



Produced by Brett Fishburne.  HTML version by Al Haines.








Alvira:  The Heroine of Vesuvius


by

Rev. A. J. O'Reilly, D.D.




Introduction



The Penitent Saints


The interesting and instructive character of this sensational narrative,
which we cull from the traditions of a past generation, must cover
the shortcomings of the pen that has labored to present it in an
English dress.

We are aware that the propriety of drawing from the oblivion of
forgotten literature such a story will be questioned.  The decay of
the chivalrous spirit of the middle ages, and the prudish, puritanical
code of morality that has superseded the simple manners of our
forefathers, render it hazardous to cast into the hands of the present
generation the thrilling records of sin and repentance such as they
were seen and recorded in days gone by.  Yet in the midst of a
literature professedly false, and which paints in fascinating colors
the various phases of unrepented vice and crime, without the redeeming
shadows of honor and Christian morality, our little volume must fall
a welcome sunbeam.  The strange career of our heroine constitutes a
sensational biography charming and beautiful in the moral it presents.

The evils of mixed marriages, of secret societies, of intemperance,
and the indulgence of self-love in ardent and enthusiastic youth, find
here the record of their fatal influence on social life, reflected
through the medium of historical facts.  Therefore we present to the
young a chapter of warning--a tale of the past with a deep moral for
the present.

The circumstances of our tale are extraordinary.  A young girl dresses
in male attire, murders her father, becomes an officer in the army,
goes through the horrors of battle, and dies a SAINT.

Truly we have here matter sensational enough for the most exacting
novelist; but we disclaim all effort to play upon the passions, or
add another work of fiction to the mass of irreligious trash so powerful
in the employ of the evil one for the seduction of youth.  In the
varied scenes of life there are many actions influenced by secret
motives known only to the heart that harbors them.  Not all are
dishonorable.  It takes a great deal of guilt to make a person as black
as he is painted by his enemies.  Many a brave heart has, under the
garb of an impropriety, accomplished heroic acts of self-denial.

History is teeming with instances where the love of creatures, and even
the holier and more sublime love of the Creator, have, in moments of
enthusiasm, induced tender females to forget the weakness of their
sex and successfully fulfil the spheres of manhood.  These scenes, so
censurable, are extraordinary more from the rarity of their occurrence
than from the motives that inspire them, and thus our tale draws much
of its thrilling interest from the unique character of its details.

"But what a saint!" we fancy we hear whispered by the fastidious and
scrupulous into whose hand our little work may fall.

Inadvertently the thought will find a similar expression from the
superficial reader; but if we consider a little, our heroine presents
a career not more extraordinary than those that excite our surprise
in the lives of the penitent saints venerated on the alters of the
Church.  Sanctity is not to be judged by antecedents.  The soul
crimsoned with guilt may, in the crucible of repentance, become white
like the crystal snow before it touches the earth.  This consoling
thought is not a mere assertion, but a matter of faith confirmed by
fact.  There are as great names among the penitent saints of the
Church as amongst the few brilliant stars whose baptismal innocence
was never dimmed by any cloud.

Advance the rule that the early excesses of the penitent stains must
debar them from the esteem their heroic repentance has won; then we
must tear to pieces the consoling volumes of hagiology, we must drag
down Paul, Peter, Augustine, Jerome, Magdalen, and a host of illustrious
penitents from their thrones amongst the galaxy of the elect, and cast
the thrilling records of their repentance into the oblivion their early
career would seem to merit.  If we are to have no saints but those of
whom it is testified they never did a wrong act, then the catalogue
of sanctity will be reduced to baptized infants who died before coming
to the use of reason, and a few favored adults who could be counted
on the fingers.

Is it not rather the spirit and practice of the Church to propose to
her erring children the heroic example of souls who passed through the
storms and trials of life, who had the same weaknesses to contend with,
the same enemies to combat, as they have, whose triumph is her glory
and her crown?  The Catholic Church, which has so successfully promoted
the civilization of society and the moral regeneration of nations,
achieved her triumph by the conversion of those she first drew from
darkness.  Placed as lights on the rocks of eternity, and shining on
us who are yet tossed about on