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diff --git a/old/hrmt10h.htm b/old/hrmt10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..00a42f7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hrmt10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8283 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Hermits</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Hermits, by Charles Kingsley</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hermits, by Charles Kingsley + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Hermits + +Author: Charles Kingsley + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8733] +[This file was first posted on August 5, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE HERMITS</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>St. Paphnutius used to tell a story which may serve as a fit introduction +to this book. It contains a miniature sketch, not only of the +social state of Egypt, but of the whole Roman Empire, and of the causes +which led to the famous monastic movement in the beginning of the fifth +century after Christ.</p> +<p>Now Paphnutius was a wise and holy hermit, the Father, Abba, or Abbot +of many monks; and after he had trained himself in the desert with all +severity for many years, he besought God to show him which of His saints +he was like.</p> +<p>And it was said to him, “Thou art like a certain flute-player +in the city.”</p> +<p>Then Paphnutius took his staff, and went into the city, and found +that flute-player. But he confessed that he was a drunkard and +a profligate, and had till lately got his living by robbery, and recollected +not having ever done one good deed. Nevertheless, when Paphnutius +questioned him more closely, he said that he recollected once having +found a holy maiden beset by robbers, and having delivered her, and +brought her safe to town. And when Paphnutius questioned him more +closely still, he said he recollected having done another deed. +When he was a robber, he met once in the desert a beautiful woman; and +she prayed him to do her no harm, but to take her away with him as a +slave, whither he would; for, said she, “I am fleeing from the +apparitors and the Governor’s curials for the last two years. +My husband has been imprisoned for 300 pieces of gold, which he owes +as arrears of taxes; and has been often hung up, and often scourged; +and my three dear boys have been taken from me; and I am wandering from +place to place, and have been often caught myself and continually scourged; +and now I have been in the desert three days without food.”</p> +<p>And when the robber heard that, he took pity on her, and took her +to his cave, and gave her 300 pieces of gold, and went with her to the +city, and set her husband and her boys free.</p> +<p>Then Paphnutius said, “I never did a deed like that: and yet +I have not passed my life in ease and idleness. But now, my son, +since God hath had such care of thee, have a care for thine own self.”</p> +<p>And when the musician heard that, he threw away the flutes which +he held in his hand, and went with Paphnutius into the desert, and passed +his life in hymns and prayer, changing his earthly music into heavenly; +and after three years he went to heaven, and was at rest among the choirs +of angels, and the ranks of the just.</p> +<p>This story, as I said, is a miniature sketch of the state of the +whole Roman Empire, and of the causes why men fled from it into the +desert. Christianity had reformed the morals of individuals; it +had not reformed the Empire itself. That had sunk into a state +only to be compared with the worst despotisms of the East. The +Emperors, whether or not they called themselves Christian, like Constantine, +knew no law save the basest maxims of the heathen world. Several +of them were barbarians who had risen from the lowest rank merely by +military prowess; and who, half maddened by their sudden elevation, +added to their native ignorance and brutality the pride, cunning, and +cruelty of an Eastern Sultan. Rival Emperors, or Generals who +aspired to be Emperors, devastated the world from Egypt to Britain by +sanguinary civil wars. The government of the provinces had become +altogether military. Torture was employed, not merely, as of old, +against slaves, but against all ranks, without distinction. The +people were exhausted by compulsory taxes, to be spent in wars which +did not concern them, or in Court luxury in which they had no share. +In the municipal towns, liberty and justice were dead. The curials, +who answered somewhat to our aldermen, and who were responsible for +the payment of the public moneys, tried their best to escape the unpopular +office, and, when compelled to serve, wrung the money in self-defence +out of the poorer inhabitants by every kind of tyranny. The land +was tilled either by oppressed and miserable peasants, or by gangs of +slaves, in comparison with whose lot that even of the American negro +was light. The great were served in their own households by crowds +of slaves, better fed, doubtless, but even more miserable and degraded, +than those who tilled the estates. Private profligacy among all +ranks was such as cannot be described in these or in any modern pages. +The regular clergy of the cities, though not of profligate lives, and +for the most part, in accordance with public opinion, unmarried, were +able to make no stand against the general corruption of the age, because—at +least if we are to trust such writers as Jerome and Chrysostom—they +were giving themselves up to ambition and avarice, vanity and luxury, +intrigue and party spirit, and had become the flatterers of fine ladies, +“silly women laden with sins, ever learning, and never coming +to the knowledge of the truth.” Such a state of things not +only drove poor creatures into the desert, like that fair woman whom +the robber met, but it raised up bands of robbers over the whole of +Europe, Africa, and the East,—men who, like Robin Hood and the +outlaws of the Middle Age, getting no justice from man, broke loose +from society, and while they plundered their oppressors, kept up some +sort of rude justice and humanity among themselves. Many, too, +fled, and became robbers, to escape the merciless conscription which +carried off from every province the flower of the young men, to shed +their blood on foreign battle-fields. In time, too, many of these +conscripts became monks, and the great monasteries of Scetis and Nitria +were hunted over again and again by officers and soldiers from the neighbouring +city of Alexandria in search of young men who had entered the “spiritual +warfare” to escape the earthly one. And as a background +to all this seething heap of decay, misrule, and misery, hung the black +cloud of the barbarians, the Teutonic tribes from whom we derive the +best part of our blood, ever coming nearer and nearer, waxing stronger +and stronger, learning discipline and civilization by serving in the +Roman armies, alternately the allies and the enemies of the Emperors, +rising, some of them, to the highest offices of State, and destined, +so the wisest Romans saw all the more clearly as the years rolled on, +to be soon the conquerors of the Cæsars, and the masters of the +Western world.</p> +<p>No wonder if that, in such a state of things, there arose such violent +contrasts to the general weakness, such eccentric protests against the +general wickedness, as may be seen in the figure of Abbot Paphnutius, +when compared either with the poor man tortured in prison for his arrears +of taxes, or with the Governor and the officials who tortured him. +No wonder if, in such a state of things, the minds of men were stirred +by a passion akin to despair, which ended in a new and grand form of +suicide. It would have ended often, but for Christianity, in such +an actual despair as that which had led in past ages more than one noble +Roman to slay himself, when he lost all hope for the Republic. +Christianity taught those who despaired of society, of the world—in +one word, of the Roman Empire, and all that it had done for men—to +hope at least for a kingdom of God after death. It taught those +who, had they been heathens and brave enough, would have slain themselves +to escape out of a world which was no place for honest men, that the +body must be kept alive, if for no other reason, at least for the sake +of the immortal soul, doomed, according to its works, to endless bliss +or endless torment.</p> +<p>But that the world—such, at least, as they saw it then—was +doomed, Scripture and their own reason taught them. They did not +merely believe, but see, in the misery and confusion, the desolation +and degradation around them, that all that was in the world, the lust +of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, was not of +the Father, but of the world; that the world was passing away, and the +lust thereof, and that only he who did the will of God could abide for +ever. They did not merely believe, but saw, that the wrath of +God was revealed from heaven against all unrighteousness of men; and +that the world in general—above all, its kings and rulers, the +rich and luxurious—were treasuring up for themselves wrath, tribulation, +and anguish, against a day of wrath and revelation of the righteous +judgment of God, who would render to every man according to his works.</p> +<p>That they were correct in their judgment of the world about them, +contemporary history proves abundantly. That they were correct, +likewise, in believing that some fearful judgment was about to fall +on man, is proved by the fact that it did fall; that the first half +of the fifth century saw, not only the sack of Rome, but the conquest +and desolation of the greater part of the civilized world, amid bloodshed, +misery, and misrule, which seemed to turn Europe into a chaos,—which +would have turned it into a chaos, had there not been a few men left +who still felt it possible and necessary to believe in God and to work +righteousness.</p> +<p>Under these terrible forebodings, men began to flee from a doomed +world, and try to be alone with God, if by any means they might save +each man his own soul in that dread day.</p> +<p>Others, not Christians, had done the same before them. Among +all the Eastern nations men had appeared, from time to time, to whom +the things seen were but a passing phantom, the things unseen the only +true and eternal realities; who, tormented alike by the awfulness of +the infinite unknown, and by the petty cares and low passions of the +finite mortal life which they knew but too well, had determined to renounce +the latter, that they might give themselves up to solving the riddle +of the former; and be at peace; and free, at least, from the tyranny +of their own selves. Eight hundred years before St. Antony fled +into the desert, that young Hindoo rajah, whom men call Buddha now, +had fled into the forest, leaving wives and kingdom, to find rest for +his soul. He denounced caste; he preached poverty, asceticism, +self-annihilation. He founded a religion, like that of the old +hermits, democratic and ascetic, with its convents, saint-worships, +pilgrimages, miraculous relics, rosaries, and much more, which strangely +anticipates the monastic religion; and his followers, to this day, are +more numerous than those of any other creed.</p> +<p>Brahmins, too, had given themselves up to penance and mortification +till they believed themselves able, like Kehama, to have gained by self-torture +the right to command, not nature merely, but the gods themselves. +Among the Jews the Essenes by the Dead Sea, and the Therapeutæ +in Egypt, had formed ascetic communities, the former more “practical,” +the latter more “contemplative:” but both alike agreed in +the purpose of escaping from the world into a life of poverty and simplicity, +piety and virtue; and among the countless philosophic sects of Asia, +known to ecclesiastical writers as “heretics,” more than +one had professed, and doubtless often practised, the same abstraction +from the world, the same contempt of the flesh. The very Neo-Platonists +of Alexandria, while they derided the Christian asceticism, found themselves +forced to affect, like the hapless Hypatia, a sentimental and pharisaic +asceticism of their own. This phase of sight and feeling, so strange +to us now, was common, nay, primæval, among the Easterns. +The day was come when it should pass from the East into the West. +And Egypt, “the mother of wonders;” the parent of so much +civilization and philosophy both Greek and Roman; the half-way resting-place +through which not merely the merchandise, but the wisdom of the East +had for centuries passed into the Roman Empire; a land more ill-governed, +too, and more miserable, in spite of its fertility, because more defenceless +and effeminate, than most other Roman possessions—was the country +in which naturally, and as it were of hereditary right, such a movement +would first appear.</p> +<p>Accordingly it was discovered, about the end of the fourth century, +that the mountains and deserts of Egypt were full of Christian men who +had fled out of the dying world, in the hope of attaining everlasting +life. Wonderful things were told of their courage, their abstinence, +their miracles: and of their virtues also; of their purity, their humility, +their helpfulness, and charity to each other and to all. They +called each other, it was said, brothers; and they lived up to that +sacred name, forgotten, if ever known, by the rest of the Roman Empire. +Like the Apostolic Christians in the first fervour of their conversion, +they had all things in common; they lived at peace with each other, +under a mild and charitable rule; and kept literally those commands +of Christ which all the rest of the world explained away to nothing.</p> +<p>The news spread. It chimed in with all that was best, as well +as with much that was questionable, in the public mind. That men +could be brothers; that they could live without the tawdry luxury, the +tasteless and often brutal amusements, the low sensuality, the base +intrigue, the bloody warfare, which was the accepted lot of the many; +that they could find time to look stedfastly at heaven and hell as awful +realities, which must be faced some day, which had best be faced at +once; this, just as much as curiosity about their alleged miracles, +and the selfish longing to rival them in superhuman powers, led many +of the most virtuous and the most learned men of the time to visit them, +and ascertain the truth. Jerome, Ruffinus, Evagrius, Sulpicius +Severus, went to see them, undergoing on the way the severest toils +and dangers, and brought back reports of mingled truth and falsehood, +specimens of which will be seen in these pages. Travelling in +those days was a labour, if not of necessity, then surely of love. +Palladius, for instance, found it impossible to visit the Upper Thebaid, +and Syene, and that “infinite multitude of monks, whose fashions +of life no one would believe, for they surpass human life; who to this +day raise the dead, and walk upon the waters, like Peter; and whatsoever +the Saviour did by the holy Apostles, He does now by them. But +because it would be very dangerous if we went beyond Lyco” (Lycopolis?), +on account of the inroad of robbers, he “could not see those saints.”</p> +<p>The holy men and women of whom he wrote, he says, he did not see +without extreme toil; and seven times he and his companions were nearly +lost. Once they walked through the desert five days and nights, +and were almost worn out by hunger and thirst. Again, they fell +on rough marshes, where the sedge pierced their feet, and caused intolerable +pain, while they were almost killed with the cold. Another time, +they stuck in the mud up to their waists, and cried with David, “I +am come into deep mire, where no ground is.” Another time, +they waded for four days through the flood of the Nile by paths almost +swept away. Another time they met robbers on the seashore, coming +to Diolcos, and were chased by them for ten miles. Another time +they were all but upset and drowned in crossing the Nile. Another +time, in the marshes of Mareotis, “where paper grows,” they +were cast on a little desert island, and remained three days and nights +in the open air, amid great cold and showers, for it was the season +of Epiphany. The eighth peril, he says, is hardly worth mentioning—but +once, when they went to Nitria, they came on a great hollow, in which +many crocodiles had remained, when the waters retired from the fields. +Three of them lay along the bank; and the monks went up to them, thinking +them dead, whereon the crocodiles rushed at them. But when they +called loudly on the Lord, “the monsters, as if turned away by +an angel,” shot themselves into the water; while they ran on to +Nitria, meditating on the words of Job, “Seven times shall He +deliver thee from trouble; and in the eighth there shall no evil touch +thee.”</p> +<p>The great St. Athanasius, fleeing from persecution, had taken refuge +among these monks. He carried the report of their virtues to Trêves +in Gaul, and wrote a life of St. Antony, the perusal of which was a +main agent in the conversion of St. Augustine. Hilarion (a remarkable +personage, whose history will be told hereafter) carried their report +and their example likewise into Palestine; and from that time Judæa, +desolate and seemingly accursed by the sin of the Jewish people, became +once more the Holy Land; the place of pilgrimage; whose ruins, whose +very soil, were kept sacred by hermits, the guardians of the footsteps +of Christ.</p> +<p>In Rome itself the news produced an effect which, to the thoughtful +mind, is altogether tragical in its nobleness. The Roman aristocracy +was deprived of all political power; it had been decimated, too, with +horrible cruelty only one generation before, <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a> +by Valentinian and his satellites, on the charges of profligacy, treason, +and magic. Mere rich men, they still lingered on, in idleness +and luxury, without art, science, true civilization of any kind; followed +by long trains of slaves; punishing a servant with three hundred stripes +if he were too long in bringing hot water; weighing the fish, or birds, +or dormice put on their tables, while secretaries stood by, with tablets +to record all; hating learning as they hated poison; indulging at the +baths in conduct which had best be left undescribed; and “complaining +that they were not born among the Cimmerians, if amid their golden fans +a fly should perch upon the silken fringes, or a slender ray of the +sun should pierce through the awning;” while, if they “go +any distance to see their estates in the country, or to hunt at a meeting +collected for their amusement by others, they think that they have equalled +the marches of Alexander or of Cæsar.”</p> +<p>On the wives, widows, and daughters of men of this stamp—and +not half their effeminacy and baseness, as the honest rough old soldier +Ammianus Marcellinus describes it, has been told here—the news +brought from Egypt worked with wondrous potency.</p> +<p>Women of the highest rank awoke suddenly to the discovery that life +was given them for nobler purposes than that of frivolous enjoyment +and tawdry vanity. Despising themselves; despising the husbands +to whom they had been wedded in loveless marriages <i>de convenance</i>, +whose infidelities they had too often to endure: they, too, fled from +a world which had sated and sickened them. They freed their slaves; +they gave away their wealth to found hospitals and to feed the poor; +and in voluntary poverty and mean garments they followed such men as +Jerome and Ruffinus across the seas, to visit the new found saints of +the Egyptian desert, and to end their days, in some cases, in doleful +monasteries in Palestine. The lives of such women as those of +the Anician house; the lives of Marcella and Furia, of Paula, of the +Melanias, and the rest, it is not my task to write. They must +be told by a woman, not by a man. We may blame those ladies, if +we will, for neglecting their duties. We may sneer, if we will, +at the weaknesses—the aristocratic pride, the spiritual vanity—which +we fancy that we discover. We may lament—and in that we +shall not be wrong—the influence which such men as Jerome obtained +over them—the example and precursor of so much which has since +then been ruinous to family and social life: but we must confess that +the fault lay not with the themselves, but with their fathers, husbands, +and brothers; we must confess that in these women the spirit of the +old Roman matrons, which seemed to have been so long dead, flashed up +for one splendid moment, ere it sunk into the darkness of the Middle +Age; that in them woman asserted (however strangely and fantastically) +her moral equality with man; and that at the very moment when monasticism +was consigning her to contempt, almost to abhorrence, as “the +noxious animal,” the “fragile vessel,” the cause of +man’s fall at first, and of his sin and misery ever since, woman +showed the monk (to his naïvely-confessed surprise), that she could +dare, and suffer, and adore as well as he.</p> +<p>But the movement, having once seized the Roman Empire, grew and spread +irresistibly. It was accepted, supported, preached, practised, +by every great man of the time. Athanasius, Basil, Chrysostom, +Gregory of Nazianzen in the East, Jerome, Augustine, Ruffinus, Evagrius, +Fulgentius, Sulpicius Severus, Vincent of Lerins, John Cassian, Martin +of Tours, Salvian, Cæsarius of Arles, were all monks, or as much +of monks as their duties would allow them to be. Ambrose of Milan, +though no monk himself, was the fervent preacher of, the careful legislator +for, monasticism male and female. Throughout the whole Roman Empire, +in the course of a century, had spread hermits (or dwellers in the desert), +anchorites (retired from the world), or monks (dwellers alone). +The three names grew afterwards to designate three different orders +of ascetics. The hermits remained through the Middle Ages those +who dwelt in deserts; the anchorites, or “ankers” of the +English Middle Age, seem generally to have inhabited cells built in, +or near, the church walls; the name of “monks” was transferred +from those who dwelt alone to those who dwelt in regular communities, +under a fixed government. But the three names at first were interchangeable; +the three modes of life alternated, often in the same man. The +life of all three was the same,—celibacy, poverty, good deeds +towards their fellow-men; self-restraint, and sometimes self-torture +of every kind, to atone (as far as might be) for the sins committed +after baptism: and the mental food of all three was the same likewise; +continued meditation upon the vanity of the world, the sinfulness of +the flesh, the glories of heaven, and the horrors of hell: but with +these the old hermits combined—to do them justice—a personal +faith in God, and a personal love for Christ, which those who sneer +at them would do well to copy.</p> +<p>Over all Europe, even to Ireland, <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a> +the same pattern of Christian excellence repeated itself with strange +regularity, till it became the only received pattern; and to “enter +religion,” or “be converted,” meant simply to become +a monk.</p> +<p>Of the authentic biographies of certain of these men, a few specimens +are given in this volume. If they shall seem to any reader uncouth, +or even absurd, he must remember that they are the only existing and +the generally contemporaneous histories of men who exercised for 1,300 +years an enormous influence over the whole of Christendom; who exercise +a vast influence over the greater part of it to this day. They +are the biographies of men who were regarded, during their lives and +after their deaths, as divine and inspired prophets; and who were worshipped +with boundless trust and admiration by millions of human beings. +Their fame and power were not created by the priesthood. The priesthood +rather leant on them, than they on it. They occupied a post analogous +to that of the old Jewish prophets; always independent of, sometimes +opposed to, the regular clergy; and dependent altogether on public opinion +and the suffrage of the multitude. When Christianity, after three +centuries of repression and persecution, emerged triumphant as the creed +of the whole civilized world, it had become what their lives describe. +The model of religious life for the fifth century, it remained a model +for succeeding centuries; on the lives of St. Antony and his compeers +were founded the whole literature of saintly biographies; the whole +popular conception of the universe, and of man’s relation to it; +the whole science of dæmonology, with its peculiar literature, +its peculiar system of criminal jurisprudence. And their influence +did not cease at the Reformation among Protestant divines. The +influence of these Lives of the Hermit Fathers is as much traceable, +even to style and language, in “The Pilgrim’s Progress” +as in the last Papal Allocution. The great hermits of Egypt were +not merely the founders of that vast monastic system which influenced +the whole politics, and wars, and social life, as well as the whole +religion, of the Middle Age; they were a school of philosophers (as +they rightly called themselves) who altered the whole current of human +thought.</p> +<p>Those who wish for a general notion of the men, and of their time, +will find all that they require (set forth from different points of +view, though with the same honesty and learning) in Gibbon; in M. de +Montalembert’s “Moines d’Occident,” in Dean +Milman’s “History of Christianity” and “Latin +Christianity,” and in Ozanam’s “Etudes Germaniques.” +<a name="citation17a"></a><a href="#footnote17a">{17a}</a> But +the truest notion of the men is to be got, after all, from the original +documents; and especially from that curious collection of them by the +Jesuit Rosweyde, commonly known as the “Lives of the Hermit Fathers.” +<a name="citation17b"></a><a href="#footnote17b">{17b}</a></p> +<p>After an acquaintance of now five-and-twenty years with this wonderful +treasury of early Christian mythology, to which all fairy tales are +dull and meagre, I am almost inclined to sympathise with M. de Montalembert’s +questions,—“Who is so ignorant, or so unfortunate, as not +to have devoured these tales of the heroic age of monachism? Who +has not contemplated, if not with the eyes of faith, at least with the +admiration inspired by an incontrollable greatness of soul, the struggles +of these athletes of penitence? . . . . Everything is to be found +there—variety, pathos, the sublime and simple epic of a race of +men, <i>naïfs</i> as children, and strong as giants.” +In whatever else one may differ from M. de Montalembert—and it +is always painful to differ from one whose pen has been always the faithful +servant of virtue and piety, purity and chivalry, loyalty and liberty, +and whose generous appreciation of England and the English is the more +honourable to him, by reason of an utter divergence in opinion, which +in less wide and noble spirits produces only antipathy—one must +at least agree with him in his estimate of the importance of these “Lives +of the Fathers,” not only to the ecclesiologist, but to the psychologist +and the historian. Their influence, subtle, often transformed +and modified again and again, but still potent from its very subtleness, +is being felt around us in many a puzzle—educational, social, +political; and promises to be felt still more during the coming generation; +and to have studied thoroughly one of them—say the life of St. +Antony by St. Athanasius—is to have had in our hands (whether +we knew it or not) the key to many a lock, which just now refuses either +to be tampered with or burst open.</p> +<p>I have determined, therefore, to give a few of these lives, translated +as literally as possible. Thus the reader will then have no reason +to fear a garbled or partial account of personages so difficult to conceive +or understand. He will be able to see the men as wholes; to judge +(according to his light) of their merits and their defects. The +very style of their biographers (which is copied as literally as is +compatible with the English tongue) will teach him, if he be wise, somewhat +of the temper and habits of thought of the age in which they lived; +and one of these original documents, with its honesty, its vivid touches +of contemporary manners, its intense earnestness, will give, perhaps, +a more true picture of the whole hermit movement than (with all respect, +be it said) the most brilliant general panorama.</p> +<p>It is impossible to give in this series all the lives of the early +hermits—even of those contained in Rosweyde. This volume +will contain, therefore, only the most important and most famous lives +of the Egyptian, Syrian, and Persian hermits, followed, perhaps, by +a few later biographies from Western Europe, as proofs that the hermit-type, +as it spread toward the Atlantic, remained still the same as in the +Egyptian desert.</p> +<p>Against one modern mistake the reader must be warned; the theory, +namely, that these biographies were written as religious romances; edifying, +but not historical; to be admired, but not believed. There is +not the slightest evidence that such was the case. The lives of +these, and most other saints (certainly those in this volume), were +written by men who believed the stories themselves, after such inquiry +into the facts as they deemed necessary; who knew that others would +believe them; and who intended that they should do so; and the stones +were believed accordingly, and taken as matter of fact for the most +practical purposes by the whole of Christendom. The forging of +miracles, like the forging of charters, for the honour of a particular +shrine, or the advantage of a particular monastery, belongs to a much +later and much worse age; and, whatsoever we may think of the taste +of the authors of these lives, or of their faculty for judging of evidence, +we must at least give them credit for being earnest men, incapable of +what would have been in their eyes, and ought to be in ours, not merely +falsehood, but impiety. Let the reader be sure of this—that +these documents would not have exercised their enormous influence on +the human mind, had there not been in them, under whatever accidents +of credulity, and even absurdity, an element of sincerity, virtue, and +nobility.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SAINT ANTONY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The life of Antony, by Athanasius, is perhaps the most important +of all these biographies; because first, Antony was generally held to +be the first great example and preacher of the hermit life; because +next, Athanasius, his biographer, having by his controversial writings +established the orthodox faith as it is now held alike by Romanists, +Greeks, and Protestants, did, by his publication of the life of Antony, +establish the hermit life as the ideal (in his opinion) of Christian +excellence; and lastly, because that biography exercised a most potent +influence on the conversion of St. Augustine, the greatest thinker (always +excepting St. Paul) whom the world had seen since Plato, whom the world +was to see again till Lord Bacon; the theologian and philosopher (for +he was the latter, as well as the former, in the strictest sense) to +whom the world owes, not only the formulizing of the whole scheme of +the universe for a thousand years after his death, but Calvinism (wrongly +so called) in all its forms, whether held by the Augustinian party in +the Church of Rome, or the “Reformed” Churches of Geneva, +France, and Scotland.</p> +<p>Whether we have the exact text of the document as Athanasius wrote +it to the “Foreign Brethren”—probably the religious +folk of Trêves—in the Greek version published by Heschelius +in 1611, and in certain earlier Greek texts; whether the Latin translation +attributed to Evagrius, which has been well known for centuries past +in the Latin Church, be actually his; whether it be exactly that of +which St. Jerome speaks, and whether it be exactly that which St. Augustine +saw, are questions which it is now impossible to decide. But of +the genuineness of the life in its entirety we have no right to doubt, +contrary to the verdicts of the most distinguished scholars, whether +Protestant or Catholic; and there is fair reason to suppose that the +document (allowing for errors and variations of transcribers) which +I have tried to translate, is that of which the great St. Augustine +speaks in the eighth book of his Confessions.</p> +<p>He tells us that he was reclaimed at last from a profligate life +(the thought of honourable marriage seems never to have entered his +mind), by meeting, while practising as a rhetorician at Trêves, +an old African acquaintance, named Potitanius, an officer of rank. +What followed no words can express so well as those of the great genius +himself.</p> +<p>“When I told him that I was giving much attention to those +writings (the Epistles of Paul), we began to talk, and he to tell, of +Antony, the monk of Egypt, whose name was then very famous among thy +servants: <a name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23">{23}</a> but +was unknown to us till that moment. When he discovered that, he +spent some time over the subject, detailing his virtues, and wondering +at our ignorance. We were astounded at hearing such well-attested +marvels of him, so recent and almost contemporaneous, wrought in the +right faith of the Catholic Church. We all wondered: we, that +they were so great; and he, that we had not heard of them. Thence +his discourse ran on to those flocks of hermit-cells, and the morals +of thy sweetness, and the fruitful deserts of the wilderness, of which +we knew nought. There was a monastery, too, at Milan, full of +good brethren, outside the city walls, under the tutelage of Ambrosius, +and we knew nothing of it. He went on still speaking, and we listened +intently; and it befell that he told us how, I know not when, he and +three of his mess companions at Trêves, while the emperor was +engaged in an afternoon spectacle in the circus, went out for a walk +in the gardens round the walls; and as they walked there in pairs, one +with him alone, and the two others by themselves, they parted. +And those two, straying about, burst into a cottage, where dwelt certain +servants of thine, poor in spirit, of such as is the kingdom of heaven; +and there found a book, in which was written the life of Antony. +One of them began to read it, and to wonder, and to be warned; and, +as he read, to think of taking up such a life, and leaving the warfare +of this world to serve thee. Now, he was one of those whom they +call Managers of Affairs. <a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24">{24}</a> +Then, suddenly filled with holy love and sober shame, angered at himself, +he cast his eyes on his friend, and said, ‘Tell me, prithee, with +all these labours of ours, whither are we trying to get? What +are we seeking? For what are we soldiering? Can we have +a higher hope in the palace, than to become friends of the emperor? +And when there, what is not frail and full of dangers? And through +how many dangers we do not arrive at a greater danger still? And +how long will that last? But if I choose to become a friend of +God, I can do it here and now.’ He spoke thus, and, swelling +in the labour-pangs of a new life, he fixed his eyes again on the pages +and read, and was changed inwardly as thou lookedst on him, and his +mind was stripped of the world, as soon appeared. For while he +read, and rolled over the billows of his soul, he shuddered and hesitated +from time to time, and resolved better things; and already thine, he +said to his friend, ‘I have already torn myself from that hope +of ours, and have settled to serve God; and this I begin from this hour, +in this very place. If you do not like to imitate me, do not oppose +me.’ He replied that he would cling to his companion in +such a great service and so great a warfare. And both, now thine, +began building, at their own cost, the tower of leaving all things and +following thee. Then Potitianus, and the man who was talking with +him elsewhere in the garden, seeking them, came to the same place, and +warned them to return, as the sun was getting low. They, however, +told their resolution, and how it had sprung up and taken strong hold +in them, and entreated the others not to give them pain. They, +not altered from their former mode of life, yet wept (as he told us) +for themselves; and congratulated them piously, and commended themselves +to their prayers; and then dragging their hearts along the earth, went +back to the palace. But the others, fixing their hearts on heaven, +remained in the cottage. And both of them had affianced brides, +who, when they heard this, dedicated their virginity to thee.”</p> +<p>The part which this incident played in St. Augustine’s own +conversion must be told hereafter in his life. But the scene which +his master-hand has drawn is not merely the drama of his own soul or +of these two young officers, but of a whole empire. It is, as +I said at first, the tragedy and suicide of the old empire; and the +birth-agony of which he speaks was not that of an individual soul here +or there, but of a whole new world, for good and evil. The old +Roman soul was dead within, the body of it dead without. Patriotism, +duty, purpose of life, save pleasure, money, and intrigue, had perished. +The young Roman officer had nothing left for which to fight; the young +Roman gentleman nothing left for which to be a citizen and an owner +of lands. Even the old Roman longing (which was also a sacred +duty) of leaving an heir to perpetuate his name, and serve the state +as his fathers had before him—even that was gone. Nothing +was left, with the many, but selfishness, which could rise at best into +the desire of saving every man his own soul, and so transform worldliness +into other-worldliness. The old empire could do nothing more for +man; and knew that it could do nothing; and lay down in the hermit’s +cell to die.</p> +<p>Trêves was then “the second metropolis of the empire,” +boasting, perhaps, even then, as it boasts still, that it was standing +thirteen hundred years before Rome was built. Amid the low hills, +pierced by rocky dells, and on a strath of richest soil, it had grown, +from the mud-hut town of the Treviri, into a noble city of palaces, +theatres, baths, triumphal-arches, on either side the broad and clear +Moselle. The bridge which Augustus had thrown across the river, +four hundred years before the times of hermits and of saints, stood +like a cliff through all barbarian invasions, through all the battles +and sieges of the Middle Age, till it was blown up by the French in +the wars of Louis XIV., and nought remains save the huge piers of black +lava stemming the blue stream; while up and down the dwindled city, +the colossal fragments of Roman work—the Black Gate, the Heidenthurm, +the baths, the Basilica or Hall of Justice, now a Lutheran church—stand +out half ruined, like the fossil bones of giants amid the works of weaker, +though of happier times; while the amphitheatre was till late years +planted thick with vines, fattening in soil drenched with the blood +of thousands. Trêves had been the haunt of emperor after +emperor, men wise and strong, cruel and terrible;—of Constantius, +Constantine the Great, Julian, Valentinian, Valens; and lastly, when +Potitianus’s friends found those poor monks in the garden <a name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27">{27}</a> +of Gratian, the gentle hunter who thought day and night on sport, till +his arrows were said to be instinct with life, was holding his military +court within the walls of Trêves, or at that hunting palace on +the northern downs, where still on the bath-floors lie the mosaics of +hare and deer, and boar and hound, on which the feet of Emperors trod +full fifteen hundred years ago.</p> +<p>Still glorious outwardly, like the Roman empire itself, was that +great city of Trêves; but inwardly it was full of rottenness and +weakness. The Roman empire had been, in spite of all its crimes, +for four hundred years the salt of the earth: but now the salt had lost +its savour; and in one generation more it would be trodden under foot +and cast upon the dunghill, and another empire would take its place,—the +empire, not of brute strength and self-indulgence, but of sympathy and +self-denial,—an empire, not of Cæsars, but of hermits. +Already was Gratian the friend and pupil of St. Ambrose of Milan; already, +too, was he persecuting, though not to the death, heretics and heathens. +Nay, some fifty years before (if the legend can be in the least trusted) +had St. Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great, returned from Palestine, +bearing with her—so men believed—not only the miraculously +discovered cross of Christ, but the seamless coat which he had worn; +and, turning her palace into a church, deposited the holy coat therein: +where—so some believe—it remains until this day. Men +felt that a change was coming, but whence it would come, or how terrible +it would be, they could not tell. It was to be, as the prophet +says, “like the bulging out of a great wall, which bursteth suddenly +in an instant.” In the very amphitheatre where Gratian sat +that afternoon, with all the folk of Trêves about him, watching, +it may be, lions and antelopes from Africa slaughtered—it may +be criminals tortured to death—another and an uglier sight had +been twice seen some seventy years before. Constantine, so-called +the Great, had there exhibited his “Frankish sports,” the +“magnificent spectacle,” the “famous punishments,” +as his flattering court-historians called them: thousands of Frank prisoners, +many of them of noble, and even of royal blood, torn to pieces by wild +beasts, while they stood fearless, smiling with folded arms; and when +the wild beasts were gorged, and slew no more, weapons were put into +the hands of the survivors, and they were bidden to fight to the death +for the amusement of their Roman lords. But fight they would not +against their own flesh and blood: and as for life, all chance of that +was long gone by. So every man fell joyfully upon his brother’s +sword, and, dying like a German man, spoilt the sport of the good folk +of Trêves. And it seemed for a while as if there were no +God in heaven who cared to avenge such deeds of blood. For the +kinsmen, it may be the very sons, of those Franks were now in Gratian’s +pay; and the Frank Merobaudes was his “Count of the Domestics,” +and one of his most successful and trusted generals; and all seemed +to go well, and brute force and craft to triumph on the earth.</p> +<p>And yet those two young staff officers, when they left the imperial +court for the hermit’s cell, judged, on the whole, prudently and +well, and chose the better part when they fled from the world to escape +the “dangers” of ambition, and the “greater danger +still” of success. For they escaped, not merely from vice +and worldliness, but, as the event proved, from imminent danger of death +if they kept the loyalty which they had sworn to their emperor; or the +worse evil of baseness if they turned traitors to him to save their +lives.</p> +<p>For little thought Gratian, as he sat in that amphitheatre, that +the day was coming when he, the hunter of game—and of heretics—would +be hunted in his turn; when, deserted by his army, betrayed by Merobaudes—whose +elder kinsfolk were not likely to have kept him ignorant of “the +Frankish sports “—he should flee pitiably towards Italy, +and die by a German hand; some say near Lyons, some say near Belgrade, +calling on Ambrose with his latest breath. <a name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29">{29}</a> +Little thought, too, the good folk of Trêves, as they sat beneath +the vast awning that afternoon, that within the next half century a +day of vengeance was coming for them, which should teach them that there +was a God who “maketh inquisition for blood;” a day when +Trêves should be sacked in blood and flame by those very “barbarian” +Germans whom they fancied their allies—or their slaves. +And least of all did they fancy that, when that great destruction fell +upon their city, the only element in it which would pass safely through +the fire and rise again, and raise their city to new glory and power, +was that which was represented by those poor hermits in the garden-hut +outside. Little thought they that above the awful arches of the +Black Gate—as if in mockery of the Roman Power—a lean anchorite +would take his stand, Simeon of Syracuse by name, a monk of Mount Sinai, +and there imitate, in the far West, the austerities of St. Simeon Stylites +in the East, and be enrolled in the new Pantheon, not of Cæsars, +but of Saints.</p> +<p>Under the supposed patronage of those Saints, Trêves rose again +out of its ruins. It gained its four great abbeys of St. Maximus +(on the site of Constantine’s palace); St. Matthias, in the crypt +whereof the bodies of the monks never decay; <a name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30">{30}</a> +St. Martin; and St. Mary of the Four Martyrs, where four soldiers of +the famous Theban legion are said to have suffered martyrdom by the +house of the Roman prefect. It had its cathedral of St. Peter +and St. Helena, supposed to be built out of St. Helena’s palace; +its exquisite Liebfrauenkirche; its palace of the old Archbishops, mighty +potentates of this world, as well as of the kingdom of heaven. +For they were princes, arch-chancellors, electors of the empire, owning +many a league of fertile land, governing, and that kindly and justly, +towns and villages of Christian men, and now and then going out to war, +at the head of their own knights and yeomen, in defence of their lands, +and of the saints whose servants and trustees they were; and so became, +according to their light and their means, the salt of that land for +many generations.</p> +<p>And after a while that salt, too, lost its savour, and was, in its +turn, trodden under foot. The French republican wars swept away +the ecclesiastical constitution and the wealth of the ancient city. +The cathedral and churches were stripped of relics, of jewels, of treasures +of early art. The Prince-bishop’s palace is a barrack; so +was lately St. Maximus’s shrine; St. Martin’s a china manufactory, +and St. Matthias’s a school. Trêves belongs to Prussia, +and not to “Holy Church;” and all the old splendours of +the “empire of the saints” are almost as much ruinate as +those of the “empire of the Romans.” So goes the world, +because there is a living God.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“The old order changeth, giving place to the new;<br />And +God fulfils himself in many ways,<br />Lest one good custom should corrupt +the world.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But though palaces and amphitheatres be gone, the gardens outside +still bloom on as when Potitianus his friends wandered through them, +perpetual as Nature’s self; and perpetual as Nature, too, endures +whatever is good and true of that afternoon’s work, and of that +finding of the legend of St. Antony in the monk’s cabin, which +fixed the destiny of the great genius of the Latin Church.</p> +<p>The story of St. Antony, as it has been handed down to us, <a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32">{32}</a> +runs thus:—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The life and conversation of our holy Father Antony, written and +sent to the monks in foreign parts by our Father among the saints, Athanasius, +Archbishop of Alexandria.</p> +<p>You have begun a noble rivalry with the monks of Egypt, having determined +either to equal or even to surpass them in your training towards virtue; +for there are monasteries already among you, and the monastic life is +practised. This purpose of yours one may justly praise; and if +you pray, God will bring it to perfection. But since you have +also asked me about the conversation of the holy Antony, wishing to +learn how he began his training, and who he was before it, and what +sort of an end he made to his life, and whether what is said of him +is true, in order that you may bring yourselves to emulate him, with +great readiness I received your command. For to me, too, it is +a great gain and benefit only to remember Antony; and I know that you, +when you hear of him, after you have wondered at the man, will wish +also to emulate his purpose. For the life of Antony is for monks +a perfect pattern of ascetic training. What, then, you have heard +about him from other informants do not disbelieve, but rather think +that you have heard from them a small part of the facts. For in +any case, they could hardly relate fully such great matters, when even +I, at your request, howsoever much I may tell you in my letter, can +only send you a little which I remember about him. But do not +cease to inquire of those who sail from hence; for perhaps, if each +tells what he knows, at last his history may be worthily compiled. +I had wished, indeed, when I received your letter, to send for some +of the monks who were wont to be most frequently in his company, that +I might learn something more, and send you a fuller account. But +since both the season of navigation limited me, and the letter-carrier +was in haste, I hastened to write to your piety what I myself know (for +I have often seen him), and what I was able to learn from one who followed +him for no short time, and poured water upon his hands; always taking +care of the truth, in order that no one when he hears too much may disbelieve, +nor again, if he learns less than is needful, despise the man.</p> +<p>Antony was an Egyptian by race, born of noble parents, <a name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33">{33}</a> +who had a sufficient property of their own: and as they were Christians, +he too was Christianly brought up, and when a boy was nourished in the +house of his parents, besides whom and his home he knew nought. +But when he grew older, he would not be taught letters, <a name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34">{34}</a> +not wishing to mix with other boys; but all his longing was (according +to what is written of Jacob) to dwell simply in his own house. +But when his parents took him into the Lord’s house, he was not +saucy, like a boy, nor inattentive as he grew older; but was subject +to his parents, and attentive to what was read, turning it to his own +account. Nor again (as a boy who was moderately well off) did +he trouble his parents for various and expensive dainties, nor did he +run after the pleasures of this life; but was content with what he found, +and asked for nothing more. When his parents died, he was left +alone with a little sister, when he was about eighteen or twenty years +of age, and took care both of his house and of her. But not six +months after their death, as he was going as usual to the Lord’s +house, and collecting his thoughts, he meditated as he walked how the +Apostles had left all and followed the Saviour; and how those in the +Acts brought the price of what they had sold, and laid it at the Apostles’ +feet, to be given away to the poor; and what and how great a hope was +laid up for them in heaven. With this in his mind, he entered +the church. And it befell then that the Gospel was being read; +and he heard how the Lord had said to the rich man, “If thou wilt +be perfect, go, sell all thou hast, and give to the poor; and come, +follow me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.” Antony, +therefore, as if the remembrance of the saints had come to him from +God, and as if the lesson had been read on his account, went forth at +once from the Lord’s house, and gave away to those of his own +village the possessions he had inherited from his ancestors (three hundred +plough-lands, fertile and very fair), that they might give no trouble +either to him or his sister. All his moveables he sold, and a +considerable sum which he received for them he gave to the poor. +But having kept back a little for his sister, when he went again into +the Lord’s house he heard the Lord saying in the Gospel, “Take +no thought for the morrow,” and, unable to endure any more delay, +he went out and distributed that too to the needy. And having +committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her +wherewith to be educated in a nunnery, he himself thenceforth devoted +himself, outside his house, to training; <a name="citation35"></a><a href="#footnote35">{35}</a> +taking heed to himself, and using himself severely. For monasteries +were not then common in Egypt, nor did any monks at all know the wide +desert; but each who wished to take heed to himself exercised himself +alone, not far from his own village. There was then in the next +village an old man, who had trained himself in a solitary life from +his youth. When Antony saw him, he emulated him in that which +is noble. And first he began to stay outside the village; and +then, if he heard of any earnest man, he went to seek him, like a wise +bee; and did not return till he had seen him, and having got from him +(as it were) provision for his journey toward virtue, went his way. +So dwelling there at first, he settled his mind neither to look back +towards his parents’ wealth nor to recollect his relations; but +he put all his longing and all his earnestness on training himself more +intensely. For the rest he worked with his hands, because he had +heard, “If any man will not work, neither let him eat;” +and of his earnings he spent some on himself and some on the needy. +He prayed continually, because he knew that one ought to pray secretly, +without ceasing. He attended, also, so much to what was read, +that, with him, none of the Scriptures fell to the ground, but he retained +them all, and for the future his memory served him instead of books. +Behaving thus, Antony was beloved by all; and submitted truly to the +earnest men to whom he used to go. And from each of them he learnt +some improvement in his earnestness and his training: he contemplated +the courtesy of one, and another’s assiduity in prayer; another’s +freedom from anger; another’s love of mankind: he took heed to +one as he watched; to another as he studied: one he admired for his +endurance, another for his fasting and sleeping on the ground; he laid +to heart the meekness of one, and the long-suffering of another; and +stamped upon his memory the devotion to Christ and the mutual love which +all in common possessed. And thus filled full, he returned to +his own place of training, gathering to himself what he had got from +each, and striving to show all their qualities in himself. He +never emulated those of his own age, save in what is best; and did that +so as to pain no one, but make all rejoice over him. And all in +the village who loved good, seeing him thus, called him the friend of +God; and some embraced him as a son, some as a brother.</p> +<p>But the devil, who hates and envies what is noble, would not endure +such a purpose in a youth: but attempted against him all that he is +wont to do; suggesting to him the remembrance of his wealth, care for +his sister, relation to his kindred, love of money, love of glory, the +various pleasures of luxury, and the other solaces of life; and then +the harshness of virtue, and its great toil; and the weakness of his +body, and the length of time; and altogether raised a great dust-cloud +of arguments in his mind, trying to turn him back from his righteous +choice. But when the enemy saw himself to be too weak for Antony’s +determination, but rather baffled by his stoutness, and overthrown by +his great faith, and falling before his continual prayers, then he attacked +him with the temptations which he is wont to use against young men; +. . . . but he protected his body with faith, prayers, and fastings, +. . . setting his thoughts on Christ, and on his own nobility through +Christ, and on the rational faculties of his soul, . . . and again on +the terrors of the fire, and the torment of the worm, . . . and thus +escaped unhurt. And thus was the enemy brought to shame. +For he who thought himself to be equal with God was now mocked by a +youth; and he who boasted against flesh and blood was defeated by a +man clothed in flesh. For the Lord worked with him, who bore flesh +on our account, and gave to the body victory over the devil, that each +man in his battle may say, “Not I, but the grace of God which +is with me.” At last, when the dragon could not overthrow +Antony even thus, but saw himself thrust out of his heart, then gnashing +his teeth (as is written), and as if beside himself, he appeared to +the sight, as he is to the reason, as a black child, and as it were +falling down before him, no longer attempted to argue (for the deceiver +was cast out), but using a human voice, said, “I have deceived +many; I have cast down many. But now, as in the case of many, +so in thine, I have been worsted in the battle.” Then when +Antony asked him, “Who art thou who speakest thus to me?” +he forthwith replied in a pitiable voice, “I am the spirit of +impurity.”. . .</p> +<p>Then Antony gave thanks to God, and gaining courage, said, “Thou +art utterly despicable; for thou art black of soul, and weak as a child; +nor shall I henceforth cast one thought on thee. For the Lord +is my helper, and I shall despise my enemies.” That black +being, hearing this, fled forthwith, cowering at his words, and afraid +thenceforth of coming near the man.