Could these poor souls leave the fire of Purgatory for the most frightful earthly fire they would, as it were, take it for a pleasure- garden; they would find a fifty years' stay in the hottest earthly fire more endurable than an hour's stay in the fire of Purgatory. Our terrestrial fire was not created by God to torment men, but rather to benefit them; but the fire of Purgatory was created by God for no other purpose than to be an instrument of His justice; and for this reason it is possessed of a burning quality so intense and penetrating that it is impossible for us to conceive even the faintest idea of it. * * * * * In the year 1150 it happened that, on the Vigil of St. Cecilia, a very old monk, one hundred years of age, at Marchiennes, in Flanders, fell asleep while sacred lessons were being read, and saw, in a dream, a monk all clad in armor, shining like red-hot iron in a furnace. The old man asked him who he was. He was told that he was one of the monks of the convent; that he was in Purgatory, and had yet to endure this fiery armor for ten years more, for having injured the reputation of another. * * * * * Another reason why these holy prisoners and debtors to the divine justice are really _poor_ is because they are not able, in the least, to assist themselves. A sick man afflicted in all his limbs, and a beggar in the most painful and most destitute of conditions, has a tongue left to ask for relief. At least they can implore Heaven; it is never deaf to their prayer. But the souls in Purgatory are so poor that they cannot even do this. Those cases in which some of them were permitted to appear to their friends and ask assistance are but exceptions. To whom is it they should have recourse? Is it, perhaps, to the mercy of God? Alas! they send forth their sighs in plaintive voices.... But the Lord does not regard their tears, nor heed their moans and cries, but answers them that His justice must be satisfied to the last farthing. * * * * * Oh, what cruelty! A sick man weeps on his bed and his friend consoles him; a baby cries in his cradle and his mother at once caresses him; a beggar knocks at the door for an alms and receives it; a malefactor laments in his prison, and comfort is given him; even a dog that whines at the door is taken in; but these poor, helpless souls cry day and night from the depths of the fire in Purgatory: "Have pity on me, have pity on me, at least you, my friends, because the hand of the Lord hath smitten me;" and there is none to listen! Oh, what great cruelty, my brethren!