Your’s most assuredly in our glorious Head,
G. W.
[♦] “magnifience” replaced with “magnificence”
LETTER MXLI.
To Mr. ——.
Lisbon, April 12, 1755.
My dear Friend,
AFTER the news already sent you, I thought our Lisbon correspondence would entirely have been put a stop to; for upon returning to my lodgings, (as weary I believe as others that had been running from church to church all day) word was sent me, that our ship would certainly sail the next morning. This news, I own, was not altogether agreeable to me, because I wanted to see the conclusion of the Lent solemnities. However, I made ready; and having dispatched my private affairs the over-night, was conducted very early in the morning, by my kind host, down to Bellem, where the ship lay. We parted. The wind promised to be fair; but dying away, I very eagerly went ashore once more. But how was the scene changed! Before, all used to be noise and hurry;—now, all was hushed and shut up in the most awful and profound silence. No clock or bell had been heard since yesterday noon, and scarce a person was to be seen in the street all the way to Lisbon. About two in the afternoon we got to the place, where (I had heard some days ago) an extraordinary scene was to be exhibited. Can you guess what it was?—Perhaps not. Why then I will tell you. “It was the crucifixion of the Son of God, represented partly by dumb images, and partly by living persons, in a large church belonging to the convent of St. De Beato.” Several thousands crouded into it; some of whom, as I was told, had been waiting there from even six in the morning.—Through the kind interposition and assistance of a protestant or two, I was not only admitted into the church, but was very commodiously situated to view the whole performance. We had not waited long before the curtain was drawn up. Immediately, upon a high scaffold hung in the front with black bays, and behind with silk purple damask laced with gold, was exhibited to our view an image of the Lord Jesus at full length, crowned with thorns, and nailed on a cross between two figures of like dimensions, representing the two thieves. At a little distance on the right hand, was placed an image of the virgin Mary, in plain long ruffles, and a kind of widow-weeds. Her veil was purple silk, and she had a wire glory round her head.—At the foot of the cross lay, in a mournful pensive posture, a living man, dressed in woman’s cloaths, who personated Mary Magdalen; and not far off stood a young man, in imitation of the beloved disciple.—He was dressed in a loose green silk vesture, and bob-wig.—His eyes were fixed on the cross, and his two hands a little extended. On each side, near the front of the stage, stood two centinels in buff, with formidable caps and long beards; and directly in the front stood another yet more formidable, with a large target in his hand. We may suppose him to be the Roman centurion. To compleat the scene, from behind the purple hangings came out about twenty little purple-vested winged boys, two by two, each bearing a lighted wax-taper in his hand, and a crimson and gold cap on his head.—At their entrance upon the stage, they gently bowed their heads to the spectators, then kneeled and made obeisance, first to the image on the cross, and then to that of the virgin Mary.—When risen, they bowed to each other, and then took their respective places over-against one another, on steps assigned for them at the front of the stage. Opposite to this, at a few yards distance, stood a black friar in a pulpit hung in mourning. For a while he paused, and then, breaking silence, gradually lifted up his voice ’till it was extended to a pretty high pitch, though I think scarce high enough for so large an auditory. After he had proceeded in his discourse about a quarter of an hour, a confused noise was heard near the front great door; upon turning my head, I saw four long-bearded men, two of which carried a ladder on their shoulders, and after them followed two more with large gilt dishes in their hands, full of linen, spices, &c. These (as I imagined) were the representatives of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. On a signal given from the pulpit, they advanced towards the steps of the scaffold. But upon their very first attempting to mount it, at the watchful centurion’s nod, the observant soldiers made a pass at them, and presented the points of their javelins directly to their breasts. They are repulsed. Upon this a letter from Pilate is produced. The centurion reads it, shakes his head, and with looks that bespoke a forced compliance, beckons to the centinels to withdraw their arms. Leave being thus obtained, they ascend; and having paid their homage, by kneeling first to the image on the cross, and then to the virgin Mary, they retired to the back of the stage. Still the preacher continued declaiming, or rather (as was said) explaining the mournful scene. Magdalen persists in wringing her hands, and variously expressing her personated sorrow; whilst John (seemingly regardless of all besides) stood gazing on the crucified figure. By this time it was near three o’clock, and therefore proper for the scene to begin to close. The ladders are ascended, the superscription and crown of thorns taken off, long white rollers put round the arms of the image, and then the nails knocked out which fastened the hands and feet. Here Mary Magdalen looks most languishing, and John, if possible, stands more thunder-struck than before.