</p> +<p>This was Antony’s first struggle against the devil: or rather +this mighty deed in him was the Saviour’s, who condemned sin in +the flesh that the righteousness of the Lord should be fulfilled in +us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. But neither +did Antony, because the dæmon had fallen, grow careless and despise +him; neither did the enemy, when worsted by him, cease from lying in +ambush against him. For he came round again as a lion, seeking +a pretence against him. But Antony had learnt from Scripture that +many are the devices of the enemy; and continually kept up his training, +considering that, though he had not deceived his heart by pleasure, +he would try some other snares. For the dæmon delights in +sin. Therefore he chastised his body more and more, and brought +it into slavery, lest, having conquered in one case, he should be tripped +up in others. He determined, therefore, to accustom himself to +a still more severe life; and many wondered at him: but the labour was +to him easy to bear. For the readiness of the spirit, through +long usage, had created a good habit in him, so that, taking a very +slight hint from others, he showed great earnestness in it. For +he watched so much, that he often passed the whole night without sleep; +and that not once, but often, to the astonishment of men. He ate +once a day, after the setting of the sun, and sometimes only once in +two days, often even in four; his food was bread with salt, his drink +nothing but water. To speak of flesh and wine there is no need, +for such a thing is not found among other earnest men. When he +slept he was content with a rush-mat: but mostly he lay on the bare +ground. He would not anoint himself with oil, saying that it was +more fit for young men to be earnest in training, than to seek things +which softened the body; and that they must accustom themselves to labour, +according to the Apostle’s saying, “When I am weak, then +I am strong;” for that the mind was strengthened as bodily pleasure +was weakened. And this argument of his was truly wonderful. +For he did not measure the path of virtue, nor his going away into retirement +on account of it, by time; but by his own desire and will. So +forgetting the past, he daily, as if beginning afresh, took more pains +to improve, saying over to himself continually the Apostle’s words, +“Forgetting what is behind, stretching forward to what is before;” +and mindful, too, of Elias’ speech, “The Lord liveth, before +whom I stand this day.” For he held, that by mentioning +to-day, he took no account of past time: but, as if he were laying down +a beginning, he tried earnestly to make himself day by day fit to appear +before God, pure in heart, and ready to obey his will, and no other. +And he said in himself that the ascetic ought for ever to be learning +his own life from the manners of the great Elias, as from a mirror. +Antony, having thus, as it were, bound himself, went to the tombs, which +happened to be some way from the village; and having bidden one of his +acquaintances to bring him bread at intervals of many days, he entered +one of the tombs, and, shutting the door upon himself, remained there +alone. But the enemy, not enduring that, but rather terrified +lest in a little while he should fill the desert with his training, +coming one night with a multitude of dæmons, beat him so much +with stripes, that he lay speechless from the torture. For he +asserted that the pain was so great that no blows given by men could +cause such agony. But by the providence of God (for the Lord does +not overlook those who hope in him), the next day his acquaintance came, +bringing him the loaves. And having opened the door, and seeing +him lying on the ground for dead, he carried him to the Lord’s +house in the village, and laid him on the ground; and many of his kinsfolk +and the villagers sat round him, as round a corpse. But about +midnight, Antony coming to himself, and waking up, saw them all sleeping, +and only his acquaintance awake, and, nodding to him to approach, begged +him to carry him back to the tombs, without waking any one. When +that was done, the doors were shut, and he remained as before, alone +inside. And, because he could not stand on account of the dæmons’ +blows, he prayed prostrate. And after his prayer, he said with +a shout, “Here am I, Antony: I do not fly from your stripes; yea, +if you do yet more, nothing shall separate me from the love of Christ.” +And then he sang, “If an host be laid against me, yet shall not +my heart be afraid.” Thus thought and spoke the man who +was training himself. But the enemy, hater of what is noble, and +envious, wondering that he dared to return after the stripes, called +together his dogs, and bursting with rage,—“Ye see,” +he said, “that we have not stopped this man by the spirit of impurity; +nor by blows: but he is even growing bolder against us. Let us +attack him some other way.” <a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41">{41}</a> +For it is easy for the devil to invent schemes of mischief. So +then in the night they made such a crash, that the whole place seemed +shaken, and the dæmons, as if breaking in the four walls of the +room, seemed to enter through them, changing themselves into the shapes +of beasts and creeping things; <a name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42">{42}</a> +and the place was forthwith filled with shapes of lions, bears, leopards, +bulls, and snakes, asps, scorpions, and wolves, and each of them moved +according to his own fashion. The lion roared, longing to attack; +the bull seemed to toss; the serpent did not cease creeping, and the +wolf rushed upon him; and altogether the noises of all the apparitions +were dreadful, and their tempers cruel. But Antony, scourged and +pierced by them, felt a more dreadful bodily pain than before: but he +lay unshaken and awake in spirit. He groaned at the pain of his +body: but clear in intellect, and as it were mocking, he said, “If +there were any power in you, it were enough that one of you should come +on; but since the Lord has made you weak, therefore you try to frighten +me by mere numbers. And a proof of your weakness is, that you +imitate the shapes of brute animals.” And taking courage, +he said again, “If ye can, and have received power against me, +delay not, but attack; but if ye cannot, why do ye disturb me in vain? +For a seal to us and a wall of safety is our faith in the Lord.” +The dæmons, having made many efforts, gnashed their teeth at him, +because he rather mocked at them, than they at him. But neither +then did the Lord forget Antony’s wrestling, but appeared to help +him. For, looking up, he saw the roof as it were opened and a +ray of light coming down towards him. The dæmons suddenly +became invisible, and the pain of his body forthwith ceased, and the +building became quite whole. But Antony, feeling the succour, +and getting his breath again, and freed from pain, questioned the vision +which appeared, saying, “Where wert thou? Why didst thou +not appear to me from the first, to stop my pangs?” And +a voice came to him, “Antony, I was here, but I waited to see +thy fight. Therefore, since thou hast withstood, and not been +worsted, I will be to thee always a succour, and will make thee become +famous everywhere.” Hearing this, he rose and prayed, and +was so strong, that he felt that he had more power in his body than +he had before. He was then about thirty-and-five years old. +And on the morrow he went out, and was yet more eager for devotion to +God; and, going to that old man aforesaid, he asked him to dwell with +him in the desert. But when he declined, because of his age, and +because no such custom had yet arisen, he himself straightway set off +to the mountain. But the enemy again, seeing his earnestness, +and wishing to hinder it, cast in his way the phantom of a great silver +plate. But Antony, perceiving the trick of him who hates what +is noble, stopped. And he judged the plate worthless, seeing the +devil in it; and said, “Whence comes a plate in the desert? +This is no beaten way, nor is there here the footstep of any traveller. +Had it fallen, it could not have been unperceived, from its great size; +and besides, he who lost it would have turned back and found it, because +the place is desert. This is a trick of the devil. Thou +shalt not hinder, devil, my determination by this: let it go with thee +into perdition.” And as Antony said that, it vanished, as +smoke from before the face of the fire. Then again he saw, not +this time a phantom, but real gold lying in the way as he came up. +But whether the enemy showed it him, or whether some better power, which +was trying the athlete, and showing the devil that he did not care for +real wealth; neither did he tell, nor do we know, save that it was real +gold. Antony, wondering at the abundance of it, so stepped over +it as over fire, and so passed it by, that he never turned, but ran +on in haste, until he had lost sight of the place. And growing +even more and more intense in his determination, he rushed up the mountain, +and finding an empty inclosure full of creeping things on account of +its age, he betook himself across the river, and dwelt in it. +The creeping things, as if pursued by some one, straightway left the +place: but he blocked up the entry, having taken with him loaves for +six months (for the Thebans do this, and they often remain a whole year +fresh), and having water with him, entering, as into a sanctuary, into +that monastery, <a name="citation44"></a><a href="#footnote44">{44}</a> +he remained alone, never going forth, and never looking at any one who +came. Thus he passed a long time there training himself, and only +twice a year received loaves, let down from above through the roof. +But those of his acquaintance who came to him, as they often remained +days and nights outside (for he did not allow any one to enter), used +to hear as it were crowds inside clamouring, thundering, lamenting, +crying—“Depart from our ground. What dost thou even +in the desert? Thou canst not abide our onset.” At +first those without thought that there were some men fighting with him, +and that they had got in by ladders: but when, peeping in through a +crack, they saw no one, then they took for granted that they were dæmons, +and being terrified, called themselves on Antony. But he rather +listened to them than cared for the others. For his acquaintances +came up continually, expecting to find him dead, and heard him singing, +“Let the Lord arise, and his enemies shall be scattered; and let +them who hate him flee before him. As wax melts from before the +face of the fire, so shall sinners perish from before the face of God.” +And again, “All nations compassed me round about, and in the name +of the Lord I repelled them.” He endured then for twenty +years, thus training himself alone; neither going forth, nor seen by +any one for long periods of time. But after this, when many longed +for him, and wished to imitate his training, and others who knew him +came, and were bursting in the door by force, Antony came forth as from +some inner shrine, initiated into the mysteries, and bearing the God. +<a name="citation45"></a><a href="#footnote45">{45}</a> And then +first he appeared out of the inclosure to those who were coming to him. +And when they saw him they wondered; for his body had kept the same +habit, and had neither grown fat, nor lean from fasting, nor worn by +fighting with the dæmons. For he was just such as they had +known him before his retirement. They wondered again at the purity +of his soul, because it was neither contracted as if by grief, nor relaxed +by pleasure, nor possessed by laughter or by depression; for he was +neither troubled at beholding the crowd, nor over-joyful at being saluted +by too many; but was altogether equal, as being governed by reason, +and standing on that which is according to nature. Many sufferers +in body who were present did the Lord heal by him; and others he purged +from dæmons. And he gave to Antony grace in speaking, so +that he comforted many who grieved, and reconciled others who were at +variance, exhorting all to prefer nothing in the world to the love of +Christ, and persuading and exhorting them to be mindful of the good +things to come, and of the love of God towards us, who spared not his +own son, but delivered him up for us all. He persuaded many to +choose the solitary life; and so thenceforth cells sprang up in the +mountains, and the desert was colonized by monks, who went forth from +their own, and registered themselves in the city which is in heaven.</p> +<p>And when he had need to cross the Arsenoite Canal (and the need was +the superintendence of the brethren), the canal was full of crocodiles. +And having only prayed, he entered it; and both he and all who were +with him went through it unharmed. But when he returned to the +cell, he persisted in the noble labours of his youth; and by continued +exhortations he increased the willingness of those who were already +monks, and stirred to love of training the greater number of the rest; +and quickly, as his speech drew men on, the cells became more numerous; +and he governed them all as a father. And when he had gone forth +one day, and all the monks had come to him desiring to hear some word +from him, he spake to them in the Egyptian tongue, thus—“That +the Scriptures were sufficient for instruction, but that it was good +for us to exhort each other in the faith.” . . .</p> +<p>[Here follows a long sermon, historically important, as being the +earliest Christian attempt to reduce to a science dæmonology and +the temptation of dæmons: but its involved and rhetorical form +proves sufficiently that it could not have been delivered by an unlettered +man like Antony. Neither is it, probably, even composed by St. +Athanasius; it seems rather, like several other passages in this biography, +the interpolation of some later scribe. It has been, therefore, +omitted.]</p> +<p>And when Antony had spoken thus, all rejoiced; and in one the love +of virtue was increased, in another negligence stirred up, and in others +conceit stopped, while all were persuaded to despise the plots of the +devil, wondering at the grace which had been given to Antony by the +Lord for the discernment of spirits. So the cells in the mountains +were like tents filled with divine choirs, singing, discoursing, fasting, +praying, rejoicing over the hope of the future, working that they might +give alms thereof, and having love and concord with each other. +And there was really to be seen, as it were, a land by itself, of piety +and justice; for there was none there who did wrong, or suffered wrong: +no blame from any talebearer: but a multitude of men training themselves, +and in all of them a mind set on virtue. So that any one seeing +the cells, and such an array of monks, would have cried out, and said, +“How fair are thy dwellings, O Jacob, and thy tents, O Israel; +like shady groves and like parks beside a river, and like tents which +the Lord hath pitched, and like cedars by the waters.” He +himself, meanwhile, withdrawing, according to his custom, alone to his +own cell, increased the severity of his training. And he groaned +daily, considering the mansions in heaven, and setting his longing on +them, and looking at the ephemeral life of man. For even when +he was going to eat or sleep, he was ashamed, when he considered the +rational element of his soul; so that often, when he was about to eat +with many other monks, he remembered the spiritual food, and declined, +and went far away from them; thinking that he should blush if he was +seen by others eating. He ate, nevertheless, by himself, on account +of the necessities of the body; and often, too, with the brethren, being +bashful with regard to them, but plucking up heart for the sake of saying +something that might be useful; and used to tell them that they ought +to give all their leisure rather to the soul than to the body; and that +they should grant a very little time to the body, for mere necessity’s +sake: but that their whole leisure should be rather given to the soul, +and should seek her profit, that she may not be drawn down by the pleasures +of the body, but rather the body be led captive by her. For this +(he said) was what was spoken by the Saviour, “Be not anxious +for your soul, what ye shall eat; nor for your body, what ye shall put +on. And seek not what ye shall eat, nor what ye shall drink, neither +let your minds be in suspense: for after all these things the nations +of the world seek: but your Father knoweth that ye need all these things. +Rather seek first his kingdom; and all these things shall be added unto +you.”</p> +<p>After these things, the persecution which happened under the Maximinus +of that time, <a name="citation49"></a><a href="#footnote49">{49}</a> +laid hold of the Church; and when the holy martyrs were brought to Alexandria, +Antony too followed, leaving his cell, and saying, “Let us depart +too, that we may wrestle if we be called, or see them wrestling.” +And he longed to be a martyr himself, but, not choosing to give himself +up, he ministered to the confessors in the mines, and in the prisons. +And he was very earnest in the judgment-hall to excite the readiness +of those who were called upon to wrestle; and to receive and bring on +their way, till they were perfected, those of them who went to martyrdom. +At last the judge, seeing the fearlessness and earnestness of him and +those who were with him, commanded that none of the monks should appear +in the judgment-hall, or haunt at all in the city. So all the +rest thought good to hide themselves that day; but Antony cared so much +for the order, that he all the rather washed his cloak, and stood next +day upon a high place, and appeared to the General in shining white. +Therefore, when all the rest wondered, and the General saw him, and +passed by with his array, he stood fearless, showing forth the readiness +of us Christians. For he himself prayed to be a martyr, as I have +said, and was like one grieved, because he had not borne his witness. +But the Lord was preserving him for our benefit, and that of the rest, +that he might become a teacher to many in the training which he had +learnt from Scripture. For many, when they only saw his manner +of life, were eager to emulate it. So he again ministered continually +to the confessors; and, as if bound with them, wearied himself in his +services. And when at last the persecution ceased, and the blessed +Bishop Peter had been martyred, he left the city, and went back to his +cell. And he was there, day by day, a martyr in his conscience, +and wrestling in the conflict of faith; for he imposed on himself a +much more severe training than before; and his garment was within of +hair, without of skin, which he kept till his end. He neither +washed his body with water, nor ever cleansed his feet, nor actually +endured putting them into water unless it were necessary. And +no one ever saw him unclothed till he was dead and about to be buried.</p> +<p>When, then, he retired, and had resolved neither to go forth himself, +nor to receive any one, one Martinianus, a captain of soldiers, came +and gave trouble to Antony. For he had with him his daughter, +who was tormented by a dæmon. And while he remained a long +time knocking at the door, and expecting him to come to pray to God +for the child, Antony could not bear to open, but leaning from above, +said, “Man, why criest thou to me? I, too, am a man, as +thou art. But if thou believest, pray to God, and it comes to +pass.” Forthwith, therefore, he believed, and called on +Christ; and went away, with his daughter cleansed from the dæmon. +And many other things the Lord did by him, saying, “Ask, and it +shall be given you.” For most of the sufferers, when he +did not open the door, only sat down outside the cell, and believing, +and praying honestly, were cleansed. But when he saw himself troubled +by many, and not being permitted to retire, as he wished, being afraid +lest he himself should be puffed up by what the Lord was doing by him, +or lest others should count of him above what he was, he resolved to +go to the Upper Thebaid, to those who knew him not. And, in fact, +having taken loaves from the brethren, he sat down on the bank of the +river, watching for a boat to pass, that he might embark and go up in +it. And as he watched, a voice came to him: “Antony, whither +art thou going, and why?” And he, not terrified, but as +one accustomed to be often called thus, answered when he heard it, “Because +the crowds will not let me be at rest; therefore am I minded to go up +to the Upper Thebaid, on account of the many annoyances which befall +me; and, above all, because they ask of me things beyond my strength.” +And the voice said to him, “Even if thou goest up to the Thebaid, +even if, as thou art minded to do, thou goest down the cattle pastures, +<a name="citation52a"></a><a href="#footnote52a">{52a}</a> thou wilt +have to endure more, and double trouble; but if thou wilt really be +at rest, go now into the inner desert.” And when Antony +said, “Who will show me the way, for I have not tried it?” +forthwith it showed him Saracens who were going to journey that road. +So, going to them, and drawing near them, Antony asked leave to depart +with them into the desert. But they, as if by an ordinance of +Providence, willingly received him; and, journeying three days and three +nights with them, he came to a very high mountain; <a name="citation52b"></a><a href="#footnote52b">{52b}</a> +and there was water under the mountain, clear, sweet, and very cold; +and a plain outside; and a few neglected date-palms. Then Antony, +as if stirred by God, loved the spot; for this it was what he had pointed +out who spoke to him beside the river bank. At first, then, having +received bread from those who journeyed with him, he remained alone +in the mount, no one else being with him. For he recognised that +place as his own home, and kept it thenceforth. And the Saracens +themselves, seeing Antony’s readiness, came that way on purpose, +and joyfully brought him loaves; and he had, too, the solace of the +dates, which was then little and paltry. But after this, the brethren, +having found out the spot, like children remembering their father, were +anxious to send things to him; but Antony saw that, in bringing him +bread, some there were put to trouble and fatigue; and, sparing the +monks even in that, took counsel with himself, and asked some who came +to him to bring him a hoe and a hatchet, and a little corn; and when +these were brought, having gone over the land round the mountain, he +found a very narrow place which was suitable, and tilled it; and, having +plenty of water to irrigate it, he sowed; and, doing this year by year, +he got his bread from thence, rejoicing that he should be troublesome +to no one on that account, and that he was keeping himself free from +obligation in all things. But after this, seeing again some people +coming, he planted also a very few pot-herbs, that he who came might +have some small solace after the labour of that hard journey. +At first, however, the wild beasts in the desert, coming on account +of the water, often hurt his crops and his tillage; but he, gently laying +hold of one of them, said to them all, “Why do you hurt me, who +have not hurt you? Depart, and, in the name of the Lord, never +come near this place.” And from that time forward, as if +they were afraid of his command, they never came near the place. +So he was there alone in the inner mountain, having leisure for prayer +and for training. But the brethren who ministered to him asked +him that, coming every month, they might bring him olives, and pulse, +and oil; for, after all, he was old. And while he had his conversation +there, what great wrestlings he endured, according to that which is +written, “Not against flesh and blood, but against the dæmons +who are our adversaries,” we have known from those who went in +to him. For there also they heard tumults, and many voices, and +clashing as of arms; and they beheld the mount by night full of wild +beasts, and they looked on him, too, fighting, as it were, with beings +whom he saw, and praying against them. And those who came to him +he bade be of good courage, but he himself wrestled, bending his knees, +and praying to the Lord. And it was truly worthy of wonder that, +alone in such a desert, he was neither cowed by the dæmons who +beset him, nor, while there were there so many four-footed and creeping +beasts, was at all afraid of their fierceness: but, as is written, trusted +in the Lord like the Mount Zion, having his reason unshaken and untost; +so that the dæmons rather fled, and the wild beasts, as is written, +were at peace with him.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, the devil (as David sings) watched Antony, and gnashed +upon him with his teeth. But Antony was comforted by the Saviour, +remaining unhurt by his craft and manifold artifices. For on him, +when he was awake at night, he let loose wild beasts; and almost all +the hyænas in that desert, coming out of their burrows, beset +him round, and he was in the midst. And when each gaped on him +and threatened to bite him, perceiving the art of the enemy, he said +to them all, “If ye have received power against me, I am ready +to be devoured by you: but if ye have been set on by dæmons, delay +not, but withdraw, for I am a servant of Christ.” When Antony +said this, they fled, pursued by his words as by a whip. Next +after a few days, as he was working—for he took care, too, to +labour—some one standing at the door pulled the plait that he +was working. For he was weaving baskets, which he used to give +to those who came, in return for what they brought him. And rising +up, he saw a beast, like a man down to his thighs, but having legs and +feet like an ass; and Antony only crossed himself and said, “I +am a servant of Christ. If thou hast been sent against me, behold, +here I am.” And the beast with its dæmons fled away, +so that in its haste it fell and died. Now the death of the beast +was the fall of the dæmons. For they were eager to do everything +to bring him back out of the desert, but could not prevail.</p> +<p>And being once asked by the monks to come down to them, and to visit +awhile them and their places, he journeyed with the monks who came to +meet him. And a camel carried their loaves and their water; for +that desert is all dry, and there is no drinkable water unless in that +mountain alone whence they drew their water, and where his cell is. +But when the water failed on the journey, and the heat was most intense, +they all began to be in danger; for going round to various places, and +finding no water, they could walk no more, but lay down on the ground, +and they let the camel go, and gave themselves up. But the old +man, seeing them all in danger, was utterly grieved, and groaned; and +departing a little way from them, and bending his knees and stretching +out his hands, he prayed, and forthwith the Lord caused water to come +out where he had stopped and prayed. And thus all of them drinking +took breath again; and having filled their skins, they sought the camel, +and found her; for it befell that the halter had been twisted round +a stone, and thus she had been stopped. So, having brought her +back, and given her to drink, they put the skins on her, and went through +their journey unharmed. And when they came to the outer cells +all embraced him, looking on him as a father. And he, as if he +brought them guest-gifts from the mountain, gave them away to them in +his words, and shared his benefits among them. And there was joy +again in the mountains, and zeal for improvement, and comfort through +their faith in each other. And he too rejoiced, seeing the willingness +of the monks, and his sister grown old in maidenhood, and herself the +leader of other virgins. And so after certain days he went back +again to the mountain.</p> +<p>And after that many came to him; and others who suffered dared also +to come. Now to all the monks who came to him he gave continually +this command: To trust in the Lord and love him, and to keep themselves +from foul thoughts and fleshly pleasures; and, as is written in the +Parables, not to be deceived by fulness of bread; and to avoid vainglory; +and to pray continually; and to sing before sleep and after sleep; and +to lay by in their hearts the commandment of Scripture; and to remember +the works of the saints, in order to have their souls attuned to emulate +them. But especially he counselled them to meditate continually +on the Apostle’s saying, “Let not the sun go down upon your +wrath;” and this he said was spoken of all commandments in common, +in order that not on wrath alone, but on every other sin, the sun should +never go down; for it was noble and necessary that the sun should never +condemn us for a baseness by day, nor the moon for a sin or even a thought +by night; therefore, in order that that which is noble may be preserved +in us, it was good to hear and to keep what the Apostle commanded: for +he said: “Judge yourselves, and prove yourselves.” +Let each then take account with himself, day by day, of his daily and +nightly deeds; and if he has not sinned, let him not boast, but let +him endure in what is good and not be negligent, neither condemn his +neighbour, neither justify himself, as said the blessed Apostle Paul, +until the Lord comes who searches secret things. For we often +deceive ourselves in what we do, and we indeed know not: but the Lord +comprehends all. Giving therefore the judgment to Him, let us +sympathise with each other; and let us bear each other’s burdens, +and examine ourselves; and what we are behind in, let us be eager to +fill up. And let this, too, be my counsel for safety against sinning. +Let us each note and write down the deeds and motions of the soul as +if he were about to relate them to each other; and be confident that, +as we shall be utterly ashamed that they should be known, we shall cease +from sinning, and even from desiring anything mean. For who when +he sins wishes to be harmed thereby? Or who, having sinned, does +not rather lie, wishing to hide it? As therefore when in each +other’s sight we dare not commit a crime, so if we write down +our thoughts, and tell them to each other, we shall keep ourselves the +more from foul thoughts, for shame lest they should be known. . . . +And thus forming ourselves we shall be able to bring the body into slavery, +and please the Lord on the one hand, and on the other trample on the +snares of the enemy.” This was his exhortation to those +who met him: but with those who suffered he suffered, and prayed with +them. And often and in many things the Lord heard him; and neither +when he was heard did he boast; nor when he was not heard did he murmur: +but, remaining always the same, gave thanks to the Lord. And those +who suffered he exhorted to keep up heart, and to know that the power +of cure was none of his, nor of any man’s; but only belonged to +God, who works when and whatsoever he chooses. So the sufferers +received this as a remedy, learning not to despise the old man’s +words, but rather to keep up heart; and those who were cured learned +not to bless Antony, but God alone.</p> +<p>For instance, one called Fronto, who belonged to the palace, and +had a grievous disease (for he gnawed his own tongue, and tried to injure +his eyes), came to the mountain and asked Antony to pray for him. +And when he had prayed he said to Fronto, “Depart, and be healed.” +And when he resisted, and remained within some days, Antony continued +saying, “Thou canst not be healed if thou remainest here; go forth, +and as soon as thou enterest Egypt, thou shalt see the sign which shall +befall thee.” He, believing, went forth; and as soon as +he only saw Egypt he was freed from his disease, and became sound according +to the word of Antony, which he had learnt by prayer from the Saviour +. . .</p> +<p>[Here follows a story of a girl cured of a painful complaint: which +need not be translated.]</p> +<p>But when two brethren were coming to him, and water failed them on +the journey, one of them died, and the other was about to die. +In fact, being no longer able to walk, he too lay upon the ground expecting +death. But Antony, as he sat on the mountain, called two monks +who happened to be there, and hastened them, saying, “Take a pitcher +of water, and run on the road towards Egypt; for of two who are coming +hither one has just expired, and the other will do so if you do not +hasten. For this has been showed to me as I prayed.” +So the monks going found the one lying dead, and buried him; and the +other they recovered with the water, and brought him to the old man. +Now the distance was a day’s journey. But if any one should +ask why he did not speak before one of them expired, he does not question +rightly; for the judgment of that death did not belong to Antony, but +to God, who both judged concerning the one; and revealed concerning +the other. But this alone in Antony was wonderful, that sitting +on the mountain he kept his heart watchful, and the Lord showed him +things afar off.</p> +<p>For once again, as he sat on the mountain and looked up, he saw some +one carried aloft, and a great rejoicing among some who met him. +Then wondering, and blessing such a choir, he prayed to be taught what +that might be; and straightway a voice came to him that this was the +soul of Ammon, the monk in Nitria, <a name="citation60"></a><a href="#footnote60">{60}</a> +who had persevered as an ascetic to his old age; and the distance from +Nitria to the mountain where Antony was, is thirteen days’ journey. +Those then who were with Antony, seeing the old man wondering, asked +the reason, and heard that Ammon had just expired, for he was known +to them on account of his having frequently come thither, and many signs +having been worked by him, of which this is one. . . .</p> +<p>[Here follows the story (probably an interpolation) of Ammon’s +being miraculously carried across the river Lycus, because he was ashamed +to undress himself.]</p> +<p>But the monks to whom Antony spoke about Ammon’s death noted +down the day; and when brethren came from Nitria after thirty days, +they inquired and learnt that Ammon had fallen asleep at the day and +hour in which the old man saw his soul carried aloft. And all +on both sides wondered at the purity of Antony’s soul; how he +had learnt and seen instantly what had happened thirteen days’ +journey off.</p> +<p>Moreover, Archeleas the Count, finding him once in the outer mountain +praying alone, asked him concerning Polycratia, that wonderful and Christ-bearing +maiden in Laodicea; for she suffered dreadful internal pain from her +extreme training, and was altogether weak in body. Antony, therefore, +prayed; and the Count noted down the day on which the prayer was offered. +And going back to Laodicea, he found the maiden cured; and asking when +and on what day her malady had ceased, he brought out the paper on which +he had written down the date of the prayer. And when she told +him, he showed at once the writing on the paper. And all found +that the Lord had stopped her sufferings while Antony was still praying +and calling for her on the goodness of the Saviour.</p> +<p>And concerning those who came to him, he often predicted some days, +or even a month, beforehand, and the cause why they were coming. +For some came only to see him, and others on account of sickness, and +others because they suffered from dæmons, and all thought the +labour of the journey no trouble nor harm, for each went back aware +that he had been benefited. And when he spoke and looked thus, +he asked no one to marvel at him on that account, but to marvel rather +at the Lord, because he had given us, who are but men, grace to know +him according to our powers. And as he was going down again to +the outer cells, and was minded to enter a boat and pray with the monks, +he alone perceived a dreadfully evil odour, and when those in the boat +told him that they had fish and brine on board, and that it was they +which smelt, he said that it was a different smell; and while he was +yet speaking, a youth, who had an evil spirit, had gone before them +and hidden in the boat, suddenly cried out. But the dæmon, +being rebuked in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, went out of him, +and the man became whole, and all knew that the smell had come from +the evil spirit. And there was another man of high rank who came +to him, having a dæmon, and one so terrible, that the possessed +man did not know that he was going to Antony, but [showed the common +symptoms of mania]. Those who brought him entreated Antony to +pray over him, which he did, feeling for the young man, and he watched +beside him all night. But about dawn, the young man, suddenly +rushing on Antony, assaulted him. When those who came with him +were indignant, Antony said, “Be not hard upon the youth, for +it is not he, but the dæmon in him; and because he has been rebuked, +and commanded to go forth into dry places, he has become furious, and +done this. Glorify, therefore, the Lord for his having thus rushed +upon me, as a sign to you that the dæmon is going out.” +And as Antony said this, the youth suddenly became sound, and, recovering +his reason, knew where he was, and embraced the old man, giving thanks +to God. And most of the monks agree unanimously that many like +things were done by him: yet are they not so wonderful as what follows. +For once, when he was going to eat, and rose up to pray about the ninth +hour, he felt himself rapt in spirit; and (wonderful to relate) as he +stood he saw himself as it were taken out of himself, and led into the +air by some persons; and then others, bitter and terrible, standing +in the air, and trying to prevent his passing upwards. And when +those who led him fought against them, they demanded whether he was +not accountable to them. And when they began to take account of +his deeds from his birth, his guides stopped them, saying, “What +happened from his birth upwards, the Lord hath wiped out: but of what +has happened since he became a monk, and made a promise to God, of that +you may demand an account.” Then, when they brought accusations +against him, and could not prove them, the road was opened freely to +him. And straightway he saw himself as if coming back and standing +before himself, and was Antony once more. Then, forgetting that +he had not eaten, he remained the rest of the day and all night groaning +and praying, for he wondered when he saw against how many enemies we +must wrestle, and through how many labours a man must traverse the air; +and he remembered that it is this which the Apostle means with regard +to the Prince of the power of the air; for it is in the air that the +enemy has his power, fighting against those who pass through it, and +trying to hinder them. Wherefore, also he especially exhorts us: +“Take the whole armour of God, that the enemy, having no evil +to say about us, may be ashamed.” But when we heard this, +we remembered the Apostle’s saying, “Whether in the body +I cannot tell, or out of the body I cannot tell: God knoweth.” +But Paul was caught up into the third heaven, and, having heard unspeakable +words, descended again; but Antony saw himself rapt in the air, and +wrestling till he seemed to be free.</p> +<p>Again, he had this grace, that as he was sitting alone in the mountain, +if at any time he was puzzled in himself, the thing was revealed to +him by Providence as he prayed; and the blessed man was, as Scripture +says, taught of God. After this, at all events, when he had been +talking with some who came to him concerning the departure of the soul, +and what would be its place after this life, the next night some one +called him from without, and said, “Rise up, Antony; come out +and see.” So coming out (for he knew whom he ought to obey), +he beheld a tall being, shapeless and terrible, standing and reaching +to the clouds, and as it were winged beings ascending; and him stretching +out his hands; and some of them hindered by him, and others flying above +him, and when they had once passed him, borne upwards without trouble. +But against them that tall being gnashed his teeth, while over those +who fell, he rejoiced. And there came a voice to Antony, “Consider +what thou seest.” And when his understanding was opened, +he perceived that it was the enemy who envies the faithful, and that +those who were in his power he mastered and hindered from passing; but +that those who had not obeyed him, over them, as over conquerors, he +had no power. Having seen this, and as it were made mindful by +it, he struggled more and more daily to improve. Now these things +he did not tell of his own accord; but when he was long in prayer, and +astonished in himself, those who were with him questioned him and urged +him; and he was forced to tell; unable, as a father, to hide anything +from his children; and considering, too, that his own conscience was +clear, and the story would be profitable for them, when they learned +that the life of training bore good fruit, and that visions often came +as a solace of their toils.</p> +<p>But how tolerant was his temper, and how humble his spirit; for though +he was so great, he both honoured exceedingly the canon of the Church, +and wished to put every ecclesiastic before himself in honour. +For to the bishops and presbyters he was not ashamed to bow his head; +and if a deacon ever came to him for the sake of profit, he discoursed +with him on what was profitable, but in prayer he gave place to him, +not being ashamed even himself to learn from him. <a name="citation65"></a><a href="#footnote65">{65}</a> +For he often asked questions, and deigned to listen to all present, +confessing that he was profited if any one said aught that was useful. +Moreover, his countenance had great and wonderful grace; and this gift +too he had from the Saviour. For if he was present among the multitude +of monks, and any one who did not previously know him wished to see +him, as soon as he came he passed by all the rest, and ran to Antony +himself, as if attracted by his eyes. He did not differ from the +rest in stature or in stoutness, but in the steadiness of his temper, +and purity of his soul; for as his soul was undisturbed, his outward +senses were undisturbed likewise, so that the cheerfulness of his soul +made his face cheerful, and from the movements of his body the stedfastness +of his soul could be perceived, according to the Scripture, “When +the heart is cheerful the countenance is glad; but when sorrow comes +it scowleth.” . . . And he was altogether wonderful in faith, +and pious, for he never communicated with the Meletian <a name="citation66a"></a><a href="#footnote66a">{66a}</a> +schismatics, knowing their malice and apostasy from the beginning; nor +did he converse amicably with Manichæans or any other heretics, +save only to exhort them to be converted to piety. For he held +that their friendship and converse was injury and ruin to the soul. +So also he detested the heresy of the Arians, and exhorted all not to +approach them, nor hold their misbelief. <a name="citation66b"></a><a href="#footnote66b">{66b}</a> +In fact, when certain of the Ariomanites came to him, having discerned +them and found them impious, he chased them out of the mountain, saying +that their words were worse than serpent’s poison; and when the +Arians once pretended that he was of the same opinion as they, he was +indignant and fierce against them. Then being sent for by the +bishops and all the brethren, he went down from the mountain, and entering +Alexandria he denounced the Arians, saying, that that was the last heresy, +and the forerunner of Antichrist; and he taught the people that the +Son of God was not a created thing, neither made from nought, but that +he is the Eternal Word and Wisdom of the Essence of the Father; wherefore +also it is impious to say there was a time when he was not, for he was +always the Word co-existent with the Father. Wherefore he said, +“Do not have any communication with these most impious Arians; +for there is no communion between light and darkness. For you +are pious Christians: but they, when they say that the Son of God and +the Word, who is from the Father, is a created being, differ nought +from the heathen, because they worship the creature instead of God the +Creator. <a name="citation67"></a><a href="#footnote67">{67}</a> +Believe rather that the whole creation itself is indignant against them, +because they number the Creator and Lord of all, in whom all things +are made, among created things.” All the people therefore +rejoiced at hearing that Christ-opposing heresy anathematized by such +a man; and all those in the city ran together to see Antony and the +Greeks, <a name="citation68a"></a><a href="#footnote68a">{68a}</a> and +those who are called their priests <a name="citation68b"></a><a href="#footnote68b">{68b}</a> +came into the church, wishing to see the man of God; for all called +him by that name, because there the Lord cleansed many by him from dæmons, +and healed those who were out of their mind. And many heathens +wished only to touch the old man, believing that it would be of use +to them; and in fact as many became Christians in those few days, as +would have been usually converted in a year. And when some thought +that the crowd troubled him, and therefore turned all away from him, +he quietly said that they were not more numerous than the fiends with +whom he wrestled on the mountain. But when he left the city, and +we were setting him on his journey, when we came to the gate a certain +woman called to him: “Wait, man of God, my daughter is grievously +vexed with a devil; wait, I beseech thee, lest I too harm myself with +running after thee.” The old man hearing it, and being asked +by us, waited willingly. But when the woman drew near, the child +dashed itself on the ground; and when Antony prayed and called on the +name of Christ, it rose up sound, the unclean spirit having gone out; +and the mother blessed God, and we all gave thanks: and he himself rejoiced +at leaving the city for the mountain, as for his own home.</p> +<p>Now he was very prudent; and what was wonderful, though he had never +learnt letters, he was a shrewd and understanding man. Once, for +example, two Greek philosophers came to him, thinking that they could +tempt Antony. And he was in the outer mountain; and when he went +out to them, understanding the men from their countenances, he said +through an interpreter, “Why have you troubled yourselves so much, +philosophers, to come to a foolish man?” And when they answered +that he was not foolish, but rather very wise, he said, “If you +have come to a fool, your labour is superfluous, but if ye think me +to be wise, become as I am; for we ought to copy what is good, and if +I had come to you, I should have copied you; but if you come to me, +copy me, for I am a Christian.” And they wondering went +their way, for they saw that even dæmons were afraid of Antony.</p> +<p>And again when others of the same class met him in the outer mountain, +and thought to mock him, because he had not learnt letters, Antony answered, +“But what do you say? which is first, the sense or the letters? +And which is the cause of the other, the sense of the letters, or the +letters of the sense?” And when they said that the sense +came first, and invented the letters, Antony replied, “If then +the sense be sound, the letters are not needed.” Which struck +them, and those present, with astonishment. So they went away +wondering, when they saw so much understanding in an unlearned man. +For though he had lived and grown old in the mountain, his manners were +not rustic, but graceful and urbane; and his speech was seasoned with +the divine salt, so that no man grudged at him, but rather rejoiced +over him, as many as came. . . .</p> +<p>[Here follows a long sermon against the heathen worship, attributed +to St. Antony, but of very questionable authenticity: the only point +about it which is worthy of note is that Antony confutes the philosophers +by challenging them to cure some possessed persons, and, when they are +unable to do so, casts out the dæmons himself by the sign of the +cross.]</p> +<p>The fame of Antony reached even the kings, for Constantinus the Augustus, +and his sons, Constantius and Constans, the Augusti, hearing of these +things, wrote to him as to a father, and begged to receive an answer +from him. But he did not make much of the letters, nor was puffed +up by their messages; and he was just the same as he was before the +kings wrote to him. And he called his monks and said, “Wonder +not if a king writes to us, for he is but a man: but wonder rather that +God has written his law to man, and spoken to us by his own Son.” +So he declined to receive their letters, saying he did not know how +to write an answer to such things; but being admonished by the monks +that the kings were Christians, and that they must not be scandalized +by being despised, he permitted the letters to be read, and wrote an +answer; accepting them because they worshipped Christ, and counselling +them, for their salvation, not to think the present life great, but +rather to remember judgment to come; and to know that Christ was the +only true and eternal king; and he begged them to be merciful to men, +and to think of justice and the poor. And they, when they received +the answer, rejoiced. Thus was he kindly towards all, and all +looked on him as their father. He then betook himself again into +the inner mountain, and continued his accustomed training. But +often, when he was sitting and walking with those who came unto him, +he was astounded, as is written in Daniel. And after the space +of an hour, he told what had befallen to the brethren who were with +him, and they perceived that he had seen some vision. Often he +saw in the mountain what was happening in Egypt, and told it to Serapion +the bishop, who saw him occupied with a vision. Once, for instance, +as he sat, he fell as it were into an ecstasy, and groaned much at what +he saw. Then, after an hour, turning to those who were with him, +he groaned and fell into a trembling, and rose up and prayed, and bending +his knees, remained so a long while; and then the old man rose up and +wept. The bystanders, therefore, trembling and altogether terrified, +asked him to tell them what had happened, and tormented him much, that +he was forced to speak. And he groaning greatly—“Ah! +my children,” he said, “it were better to be dead before +what I have seen shall come to pass.” And when they asked +him again, he said with tears, that “Wrath will seize on the Church, +and she will be given over to men like unto brutes, which have no understanding; +for I saw the table of the Lord’s house, and mules standing all +around it in a ring and kicking inwards, as a herd does when it leaps +in confusion; and ye all perceived how I groaned, for I heard a voice +saying, ‘My sanctuary shall be defiled.’”</p> +<p>This the old man saw, and after two years there befell the present +inroad of the Arians, <a name="citation72a"></a><a href="#footnote72a">{72a}</a> +and the plunder of the churches, when they carried off the holy vessels +by violence, and made the heathen carry them: and when too they forced +the heathens from the prisons to join them, and in their presence did +on the holy table what they would. <a name="citation72b"></a><a href="#footnote72b">{72b}</a> +Then we all perceived that the kicks of those mules presignified to +Antony what the Arians are now doing without understanding, like the +brutes. But when Antony saw this sight, he exhorted those about +him, saying, “Lose not heart, children; for as the Lord has been +angry, so will he again be appeased, and the Church shall soon receive +again her own order and shine forth as she is wont; and ye shall see +the persecuted restored to their place, and impiety retreating again +into its own dens, and the pious faith speaking boldly everywhere with +all freedom. Only defile not yourselves with the Arians, for this +teaching is not of the Apostle but of the dæmons, and of their +father the devil: barren and irrational and of an unsound mind, like +the irrational deeds of those mules.” Thus spoke Antony.</p> +<p>But we must not doubt whether so great wonders have been done by +a man; for the Saviour’s promise is, “If ye have faith as +a grain of mustard-seed, ye shall say to this mountain, Pass over from +hence, it shall pass over, and nothing shall be impossible to you;” +and again, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, if ye shall ask my +Father in my name, he shall give it you. Ask, and ye shall receive.” +And he himself it is who said to his disciples and to all who believe +in him, “Heal the sick, cast out devils; freely ye have received, +freely give.” And certainly Antony did not heal by his own +authority, but by praying and calling on Christ; so that it was plain +to all that it was not he who did it, but the Lord, who through Antony +showed love to men, and healed the sufferers. But Antony’s +part was only the prayer and the training, for the sake whereof, sitting +in the mountain, he rejoiced in the sight of divine things, and grieved +when he was tormented by many, and dragged to the outer mountain.</p> +<p>For all the magistrates asked him to come down from the mountain, +because it was impossible for them to go in thither to him on account +of the litigants who followed him; so they begged him to come, that +they might only behold him. And when he declined they insisted, +and even sent in to him prisoners under the charge of soldiers, that +at least on their account he might come down. So being forced +by necessity, and seeing them lamenting, he came to the outer mountain. +And his labour this time too was profitable to many, and his coming +for their good. To the magistrates, too, he was of use, counselling +them to prefer justice to all things, and to fear God, and to know that +with what judgment they judged they should be judged in turn. +But he loved best of all his life in the mountain. Once again, +when he was compelled in the same way to leave it, by those who were +in want, and by the general of the soldiers, who entreated him earnestly, +he came down, and having spoken to them somewhat of the things which +conduced to salvation, he was pressed also by those who were in need. +But being asked by the general to lengthen his stay, he refused, and +persuaded him by a graceful parable, saying, “Fishes, if they +lie long on the dry land, die; so monks who stay with you lose their +strength. As the fishes then hasten to the sea, so must we to +the mountain, lest if we delay we should forget what is within.” +The general, hearing this and much more from him, said with surprise +that he was truly a servant of God, for whence could an unlearned man +have so great sense if he were not loved by God?</p> +<p>Another general, named Balacius, bitterly persecuted us Christians +on account of his affection for those abominable Arians. His cruelty +was so great that he even beat nuns, and stripped and scourged monks. +Antony sent him a letter to this effect:—“I see wrath coming +upon thee. Cease, therefore, to persecute the Christians, lest +the wrath lay hold upon thee, for it is near at hand.” But +Balacius, laughing, threw the letter on the ground and spat on it; and +insulted those who brought it, bidding them tell Antony, “Since +thou carest for monks, I will soon come after thee likewise.” +And not five days had passed, when the wrath laid hold on him. +For Balacius himself, and Nestorius, the Eparch of Egypt, went out to +the first station from Alexandria, which is called Chæreas’s. +Both of them were riding on horses belonging to Balacius, and the most +gentle in all his stud: but before they had got to the place, the horses +began playing with each other, as is their wont, and suddenly the more +gentle of the two, on which Nestorius was riding, attacked Balacius +and pulled him off with his teeth, and so tore his thigh that he was +carried back to the city, and died in three days. And all wondered +that what Antony had so wonderfully foretold was so quickly fulfilled. +These were his warnings to the more cruel. But the rest who came +to him he so instructed that they gave up at once their lawsuits, and +blessed those who had retired from this life. And those who had +been unjustly used he so protected that you would think he and not they +was the sufferer. And he was so able to be of use to all; so that +many who were serving in the army, and many wealthy men, laid aside +the burdens of life and became thenceforth monks; and altogether he +was like a physician given by God to Egypt. For who met him grieving, +and did not go away rejoicing? Who came mourning over his dead, +and did not forthwith lay aside his grief? Who came wrathful, +and was not converted to friendship? What poor man came wearied +out, and when he saw and heard him did not despise wealth and comfort +himself in his poverty? What monk who had grown remiss, was not +strengthened by coming to him? What young man coming to the mountain +and looking upon Antony, did not forthwith renounce pleasure and love +temperance? Who came to him tempted by devils, and did not get +rest? Who came troubled by doubts, and did not get peace of mind? +For this was the great thing in Antony’s asceticism, that (as +I have said before), having the gift of discerning spirits, he understood +their movements, and knew in what direction each of them turned his +endeavours and his attacks. And not only he was not deceived by +them himself, but he taught those who were troubled in mind how they +might turn aside the plots of dæmons, teaching them the weakness +and the craft of their enemies. How many maidens, too, who had +been already betrothed, and only saw Antony from afar, remained unmarried +for Christ’s sake! Some, too, came from foreign parts to +him, and all, having gained some benefit, went back from him as from +a father. And now he has fallen asleep, all are as orphans who +have lost a parent, consoling themselves with his memory alone, keeping +his instructions and exhortations. But what the end of his life +was like, it is fit that I should relate, and you hear eagerly. +For it too is worthy of emulation. He was visiting, according +to his wont, the monks in the outer mountain, and having learned from +Providence concerning his own end, he said to the brethren, “This +visit to you is my last, and I wonder if we shall see each other again +in this life. It is time for me to set sail, for I am near a hundred +and five years old.” And when they heard that they wept, +and embraced and kissed the old man. And he, as if he was setting +out from a foreign city to his own, spoke joyfully, and exhorted them +not to grow idle in their labours or cowardly in their training, but +to live as those who died daily, and (as I said before) to be earnest +in keeping their souls from foul thoughts, and to emulate the saints, +and not to draw near the Meletian schismatics, for “ye know their +evil and profane determinations, nor to have any communion with the +Arians, for their impiety also is manifest to all. Neither if +ye shall see the magistrates patronising them, be troubled, for their +phantasy shall have an end, and is mortal and only for a little while. +Keep yourselves therefore rather clean from them, and hold that which +has been handed down to you by the fathers, and especially the faith +in our Lord Jesus Christ which ye have learned from Scripture, and of +which ye have often been reminded by me.” And when the brethren +tried to force him to stay with them and make his end there, he would +not endure it, on many accounts, as he showed by his silence; and especially +on this:—The Egyptians are wont to wrap in linen the corpses of +good persons, and especially of the holy martyrs, but not to bury them +underground, but to lay them upon benches and keep them in their houses; +<a name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77">{77}</a> thinking that +by this they honour the departed. Now Antony had often asked the +bishops to exhort the people about this, and in like manner he himself +rebuked the laity and terrified the women; saying that it was a thing +neither lawful nor in any way holy; for that the bodies of the patriarchs +and prophets are to this day preserved in sepulchres, and that the very +body of our Lord was laid in a sepulchre, and a stone placed over it +to hide it, till he rose the third day. And thus saying he showed +that those broke the law who did not bury the corpses of the dead, even +if they were holy; for what is greater or more holy than the Lord’s +body? Many, then, when they heard him, buried thenceforth underground; +and blessed the Lord that they had been taught rightly. Being +then aware of this, and afraid lest they should do the same by his body, +he hurried himself, and bade farewell to the monks in the outer mountain; +and coming to the inner mountain, where he was wont to abide, after +a few months he grew sick, and calling those who were by—and there +were two of them who had remained there within fifteen years, exercising +themselves and ministering to him on account of his old age—he +said to them, “I indeed go the way of the fathers, as it is written, +for I perceive that I am called by the Lord.” . . .