for more than fifteen minutes, was completely restored to health, and the next day, in the absence of the parents, “left the cradle and walked around the room,” its first effort at walking! Remarkable baby! Wonderful water! One morning, says the author, twenty thousand, many of whom had spent the previous night at the grotto, witnessed, in rapt silence, the ecstasy of the little saint. Even if the waters had wrought no miracles, superstitious faith might have manufactured at least one or two tolerably decent counterfeits. So we think. So evidently thought the Editor of the Ere Imperiale, a local paper.

“Do not be surprised,” said the organ of the Prefecture (Catholic), “if there are still some people who persist in maintaining that the child is a saint, and gifted with supernatural powers. These people believe the following stories :-—

“1st. That a dove hovered the day before yesterday over the head of the child during the whole time of the ecstasy.

“2d. That she breathed upon the eyes of a little blind girl, and restored her sight.

“3d. That she cured another child whose arm was paralyzed.

“4th. That a peasant of the Valley of Campan, having declared that he could not be duped by such scenes of hallucination, his sins had, in answer to her prayers, been turned into snakes, which had devoured him, not leaving a trace of his impious body.

“This, then, is what we have come to, but what we would not have come to if the parents of this girl had followed the advice of the physicians, who recommended that she should be sent to the lunatic asylum ”

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