—The orator lifts up his voice, and almost all the hearers expressed concern by weeping, beating their breasts, and smiting their cheeks.—At length the body is gently let down. Magdalen eyes it, and, gradually rising, receives the feet into her wide-spread handkerchief; whilst John (who hitherto stood motionless like a statue) as the body came nearer the ground, with an eagerness that bespoke the intense affection of a sympathizing friend, runs towards the cross, seizes the upper part of it into his clasping arms, and, with his disguised fellow-mourner, helps to bear it away. And here the play should end, was I not afraid you would be angry with me, if I did not give you an account of the last act, by telling you what became of the corpse after it was taken down. Great preparations were made for its interment. It was wrapped in linen and spices, &c. and being laid upon a bier richly hung, was afterwards carried round the church-yard in grand procession. The image of the virgin Mary was chief mourner, and John and Magdalen, with a whole troop of friars with wax-tapers in their hands, followed after. Determined to see the whole, I waited its return, and in about a quarter of an hour the corps was brought in, and deposited in an open sepulchre prepared for the purpose; but not before a priest, accompanied by several of the same order in splendid vestments, had perfumed it with incense, sung to and kneeled before it. John and Magdalen attended the obsequies; but the image of the virgin Mary was carried away and placed upon the front of the stage, in order to be kissed, adored, and worshipped by the people.—This I saw them do with the utmost eagerness and reverence. And thus ended this Good Friday’s tragi-comical, superstitious, idolatrous farce. A farce, which whilst I saw, as well as now whilst I am describing it, excited in me an high indignation.—Surely, thought I, whilst attending on such a scene of mock devotion, if ever, now is the dear Lord Jesus crucified afresh; and I could then, and even now, think of no other plea for the poor beguiled devotees, than that which suffering innocence put up himself for his enemies, when actually hanging upon the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” There was but one thing wanting to raise one’s resentment to the highest pitch, and that was, for one of the soldiers to have pierced the side of the image upon the cross. This in all probability you have heard hath actually been done in other places, and with a little more art, might, I think, have been performed here. Doubtless it would have afforded the preacher as good, if not a better opportunity of working upon the passions of his auditory, than the taking down the superscription and crown of thorns, and wiping the head with a blooded cloth, and afterwards exposing it to the view of the people; all which I saw done before the body was let down.—But alas! my dear friend, how mean is that eloquence, and how entirely destitute of the demonstration of the spirit, and of a divine power, must that oratory necessarily be, that stands in need of such a train of superstitious pageantry to render it impressive!—Think you, my dear friend, that the apostle Paul used or needed any such artifices to excite the passions of the people of Galatia, amongst whom, as he himself informs us, “Jesus Christ was crucified, and evidently set forth?”—But thus it is, and thus it will be, when simplicity and spirituality are banished from our religious offices, and artifice and idolatry seated in their room.—I am well aware that the Romanists deny the charge of idolatry; but after having seen what I have seen this day, as well as at sundry other times since my arrival here, I cannot help thinking but a person must be capable of making more than metaphysical distinctions, and deal in very abstract ideas indeed, fairly to evade the charge.—If weighed in the balance of the sanctuary, I am positive the scale must turn on the protestant side.—But such a balance these poor people are not permitted to make use of! Doth not your heart bleed for them? Mine doth I am sure, and I believe would do so more and more, was I to stay longer, and see what they call their Hallelujah, and grand devotions on Easter-day.—But that scene is denied me.—The wind is fair, and I must away.—Follow me with your prayers, and believe me to be, my dear friend,
Yours most affectionately, in our common Redeemer,