</p> +<p>[Then follows a general exhortation to the monk, almost identical +with much that has gone before, and ending by a command that his body +should be buried in the ground.]</p> +<p>“And let this word of mine be kept by you, so that no one shall +know the place, save you alone, for I shall receive it (my body) incorruptible +from my Saviour in the resurrection of the dead. And distribute +my garments thus. To Athanasius the bishop give one of my sheepskins, +and the cloak under me, which was new when he gave it me, and has grown +old by me; and to Serapion the bishop give the other sheepskin; and +do you have the hair-cloth garment. And for the rest, children, +farewell, for Antony is going, and is with you no more.”</p> +<p>Saying thus, when they had embraced him, he stretched out his feet, +and, as if he saw friends coming to him, and grew joyful on their account +(for, as he lay, his countenance was bright), he departed and was gathered +to his fathers. And they forthwith, as he had commanded them, +preparing the body and wrapping it up, hid it under ground: and no one +knows to this day where it is hidden, save those two servants only. +And each (<i>i.e</i>. Athanasius and Serapion) having received +the sheepskin of the blessed Antony, and the cloak which he had worn +out, keeps them as a great possession. For he who looks on them, +as it were, sees Antony; and he who puts them on, wears them with joy, +as he does Antony’s counsels.</p> +<p>Such was the end of Antony in the body, and such the beginning of +his training. And if these things are small in comparison with +his virtue, yet reckon up from these things how great was Antony, the +man of God, who kept unchanged, from his youth up to so great an age, +the earnestness of his training; and was neither worsted in his old +age by the desire of more delicate food, nor on account of the weakness +of his body altered the quality of his garment, nor even washed his +feet with water; and yet remained uninjured in all his limbs: for his +eyes were undimmed and whole, so that he saw well; and not one of his +teeth had fallen out, but they were only worn down to his gums on account +of his great age; and he remained sound in hand and foot; and, in a +word, appeared ruddier and more ready for exertion than all who use +various meats and baths, and different dresses. But that this +man should be celebrated everywhere and wondered at by all, and regretted +even by those who never saw him, is a proof of his virtue, and that +his soul was dear to God. For Antony became known not by writings, +not from the wisdom that is from without, not by any art, but by piety +alone; and that this was the gift of God, none can deny. For how +as far as Spain, as Gaul, as Rome, as Africa, could he have been heard, +hidden as he was in a mountain, if it had not been for God, who makes +known his own men everywhere, and who had promised Antony this from +the beginning? For even if they do their deeds in secret, and +wish to be concealed, yet the Lord shows them as lights to all, that +so those who hear of them may know that the commandments suffice to +put men in the right way, and may grow zealous of the path of virtue.</p> +<p>Read then these things to the other brethren, that they may learn +what the life of monks should be, and may believe that the Lord Jesus +Christ our Saviour will glorify those who glorify him, and that those +who serve him to the end he will not only bring to the kingdom of heaven, +but that even if on earth they hide themselves and strive to get out +of the way, he will make them manifest and celebrated everywhere, for +the sake of their own virtue, and for the benefit of others. But +if need be, read this also to the heathens, that even thus they may +learn that our Lord Jesus Christ is not only Lord and the Son of God, +but that those who truly serve him, and believe piously on him, not +only prove that those dæmons whom the Greeks think are gods to +be no gods, but even tread them under foot, and chase them out as deceivers +and corrupters of men, through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom be glory +and honour for ever and ever. Amen.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Thus ends this strange story. What we are to think of the miracles +and wonders contained in it, will be discussed at a later point in this +book. Meanwhile there is a stranger story still connected with +the life of St. Antony. It professes to have been told by him +himself to his monks; and whatever groundwork of fact there may be in +it is doubtless his. The form in which we have it was given it +by the famous St. Jerome, who sends the tale as a letter to Asella, +one of the many noble Roman ladies whom he persuaded to embrace the +monastic life. The style is as well worth preserving as the matter. +Its ruggedness and awkwardness, its ambition and affectation, contrasted +with the graceful simplicity of Athanasius’s “Life of Antony,” +mark well the difference between the cultivated Greek and the ungraceful +and half-barbarous Roman of the later Empire. I have, therefore, +given it as literally as possible, that readers may judge for themselves +how some of the Great Fathers of the fifth century wrote, and what they +believed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE LIFE OF SAINT PAUL, THE FIRST HERMIT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>BY THE DIVINE HIERONYMUS THE PRIEST. (ST. JEROME.)</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>PROLOGUE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Many have often doubted by which of the monks the desert was first +inhabited. For some, looking for the beginnings of Monachism in +earlier ages, have deduced it from the blessed Elias and John; of whom +Elias seems to us to have been rather a prophet than a monk; and John +to have begun to prophesy before he was born. But others (an opinion +in which all the common people are agreed) assert that Antony was the +head of this rule of life, which is partly true. For he was not +so much himself the first of all, as the man who excited the earnestness +of all. But Amathas and Macarius, Antony’s disciples (the +former of whom buried his master’s body), even now affirm that +a certain Paul, a Theban, was the beginner of the matter; which (not +so much in name as in opinion) we also hold to be true. Some scatter +about, as the fancy takes them, both this and other stories; inventing +incredible tales of a man in a subterranean cave, hairy down to his +heels, and many other things, which it is tedious to follow out. +For, as their lie is shameless, their opinion does not seem worth refuting.</p> +<p>Therefore, because careful accounts of Antony, both in Greek and +Roman style, have been handed down, I have determined to write a little +about the beginning and end of Paul’s life; more because the matter +has been omitted, than trusting to my own wit. But how he lived +during middle life, or what stratagems of Satan he endured, is known +to none.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE LIFE OF PAUL</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Under Decius and Valerius, the persecutors, at the time when Cornelius +at Rome, and Cyprian at Carthage, were condemned in blessed blood, a +cruel tempest swept over many Churches in Egypt and the Thebaid.</p> +<p>Christian subjects in those days longed to be smitten with the sword +for the name of Christ. But the crafty enemy, seeking out punishments +which delayed death, longed to slay souls, not bodies. And as +Cyprian himself (who suffered by him) says: “When they longed +to die, they were not allowed to be slain.” In order to +make his cruelty better known, we have set down two examples for remembrance.</p> +<p>A martyr, persevering in the faith, and conqueror amid racks and +red-hot irons, he commanded to be anointed with honey and laid on his +back under a burning sun, with his hands tied behind him; in order, +forsooth, that he who had already conquered the fiery gridiron, might +yield to the stings of flies.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>In those days, in the Lower Thebaid, was Paul left at the death of +both his parents, in a rich inheritance, with a sister already married; +being about fifteen years old, well taught in Greek and Egyptian letters, +gentle tempered, loving God much; and, when the storm of persecution +burst, he withdrew into a distant city. But</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“To what dost thou not urge the human breast<br />Curst hunger +after gold?”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>His sister’s husband was ready to betray him whom he should +have concealed. Neither the tears of his wife, the tie of blood, +or God who looks on all things from on high, could call him back from +his crime. He was at hand, ready to seize him, making piety a +pretext for cruelty. The boy discovered it, and fled into the +desert hills. Once there he changed need into pleasure, and going +on, and then stopping awhile, again and again, reached at last a stony +cliff, at the foot whereof was, nigh at hand, a great cave, its mouth +closed with a stone. Having moved which away (as man’s longing +is to know the hidden), exploring more greedily, he sees within a great +hall, open to the sky above, but shaded by the spreading boughs of an +ancient palm; and in it a clear spring, the rill from which, flowing +a short space forth, was sucked up again by the same soil which had +given it birth. There were besides in that cavernous mountain +not a few dwellings, in which he saw rusty anvils and hammers, with +which coin had been stamped of old. For this place (so books say) +was the workshop for base coin in the days when Antony lived with Cleopatra.</p> +<p>Therefore, in this beloved dwelling, offered him as it were by God, +he spent all his life in prayer and solitude, while the palm-tree gave +him food and clothes; which lest it should seem impossible to some, +I call Jesus and his holy angels to witness that I have seen monks one +of whom, shut up for thirty years, lived on barley bread and muddy water; +another in an old cistern, which in the country speech they call the +Syrian’s bed, was kept alive on five figs each day. These +things, therefore, will seem incredible to those who do not believe; +for to those who do believe all things are possible.</p> +<p>But to return thither whence I digressed. When the blessed +Paul had been leading the heavenly life on earth for 113 years, and +Antony, ninety years old, was dwelling in another solitude, this thought +(so Antony was wont to assert) entered his mind—that no monk more +perfect than he had settled in the desert. But as he lay still +by night, it was revealed to him that there was another monk beyond +him far better than he, to visit whom he must set out. So when +the light broke, the venerable old man, supporting his weak limbs on +a staff, began to will to go, he knew not whither. And now the +mid day, with the sun roasting above, grew fierce; and yet he was not +turned from the journey he had begun, saying, “I trust in my God, +that he will show his servant that which he has promised.” +And as he spake, he sees a man half horse, to whom the poets have given +the name of Hippocentaur. Seeing whom, he crosses his forehead +with the salutary impression of the Cross, and, “Here!” +he says, “in what part here does a servant of God dwell?” +But he, growling I know not what barbarous sound, and grinding rather +than uttering, the words, attempted a courteous speech from lips rough +with bristles, and, stretching out his right hand, pointed to the way; +then, fleeing swiftly across the open plains, vanished from the eyes +of the wondering Antony. But whether the devil took this form +to terrify him; or whether the desert, fertile (as is its wont) in monstrous +animals, begets that beast likewise, we hold as uncertain.</p> +<p>So Antony, astonished, and thinking over what he had seen, goes forward. +Soon afterwards, he sees in a stony valley a short manikin, with crooked +nose and brow rough with horns, whose lower parts ended in goat’s +feet. Undismayed by this spectacle likewise, Antony seized, like +a good warrior, the shield of faith and habergeon of hope; the animal, +however, was bringing him dates, as food for his journey, and a pledge +of peace. When he saw that, Antony pushed on, and, asking him +who he was, was answered, “I am a mortal, and one of the inhabitants +of the desert, whom the Gentiles, deluded by various errors, worship +by the name of Fauns, Satyrs, and Incubi. I come as ambassador +from our herd, that thou mayest pray for us to the common God, who, +we know, has come for the salvation of the world, and his sound is gone +out into all lands.” As he spoke thus, the aged wayfarer +bedewed his face plenteously with tears, which the greatness of his +joy had poured forth as signs of his heart. For he rejoiced at +the glory of Christ, and the destruction of Satan; and, wondering at +the same time that he could understand the creature’s speech, +he smote on the ground with his staff, and said, “Woe to thee, +Alexandria, who worshippest portents instead of God! Woe to thee, +harlot city, into which all the demons of the world have flowed together! +What wilt thou say now? Beasts talk of Christ, and thou worshippest +portents instead of God.” He had hardly finished his words, +when the swift beast fled away as upon wings. Lest this should +move a scruple in any one on account of its incredibility, it was corroborated, +in the reign of Constantine, by the testimony of the whole world. +For a man of that kind, being led alive to Alexandria, afforded a great +spectacle to the people; and afterwards the lifeless carcase, being +salted lest it should decay in the summer heat, was brought to Antioch, +to be seen by the Emperor.</p> +<p>But—to go on with my tale—Antony went on through that +region, seeing only the tracks of wild beasts, and the wide waste of +the desert. What he should do, or whither turn, he knew not. +A second day had now run by. One thing remained, to be confident +that he could not be deserted by Christ. All night through he +spent a second darkness in prayer, and while the light was still dim, +he sees afar a she-wolf, panting with heat and thirst, creeping in at +the foot of the mountain. Following her with his eyes, and drawing +nigh to the cave when the beast was gone, he began to look in: but in +vain; for the darkness stopped his view. However, as the Scripture +saith, perfect love casteth out fear; with gentle step and bated breath +the cunning explorer entered, and going forward slowly, and stopping +often, watched for a sound. At length he saw afar off a light +through the horror of the darkness; hastened on more greedily; struck +his foot against a stone; and made a noise, at which the blessed Paul +shut and barred his door, which had stood open.</p> +<p>Then Antony, casting himself down before the entrance, prayed there +till the sixth hour, and more, to be let in, saying, “Who I am, +and whence, and why I am come, thou knowest. I know that I deserve +not to see thy face; yet, unless I see thee, I will not return. +Thou who receivest beasts, why repellest thou a man? I have sought, +and I have found. I knock, that it may be opened to me: which +if I win not, here will I die before thy gate. Surely thou shalt +at least bury my corpse.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Persisting thus he spoke, and stood there fixed:<br />To whom +the hero shortly thus replied.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“No one begs thus to threaten. No one does injury with +tears. And dost thou wonder why I do not let thee in, seeing thou +art a mortal guest?”</p> +<p>Then Paul, smiling, opened the door. They mingled mutual embraces, +and saluted each other by their names, and committed themselves in common +to the grace of God. And after the holy kiss, Paul sitting down +with Antony thus began—</p> +<p>“Behold him, whom thou hast sought with such labour; with limbs +decayed by age, and covered with unkempt white hair. Behold, thou +seest but a mortal, soon to become dust. But, because charity +bears all things, tell me, I pray thee, how fares the human race? whether +new houses are rising in the ancient cities? by what emperor is the +world governed? whether there are any left who are led captive by the +deceits of the devil?” As they spoke thus, they saw a raven +settle on a bough; who, flying gently down, laid, to their wonder, a +whole loaf before them. When he was gone, “Ah,” said +Paul, “the Lord, truly loving, truly merciful, hath sent us a +meal. For sixty years past I have received daily half a loaf, +but at thy coming Christ hath doubled his soldiers’ allowance.” +Then, having thanked God, they sat down on the brink of the glassy spring.</p> +<p>But here a contention arising as to which of them should break the +loaf, occupied the day till well-nigh evening. Paul insisted, +as the host; Antony declined, as the younger man. At last it was +agreed that they should take hold of the loaf at opposite ends, and +each pull towards himself, and keep what was left in his hand. +Next they stooped down, and drank a little water from the spring; then, +immolating to God the sacrifice of praise, passed the night watching.</p> +<p>And when day dawned again, the blessed Paul said to Antony, “I +knew long since, brother, that thou wert dwelling in these lands; long +since God had promised thee to me as a fellow servant: but because the +time of my falling asleep is now come, and (because I always longed +to depart, and to be with Christ) there is laid up for me when I have +finished my course a crown of righteousness; therefore thou art sent +from the Lord to cover my corpse with mould, and give back dust to dust.”</p> +<p>Antony, hearing this, prayed him with tears and groans not to desert +him, but take him as his companion on such a journey. But he said, +“Thou must not seek the things which are thine own, but the things +of others. It is expedient for thee, indeed, to cast off the burden +of the flesh, and to follow the Lamb: but it is expedient for the rest +of the brethren that they should be still trained by thine example. +Wherefore go, unless it displease thee, and bring the cloak which Athanasius +the bishop gave thee, to wrap up my corpse.” But this the +blessed Paul asked, not because he cared greatly whether his body decayed +covered or bare (as one who for so long a time was used to clothe himself +with woven palm leaves), but that Antony’s grief at his death +might be lightened when he left him. Antony astounded that he +had heard of Athanasius and his own cloak, seeing as it were Christ +in Paul, and venerating the God within his breast, dared answer nothing: +but keeping in silence, and kissing his eyes and hands, returned to +the monastery, which afterwards was occupied by the Saracens. +His steps could not follow his spirit; but, although his body was empty +with fastings, and broken with old age, yet his courage conquered his +years. At last, tired and breathless, he arrived at home. +There two disciples met him, who had been long sent to minister to him, +and asked him, “Where hast thou tarried so long, father?” +He answered, “Woe to me a sinner, who falsely bear the name of +a monk. I have seen Elias; I have seen John in the desert; I have +truly seen Paul in Paradise;” and so, closing his lips, and beating +his breast, he took the cloak from his cell, and when his disciples +asked him to explain more fully what had befallen, he said, “There +is a time to be silent, and a time to speak.” Then going +out, and not taking even a morsel of food, he returned by the way he +had come. For he feared—what actually happened—lest +Paul in his absence should render up the soul he owed to Christ.</p> +<p>And when the second day had shone, and he had retraced his steps +for three hours, he saw amid hosts of angels, amid the choirs of prophets +and apostles, Paul shining white as snow, ascending up on high; and +forthwith falling on his face, he cast sand on his head, and weeping +and wailing, said, “Why dost thou dismiss me, Paul? Why +dost thou depart without a farewell? So late known, dost thou +vanish so soon?” The blessed Antony used to tell afterwards, +how he ran the rest of the way so swiftly that he flew like a bird. +Nor without cause. For entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, +erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. And +at first, thinking that it still lived, he prayed in like wise. +But when he heard no sighs (as usual) come from the worshipper’s +breast, he fell to a tearful kiss, understanding how the very corpse +of the saint was praying, in seemly attitude, to that God to whom all +live.</p> +<p>So, having wrapped up and carried forth the corpse, and chanting +hymns of the Christian tradition, Antony grew sad, because he had no +spade, wherewith to dig the ground; and thinking over many plans in +his mind, said, “If I go back to the monastery, it is a three +days’ journey. If I stay here, I shall be of no more use. +I will die, then, as it is fit; and, falling beside thy warrior, Christ, +breathe my last breath.”</p> +<p>As he was thinking thus to himself, lo! two lions came running from +the inner part of the desert, their manes tossing on their necks; seeing +whom he shuddered at first; and then, turning his mind to God, remained +fearless, as though he were looking upon doves. They came straight +to the corpse of the blessed old man, and crouched at his feet, wagging +their tails, and roaring with mighty growls, so that Antony understood +them to lament, as best they could. Then not far off they began +to claw the ground with their paws, and, carrying out the sand eagerly, +dug a place large enough to hold a man: then at once, as if begging +a reward for their work, they came to Antony, drooping their necks, +and licking his hands and feet. But he perceived that they prayed +a blessing from him; and at once, bursting into praise of Christ, because +even dumb animals felt that he was God, he saith, “Lord, without +whose word not a leaf of the tree drops, nor one sparrow falls to the +ground, give to them as thou knowest how to give.” And, +signing to them with his hand, he bade them go.</p> +<p>And when they had departed, he bent his aged shoulders to the weight +of the holy corpse; and laying it in the grave, heaped earth on it, +and raised a mound as is the wont. And when another dawn shone, +lest the pious heir should not possess aught of the goods of the intestate +dead, he kept for himself the tunic which Paul had woven, as baskets +are made, out of the leaves of the palm; and returning to the monastery, +told his disciples all throughout; and, on the solemn days of Easter +and Pentecost, always clothed himself in Paul’s tunic.</p> +<p>I am inclined, at the end of my treatise, to ask those who know not +the extent of their patrimonies; who cover their houses with marbles; +who sew the price of whole farms into their garments with a single thread—What +was ever wanting to this naked old man? Ye drink from a gem; he +satisfied nature from the hollow of his hands. Ye weave gold into +your tunics; he had not even the vilest garment of your bond-slave. +But, on the other hand, to that poor man Paradise is open; you, gilded +as you are, Gehenna will receive. He, though naked, kept the garment +of Christ; you, clothed in silk, have lost Christ’s robe. +Paul lies covered with the meanest dust, to rise in glory; you are crushed +by wrought sepulchres of stone, to burn with all your works. Spare, +I beseech you, yourselves; spare, at least, the riches which you love. +Why do you wrap even your dead in golden vestments? Why does not +ambition stop amid grief and tears? Cannot the corpses of the +rich decay, save in silk? I beseech thee, whosoever thou art that +readest this, to remember Hieronymus the sinner, who, if the Lord gave +him choice, would much sooner choose Paul’s tunic with his merits, +than the purple of kings with their punishments.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This is the story of Paul and Antony, as told by Jerome. But, +in justice to Antony himself, it must be said that the sayings recorded +of him seem to show that he was not the mere visionary ascetic which +his biographers have made him. Some twenty sermons are attributed +to him, seven of which only are considered to be genuine. A rule +for monks, too, is called his: but, as it is almost certain that he +could neither read nor write, we have no proof that any of these documents +convey his actual language. If the seven sermons attributed to +him be really his, it must be said for them that they are full of sound +doctrine and vital religion, and worthy, as wholes, to be preached in +any English church, if we only substitute for the word “monk,” +the word “man.”</p> +<p>But there are records of Antony which represent him as a far more +genial and human personage; full of a knowledge of human nature, and +of a tenderness and sympathy, which account for his undoubted power +over the minds of men; and showing, too, at times, a certain covert +and “pawky” humour which puts us in mind, as does the humour +of many of the Egyptian hermits, of the old-fashioned Scotch. +These reminiscences are contained in the “Words of the Elders,” +a series of anecdotes of the desert fathers collected by various hands; +which are, after all, the most interesting and probably the most trustworthy +accounts of them and their ways. I shall have occasion to quote +them later. I insert here some among them which relate to Antony.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>SAYINGS OF ANTONY, FROM THE “WORDS OF THE ELDERS.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>A monk gave away his wealth to the poor, but kept back some for himself. +Antony said to him, “Go to the village and buy meat, and bring +it to me on thy bare back.” He did so: and the dogs and +birds attacked him, and tore him as well as the meat. Quoth Antony, +“So are those who renounce the world, and yet must needs have +money, torn by dæmons.”</p> +<p>Antony heard high praise of a certain brother; but, when he tested +him, he found that he was impatient under injury. Quoth Antony, +“Thou art like a house which has a gay porch, but is broken into +by thieves through the back door.”</p> +<p>Antony, as he sat in the desert, was weary in heart, and said, “Lord, +I long to be saved, but my wandering thoughts will not let me. +Show me what I shall do.” And looking up, he saw one like +himself twisting ropes, and rising up to pray. And the angel (for +it was one) said to him, “Work like me, Antony, and you shall +be saved.”</p> +<p>One asked him how he could please God. Quoth Antony, “Have +God always before thine eyes; whatever work thou doest, take example +for it out of Holy Scripture: wherever thou stoppest, do not move thence +in a hurry, but abide there in patience. If thou keepest these +three things, thou shalt be saved.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “If the baker did not cover the mill-horse’s +eyes he would eat the corn, and take his own wages. So God covers +our eyes, by leaving us to sordid thoughts, lest we should think of +our own good works, and be puffed up in spirit.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “I saw all the snares of the enemy spread over +the whole earth. And I sighed, and said, ‘Who can pass through +these?’ And a voice came to me, saying, ‘Humility +alone can pass through, Antony, where the proud can in no wise go.’”</p> +<p>Antony was sitting in his cell, and a voice said to him, “Thou +hast not yet come to the stature of a currier, who lives in Alexandria.” +Then he took his staff, and went down to Alexandria; and the currier, +when he found him, was astonished at seeing so great a man. Said +Antony, “Tell me thy works; for on thy account have I come out +of the desert.” And he answered, “I know not that +I ever did any good; and, therefore, when I rise in the morning, I say +that this whole city, from the greatest to the least, will enter into +the kingdom of God for their righteousness: while I, for my sins, shall +go to eternal pain. And this I say over again, from the bottom +of my heart, when I lie down at night.” When Antony heard +that, he said, “Like a good goldsmith, thou hast gained the kingdom +of God sitting still in thy house; while I, as one without discretion, +have been haunting the desert all my time, and yet not arrived at the +measure of thy saying.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “If a monk could tell his elders how many steps +he walks, or how many cups of water he drinks, in his cell, he ought +to tell them, for fear of going wrong therein.”</p> +<p>At Alexandria, Antony met one Didymus, most learned in the Scriptures, +witty, and wise: but he was blind. Antony asked him, “Art +thou not grieved at thy blindness?” He was silent: but being +pressed by Antony, he confessed that he was sad thereat. Quoth +Antony, “I wonder that a prudent man grieves over the loss of +a thing which ants, and flies, and gnats have, instead of rejoicing +in that possession which the holy Apostles earned. For it is better +to see with the spirit than with the flesh.”</p> +<p>A Father asked Antony, “What shall I do?” Quoth +the old man, “Trust not in thine own righteousness; regret not +the thing which is past; bridle thy tongue and thy stomach.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “He who sits still in the desert is safe from +three enemies: from hearing, from speech, from sight: and has to fight +against only one, his own heart.”</p> +<p>A young monk came and told Antony how he had seen some old men weary +on their journey, and had bidden the wild asses to come and carry him, +and they came. Quoth Antony, “That monk looks to me like +a ship laden with a precious cargo; but whether it will get into port +is uncertain.” And after some days he began to tear his +hair and weep; and when they asked him why, he said, “A great +pillar of the Church has just fallen;” and he sent brothers to +see the young man, and found him sitting on his mat, weeping over a +great sin which he had done; and he said, “Tell Antony to give +me ten days’ truce, and I hope I shall satisfy him;” and +in five days he was dead.</p> +<p>Abbot Elias fell into temptation, and the brethren drove him out. +Then he went to the mountain to Antony. After awhile, Antony sent +him home to his brethren; but they would not receive him. Then +the old man sent to them, and saying, “A ship has been wrecked +at sea, and lost all its cargo; and, with much toil, the ship is come +empty to land. Will you sink it again in the sea?” +So they took Elias back.</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “There are some who keep their bodies in abstinence: +but, because they have no discretion, they are far from God.”</p> +<p>A hunter came by, and saw Antony rejoicing with the brethren, and +it displeased him. Quoth Antony, “Put an arrow in thy bow, +and draw;” and he did. Quoth Antony, “Draw higher;” +and again, “Draw higher still.” And he said, “If +I overdraw, I shall break my bow.” Quoth Antony, “So +it is in the work of God. If we stretch the brethren beyond measure, +they fail.”</p> +<p>A brother said to Antony, “Pray for me.” Quoth +he, “I cannot pity thee, nor God either, unless thou pitiest thyself, +and prayest to God.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “The Lord does not permit wars to arise in this +generation, because he knows that men are weak, and cannot bear them.”</p> +<p>Antony, as he considered the depths of the judgments of God, failed; +and said, “Lord, why do some die so early, and some live on to +a decrepit age? Why are some needy, and others rich? Why +are the unjust wealthy, and the just poor?” And a voice +came to him, “Antony, look to thyself. These are the judgments +of God, which are not fit for thee to know.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony to Abbot Pastor, “This is a man’s great +business—to lay each man his own fault on himself before the Lord, +and to expect temptation to the last day of his life.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “If a man works a few days, and then is idle, +and works again and is idle again, he does nothing, and will not possess +the perseverance of patience.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony to his disciples, “If you try to keep silence, +do not think that you are exercising a virtue, but that you are unworthy +to speak.”</p> +<p>Certain old men came once to Antony; and he wished to prove them, +and began to talk of holy Scripture, and to ask them, beginning at the +youngest, what this and that text meant. And each answered as +best they could. But he kept on saying, “You have not yet +found it out.” And at last he asked Abbot Joseph, “And +what dost thou think this text means?” Quoth Abbot Joseph, +“I do not know.” Quoth Antony, “Abbot Joseph +alone has found out the way, for he says he does not know it.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “I do not now fear God, but love Him, for love +drives out fear.”</p> +<p>He said again, “Life and death are very near us; for if we +gain our brother, we gain God: but if we cause our brother to offend, +we sin against Christ.”</p> +<p>A philosopher asked Antony, “How art thou content, father, +since thou hast not the comfort of books?” Quoth Antony, +“My book is the nature of created things. In it, when I +choose, I can read the words of God.”</p> +<p>Brethren came to Antony, and asked of him a saying by which they +might be saved. Quoth he, “Ye have heard the Scriptures, +and know what Christ requires of you.” But they begged that +he would tell them something of his own. Quoth he, “The +Gospel says, ‘If a man smite you on one cheek, turn to him the +other.’” But they said that they could not do that. +Quoth he, “You cannot turn the other cheek to him? Then +let him smite you again on the same one.” But they said +they could not do that either. Then said he, “If you cannot, +at least do not return evil for evil.” And when they said +that neither could they do that, quoth Antony to his disciples, “Go, +get them something to eat, for they are very weak.” And +he said to them, “If you cannot do the one, and will not have +the other, what do you want? As I see, what you want is prayer. +That will heal your weakness.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “He who would be free from his sins must be so +by weeping and mourning; and he who would be built up in virtue must +be built up by tears.”</p> +<p>Quoth Antony, “When the stomach is full of meat, forthwith +the great vices bubble out, according to that which the Saviour says: +‘That which entereth into the mouth defileth not a man; but that +which cometh out of the heart sinks a man in destruction.’”</p> +<p>[This may be a somewhat paradoxical application of the text: but +the last anecdote of Antony which I shall quote is full of wisdom and +humanity.]</p> +<p>A monk came from Alexandria, Eulogius by name, bringing with him +a man afflicted with elephantiasis. Now Eulogius had been a scholar, +learned, and rich, and had given away all he had save a very little, +which he kept because he could not work with his own hands.</p> +<p>And he told Antony how he had found that wretched man lying in the +street fifteen years before, having lost then nearly every member save +his tongue, and how he had taken him home to his cell, nursed him, bathed +him, physicked him, fed him; and how the man had returned him nothing +save slanders, curses, and insults; how he had insisted on having meat, +and had had it; and on going out in public, and had company brought +to him; and how he had at last demanded to be put down again whence +he had been taken, always cursing and slandering. And now Eulogius +could bear the man no longer, and was minded to take him at his word.</p> +<p>Then said Antony with an angry voice, “Wilt thou cast him out, +Eulogius? He who remembers that he made him, will not cast him +out. If thou cast him out, he will find a better friend than thee. +God will choose some one who will take him up when he is cast away.” +Eulogius was terrified at these words, and held his peace.</p> +<p>Then went Antony to the sick man, and shouted at him, “Thou +elephantiac, foul with mud and dirt, not worthy of the third heaven, +wilt thou not stop shouting blasphemies against God? Dost thou +not know that he who ministers to thee is Christ? How darest thou +say such things against Christ?” And he bade Eulogius and +the sick man go back to their cell, and live in peace, and never part +more. Both went back, and, after forty days, Eulogius died, and +the sick man shortly after, “altogether whole in spirit.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>HILARION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I would gladly, did space allow, give more biographies from among +those of the Egyptian hermits: but it seems best, having shown the reader +Antony as the father of Egyptian monachism, to go on to his great pupil +Hilarion, the father of monachism in Palestine. His life stands +written at length by St. Jerome, who himself died a monk at Bethlehem; +and is composed happily in a less ambitious and less rugged style than +that of Paul, not without elements of beauty, even of tragedy.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>PROLOGUE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Remember me in thy holy prayers, glory and honour of virgins, nun +Asella. Before beginning to write the life of the blessed Hilarion, +I invoke the Holy Spirit which dwelt in him, that, as he largely bestowed +virtues on Hilarion, he may give to me speech wherewith to relate them; +so that his deeds may be equalled by my language. For those who +(as Crispus says) “have wrought virtues” are held to have +been worthily praised in proportion to the words in which famous intellects +have been able to extol them. Alexander the Great, the Macedonian +(whom Daniel calls either the brass, or the leopard, or the he-goat), +on coming to the tomb of Achilles, “Happy art thou, youth,” +he said, “who hast been blest with a great herald of thy worth”—meaning +Homer. But I have to tell the conversation and life of such and +so great a man, that even Homer, were he here, would either envy my +matter, or succumb under it.</p> +<p>For although St. Epiphanius, bishop of Salamina in Cyprus, who had +much intercourse with Hilarion, has written his praise in a short epistle, +which is commonly read, yet it is one thing to praise the dead in general +phrases, another to relate his special virtues. We therefore set +to work rather to his advantage than to his injury; and despise those +evil-speakers who lately carped at Paul, and will perhaps now carp at +my Hilarion, unjustly blaming the former for his solitary life, and +the latter for his intercourse with men; in order that the one, who +was never seen, may be supposed not to have existed; the other, who +was seen by many, may be held cheap. This was the way of their +ancestors likewise, the Pharisees, who were neither satisfied with John’s +desert life and fasting, nor with the Lord Saviour’s public life, +eating and drinking. But I shall lay my hand to the work which +I have determined, and pass by, with stopped ears, the hounds of Scylla. +I pray that thou mayest persevere in Christ, and be mindful of me in +thy prayers, most sacred virgin.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE LIFE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Hilarion was born in the village of Thabatha, which lies about five +miles to the south of Gaza, in Palestine. He had parents given +to the worship of idols, and blossomed (as the saying is) a rose among +the thorns. Sent by them to Alexandria, he was entrusted to a +grammarian, and there, as far as his years allowed, gave proof of great +intellect and good morals. He was soon dear to all, and skilled +in the art of speaking. And, what is more than all, he believed +in the Lord Jesus, and delighted neither in the madness of the circus, +in the blood of the arena, or in the luxury of the theatre: but all +his heart was in the congregation of the Church.</p> +<p>But hearing the then famous name of Antony, which was carried throughout +all Egypt, he was fired with a longing to visit him, and went to the +desert. As soon as he saw him he changed his dress, and stayed +with him about two months, watching the order of his life, and the purity +of his manner; how frequent he was in prayers, how humble in receiving +brethren, severe in reproving them, eager in exhorting them; and how +no infirmity ever broke through his continence, and the coarseness of +his food. But, unable to bear longer the crowd which assembled +round Antony, for various diseases and attacks of devils, he said that +it was not consistent to endure in the desert the crowds of cities, +but that he must rather begin where Antony had begun. Antony, +as a valiant man, was receiving the reward of victory: he had not yet +begun to serve as a soldier. He returned, therefore, with certain +monks to his own country; and, finding his parents dead, gave away part +of his substance to the brethren, part to the poor, and kept nothing +at all for himself, fearing what is told in the Acts of the Apostles, +the example or punishment, of Ananias and Sapphira; and especially mindful +of the Lord’s saying—“He that leaveth not all that +he hath, he cannot be my disciple.”</p> +<p>He was then fifteen years old. So, naked, but armed in Christ, +he entered the desert, which, seven miles from Maiuma, the port of Gaza, +turns away to the left of those who go along the shore towards Egypt. +And though the place was blood-stained by robbers, and his relations +and friends warned him of the imminent danger, he despised death, in +order to escape death. All wondered at his spirit, wondered at +his youth. Save that a certain fire of the bosom and spark of +faith glittered in his eyes, his cheeks were smooth, his body delicate +and thin, unable to bear any injury, and liable to be overcome by even +a light chill or heat.</p> +<p>So, covering his limbs only with a sackcloth, and having a cloak +of skin, which the blessed Antony had given him at starting, and a rustic +cloak, between the sea and the swamp, he enjoyed the vast and terrible +solitude, feeding on only fifteen figs after the setting of the sun; +and because the region was, as has been said above, of ill-repute from +robberies, no man had ever stayed before in that place. The devil, +seeing what he was doing and whither he had gone, was tormented. +And though he, who of old boasted, saying, “I shall ascend into +heaven, I shall sit above the stars of heaven, and shall be like unto +the Most High,” now saw that he had been conquered by a boy, and +trampled under foot by him, ere, on account of his youth, he could commit +sin. He therefore began to tempt his senses; but he, enraged with +himself, and beating his breast with his fist, as if he could drive +out thoughts by blows, “I will force thee, mine ass,” said +he, “not to kick; and feed thee with straw, not barley. +I will wear thee out with hunger and thirst; I will burden thee with +heavy loads; I will hunt thee through heat and cold, till thou thinkest +more of food than of play.” He therefore sustained his fainting +spirit with the juice of herbs and a few figs, after each three or four +days, praying frequently, and singing psalms, and digging the ground +with a mattock, to double the labour of fasting by that of work. +At the same time, by weaving baskets of rushes, he imitated the discipline +of the Egyptian monks, and the Apostle’s saying—“He +that will not work, neither let him eat”—till he was so +attenuated, and his body so exhausted, that it scarce clung to his bones.</p> +<p>One night he began to hear the crying <a name="citation108"></a><a href="#footnote108">{108}</a> +of infants, the bleating of sheep, the wailing of women, the roaring +of lions, the murmur of an army, and utterly portentous and barbarous +voices; so that he shrank frightened by the sound ere he saw aught. +He understood these to be the insults of devils; and, falling on his +knees, he signed the cross of Christ on his forehead, and armed with +that helmet, and girt with the breastplate of faith, he fought more +valiantly as he lay, longing somehow to see what he shuddered to hear, +and looking round him with anxious eyes: when, without warning, by the +bright moonshine he saw a chariot with fiery horses rushing upon him. +But when he had called on Jesus, the earth opened suddenly, and the +whole pomp was swallowed up before his eyes. Then said he, “The +horse and his rider he hath drowned in the sea;” and “Some +glory themselves in chariots, and some in horses: but we in the name +of the Lord our God.” Many were his temptations, and various, +by day and night, the snares of the devils. If we were to tell +them all, they would make the volume too long. How often did women +appear to him; how often plenteous banquets when he was hungry. +Sometimes as he prayed, a howling wolf ran past him, or a barking fox; +or as he sang, a fight of gladiators made a show for him: and one of +them, as if slain, falling at his feet, prayed for sepulture. +He prayed once with his head bowed to the ground, and—as is the +nature of man—his mind wandered from his prayer, and thought of +I know not what, when a mocking rider leaped on his back, and spurring +his sides, and whipping his neck, “Come,” he cries, “come, +run! why do you sleep?” and, laughing loudly over him, asked him +if he were tired, or would have a feed of barley.</p> +<p>So from his sixteenth to his twentieth year, he was sheltered from +the heat and rain in a tiny cabin, which he had woven of rush and sedge. +Afterwards he built a little cell, which remains to this day, four feet +wide and five feet high—that is, lower than his own stature—and +somewhat longer than his small body needed, so that you would believe +it to be a tomb rather than a dwelling. He cut his hair only once +a year, on Easter-day, and lay till his death on the bare ground and +a layer of rushes, never washing the sack in which he was clothed, and +saying that it was superfluous to seek for cleanliness in haircloth. +Nor did he change his tunic, till the first was utterly in rags. +He knew the Scriptures by heart, and recited them after his prayers +and psalms as if God were present. And, because it would take +up too much time to tell his great deeds one by one, I will give a short +account of them.</p> +<p>[Then follows a series of miracles, similar to those attributed to +St. Antony, and, indeed, to all these great Hermit Fathers. But +it is unnecessary to relate more wonders which the reader cannot be +expected to believe. These miracles, however, according to St. +Jerome, were the foundations of Hilarion’s fame and public career. +For he says, “When they were noised abroad, people flowed to him +eagerly from Syria to Egypt, so that many believed in Christ, and professed +themselves to be monks—for no one had known of a monk in Syria +before the holy Hilarion. He was the first founder and teacher +of this conversation and study in the province. The Lord Jesus +had in Egypt the old man Antony; he had in Palestine the young Hilarion +. . . He was raised, indeed, by the Lord to such a glory, that +the blessed Antony, hearing of his conversation, wrote to him, and willingly +received his letters; and if rich people came to him from the parts +of Syria, he said to them, ‘Why have you chosen to trouble yourselves +by coming so far, when you have at home my son Hilarion?’ +So by his example innumerable monasteries arose throughout all Palestine, +and all monks came eagerly to him . . . But what a care he had, not +to pass by any brother, however humble or however poor, may be shown +by this; that once going into the Desert of Kadesh, to visit one of +his disciples, he came, with an infinite crowd of monks, to Elusa, on +the very day, as it chanced, on which a yearly solemnity had gathered +all the people of the town to the Temple of Venus; for they honour her +on account of the morning star, to the worship of which the nation of +the Saracens is devoted. The town itself too is said to be in +great part semi-barbarous, on account of its remote situation. +Hearing, then, that the holy Hilarion was passing by—for he had +often cured Saracens possessed with dæmons—they came out +to meet him in crowds, with their wives and children, bowing their necks, +and crying in the Syrian tongue, ‘Barech!’ that is, ‘Bless!’ +He received them courteously and humbly, entreating them to worship +God rather than stones, and wept abundantly, looking up to heaven, and +promising them that, if they would believe in Christ, he would come +oftener to them. Wonderful was the grace of the Lord. They +would not let him depart till he had laid the foundations of a future +church, and their priest, crowned as he was, had been consecrated with +the sign of Christ.</p> +<p>*******</p> +<p>He was now sixty-three years old. He saw about him a great +monastery, a multitude of brethren, and crowds who came to be healed +of diseases and unclean spirits, filling the solitude around; but he +wept daily, and remembered with incredible regret his ancient life. +“I have returned to the world,” he said, “and received +my reward in this life. All Palestine and the neighbouring provinces +think me to be worth somewhat; while I possess a farm and household +goods, under the pretext of the brethren’s advantage.” +On which the brethren, and especially Hesychius, who bore him a wondrous +love, watched him narrowly.</p> +<p>When he had lived thus sadly for two years, Aristæneta, the +Prefect’s wife, came to him, wishing him to go with her to Antony, +“I would go,” he said, weeping, “if I were not held +in the prison of this monastery, and if it were of any use. For +two days since, the whole world was robbed of such a father.” +She believed him, and stopped. And Antony’s death was confirmed +a few days after. Others may wonder at the signs and portents +which he did, at his incredible abstinence, his silence, his miracles: +I am astonished at nothing so much as that he was able to trample under +foot that glory and honour.</p> +<p>Bishops and clergy, monks and Christian matrons (a great temptation), +people of the common sort, great men, too, and judges crowded to him, +to receive from him blessed bread or oil. But he was thinking +of nothing but the desert, till one day he determined to set out, and +taking an ass (for he was so shrunk with fasting that he could hardly +walk), he tried to go his way. The news got wind; the desolation +and destruction of Palestine would ensue; ten thousand souls, men and +women, tried to stop his way; but he would not hear them. Smiting +on the ground with his staff, he said, “I will not make my God +a liar. I cannot bear to see churches ruined, the altars of Christ +trampled down, the blood of my sons spilt.” All who heard +thought that some secret revelation had been made to him: but yet they +would not let him go. Whereon he would neither eat nor drink, +and for seven days he persevered fasting, till he had his wish, and +set out for Bethulia, with forty monks, who could march without food +till sundown. On the fifth day he came to Pelusium, then to the +camp Thebatrum, to see Dracontius; and then to Babylon to see Philo. +These two were bishops and confessors exiled by Constantius, who favoured +the Arian heresy. Then he came to Aphroditon, where he met Barsanes +the deacon, who used to carry water to Antony on dromedaries, and heard +from him that the anniversary Antony’s death was near, and would +be celebrated by a vigil at his tomb. Then through a vast and +horrible wilderness, he went for three days to a very high mountain, +and found there two monks, Isaac and Pelusianus, of whom Isaac had been +Antony’s interpreter.</p> +<p>A high and rocky hill it was, with fountains gushing out at its foot. +Some of them the sand sucked up; some formed a little rill, with palms +without number on its banks. There you might have seen the old +man wandering to and fro with Antony’s disciples. “Here,” +they said, “he used to sing, here to pray, here to work, here +to sit when tired. These vines, these shrubs, he planted himself; +that plot he laid out with his own hands. This pond to water the +garden he made with heavy toil; that hoe he kept for many years.” +Hilarion lay on his bed, and kissed the couch, as if it were still warm. +Antony’s cell was only large enough to let a man lie down in it; +and on the mountain top, reached by a difficult and winding stair, were +two other cells of the same size, cut in the stony rock, to which he +used to retire from the visitors and disciples, when they came to the +garden. “You see,” said Isaac, “this orchard, +with shrubs and vegetables. Three years since a troop of wild +asses laid it waste. He bade one of their leaders stop; and beat +it with his staff. ‘Why do you eat,’ he asked it, +‘what you did not sow?’ And after that the asses, +though they came to drink the waters, never touched his plants.”</p> +<p>Then Hilarion asked them to show him Antony’s grave. +They led him apart; but whether they showed it to him, no man knows. +They hid it, they said, by Antony’s command, lest one Pergamius, +who was the richest man of those parts, should take the corpse to his +villa, and build a chapel over it.</p> +<p>Then he went back to Aphroditon, and with only two brothers, dwelt +in the desert, in such abstinence and silence that (so he said) he then +first began to serve Christ. Now it was then three years since +the heaven had been shut, and the earth dried up: so that they said +commonly, the very elements mourned the death of Antony. But Hilarion’s +fame spread to them; and a great multitude, brown and shrunken with +famine, cried to him for rain, as to the blessed Antony’s successor. +He saw them, and grieved over them; and lifting up his hand to heaven, +obtained rain at once. But the thirsty and sandy land, as soon +as it was watered by showers, sent forth such a crowd of serpents and +venomous animals that people without number were stung, and would have +died, had they not run together to Hilarion. With oil blessed +by him, the husbandmen and shepherds touched their wounds, and all were +surely healed.</p> +<p>But when he saw that he was marvellously honoured, he went to Alexandria, +meaning to cross the desert to the further oasis. And because +since he was a monk he had never stayed in a city, he turned aside to +some brethren known to him in the Brucheion <a name="citation115"></a><a href="#footnote115">{115}</a> +not far from Alexandria. They received him with joy: but, when +night came on, they suddenly heard him bid his disciples saddle the +ass. In vain they entreated, threw themselves across the threshold. +His only answer was, that he was hastening away, lest he should bring +them into trouble; they would soon know that he had not departed without +good reason. The next day, men of Gaza came with the Prefect’s +lictors, burst into the monastery, and when they found him not—“Is +it not true,” they said, “what we heard? He is a sorcerer, +and knows the future.” For the citizens of Gaza, after Hilarion +was gone, and Julian had succeeded to the empire, had destroyed his +monastery, and begged from the Emperor the death of Hilarion and Hesychius. +So letters had been sent forth, to seek them throughout the world.</p> +<p>So Hilarion went by the pathless wilderness into the Oasis; <a name="citation116"></a><a href="#footnote116">{116}</a> +and after a year, more or less—because his fame had gone before +him even there, and he could not lie hid in the East—he was minded +to sail away to lonely islands, that the sea at least might hide what +the land would not.</p> +<p>But just then Hadrian, his disciple, came from Palestine, telling +him that Julian was slain, and that a Christian emperor was reigning; +so that he ought to return to the relics of his monastery. But +he abhorred the thought; and, hiring a camel, went over the vast desert +to Parætonia, a sea town of Libya. Then the wretched Hadrian, +wishing to go back to Palestine and get himself glory under his master’s +name, packed up all that the brethren had sent by him to his master, +and went secretly away. But—as a terror to those who despise +their masters—he shortly after died of jaundice.</p> +<p>Then, with Zananas alone, Hilarion went on board ship to sail for +Sicily. And when, almost in the middle of Adria, <a name="citation117a"></a><a href="#footnote117a">{117a}</a> +he was going to sell the Gospels which he had written out with his own +hand when young, to pay his fare withal, then the captain’s son +was possessed with a devil, and cried out, “Hilarion, servant +of God, why can we not be safe from thee even at sea? Give me +a little respite till I come to the shore, lest, if I be cast out here, +I fall headlong into the abyss.” Then said he, “If +my God lets thee stay, stay. But if he cast thee out, why dost +thou lay the blame on me, a sinner and a beggar?” Then he +made the captain and the crew promise not to betray him: and the devil +was cast out. But the captain would take no fare when he saw that +they had nought but those Gospels, and the clothes on their backs. +And so Hilarion came to Pachynum, a cape of Sicily, <a name="citation117b"></a><a href="#footnote117b">{117b}</a> +and fled twenty miles inland into a deserted farm; and there every day +gathered a bundle of firewood, and put it on Zananas’s back, who +took it to the town, and bought a little bread thereby.</p> +<p>But it happened, according to that which is written, “A city +set on an hill cannot be hid,” one Scutarius was tormented by +a devil in the Basilica of St. Peter at Rome; and the unclean spirit +cried out in him, “A few days since Hilarion, the servant of Christ, +landed in Sicily, and no man knows him, and he thinks himself hid. +I will go and betray him.” And forthwith he took ship with +his slaves, and came to Pachynum, and, by the leading of the devil, +threw himself down before the old man’s hut, and was cured.</p> +<p>The frequency of his signs in Sicily drew to him sick people and +religious men in multitudes; and one of the chief men was cured of dropsy +the same day that he came, and offered Hilarion boundless gifts: but +he obeyed the Saviour’s saying, “Freely ye have received; +freely give.”</p> +<p>While this was happening in Sicily, Hesychius, his disciple, was +seeking the old man through the world, searching the shores, penetrating +the desert, and only certain that, wherever he was, he could not long +be hid. So, after three years were past, he heard at Methone <a name="citation118"></a><a href="#footnote118">{118}</a> +from a Jew, who was selling old clothes, that a prophet of the Christians +had appeared in Sicily, working such wonders that he was thought to +be one of the old saints. But he could give no description of +him, having only heard common report. He sailed for Pachynum, +and there, in a cottage on the shore, heard of Hilarion’s fame—that +which most surprised all being that, after so many signs and miracles, +he had not accepted even a bit of bread from any man.</p> +<p>So, “not to make the story too long,” as says St. Jerome, +Hesychius fell at his master’s knees, and watered his feet with +tears, till at last he raised him up. But two or three days after +he heard from Zananas, how the old man could dwell no longer in these +regions, but was minded to go to some barbarous nation, where both his +name and his speech should be unknown. So he took him to Epidaurus, +<a name="citation119a"></a><a href="#footnote119a">{119a}</a> a city +of Dalmatia, where he lay a few days in a little farm, and yet could +not be hid; for a dragon of wondrous size—one of those which, +in the country speech, they call boas, because they are so huge that +they can swallow an ox—laid waste the province, and devoured not +only herds and flocks, but husbandmen and shepherds, which he drew to +him by the force of his breath. <a name="citation119b"></a><a href="#footnote119b">{119b}</a> +Hilarion commanded a pile of wood to be prepared, and having prayed +to Christ, and called the beast forth, commanded him to ascend the pile, +and having put fire under, burnt him before all the people. Then +fretting over what he should do, or whither he should turn, he went +alone over the world in imagination, and mourned that, when his tongue +was silent, his miracles still spoke.</p> +<p>In those days, at the earthquake over the whole world, which befell +after Julian’s death, the sea broke its bounds; and, as if God +was threatening another flood, or all was returning to the primæval +chaos, ships were carried up steep rocks, and hung there. But +when the Epidauritans saw roaring waves and mountains of water borne +towards the shore, fearing lest the town should be utterly overthrown, +they went out to the old man, and, as if they were leading him out to +battle, stationed him on the shore. And when he had marked three +signs of the Cross upon the sand, and stretched out his hands against +the waves, it is past belief to what a height the sea swelled, and stood +up before him, and then, raging long as if indignant at the barrier, +fell back little by little into itself.</p> +<p>All Epidaurus, and all that region, talk of this to this day; and +mothers teach it their children, that they may hand it down to posterity. +Truly, that which was said to the Apostles, “If ye believe, ye +shall say to this mountain, Be removed, and cast into the sea; and it +shall be done,” can be fulfilled even to the letter, if we have +the faith of the Apostles, and such as the Lord commanded them to have. +For which is more strange, that a mountain should descend into the sea; +or that mountains of water should stiffen of a sudden, and, firm as +a rock only at an old man’s feet, should flow softly everywhere +else? All the city wondered; and the greatness of the sign was +bruited abroad even at Salo.</p> +<p>When the old man discovered that, he fled secretly by night in a +little boat, and finding a merchantman after two days, sailed for Cyprus. +Between Maleæ and Cythera <a name="citation121"></a><a href="#footnote121">{121}</a> +they were met by pirates, who had left their vessels under the shore, +and came up in two large galleys, worked not with sails, but oars. +As the rowers swept the billows, all on board began to tremble, weep, +run about, get handspikes ready, and, as if one messenger was not enough, +vie with each other in telling the old man that pirates were at hand. +He looked out at them and smiled. Then turning to his disciples, +“O ye of little faith,” he said; “wherefore do ye +doubt? Are these more in number than Pharaoh’s army? +Yet they were all drowned when God so willed.” While he +spoke, the hostile keels, with foaming beaks, were but a short stone’s +throw off. He then stood on the ship’s bow, and stretching +out his hand against them, “Let it be enough,” he said, +“to have come thus far.”</p> +<p>O wondrous faith! The boats instantly sprang back, and made +stern-way, although the oars impelled them in the opposite direction. +The pirates were astonished, having no wish to return back-foremost, +and struggled with all their might to reach the ship; but were carried +to the shore again, much faster than they had come.</p> +<p>I pass over the rest, lest by telling every story I make the volume +too long. This only I will say, that, while he sailed prosperously +through the Cyclades, he heard the voices of foul spirits, calling here +and there out of the towns and villages, and running together on the +beaches. So he came to Paphos, the city of Cyprus, famous once +in poets’ songs, which now, shaken down by frequent earthquakes, +only shows what it has been of yore by the foundations of its ruins. +There he dwelt meanly near the second milestone out of the city, rejoicing +much that he was living quietly for a few days. But not three +weeks were past, ere throughout the whole island whosoever had unclean +spirits began to cry that Hilarion the servant of Christ was come, and +that they must hasten to him. Salonica, Curium, Lapetha, and the +other towns, all cried this together, most saying that they knew Hilarion, +and that he was truly a servant of God; but where he was they knew not. +Within a month, nearly 200 men and women were gathered together to him. +Whom when he saw, grieving that they would not suffer him to rest, raging, +as it were to revenge himself, he scourged them with such an instancy +of prayer, that some were cured at once, some after two or three days, +and all within a week.</p> +<p>So staying there two years, and always meditating flight, he sent +Hesychius to Palestine, to salute the brethren, visit the ashes of the +monastery, and return in the spring. When he returned, and Hilarion +was longing to sail again to Egypt,—that is, to the cattle pastures, +<a name="citation123a"></a><a href="#footnote123a">{123a}</a> because +there is no Christian there, but only a fierce and barbarous folk,—he +persuaded the old man rather to withdraw into some more secret spot +in the island itself. And looking round it long till he had examined +it all over, he led him away twelve miles from the sea, among lonely +and rough mountains, where they could hardly climb up, creeping on hands +and knees. When they were within, they beheld a spot terrible +and very lonely, surrounded with trees, which had, too, waters falling +from the brow of a cliff, and a most pleasant little garden, and many +fruit-trees—the fruit of which, however, Hilarion never ate—and +near it the ruin of a very ancient temple, <a name="citation123b"></a><a href="#footnote123b">{123b}</a> +out of which (so he and his disciples averred) the voices of so many +dæmons resounded day and night, that you would have fancied an +army there. With which he was exceedingly delighted, because he +had his foes close to him; and dwelt therein five years; and (while +Hesychius often visited him) he was much cheered up in this last period +of his life, because owing to the roughness and difficulty of the ground, +and the multitude of ghosts (as was commonly reported), few, or none, +ever dare climb up to him.</p> +<p>But one day, going out of the little garden, he saw a man paralytic +in all his limbs, lying before the gate; and having asked Hesychius +who he was, and how he had come, he was told that the man was the steward +of a small estate, and that to him the garden, in which they were, belonged. +Hilarion, weeping over him, and stretching a hand to him as he lay, +said, “I say to thee, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, arise +and walk.” Wonderful was the rapidity of the effect. +The words were yet in his mouth, when the limbs, strengthened, raised +the man upon his feet. As soon as it was known, the needs of many +conquered the difficulty of the ground, and the want of a path, while +all in the neighbourhood watched nothing so carefully, as that he should +not by some plan slip away from them. For the report had been +spread about him, that he could not remain long in the same place; which +nevertheless he did not do from any caprice, or childishness, but to +escape honour and importunity; for he always longed after silence, and +an ignoble life.</p> +<p>So, in the eightieth year of his age, while Hesychius was absent, +he wrote a short letter, by way of testament, with his own hand, leaving +to Hesychius all his riches; namely, his Gospel-book, and a sackcloth-shirt, +hood, and mantle. For his servant had died a few days before. +Many religious men came to him from Paphos while he was sick, especially +because they had heard that he had said that now he was going to migrate +to the Lord, and be freed from the chains of the body. There came +also Constantia, a high-born lady, whose son-in-law and daughter he +had delivered from death by anointing them with oil. And he made +them all swear, that he should not be kept an hour after his death, +but covered up with earth in that same garden, clothed, as he was, in +his haircloth shirt, hood, and rustic cloak. And now little heat +was left in his body, and nothing of a living man was left, except his +reason: and yet, with open eyes, he went on saying, “Go forth, +what fearest thou? Go forth, my soul, what doubtest thou? +Nigh seventy years hast thou served Christ, and dost thou fear death?” +With these words, he breathed out his soul. They covered him forthwith +in earth, and told them in the city that he was buried, before it was +known that he was dead.</p> +<p>The holy man Hesychius heard this in Palestine; reached Cyprus; and +pretending, in order to prevent suspicion on the part of the neighbours, +who guarded the spot diligently, that he wished to dwell in that same +garden, he, after some ten months, with extreme peril of his life, stole +the corpse. He carried it to Maiuma, followed by whole crowds +of monks and townsfolk, and placed it in the old monastery, with the +shirt, hood, and cloak unhurt; the whole body perfect, as if alive, +and fragrant with such strong odour, that it seemed to have had unguents +poured over it.</p> +<p>I think that I ought not, in the end of my book, to be silent about +the devotion of that most holy woman Constantia, who, hearing that the +body of Hilarion, the servant of God, was gone to Palestine, straightway +gave up the ghost, proving by her very death her true love for the servant +of God. For she was wont to pass nights in watching his sepulchre, +and to converse with him as if he were present, in order to assist her +prayers. You may see, even to this day, a wonderful contention +between the folk of Palestine and the Cypriots, the former saying that +they have the body, the latter that they have the soul, of Hilarion. +And yet, in both places, great signs are worked daily; but most in the +little garden in Cyprus; perhaps because he loved that place the best.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Such is the story of Hilarion. His name still lingers in “the +place he loved the best.” “To this day,” I quote +this fact from M. de Montalembert’s work, “the Cypriots, +confounding in their memories legends of good and of evil, the victories +of the soul and the triumph of the senses, give to the ruins of one +of those strong castles built by the Lusignans, which command their +isle, the double name of the Castle of St. Hilarion, and the Castle +of the God of Love.” But how intense must have been the +longing for solitude which drove the old man to travel on foot from +Syria to the Egyptian desert, across the pathless westward waste, even +to the Oasis and the utmost limits of the Egyptian province; and then +to Sicily, to the Adriatic, and at last to a distant isle of Greece. +And shall we blame him for that longing? He seems to have done +his duty earnestly, according to his own light, towards his fellow-creatures +whenever he met them. But he seems to have found that noise and +crowd, display and honour, were not altogether wholesome for his own +soul; and in order that he might be a better man he desired again and +again to flee, that he might collect himself, and be alone with Nature +and with God. We, here in England, like the old Greeks and Romans, +dwellers in the busy mart of civilized life, have got to regard mere +bustle as so integral an element of human life, that we consider a love +of solitude a mark of eccentricity, and, if we meet any one who loves +to be alone, are afraid that he must needs be going mad: and that with +too great solitude comes the danger of too great self-consciousness, +and even at last of insanity, none can doubt. But still we must +remember, on the other hand, that without solitude, without contemplation, +without habitual collection and re-collection of our own selves from +time to time, no great purpose is carried out, and no great work can +be done; and that it is the bustle and hurry of our modern life which +causes shallow thought, unstable purpose, and wasted energy, in too +many who would be better and wiser, stronger and happier, if they would +devote more time to silence and meditation; if they would commune with +their own heart in their chamber, and be still. Even in art and +in mechanical science, those who have done great work upon the earth +have been men given to solitary meditation. When Brindley, the +engineer, it is said, had a difficult problem to solve, he used to go +to bed, and stay there till he had worked it out. Turner, the +greatest nature-painter of this or any other age, spent hours upon hours +in mere contemplation of nature, without using his pencil at all. +It is said of him that he was seen to spend a whole day, sitting upon +a rock, and throwing pebbles into a lake; and when at evening his fellow +painters showed their day’s sketches, and rallied him upon having +done nothing, he answered them, “I have done this at least: I +have learnt how a lake looks when pebbles are thrown into it.” +And if this silent labour, this steadfast thought are required even +for outward arts and sciences, how much more for the highest of all +arts, the deepest of all sciences, that which involves the questions—who +are we? and where are we? who is God? and what are we to God, and He +to us?—namely, the science of being good, which deals not with +time merely, but with eternity. No retirement, no loneliness, +no period of earnest and solemn meditation, can be misspent which helps +us towards that goal.</p> +<p>And therefore it was that Hilarion longed to be alone; alone with +God; and with Nature, which spoke to him of God. For these old +hermits, though they neither talked nor wrote concerning scenery, nor +painted pictures of it as we do now, had many of them a clear and intense +instinct of the beauty and the meaning of outward Nature; as Antony +surely had when he said that the world around was his book, wherein +he read the mysteries of God. Hilarion seems, from his story, +to have had a special craving for the sea. Perhaps his early sojourn +on the low sandhills of the Philistine shore, as he watched the tideless +Mediterranean, rolling and breaking for ever upon the same beach, had +taught him to say with the old prophet as he thought of the wicked and +still half idolatrous cities of the Philistine shore, “Fear ye +not? saith the Lord; Will ye not tremble at my presence who have placed +the sand for the bound of the sea, for a perpetual decree, that it cannot +pass it? And though the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can +they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they not pass over. +But this people has a revolted and rebellious heart, they are revolted +and gone.” Perhaps again, looking down from the sunny Sicilian +cliffs of Taormino, or through the pine-clad gulfs and gullies of the +Cypriote hills upon the blue Mediterranean below,</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“And watching from his mountain wall<br />The wrinkled sea +beneath him crawl,”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>he had enjoyed and profited by all those images which that sight +has called up in so many minds before and since. To him it may +be, as to the Psalmist, the storm-swept sea pictured the instability +of mortal things, while secure upon his cliff he said with the Psalmist, +“The Lord hath set my feet upon a rock, and ordered my goings;” +and again, “The wicked are like a troubled sea, casting up mire +and dirt.” Often, again, looking upon that far horizon, +must his soul have been drawn, as many a soul has been drawn since, +to it, and beyond it, as it were into a region of boundless freedom +and perfect peace, while he said again with David, “Oh that I +had wings like a dove; then would I flee away and be at rest!” +and so have found, in the contemplation of the wide ocean, a substitute +at least for the contemplation of those Eastern deserts which seemed +the proper home for the solitary and meditative philosopher.</p> +<p>For indeed in no northern country can such situations be found for +the monastic cell as can be found in those great deserts which stretch +from Syria to Arabia, from Arabia to Egypt, from Egypt to Africa properly +so called. Here and there a northern hermit found, as Hilarion +found, a fitting home by the seaside, on some lonely island or storm-beat +rock, like St. Cuthbert, off the coast of Northumberland; like St. Rule, +on his rock at St. Andrew’s; and St. Columba, with his ever-venerable +company of missionaries, on Iona. But inland, the fens and the +forests were foul, unwholesome, depressing, the haunts of fever, ague, +delirium, as St. Guthlac found at Crowland, and St. Godric at Finkhale. +<a name="citation130"></a><a href="#footnote130">{130}</a> The +vast pine-woods which clothe the Alpine slopes, the vast forests of +beech and oak which then spread over France and Germany, gave in time +shelter to many a holy hermit. But their gloom, their unwholesomeness, +and the severity of the climate, produced in them, as in most northern +ascetics, a temper of mind more melancholy, and often more fierce; more +given to passionate devotion, but more given also to dark superstition +and cruel self-torture, than the genial climate of the desert produced +in old monks of the East. When we think of St. Antony upon his +mountain, we must not picture to ourselves, unless we, too, have been +in the East, such a mountain as we have ever seen. We must not +think of a brown northern moorland, sad, savage, storm-swept, snow-buried, +save in the brief and uncertain summer months. We must not picture +to ourselves an Alp, with thundering avalanches, roaring torrents, fierce +alternations of heat and cold, uninhabitable by mortal man, save during +that short period of the year when the maidens in the sennhutt watch +the cattle upon the upland pastures. We must picture to ourselves +mountains blazing day after day, month after month, beneath the glorious +sun and cloudless sky, in an air so invigorating that the Arabs can +still support life there upon a few dates each day; and where, as has +been said,—“Man needs there hardly to eat, drink, or sleep, +for the act of breathing will give life enough;” an atmosphere +of such telescopic clearness as to explain many of the strange stories +which have been lately told of Antony’s seemingly preternatural +powers of vision; a colouring, which, when painters dare to put it on +canvas, seems to our eyes, accustomed to the quiet greys and greens +of England, exaggerated and impossible—distant mountains, pink +and lilac, quivering in pale blue haze—vast sheets of yellow sand, +across which the lonely rock or a troop of wild asses or gazelles throw +intense blue-black shadows—rocks and cliffs not shrouded, as here, +in soil, much less in grass and trees, or spotted with lichens and stained +with veins; but keeping each stone its natural colour, as it wastes—if, +indeed, it wastes at all—under the action of the all but rainless +air, which has left the paintings on the old Egyptian temples fresh +and clear for thousands of years; rocks, orange and purple, black, white, +and yellow; and again and again beyond them <a name="citation131"></a><a href="#footnote131">{131}</a> +glimpses, it may be, of the black Nile, and of the long green garden +of Egypt, and of the dark blue sea. The eastward view from Antony’s +old home must be one of the most glorious in the world, save for its +want of verdure and of life. For Antony, as he looked across the +blue waters of the Gulf of Akaba, across which, far above, the Israelites +had passed in old times, could see the sacred goal of their pilgrimage, +the red granite peaks of Sinai, flaming against the blue sky with that +intensity of hue which is scarcely exaggerated, it is said, by the bright +scarlet colour in which Sinai is always painted in mediæval illuminations.</p> +<p>But the gorgeousness of colouring, though it may interest us, was +not, of course, what produced the deepest effect upon the minds of those +old hermits. They enjoyed Nature, not so much for her beauty, +as for her perfect peace. Day by day the rocks remained the same. +Silently out of the Eastern desert, day by day, the rising sun threw +aloft those arrows of light, which the old Greeks had named “the +rosy fingers of the dawn.” Silently he passed in full blaze +almost above their heads throughout the day; and silently he dipped +behind the western desert in a glory of crimson and orange, green and +purple; and without an interval of twilight, in a moment, all the land +was dark, and the stars leapt out, not twinkling as in our damper climate +here, but hanging like balls of white fire in that purple southern night, +through which one seems to look beyond the stars into the infinite abyss, +and towards the throne of God himself. Day after day, night after +night, that gorgeous pageant passed over the poor hermit’s head +without a sound; and though sun and moon and planet might change their +places as the year rolled round, the earth beneath his feet seemed not +to change. Every morning he saw the same peaks in the distance, +the same rocks, the same sand-heaps around his feet. He never +heard the tinkle of a running stream. For weeks together he did +not even hear the rushing of the wind. Now and then a storm might +sweep up the pass, whirling the sand in eddies, and making the desert +for a while literally a “howling wilderness;” and when that +was passed all was as it had been before. The very change of seasons +must have been little marked to him, save by the motions, if he cared +to watch them, of the stars above; for vegetation there was none to +mark the difference between summer and winter. In spring of course +the solitary date-palm here and there threw out its spathe of young +green leaves, to add to the number of those which, grey or brown, hung +drooping down the stem, withering but not decaying for many a year in +that dry atmosphere; or perhaps the accacia bushes looked somewhat gayer +for a few weeks, and the Retama broom, from which as well as from the +palm leaves he plaited his baskets, threw out its yearly crop of twigs; +but any greenness there might be in the vegetation of spring, turned +grey in a few weeks beneath that burning sun; and be rest of the year +was one perpetual summer of dust and glare and rest. Amid such +scenes they had full time for thought. Nature and man alike left +it in peace; while the labour required for sustaining life (and the +monk wished for nothing more than to sustain mere life) was very light. +Wherever water could be found, the hot sun and the fertile soil would +repay by abundant crops, perhaps twice in the year, the toil of scratching +the ground and putting in the seed. Moreover, the labour of the +husbandman, so far from being adverse to the contemplative life, is +of all occupations, it may be, that which promotes most quiet and wholesome +meditation in the mind which cares to meditate. The life of the +desert, when once the passions of youth were conquered, seems to have +been not only a happy, but a healthy one. And when we remember +that the monk, clothed from head to foot in woollen, and sheltered, +too, by his sheepskin cape, escaped those violent changes of temperature +which produce in the East so many fatal diseases, and which were so +deadly to the linen-clothed inhabitants of the green lowlands of the +Nile, we need not be surprised when we read of the vast longevity of +many of the old abbots; and of their death, not by disease, but by gentle, +and as it were wholesome natural decay.</p> +<p>But if their life was easy, it was surely not ill-spent. If +having few wants, and those soon supplied, they found too much time +for the luxury of quiet thought, those need not blame them, who having +many wants, and those also easily supplied, are wont to spend their +superfluous leisure in any luxury save that of thought, above all save +that of thought concerning God. For it was upon God that these +men, whatever their defects or ignorances may have been, had set their +minds. That man was sent into the world to know and to love, to +obey and thereby to glorify, the Maker of his being, was the cardinal +point of their creed, as it has been of every creed which ever exercised +any beneficial influence on the minds of men. Dean Milman in his +“History of Christianity,” vol. iii. page 294, has, while +justly severe upon the failings and mistakes of the Eastern monks, pointed +out with equal justice that the great desire of knowing God was the +prime motive in the mind of all their best men:—</p> +<p>“In some regions of the East, the sultry and oppressive heat, +the general relaxation of the physical system, dispose constitutions +of a certain temperament to a dreamy inertness. The indolence +and prostration of the body produce a kind of activity in the mind, +if that may properly be called activity which is merely giving loose +to the imagination and the emotions as they follow out the wild train +of incoherent thought, or are agitated by impulses of spontaneous and +ungoverned feeling. Ascetic Christianity ministered new aliment +to this common propensity. It gave an object, both vague and determinate +enough to stimulate, yet never to satisfy or exhaust. The regularity +of stated hours of prayer, and of a kind of idle industry, weaving mats +or plaiting baskets, alternated with periods of morbid reflection on +the moral state of the soul, and of mystic communion with the Deity. +It cannot indeed be wondered that this new revelation, as it were, of +the Deity, this profound and rational certainty of his existence, this +infelt consciousness of his perpetual presence, these as yet unknown +impressions of his infinity, his power, and his love, should give a +higher character to this eremitical enthusiasm, and attract men of loftier +and more vigorous minds within its sphere. It was not merely the +pusillanimous dread of encountering the trials of life which urged the +humbler spirits to seek a safe retirement; or the natural love of peace, +and the weariness and satiety of life, which commended this seclusion +to those who were too gentle to mingle in, or who were exhausted with, +the unprofitable turmoil of the world; nor was it always the anxiety +to mortify the rebellious and refractory body with more advantage. +The one absorbing idea of the Majesty of the Godhead almost seemed to +swallow up all other considerations. The transcendent nature of +the Triune Deity, the relation of the different persons of the Godhead +to each other, seemed the only worthy object of men’s contemplative +faculties.”</p> +<p>And surely the contemplation of the Godhead is no unworthy occupation +for the immortal soul of any human being. But it would be unjust +to these hermits did we fancy that their religion consisted merely even +in this; much less that it consisted merely in dreams and visions, or +in mere stated hours of prayer. That all did not fulfil the ideal +of their profession is to be expected, and is frankly confessed by the +writers of the Lives of the Fathers; that there were serious faults, +even great crimes, among them is not denied. Those who wrote concerning +them were so sure that they were on the whole good men, that they were +not at all afraid of saying that some of them were bad,—not afraid, +even, of recording, though only in dark hints, the reason why the Arab +tribes around once rose and laid waste six churches with their monasteries +in the neighbourhood of Scetis. St. Jerome in like manner does +not hesitate to pour out bitter complaints against many of the monks +in the neighbourhood of Bethlehem. It is notorious, too, that +many became monks merely to escape slavery, hunger, or conscription +into the army: Unruly and fanatical spirits, too, grew fond of wandering. +Bands of monks on the great roads and public places of the empire, Massalians +or Gyrovagi, as they were called, wandered from province to province, +and cell to cell, living on the alms which they extorted from the pious, +and making up too often for protracted fasts by outbursts of gluttony +and drunkenness. And doubtless the average monk, even when well-conducted +himself and in a well-conducted monastery, was, like average men of +every creed, rank, or occupation, a very common-place person, acting +from very mixed and often very questionable motives; and valuing his +shaven crown and his sheepskin cloak, his regular hours of prayer and +his implicit obedience to his abbot, more highly than he valued the +fear and the love of God.</p> +<p>It is so in every creed. With some, even now, the strict observance +of the Sabbath; with others, outward reverence at the Holy Communion; +with others, the frequent hearing of sermons which suit heir own views; +with others, continual reading of pious books (on the lessons of which +they do not act), covers, instead of charity, a multitude of sins. +But the saint, abbot, or father among these hermits was essentially +the man who was not a common-place person; who was more than an ascetic, +and more than a formalist; who could pierce beyond the letter to the +spirit, and see, beyond all forms of doctrine or modes of life, that +virtue was the one thing needful.</p> +<p>The Historia Lausiaca and the Pratum Spirituale have many a story +and many a saying as weighty, beautiful, and instructive now as they +were fifteen hundred years ago; stories which show that graces and virtues +such as the world had never seen before, save in the persecuted and +half-unknown Christians of the first three centuries, were cultivated +to noble fruitfulness by the monks of the East. For their humility, +obedience, and reverence for their superiors it is not wise to praise +them just now; for those are qualities which are not at present considered +virtues, but rather (save by the soldier) somewhat abject vices; and +indeed they often carried them, as they did their abstinence, to an +extravagant pitch. But it must be remembered, in fairness, that +if they obeyed their supposed superiors, they had first chosen their +superiors themselves; that as the becoming a monk at all was an assertion +of self-will and independence, whether for good or evil, so their reverence +for their abbots was a voluntary loyalty to one who they fancied had +a right to rule them, because he was wiser and better than they; a feeling +which some have found not degrading, but ennobling; and the parent, +not of servility, but of true freedom. And as for the obsolete +virtue of humility, that still remains true which a voice said to Antony, +when he saw the snares which were spread over the whole earth, and asked, +sighing, “Who can pass safely over these?” and the voice +answered, “Humility alone.”</p> +<p>For the rest, if the Sermon on the Mount mean anything, as a practical +rule of life for Christian men, then these monks were surely justified +in trying to obey it, for to obey it they surely tried.</p> +<p>The Words of the Elders, to which I have already alluded, and the +Lausiaca of Palladius likewise, are full of precious scraps of moral +wisdom, sayings, and anecdotes, full of nobleness, purity, pathos, insight +into character, and often instinct with a quiet humour, which seems +to have been, in the Old world, peculiar to the Egyptians, as it is, +in the New, almost peculiar to the old-fashioned God-fearing Scotsman.</p> +<p>Take these examples, chosen almost at random.</p> +<p>Serapion the Sindonite was so called because he wore nothing but +a sindon, or linen shirt. Though he could not read, he could say +all the Scriptures by heart. He could not (says Palladius) sit +quiet in his cell, but wandered over the world in utter poverty, so +that he “attained to perfect impassibility, for with that nature +he was born; for there are differences of natures, not of substances.”</p> +<p>So says Palladius, and goes on to tell how Serapion sold himself +to certain play-actors for twenty gold pieces, and laboured for them +as a slave till he had won them to Christ, and made them renounce the +theatre; after which he made his converts give the money to the poor, +and went his way.</p> +<p>On one of his journeys he came to Athens, and, having neither money +nor goods, starved there for three days. But on the fourth he +went up, seemingly to the Areopagus, and cried, “Men of Athens, +help!” And when the crowd questioned him, he told them that +he had, since he left Egypt, fallen into the hands of three usurers, +two of whom he had satisfied, but the third would not leave him.</p> +<p>On being promised assistance, he told them that his three usurers +were avarice, sensuality, and hunger. Of the two first he was +rid, having neither money nor passions: but, as he had eaten nothing +for three days, the third was beginning to be troublesome, and demanded +its usual debt, without paying which he could not well live; whereon +certain philosophers, seemly amused by his apologue, gave him a gold +coin. He went to a baker’s shop, laid down the coin, took +up a loaf, and went out of Athens for ever. Then the philosophers +knew that he was endowed with true virtue; and when they had paid the +baker the price of the loaf, got back their gold.</p> +<p>When he went into Lacedæmon, he heard that a great man there +was a Manichæan, with all his family, though otherwise a good +man. To him Serapion sold himself as a slave, and within two years +converted him and his wife, who thenceforth treated him not as a slave, +but as their own brother.</p> +<p>After awhile, this “Spiritual adamant,” as Palladius +calls him, bought his freedom of them, and sailed for Rome. At +sundown first the sailors, and then the passengers, brought out each +man his provisions, and ate. Serapion sat still. The crew +fancied that he was sea-sick; but when he had passed a second, third, +and fourth day fasting, they asked, “Man, why do you not eat?” +“Because I have nothing to eat.” They thought that +some one had stolen his baggage: but when they found that the man had +absolutely nothing, they began to ask him not only how he would keep +alive, but how he would pay his fare. He only answered, “That +he had nothing; that they might cast him out of the ship where they +had found him.”</p> +<p>But they answered, “Not for a hundred gold pieces, so favourable +was the wind,” and fed him all the way to Rome, where we lose +sight of him and his humour.</p> +<p>To go on with almost chance quotations:—</p> +<p>Some monks were eating at a festival, and one said to the serving +man, “I eat nothing cooked; tell them to bring me salt.” +The serving man began to talk loudly: “That brother eats no cooked +meat; bring him a little salt.” Quoth Abbot Theodore: “It +were more better for thee, brother, to eat meat in thy cell than to +hear thyself talked about in the presence of thy brethren.”</p> +<p>Again: a brother came to Abbot Silvanus, in Mount Sinai, and found +the brethren working, and said, “Why labour you for the meat which +perisheth? Mary chose the good part.” The abbot said, +“Give him a book to read, and put him in an empty cell.” +About the ninth hour the brother looked out, to see if he would be called +to eat, and at last came to the abbot, and asked, “Do not the +brethren eat to-day, abbot?” “Yes.” “Then +why was not I called?” Then quoth Abbot Silvanus: “Thou +art a spiritual man: and needest not their food. We are carnal, +and must eat, because we work: but thou hast chosen the better part.” +Whereat the monk was ashamed.</p> +<p>As was also John the dwarf, who wanted to be “without care +like the angels, doing nothing but praise God.” So he threw +away his cloak, left his brother the abbot, and went into the desert. +But after seven days he came back, and knocked at the door. “Who +is there?” asked his brother. “John.” +“Nay, John is turned into an angel, and is no more among men.” +So he left him outside all night; and in the morning gave him to understand +that if he was a man he must work, but that if he was an angel, he had +no need to live in a cell.</p> +<p>Consider again the saying of the great Antony, when some brethren +were praising another in his presence. But Antony tried him, and +found that he could not bear an injury. Then said the old man, +“Brother, thou art like a house with an ornamented porch, while +the thieves break into it by the back door.”</p> +<p>Or this, of Abbot Isidore, when the devil tempted him to despair, +and told him that he would be lost after all: “If I do go into +torment, I shall still find you below me there.”</p> +<p>Or this, of Zeno the Syrian, when some Egyptian monks came to him +and began accusing themselves: “The Egyptians hide the virtues +which they have, and confess vices which they have not. The Syrians +and Greeks boast of virtues which they have not, and hide vices which +they have.”</p> +<p>Or this: One old man said to another, “I am dead to this world.” +“Do not trust yourself,” quoth the other, “till you +are out of this world. If you are dead, the devil is not.”</p> +<p>Two old men lived in the same cell, and had never disagreed. +Said one to the other, “Let us have just one quarrel, like other +men.” Quoth the other: “I do not know what a quarrel +is like.” Quoth the first: “Here—I will put +a brick between us, and say that it is mine: and you shall say it is +not mine; and over that let us have a contention and a squabble.” +But when they put the brick between them, and one said, “It is +mine,” the other said, “I hope it is mine.” +And when the first said, “It is mine, it is not yours,” +he answered, “If it is yours, take it.” So they could +not find out how to have a quarrel.</p> +<p>Anger, malice, revenge, were accursed things in the eyes of these +men. There was enough of them, and too much, among their monks; +but far less, doubt not, than in the world outside. For within +the monastery it was preached against, repressed, punished; and when +repented of, forgiven, with loving warnings and wise rules against future +transgression.</p> +<p>Abbot Agathon used to say, “I never went to sleep with a quarrel +against any man; nor did I, as far as lay in me, let one who had a quarrel +against me sleep till he had made peace.”</p> +<p>Abbot Isaac was asked why the devils feared him so much. “Since +I was made a monk,” he said, “I settled with myself that +no angry word should come out of my mouth.”</p> +<p>An old man said, “Anger arises from these four things: from +the lust of avarice, in giving and receiving; from loving one’s +own opinion; from wishing to be honoured; and from fancying oneself +a teacher and hoping to be wiser than everybody. And anger obscures +human reason by these four ways: if a man hate his neighbour; or if +he envy him; or if he look on him as nought; or if he speak evil of +him.”</p> +<p>A brother being injured by another, came to Abbot Sidonius, told +his story, and said, “I wish to avenge myself, father.” +The abbot begged him to leave vengeance to God: but when he refused, +said, “Then let us pray.” Whereon the old man rose, +and said, “God, thou art not necessary to us any longer, that +thou shouldest be careful of us: for we, as this brother says, both +will and can avenge ourselves.” At which that brother fell +at his feet, and begged pardon, promising never to strive with his enemy.</p> +<p>Abbot Pœmen said often, “Let malice never overcome thee. +If any man do thee harm, repay him with good, that thou mayest conquer +evil with good.”</p> +<p>In a congregation at Scetis, when many men’s lives and conversation +had been talked over, Abbot Pior held his tongue. After it was +over, he went out, and filled a sack with sand, and put it on his back. +Then he took a little bag, filled it likewise with sand, and carried +it before him. And when the brethren asked him what he meant, +he said, “The sack behind is my own sins, which are very many: +yet I have cast them behind my back, and will not see them, nor weep +over them. But I have put these few sins of my brother’s +before my eyes, and am tormenting myself over them, and condemning my +brother.”</p> +<p>A brother having committed a fault, went to Antony, and his brethren +followed, upbraiding him, and wanting to bring him back; while he denied +having done the wrong. Abbot Paphnutius was there, and spoke a +parable to them:—</p> +<p>“I saw on the river bank a man sunk in the mud up to his knees. +And men came to pull him out, and thrust him in up to the neck.”</p> +<p>Then said Antony of Paphnutius, “Behold a man who can indeed +save souls.”</p> +<p>Abbot Macarius was going up to the mountain of Nitria, and sent his +disciple on before. The disciple met an idol-priest hurrying on, +and carrying a great beam: to whom he cried, “Where art thou running, +devil?” At which he was wroth, and beat him so that he left +him half dead, and then ran on, and met Macarius, who said, “Salvation +to thee, labourer, salvation!” He answered, wondering, “What +good hast thou seen in me that thou salutest me?” “Because +I saw thee working and running, though ignorantly.” To whom +the priest said, “Touched by thy salutation, I knew thee to be +a great servant of God; for another—I know not who—miserable +monk met me and insulted me, and I gave him blows for his words.” +Then laying hold of Macarius’s feet he said, “Unless thou +make me a monk I will not leave hold of thee.”</p> +<p>After all, of the best of these men are told (with much honesty) +many sayings which show that they felt in their minds and hearts that +the spirit was above the letter: sayings which show that they had at +least at times glimpses of a simpler and more possible virtue; foretastes +of a perfection more human, and it may be more divine.</p> +<p>“Better,” said Abbot Hyperichius, “to eat flesh +and drink wine, than to eat our brethren’s flesh with bitter words.”</p> +<p>A brother asked an elder, “Give me, father one thing which +I may keep, and be saved thereby.” The elder answered, “If +thou canst be injured and insulted, and hear and be silent, that is +a great thing, and above all the other commandments.”</p> +<p>One of the elders used to say, “Whatever a man shrinks from +let him not do to another. Dost thou shrink if any man detracts +from thee? Speak not ill of another. Dost thou shrink if +any man slanders thee, or if any man takes aught from thee? Do +not that or the like to another man. For he that shall have kept +this saying, will find it suffice for his salvation.”</p> +<p>“The nearer,” said Abbot Muthues, “a man approaches +God, the more he will see himself to be a sinner.”</p> +<p>Abbot Sisois, when he lay dying, begged to live a little longer, +that he might repent; and when they wondered, he told them that he had +not yet even begun repentance. Whereby they saw that he was perfect +in the fear of the Lord.</p> +<p>But the most startling confession of all must have been that wrung +from the famous Macarius the elder. He had been asked once by +a brother, to tell him a rule by which he might be saved; and his answer +had been this:—to fly from men, to sit in his cell, and to lament +for his sins continually; and, what was above all virtues, to keep his +tongue in order as well as his appetite.</p> +<p>But (whether before or after that answer is not said) he gained a +deeper insight into true virtue, on the day when (like Antony when he +was reproved by the example of the tanner in Alexandria) he heard a +voice telling him that he was inferior to two women who dwelt in the +nearest town. Catching up his staff, like Antony, he went off +to see the wonder. The women, when questioned by him as to their +works, were astonished. They had been simply good wives for years +past, married to two brothers, and living in the same house. But +when pressed by him, they confessed that they had never said a foul +word to each other, and never quarrelled. At one time they had +agreed together to retire into a nunnery, but could not, for all their +prayers, obtain the consent of their husbands. On which they had +both made an oath, that they would never, to their deaths, speak one +worldly word.</p> +<p>Which when the blessed Macarius had heard, he said, “In truth +there is neither virgin, nor married woman, nor monk, nor secular; but +God only requires the intention, and ministers the spirit of life to +all.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ARSENIUS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I shall give one more figure, and that a truly tragical one, from +these “Lives of the Egyptian Fathers,” namely, that of the +once great and famous Arsenius, the Father (as he was at one time called) +of the Emperors. Theodosius, the great statesman and warrior, +who for some twenty years kept up by his single hand the falling empire +of Rome, heard how Arsenius was at once the most pious and the most +learned of his subjects; and wishing—half barbarian as he was +himself—that his sons should be brought up, not only as scholars, +but as Christians, he sent for Arsenius to his court, and made him tutor +to his two young sons Honorius and Arcadius. But the two lads +had neither their father’s strength nor their father’s nobleness. +Weak and profligate, they fretted Arsenius’s soul day by day; +and, at last, so goes the story, provoked him so far that, according +to the fashion of a Roman pedagogue, he took the ferula and administered +to one of the princes a caning, which he no doubt deserved. The +young prince, in revenge, plotted against his life. Among the +parasites of the Palace it was not difficult to find those who would +use steel and poison readily enough in the service of an heir-apparent, +and Arsenius fled for his life: and fled, as men were wont in those +days, to Egypt and the Thebaid. Forty years old he was when he +left the court, and forty years more he spent among the cells at Scetis, +weeping day and night. He migrated afterwards to a place called +Troe, and there died at the age of ninety-five, having wept himself, +say his admirers, almost blind. He avoided, as far as possible, +beholding the face of man; upon the face of woman he would never look. +A noble lady, whom he had known probably in the world, came all the +way from Rome to see him; but he refused himself to her sternly, almost +roughly. He had known too much of the fine ladies of the Roman +court; all he cared for was peace. There is a story of him that, +changing once his dwelling-place, probably from Scetis to Troe, he asked, +somewhat peevishly, of the monks around him, “What that noise +was?” They told him it was only the wind among the reeds. +“Alas!” he said, “I have fled everywhere in search +of silence, and yet here the very reeds speak.” The simple +and comparatively unlearned monks around him looked with a profound +respect on the philosopher, courtier, scholar, who had cast away the +real pomps and vanities of this life, such as they had never known. +There is a story told, plainly concerning Arsenius, though his name +is not actually mentioned in it, how a certain old monk saw him lying +upon a softer mat than his fellows, and indulged with a few more comforts; +and complained indignantly of his luxury, and the abbot’s favouritism. +Then asked the abbot, “What didst thou eat before thou becamest +a monk?” He confessed he had been glad enough to fill his stomach +with a few beans. “How wert thou dressed?” He +was glad enough, again he confessed, to have any clothes at all on his +back. “Where didst thou sleep?” “Often +enough on the bare ground in the open air,” was the answer. +“Then,” said the abbot, “thou art, by thy own confession, +better off as a monk than thou wast as a poor labouring man: and yet +thou grudgest a little comfort to one who has given up more luxury than +thou hast ever beheld. This man slept beneath silken canopies; +he was carried in gilded litters, by trains of slaves; he was clothed +in purple and fine linen; he fed upon all the delicacies of the great +city: and he has given up all for Christ. And what hast thou given +up, that thou shouldst grudge him a softer mat, or a little more food +each day?” And so the monk was abashed, and held his peace.</p> +<p>As for Arsenius’s tears, it is easy to call his grief exaggerated +or superstitious: but those who look on them with human eyes will pardon +them, and watch with sacred pity the grief of a good man, who felt that +his life had been an utter failure. He saw his two pupils, between +whom, at their father’s death, the Roman Empire was divided into +Eastern and Western, grow more and more incapable of governing. +He saw a young barbarian, whom he must have often met at the court in +Byzantium, as Master of the Horse, come down from his native forests, +and sack the Eternal City of Rome. He saw evil and woe unspeakable +fall on that world which he had left behind him, till the earth was +filled with blood, and Antichrist seemed ready to appear, and the day +of judgment to be at hand. And he had been called to do what he +could to stave off this ruin, to make those young princes decree justice +and rule in judgment by the fear of God. But he had failed; and +there was nothing left to him save self-accusation and regret, and dread +lest some, at least, of the blood which had been shed might be required +at his hands. Therefore, sitting upon his palm-mat there in Troe, +he wept his life away; happier, nevertheless, and more honourable in +the sight of God and man than if, like a Mazarin or a Talleyrand, and +many another crafty politician, both in Church and State, he had hardened +his heart against his own mistakes, and, by crafty intrigue and adroit +changing of sides at the right moment, had contrived to secure for himself, +out of the general ruin, honour and power and wealth, and delicate food, +and a luxurious home, and so been one of those of whom the Psalmist +says, with awful irony, “So long as thou doest well unto thyself, +men will speak good of thee.”</p> +<p>One good deed at least Arsenius had seen done—a deed which +has lasted to all time, and done, too, to the eternal honour of his +order, by a monk—namely, the abolition of gladiator shows. +For centuries these wholesale murders had lasted through the Roman Republic +and through the Roman Empire. Human beings in the prime of youth +and health, captives or slaves, condemned malefactors, and even free-born +men, who hired themselves out to death, had been trained to destroy +each other in the amphitheatre for the amusement, not merely of the +Roman mob, but of the Roman ladies. Thousands sometimes, in a +single day, had been</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Butchered to make a Roman holiday.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The training of gladiators had become a science. By their weapons +and their armour, and their modes of fighting, they had been distinguished +into regular classes, of which the antiquaries count up full eighteen: +Andabatæ, who wore helmets without any opening for the eyes, so +that they were obliged to fight blindfold, and thus excited the mirth +of the spectators; Hoplomachi, who fought in a complete suit of armour; +Mirmillones, who had the image of a fish upon their helmets, and fought +in armour with a short sword, matched usually against the Retiarii, +who fought without armour, and whose weapons were a casting-net and +a trident. These, and other species of fighters, were drilled +and fed in “families” by Lanistæ; or regular trainers, +who let them out to persons wishing to exhibit a show. Women, +even high-born ladies, had been seized in former times with the madness +of fighting, and, as shameless as cruel, had gone down into the arena +to delight with their own wounds and their own gore the eyes of the +Roman people.</p> +<p>And these things were done, and done too often, under the auspices +of the gods, and at their most sacred festivals. So deliberate +and organized a system of wholesale butchery has never perhaps existed +on this earth before or since, not even in the worship of those Mexican +gods whose idols Cortez and his soldiers found fed with human hearts, +and the walls of their temples crusted with human gore. Gradually +the spirit of the Gospel had been triumphing over this abomination. +Ever since the time of Tertullian, in the second century, Christian +preachers and writers had lifted up their voice in the name of humanity. +Towards the end of the third century, the Emperors themselves had so +far yielded to the voice of reason, as to forbid by edicts the gladiatorial +fights. But the public opinion of the mob in most of the great +cities had been too strong both for saints and for emperors. St. +Augustine himself tells us of the horrible joy which he, in his youth, +had seen come over the vast ring of flushed faces at these horrid sights; +and in Arsenius’s own time, his miserable pupil, the weak Honorius, +bethought himself of celebrating once more the heathen festival of the +Secular Games, and formally to allow therein an exhibition of gladiators. +But in the midst of that show sprang down into the arena of the Colosseum +of Rome an unknown monk, some said from Nitria, some from Phrygia, and +with his own hands parted the combatants in the name of Christ and God. +The mob, baulked for a moment of their pleasure, sprang on him, and +stoned him to death. But the crime was followed by a sudden revulsion +of feeling. By an edict of the Emperor the gladiatorial sports +were forbidden for ever; and the Colosseum, thenceforth useless, crumbled +slowly away into that vast ruin which remains unto this day, purified, +as men well said, from the blood of tens of thousands, by the blood +of one true and noble martyr.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE HERMITS OF ASIA</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The impulse which, given by Antony, had been propagated in Asia by +his great pupil, Hilarion, spread rapidly far and wide. Hermits +took possession of the highest peaks of Sinai; and driven from thence, +so tradition tells, by fear of those mysterious noises which still haunt +its cliffs, settled at that sheltered spot where now stands the convent +of St. Catharine. Massacred again and again by the wild Arab tribes, +their places were filled up by fresh hermits, and their spiritual descendants +hold the convent to this day.</p> +<p>Through the rich and luxuriant region of Syria, and especially round +the richest and most luxurious of its cities, Antioch, hermits settled, +and bore, by the severity of their lives, a noble witness against the +profligacy of its inhabitants, who had half renounced the paganism of +their forefathers without renouncing in the least, it seems, those sins +which drew down of old the vengeance of a righteous God upon their forefathers, +whether in Canaan or in Syria itself.</p> +<p>At Antioch, about the year 347, was born the famous Chrysostom, John +of the Golden Mouth; and near Antioch he became a hermit, and dwelt, +so legends say, several years alone in the wilderness: till, nerved +by that hard training, he went forth again into the world to become, +whether at Antioch or at Constantinople, the bravest as well as the +most eloquent preacher of righteousness and rebuker of sin which the +world had seen since the times of St. Paul. The labours of Chrysostom +belong not so much to this book as to a general ecclesiastical history: +but it must not be forgotten that he, like all the great men of that +age, had been a monk, and kept up his monastic severity, even in the +midst of the world, until his dying day.</p> +<p>At Nisibis, again, upon the very frontier of Persia, appeared another +very remarkable personage, known as the Great Jacob or Great St. James. +Taking (says his admiring biographer, Theodoret of Cyra) to the peaks +of the loftiest mountains., he passed his life on them, in spring and +summer haunting the woods, with the sky for a roof, but sheltering himself +in winter in a cave. His food was wild fruits and mountain herbs. +He never used a fire, and, clothed in a goats’ hair garment, was +perhaps the first of those Boscoi, or “browsing hermits,” +who lived literally like the wild animals in the flesh, while they tried +to live like angels in the spirit.</p> +<p>Some of the stories told of Jacob savour of that vindictiveness which +Giraldus Cambrensis, in after years, attributed to the saints in Ireland. +He was walking one day over the Persian frontier, “to visit the +plants of true religion” and “bestow on them due care,” +when he passed at a fountain a troop of damsels washing clothes and +treading them with their feet. They seem, according to the story, +to have stared at the wild man, instead of veiling their faces or letting +down their garments. No act or word of rudeness is reported of +them: but Jacob’s modesty or pride was so much scandalized that +he cursed both the fountain and the girls. The fountain of course +dried up forthwith, and the damsels’ hair turned grey. They +ran weeping into the town. The townsfolk came out, and compelled +Jacob, by their prayers, to restore the water to their fountain; but +the grey hair he refused to restore to its original hue unless the damsels +would come and beg pardon publicly themselves. The poor girls +were ashamed to come, and their hair remained grey ever after.</p> +<p>A story like this may raise a smile in some of my readers, in others +something like indignation or contempt. But as long as such legends +remain in these hermit lives, told with as much gravity as any other +portion of the biography, and eloquently lauded, as this deed is, by +Bishop Theodoret, as proofs of the holiness and humanity of the saint, +an honest author is bound to notice some of them at least, and not to +give an alluring and really dishonest account of these men and their +times, by detailing every anecdote which can elevate them in the mind +of the reader, while he carefully omits all that may justly disgust +him.</p> +<p>Yet, after all, we are not bound to believe this legend, any more +than we are bound to believe that when Jacob saw a Persian judge give +an unjust sentence, he forthwith cursed, not him, but a rock close by, +which instantly crumbled into innumerable fragments, so terrifying that +judge that he at once revoked his sentence, and gave a just decision.</p> +<p>Neither, again, need we believe that it was by sending, as men said +in his own days, swarms of mosquitos against the Persian invaders, that +he put to flight their elephants and horses: and yet it may be true +that, in the famous siege of Nisibis, Jacob played the patriot and the +valiant man. For when Sapor, the Persian king, came against Nisibis +with all his forces, with troops of elephants, and huge machines of +war, and towers full of archers wheeled up to the walls, and at last, +damming the river itself, turned its current against the fortifications +of unburnt brick, until a vast breach was opened in the walls, then +Jacob, standing in the breach, encouraged by his prayers his fellow-townsmen +to stop it with stone, brick, timber, and whatsoever came to hand; and +Sapor, the Persian Sultan, saw “that divine man,” and his +goats’-hair tunic and cloak seemed transformed into a purple robe +and royal diadem. And, whether he was seized with superstitious +fear, or whether the hot sun or the marshy ground had infected his troops +with disease, or whether the mosquito swarms actually became intolerable, +the great King of Persia turned and went away.</p> +<p>So Nisibis was saved for a while; to be shamefully surrendered to +the Persians a few years afterwards by the weak young Emperor Jovian. +Old Ammianus Marcellinus, brave soldier as he was, saw with disgust +the whole body of citizens ordered to quit the city within three days, +and “men appointed to compel obedience to the order, with threats +of death to every one who delayed his departure; and the whole city +was a scene of mourning and lamentation, and in every quarter nothing +was heard but one universal wail, matrons tearing their hair, and about +to be driven from the homes in which they had been born and brought +up; the mother who had lost her children, or the wife who had lost her +husband, about to be torn from the place rendered sacred by their shades, +clinging to their doorposts, embracing their thresholds, and pouring +forth floods of tears. Every road was crowded, each person struggling +away as he could. Many, too, loaded themselves with as much of +their property as they thought they could carry, while leaving behind +them abundant and costly furniture, which they could not remove for +want of beasts of burden.” <a name="citation159"></a><a href="#footnote159">{159}</a></p> +<p>One treasure, however, they did remove, of which the old soldier +Ammianus says nothing, and which, had he seen it pass him on the road, +he would have treated with supreme contempt. And that, says Theodoret, +was the holy body of “their prince and defender,” St. James +the mountain hermit, round which the emigrants chanted, says Theodoret, +hymns of regret and praise, “for, had he been alive, that city +would have never passed into barbarian hands.”</p> +<p>There stood with Jacob in the breach, during that siege of Nisibis, +a man of gentler temperament, a disciple of his, who had received baptism +at his hands, and who was, like himself, a hermit—Ephraim, or +Ephrem, of Edessa, as he is commonly called, for, though born at Nisibis, +his usual home was at Edessa, the metropolis of a Syrian-speaking race. +Into the Syrian tongue Ephrem translated the doctrines of the Christian +faith and the Gospel history, and spread abroad, among the heathen round, +a number of delicate and graceful hymns, which remain to this day, and +of which some have lately been translated into English. <a name="citation160"></a><a href="#footnote160">{160}</a> +Soft, sad, and dreamy as they were, they had strength and beauty enough +in them to supersede the Gnostic hymns of Bardesanes and his son Harmonius, +which had been long popular among the Syrians; and for centuries afterwards, +till Christianity was swept away by the followers of Mahomet, the Syrian +husbandman beguiled his toil with the pious and plaintive melodies of +St. Ephrem.</p> +<p>But Ephrem was not only a hermit and a poet: he was a preacher and +a missionary. If he wept, as it was said, day and night for his +own sins and the sins of mankind, he did his best at least to cure those +sins. He was a demagogue, or leader of the people, for good and +not for evil, to whom the simple Syrians looked up for many a year as +their spiritual father. He died in peace, as he said himself, +like the labourer who has finished his day’s work, like the wandering +merchant who returns to his fatherland, leaving nothing behind him save +prayers and counsels, for “Ephrem,” he added, “had +neither wallet nor pilgrim’s staff.”</p> +<p>“His last utterance” (I owe this fact to M. de Montalembert’s +book, “Moines d’Occident”) “was a protest on +behalf of the dignity of man redeemed by the Son of God.”</p> +<p>“The young and pious daughter of the Governor of Edessa came +weeping to receive his latest breath. He made her swear never +again to be carried in a litter by slaves, ‘The neck of man,’ +he said, ‘should bear no yoke save that of Christ.’” +This anecdote is one among many which go to prove that from the time +that St. Paul had declared the great truth that in Christ Jesus was +neither bond nor free, and had proclaimed the spiritual brotherhood +of all men in Christ, slavery, as an institution, was doomed to slow +but certain death. But that death was accelerated by the monastic +movement, wherever it took root. A class of men who came not to +be ministered unto, but to minister to others; who prided themselves +upon needing fewer luxuries than the meanest slaves; who took rank among +each other and among men not on the ground of race, nor of official +position, nor of wealth, nor even of intellect, but simply on the ground +of virtue, was a perpetual protest against slavery and tyranny of every +kind; a perpetual witness to the world that, whether all men were equal +or not in the sight of God, the only rank among them of which God would +take note, would be their rank in goodness.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>BASIL</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>On the south shore of the Black Sea, eastward of Sinope, there dwelt +in those days, at the mouth of the River Iris, a hermit as gentle and +as pure as Ephrem of Edessa. Beside a roaring waterfall, amid +deep glens and dark forests, with distant glimpses of the stormy sea +beyond, there lived on bread and water a graceful gentleman, young and +handsome; a scholar too, who had drunk deeply at the fountains of Pagan +philosophy and poetry, and had been educated with care at Constantinople +and at Athens, as well as at his native city of Cæsaræa, +in the heart of Asia Minor, now dwindled under Turkish misrule into +a wretched village. He was heir to great estates; the glens and +forests round him were his own: and that was the use which he made of +them. On the other side of the torrent, his mother and his sister, +a maiden of wonderful beauty, lived the hermit life, on a footing of +perfect equality with their female slaves, and the pious women who had +joined them.</p> +<p>Basil’s austerities—or rather the severe climate of the +Black Sea forests—brought him to an early grave. But his +short life was spent well enough. He was a poet, with an eye for +the beauty of Nature—especially for the beauty of the sea—most +rare in those times; and his works are full of descriptions of scenery +as healthy-minded as they are vivid and graceful.</p> +<p>In his travels through Egypt, Palestine, and Syria, he had seen the +hermits, and longed to emulate them; but (to do him justice) his ideal +of the so-called “religious life” was more practical than +those of the solitaries of Egypt, who had been his teachers. “It +was the life” (says Dean Milman <a name="citation163"></a><a href="#footnote163">{163}</a>) +“of the industrious religious community, not of the indolent and +solitary anchorite, which to Basil was the perfection of Christianity. +. . . The indiscriminate charity of these institutions was to +receive orphans” (of which there were but too many in those evil +days) “of all classes, for education and maintenance: but other +children only with the consent or at the request of parents, certified +before witnesses; and vows were by no means to be enforced upon these +youthful pupils. Slaves who fled to the monasteries were to be +admonished and sent back to their owners. There is one reservation” +(and that one only too necessary then), “that slaves were not +bound to obey their master, if he should order what is contrary to the +law of God. Industry was to be the animating principle of these +settlements. Prayer and psalmody were to have their stated hours, +but by no means to intrude on those devoted to useful labour. +These labours were strictly defined; such as were of real use to the +community, not those which might contribute to vice or luxury. +Agriculture was especially recommended. The life was in no respect +to be absorbed in a perpetual mystic communion with the Deity.”</p> +<p>The ideal which Basil set before him was never fulfilled in the East. +Transported to the West by St. Benedict, “the father of all monks,” +it became that conventual system which did so much during the early +middle age, not only for the conversion and civilization, but for the +arts and the agriculture of Europe.</p> +<p>Basil, like his bosom friend, Gregory of Nazianzen, had to go forth +from his hermitage into the world, and be a bishop, and fight the battles +of the true faith. But, as with Gregory, his hermit-training had +strengthened his soul, while it weakened his body. The Emperor +Valens, supporting the Arians against the orthodox, sent to Basil his +Prefect of the Prætorium, an officer of the highest rank. +The prefect argued, threatened; Basil was firm. “I never +met,” said he at last, “such boldness.” “Because,” +said Basil, “you never met a bishop.” The prefect +returned to his Emperor. “My lord, we are conquered; this +bishop is above threats. We can do nothing but by force.” +The Emperor shrank from that crime, and Basil and the orthodoxy of his +diocese were saved. The rest of his life and of Gregory’s +belongs, like that of Chrysostom, to general history, and we need pursue +it no further here.</p> +<p>I said that Basil’s idea of what monks should be was never +carried out in the East, and it cannot be denied that, as the years +went on, the hermit life took a form less and less practical, and more +and more repulsive also. Such men as Antony, Hilarion, Basil, +had valued the ascetic training, not so much because it had, as they +thought, a merit in itself, but because it enabled the spirit to rise +above the flesh; because it gave them strength to conquer their passions +and appetites, and leave their soul free to think and act.</p> +<p>But their disciples, especially in Syria, seem to have attributed +more and more merit to the mere act of inflicting want and suffering +on themselves. Their souls were darkened, besides, more and more, +by a doctrine unknown to the Bible, unknown to the early Christians, +and one which does not seem to have had any strong hold of the mind +of Antony himself—namely, that sins committed after baptism could +only be washed away by tears, and expiated by penance; that for them +the merits of him who died for the sins of the whole world were of little +or of no avail.</p> +<p>Therefore, in perpetual fear of punishment hereafter, they set their +whole minds to punish themselves on earth, always tortured by the dread +that they were not punishing themselves enough, till they crushed down +alike body, mind, and soul into an abject superstition, the details +of which are too repulsive to be written here. Some of the instances +of this self-invented misery which are recorded, even as early as the +time of Theodoret, bishop of Cyra, in the middle of the fifth century, +make us wonder at the puzzling inconsistencies of the human mind. +Did these poor creatures really believe that God could be propitiated +by the torture of his own creatures? What sense could Theodoret +(who was a good man himself) have put upon the words, “God is +good,” or “God is love,” while he was looking with +satisfaction, even with admiration and awe, on practices which were +more fit for worshippers of Moloch?</p> +<p>Those who think these words too strong, may judge for themselves +how far they apply to his story of Marana and Cyra.</p> +<p>Marana, then, and Cyra were two young ladies of Berhœa, who +had given up all the pleasures of life to settle themselves in a roofless +cottage outside the town. They had stopped up the door with stones +and clay, and allowed it only to be opened at the feast of Pentecost. +Around them lived certain female slaves who had voluntarily chosen the +same life, and who were taught and exhorted through a little window +by their mistresses; or rather, it would seem, by Marana alone: for +Cyra (who was bent double by her “training”) was never to +speak. Theodoret, as a priest, was allowed to enter the sacred +enclosure, and found them shrouded from head to foot in long veils, +so that neither their faces or hands could be seen; and underneath their +veils, burdened on every limb, poor wretches, with such a load of iron +chains and rings that a strong man, he says, could not have stood under +the weight. Thus had they endured for two-and-forty years, exposed +to sun and wind, to frost and rain, taking no food at times for many +days together. I have no mind to finish the picture, and still +less to record any of the phrases of rapturous admiration with which +Bishop Theodoret comments upon their pitiable superstition.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SIMEON STYLITES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all such anchorites of the far East, the most remarkable, perhaps, +was the once famous Simeon Stylites—a name almost forgotten, save +by antiquaries and ecclesiastics, till Mr. Tennyson made it once more +notorious in a poem as admirable for its savage grandness, as for its +deep knowledge of human nature. He has comprehended thoroughly, +as it seems to me, that struggle between self-abasement and self-conceit, +between the exaggerated sense of sinfulness and the exaggerated ambition +of saintly honour, which must have gone on in the minds of these ascetics—the +temper which could cry out one moment with perfect honesty—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Although I be the basest of mankind,<br />From scalp to sole +one slough and crust of sin;”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>at the next—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“I will not cease to grasp the hope I hold<br />Of saintdom; +and to clamour, mourn, and sob,<br />Battering the gates of heaven with +storms of prayer.<br />Have mercy, Lord, and take away my sin.<br />Let +this avail, just, dreadful, mighty God,<br />This not be all in vain, +that thrice ten years<br />Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs,<br />* +* * * * *<br />A sign between the meadow and the cloud,<br />Patient +on this tall pillar I have borne<br />Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, +damp, and sleet, and snow;<br />And I had hoped that ere this period +closed<br />Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest,<br />Denying +not these weather-beaten limbs<br />The meed of saints, the white robe +and the palm.<br />O take the meaning, Lord: I do not breathe,<br />Not +whisper any murmur of complaint.<br />Pain heaped ten hundred-fold to +this, were still<br />Less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear<br />Than +were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush’d<br />My spirit +flat before thee.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Admirably also has Mr. Tennyson conceived the hermit’s secret +doubt of the truth of those miracles, which he is so often told that +he has worked, that he at last begins to believe that he must have worked +them; and the longing, at the same time, to justify himself to himself, +by persuading himself that he has earned miraculous powers. On +this whole question of hermit miracles I shall speak at length hereafter. +I have given specimens enough of them already, and shall give as few +as possible henceforth. There is a sameness about them which may +become wearisome to those who cannot be expected to believe them. +But what the hermits themselves thought of them, is told (at least, +so I suspect) only too truly by Mr. Tennyson—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p> “O Lord, thou knowest what a man I am;<br />A +sinful man, conceived and born in sin:<br />’Tis their own doing; +this is none of mine;<br />Lay it not to me. Am I to blame for +this,<br />That here come those who worship me? Ha! ha!<br />The +silly people take me for a saint,<br />And bring me offerings of fruit +and flowers:<br />And I, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here),<br />Have +all in all endured as much, and more<br />Than many just and holy men, +whose names<br />Are register’d and calendar’d for saints.<br /> Good +people, you do ill to kneel to me.<br />What is it I can have done to +merit this?<br />It may be I have wrought some miracles,<br />And cured +some halt and maimed: but what of that?<br />It may be, no one, even +among the saints,<br />Can match his pains with mine: but what of that?<br />Yet +do not rise; for you may look on me,<br />And in your looking you may +kneel to God.<br />Speak, is there any of you halt and maimed?<br />I +think you know I have some power with heaven<br />From my long penance; +let him speak his wish.<br /> Yes, I can heal him. +Power goes forth from me.<br />They say that they are heal’d. +Ah, hark! they shout,<br />‘St. Simeon Stylites!’ +Why, if so,<br />God reaps a harvest in me. O my soul,<br />God +reaps a harvest in thee. If this be,<br />Can I work miracles, +and not be saved?<br />This is not told of any. They were saints.<br />It +cannot be but that I shall be saved;<br />Yea, crowned a saint.” +. . .</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I shall not take the liberty of quoting more: but shall advise all +who read these pages to study seriously Mr. Tennyson’s poem if +they wish to understand that darker side of the hermit life which became +at last, in the East, the only side of it. For in the East the +hermits seem to have degenerated, by the time of the Mahomedan conquest, +into mere self-torturing fakeers, like those who may be seen to this +day in Hindostan. The salt lost its savour, and in due tune it +was trampled under foot; and the armies of the Moslem swept out of the +East a superstition which had ended by enervating instead of ennobling +humanity.</p> +<p>But in justice, not only to myself, but to Mr. Tennyson (whose details +of Simeon’s asceticism may seem to some exaggerated and impossible), +I have thought fit to give his life at length, omitting only many of +his miracles, and certain stories of his penances, which can only excite +horror and disgust, without edifying the reader.</p> +<p>There were, then, three hermits of this name, often confounded; and +all alike famous (as were Julian, Daniel, and other Stylites) for standing +for many years on pillars. One of the Simeons is said by Moschus +to have been struck by lightning, and his death to have been miraculously +revealed to Julian the Stylite, who lived twenty-four miles off. +More than one Stylite, belonging to the Monophysite heresy of Severus +Acephalus, was to be found, according to Moschus, in the East at the +beginning of the seventh century. This biography is that of the +elder Simeon, who died (according to Cedrenus) about 460, after passing +some forty or fifty years upon pillars of different heights. There +is much discrepancy in the accounts, both of his date and of his age; +but that such a person really existed, and had his imitators, there +can be no doubt. He is honoured as a saint alike by the Latin +and by the Greek Churches.</p> +<p>His life has been written by a disciple of his named Antony, who +professes to have been with him when he died; and also by Theodoret, +who knew him well in life. Both are to be found in Rosweyde, and +there seems no reason to doubt their authenticity. I have therefore +interwoven them both, marking the paragraphs taken from each.</p> +<p>Theodoret, who says that he was born in the village of Gesa, between +Antioch and Cilicia, calls him that “famous Simeon—that +great miracle of the whole world, whom all who obey the Roman rule know; +whom the Persians also know, and the Indians, and Æthiopians; +nay, his fame has even spread to the wandering Scythians, and taught +them his love of toil and love of wisdom;” and says that he might +be compared with Jacob the patriarch, Joseph the temperate, Moses the +legislator, David the king and prophet, Micaiah the prophet, and the +divine men who were like them. He tells how Simeon, as a boy, +kept his father’s sheep, and, being forced by heavy snow to leave +them in the fold, went with his parents to the church, and there heard +the Gospel which blesses those who mourn and weep, and calls those miserable +who laugh, and those enviable who have a pure heart. And when +he asked a bystander what he would gain who did each of these things, +the man propounded to him the solitary life, and pointed out to him +the highest philosophy.</p> +<p>This, Theodoret says, he heard from the saint’s own tongue. +His disciple Antony gives the story of his conversion somewhat differently.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>St. Simeon (says Antony) was chosen by God from his birth, and used +to study how to obey and please him. Now his father’s name +was Susocion, and he was brought up by his parents.</p> +<p>When he was thirteen years old, he was feeding his father’s +sheep; and seeing a church he left the sheep and went in, and heard +an epistle being read. And when he asked an elder, “Master, +what is that which is read?” the old man replied, “For the +substance (or very being) of the soul, that a man may learn to fear +God with his whole heart, and his whole mind.” Quoth the +blessed Simeon, “What is to fear God?” Quoth the elder, +“Wherefore troublest thou me, my son?” Quoth he, “I +inquire of thee, as of God. For I wish to learn what I hear from +thee, because I am ignorant and a fool.” The elder answered, +“If any man shall have fasted continually, and offered prayers +every moment, and shall have humbled himself to every man, and shall +not have loved gold, nor parents, nor garments, nor possessions, and +if he honours his father and mother, and follows the priests of God, +he shall inherit the eternal kingdom: but he who, on the contrary, does +not keep those things, he shall inherit the outer darkness which God +hath prepared for the devil and his angels. All these things, +my son, are heaped together in a monastery.”</p> +<p>Hearing this, the blessed Simeon fell at his feet, saying, “Thou +art my father and my mother, and my teacher of good works, and guide +to the kingdom of heaven. For thou hast gained my soul, which +was already being sunk in perdition. May the Lord repay thee again +for it. For these are the things which edify. I will now +go into a monastery, where God shall choose; and let his will be done +on me.” The elder said, “My son, before thou enterest, +hear me. Thou shalt have tribulation; for thou must watch and +serve in nakedness, and sustain ills without ceasing; and again thou +shalt be comforted, thou vessel precious to God.”</p> +<p>And forthwith the blessed Simeon, going out of the church, went to +the monastery of the holy Timotheus, a wonder-working man; and falling +down before the gate of the monastery, he lay five days, neither eating +nor drinking. And on the fifth day, the abbot, coming out, asked +him, “Whence art thou, my son? And what parents hast thou, +that thou art so afflicted? Or what is thy name, lest perchance +thou hast done some wrong? Or perchance thou art a slave, and +fleest from thy master?” Then the blessed Simeon said with +tears, “By no means, master; but I long to be a servant of God, +if he so will, because I wish to save my lost soul. Bid me, therefore, +enter the monastery, and leave all; and send me away no more.” +Then the Abbot, taking his hand, introduced him into the monastery, +saying to the brethren, “My sons, behold I deliver you this brother; +teach him the canons of the monastery.” Now he was in the +monastery about four months, serving all without complaint, in which +he learnt the whole Psalter by heart, receiving every day divine food. +But the food which he took with his brethren he gave away secretly to +the poor, not caring for the morrow. So the brethren ate at even: +but he only on the seventh day.</p> +<p>But one day, having gone to the well to draw water, he took the rope +from the bucket with which the brethren drew water, and wound it round +his body from his loins to his neck: and going in, said to the brethren, +“I went out to draw water, and found no rope on the bucket.” +And they said, “Hold thy peace, brother, lest the abbot know it; +till the thing has passed over.” But his body was wounded +by the tightness and roughness of the rope, because it cut him to the +bone, and sank into his flesh till it was hardly seen. But one +day, some of the brethren going out, found him giving his food to the +poor; and when they returned, said to the abbot, “Whence hast +thou brought us that man? We cannot abstain like him, for he fasts +from Lord’s day to Lord’s day, and gives away his food.” +. . . Then the abbot, going out, found as was told him, and said, “Son, +what is it which the brethren tell of thee? Is it not enough for +thee to fast as we do? Hast thou not heard the Gospel, saying +of teachers, that the disciple is not above his master?” . . . +The blessed Simeon stood and answered nought. And the abbot, being +angry, bade strip him, and found the rope round him, so that only its +outside appeared; and cried with a loud voice, saying, “Whence +has this man come to us, wanting to destroy the rule of the monastery? +I pray thee depart hence, and go whither thou wiliest.” +And with great trouble they took off the rope, and his flesh with it, +and taking care of him, healed him.</p> +<p>But after he was healed he went out of the monastery, no man knowing +of it, and entered a deserted tank, in which was no water, where unclean +spirits dwelt. And that very night it was revealed to the abbot, +that a multitude of people surrounded the monastery with clubs and swords, +saying, “Give us Simeon the servant of God, Timotheus; else we +will burn thee with thy monastery, because thou hast angered a just +man.” And when he woke, he told the brethren the vision, +and how he was much disturbed thereby. And another night he saw +a multitude of strong men standing and saying, “Give us Simeon +the servant of God; for he is beloved by God and the angels: why hast +thou vexed him? He is greater than thou before God; for all the +angels are sorry on his behalf. And God is minded to set him on +high in the world, that by him many signs may be done, such as no man +has done.” Then the abbot, rising, said with great fear +to the brethren, “Seek me that man, and bring him hither, lest +perchance we all die on his account. He is truly a saint of God, +for I have heard and seen great wonders of him.” Then all +the monks went out and searched, but in vain, and told the abbot how +they had sought him everywhere, save in the deserted tank. . . . +Then the abbot went, with five brethren, to the tank. And making +a prayer, he went down into it with the brethren. And the blessed +Simeon, seeing him, began to entreat, saying, “I beg you, servants +of God, let me alone one hour, that I may render up my spirit; for yet +a little, and it will fail. But my soul is very weary, because +I have angered the Lord.” But the abbot said to him, “Come, +servant of God, that we may take thee to the monastery; for I know concerning +thee that thou art a servant of God.” But when he would +not, they brought him by force to the monastery. And all fell +at his feet, weeping, and saying, “We have sinned against thee, +servant of God; forgive us.” But the blessed Simeon groaned, +saying, “Wherefore do ye burden an unhappy man and a sinner? +You are the servants of God, and my fathers.” And he stayed +there about one year.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>After this (says Theodoret) he came to the Telanassus, under the +peak of the mountain on which he lived till his death; and having found +there a little house, he remained in it shut up for three years. +But eager always to increase the riches of virtue, he longed, in imitation +of the divine Moses and Elias, to fast forty days; and tried to persuade +Bassus, who was then set over the priests in the villages, to leave +nothing within by him, but to close up the door with clay. He +spoke to him of the difficulty, and warned him not to think that a violent +death was a virtue. “Put by me then, father,” he said, +“ten loaves, and a cruse of water, and if I find my body need +sustenance, I will partake of them.” At the end of the days, +that wonderful man of God, Bassus, removed the clay, and going in, found +the food and water untouched, and Simeon lying unable to speak or move. +Getting a sponge, he moistened and opened his lips and then gave him +the symbols of the divine mysteries; and, strengthened by them, he arose, +and took some food, chewing little by little lettuces and succory, and +such like.</p> +<p>From that time, for twenty-eight years (says Theodoret), he had remained +fasting continually for forty days at a time. But custom had made +it more easy to him. For on the first days he used to stand and +praise God; after that, when through emptiness he could stand no longer, +he used to sit and perform the divine office; and on the last day, even +lie down. For when his strength failed slowly, he was forced to +lie half dead. But after he stood on the column he could not bear +to lie down, but invented another way by which he could stand. +He fastened a beam to the column, and tied himself to it by ropes, and +so passed the forty days. But afterwards, when he had received +greater grace from on high, he did not want even that help: but stood +for the forty days, taking no food, but strengthened by alacrity of +soul and divine grace.</p> +<p>When he had passed three years in that little house, he took possession +of the peak which has since been so famous; and when he had commanded +a wall to be made round him, and procured an iron chain, twenty cubits +long, he fastened one end of it to a great stone, and the other to his +right foot, so that he could not, if he wished, leave those bounds. +There he lived, continually picturing heaven to himself, and forcing +himself to contemplate things which are above the heavens; for the iron +bond did not check the flight of his thoughts. But when the wonderful +Meletius, to whom the care of the episcopate of Antioch was then commended +(a man of sense and prudence, and adorned with shrewdness of intellect), +told him that the iron was superfluous, since the will is able enough +to impose on the body the chains of reason, he gave way, and obeyed +his persuasion. And having sent for a smith, he bade him strike +off the chain.</p> +<p>[Here follow some painful details unnecessary to be translated.]</p> +<p>When, therefore, his fame was flying far and wide everywhere, all +ran together, not only the neighbours, but those who were many days’ +journey off, some bringing the palsied, some begging health for the +sick, some that they might become fathers, and all wishing to receive +from him what they had not received from nature; and when they had received, +and gained their request, they went back joyful, proclaiming the benefits +they had obtained, and sending many more to beg the same. So, +as all are coming up from every quarter, and the road is like a river, +one may see gathered in that place an ocean of men, which receives streams +from every side; not only of those who live in our region, but Ishmaelites, +and Persians, and the Armenians who are subject to them, and Iberi, +and Homerites, and those who dwell beyond them. Many have come +also from the extreme west, Spaniards, and Britons, and Gauls who live +between the two. Of Italy it is superfluous to speak; for they +say that at Rome the man has become so celebrated that they have put +little images of him in all the porches of the shops, providing thereby +for themselves a sort of safeguard and security.</p> +<p>When, therefore, they came innumerable (for all tried to touch him, +and receive some blessing from those skin garments of his), thinking +it in the first place absurd and unfit that such exceeding honour should +be paid him, and next, disliking the labour of the business, devised +that station on the pillar, bidding one be built, first of six cubits, +then of twelve, next of twenty-two, and now of thirty-six. For +he longs to fly up to heaven, and be freed from this earthly conversation.</p> +<p>But I believe that this station was made not without divine counsel. +Wherefore I exhort fault-finders to bridle their tongue, and not let +it rashly loose, but rather consider that the Lord has often devised +such things, that he might profit those who were too slothful.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>In proof of which, Theodoret quotes the examples of Isaiah, Hosea, +and Ezekiel; and then goes on to say how God in like manner ordained +this new and admirable spectacle, by the novelty of it drawing all to +look, and exhibiting to those who came, a lesson which they could trust. +For the novelty of the spectacle (he says) is a worthy warrant for the +teaching; and he who came to see goes away instructed in divine things. +And as those whose lot it is to rule over men, after a certain period +of time, change the impressions on their coins, sometimes stamping them +with images of lions, sometimes of stars, sometimes of angels, and trying, +by a new mark, to make the gold more precious; so the King of all, adding +to piety and true religion these new and manifold modes of living, as +certain stamps on coin, excites to praise the tongues not only of the +children of faith, but of those who are diseased with unbelief. +And that so it is, not only words bear witness, but facts proclaim aloud. +For many myriads of Ishmaelites, who were enslaved in the darkness of +impiety, have been illuminated by that station on the column. +For this most shining lamp, set as it were upon a candlestick, sent +forth all round its rays, like of the sun: and one may see (as I said) +Iberi coming, and Persians, and Armenians, and accepting divine baptism. +But the Ishmaelites, coming by tribes, 200 and 300 at a time, and sometimes +even 1,000, deny, with shouts, the error of their fathers; and breaking +in pieces, before that great illuminator, the images which they had +worshipped, and renouncing the orgies of Venus (for they had received +from ancient times the worship of that dæmon), they receive the +divine sacraments, and take laws from that holy tongue, bidding farewell +to their ancestral rites, and renouncing the eating of wild asses and +camels. And this I have seen with my own eyes, and have heard +them renouncing the impiety of their fathers, and assenting to the Evangelic +doctrine.</p> +<p>But once I was in the greatest danger: for he himself told them to +go to me, and receive priestly benediction, saying that they would thence +obtain great advantage. But they, having run together in somewhat +too barbarous fashion, some dragged me before, some behind, some sideways; +and those who were further off, scrambling over the others, and stretching +out their hands, plucked my beard, or seized my clothes; and I should +have been stifled by their too warm onset, had not he, shouting out, +dispersed them all. Such usefulness has that column, which is +mocked at by scornful men, poured forth; and so great a ray of the knowledge +of God has it sent forth into the minds of barbarians.</p> +<p>I know also of his having done another thing of this kind:—One +tribe was beseeching the divine man, that he would send forth some prayer +and blessing for their chief: but another tribe which was present retorted +that he ought not to bless that chief, but theirs; for the one was a +most unjust man, but the other averse to injustice. And when there +had been a great contention and barbaric wrangling between them, they +attacked each other. But I, using many words, kept exhorting them +to be quiet, seeing that the divine man was able enough to give a blessing +to both. But the one tribe kept saying, that the first chief ought +not to have it; and the other tribe trying to deprive the second chief +of it. Then he, by threatening them from above, and calling them +dogs, hardly stilled the quarrel. This I have told, wishing to +show their great faith. For they would not have thus gone mad +against each other, had they not believed that the divine man’s +blessing possesses some very great power.</p> +<p>I saw another miracle, which was very celebrated. One coming +up (he, too, was a chief of a Saracen tribe) besought the divine personage +that he would help a man whose limbs had given way in paralysis on the +road; and he said the misfortune had fallen on him in Callinicus, which +is a very large camp. When he was brought into the midst, the +saint bade him renounce the impiety of his forefathers; and when he +willingly obeyed, he asked him if he believed in the Father, the only-begotten +Son, and the Holy Spirit. And when he confessed that he believed—“Believing,” +said he, “in their names, Arise.” And when the man +had risen, he bade him carry away his chief (who was a very large man) +on his shoulders to his tent. He took him up, and went away forthwith; +while those who were present raised their voices in praise of God. +This he commanded, imitating the Lord, who bade the paralytic carry +his bed. Let no man call this imitation tyranny. For his +saying is, “He who believeth in me, the works which I do, he shall +do also, and more than these shall he do.” And, indeed, +we have seen the fulfilment of this promise. For though the shadow +of the Lord never worked a miracle, the shadow of the great Peter both +loosed death, and drove out diseases, and put dæmons to flight. +But the Lord it was who did also these miracles by his servants; and +now likewise, using his name, the divine Simeon works his innumerable +wonders.</p> +<p>It befell also that another wonder was worked, by no means inferior +to the last. For among those who had believed in the saving name +of the Lord Christ, an Ishmaelite, of no humble rank, had made a vow +to God, with Simeon as witness. Now his promise was this, that +he would henceforth to the end abstain from animal food. Transgressing +this promise once, I know not how, he slew a bird, and dared to eat +it. But God being minded to bring him by reproof to conversion, +and to honour his servant, who was a witness to the broken vow, the +flesh of the bird was changed into the nature of a stone, so that, even +if he wished, he could not thenceforth eat it. For how could he, +when the body meant for food had turned to stone? The barbarian, +stupified by this unexpected sight, came with great haste to the holy +man, bringing to the light the sin which he had hidden, and proclaimed +his transgression to all, begging pardon from God, and invoking the +help of the saint, that by his all-powerful prayers he might loose him +from the bonds of his sin. Now many saw that miracle, and felt +that the part of the bird about the breast consisted of bone and stone.</p> +<p>But I was not only an ear-witness of his wonders, but also an ear-witness +of his prophecies concerning futurity. For that drought which +came, and the great dearth of that year, and the famine and pestilence +which followed together, he foretold two years before, saying that he +saw a rod which was laid on man, stripes which would be inflicted by +it. Moreover, he at another time foretold an invasion of locusts, +and that it would bring no great harm, because the divine clemency soon +follows punishment. But when thirty days were past, an innumerable +multitude of them hung aloft, so that they even cut off the sun’s +rays and threw a shadow; and that we all saw plainly: but it only damaged +the cattle pastures, and in no wise hurt the food of man. To me, +too, who was attacked by a certain person, he signified that the quarrel +would end ere a fortnight was past; and I learned the truth of the prediction +by experience.</p> +<p>Moreover there were seen by him once two rods, which came down from +the skies, and fell on the eastern and western lands. Now the +divine man said that they signified the rising of the Persian and Scythian +nations against the Romans; and told the vision to those who were by, +and with many tears and assiduous prayers, warded that disaster, the +threat whereof hung over the earth. Certainly the Persian nation, +when already armed and prepared to invade the Romans, was kept back +(the divine will being against them) from their attempt, and occupied +at home with their own troubles. But while I know many other cases +of this kind, I shall pass them over to avoid prolixity. These +are surely enough to show the spiritual contemplation of his mind.</p> +<p>His fame was great, also, with the King of the Persians; for as the +ambassadors told, who came to him, he diligently inquired what was his +life, and what his miracles. But they say that the King’s +wife also begged oil honoured by his blessing, and accepted it as the +greatest of gifts. Moreover, all the King’s courtiers, being +moved by his fame, and having heard many slanders against him from the +Magi, inquired diligently, and having learnt the truth, called him a +divine man; while the rest of the crowd, coming to the muleteers and +servants and soldiers, both offered money, and begged for a share in +the oil of benediction. The Queen, too, of the Ishmaelites, longing +to have a child, sent first some of her most noble subjects to the saint, +beseeching him that she might become a mother. And when her prayer +had been granted, and she had her heart’s desire, she took the +son who had been born, and went to the divine old man; and (because +women were not allowed to approach him) sent the babe, entreating his +blessing on it . . . [Here Theodoret puts into the Queen’s mouth +words which it is unnecessary to quote.]</p> +<p>But how long do I strive to measure the depths of the Atlantic sea? +For as they are unfathomable by man, so do the things which he does +daily surpass narration. I, however, admire above all these things +his endurance; for night and day he stands, so as to be seen by all. +For as the doors are taken away, and a large part of the wall around +pulled down, he is set forth as a new and wondrous spectacle to all; +now standing long, now bowing himself frequently, and offering adoration +to God. Many of those who stand by count these adorations; and +once a man with me, when he had counted 1,244, and then missed, gave +up counting: but always, when he bows himself, he touches his feet with +his forehead. For as his stomach takes food only once in the week, +and that very little—no more than is received in the divine sacraments,—his +back admits of being easily bent. . . . But nothing which happens +to him overpowers his philosophy; he bears nobly both voluntary and +involuntary pains, and conquers both by readiness of will.</p> +<p>There came once from Arabena a certain good man, and honoured with +the ministry of Christ. He, when he had come to that mountain +peak,—“Tell me,” he cried, “by the very truth +which converts the human race to itself—Art thou a man, or an +incorporeal nature?” But when all there were displeased +with the question, the saint bade them all be silent, and said to him, +“Why hast thou asked me this?” He answered, “Because +I hear every one saying publicly, that thou neither eatest nor sleepest; +but both are properties of man, and no one who has a human nature could +have lived without food and sleep.” Then the saint bade +them set a ladder to the column, and him to come up; and first to look +at his hands, and then feel inside his cloak of skins; and to see not +only his feet, but a severe wound. But when he saw that he was +a man, and the size of that wound, and learnt from him how he took nourishment, +he came down and told me all.</p> +<p>At the public festivals he showed an endurance of another kind. +For from the setting of the sun till it had come again to the eastern +horizon, he stood all night with hands uplift to heaven, neither soothed +with sleep nor conquered by fatigue. But in toils so great, and +so great a magnitude of deeds, and multitude of miracles, his self-esteem +is as moderate as if he were in dignity the least of all men. +Beside his modesty, he is easy of access of speech, and gracious, and +answers every man who speaks to him, whether he be handicraftsman, beggar, +or rustic. And from the bounteous God he has received also the +gift of teaching, and making his exhortations twice a day, he delights +the ears of those who hear, discoursing much on grace, and setting forth +the instructions of the Divine Spirit to look up and fly toward heaven, +and depart from the earth, and imagine the kingdom which is expected, +and fear the threats of Gehenna, and despise earthly things, and wait +for things to come. He may be seen, too, acting as judge, and +giving right and just decisions. This, and the like, is done after +the ninth hour. For all night, and through the day to the ninth +hour, he prays perpetually. After that, he first sets forth the +divine teaching to those who are present; then having heard each man’s +petition, after he has performed some cures, he settles the quarrels +of those between whom there is any dispute. About sunset he begins +the rest of his converse with God. But though he is employed in +this way, and does all this, he does not give up the care of the holy +Churches, sometimes fighting with the impiety of the Greeks, sometimes +checking the audacity of the Jews, sometimes putting to flight the bands +of heretics, and sometimes sending messages concerning these last to +the Emperor; sometimes, too, stirring up rulers to zeal for God, and +sometimes exhorting the pastors of the Churches to bestow more care +upon their flocks.</p> +<p>I have gone through these facts, trying to show the shower by one +drop, and to give those who meet with my writing a taste on the finger +of the sweetness of the honey. But there remains (as is to be +expected) much more; and if he should live longer, he will probably +add still greater wonders. . . .</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Thus far Theodoret. Antony gives some other details of Simeon’s +life upon the column.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The devil, he says, in envy transformed himself into the likeness +of an angel, shining in splendour, with fiery horses, and a fiery chariot, +and appeared close to the column on which the blessed Simeon stood, +and shone with glory like an angel. And the devil said with bland +speeches, “Simeon, hear my words, which the Lord hath commanded +thee. He has sent me, his angel, with a chariot and horses of +fire, that I may carry thee away, as I carried Elias. For thy +time is come. Do thou, in like wise, ascend now with me into the +chariot, because the Lord of heaven and earth has sent it down. +Let us ascend together into the heavens, that the angels and archangels +may see thee, with Mary the mother of the Lord, with the Apostles and +martyrs, the confessors and prophets; because they rejoice to see thee, +that thou mayest pray to the Lord, who hast made thee after his own +image. Verily I have spoken to thee: delay not to ascend.” +Simeon, having ended his prayer, said, “Lord, wilt thou carry +me, a sinner, into heaven?” And lifting his right foot that +he might step into the chariot, he lifted also his right hand, and made +the sign of Christ. When he had made the sign of the cross, forthwith +the devil appeared nowhere, but vanished with his device, as dust before +the face of the wind. Then understood Simeon that it was an art +of the devil.</p> +<p>Having recovered himself, therefore, he said to his foot, “Thou +shalt not return back hence, but stand here until my death, when the +Lord shall send for me a sinner.”</p> +<p>[Here follow more painful stories, which had best be omitted.]</p> +<p>But after much time, his mother, hearing of his fame, came to see +him, but was forbidden, because no woman entered that place. But +when the blessed Simeon heard the voice of his mother, he said to her, +“Bear up, my mother, a little while, and we shall see each other, +if God will.” But she, hearing this, began to weep, and +tearing her hair, rebuked him, saying, “Son, why hast thou done +this? In return for the body in which I bore thee, thou hast filled +me full of grief. For the milk with which I nourished thee, thou +hast given me tears. For the kiss with which I kissed thee, thou +hast given me bitter pangs of heart. For the grief and labour +which I have suffered, thou hast laid on me cruel stripes.” +And she spoke so much that she made us all weep. The blessed Simeon, +hearing the voice of her who bore him, put his face in his hands and +wept bitterly; and commanded her, saying, “Lady mother, be still +a little time, and we shall see each other in eternal rest.” +But she began to say, “By Christ, who formed thee, if there is +a probability of seeing thee, who hast been so long a stranger to me, +let me see thee; or if not, let me only hear thy voice and die at once; +for thy father is dead in sorrow because of thee. And now do not +destroy me for very bitterness, my son.” Saying this, for +sorrow and weeping she fell asleep; for during three days and three +nights she had not ceased entreating him. Then the blessed Simeon +prayed the Lord for her, and she forthwith gave up the ghost.</p> +<p>But they took up her body, and brought it where he could see it. +And he said, weeping, “The Lord receive thee in joy, because thou +hast endured tribulation for me, and borne me, and nursed and nourished +me with labour.” And as he said that, his mother’s +countenance perspired, and her body was stirred in the sight of us all. +But he, lifting up his eyes to heaven, said, “Lord God of virtues, +who sittest above the cherubim, and searchest the foundations of the +abyss, who knewest Adam before he was; who hast promised the riches +of the kingdom of heaven to those who love thee; who didst speak to +Moses in the bush of fire; who blessedst Abraham our father; who bringest +into Paradise the souls of the just, and sinkest the souls of the impious +to perdition; who didst humble the lions, and mitigate for thy servants +the strong fires of the Chaldees; who didst nourish Elisha by the ravens +which brought him food—receive her soul in peace, and put her +in the place of the holy fathers, for thine is the power for ever and +ever.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Antony then goes on to relate the later years of the saint’s +life.</p> +<p>He tells how Simeon, some time after this, ascended the column of +forty cubits; how a great dragon (serpent) crawled towards it, and coiled +round it, entreating (so it seemed) to be freed from a spike of wood +which had entered its eye; and how, St. Simeon took pity on it, he caused +the spike (which was a cubit long) to come out.</p> +<p>He tells how a woman, drinking water from a jar at night, swallowed +a snake unawares, which grew within her, till she was brought to the +blessed Simeon, who commanded some of the water of the monastery to +be given her; on which the serpent crawled out of her mouth, three cubits +long, and burst immediately; and was hung up there seven days, as a +testimony to many.</p> +<p>He tells how, when there was great want of water, St. Simeon prayed +till the earth opened on the east of the monastery, and a cave full +of water was discovered, which had never failed them to that day.</p> +<p>He tells how men, sitting beneath a tree, on their way to the saint, +saw a doe go by, and commanded her to stop, “by the prayers of +St. Simeon;” which when she had done, they killed and ate her, +and came to St. Simeon with the skin. But they were all struck +dumb, and hardly cured after two years. And the skin of the doe +they hung up, for a testimony to many.</p> +<p>He tells of a huge leopard, which slew men and cattle all around; +and how St. Simeon bade sprinkle in his haunts soil or water from the +monastery; and when men went again, they found the leopard dead.</p> +<p>He tells how, when St. Simeon cured any one, he bade him go home, +and honour God who had healed him, and not dare to say that Simeon had +cured him, lest a worse thing should suddenly come to him; and not to +presume to swear by the name of the Lord, for it was a grave sin; but +to swear, “whether justly or unjustly, by him, lowly and a sinner. +Wherefore all the Easterns, and barbarous tribes in those regions, swear +by Simeon.”</p> +<p>He tells how a robber from Antioch, Jonathan by name, fled to St. +Simeon, and embraced the column, weeping bitterly, and saying how he +had committed every crime, and had come thither to repent. And +how the saint said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven: but do +not try to tempt me, lest thou be found again in the sins which thou +hast cast away.” Then came the officials from Antioch, demanding +that he should be given up, to be cast to the wild beasts. But +Simeon answered, “My sons, I brought him not hither, but One greater +than I; for he helps such as this man, and of such is the kingdom of +heaven. But if you can enter, carry him hence; I cannot give him +up, for I fear him who has sent the man to me.” And they, +struck with fear, went away. Then Jonathan lay for seven days +embracing the column, and then asked the saint leave to go. The +saint asked him if he were going back to sin? “No, lord,” +he said; “but my time is fulfilled,” and straightway he +gave up the ghost; and when officials came again from Antioch, demanding +him, Simeon replied: “He who brought him came with a multitude +of the heavenly host, and is able to send into Tartarus your city, and +all who dwell in it, who also has reconciled this man to himself; and +I was afraid lest he should slay me suddenly. Therefore weary +me no more, a humble man and poor.”</p> +<p>But after a few years (says Antony) it befell one day that he bowed +himself in prayer, and remained so three days—that is, the Friday, +the Sabbath, and the Lord’s day. Then I was terrified, and +went up to him, and stood before his face, and said to him, “Master, +arise: bless us; for the people have been waiting three days and three +nights for a blessing from thee.” And he answered me not; +and I said again to him: “Wherefore dost thou grieve me, lord? +or in what have I offended? I beseech thee, put out thy hand to +me; or, perchance, thou hast already departed from us?”</p> +<p>And seeing that he did not answer, I thought to tell no one; for +I feared to touch him: and, standing about half an hour, I bent down, +and put my ear to listen; and there was no breathing: but a fragrance +as of many scents rose from his body. And so I understood that +he rested in the Lord; and, turning faint, I wept most bitterly; and, +bending down, I kissed his eyes, and clasped his beard and hair, and +reproaching him, I said: “To whom dost thou leave me, lord? or +where shall I seek thy angelic doctrine? What answer shall I make +for thee? or whose soul will look at this column, without thee, and +not grieve? What answer shall I make to the sick, when they come +here to seek thee, and find thee not? What shall I say, poor creature +that I am? To-day I see thee; to-morrow I shall look right and +left, and not find thee. And what covering shall I put upon thy +column? Woe to me, when folk shall come from afar, seeking thee, +and shall not find thee!” And, for much sorrow, I fell asleep.</p> +<p>And forthwith he appeared to me, and said: “I will not leave +this column, nor this place, and this blessed mountain, where I was +illuminated. But go down, satisfy the people, and send word secretly +to Antioch, lest a tumult arise. For I have gone to rest, as the +Lord willed: but do thou not cease to minister in this place, and the +Lord shall repay thee thy wages in heaven.”</p> +<p>But, rising from sleep, I said, in terror, “Master, remember +me in thy holy rest.” And, lifting up his garments, I fell +at his feet, and kissed them; and, holding his hands, I laid them on +my eyes, saying, “Bless me, I beseech thee, my lord!” +And again I wept, and said, “What relics shall I carry away from +thee as memorials?” And as I said that his body was moved; +therefore I was afraid to touch him.</p> +<p>And, that no one might know, I came down quickly, and sent a faithful +brother to the Bishop at Antioch. He came at once with three Bishops, +and with them Ardaburius, the master of the soldiers, with his people, +and stretched curtains round the column, and fastened their clothes +around it. For they were cloth of gold.</p> +<p>And when they laid him down by the altar before the column, and gathered +themselves together, birds flew round the column, crying, and as it +were lamenting, in all men’s sight; and the wailing of the people +and of the cattle resounded for seven miles away; yea, even the hills, +and the fields, and the trees were sad around that place; for everywhere +a dark cloud hung about it. And I watched an angel coming to visit +him; and, about the seventh hour, seven old men talked with that angel, +whose face was like lightning, and his garments as snow. And I +watched his voice, in fear and trembling, as long as I could hear it; +but what he said I cannot tell.</p> +<p>But when the holy Simeon lay upon the bier, the Pope of Antioch, +wishing to take some of his beard for a blessing, stretched out his +hand; and forthwith it was dried up; and prayers were made to God for +him, and so his hand was restored again.</p> +<p>Then, laying the corpse on the bier, they took it to Antioch, with +psalms and hymns. But all the people round that region wept, because +the protection of such mighty relics was taken from them, and because +the Bishop of Antioch had sworn that no man should touch his body.</p> +<p>But when they came to the fifth milestone from Antioch, to the village +which is called Meroë, no one could move him. Then a certain +man, deaf and dumb for forty years, who had committed a very great crime, +suddenly fell down before the bier, and began to cry, “Thou art +well come, servant of God; for thy coming will save me: and if I shall +obtain the grace to live, I will serve thee all the days of my life.” +And, rising, he caught hold of one of the mules which carried the bier, +and forthwith moved himself from that place. And so the man was +made whole from that hour.</p> +<p>Then all going out of the city of Antioch received the body of the +holy Simeon on gold and silver, with psalms and hymns, and with many +lamps brought it into the greater church, and thence to another church, +which is called Penitence. Moreover, many virtues are wrought +at his tomb, more than in his life; and the man who was made whole served +there till the day of his death. But many offered treasures to +the Bishop of Antioch for the faith, begging relics from the body: but, +on account of his oath, he never gave them.</p> +<p>I, Antony, lowly and a sinner, have set forth briefly, as far as +I could, this lesson. But blessed is he who has this writing in +a book, and reads it in the church and house of God; and when he shall +have brought it to his memory, he shall receive a reward from the Most +High; to whom is honour, power, and virtue, for ever and ever. +Amen.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>After such a fantastic story as this of Simeon, it is full time (some +readers may have thought that it was full time long since) to give my +own opinion of the miracles, visions, dæmons, and other portents +which occur in the lives of these saints. I have refrained from +doing so as yet, because I wished to begin by saying everything on behalf +of these old hermits which could honestly be said, and to prejudice +my readers’ minds in their favour rather than against them; because +I am certain that if we look on them merely with scorn and ridicule,—if +we do not acknowledge and honour all in them which was noble, virtuous, +and honest,—we shall never be able to combat their errors, either +in our own hearts or in those of our children: and that we may have +need to do so is but too probable. In this age, as in every other +age of materialism and practical atheism, a revulsion in favour of superstition +is at hand; I may say is taking place round us now. Doctrines +are tolerated as possibly true,—persons are regarded with respect +and admiration, who would have been looked on, even fifty years ago, +if not with horror, yet with contempt, as beneath the serious notice +of educated English people. But it is this very contempt which +has brought about the change of opinion concerning them. It has +been discovered that they were not altogether so absurd as they seemed; +that the public mind, in its ignorance, has been unjust to them; and, +in hasty repentance for that injustice, too many are ready to listen +to those who will tell them that these things are not absurd at all—that +there is no absurdity in believing that the leg-bone of St. Simon Stock +may possess miraculous powers, or that the spirits of the departed communicate +with their friends by rapping on the table. The ugly after-crop +of superstition which is growing up among us now is the just and natural +punishment of our materialism—I may say, of our practical atheism. +For those who will not believe in the real spiritual world, in which +each man’s soul stands face to face all day long with Almighty +God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, are sure at last to crave +after some false spiritual world, and seek, like the evil and profligate +generation of the Jews, after visible signs and material wonders. +And those who will not believe that the one true and living God is above +their path and about their bed and spieth out all their ways, and that +in him they live and move and have their being, are but too likely at +last to people with fancied saints and dæmons that void in the +imagination and in the heart which their own unbelief has made.</p> +<p>Are we then to suppose that these old hermits had lost faith in God? +On the contrary, they were the only men in that day who had faith in +God. And, if they had faith in any other things or persons beside +God, they merely shared in the general popular ignorance and mistakes +of their own age; and we must not judge those who, born in an age of +darkness, were struggling earnestly toward the light, as we judge those +who, born in an age of scientific light, are retiring of their own will +back into the darkness.</p> +<p>Before I enter upon the credibility of these alleged saints’ +miracles, I must guard my readers carefully from supposing that I think +miracles impossible. Heaven forbid. He would be a very rash +person who should do that, in a world which swarms with greater wonders +than those recorded in the biography of a saint. For, after all, +which is more wonderful, that God should be able to restore the dead +to life, or that he should be able to give life at all? Again, +as for these miracles being contrary to our experience, that is no very +valid argument against them; for equally contrary to our experience +is every new discovery of science, every strange phenomenon among plants +and animals, every new experiment in a chemical lecture.</p> +<p>The more we know of science the more we must confess, that nothing +is too strange to be true: and therefore we must not blame or laugh +at those who in old times believed in strange things which were not +true. They had an honest and rational sense of the infinite and +wonderful nature of the universe, and of their own ignorance about it; +and they were ready to believe anything, as the truly wise man will +be ready also. Only, from ignorance of the laws of the universe, +they did not know what was likely to be true and what was not; and therefore +they believed many things which experience has proved to be false; just +as Seba or any of the early naturalists were ready to believe in six-legged +dragons, or in the fatal power of the basilisk’s eye; fancies +which, if they had been facts, would not have been nearly as wonderful +as the transformation of the commonest insect, or the fertilization +of the meanest weed: but which are rejected now, not because they are +too wonderful, but simply because experience has proved them to be untrue. +And experience, it must be remembered, is the only sound test of truth. +As long as men will settle beforehand for themselves, without experience, +what they ought to see, so long will they be perpetually fancying that +they or others have seen it; and their faith, as it is falsely called, +will delude not only their reason, but their very hearing, sight, and +touch.</p> +<p>In this age we see no supernatural prodigies, because there are none +to see; and when we are told that the reason why we see no prodigies +is because we have no faith, we answer (if we be sensible), Just so. +As long as people had faith, in plain English believed, that they could +be magically cured of a disease, they thought that they or others were +so cured. As long as they believed that ghosts could be seen, +every silly person saw them. As long as they believed that dæmons +transformed themselves into an animal’s shape, they said, “The +devil croaked at me this morning in the shape of a raven; and therefore +my horse fell with me.” As long as they believed that witches +could curse them, they believed that an old woman in the next parish +had overlooked them, their cattle, and their crops; and that therefore +they were poor, diseased, and unfortunate. These dreams, which +were common among the peasants in remote districts five-and-twenty years +ago, have vanished, simply from the spread (by the grace of God, as +I hold) of an inductive habit of mind; of the habit of looking coolly, +boldly, carefully, at facts; till now, even among the most ignorant +peasantry, the woman who says that she has seen a ghost is likely not +to be complimented on her assertion. But it does not follow that +that woman’s grandmother, when she said that she saw a ghost, +was a consciously dishonest person; on the contrary, so complex and +contradictory is human nature, she would have been, probably, a person +of more than average intellect and earnestness; and her instinct of +the invisible and the infinite (which is that which raises man above +the brutes) would have been, because misinformed, the honourable cause +of her error. And thus we may believe of the good hermits, of +whom prodigies are recorded.</p> +<p>As to the truth of the prodigies themselves, there are several ways +of looking at them.</p> +<p>First, we may neither believe nor disbelieve them; but talk of them +as “devout fairy tales,” religious romances, and allegories; +and so save ourselves the trouble of judging whether they were true. +That is at least an easy and pleasant method; very fashionable in a +careless, unbelieving age like this: but in following it we shall be +somewhat cowardly; for there is hardly any matter a clear judgment on +which is more important just now than these same saints’ miracles.</p> +<p>Next, we may believe them utterly and all; and that is also an easy +and pleasant method. But if we follow it, we shall be forced to +believe, among other facts, that St. Paphnutius was carried miraculously +across a river, because he was too modest to undress himself and wade; +that St. Helenus rode a savage crocodile across a river, and then commanded +it to die; and that it died accordingly upon the spot; and that St. +Goar, entering the palace of the Archbishop of Trêves, hung his +cape on a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. And many other like +things we shall be forced to believe, with which this book has no concern.</p> +<p>Or, again, we may believe as much as we can, because we should like, +if we could, to believe all. But as we have not—no man has +as yet—any criterion by which we can judge how much of these stories +we ought to believe and how much not, which actually happened and which +did not, therefore we shall end (as not only the most earnest and pious, +but the most clear and logical persons, who have taken up this view, +have ended already) by believing all: which is an end not to be desired.</p> +<p>Or we may believe as few as possible of them, because we should like, +if we could, to believe none. And this method, for the reason +aforesaid (namely, that there is no criterion by which we can settle +what to believe and what not), usually ends in believing none at all.</p> +<p>This, of believing none at all, is the last method; and this, I confess +fairly, I am inclined to think is the right one; and that these good +hermits worked no real miracles and saw no real visions whatsoever.</p> +<p>I confess that this is a very serious assertion. For there +is as much evidence in favour of these hermits’ miracles and visions +as there is, with most men, of the existence of China; and much more +than there, with most men, is of the earth’s going round the sun.</p> +<p>But the truth is, that evidence, in most matters of importance, is +worth very little. Very few people decide a question on its facts, +but on their own prejudices as to what they would like to have happened. +Very few people are judges of evidence; not even of their own eyes and +ears. Very few persons, when they see a thing, know what they +have seen, and what not. They tell you quite honestly, not what +they saw, but what they think they ought to have seen, or should like +to have seen. It is a fact too often conveniently forgotten, that +in every human crowd the majority will be more or less bad, or at least +foolish; the slaves of anger, spite, conceit, vanity, sordid hope, and +sordid fear. But let them be as honest and as virtuous as they +may, pleasure, terror, and the desire of seeming to have seen or heard +more than their neighbours, and all about it, make them exaggerate. +If you take apart five honest men, who all stood by and saw the same +man do anything strange, offensive, or even exciting, no two of them +will give you quite the same account of it. If you leave them +together, while excited, an hour before you question them, they will +have compared notes and made up one story, which will contain all their +mistakes combined; and it will require the skill of a practised barrister +to pick the grain of wheat out of the chaff.</p> +<p>Moreover, when people are crowded together under any excitement, +there is nothing which they will not make each other believe. +They will make each other believe in spirit-rapping, table-turning, +the mesmeric fluid, electro-biology; that they saw the lion on Northumberland +House wagging his tail; <a name="citation203"></a><a href="#footnote203">{203}</a> +that witches have been seen riding in the air; that the Jews had poisoned +the wells; that—but why go further into the sad catalogue of human +absurdities, and the crimes which have followed them? Every one +is ashamed of not seeing what every one else sees, and persuades himself +against his own eye sight for fear of seeming stupid or ill-conditioned; +and therefore in all evidence, the fewer witnesses, the more truth, +because the evidence of ten men is worth more than that of a hundred +together; and the evidence of a thousand men together is worth still +less.</p> +<p>Now, if people are savage and ignorant, diseased and poverty-stricken; +even if they are merely excited and credulous, and quite sure that something +wonderful must happen, then they will be also quite certain that something +wonderful has happened; and their evidence will be worth nothing at +all.</p> +<p>Moreover, suppose that something really wonderful has happened; suppose, +for instance, that some nervous or paralytic person has been suddenly +restored to strength by the command of a saint or of some other remarkable +man. This is quite possible, I may say common; and it is owing +neither to physical nor to so-called spiritual causes, but simply to +the power which a strong mind has over a weak one, to make it exert +itself, and cure itself by its own will, though but for a time.</p> +<p>When this good news comes to be told, and to pass from mouth to mouth, +it ends of quite a different shape from that in which it began. +It has been added to, taken from, twisted in every direction according +to the fancy or the carelessness of each teller, till what really happened +in the first case no one will be able to say; <a name="citation204"></a><a href="#footnote204">{204}</a> +and this is, therefore, what actually happened, in the case of these +reported wonders. Moreover (and this is the most important consideration +of all) for men to be fair judges of what really happens, they must +have somewhat sound minds in somewhat sound bodies; which no man can +have (however honest and virtuous) who gives himself up, as did these +old hermits, to fasting and vigils. That continued sleeplessness +produces delusions, and at last actual madness, every physician knows; +and they know also, as many a poor sailor has known when starving on +a wreck, and many a poor soldier in such a retreat as that of Napoleon +from Moscow, that extreme hunger and thirst produce delusions also, +very similar to (and caused much in the same way as) those produced +by ardent spirits; so that many a wretched creature ere now has been +taken up for drunkenness, who has been simply starving to death.</p> +<p>Whence it follows that these good hermits, by continual fasts and +vigils, must have put themselves (and their histories prove that they +did put themselves) into a state of mental disease, in which their evidence +was worth nothing; a state in which the mind cannot distinguish between +facts and dreams; in which life itself is one dream; in which (as in +the case of madness, or of a feverish child) the brain cannot distinguish +between the objects which are outside it and the imaginations which +are inside it. And it is plain, that the more earnest and pious, +and therefore the more ascetic, one of these good men was, the more +utterly would his brain be in a state of chronic disease. God +forbid that we should scorn them, therefore, or think the worse of them +in any way. They were animated by a truly noble purpose, the resolution +to be good according to their light; they carried out that purpose with +heroical endurance, and they have their reward: but this we must say, +if we be rational people, that on their method of holiness, the more +holy any one of them was, the less trustworthy was his account of any +matter whatsoever; and that the hermit’s peculiar temptations +(quite unknown to the hundreds of unmarried persons who lead quiet and +virtuous, because rational and healthy, lives) are to be attributed, +not as they thought, to a dæmon, but to a more or less unhealthy +nervous system.</p> +<p>It must be remembered, moreover, in justice to these old hermits, +that they did not invent the belief that the air was full of dæmons. +All the Eastern nations had believed in Genii (Jinns), Fairies (Peris), +and Devas, Divs, or devils. The Devas of the early Hindus were +beneficent beings: to the eyes of the old Persians (in their hatred +of idolatry and polytheism), they appeared evil beings, Divs, or Devils. +And even so the genii and dæmons of the Roman Empire became, in +the eyes of the early Christians, wicked and cruel spirits.</p> +<p>And they had their reasons, and on the whole sound ones, for so regarding +them. The educated classes had given up any honest and literal +worship of the old gods. They were trying to excuse themselves +for their lingering half belief in them, by turning them into allegories, +powers of nature, metaphysical abstractions, as did Porphyry and Iamblichus, +Plotinus and Proclus, and the rest of the Neo-Platonist school of aristocratic +philosophers and fine ladies: but the lower classes still, in every +region, kept up their own local beliefs and worships, generally of the +most foul and brutal kind. The animal worship of Egypt among the +lower classes was sufficiently detestable in the time of Herodotus. +It had certainly not improved in that of Juvenal and Persius; and was +still less likely to have improved afterwards. This is a subject +so shocking that it can be only hinted at. But as a single instance—what +wonder if the early hermits of Egypt looked on the crocodile as something +diabolic, after seeing it, for generations untold, petted and worshipped +in many a city, simply because it was the incarnate symbol of brute +strength, cruelty, and cunning? We must remember, also, that earlier +generations (the old Norsemen and Germans just as much as the old Egyptians) +were wont to look on animals as more miraculous than we do; as more +akin, in many cases, to human beings; as guided, not by a mere blind +instinct, but by an intellect which was allied to, and often surpassed +man’s intellect. “The bear,” said the old Norsemen, +“had ten men’s strength, and eleven men’s wit; “and +in some such light must the old hermits have looked on the hyæna, +“bellua,” the monster <i>par excellence</i>; or on the crocodile, +the hippopotamus, and the poisonous snakes, which have been objects +of terror and adoration in every country where they have been formidable. +Whether the hyænas were dæmons, or were merely sent by the +dæmons, St. Antony and St. Athanasius do not clearly define, for +they did not know. It was enough for them that the beasts prowled +at night in those desert cities, which were, according to the opinions, +not only of the Easterns, but of the Romans, the special haunt of ghouls, +witches, and all uncanny things. Their fiendish laughter—which, +when heard even in a modern menagerie, excites and shakes most person’s +nerves—rang through hearts and brains which had no help or comfort, +save in God alone. The beast tore up the dead from their graves; +devoured alike the belated child and the foulest offal; and was in all +things a type and incarnation of that which man ought not to be. +Why should not he, so like the worst of men, have some bond or kindred +with the evil beings who were not men? Why should not the graceful +and deadly cobra, the horrid cerastes, the huge throttling python, and +even more, the loathly puff-adder, undistinguishable from the gravel +among which he lay coiled, till he leaped furiously and unswerving, +as if shot from a bow, upon his prey—why should not they too be +kindred to that evil power who had been, in the holiest and most ancient +books, personified by the name of the Serpent? Before we have +a right to say that the hermits’ view of these deadly animals +was not the most rational, as well as the most natural, which they could +possibly have taken up, we must put ourselves in their places; and look +at nature as they had learnt to look at it, not from Scripture and Christianity, +so much as from the immemorial traditions of their heathen ancestors.</p> +<p>If it be argued, that they ought to have been well enough acquainted +with these beasts to be aware of their merely animal nature, the answer +is—that they were probably not well acquainted with the beasts +of the desert. They had never, perhaps, before their “conversion,” +left the narrow valley, well tilled and well inhabited, which holds +the Nile. A climb from it into the barren mountains and deserts +east and west was a journey out of the world into chaos, and the region +of the unknown and the horrible, which demanded high courage from the +unarmed and effeminate Egyptian, who knew not what monster he might +meet ere sundown. Moreover, it is very probable that during these +centuries of decadence, in Egypt, as in other parts of the Roman Empire, +“the wild beasts of the field had increased” on the population, +and were reappearing in the more cultivated grounds.</p> +<p>But these old hermits appear perpetually in another, and a more humane, +if not more human aspect, as the miraculous tamers of savage beasts. +Those who wish to know all which can be alleged in favour of their having +possessed such a power, should read M. de Montalembert’s chapter, +“Les Moines et la Nature.” <a name="citation209"></a><a href="#footnote209">{209}</a> +All that learning and eloquence can say in favour of the theory is said +there; and with a candour which demands from no man full belief of many +beautiful but impossible stories, “travesties of historic verity,” +which have probably grown up from ever-varying tradition in the course +of ages. M. de Montalembert himself points out a probable explanation +of many of them:—An ingenious scholar of our times<a name="citation210"></a><a href="#footnote210">{210}</a> +(he says) has pointed out their true and legitimate origin—at +least in Ancient Gaul. According to him, after the gradual disappearance +of the Gallo-Roman population, the oxen, the horses, the dogs had returned +to the wild state; and it was in the forest that the Breton missionaries +had to seek these animals, to employ them anew for domestic use. +The miracle was, to restore to man the command and the enjoyment of +those creatures, which God had given him as instruments.</p> +<p>This theory is probable enough, and will explain, doubtless, many +stories. It may even explain those of tamed wolves, who may have +been only feral dogs, <i>i.e</i>. dogs run wild. But it will not +explain those in which (in Ireland as well as in Gaul) the stag appears +as obeying the hermit’s commands. The twelve huge stags +who come out of the forest to draw the ploughs for St. Leonor and his +monks, or those who drew to his grave the corpse of the Irish hermit +Kellac, or those who came out of the forest to supply the place of St. +Colodoc’s cattle, which the seigneur had carried off in revenge +for his having given sanctuary to a hunted deer, must have been wild +from the beginning; and many another tale must remain without any explanation +whatsoever—save the simplest of all. Neither can any such +theory apply to the marvels vouched for by St. Athanasius, St. Jerome, +and other contemporaries, which “show us (to quote M. de Montalembert) +the most ferocious animals at the feet of such men as Antony, Pachomius, +Macarius, and Hilarion, and those who copied them. At every page +one sees wild asses, crocodiles, hippopotami, hyænas, and, above +all, lions, transformed into respectful companions and docile servants +of these prodigies of sanctity; and one concludes thence, not that these +beasts had reasonable souls, but that God knew how to glorify those +who devoted themselves to his glory, and thus show how all Nature obeyed +man before he was excluded from Paradise by his disobedience.”</p> +<p>This is, on the whole, the cause which the contemporary biographers +assign for these wonders. The hermits were believed to have returned, +by celibacy and penitence, to “the life of angels;” to that +state of perfect innocence which was attributed to our first parents +in Eden: and therefore of them our Lord’s words were true: “He +that believeth in me, greater things than these (which I do) shall he +do.”</p> +<p>But those who are of a different opinion will seek for different +causes. They will, the more they know of these stories, admire +often their gracefulness, often their pathos, often their deep moral +significance; they will feel the general truth of M. de Montalembert’s +words: “There is not one of them which does not honour and profit +human nature, and which does not express a victory of weakness over +force, and of good over evil.” But if they look on physical +facts as sacred things, as the voice of God revealed in the phenomena +of matter, their first question will be, “Are they true?”</p> +<p>Some of them must be denied utterly, like that of St. Helenus, riding +and then slaying the crocodile. It did not happen. Abbot +Ammon <a name="citation212a"></a><a href="#footnote212a">{212a}</a> +did not make two dragons guard his cell against robbers. St. Gerasimus +<a name="citation212b"></a><a href="#footnote212b">{212b}</a> did not +set the lion, out of whose foot he had taken a thorn, to guard his ass; +and when the ass was stolen by an Arabian camel-driver, he did not (fancying +that the lion had eaten the ass) make him carry water in the ass’s +stead. Neither did the lion, when next he met the thief and the +ass, bring them up, in his own justification, <a name="citation212c"></a><a href="#footnote212c">{212c}</a> +to St. Gerasimus. St. Costinian did not put a pack-saddle on a +bear, and make him carry a great stone. A lioness did not bring +her five blind whelps to a hermit, that he might give them sight. <a name="citation212d"></a><a href="#footnote212d">{212d}</a> +And, though Sulpicius Severus says that he saw it with his own eyes, +<a name="citation212e"></a><a href="#footnote212e">{212e}</a> it is +hard to believe the latter part of the graceful story which he tells—of +an old hermit whom he found dwelling alone twelve miles from the Nile, +by a well of vast depth. One ox he had, whose whole work was to +raise the water by a wheel. Around him was a garden of herbs, +kept rich and green amid the burning sand, where neither seed nor root +could live. The old man and the ox fed together on the produce +of their common toil; but two miles off there was a single palm-tree, +to which, after supper, the hermit takes his guests. Beneath the +palm they find a lioness; but instead of attacking them, she moves “modestly” +away at the old man’s command, and sits down to wait for her share +of dates. She feeds out of his hand, like a household animal, +and goes her way, leaving her guests trembling, “and confessing +how great was the virtue of the hermit’s faith, and how great +their own infirmity.”</p> +<p>This last story, which one would gladly believe, were it possible, +I have inserted as one of those which hang on the verge of credibility. +In the very next page, Sulpicius Severus tells a story quite credible, +of a she-wolf, which he saw with his own eyes as tame as any dog. +There can be no more reason to doubt that fact than to ascribe it to +a miracle. We may even believe that the wolf, having gnawed to +pieces the palm basket which the good old man was weaving, went off, +knowing that she had done wrong, and after a week came back, begged +pardon like a rational soul, and was caressed, and given a double share +of bread. Many of these stories which tell of the taming of wild +beasts may be true, and yet contain no miracle. They are very +few in number, after all, in proportion to the number of monks; they +are to be counted at most by tens, while the monks are counted by tens +of thousands. And among many great companies of monks, there may +have been one individual, as there is, for instance, in many a country +parish a bee-taker or a horse-tamer, of quiet temper and strong nerve, +and quick and sympathetic intellect, whose power over animals is so +extraordinary, as to be attributed by the superstitious and uneducated +to some hereditary secret, or some fairy gift. Very powerful to +attract wild animals must have been the good hermits’ habit of +sitting motionless for hours, till (as with St. Guthlac) the swallows +sat and sang upon his knee; and of moving slowly and gently at his work, +till (as with St. Karilef, while he pruned his vines) the robin came +and built in his hood as it hung upon a tree: very powerful his freedom +from anger, and, yet more important, from fear, which always calls out +rage in wild beasts, while a calm and bold front awes them: and most +powerful of all, the kindliness of heart, the love of companionship, +which brought the wild bison to feed by St. Karilef’s side as +he prayed upon the lawn; and the hind to nourish St. Giles with her +milk in the jungles of the Bouches du Rhône. There was no +miracle; save the moral miracle that, in ages of cruelty and slaughter, +these men had learned (surely by the inspiration of God) how—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“He prayeth well who loveth well<br />Both man and bird and +beast;<br />He prayeth best who loveth best<br />All things, both great +and small;<br />For the dear God who loveth us,<br />He made and loveth +all.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>After all, let these old Lives of the Fathers tell their own tale. +By their own merits let them stand or fall; and stand they will in one +sense: for whatsoever else they are not, this they are—the histories +of good men. Their physical science and their dæmonology +may have been on a par with those of the world around them: but they +possessed what the world did not possess, faith in the utterly good +and self-sacrificing God, and an ideal of virtue and purity such as +had never been seen since the first Whitsuntide. And they set +themselves to realize that ideal with a simplicity, an energy, an endurance, +which were altogether heroic. How far they were right in “giving +up the world” depends entirely on what the world was then like, +and whether there was any hope of reforming it. It was their opinion +that there was no such hope; and those who know best the facts which +surrounded them, its utter frivolity, its utter viciousness, the deadness +which had fallen on art, science, philosophy, human life, whether family, +social, or political; the prevalence of slavery, in forms altogether +hideous and unmentionable; the insecurity of life and property, whether +from military and fiscal tyranny, or from perpetual inroads of the so-called +“Barbarians:” those, I say, who know these facts best will +be most inclined to believe that the old hermits were wise in their +generation; that the world was past salvation; that it was not a wise +or humane thing to marry and bring children into the world; that in +such a state of society, an honest and virtuous man could not exist, +and that those who wished to remain honest and virtuous must flee into +the desert, and be alone with God and their fellows.</p> +<p>The question which had to be settled then and there, at that particular +crisis of the human race, was not—Are certain wonders true or +false? but—Is man a mere mortal animal, or an immortal soul? +Is his flesh meant to serve his spirit, or his spirit his flesh? +Is pleasure, or virtue, the end and aim of his existence?</p> +<p>The hermits set themselves to answer that question, not by arguing +or writing about it, but by the only way in which any question can be +settled—by experiment. They resolved to try whether their +immortal souls could not grow better and better, while their mortal +bodies were utterly neglected; to make their flesh serve their spirit; +to make virtue their only end and aim; and utterly to relinquish the +very notion of pleasure. To do this one thing, and nothing else, +they devoted their lives; and they succeeded. From their time +it has been a received opinion, not merely among a few philosophers +or a few Pharisees, but among the lowest, the poorest, the most ignorant, +who have known aught of Christianity, that man is an immortal soul; +that the spirit, and not the flesh, ought to be master and guide; that +virtue is the highest good; and that purity is a virtue, impurity a +sin. These men were, it has been well said, the very fathers of +purity. And if, in that and in other matters, they pushed their +purpose to an extreme—if, by devoting themselves utterly to it +alone, they suffered, not merely in wideness of mind or in power of +judging evidence, but even in brain, till they became some of them at +times insane from over-wrought nerves—it is not for us to blame +the soldier for the wounds which have crippled him, or the physician +for the disease which he has caught himself while trying to heal others. +Let us not speak ill of the bridge which carries us over, nor mock at +those who did the work for us as seemed to them best, and perhaps in +the only way in which it could be done in those evil days. As +a matter of fact, through these men’s teaching and example we +have learnt what morality, purity, and Christianity we possess; and +if any answer that we have learnt them from the Scriptures, who but +these men preserved the Scriptures to us? Who taught us to look +on them as sacred and inspired? Who taught us to apply them to +our own daily lives, and find comfort and teaching in every age, in +words written ages ago by another race in a foreign land? The +Scriptures were the book, generally the only book, which they read and +meditated, not merely from morn till night, but, as far as fainting +nature would allow, from night to morn again: and their method of interpreting +them (as far as I can discover) differed in nothing from that common +to all Christians now, save that they interpreted literally certain +precepts of our Lord and of St. Paul which we consider to have applied +only to the “temporary necessity” of a decayed, dying, and +hopeless age such as that in which they lived. And therefore, +because they knew the Scripture well, and learned in it lessons of true +virtue and true philosophy, though unable to save civilization in the +East, they were able at least to save it in the West. The European +hermits, and the monastic communities which they originated, were indeed +a seed of life, not merely to the conquered Roman population of Gaul +or Spain or Britain, but to the heathen and Arian barbarians who conquered +them. Among those fierce and armed savages, the unarmed hermits +stood, strong only by justice, purity, and faith in God, defying the +oppressor, succouring the oppressed, and awing and softening the new +aristocracy of the middle age, which was founded on mere brute force +and pride of race; because the monk took his stand upon mere humanity; +because he told the wild conqueror, Goth or Sueve, Frank or Burgund, +Saxon or Norseman, that all men were equal in the sight of God; because +he told them (to quote Athanasius’s own words concerning Antony) +that “virtue is not beyond human nature;” that the highest +moral excellence was possible to the most low-born and unlettered peasant +whom they trampled under their horses’ hoofs, if he were only +renewed and sanctified by the Spirit of God. They accepted the +lowest and commonest facts of that peasant’s wretched life; they +outdid him in helplessness, loneliness, hunger, dirt, and slavery; and +then said, “Among all these I can yet be a man of God, wise, virtuous, +pure, free, and noble in the sight of God, though not in the sight of +Cæsars, counts, and knights.” They went on, it is +true, to glorify the means above the end; to consecrate childlessness, +self-torture, dirt, ignorance, as if they were things pleasing to God +and holy in themselves. But in spite of those errors they wrought +throughout Europe a work which, as far as we can judge, could have been +done in no other way; done only by men who gave up all that makes life +worth having for the sake of being good themselves and making others +good.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE HERMITS OF EUROPE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Most readers will recollect what an important part in the old ballads +and romances is played by the hermit.</p> +<p>He stands in strongest contrast to the knight. He fills up, +as it were, by his gentleness and self-sacrifice, what is wanting in +the manhood of the knight, the slave too often of his own fierceness +and self-assertion. The hermit rebukes him when he sins, heals +him when he is wounded, stays his hand in some mad murderous duel, such +as was too common in days when any two armed horsemen meeting on road +or lawn ran blindly at each other in the mere lust of fighting, as boars +or stags might run. Sometimes he interferes to protect the oppressed +serf; sometimes to rescue the hunted deer which has taken sanctuary +at his feet. Sometimes, again, his influence is that of intellectual +superiority; of worldly experience; of the travelled man who has seen +many lands and many nations. Sometimes, again, that of sympathy; +for he has been a knight himself, and fought and sinned, and drank of +the cup of vanity and vexation of spirit, like the fierce warrior who +kneels at his feet.</p> +<p>All who have read (and all ought to have read) Spenser’s Fairy +Queen, must recollect his charming description of the hermit with whom +Prince Arthur leaves Serena and the squire after they have been wounded +by “the blatant beast” of Slander; when—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p> “Toward night they came unto a plain<br />By +which a little hermitage there lay<br />Far from all neighbourhood, +the which annoy it may.</p> +<p>“And nigh thereto a little chapel stood,<br />Which being all +with ivy overspread<br />Decked all the roof, and shadowing the rood,<br />Seemed +like a grove fair branchèd overhead;<br />Therein the hermit +which his here led<br />In straight observance of religious vow,<br />Was +wont his hours and holy things to bed;<br />And therein he likewise +was praying now,<br />When as these knights arrived, they wist not where +nor how.</p> +<p>“They stayed not there, but straightway in did pass:<br />Who +when the hermit present saw in place,<br />From his devotions straight +he troubled was;<br />Which breaking off, he toward them did pace<br />With +staid steps and grave beseeming grace:<br />For well it seemed that +whilom he had been<br />Some goodly person, and of gentle race,<br />That +could his good to all, and well did ween<br />How each to entertain +with courtesy beseen.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“He thence them led into his hermitage,<br />Letting their +steeds to graze upon the green:<br />Small was his house, and like a +little cage,<br />For his own term, yet inly neat and clean,<br />Decked +with green boughs, and flowers gay beseen<br />Therein he them full +fair did entertain,<br />Not with such forgèd shews, as fitter +been<br />For courting fools that courtesies would feign,<br />But with +entire affection and appearance plain.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>How be that careful hermit did his best<br />With many kinds of medicines +meet to tame<br />The poisonous humour that did most infest<br />Their +reakling wounds, and every day them duly dressed.</p> +<p>“For he right well in leech’s craft was seen;<br />And +through the long experience of his days,<br />Which had in many fortunes +tossèd been,<br />And passed through many perilous assays:<br />He +knew the divers want of mortal ways,<br />And in the minds of men had +great insight;<br />Which with sage counsel, when they went astray,<br />He +could inform and them reduce aright;<br />And all the passions heal +which wound the weaker sprite.</p> +<p>“For whilome he had been a doughty knight,<br />As any one +that livèd in his days,<br />And provèd oft in many a +perilous fight,<br />In which he grace and glory won always,<br />And +in all battles bore away the bays:<br />But being now attached with +timely age,<br />And weary of this world’s unquiet ways,<br />He +took himself unto this hermitage,<br />In which he lived alone like +careless bird in cage.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This picture is not poetry alone: it is history. Such men actually +lived, and such work they actually did, from the southernmost point +of Italy to the northernmost point of Scotland, during centuries in +which there was no one else to do the work. The regular clergy +could not have done it. Bishops and priests were entangled in +the affairs of this world, striving to be statesmen, striving to be +landowners, striving to pass Church lands on from father to son, and +to establish themselves as an hereditary caste of priests. The +chaplain or house-priest who was to be found in every nobleman’s, +almost every knight’s castle, was apt to become a mere upper servant, +who said mass every morning in return for the good cheer which he got +every evening, and fetched and carried at the bidding of his master +and mistress. But the hermit who dwelt alone in the forest glen, +occupied, like an old Hebrew prophet, a superior and an independent +position. He needed nought from any man save the scrap of land +which the lord was only too glad to allow him in return for his counsels +and his prayers. And to him, as to a mysterious and supernatural +personage, the lord went privately for advice in his quarrels with the +neighbouring barons, or with his own kin. To him the lady took +her children when they were sick, to be healed, as she fancied, by his +prayers and blessings; or poured into his ears a hundred secret sorrows +and anxieties which she dare not tell to her fierce lord, who hunted +and fought the livelong day, and drank too much liquor every night.</p> +<p>This class of men sprang up rapidly, by natural causes, and yet by +a Divine necessity, as soon as the Western Empire was conquered by the +German tribes; and those two young officers whom we saw turning monks +at Trêves, in the time of St. Augustine, may, if they lived to +be old men, have given sage counsel again and again to fierce German +knights and kinglets, who had dispossessed the rich and effeminate landowners +of their estates, and sold them, their wives, and children, in gangs +by the side of their own slaves. Only the Roman who had turned +monk would probably escape that fearful ruin; and he would remain behind, +while the rest of his race was enslaved or swept away, as a seed of +Christianity and of civilization, destined to grow and spread, and bring +the wild conquerors in due time into the kingdom of God.</p> +<p>For the first century or two after the invasion of the barbarians, +the names of the hermits and saints are almost exclusively Latin. +Their biographies represent them in almost every case as born of noble +Roman parents. As time goes on, German names appear, and at last +entirely supersede the Latin ones; showing that the conquering race +had learned from the conquered to become hermits and monks like them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ST. SEVERINUS, THE APOSTLE OF NORICUM</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all these saintly civilizers, St. Severinus of Vienna is perhaps +the most interesting, and his story the most historically instructive. +<a name="citation224"></a><a href="#footnote224">{224}</a></p> +<p>A common time, the middle of the fifth century, the province of Noricum +(Austria, as we should now call it) was the very highway of invading +barbarians, the centre of the human Maelstrom in which Huns, Alemanni, +Rugi, and a dozen wild tribes more, wrestled up and down and round the +starving and beleaguered towns of what had once been a happy and fertile +province, each tribe striving to trample the other under foot, and to +march southward over their corpses to plunder what was still left of +the already plundered wealth of Italy and Rome. The difference +of race, in tongue, and in manners, between the conquered and their +conquerors, was made more painful by difference in creed. The +conquering Germans and Huns were either Arians or heathens. The +conquered race (though probably of very mixed blood), who called themselves +Romans, because they spoke Latin and lived under the Roman law, were +orthodox Catholics; and the miseries of religious persecution were too +often added to the usual miseries of invasion.</p> +<p>It was about the year 455-60. Attila, the great King of the +Huns, who called himself—and who was—“the Scourge +of God,” was just dead. His empire had broken up. +The whole centre of Europe was in a state of anarchy and war; and the +hapless Romans along the Danube were in the last extremity of terror, +not knowing by what fresh invader their crops would be swept off up +to the very gates of the walled towers which were their only defence: +when there appeared among them, coming out of the East, a man of God.</p> +<p>Who he was, he would not tell. His speech showed him to be +an African Roman—a fellow-countryman of St. Augustine—probably +from the neighbourhood of Carthage. He had certainly at one time +gone to some desert in the East, zealous to learn “the more perfect +life.” Severinus, he said, was his name; a name which indicated +high rank, as did the manners and the scholarship of him who bore it. +But more than his name he would not tell. “If you take me +for a runaway slave,” he said, smiling, “get ready money +to redeem me with when my master demands me back.” For he +believed that they would have need of him; that God had sent him into +that land that he might be of use to its wretched people. And +certainly he could have come into the neighbourhood of Vienna at that +moment for no other purpose than to do good, unless he came to deal +in slaves.</p> +<p>He settled first at a town called by his biographer Casturis; and, +lodging with the warden of the church, lived quietly the hermit life. +Meanwhile the German tribes were prowling round the town; and Severinus, +going one day into the church, began to warn the priests and clergy +and all the people that a destruction was coming on them which they +could only avert by prayer and fasting and the works of mercy. +They laughed him to scorn, confiding in their lofty Roman walls, which +the invaders—wild horsemen, who had no military engines—were +unable either to scale or batter down. Severinus left the town +at once, prophesying, it was said, the very day and hour of its fall. +He went on to the next town, which was then closely garrisoned by a +barbarian force, and repeated his warning there: but while the people +were listening to him, there came an old man to the gate, and told them +how Casturis had been already sacked, as the man of God had foretold; +and, going into the church, threw himself at the feet of St. Severinus, +and said that he had been saved by his merits from being destroyed with +his fellow-townsmen.</p> +<p>Then the dwellers in the town hearkened to the man of God, and gave +themselves up to fasting and almsgiving and prayer for three whole days.</p> +<p>And on the third day, when the solemnity of the evening sacrifice +was fulfilled, a sudden earthquake happened, and the barbarians, seized +with panic fear, and probably hating and dreading—like all those +wild tribes—confinement between four stone walls instead of the +free open life of the tent and the stockade, forced the Romans to open +their gates to them, rushed out into the night, and in their madness +slew each other.</p> +<p>In those days a famine fell upon the people of Vienna; and they, +as their sole remedy, thought good to send for the man of God from the +neighbouring town. He went, and preached to them, too, repentance +and almsgiving. The rich, it seems, had hidden up their stores +of corn, and left the poor to starve. At least St. Severinus discovered +(by Divine revelation, it was supposed), that a widow named Procula +had done as much. He called her out into the midst of the people, +and asked her why she, a noble woman and free-born, had made herself +a slave to avarice, which is idolatry. If she would not give her +corn to Christ’s poor, let her throw it into the Danube to feed +the fish, for any gain from it she would not have. Procula was +abashed, and served out her hoards thereupon willingly to the poor; +and a little while afterwards, to the astonishment of all, vessels came +down the Danube, laden with every kind of merchandise. They had +been frozen up for many days near Passau, in the thick ice of the river +Enns: but the prayers of God’s servant (so men believed) had opened +the ice-gates, and let them down the stream before the usual time.</p> +<p>Then the wild German horsemen swept around the walls, and carried +off human beings and cattle, as many as they could find. Severinus, +like some old Hebrew prophet, did not shrink from advising hard blows, +where hard blows could avail. Mamertinus, the tribune, or officer +in command, told him that he had so few soldiers, and those so ill-armed, +that he dare not face the enemy. Severinus answered, that they +should get weapons from the barbarians themselves; the Lord would fight +for them, and they should hold their peace: only if they took any captives +they should bring them safe to him. At the second milestone from +the city they came upon the plunderers, who fled at once, leaving their +arms behind. Thus was the prophecy of the man of God fulfilled. +The Romans brought the captives back to him unharmed. He loosed +their bonds, gave them food and drink, and let them go. But they +were to tell their comrades that, if ever they came near that spot again, +celestial vengeance would fall on them, for the God of the Christians +fought from heaven in his servants’ cause.</p> +<p>So the barbarians trembled, and went away. And the fear of +St. Severinus fell on all the Goths, heretic Arians though they were; +and on the Rugii, who held the north bank of the Danube in those evil +days. St. Severinus, meanwhile, went out of Vienna, and built +himself a cell at a place called “At the Vineyards.” +But some benevolent impulse—Divine revelation, his biographer +calls it—prompted him to return, and build himself a cell on a +hill close to Vienna, round which other cells soon grew up, tenanted +by his disciples. “There,” says his biographer, “he +longed to escape the crowds of men who were wont to come to him, and +cling closer to God in continual prayer: but the more he longed to dwell +in solitude, the more often he was warned by revelations not to deny +his presence to the afflicted people.” He fasted continually; +he went barefoot even in the midst of winter, which was so severe, the +story continues, in those days around Vienna, that wagons crossed the +Danube on the solid ice: and yet, instead of being puffed-up by his +own virtues, he set an example of humility to all, and bade them with +tears to pray for him, that the Saviour’s gifts to him might not +heap condemnation on his head.</p> +<p>Over the wild Rugii St. Severinus seems to have acquired unbounded +influence. Their king, Flaccitheus, used to pour out his sorrows +to him, and tell him how the princes of the Goths would surely slay +him; for when he had asked leave of him to pass on into Italy, he would +not let him go. But St. Severinus prophesied to him that the Goths +would do him no harm. Only one warning he must take: “Let +it not grieve him to ask peace even for the least of men.”</p> +<p>The friendship which had thus begun between the barbarian king and +the cultivated saint was carried on by his son Feva: but his “deadly +and noxious wife” Gisa, who appears to have been a fierce Arian, +always, says his biographer, kept him back from clemency. One +story of Gisa’s misdeeds is so characteristic both of the manners +of the time and of the style in which the original biography is written, +that I shall take leave to insert it at length.</p> +<p>“The King Feletheus (who is also Feva), the son of the aforementioned +Flaccitheus, following his father’s devotion, began, at the commencement +of his reign, often to visit the holy man. His deadly and noxious +wife, named Gisa, always kept him back from the remedies of clemency. +For she, among the other plague-spots of her iniquity, even tried to +have certain Catholics re-baptized: but when her husband did not consent, +on account of his reverence for St. Severinus, she gave up immediately +her sacrilegious intention, burdening the Romans, nevertheless, with +hard conditions, and commanding some of them to be exiled to the Danube. +For when one day, she, having come to the village next to Vienna, had +ordered some of them to be sent over the Danube, and condemned to the +most menial offices of slavery, the man of God sent to her, and begged +that they might be let go. But she, blazing up in a flame of fury, +ordered the harshest of answers to be returned. ‘I pray +thee,’ she said, ‘servant of God, hiding there within thy +cell, allow us to settle what we choose about our own slaves.’ +But the man of God hearing this, ‘I trust,’ he said, ‘in +my Lord Jesus Christ, that she will be forced by necessity to fulfil +that which in her wicked will she has despised.’ And forthwith +a swift rebuke followed, and brought low the soul of the arrogant woman. +For she had confined in close custody certain barbarian goldsmiths, +that they might make regal ornaments. To them the son of the aforesaid +king, Frederic by name, still a little boy, had gone in, in childish +levity, on the very day on which the queen had despised the servant +of God. The goldsmiths put a sword to the child’s breast, +saying, that if any one attempted to enter without giving them an oath +that they should be protected, he should die; and that they would slay +the king’s child first, and themselves afterwards, seeing that +they had no hope of life left, being worn out with long prison. +When she heard that, the cruel and impious queen, rending her garments +for grief, cried out, ‘O servant of God, Severinus, are the injuries +which I did thee thus avenged? Hast thou obtained by the earnest +prayer thou hast poured out this punishment for my contempt, that thou +shouldst avenge it on my own flesh and blood?’ Then, running +up and down with manifold contrition and miserable lamentation, she +confessed that for the act of contempt which she had committed against +the servant of God she was struck by the vengeance of the present blow; +and forthwith she sent knights to ask for forgiveness, and sent across +the river the Romans his prayers for whom she had despised. The +goldsmiths, having received immediately a promise of safety, and giving +up the child, were in like manner let go.</p> +<p>“The most reverend Severinus, when he heard this, gave boundless +thanks to the Creator, who sometimes puts off the prayers of suppliants +for this end, that as faith, hope, and charity grow, while lesser things +are sought, He may concede greater things. Lastly, this did the +mercy of the Omnipotent Saviour work, that while it brought to slavery +a woman free, but cruel overmuch, she was forced to restore to liberty +those who were enslaved. This having been marvellously gained, +the queen hastened with her husband to the servant of God, and showed +him her son, who, she confessed, had been freed from the verge of death +by his prayers, and promised that she would never go against his commands.”</p> +<p>To this period of Severinus’s life belongs the once famous +story of his interview with Odoacer, the first barbarian king of Italy, +and brother of the great Onulph or Wolf, who was the founder of the +family of the Guelphs, Counts of Altorf, and the direct ancestors of +Victoria, Queen of England. Their father was Ædecon, secretary +at one time of Attila, and chief of the little tribe of Turklings, who, +though German, had clung faithfully to Attila’s sons, and came +to ruin at the great battle of Netad, when the empire of the Huns broke +up once and for ever. Then Odoacer and his brother started over +the Alps to seek their fortunes in Italy, and take service, after the +fashion of young German adventurers, with the Romans; and they came +to St. Severinus’s cell, and went in, heathens as they probably +were, to ask a blessing of the holy man; and Odoacer had to stoop and +to stand stooping, so huge he was. The saint saw that he was no +common lad, and said, “Go to Italy, clothed though thou be in +ragged sheepskins: thou shalt soon give greater gifts to thy friends.” +So Odoacer went on into Italy, deposed the last of the Cæsars, +a paltry boy, Romulus Augustulus by name, and found himself, to his +own astonishment, and that of all the world, the first German king of +Italy; and, when he was at the height of his power, he remembered the +prophecy of Severinus, and sent to him, offering him any boon he chose +to ask. But all that the saint asked was, that he should forgive +some Romans whom he had banished. St. Severinus meanwhile foresaw +that Odoacer’s kingdom would not last, as he seems to have foreseen +many things, by no miraculous revelation, but simply as a far-sighted +man of the world. For when certain German knights were boasting +before him of the power and glory of Odoacer, he said that it would +last some thirteen, or at most fourteen years; and the prophecy (so +all men said in those days) came exactly true.</p> +<p>There is no need to follow the details of St. Severinus’s labours +through some five-and-twenty years of perpetual self-sacrifice—and, +as far as this world was concerned, perpetual disaster. Eugippius’s +chapters are little save a catalogue of towns sacked one after the other, +from Passau to Vienna, till the miserable survivors of the war seemed +to have concentrated themselves under St. Severinus’s guardianship +in the latter city. We find, too, tales of famine, of locust-swarms, +of little victories over the barbarians, which do not arrest wholesale +defeat: but we find through all St. Severinus labouring like a true +man of God, conciliating the invading chiefs, redeeming captives, procuring +for the cities which were still standing supplies of clothes for the +fugitives, persuading the husbandmen, seemingly through large districts, +to give even in time of dearth a tithe of their produce to the poor;—a +tale of noble work which one regrets to see defaced by silly little +prodigies, more important seemingly in the eyes of the monk Eugippius +than the great events which were passing round him. But this is +a fault too common with monk chroniclers. The only historians +of the early middle age, they have left us a miserably imperfect record +of it, because they were looking always rather for the preternatural +than for the natural. Many of the saints’ lives, as they +have come down to us, are mere catalogues of wonders which never happened, +from among which the antiquary must pick, out of passing hints and obscure +allusions, the really important facts of the time,—changes political +and social, geography, physical history, the manners, speech, and look +of nations now extinct, and even the characters and passions of the +actors in the story. How much can be found among such a list of +wonders, by an antiquary who has not merely learning but intellectual +insight, is proved by the admirable notes which Dr. Reeves has appended +to Adamnan’s life of St. Columba: but one feels, while studying +his work, that, had Adamnan thought more of facts and less of prodigies, +he might have saved Dr. Reeves the greater part of his labour, and preserved +to us a mass of knowledge now lost for ever.</p> +<p>And so with Eugippius’s life of St. Severinus. The reader +finds how the man who had secretly celebrated a heathen sacrifice was +discovered by St. Severinus, because, while the tapers of the rest of +the congregation were lighted miraculously from heaven, his taper alone +would not light; and passes on impatiently, with regret that the biographer +omits to mention what the heathen sacrifice was like. He reads +how the Danube dared not rise above the mark of the cross which St. +Severinus had cut upon the posts of a timber chapel; how a poor man, +going out to drive the locusts off his little patch of corn instead +of staying in the church all day to pray, found the next morning that +his crop alone had been eaten, while all the fields around remained +untouched. Even the well-known story, which has a certain awfulness +about it, how St. Severinus watched all night by the bier of the dead +priest Silvinus, and ere the morning dawned bade him in the name of +God speak to his brethren; and how the dead man opened his eyes, and +Severinus asked him whether he wished to return to life, and he answered +complainingly, “Keep me no longer here; nor cheat me of that perpetual +rest which I had already found,” and so, closing his eyes once +more, was still for ever:—even such a story as this, were it true, +would be of little value in comparison with the wisdom, faith, charity, +sympathy, industry, utter self-sacrifice, which formed the true greatness +of such a man as Severinus.</p> +<p>At last the noble life wore itself out. For two years Severinus +had foretold that his end was near; and foretold, too, that the people +for whom he had spent himself should go forth in safety, as Israel out +of Egypt, and find a refuge in some other Roman province, leaving behind +them so utter a solitude, that the barbarians, in their search for the +hidden treasures of the civilization which they had exterminated, should +dig up the very graves of the dead. Only, when the Lord willed +that people to deliver them, they must carry away his bones with them, +as the children of Israel carried the bones of Joseph.</p> +<p>Then Severinus sent for Feva, the Rugian king, and Gisa, his cruel +wife; and when he had warned them how they must render an account to +God for the people committed to their charge, he stretched his hand +out to the bosom of the king. “Gisa,” he asked, “dost +thou love most the soul within that breast, or gold and silver?” +She answered that she loved her husband above all. “Cease +then,” he said, “to oppress the innocent: lest their affliction +be the ruin of your power.”</p> +<p>Severinus’ presage was strangely fulfilled. Feva had +handed over the city of Vienna to his brother Frederic,—“poor +and impious,” says Eugippius. Severinus, who knew him well, +sent for him, and warned him that he himself was going to the Lord; +and that if, after his death, Frederic dared touch aught of the substance +of the poor and the captive, the wrath of God would fall on him. +In vain the barbarian pretended indignant innocence; Severinus sent +him away with fresh warnings.</p> +<p>“Then on the nones of January he was smitten slightly with +a pain in the side. And when that had continued for three days, +at midnight he bade the brethren come to him.” He renewed +his talk about the coming emigration, and entreated again that his bones +might not be left behind; and having bidden all in turn come near and +kiss him, and having received the sacrament of communion, he forbade +them to weep for him, and commanded them to sing a psalm. They +hesitated, weeping. He himself gave out the psalm, “Praise +the Lord in his saints, and let all that hath breath praise the Lord;” +and so went to rest in the Lord.</p> +<p>No sooner was he dead than Frederic seized on the garments kept in +the monastery for the use of the poor, and even commanded his men to +carry off the vessels of the altar. Then followed a scene characteristic +of the time. The steward sent to do the deed shrank from the crime +of sacrilege. A knight, Anicianus by name, went in his stead, +and took the vessels of the altar. But his conscience was too +strong for him. Trembling and delirium fell on him, and he fled +away to a lonely island, and became a hermit there. Frederic, +impenitent, swept away all in the monastery, leaving nought but the +bare walls, “which he could not carry over the Danube.” +But on him, too, vengeance fell. Within a month he was slain by +his own nephew. Then Odoacer attacked the Rugii, and carried off +Feva and Gisa captive to Rome. And then the long-promised emigration +came. Odoacer, whether from mere policy (for he was trying to +establish a half-Roman kingdom in Italy), or for love of St. Severinus +himself, sent his brother Onulf to fetch away into Italy the miserable +remnant of the Danubian provincials, to be distributed among the wasted +and unpeopled farms of Italy. And with them went forth the corpse +of St. Severinus, undecayed, though he had been six years dead, and +giving forth exceeding fragrance, though (says Eugippius) no embalmer’s +hand had touched it. In a coffin, which had been long prepared +for it, it was laid on a wagon, and went over the Alps into Italy, working +(according to Eugippius) the usual miracles on the way, till it found +a resting-place near Naples, in that very villa of Lucullus at Misenum, +to which Odoacer had sent the last Emperor of Rome to dream his ignoble +life away in helpless luxury.</p> +<p>So ends this tragic story. Of its substantial truth there can +be no doubt. The miracles recorded in it are fewer and less strange +than those of the average legends—as is usually the case when +an eye-witness writes. And that Eugippius was an eye-witness of +much which he tells, no one accustomed to judge of the authenticity +of documents can doubt, if he studies the tale as it stands in Pez. +<a name="citation238"></a><a href="#footnote238">{238}</a> As +he studies, too, he will perhaps wish with me that some great dramatist +may hereafter take Eugippius’s quaint and rough legend, and shape +it into immortal verse. For tragic, in the very nighest sense, +the story is throughout. M. Ozanam has well said of that death-bed +scene between the saint and the barbarian king and queen—“The +history of invasions has many a pathetic scene: but I know none more +instructive than the dying agony of that old Roman expiring between +two barbarians, and less touched with the ruin of the empire than with +the peril of their souls.” But even more instructive, and +more tragic also, is the strange coincidence that the wonder-working +corpse of the starved and barefooted hermit should rest beside the last +Emperor of Rome. It is the symbol of a new era. The kings +of this world have been judged and cast out. The empire of the +flesh is to perish, and the empire of the spirit to conquer thenceforth +for evermore.</p> +<p>But if St. Severinus’s labours in Austria were in vain, there +were other hermits, in Gaul and elsewhere, whose work endured and prospered, +and developed to a size of which they had never dreamed. The stories +of these good men may be read at length in the Bollandists and Surius: +in a more accessible and more graceful form in M. de Montalembert’s +charming pages. I can only sketch, in a few words, the history +of a few of the more famous. Pushing continually northward and +westward from the shores of the Mediterranean, fresh hermits settled +in the mountains and forests, collected disciples round them, and founded +monasteries, which, during the sanguinary and savage era of the Merovingian +kings, were the only retreats for learning, piety, and civilization. +St. Martin (the young soldier who may be seen in old pictures cutting +his cloak in two with a sword, to share it with a beggar) left, after +twenty campaigns, the army into which he had been enrolled against his +will, a conscript of fifteen years old, to become a hermit, monk, and +missionary. In the desert isle of Gallinaria, near Genoa, he lived +on roots, to train himself for the monastic life; and then went north-west, +to Poitiers, to found Ligugé (said to be the most ancient monastery +in France), to become Bishop of Tours, and to overthrow throughout his +diocese, often at the risk of his life, the sacred oaks and Druid stones +of the Gauls, and the temples and idols of the Romans. But he—like +many more—longed for the peace of the hermit’s cell; and +near Tours, between the river Loire and lofty cliffs, he hid himself +in a hut of branches, while his eighty disciples dwelt in caves of the +rocks above, clothed only in skins of camels. He died in A.D. +397, at the age of eighty-one, leaving behind him, not merely that famous +monastery of Marmontier (Martini Monasterium), which endured till the +Revolution of 1793, but, what is infinitely more to his glory, his solemn +and indignant protest against the first persecution by the Catholic +Church—the torture and execution of those unhappy Priscillianist +fanatics, whom the Spanish Bishops (the spiritual forefathers of the +Inquisition) had condemned in the name of the God of love. Martin +wept over the fate of the Priscillianists. Happily he was no prophet, +or his head would have become (like Jeremiah’s) a fount of tears, +could he have foreseen that the isolated atrocity of those Spanish Bishops +would have become the example and the rule, legalized and formulized +and commanded by Pope after Pope, for every country in Christendom.</p> +<p>Sulpicius Severus, again (whose Lives of the Desert Fathers I have +already quoted), carried the example of these fathers into his own estates +in Aquitaine. Selling his lands, he dwelt among his now manumitted +slaves, sleeping on straw, and feeding on the coarsest bread and herbs; +till the hapless neophytes found that life was not so easily sustained +in France as in Egypt; and complained to him that it was in vain to +try “to make them live like angels, when they were only Gauls.”</p> +<p>Another centre of piety and civilization was the rocky isle of Lerins, +off the port of Toulon. Covered with the ruins of an ancient Roman +city, and swarming with serpents, it was colonized again, in A.D. 410, +by a young man of rank named Honoratus, who gathered round him a crowd +of disciples, converted the desert isle into a garden of flowers and +herbs, and made the sea-girt sanctuary of Lerins one of the most important +spots of the then world.</p> +<p>“The West,” says M. de Montalembert, “had thenceforth +nothing to envy the East; and soon that retreat, destined by its founder +to renew on the shores of Provence the austerities of the Thebaid, became +a celebrated school of Christian theology and philosophy, a citadel +inaccessible to the waves of the barbarian invasion, an asylum for the +letters and sciences which were fleeing from Italy, then overrun by +the Goths; and, lastly, a nursery of bishops and saints, who spread +through Gaul the knowledge of the Gospel and the glory of Lerins. +We shall soon see the rays of his light flash even into Ireland and +England, by the blessed hands of Patrick and Augustine.”</p> +<p>In the year 425, Romanus, a young monk from the neighbourhood of +Lyons, had gone up into the forests of the Jura, carrying with him the +“Lives of the Hermits,” and a few seeds and tools; and had +settled beneath an enormous pine; shut out from mankind by precipices, +torrents, and the tangled trunks of primæval trees, which had +fallen and rotted on each other age after age. His brother Lupicinus +joined him; then crowds of disciples; then his sister, and a multitude +of women. The forests were cleared, the slopes planted; a manufacture +of box-wood articles—chairs among the rest—was begun; and +within the next fifty years the Abbey of Condat, or St. Claude, as it +was afterwards called, had become, not merely an agricultural colony, +or even merely a minster for the perpetual worship of God, but the first +school of that part of Gaul; in which the works of Greek as well as +Latin orators were taught, not only to the young monks, but to young +laymen likewise.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the volcanic peaks of the Auvergne were hiding from their +Arian invaders the ruined gentry of Central France. Effeminate +and luxurious slave-holders, as they are painted by Sidonius Appolineris, +bishop of Clermont, in that same Auvergne, nothing was left for them +when their wealth was gone but to become monks: and monks they became. +The lava grottoes held hermits, who saw visions and dæmons, as +St. Antony had seen them in Egypt; while near Trêves, on the Moselle, +a young hermit named Wolflaich tried to imitate St. Simeon Stylites’ +penance on the pillar; till his bishop, foreseeing that in that severe +climate he would only kill himself, wheedled him away from his station, +pulled down the pillar in his absence, and bade him be a wiser man. +Another figure, and a more interesting one, is the famous St. Goar; +a Gaul, seemingly (from the recorded names of his parents) of noble +Roman blood, who took his station on the Rhine, under the cliffs of +that Lurlei so famous in legend and ballad as haunted by some fair fiend, +whose treacherous song lured the boatmen into the whirlpool at their +foot. To rescue the shipwrecked boatmen, to lodge, feed, and if +need be clothe, the travellers along the Rhine bank, was St. Goar’s +especial work; and Wandelbert, the monk of Prum, in the Eifel, who wrote +his life at considerable length, tells us how St. Goar was accused to +the Archbishop of Trêves as a hypocrite and a glutton, because +he ate freely with his guests; and how his calumniators took him through +the forest to Trêves; and how he performed divers miracles, both +on the road and in the palace of the Archbishop, notably the famous +one of hanging his cape upon a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. +And other miracles of his there are, some of them not altogether edifying: +but no reader is bound to believe them, as Wandelbert is evidently writing +in the interests of the Abbey of Prum as against those of the Prince-Bishops +of Trêves; and with a monk’s or regular’s usual jealousy +of the secular or parochial clergy and their bishops.</p> +<p>A more important personage than any of these is the famous St. Benedict, +father of the Benedictine order, and “father of all monks,” +as he was afterwards called, who, beginning himself as a hermit, caused +the hermit life to fall, not into disrepute, but into comparative disuse; +while the cœnobitic life—that is, life, not in separate +cells, but in corporate bodies, with common property, and under one +common rule—was accepted as the general form of the religious +life in the West. As the author of this organization, and of the +Benedictine order, to whose learning, as well as to whose piety, the +world has owed so much, his life belongs rather to a history of the +monastic orders than to that of the early hermits. But it must +be always remembered that it was as a hermit that his genius was trained; +that in solitude he conceived his vast plans; in solitude he elaborated +the really wise and noble rules of his, which he afterwards carried +out as far as he could during his lifetime in the busy world; and which +endured for centuries, a solid piece of practical good work. For +the existence of monks was an admitted fact; even an admitted necessity: +St. Benedict’s work was to tell them, if they chose to be monks, +what sort of persons they ought to be, and how they ought to live, in +order to fulfil their own ideal. In the solitude of the hills +of Subiaco, above the ruined palace of Nero, above, too, the town of +Nurscia, of whose lords he was the last remaining scion, he fled to +the mountain grotto, to live the outward life of a wild beast, and, +as he conceived, the inward life of an angel. How he founded twelve +monasteries; how he fled with some of his younger disciples, to withdraw +them from the disgusting persecutions and temptations of the neighbouring +secular clergy; how he settled himself on the still famous Monte Cassino, +which looks down upon the Gulf of Gaeta, and founded there the “Archi-Monasterium +of Europe,” whose abbot was in due time first premier baron of +the kingdom of Naples,—which counted among its dependencies <a name="citation245"></a><a href="#footnote245">{245}</a> +four bishoprics, two principalities, twenty earldoms, two hundred and +fifty castles, four hundred and forty towns or villages, three hundred +and thirty-six manors, twenty-three seaports, three isles, two hundred +mills, three hundred territories, sixteen hundred and sixty-two churches, +and at the end of the sixteenth century an annual revenue of 1,500,000 +ducats,—are matters which hardly belong to this volume, which +deals merely with the lives of hermits.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE CELTIC HERMITS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It is not necessary to enter into the vexed question whether any +Christianity ever existed in these islands of an earlier and purer type +than that which was professed and practised by the saintly disciples +of St. Antony. It is at least certain that the earliest historic +figures which emerge from the haze of barbarous antiquity in both the +Britains and in Ireland, are those of hermits, who, in celibacy and +poverty, gather round them disciples, found a convent, convert and baptize +the heathen, and often, like Antony and Hilarion, escape from the bustle +and toil of the world into their beloved desert. They work the +same miracles, see the same visions, and live in the same intimacy with +the wild animals, as the hermits of Egypt, or of Roman Gaul: but their +history, owing to the wild imagination and (as the legends themselves +prove) the gross barbarism of the tribes among whom they dwell, are +so involved in fable and legend, that it is all but impossible to separate +fact from fiction; all but impossible, often, to fix the time at which +they lived.</p> +<p>Their mode of life, it must always be remembered, is said to be copied +from that of the Roman hermits of Gaul. St. Patrick, the apostle +of Ireland, seems to have been of Roman or Roman British lineage. +In his famous “Confession” (which many learned antiquaries +consider as genuine) he calls his father, Calphurnius a deacon; his +grandfather, Potitus a priest—both of these names being Roman. +He is said to have visited, at some period of his life, the monastery +of St. Martin at Tours; to have studied with St. Germanus at Auxerre; +and to have gone to one of the islands of the Tuscan sea, probably Lerins +itself; and, whether or not we believe the story that he was consecrated +bishop by Pope Celestine at Rome, we can hardly doubt that he was a +member of that great spiritual succession of ascetics who counted St. +Antony as their father.</p> +<p>Such another must that Palladius have been, who was sent, says Prosper +of Aquitaine, by Pope Celestine to convert the Irish Scots, and who +(according to another story) was cast on shore on the north-east coast +of Scotland, founded the church of Fordun, in Kincardineshire, and became +a great saint among the Pictish folk.</p> +<p>Another primæval figure, almost as shadowy as St. Patrick, +is St. Ninian, a monk of North Wales, who (according to Bede) first +attempted the conversion of the Southern Picts, and built himself, at +Whithorn in Galloway, the Candida Casa, or White House, a little church +of stone,—a wonder in those days of “creel houses” +and wooden stockades. He too, according to Bede, who lived some +250 years after his time, went to Rome; and he is said to have visited +and corresponded with St. Martin of Tours.</p> +<p>Dubricius, again, whom legend makes the contemporary both of St. +Patrick and of King Arthur, appears in Wales, as bishop and abbot of +Llandaff. He too is ordained by a Roman bishop, St. Germanus of +Auxerre; and he too ends his career, according to tradition, as a hermit, +while his disciples spread away into Armorica (Brittany) and Ireland.</p> +<p>We need not, therefore, be surprised to find Ireland, Wales, Cornwall, +Scotland, and Brittany, during the next three centuries, swarming with +saints, who kept up, whether in company or alone, the old hermit-life +of the Thebaid; or to find them wandering, whether on missionary work, +or in search of solitude, or escaping, like St. Cadoc the Wise, from +the Saxon invaders. Their frequent journeys to Rome, and even +to Jerusalem, may perhaps be set down as a fable, invented in after +years by monks who were anxious to prove their complete dependence on +the Holy See, and their perfect communion with the older and more civilized +Christianity of the Roman Empire.</p> +<p>It is probable enough, also, that Romans from Gaul, as well as from +Britain, often men of rank and education, who had fled before the invading +Goths and Franks, and had devoted themselves (as we have seen that they +often did) to the monastic life, should have escaped into those parts +of these islands which had not already fallen into the hands of the +Saxon invaders. Ireland, as the most remote situation, would be +especially inviting to the fugitives; and we can thus understand the +story which is found in the Acts of St. Senanus, how fifty monks, “Romans +born,” sailed to Ireland to learn the Scriptures, and to lead +a stricter life; and were distributed between St. Senan, St. Finnian, +St. Brendan, St. Barry, and St. Kieran. By such immigrations as +this, it may be, Ireland became—as she certainly was for a while—the +refuge of what ecclesiastical civilization, learning, and art the barbarian +invaders had spared; a sanctuary from whence, in after centuries, evangelists +and teachers went forth once more, not only to Scotland and England, +but to France and Germany. Very fantastic, and often very beautiful, +are the stories of these men; and sometimes tragical enough, like that +of the Welsh St. Iltut, cousin of the mythic Arthur, and founder of +the great monastery of Bangor, on the banks of the Dee, which was said—though +we are not bound to believe the fact—to have held more than two +thousand monks at the time of the Saxon invasion. The wild warrior +was converted, says this legend, by seeing the earth open and swallow +up his comrades, who had extorted bread, beer, and a fat pig from St. +Cadoc of Llancarvan, a princely hermit and abbot, who had persuaded +his father and mother to embrace the hermit life as the regular, if +not the only, way of saving their souls. In a paroxysm of terror +he fled from his fair young wife into the forest; would not allow her +to share with him even his hut of branches; and devoted himself to the +labour of making an immense dyke of mud and stones to keep out the inundations +of a neighbouring river. His poor wife went in search of him once +more, and found him in the bottom of a dyke, no longer a gay knight, +but poorly dressed, and covered with mud. She went away, and never +saw him more; “fearing to displease God and one so beloved by +God.” Iltut dwelt afterwards for four years in a cave, sleeping +on the bare rock, and seems at last to have crossed over to Brittany, +and died at Dol.</p> +<p>We must not forget—though he is not strictly a hermit—St. +David, the popular saint of the Welsh, son of a nephew of the mythic +Arthur, and educated by one Paulinus, a disciple, it is said, of St. +Germanus of Auxerre. He is at once monk and bishop: he gathers +round him young monks in the wilderness, makes them till the ground, +drawing the plough by their own strength, for he allows them not to +own even an ox. He does battle against “satraps” and +“magicians”—probably heathen chieftains and Druids; +he goes to the Holy Land, and is made archbishop by the Patriarch of +Jerusalem: he introduces, it would seem, into this island the right +of sanctuary for criminals in any field consecrated to himself. +He restores the church of Glastonbury over the tomb of his cousin, King +Arthur, and dies at 100 years of age, “the head of the whole British +nation, and honour of his fatherland.” He is buried in one +of his own monasteries at St. David’s, near the headland whence +St. Patrick had seen, in a vision, all Ireland stretched out before +him, waiting to be converted to Christ; and the Celtic people go on +pilgrimage to his tomb, even from Brittany and Ireland: and, canonized +in 1120, he becomes the patron saint of Wales.</p> +<p>From that same point, in what year is not said, an old monk of St. +David’s monastery, named Modonnoc, set sail for Ireland, after +a long life of labour and virtue. A swarm of bees settled upon +the bow of his boat, and would not be driven away. He took them, +whether he would or not, with him into Ireland, and introduced there, +says the legend, the culture of bees and the use of honey.</p> +<p>Ireland was then the “Isle of Saints.” Three orders +of them were counted by later historians: the bishops (who seem not +to have had necessarily territorial dioceses), with St. Patrick at their +head, shining like the sun; the second, of priests, under St. Columba, +shining like the moon; and the third, of bishops, priests, and hermits, +under Colman and Aidan, shining like the stars. Their legends, +full of Irish poetry and tenderness, and not without touches here and +there of genuine Irish humour, lie buried now, to all save antiquaries, +in the folios of the Bollandists and Colgan: but the memory of their +virtue and beneficence, as well as of their miracles, shadowy and distorted +by the lapse of centuries, is rooted in the heart and brain of the Irish +peasantry; and who shall say altogether for evil? For with the +tradition of their miracles has been entwined the tradition of their +virtues, as an enduring heirloom for the whole Irish race, through the +sad centuries which part the era of saints from the present time. +We see the Irish women kneeling beside some well, whose waters were +hallowed, ages since, by the fancied miracle of some mythic saint, and +hanging gaudy rags (just as do the half savage Buddhists of the Himalayas) +upon the bushes round. We see them upon holy days crawling on +bare and bleeding knees around St. Patrick’s cell, on the top +of Croagh Patrick, the grandest mountain, perhaps, with the grandest +outlook, in these British Isles, where stands still, I believe, an ancient +wooden image, said to have belonged to St. Patrick himself; and where, +too, hung till late years (it is now preserved in Dublin) an ancient +bell; such a strange little oblong bell as the Irish saints carried +with them to keep off dæmons; one of those magic bells which appear, +so far as I am aware, in no country save Ireland and Scotland till we +come to Tartary and the Buddhists: such a bell as came down from heaven +to St. Senan: such a bell as St. Fursey sent flying through the air +to greet St. Cuandy at his devotions when he could not come himself: +such a bell as another saint, wandering in the woods, rang till a stag +came out of the covert, and carried it for him on his horns. On +that peak, so legends tell, St. Patrick stood once, in the spirit and +power of Elias—after whom the mountain was long named; fasting, +like Elias, forty days and forty nights, and wrestling with the dæmons +of the storm, and the snakes of the fen, and the Peishta-More, the gigantic +monster of the lakes, till he smote the evil things with the golden +rod of Jesus, and they rolled over the cliff in hideous rout, and perished +in the Atlantic far below. We know that these tales are but the +dreams of children: but shall we sneer at the devotion of those poor +Irish? Not if we remember (what is an undoubted fact) that the +memory of these same saints has kept up in their minds an ideal of nobleness +and purity, devotion and beneficence, which, down-trodden slaves as +they have been, they would otherwise have inevitably lost; that it has +helped to preserve them from mere brutality, and mere ferocity; and +that the thought that these men were of their own race and their own +kin has given them a pride in their own race, a sense of national unity +and of national dignity, which has endured—and surely for their +benefit, for reverence for ancestors and the self-respect which springs +from it is a benefit to every human being—through all the miseries, +deserved or undeserved, which have fallen upon the Irish since Pope +Adrian IV. (the true author of all the woes of Ireland), in the year +1155, commissioned Henry II. to conquer Ireland and destroy its primæval +Church, on consideration of receiving his share of the booty in the +shape of Peter’s Pence.</p> +<p>Among these Irish saints, two names stand out as especially interesting: +that of St. Brendan, and that of St. Columba—the former as the +representative of the sailor monks of the early period, the other as +the great missionary who, leaving his monastery at Durrow, in Ireland, +for the famous island of Hy, Iona, or Icolumbkill, off the western point +of Mull, became the apostle of Scotland and the north of England. +I shall first speak of St. Brendan, and at some length. His name +has become lately familiar to many, through the medium of two very beautiful +poems, one by Mr. Matthew Arnold, and the other by Mr. Sebastian Evans; +and it may interest those who have read their versions of the story +to see the oldest form in which the story now exists.</p> +<p>The Celts, it must be remembered, are not, in general, a sea-going +folk. They have always neglected the rich fisheries of their coasts; +and in Ireland every seaport owes its existence, not to the natives, +but to Norse colonists. Even now, the Irishman or Western Highlander, +who emigrates to escape the “Saxons,” sails in a ship built +and manned by those very “Saxons,” to lands which the Saxons +have discovered and civilized. But in the seventh and eighth centuries, +and perhaps earlier, many Celts were voyagers and emigrants, not to +discover new worlds, but to flee from the old one. There were +deserts in the sea, as well as on land; in them they hoped to escape +from men, and, yet more, from women.</p> +<p>They went against their carnal will. They had no liking for +the salt water. They were horribly frightened, and often wept +bitterly, as they themselves confess. And they had reason for +fear; for their vessels were, for the most part, only “curachs” +(coracles) of wattled twigs, covered with tanned hides. They needed +continual exhortation and comfort from the holy man who was their captain; +and needed often miracles likewise for their preservation. Tempests +had to be changed into calm, and contrary winds into fair ones, by the +prayers of a saint; and the spirit of prophecy was needed, to predict +that a whale would be met between Iona and Tiree, who appeared accordingly, +to the extreme terror of St. Berach’s crew, swimming with open +jaws, and (intent on eating, not monks, but herrings) nearly upsetting +them by the swell which he raised. And when St. Baithenius met +the same whale on the same day, it was necessary for him to rise, and +bless, with outspread hands, the sea and the whale, in order to make +him sink again, after having risen to breathe. But they sailed +forth, nevertheless, not knowing whither they went; true to their great +principle, that the spirit must conquer the flesh: and so showed themselves +actually braver men than the Norse pirates, who sailed afterwards over +the same seas without fear, and without the need of miracles, and who +found everywhere on desert islands, on sea-washed stacks and skerries, +round Orkney, Shetland, and the Faroës, even to Iceland, the cells +of these “Papas” or Popes; and named them after the old +hermits, whose memory still lingers in the names of Papa Strona and +Papa Westra, in the Orkneys, and in that of Papey, off the coast of +Iceland, where the first Norse settlers found Irish books, bells, and +crosiers, the relics of old hermits who had long since fasted and prayed +their last, and migrated to the Lord.</p> +<p>Adanman, in his life of St. Columba, tells of more than one such +voyage. He tells how one Baitanus, with the saint’s blessing, +sailed forth to find “a desert” in the sea; and how when +he was gone, the saint prophesied that he should be buried, not in a +desert isle, but where a woman should drive sheep over his grave, the +which came true in the oak-wood of Calgaich, now Londonderry, whither +he came back again. He tells, again, of one Cormac, “a knight +of Christ,” who three times sailed forth in a coracle to find +some desert isle, and three times failed of his purpose; and how, in +his last voyage, he was driven northward by the wind fourteen days’ +sail, till he came where the summer sea was full of foul little stinging +creatures, of the size of frogs, which beat against the sides of the +frail boat, till all expected them to be stove in. They clung, +moreover, to the oar blades; <a name="citation256"></a><a href="#footnote256">{256}</a> +and Cormac was in some danger of never seeing land again, had not St. +Columba, at home in Iona far away, seen him in a vision, him and his +fellows, praying and “watering their cheeks with floods of tears,” +in the midst of “perturbations monstrous, horrific, never seen +before, and almost unspeakable.” Calling together his monks, +he bade them pray for a north wind, which came accordingly, and blew +Cormac safe back to Iona, to tempt the waves no more. “Let +the reader therefore perpend how great and what manner of man this same +blessed personage was, who, having so great prophetic knowledge, could +command, by invoking the name of Christ, the winds and ocean.”</p> +<p>Even as late as the year 891, says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: “Three +Scots came to King Alfred, in a boat without any oars, from Ireland, +whence they had stolen away, because for the love of God they desired +to be on pilgrimage, they recked not where. The boat in which +they came was made of two hides and a half; and they took with them +provisions for seven days; and about the seventh day they came on shore +in Cornwall, and soon after went to King Alfred. Thus they were +named, Dubslane, and Macbeth, and Maelinmun.”</p> +<p>Out of such wild feats as these; out of dim reports of fairy islands +in the west; of the Canaries and Azores; of that Vinland, with its wild +corn and wild grapes which Leif, the son of Eirek Rauda, had found beyond +the ocean a thousand years and one after the birth of Christ; of icebergs +and floes sailing in the far northern sea, upon the edge of the six-months’ +night; out of Edda stories of the Midgard snake, which is coiled round +the world; out of reports, it may be, of Indian fakirs and Buddhist +shamans; out of scraps of Greek and Arab myth, from the Odyssey or the +Arabian Nights, brought home by “Jorsala Farar,” vikings +who had been for pilgrimage and plunder up the Straits of Gibraltar +into the far East;—out of all these materials were made up, as +years rolled on, the famous legend of St. Brendan and his seven years’ +voyage in search of the “land promised to the saints.”</p> +<p>This tale was so popular in the middle age, that it appears, in different +shapes, in almost every early European language. <a name="citation257"></a><a href="#footnote257">{257}</a> +It was not only the delight of monks, but it stirred up to wild voyages +many a secular man in search of St. Brendan’s Isle, “which +is not found when it is sought,” but was said to be visible at +times, from Palma in the Canaries. The myth must have been well +known to Columbus, and may have helped to send him forth in search of +“Cathay.” Thither (so the Spanish peasants believed) +Don Roderic had retired from the Moorish invaders. There (so the +Portuguese fancied) King Sebastian was hidden from men, after his reported +death in the battle of Alcazar. The West Indies, when they were +first seen, were surely St. Brendan’s Isle: and the Mississippi +may have been, in the eyes of such old adventurers as Don Ferdinando +da Soto, when he sought for the Fountain of Perpetual Youth, the very +river which St. Brendan found parting in two the Land of Promise. +From the year 1526 (says M. Jubinal), till as late as 1721, armaments +went forth from time to time into the Atlantic, and went forth in vain.</p> +<p>For the whole tale, from whatever dim reports of fact they may have +sprung, is truly (as M. Jubinal calls it) a monkish Odyssey, and nothing +more. It is a dream of the hermit’s cell. No woman, +no city, nor nation, are ever seen during the seven years’ voyage. +Ideal monasteries and ideal hermits people the “deserts of the +ocean.” All beings therein (save dæmons and Cyclops) +are Christians, even to the very birds, and keep the festivals of the +Church as eternal laws of nature. The voyage succeeds, not by +seamanship, or geographic knowledge, nor even by chance: but by the +miraculous prescience of the saint, or of those whom he meets; and the +wanderings of Ulysses, or of Sinbad, are rational and human in comparison +with those of St. Brendan.</p> +<p>Yet there are in them, as was to be expected, elements in which the +Greek or the Arab legends are altogether deficient; perfect innocence, +patience, and justice; utter faith in a God who prospers the innocent +and punishes the guilty; ennobling obedience to the saint, who stands +out a truly heroic figure above his trembling crew; and even more valuable +still, the belief in, the craving for, an ideal, even though that ideal +be that of a mere earthly Paradise; the “divine discontent,” +as it has been well called, which is the root of all true progress; +which leaves (thank God) no man at peace save him who has said, “Let +us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.”</p> +<p>And therefore I have written at some length the story of St. Brendan; +because, though it be but a monk-ideal, it is an ideal still: and therefore +profitable for all who are not content with this world, and its paltry +ways.</p> +<p>Saint Brendan, we read, the son of Finnloga, and great grandson of +Alta, son of Ogaman, of the race of Ciar son of Fergus, was born at +Tralee, and founded, in 559, the Abbey of Clonfert, <a name="citation260a"></a><a href="#footnote260a">{260a}</a> +and was a man famous for his great abstinence and virtues, and the father +of nearly 3,000 monks. <a name="citation260b"></a><a href="#footnote260b">{260b}</a> +And while he was “in his warfare,” there came to him one +evening a holy hermit named “Barintus,” of the royal race +of Neill; and when he was questioned, he did nought but cast himself +on the ground, and weep and pray. And when St. Brendan asked him +to make better cheer for him and his monks, he told him a strange tale. +How a nephew of his had fled away to be a solitary, and found a delicious +island, and established a monastery therein; and how he himself had +gone to see his nephew, and sailed with him to the eastward to an island, +which was called “the land of promise of the saints,” wide +and grassy, and bearing all manner of fruits; wherein was no night, +for the Lord Jesus Christ was the light thereof; and how they abode +there for a long while without eating and drinking; and when they returned +to his nephew’s monastery, the brethren knew well where they had +been, for the fragrance of Paradise lingered on their garments for nearly +forty days.</p> +<p>So Barintus told his story, and went back to his cell. But +St. Brendan called together his most loving fellow-warriors, as he called +them, and told them how he had set his heart on seeking that Promised +Land. And he went up to the top of the hill in Kerry, which is +still called Mount Brendan, with fourteen chosen monks; and there, at +the utmost corner of the world, he built him a coracle of wattle, and +covered it with hides tanned in oak-bark and softened with butter, and +set up in it a mast and a sail, and took forty days’ provision, +and commanded his monks to enter the boat, in the name of the Holy Trinity. +And as he stood alone, praying on the shore, three more monks from his +monastery came up, and fell at his feet, and begged to go too, or they +would die in that place of hunger and thirst; for they were determined +to wander with him all the days of their life. So he gave them +leave. But two of them, he prophesied, would come to harm and +to judgment. So they sailed away toward the summer solstice, with +a fair wind, and had no need to row. But after twelve days the +wind fell to a calm, and they had only light airs at night, till forty +days were past, and all their victual spent. Then they saw toward +the north a lofty island, walled round with cliffs, and went about it +three days ere they could find a harbour. And when they landed, +a dog came fawning on them, and they followed it up to a great hall +with beds and seats, and water to wash their feet. But St. Brendan +said, “Beware, lest Satan bring you into temptation. For +I see him busy with one of those three who followed us.” +Now the hall was hung all round with vessels of divers metals, and bits +and horns overlaid with silver. Then St. Brendan told his servant +to bring the meal which God had prepared; and at once a table was laid +with napkins, and loaves wondrous white, and fishes. Then they +blessed God, and ate, and took likewise drink as much as they would, +and lay down to sleep. Then St. Brendan saw the devil’s +work; namely, a little black boy holding a silver bit, and calling the +brother aforementioned. So they rested three days and three nights. +But when they went to the ship, St. Brendan charged them with theft, +and told what was stolen, and who had stolen it. Then the brother +cast out of his bosom a silver bit, and prayed for mercy. And +when he was forgiven and raised up from the ground, behold, a little +black boy flew out of his bosom, howling aloud, and crying, “Why, +O man of God, dost thou drive me from my habitation, where I have dwelt +for seven years?”</p> +<p>Then the brother received the Holy Eucharist, and died straightway, +and was buried in that isle, and the brethren saw the angels carry his +soul aloft, for St. Brendan had told him that so it should be: but that +the brother who came with him should have his sepulchre in hell. +And as they went on board, a youth met them with a basket of loaves +and a bottle of water, and told them that it would not fail till Pentecost.</p> +<p>Then they sailed again many days, till they came to an isle full +of great streams and fountains swarming with fish; and sheep there all +white, as big as oxen, so many that they hid the face of the earth. +And they stayed there till Easter Eve, and took one of the sheep (which +followed them as if it had been tame) to eat for the Paschal feast. +Then came a man with loaves baked in the ashes, and other victual, and +fell down before St. Brendan and cried, “How have I merited this, +O pearl of God, that thou shouldest be fed at this holy tide from the +labours of my hand?”</p> +<p>And they learned from that man that the sheep grew there so big because +they were never milked, nor pinched with winter, but they fed in those +pastures all the year round. Moreover, he told them that they +must keep Easter in an isle hard by, opposite a shore to the west, which +some called the Paradise of Birds.</p> +<p>So to the nearest island they sailed. It had no harbour, nor +sandy shore, and there was no turf on it, and very little wood. +Now the Saint knew what manner of isle it was, but he would not tell +the brethren, lest they should be terrified. So he bade them make +the boat fast stem and stern, and when morning came he bade those who +were priests to celebrate each a mass, and then to take the lamb’s +fleece on shore and cook it in the caldron with salt, while St. Brendan +remained in the boat.</p> +<p>But when the fire blazed up, and the pot began to boil, that island +began to move like water. Then the brethren ran to the boat imploring +St. Brendan’s aid; and he helped them each in by the hand, and +cast off. After which the island sank in the ocean. And +when they could see their fire burning more than two miles off, St. +Brendan told them how that God had revealed to him that night the mystery; +that this was no isle, but the biggest of all fishes which swam in the +ocean, always it tries to make its head and its tail meet, but cannot, +by reason of its length; and its name is Jasconius.</p> +<p>Then, across a narrow strait, they saw another isle, very grassy +and wooded, and full of flowers. And they found a little stream, +and towed the boat up it (for the stream was of the same width as the +boat), with St. Brendan sitting on board, till they came to the fountain +thereof. Then said the holy father, “See, brethren, the +Lord has given us a place wherein to celebrate his holy Resurrection. +And if we had nought else, this fountain, I think, would serve for food +as well as drink.” For the fountain was too admirable. +Over it was a huge tree of wonderful breadth, but no great height, covered +with snow-white birds, so that its leaves and boughs could scarce be +seen.</p> +<p>And when the man of God saw that, he was so desirous to know the +cause of that assemblage of birds, that he besought God upon his knees, +with tears, saying, “God, who knowest the unknown, and revealest +the hidden, thou knowest the anxiety of my heart. . . . Deign +of thy great mercy to reveal to me thy secret. . . . But not for +the merit of my own dignity, but regarding thy clemency, do I presume +to ask.”</p> +<p>Then one of those birds flew from off the tree, and his wings sounded +like bells over the boat. And he sat on the prow, and spread his +wings joyfully, and looked quietly on St. Brendan. And when the +man of God questioned that bird, it told how they were of the spirits +which fell in the great ruin of the old enemy; not by sin or by consent, +but predestined by the piety of God to fall with those with whom they +were created. But they suffered no punishment; only they could +not, in part, behold the presence of God. They wandered about +this world, like other spirits of the air, and firmament, and earth. +But on holy days they took those shapes of birds, and praised their +Creator in that place.</p> +<p>Then the bird told him, how he and his monks had wandered one year +already, and should wander for six more; and every year should celebrate +their Easter in that place, and after find the Land of Promise; and +so flew back to its tree.</p> +<p>And when the eventide was come, the birds began all with one voice +to sing, and clap their wings, crying, “Thou, O God, art praised +in Zion, and unto Thee shall the vow be performed in Jerusalem.” +And always they repeated that verse for an hour, and their melody and +the clapping of their wings was like music which drew tears by its sweetness.</p> +<p>And when the man of God wakened his monks at the third watch of the +night with the verse, “Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord,” +all the birds answered, “Praise the Lord, all his angels; praise +him, all his virtues.” And when the dawn shone, they sang +again, “The splendour of the Lord God is over us;” and at +the third hour, “Sing psalms to our God, sing; sing to our King, +sing with wisdom.” And at the sixth, “The Lord hath +lifted up the light of his countenance upon us, and had mercy on us.” +And at the ninth, “Behold how good and pleasant it is for brethren +to dwell in unity.” So day and night those birds gave praise +to God. St. Brendan, therefore, seeing these things, gave thanks +to God for all his marvels, and the brethren were refreshed with that +spiritual food till the octave of Easter.</p> +<p>After which, St. Brendan advised to take of the water of the fountain; +for till then they had only used it to wash their feet and hands. +But there came to him the same man who had been with them three days +before Easter, and with his boat full of meat and drink, and said, “My +brothers, here you have enough to last till Pentecost: but do not drink +of that fountain. For its nature is, that whosoever drinks will +sleep for four-and-twenty hours.” So they stayed till Pentecost, +and rejoiced in the song of the birds. And after mass at Pentecost, +the man brought them food again, and bade them take of the water of +the fountain and depart. Then the birds came again, and sat upon +the prow, and told them how they must, every year, celebrate Easter +in the Isle of Birds, and Easter Eve upon the back of the fish Jasconius; +and how, after eight months, they should come to the isle called Ailbey, +and keep their Christmas there.</p> +<p>After which they were on the ocean for eight months, out of sight +of land, and only eating after every two or three days, till they came +to an island, along which they sailed for forty days, and found no harbour. +Then they wept and prayed, for they were almost worn out with weariness; +and after they had fasted and prayed for three days, they saw a narrow +harbour, and two fountains, one foul, one clear. But when the +brethren hurried to draw water, St. Brendan (as he had done once before) +forbade them, saying that they must take nought without leave from the +elders who were in that isle.</p> +<p>And of the wonders which they saw in that isle it were too long to +tell: how there met them an exceeding old man, with snow-white hair, +who fell at St. Brendan’s feet three times, and led him in silence +up to a monastery of four-and-twenty silent monks, who washed their +feet, and fed them with bread and water, and roots of wonderful sweetness; +and then at last, opening his mouth, told them how that bread was sent +them perpetually, they knew not from whence; and how they had been there +eighty years, since the times of St. Patrick, and how their father Ailbey +and Christ had nourished them; and how they grew no older, nor ever +fell sick, nor were overcome by cold or heat; and how brother never +spoke to brother, but all things were done by signs; and how he led +them to a square chapel, with three candles before the mid-altar, and +two before each of the side altars; and how they, and the chalices and +patens, and all the other vessels, were of crystal; and how the candles +were lighted always by a fiery arrow, which came in through the window, +and returned; and how St. Brendan kept his Christmas there, and then +sailed away till Lent, and came to a fruitful island where he found +fish; and how when certain brethren drank too much of the charmed water +they slept, some three days, and some one; and how they sailed north, +and then east, till they came back to the Isle of Sheep at Easter, and +found on the shore their caldron, which they had lost on Jasconius’s +back; and how, sailing away, they were chased by a mighty fish which +spouted foam, but was slain by another fish which spouted fire; and +how they took enough of its flesh to last them three months; and how +they came to an island flat as the sea, without trees, or aught that +waved in the wind; and how on that island were three troops of monks +(as the holy man had foretold), standing a stone’s throw from +each other: the first of boys, robed in snow-white; the second of young +men, dressed in hyacinthine; the third of old men, in purple dalmatics, +singing alternately their psalms, all day and night: and how when they +stopped singing, a cloud of wondrous brightness overshadowed the isle; +and how two of the young men, ere they sailed away, brought baskets +of grapes, and asked that one of the monks (as had been prophesied) +should remain with them, in the Isle of Strong Men; and how St. Brendan +let him go, saying, “In a good hour did thy mother conceive thee, +because thou hast merited to dwell with such a congregation;” +and how those grapes were so big, that a pound of juice ran out of each +of them, and an ounce thereof fed each brother for a whole day, and +was as sweet as honey; and how a magnificent bird dropped into the ship +the bough of an unknown tree, with a bunch of grapes thereon; and how +they came to a land where the trees were all bowed down with vines, +and their odour as the odour of a house full of pomegranates; and how +they fed forty days on those grapes, and strange herbs and roots; and +how they saw flying against them the bird which is called gryphon; and +how that bird who had brought the bough tore out the gryphon’s +eyes, and slew him; and how they looked down into the clear sea, and +saw all the fishes sailing round and round, head to tail, innumerable +as flocks in the pastures, and were terrified, and would have had the +man of God celebrate mass in silence, lest the fish should hear, and +attack them; and how the man of God laughed at their folly; and how +they came to a column of clear crystal in the sea, with a canopy round +it of the colour of silver, harder than marble, and sailed in through +an opening, and found it all light within; <a name="citation269"></a><a href="#footnote269">{269}</a> +and how they found in that hall a chalice of the same stuff as the canopy, +and a paten of that of the column, and took them, that they might make +many believe; and how they sailed out again, and past a treeless island, +covered with slag and forges; and how a great hairy man, fiery and smutty, +came down and shouted after them; and how when they made the sign of +the Cross and sailed away, he and his fellows brought down huge lumps +of burning slag in tongs, and hurled them after the ship; and how they +went back, and blew their forges up, till the whole island flared, and +the sea boiled, and the howling and stench followed them, even when +they were out of sight of that evil isle; and how St. Brendan bade them +strengthen themselves in faith and spiritual arms, for they were now +on the confines of hell, therefore they must watch, and play the man. +All this must needs be hastened over, that we may come to the famous +legend of Judas Iscariot.</p> +<p>They saw a great and high mountain toward the north, with smoke about +its peak. And the wind blew them close under the cliffs, which +were of immense height, so that they could hardly see their top, upright +as walls, and black as coal. <a name="citation270"></a><a href="#footnote270">{270}</a> +Then he who remained of the three brethren who had followed St. Brendan +sprang out of the ship, and waded to the cliff foot, groaning, and crying, +“Woe to me, father, for I am carried away from you; and cannot +turn back.” Then the brethren backed the ship, and cried +to the Lord for mercy. But the blessed Father Brendan saw how +that wretch was carried off by a multitude of devils, and all on fire +among them. Then a fair wind blew them away southward; and when +they looked back they saw the peak of the isle uncovered, and flame +spouting from it up to heaven, and sinking back again, till the whole +mountain seemed one burning pile.</p> +<p>After that terrible vision they sailed seven days to the south, till +Father Brendan saw a dense cloud; when they neared it, a form as of +a man sitting, and before him a veil, as big as a sack, hanging between +two iron tongs, and rocking on the waves like a boat in a whirlwind. +Which when the brethren saw some thought was a bird, and some a boat; +but the man of God bade them give over arguing, and row thither. +And when they got near, the waves were still, as if they had been frozen; +and they found a man sitting on a rough and shapeless rock, and the +waves beating over his head; and when they fell back, the bare rock +appeared on which that wretch was sitting. And the cloth which +hung before him the wind moved, and beat him with it on the eyes and +brow. But when the blessed man asked him who he was, and how he +had earned that doom, he said, “I am that most wretched Judas, +who made the worst of all bargains. But I hold not this place +for any merit of my own, but for the ineffable mercy of Christ. +I expect no place of repentance: but for the indulgence and mercy of +the Redeemer of the world, and for the honour of His holy resurrection, +I have this refreshment; for it is the Lord’s-day now, and as +I sit here I seem to myself in a paradise of delight, by reason of the +pains which will be mine this evening; for when I am in my pains I burn +day and night like lead melted in a pot. But in the midst of that +mountain which you saw, is Leviathan with his satellites, and I was +there when he swallowed your brother; and therefore the king of hell +rejoiced, and sent forth huge flames, as he doth always when he devours +the souls of the impious.” Then he told them how he had +his refreshings there every Lord’s-day from even to even, and +from Christmas to Epiphany, and from Easter to Pentecost, and from the +Purification of the Blessed Virgin to her Assumption: but the rest of +his time he was tormented with Herod and Pilate, Annas and Caiaphas; +and so adjured them to intercede for him with the Lord that he might +be there at least till sunrise in the morn. To whom the man of +God said, “The will of the Lord be done. Thou shalt not +be carried off by the dæmons till to-morrow.” Then +he asked him of that clothing, and he told how he had given it to a +leper when he was the Lord’s chamberlain; “but because it +was no more mine than it was the Lord’s and the other brethren’s, +therefore it is of no comfort to me, but rather a hurt. And these +forks I gave to the priests to hang their caldrons on. And this +stone on which I always sit I took off the road, and threw it into a +ditch for a stepping-stone, before I was a disciple of the Lord.” +<a name="citation272"></a><a href="#footnote272">{272}</a></p> +<p>But when the evening hour had covered the face of Thetis,” +behold a multitude of dæmons shouting in a ring, and bidding the +man of God depart, for else they could not approach; and they dared +not behold their prince’s face unless they brought back their +prey. But the man of God bade them depart. And in the morning +an infinite multitude of devils covered the face of the abyss, and cursed +the man of God for coming thither; for their prince had scourged them +cruelly that night for not bringing back the captive. But the +man of God returned their curses on their own heads, saying that “cursed +was he whom they blest, and blessed he whom they cursed;” and +when they threatened Judas with double torments because he had not come +back, the man of God rebuked them.</p> +<p>“Art thou, then, Lord of all,” they asked, “that +we should obey thee?” “I am the servant,” said +he, “of the Lord of all; and whatsoever I command in his name +is done; and I have no ministry save what he concedes to me.”</p> +<p>So they blasphemed him till he left Judas, and then returned, and +carried off that wretched soul with great rushing and howling.</p> +<p>After which they saw a little isle; and the holy man told them that +now seven years were nigh past; and that in that isle they should soon +see a hermit, named Paul the Spiritual, who had lived for sixty years +without any corporeal food, but for thirty years before that he had +received food from a certain beast.</p> +<p>The isle was very small, about a furlong round; a bare rock, so steep +that they could find no landing-place. But at last they found +a creek, into which they thrust the boat’s bow, and then discovered +a very difficult ascent. Up that the man of God climbed, bidding +them wait for him, for they must not enter the isle without the hermit’s +leave; and when he came to the top he saw two caves, with their mouths +opposite each other, and a very small round well before the cave mouth, +whose waters, as fast as they ran out, were sucked in again by the rock. +<a name="citation274"></a><a href="#footnote274">{274}</a> As +he went to one entrance, the old man came out of the other, saying, +“Behold how good and pleasant it is, brethren, to dwell together +in unity,” and bade him call up the brethren from the boat; and +when they came, he kissed them, and called them each by his name. +Whereat they marvelled, not only at his spirit of prophecy, but also +at his attire; for he was all covered with his locks and beard, and +with the other hair of his body, down to his feet. His hair was +white as snow for age, and none other covering had he. When St. +Brendan saw that, he sighed again and again, and said within himself, +“Woe is me, sinner that I am, who wear a monk’s habit, and +have many monks under me, when I see a man of angelic dignity sitting +in a cell, still in the flesh, and unhurt by the vices of the flesh.” +To whom the man of God answered, “Venerable father, what great +and many wonders God hath showed thee, which he hath manifested to none +of the fathers, and thou sayest in thy heart that thou art not worthy +to wear a monk’s habit. I tell thee, father, that thou art +greater than a monk; for a monk is fed and clothed by the work of his +own hands: but God has fed and clothed thee and thy family for seven +years with his secret things, while wretched I sit here on this rock +like a bird, naked save the hair of my body.”</p> +<p>Then St. Brendan asked him how and whence he came thither; and he +told how he was nourished in St. Patrick’s monastery for fifty +years, and took care of the cemetery; and how when the dean had bidden +him dig a grave, an old man, whom he knew not, appeared to him, and +forbade him, for that grave was another man’s. And how he +revealed to him that he was St. Patrick, his own abbot, who had died +the day before, and bade him bury that brother elsewhere, and go down +to the sea and find a boat, which would take him to the place where +he should wait for the day of his death; and how he landed on that rock, +and thrust the boat off with his foot, and it went swiftly back to its +own land; and how, on the very first day, a beast came to him, walking +on its hind paws, and between its fore paws a fish, and grass to make +a fire, and laid them at his feet; and so every third day for twenty +years; and every Lord’s day a little water came out of the rock, +so that he could drink and wash his hands; and how after thirty years +he had found these caves and that fountain, and had fed for the last +sixty years on nought but the water thereof. For all the years +of his life were 150, and henceforth he awaited the day of his judgment +in that his flesh.</p> +<p>Then they took of that water, and received his blessing, and kissed +each other in the peace of Christ, and sailed southward: but their food +was the water from the isle of the man of God. Then (as Paul the +Hermit had foretold) they came back on Easter Eve to the Isle of Sheep, +and to him who used to give them victuals; and then went on to the fish +Jasconius, and sang praises on his back all night, and mass at morn. +After which the fish carried them on his back to the Paradise of Birds, +and there they stayed till Pentecost. Then the man who always +tended them, bade them fill their skins from the fountain, and he would +lead them to the land promised to the saints. And all the birds +wished them a prosperous voyage in God’s name; and they sailed +away, with forty days’ provision, the man being their guide, till +after forty days they came at evening to a great darkness which lay +round the Promised Land. But after they had sailed through it +for an hour, a great light shone round them, and the boat stopped at +a shore. And when they landed they saw a spacious land, full of +trees bearing fruit as in autumn time. And they walked about that +land for forty days, eating of the fruit and drinking of the fountains, +and found no end thereof. And there was no night there, but the +light shone like the light of the sun. At last they came to a +great river, which they could not cross, so that they could not find +out the extent of that land. And as they were pondering over this, +a youth, with shining face and fair to look upon, met them, and kissed +them with great joy, calling them each by his name, and said, “Brethren, +peace be with you, and with all that follow the peace of Christ.” +And after that, “Blessed are they who dwell in thy house, O Lord; +they shall be for ever praising thee.”</p> +<p>Then he told St. Brendan that that was the land which he had been +seeking for seven years, and that he must now return to his own country, +taking of the fruits of that land, and of its precious gems, as much +as his ship could carry; for the days of his departure were at hand, +when he should sleep in peace with his holy brethren. But after +many days that land should be revealed to his successors, and should +be a refuge for Christians in persecution. As for the river that +they saw, it parted that island; and the light shone there for ever, +because Christ was the light thereof.</p> +<p>Then St. Brendan asked if that land would ever be revealed to men: +and the youth answered, that when the most high Creator should have +put all nations under his feet, then that land should be manifested +to all his elect.</p> +<p>After which St. Brendan, when the youth had blessed him, took of +the fruits and of the gems, and sailed back through the darkness, and +returned to his monastery; whom when the brethren saw, they glorified +God for the miracles which he had heard and seen. After which +he ended his life in peace. Amen.</p> +<p>Here ends (says the French version) concerning St. Brendan, and the +marvels which he found in the sea of Ireland.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ST. MALO</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Intermingled, fantastically and inconsistently, with the story of +St. Brendan, is that of St. Maclovius or Machutus, who has given his +name to the seaport of St. Malo, in Brittany. His life, written +by Sigebert, a monk of Gembloux, about the year 1100, tells us how he +was a Breton, who sailed with St. Brendan in search of the fairest of +all islands, in which the citizens of heaven were said to dwell. +With St. Brendan St. Malo celebrated Easter on the whale’s back, +and with St. Brendan he returned. But another old hagiographer, +Johannes à Bosco, tells a different story, making St. Malo an +Irishman brought up by St. Brendan, and preserved by his prayers from +a wave of the sea. He gives, moreover, to the Isle of Paradise +the name of Inga, and says that St. Brendan and his companions never +reached it after all, but came home after sailing round the Orkneys +and other Northern isles. The fact is, that the same saints reappear +so often on both sides of the British and the Irish Channels, that we +must take the existence of many of them as mere legend, which has been +carried from land to land by monks in their migrations, and taken root +upon each fresh soil which it has reached. One incident in St. +Malo’s voyage is so fantastic, and so grand likewise, that it +must not be omitted. The monks come to an island whereon they +find the barrow of some giant of old time. St. Malo, seized with +pity for the lost soul of the heathen, opens the mound and raises the +dead to life. Then follows a strange conversation between the +giant and the saint. He was slain, he says, by his kinsmen, and +ever since has been tormented in the other world. In that nether +pit they know (he says) of the Holy Trinity: but that knowledge is rather +harm than gain to them, because they did not choose to know it when +alive on earth. Therefore he begs to be baptized, and so delivered +from his pain. He is therefore instructed, catechised, and in +due time baptized, and admitted to the Holy Communion. For fifteen +days more he remains alive: and then, dying once more, is again placed +in his sepulchre, and left in peace.</p> +<p>From fragmentary recollections of such tales as these (it may be +observed in passing) may have sprung the strange fancy of the modern +Cornishmen, which identifies these very Celtic saints of their own race +with the giants who, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, inhabited the +land before Brutus and his Trojans founded the Arthuric dynasty. +St. Just, for instance, who is one of the guardian saints of the Land’s +End, and St. Kevern, one of the guardian saints of the Lizard, are both +giants; and Cornishmen a few years since would tell how St. Just came +from his hermitage by Cape Cornwall to visit St. Kevern in his cave +on the east side of Goonhilly Downs; and how they took the Holy Communion +together; and how St. Just, tempted by the beauty of St. Kevern’s +paten and chalice, arose in the night and fled away with the holy vessels, +wading first the Looe Pool, and then Mount’s Bay itself; and how +St. Kevern pursued him, and hurled after him three great boulders of +porphyry, two of which lie on the slates and granites to this day; till +St. Just, terrified at the might of his saintly brother, tossed the +stolen vessels ashore opposite St. Michael’s Mount, and, fleeing +back to his own hermitage, never appeared again in the neighbourhood +of St. Kevern.</p> +<p>But to return. St. Malo, coming home with St. Brendan, craves +for peace, and solitude, and the hermit’s cell, and goes down +to the sea-shore, to find a vessel which may carry him out once more +into the infinite unknown. Then there comes by a boat with no +one in it but a little boy, who takes him on board, and carries him +to the isle of the hermit Aaron, near the town of Aletha, which men +call St. Malo now; and then the little boy vanishes away, and St. Malo +knows that he was Christ himself. There he lives with Aaron, till +the Bretons of the neighbourhood make him their bishop. He converts +the idolaters around, and performs the usual miracles of hermit saints. +He changes water into wine, and restores to life not only a dead man, +but a dead sow likewise, over whose motherless litter a wretched slave, +who has by accident killed the sow with a stone, is weeping and wringing +his hands in dread of his master’s fury. While St. Malo +is pruning vines, he lays his cape upon the ground, and a redbreast +comes and lays an egg on it. He leaves it there, for the bird’s +sake, till the young are hatched, knowing, says his biographer, that +without God the Father not a sparrow falls to the ground. Hailoch, +the prince of Brittany, destroys his church, and is struck blind. +Restored to sight by the saint, he bestows large lands on the Church. +“The impious generation,” who, with their children after +them, have lost their property by Hailoch’s gift, rise against +St. Malo. They steal his horses, and in mockery leave him only +a mare. They beat his baker, tie his feet under the horse’s +body, and leave him on the sand to be drowned by the rising tide. +The sea by a miracle stops a mile off, and the baker is saved.</p> +<p>St. Malo, weary of the wicked Bretons, flees to Saintonge in Aquitaine, +where he performs yet more miracles. Meanwhile, a dire famine +falls on the Bretons, and a thousand horrible diseases. Penitent, +they send for St. Malo, who delivers them and their flocks. But, +at the command of an angel, he returns to Saintonge and dies there, +and Saintonge has his relics, and the innumerable miracles which they +work, even to the days of Sigebert, of Gembloux.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h2>ST. COLUMBA</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The famous St. Columba cannot perhaps be numbered among the hermits: +but as the spiritual father of many hermits, as well as many monks, +and as one whose influence upon the Christianity of these islands is +notorious and extensive, he must needs have some notice in these pages. +Those who wish to study his life and works at length will of course +read Dr. Reeves’s invaluable edition of Adamnan. The more +general reader will find all that he need know in Mr. Hill Burton’s +excellent “History of Scotland,” chapters vii. and viii.; +and also in Mr. Maclear’s “History of Christian Missions +during the Middle Ages”—a book which should be in every +Sunday library.</p> +<p>St. Columba, like St. David and St. Cadoc of Wales, and like many +great Irish saints, is a prince and a statesman as well as a monk. +He is mixed up in quarrels between rival tribes. He is concerned, +according to antiquaries, in three great battles, one of which sprang, +according to some, from Columba’s own misdeeds. He copies +by stealth the Psalter of St. Finnian. St. Finnian demands the +copy, saying it was his as much as the original. The matter is +referred to King Dermod, who pronounces, in high court at Tara, the +famous decision which has become a proverb in Ireland, that “to +every cow belongs her own calf.” <a name="citation283"></a><a href="#footnote283">{283}</a> +St. Columba, who does not seem at this time to have possessed the dove-like +temper which his name, according to his disciples, indicates, threatens +to avenge upon the king his unjust decision. The son of the king’s +steward and the son of the King of Connaught, a hostage at Dermod’s +court, are playing hurley on the green before Dermod’s palace. +The young prince strikes the other boy, kills him, and flies for protection +to Columba. He is nevertheless dragged away, and slain upon the +spot. Columba leaves the palace in a rage, goes to his native +mountains of Donegal, and returns at the head of an army of northern +and western Irish to fight the great battle of Cooldrevny in Sligo. +But after a while public opinion turns against him; and at the Synod +of Teltown, in Meath, it is proclaimed that Columba, the man of blood, +shall quit Ireland, and win for Christ out of heathendom as many souls +as have perished in that great fight. Then Columba, with twelve +comrades, sails in a coracle for the coast of Argyleshire; and on the +eve of Pentecost, A.D. 563, lands upon that island which, it may be, +will be famous to all times as Iona, Hy, or Icolumkill,—Hy of +Columb of the Cells.</p> +<p>Thus had Columba, if the tale be true, undertaken a noble penance; +and he performed it like a noble man. If, according to the fashion +of those times, he bewailed his sins with tears, he was no morbid or +selfish recluse, but a man of practical power, and of wide humanity. +Like one of Homer’s old heroes, St. Columba could turn his hand +to every kind of work. He could turn the hand-mill, work on the +farm, heal the sick, and command as a practised sailor the little fleet +of coracles which lay hauled up on the strand of Iona, ready to carry +him and his monks on their missionary voyages to the mainland or the +isles. Tall, powerful, handsome, with a face which, as Adamnan +said, made all who saw him glad, and a voice so stentorian that it could +be heard at times a full mile off, and coming too of royal race, it +is no wonder if he was regarded as a sort of demigod, not only by his +own monks, but by the Pictish chiefs to whom he preached the Cross. +We hear of him at Craig Phadrick, near Inverness; at Skye, at Tiree, +and other islands; we hear of him receiving visits from his old monks +of Derry and Durrow; returning to Ireland to decide between rival chiefs; +and at last dying at the age of seventy-seven, kneeling before the altar +in his little chapel of Iona—a death as beautiful as had been +the last thirty-four years of his life; and leaving behind him disciples +destined to spread the light of Christianity over the whole of Scotland +and the northern parts of England.</p> +<p>St. Columba, at one period or other of his life, is said to have +visited a missionary hermit, whose name still lingers in Scotland as +St. Kentigern, or more commonly St. Mungo, the patron saint of Glasgow. +The two men, it is said (but the story belongs to the twelfth century, +and can hardly be depended on), exchanged their crooked staves or crosiers +in token of Christian brotherhood, and that which St. Columba is said +to have given to St. Kentigern was preserved in Ripon Cathedral to the +beginning of the fifteenth century. But who St. Kentigern was, +or what he really did, is hard to say; for all his legends, like most +of these early ones, are as tangled as a dream. He dies in the +year 601: and yet he is the disciple of the famous St. Servanus or St. +Serf, who lived in the times of St. Palladius and St. Patrick, 180 years +before. This St. Serf is a hermit of the true old type; and even +if his story be, as Dr. Reeves thinks, a fabrication throughout, it +is at least a very early one, and true to the ideal which had originated +with St. Antony. He is brought up in a monastery at Culross: he +is tempted by the devil in a cave in the parish of Dysart (the Desert), +in Fifeshire, which still retains that name. The dæmon, +fleeing from him, enters an unfortunate man, who is forthwith plagued +with a wolfish appetite. St. Serf cures him by putting his thumb +into his mouth. A man is accused of stealing and eating a lamb, +and denies the theft. St. Serf, however, makes the lamb bleat +in the robber’s stomach, and so substantiates the charge beyond +all doubt. He works other wonders; among them the slaying of a +great dragon in the place called “Dunyne;” sails for the +Orkneys, and converts the people there; and vanishes thenceforth into +the dream-land from which he sprung.</p> +<p>Two great disciples he has, St. Ternan and St. Kentigern; mystery +and miracle hang round the boyhood of the latter. His father is +unknown. His mother is condemned to be cast from the rock of “Dunpelder,” +but is saved and absolved by a miracle. Before the eyes of the +astonished Picts, she floats gently down through the air, and arrives +at the cliff foot unhurt. St. Kentigern is thenceforth believed +to be virgin-born, and is reverenced as a miraculous being from his +infancy. He goes to school to the mythic St. Serf, who calls him +Mungo, or the Beloved; which name he bears in Glasgow until this day. +His fellow-scholars envy his virtue and learning, and try to ruin him +with their master. St. Serf has a pet robin, which is wont to +sit and sing upon his shoulder. The boys pull off its head, and +lay the blame upon Kentigern. The saint comes in wrathful, tawse +in hand, and Kentigern is for the moment in serious danger; but, equal +to the occasion then as afterwards, he puts the robin’s head on +again, sets it singing, and amply vindicates his innocence. To +this day the robin figures in the arms of the good city of Glasgow, +with the tree which St. Kentigern, when his enemies had put out his +fire, brought in from the frozen forest and lighted with his breath, +and the salmon in whose mouth a ring which had been cast into the Clyde +had been found again by St. Kentigern’s prophetic spirit.</p> +<p>The envy of his fellow-scholars, however, is too much for St. Kentigern’s +peace of mind. He wanders away to the spot where Glasgow city +now stands, lives in a rock hollowed out into a tomb, is ordained by +an Irish bishop (according to a Celtic custom, of which antiquaries +have written learnedly and dubiously likewise), and has ecclesiastical +authority over all the Picts from the Frith of Forth to the Roman Wall. +But all these stories, as I said before, are tangled as a dream; for +the twelfth century monks, in their loyal devotion to the see of Rome, +are apt to introduce again and again ecclesiastical customs which belonged +to their own time, and try to represent these primæval saints +as regular and well-disciplined servants of the Pope.</p> +<p>It may be remarked that St. Serf is said to have come into a “dysart” +or desert. So did many monks of the school of St. Columba and +his disciples, who wished for a severer and a more meditative life than +could be found in the busy society of a convent. “There +was a ‘disert,’” says Dr. Reeves, “for such +men to retire to, besides the monastery of Derry, and another at Iona +itself, situate near the shore in the low ground, north of the Cathedral, +as may be inferred from Portandisiart, the name of a little bay in this +situation.” A similar “disert” or collection +of hermit cells was endowed at Cashel in 1101; and a “disert columkill,” +with two townland mills and a vegetable garden, was endowed at Kells, +at a somewhat earlier period, for the use of “devout pilgrims,” +as those were called who left the society of men to worship God in solitude.</p> +<p>The Venerable Bede speaks of as many as three personages, Saxons +by their names, who in the Isle of Ireland led the “Pilgrim” +or anchoritic life, to obtain a country in heaven; and tells of a Drycthelm +of the monastery at Melrose, who went into a secret dwelling therein +to give himself more utterly to prayer, and who used to stand for hours +in the cold waters of the Tweed, as St. Godric did centuries afterwards +in those of the Wear. Solitaries, “recluses,” are +met with again and again in these old records, who more than once became +Abbots of Iona itself. But there is no need to linger on over +instances which are only quoted to show that some of the noblest spirits +of the Celtic Church kept up wherever they could the hermit’s +ideal, the longing for solitude, for passive contemplation, for silence +and perpetual prayer, which they had inherited from St. Antony and the +Fathers of the Egyptian Desert.</p> +<p>The same ideal was carried by them over the Border into England. +Off its extreme northern coast, for instance, nearly half-way between +Berwick and Bamborough Castle, lies, as travellers northward may have +seen for themselves, the “Holy Island,” called in old times +Lindisfarne. A monk’s chapel on that island was the mother +of all the churches between Tyne and Tweed, as well as of many between +Tyne and Humber. The Northumbrians had been nominally converted, +according to Bede, A.D. 627, under their King Edwin, by Paulinus, one +of the Roman monks who had followed in the steps of St. Augustine, the +apostle of Kent. Evil times had fallen on them. Penda, at +the head of the idolatrous Mercians (the people of Mid-England), and +Ceadwalla, at the head of the Western Britons, had ravaged the country +north of Tweed with savage cruelty, slain King Edwin, at Hatfield, near +Doncaster, and exterminated Christianity; while Paulinus had fled to +Kent, and become Bishop of Rochester. The invaders had been driven +out, seemingly by Oswald, who knew enough of Christianity to set up, +ere he engaged the enemy, a cross of wood on the “Heavenfield,” +near Hexham. That cross stood till the time of Bede, some 150 +years after; and had become, like Moses’ brazen serpent, an object +of veneration. For if chips cut off from it were put into water, +that water cured men or cattle of their diseases.</p> +<p>Oswald, believing that it was through the mercy of him whom that +cross symbolized he had conquered the Mercians and the Britons, would +needs reconvert his people to the true faith. He had been in exile +during Edwin’s lifetime among the Scots, and had learned from +them something of Christianity. So out of Iona a monk was sent +to him, Aidan by name, to be a bishop over the Northumbrians; and he +settled himself upon the isle of Lindisfarne, and began to convert it +into another Iona. “A man he was,” says Bede, “of +singular sweetness, piety, and moderation; zealous in the cause of God, +though not altogether according to knowledge, for he was wont to keep +Easter after the fashion of his country;” <i>i.e</i>. of the Picts +and Northern Scots. . . . “From that time forth many Scots came +daily into Britain, and with great devotion preached the word to these +provinces of the English over whom King Oswald reigned. . . . +Churches were built, money and lands were given of the king’s +bounty to build monasteries; the English, great and small, were by their +Scottish masters instructed in the rules and observance of regular discipline; +for most of those who came to preach were monks.” <a name="citation290"></a><a href="#footnote290">{290}</a></p> +<p>So says the Venerable Bede, the monk of Jarrow, and the father (as +he has been well called) of English history. He tells us too, +how Aidan, wishing, it may be supposed, for greater solitude, went away +and lived on the rocky isle of Farne, some two miles out at sea, off +Bamborough Castle; and how, when he saw Penda and his Mercians, in a +second invasion of Northumbria, trying to burn down the walls of Bamborough—which +were probably mere stockades of timber—he cried to God, from off +his rock, to “behold the mischief:” whereon the wind changed +suddenly, and blew the flames back on the besiegers, discomfiting them, +and saving the town.</p> +<p>Bede tells us, too, how Aidan wandered, preaching from place to place, +haunting King Oswald’s court, but owning nothing of his own save +his church, and a few fields about it; and how, when death came upon +him, they set up a tent for him close by the wall at the west end of +the church, so that it befell that he gave up the ghost leaning against +a post, which stood outside to strengthen the wall.</p> +<p>A few years after, Penda came again and burned the village, with +the church; and yet neither could that fire, nor one which happened +soon after, destroy that post. Wherefore the post was put inside +the church, as a holy thing, and chips of it, like those of the Cross +of Heaven Field, healed many folk of their distempers.</p> +<p>. . . A tale at which we may look in two different humours. +We may pass it by with a sneer, and a hypothesis (which will be probably +true) that the post was of old heart-of-oak, which is burnt with extreme +difficulty; or we may pause a moment in reverence before the noble figure +of the good old man, ending a life of unselfish toil without a roof +beneath which to lay his head; penniless and comfortless in this world: +but sure of his reward in the world to come.</p> +<p>A few years after Aidan’s death another hermit betook him to +the rocks of Farne, who rose to far higher glory; who became, in fact, +the tutelar saint of the fierce Northern men; who was to them, up to +the time even of the Tudor monarchs, what Pallas Athene was to Athens, +or Diana to the Ephesians. St. Cuthbert’s shrine, in Durham +Cathedral (where his biographer Bede also lay in honour), was their +rallying point, not merely for ecclesiastical jurisdiction or for miraculous +cures, but for political movements. Above his shrine rose the +noble pile of Durham. The bishop, who ruled in his name, was a +Count Palatine, and an almost independent prince. His sacred banner +went out to battle before the Northern levies, or drove back again and +again the flames which consumed the wooden houses of Durham. His +relics wrought innumerable miracles; and often he himself appeared with +long countenance, ripened by abstinence, his head sprinkled with grey +hairs, his casule of cloth of gold, his mitre of glittering crystal, +his face brighter than the sun, his eyes mild as the stars of heaven, +the gems upon his hand and robes rattling against his pastoral staff +beset with pearls. <a name="citation292"></a><a href="#footnote292">{292}</a> +Thus glorious the demigod of the Northern men appeared to his votaries, +and steered with his pastoral staff, as with a rudder, the sinking ship +in safety to Lindisfarne; received from the hands of St. Brendan, as +from a saint of inferior powers, the innocent yeoman, laden with fetters, +whom he had delivered out of the dungeon of Brancepeth, and, smiting +asunder the massive Norman walls, led him into the forest, and bade +him flee to sanctuary in Durham, and be safe; or visited the little +timber vine-clad chapel of Lixtune, on the Cheshire shore, to heal the +sick who watched all night before his altar, or to forgive the lad who +had robbed the nest which his sacred raven had built upon the roof, +and, falling with the decayed timber, had broken his bones, and maimed +his sacrilegious hand.</p> +<p>Originally, says Bede, a monk at Melrose, and afterward abbot of +the same place, he used to wander weeks together out of his monastery, +seemingly into Ettrick and the Lammermuirs, and preach in such villages +as “being seated high up among craggy, uncouth mountains, were +frightful to others even to look at, and whose poverty and barbarity +rendered them inaccessible to other teachers.” “So +skilful an orator was he, so fond of enforcing his subject, and such +a brightness appeared in his angelic face, that no man presumed to conceal +from him the most hidden secrets of their hearts, but all openly confessed +what they had done.”</p> +<p>So he laboured for many years, till his old abbot Eata, who had become +bishop and abbot at Lindisfarne, sent for him thither, and made him +prior of the monks for several years. But at last he longed, like +so many before him, for solitude. He considered (so he said afterwards +to the brethren) that the life of the disciplined and obedient monk +was higher than that of the lonely and independent hermit: but yet he +longed to be alone; longed, it may be, to recall at least upon some +sea-girt rock thoughts which had come to him in those long wanderings +on the heather moors, with no sound to distract him save the hum of +the bee and the wail of the curlew; and so he went away to that same +rock of Farne, where Aidan had taken refuge some ten or fifteen years +before, and there, with the deep sea rolling at his feet and the gulls +wailing about his head, he built himself one of those “Picts’ +Houses,” the walls of which remain still in many parts of Scotland—a +circular hut of turf and rough stone—and dug out the interior +to a depth of some feet, and thatched it with sticks and grass; and +made, it seems, two rooms within; one for an oratory, one for a dwelling-place: +and so lived alone, and worshipped God. He grew his scanty crops +of barley on the rock (men said, of course, by miracle): he had tried +wheat, but, as was to be expected, it failed. He found (men said, +of course, by miracle) a spring upon the rock. Now and then brethren +came to visit him. And what did man need more, save a clear conscience +and the presence of his Creator? Certainly not Cuthbert. +When he asked the brethren to bring him a beam that he might prop up +his cabin where the sea had eaten out the floor, and when they forgot +the commission, the sea itself washed one up in the very cove where +it was needed: when the choughs from the cliff stole his barley and +the straw from the roof of his little hospice, he had only to reprove +them, and they never offended again; on one occasion, indeed, they atoned +for their offence by bringing him a lump of suet, wherewith he greased +his shoes for many a day. We are not bound to believe this story; +it is one of many which hang about the memory of St. Cuthbert, and which +have sprung out of that love of the wild birds which may have grown +up in the good man during his long wanderings through woods and over +moors. He bequeathed (so it was believed) as a sacred legacy to +the wild-fowl of the Farne islands, “St. Cuthbert’s peace;” +above all to the eider-ducks, which swarmed there in his days, but are +now, alas! growing rarer and rarer, from the intrusion of vulgar sportsmen +who never heard St. Cuthbert’s name, or learnt from him to spare +God’s creatures when they need them not. On Farne, in Reginald’s +time, they bred under your very bed, got out of your way if you made +a sign to them, let you take up them or their young ones, and nestled +silently in your bosom, and croaked joyfully with fluttering wings when +stroked. “Not to nature, but to grace; not to hereditary +tendency, but only to the piety and compassion of the blessed St. Cuthbert,” +says Reginald, “is so great a miracle to be ascribed. For +the Lord who made all things in heaven and earth has subjected them +to the nod of his saints, and prostrated them under the feet of obedience.” +Insufficient induction (the cause of endless mistakes, and therefore +of endless follies and crimes) kept Reginald unaware of the now notorious +fact that the female eider, during the breeding season, is just as tame, +allowing for a little exaggeration, as St. Cuthbert’s own ducks +are, while the male eider is just as wild and wary as any other sea-bird: +a mistake altogether excusable in one who had probably never seen or +heard of eider-ducks in any other spot. It may be, nevertheless, +that St. Cuthbert’s special affection for the eider may have been +called out by another strange and well-known fact about them of which +Reginald oddly enough takes no note—namely, that they line their +nests with down plucked from their own bosom; thus realizing the fable +which has made the pelican for so many centuries the type of the Church. +It is a question, indeed, whether the pelican, which is always represented +in mediæval paintings and sculptures with a short bill, instead +of the enormous bill and pouch which is the especial mark of the “Onocrotalus” +of the ancients, now miscalled pelican, be not actually the eider-duck +itself, confounded with the true <i>pelecanus</i>, which was the mediæval, +and is still the scientific, name of the cormorant. Be that as +it may, ill befell any one who dare touch one of St. Cuthbert’s +birds, as was proved in the case of Liveing, servant to Ælric, +who was a hermit in Farne after the time of St. Cuthbert. For +he, tired it may be of barley and dried fish, killed and ate an eider-duck +in his master’s absence, scattering the bones and feathers over +the cliffs. But when the hermit came back, what should he find +but those same bones and feathers rolled into a lump and laid inside +the door of the little chapel; the very sea, says Reginald, not having +dared to swallow them up. Whereby the hapless Liveing being betrayed, +was soundly flogged, and put on bread and water for many a day; the +which story Liveing himself told to Reginald.</p> +<p>Not only the eider, but all birds in Farne, were protected by St. +Cuthbert’s peace. Bartholomew, who was a famous hermit there +in after years, had a tame bird, says the chronicler, who ate from his +hand, and hopped about the table among him and his guests, till some +thought it a miracle; and some, finding, no doubt, the rocks of Farne +weary enough, derived continual amusement from the bird. But when +he one day went off to another island, and left his bird to keep the +house, a hawk came in and ate it up. Cuthbert, who could not save +the bird, at least could punish the murderer. The hawk flew round +and round the island, imprisoned, so it was thought, by some mysterious +power, till, terrified and worn out, it flew into the chapel, and lay, +cowering and half dead, in a corner by the altar. Bartholomew +came back, found his bird’s feathers, and the tired hawk. +But even the hawk must profit by St. Cuthbert’s peace. He +took it up, carried it to the harbour, and there bade it depart in St. +Cuthbert’s name, whereon it flew off free, and was no more seen. +Such tales as these may be explained, even to their most minute details, +by simply natural causes: and yet, in this age of wanton destruction +of wild birds, one is tempted at moments to wish for the return of some +such graceful and humane superstition which could keep down, at least +in the name of mercy and humanity, the needless cruelty of man.</p> +<p>But to return. After St. Cuthbert, says Bede, had served God +in the solitude of Farne for many years, the mound which encompassed +his habitation being so high that he could see nothing from thence but +heaven, to which he so ardently aspired, he was compelled by tears and +entreaties—King Egfrid himself coming to the island, with bishops +and religious and great men—to become himself bishop in Holy Island. +There, as elsewhere, he did his duty. But after two years he went +again to Farne, knowing that his end was near. For when, in his +episcopal labours, he had gone across to Lugubalia—old Penrith, +in Cumberland—there came across to him a holy hermit, Herebert +by name, who dwelt upon an island in Derwentwater, and talked with him +a long while on heavenly things; and Cuthbert bade him ask him then +all the questions which he wished to have resolved, for they should +see each other no more in this world. Herebert, who seems to have +been one of his old friends, fell at Cuthbert’s feet, and bade +him remember that whenever he had done wrong he had submitted himself +to him utterly, and always tried to live according to his rules; and +all he wished for now was that, as they had served God together upon +earth, they might depart for ever to see his bliss in heaven: the which +befell; for a few months afterwards, that is, on the 20th of March, +their souls quitted their mortal bodies on the same day, and they were +re-united in spirit.</p> +<p>St. Cuthbert wished to have been buried on his rock in Farne: but +the brethren had persuaded him to allow his corpse to be removed to +Holy Island. He begged them, said Bede, should they be forced +to leave that place, to carry his bones along with them; and so they +were forced to do at last; for in the year 875; whilst the Danes were +struggling with Alfred in Wessex, an army of them, with Halfdene at +their head, went up into Northumbria, burning towns, destroying churches, +tossing children on their pike-points, and committing all those horrors +which made the Norsemen terrible and infamous for so many years. +Then the monks fled from the monastery, bearing the shrine of St. Cuthbert, +and all their treasures, and followed by their retainers, men, women, +and children, and their sheep and oxen: and behold! the hour of their +flight was that of an exceedingly high spring tide. The Danes +were landing from their ships in their rear; in their front was some +two miles of sea. Escape seemed hopeless; when, says the legend, +the water retreated before the holy relics as they advanced; and became, +as to the children of Israel of old, a wall on their right hand and +on their left; and so St. Cuthbert came safe to shore, and wandered +in the woods, borne upon his servants’ shoulders, and dwelling +in tents for seven years, and found rest at last in Durham, till at +the Reformation his shrine, and that of the Venerable Bede, were robbed +of their gold and jewels; and no trace of them (as far as I know) is +left, save that huge slab, whereon is written the monkish rhyme:—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Hic jacet in fossâ<br />Bedæ Venerabilis ossa. <a name="citation299"></a><a href="#footnote299">{299}</a></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ST. GUTHLAC</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Hermits dwelling in the wilderness, as far as I am aware, were to +be seen only in the northern and western parts of the island, where +not only did the forest afford concealment, but the crags and caves +shelter. The southern and eastern English seldom possess the vivid +imagination of the Briton, the Northumbrian, and the Scot; while the +rich lowlands of central, southern, and eastern England, well peopled +and well tilled, offered few spots lonely enough for the hermit’s +cell.</p> +<p>One district only was desolate enough to attract those who wished +to be free from the world,—namely, the great fens north of Cambridge; +and there, accordingly, as early as the seventh century, hermits settled +in morasses now so utterly transformed that it is difficult to restore +in one’s imagination the original scenery.</p> +<p>The fens in the seventh century were probably very like the forests +at the mouth of the Mississippi, or the swampy shores of the Carolinas. +Their vast plain is now, in summer, one sea of golden corn; in winter, +a black dreary fallow, cut into squares by stagnant dykes, and broken +only by unsightly pumping mills and doleful lines of poplar-trees. +Of old it was a labyrinth of black wandering streams; broad lagoons; +morasses submerged every spring-tide; vast beds of reed and sedge and +fern; vast copses of willow, alder, and grey poplar, rooted in the floating +peat, which was swallowing up slowly, all-devouring, yet all-preserving, +the forests of fir and oak, ash and poplar, hazel and yew, which had +once grown on that low, rank soil, sinking slowly (so geologists assure +us) beneath the sea from age to age. Trees, torn down by flood +and storm, floated and lodged in rafts, damming the waters back upon +the land. Streams, bewildered in the flats, changed their channels, +mingling silt and sand with the peat moss. Nature, left to herself, +ran into wild riot and chaos more and more, till the whole fen became +one “Dismal Swamp,” in which, at the time of the Norman +Conquest, the “Last of the English,” like Dred in Mrs. Stowe’s +tale, took refuge from their tyrants, and lived, like him, a free and +joyous life awhile.</p> +<p>For there are islands in the sea which have escaped the destroying +deluge of peat-moss,—outcrops of firm and fertile land, which +in the early Middle Age were so many natural parks, covered with richest +grass and stateliest trees, swarming with deer and roe, goat and boar, +as the streams around swarmed with otter and beaver, and with fowl of +every feather, and fish of every scale.</p> +<p>Beautiful after their kind were those far isles in the eyes of the +monks who were the first settlers in the wilderness. The author +of the “History of Ramsey” grows enthusiastic, and somewhat +bombastic also, as he describes the lovely isle, which got its name +from the solitary ram who had wandered thither, either in extreme drought +or over the winter ice, and, never able to return, was found feeding +among the wild deer, fat beyond the wont of rams. He tells of +the stately ashes, most of them cut in his time, to furnish mighty beams +for the church roof; of the rich pastures painted with all gay flowers +in spring; of the “green crown” of reed and alder which +encircled the isle; of the fair wide mere (now drained) with its “sandy +beach” along the forest side; “a delight,” he says, +“to all who look thereon.”</p> +<p>In like humour William of Malmesbury, writing in the first half of +the twelfth century, speaks of Thorney Abbey and its isle. “It +represents,” says he, “a very paradise; for that in pleasure +and delight it resembles heaven itself. These marshes abound in +trees, whose length, without a knot, doth emulate the stars. The +plain there is as level as the sea, alluring the eye with its green +grass, and so smooth that there is nought to trip the foot of him who +runs through it. Neither is there any waste place; for in some +parts are apples, in others vines, which are either spread on the ground, +or raised on poles. A mutual strife there is between Nature and +Art; so that what one produces not the other supplies. What shall +I say of those fair buildings, which ’tis so wonderful to see +the ground among those fens upbear?”</p> +<p>So wrote William of Malmesbury, after the industry and wisdom of +the monks, for more than four centuries, had been at work to civilize +and cultivate the wilderness. Yet even then there was another +side to the picture; and Thorney, Ramsey, or Crowland would have seemed, +for nine months every year, sad places enough to us comfortable folk +of the nineteenth century. But men lived hard in those days, even +the most high-born and luxurious nobles and ladies; under dark skies, +in houses which we should think, from darkness, draught, and want of +space, unfit for felons’ cells. Hardly they lived; and easily +were they pleased; and thanked God for the least gleam of sunshine, +the least patch of green, after the terrible and long winters of the +Middle Ages. And ugly enough those winters must have been, what +with snow and darkness, flood and ice, ague and rheumatism; while through +the dreary winter’s night the whistle of the wind and the wild +cries of the waterfowl were translated into the howls of witches and +dæmons; and (as in St. Guthlac’s case), the delirious fancies +of marsh fever made those fiends take hideous shapes before the inner +eye, and act fantastic horrors round the fen-man’s bed of sedge.</p> +<p>Concerning this St. Guthlac full details remain, both in Latin and +Anglo-Saxon; the author of the original document professing to be one +Felix, a monk of Ramsey near by, who wrote possibly as early as the +eighth century. <a name="citation303"></a><a href="#footnote303">{303}</a></p> +<p>There we may read how the young warrior-noble Guthlac (“The +Battle-Play,” the “Sport of War”), tired of slaying +and sinning, bethought him to fulfil the prodigies seen at his birth; +how he wandered into the fen, where one Tatwin (who after became a saint +likewise) took him in his canoe to a spot so lonely as to be almost +unknown, buried in reeds and alders, and how he found among the trees +nought but an old “law,” as the Scots still call a mound, +which men of old had broken into seeking for treasure, and a little +pond; and how he built himself a hermit’s cell thereon, and saw +visions and wrought miracles; and how men came to him, as to a fakir +or shaman of the East; notably one Beccel, who acted as his servant; +and how as Beccel was shaving the saint one day there fell on him a +great temptation: Why should he not cut St. Guthlac’s throat, +and instal himself in his cell, that he might have the honour and glory +of sainthood? But St. Guthlac perceived the inward temptation +(which is told with the naive honesty of those half-savage times), and +rebuked the offender into confession, and all went well to the end.</p> +<p>There we may read, too, a detailed account of the Fauna now happily +extinct in the fens; of the creatures who used to hale St. Guthlac out +of his hut, drag him through the bogs, carry him aloft through frost +and fire—“Develen and luther gostes”—such as +tormented in like wise St. Botolph (from whom Botulfston = Boston, has +its name), and who were supposed to haunt the meres and fens, and to +have an especial fondness for old heathen barrows with their fancied +treasure-hoards: how they “filled the house with their coming, +and poured in on every side, from above, and from beneath, and everywhere. +They were in countenance horrible, and they had great heads, and a long +neck, and a lean visage; they were filthy and squalid in their beards, +and they had rough ears, and crooked ‘nebs,’ and fierce +eyes, and foul mouths; and their teeth were like horses’ tusks; +and their throats were filled with flame, and they were grating in their +voice; they had crooked shanks, and knees big and great behind, and +distorted toes, and cried hoarsely with their voices; and they came +with immoderate noise and immense horror, that he thought that all between, +heaven and earth resounded with their voices. . . . And they tugged +and led him out of the cot, and led him to the swart fen, and threw +and sunk him in the muddy waters. After that they brought him +into the wild places of the wilderness, among the thick beds of brambles, +that all his body was torn. . . . After that they took him and +beat him with iron whips, and after that they brought him on their creaking +wings between the cold regions of the air.”</p> +<p>But there are gentler and more human touches in that old legend. +You may read in it how all the wild birds of the fen came to St. Guthlac, +and he fed them after their kind; how the ravens tormented him, stealing +letters, gloves, and what not, from his visitors; and then, seized with +compunction at his reproofs, brought them back, or hanged them on the +reeds; and how, as Wilfrid, a holy visitant, was sitting with him, discoursing +of the contemplative life, two swallows came flying in, and lifted up +their song, sitting now on the saint’s hand, now on his shoulder, +now on his knee; and how, when Wilfrid wondered thereat, Guthlac made +answer, “Know you not that he who hath led his life according +to God’s will, to him the wild beasts and the wild birds draw +the more near?”</p> +<p>After fifteen years of such a life, in fever, ague, and starvation, +no wonder if St. Guthlac died. They buried him in a leaden coffin +(a grand and expensive luxury in the seventh century) which had been +sent to him during his life by a Saxon princess; and then, over his +sacred and wonder-working corpse, as over that of a Buddhist saint, +there arose a chapel, with a community of monks, companies of pilgrims +who came to worship, sick who came to be healed; till at last, founded +on great piles driven into the bog, arose the lofty wooden Abbey of +Crowland; in “sanctuary of the four rivers,” with its dykes, +parks, vineyards, orchards, rich ploughlands, from which, in time of +famine, the monks of Crowland fed all people of the neighbouring fens; +with its tower with seven bells, which had not their like in England; +its twelve altars rich with the gifts of Danish vikings and princes, +and even with twelve white bear-skins, the gift of Canute’s self; +while all around were the cottages of the corrodiers, or folk who, for +a corrody, or life pittance from the abbey, had given away their lands, +to the wrong and detriment of their heirs.</p> +<p>But within those four rivers, at least, were neither tyranny nor +slavery. Those who took refuge in St Guthlac’s place from +cruel lords must keep his peace toward each other, and earn their living +like honest men, safe while they so did: for between those four rivers +St. Guthlac and his abbot were the only lords; and neither summoner, +nor sheriff of the king, nor armed force of knight or earl, could enter—“the +inheritance of the Lord, the soil of St. Mary and St. Bartholomew, the +most holy sanctuary of St. Guthlac and his monks; the minister free +from worldly servitude; the special almshouse of most illustrious kings; +the sole refuge of any one in worldly tribulation; the perpetual abode +of the saints; the possession of religious men, specially set apart +by the common council of the realm; by reason of the frequent miracles +of the holy confessor St. Guthlac, an ever-fruitful mother of camphire +in the vineyards of Engedi; and, by reason of the privileges granted +by the kings, a city of grace and safety to all who repent.”</p> +<p>Does not all this sound like a voice from another planet? It +is all gone; and it was good and right that it should go when it had +done its work, and that the civilization of the fen should be taken +up and carried out by men like the good knight, Richard of Rulos, who, +two generations after the Conquest, marrying Hereward’s grand-daughter, +and becoming Lord of Deeping (the deep meadow), thought that he could +do the same work from the hall of Bourne as the monks did from their +cloisters; got permission from the Crowland monks, for twenty marks +of silver, to drain as much as he could of the common marshes; and then +shut out the Welland by strong dykes, built cottages, marked out gardens, +and tilled fields, till “out of slough and bogs accursed he made +a garden of pleasure.”</p> +<p>Yet one lasting work those monks of Crowland seem to have done, besides +those firm dykes and rich corn-lands of the Porsand, which endure unto +this day. For within two generations of the Norman conquest, while +the old wooden abbey, destroyed by fire, was being replaced by that +noble pile of stone whose ruins are still standing, the French abbot +of Crowland (so runs the legend) sent French monks to open a school +under the new French donjon, in the little Roman town of Grante-brigge; +whereby—so does all earnest work, however mistaken, grow and spread +in this world, infinitely and for ever—St. Guthlac, by his canoe-voyage +into Crowland Island, became the spiritual father of the University +of Cambridge in the old world; and therefore of her noble daughter, +the University of Cambridge, in the new world which fen-men sailing +from Boston deeps colonized and Christianized 800 years after St. Guthlac’s +death.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ST. GODRIC OF FINCHALE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A personage quite as interesting, though not as famous, as Cuthbert +or Guthlac, is St. Godric; the hermit around whose cell rose the Priory +of Finchale. In a loop of the river Wear, near Durham, there settled +in the days of Bishop Flambard, between 1099 and 1128, a man whose parentage +and history was for many years unknown to the good folks of the neighbourhood. +He had come, it seems, from a hermitage in Eskdale, in the parish of +Whitby, whence he had been driven by the Percys, lords of the soil. +He had gone to Durham, become the doorkeeper of St. Giles’s church, +and gradually learnt by heart (he was no scholar) the whole Psalter. +Then he had gone to St. Mary’s church, where (as was the fashion +of the times) there was a children’s school; and, listening to +the little ones at their lessons, picked up such hymns and prayers as +he thought would suffice his spiritual wants. And then, by leave +of the bishop, he had gone away into the woods, and devoted himself +to the solitary life in Finchale. Buried in the woods and crags +of the “Royal Park,” as it was then called, which swarmed +with every kind of game, there was a little flat meadow, rough with +sweet-gale and bramble and willow, beside a teeming salmon-pool. +Great wolves haunted the woods; but Godric cared nought for them; and +the shingles swarmed with snakes,—probably only the harmless collared +snakes of wet meadows, but reputed, as all snakes are by the vulgar, +venomous: but he did not object to become “the companion of serpents +and poisonous asps.” He handled them, caressed them, let +them lie by the fire in swarms on winter nights, in the little cave +which he had hollowed in the ground and thatched with turf. Men +told soon how the snakes obeyed him; how two especially huge ones used +to lie twined about his legs; till after many years, annoyed by their +importunity, he turned them all gently out of doors, with solemn adjurations +never to return, and they, of course, obeyed.</p> +<p>His austerities knew no bounds. He lived on roots and berries, +flowers and leaves; and when the good folk found him out, and put gifts +of food near his cell, he carried them up to the crags above, and, offering +them solemnly up to the God who feeds the ravens when they call on him, +left them there for the wild birds. He watched, fasted, and scourged +himself, and wore always a hair shirt and an iron cuirass. He +sat, night after night, even in mid-winter, in the cold Wear, the waters +of which had hollowed out a rock near by into a natural bath, and afterwards +in a barrel sunk in the floor of a little chapel of wattle, which he +built and dedicated to the blessed Virgin Mary. He tilled a scrap +of ground, and ate the grain from it, mingled with ashes. He kept +his food till it was decayed before he tasted it; and led a life the +records of which fill the reader with astonishment, not only at the +man’s iron strength of will, but at the iron strength of the constitution +which could support such hardships, in such a climate, for a single +year.</p> +<p>A strong and healthy man must Godric have been, to judge from the +accounts (there are two, both written by eye-witnesses) of his personal +appearance—a man of great breadth of chest and strength of arm; +black-haired, hook-nosed, deep-browed, with flashing grey eyes; altogether +a personable and able man, who might have done much work and made his +way in many lands. But what his former life had been he would +not tell. Mother-wit he had in plenty, and showed insight into +men and things which the monks of Durham were ready enough to call the +spirit of prophecy. After awhile it was whispered that he wrought +miraculous cures: that even a bit of the bread which he was wont to +eat had healed a sick woman; that he fought with dæmons in visible +shape; that he had seen (just as one of the old Egyptian hermits had +seen) a little black boy running about between two monks who had quarrelled +and come to hard blows and bleeding faces because one of them had made +mistakes in the evening service: and, in short, there were attributed +to him, during his lifetime, and by those who knew him well, a host +of wonders which would be startling and important were they not exactly +the same as those which appear in the life of every hermit since St. +Antony. It is impossible to read the pages of Reginald of Durham +(for he, the biographer of St. Cuthbert, is also the biographer of St. +Godric) without feeling how difficult it is to obtain anything like +the truth, even from eye-witnesses, if only men are (as they were in +those days) in a state of religious excitement, at a period of spiritual +revivals. The ignorant populace were ready to believe, and to +report, anything of the Fakeer of Finchale. The monks of Durham +were glad enough to have a wonder-working man belonging to them; for +Ralph Flambard, in honour of Godric, had made over to them the hermitage +of Finchale, with its fields and fisheries. The lad who, in after +years, waited on the hermit, would have been ready enough to testify +that his master saw dæmons and other spiritual beings; for he +began to see them on his own account; <a name="citation312"></a><a href="#footnote312">{312}</a> +fell asleep in the forest coming home from Durham with some bottles; +was led in a vision by St. John the Baptist to the top of a hill, and +shown by him wonders unspeakable; saw, on another occasion, a dæmon +in St. Godric’s cell, hung all over with bottles of different +liquors, offering them to the saint, who bade the lad drive him out +of the little chapel, with a holy water sprinkle, but not go outside +it himself. But the lad, in the fury of successful pursuit, overstepped +the threshold; whereon the dæmon, turning in self-defence, threw +a single drop of one of his liquors into the lad’s mouth, and +vanished with a laugh of scorn. The boy’s face and throat +swelled horribly for three days; and he took care thenceforth to obey +the holy man more strictly: a story which I have repeated, like the +one before it, only to show the real worth of the evidence on which +Reginald has composed his book. Ailred, Abbot of Rievaux (for +Reginald’s book, though dedicated to Hugh Pudsey, his bishop, +was prompted by Ailred) was capable (as his horrible story of the nun +of Watton proves) of believing anything and everything which fell in +with his fanatical, though pious and gentle, temper.</p> +<p>And here a few words must be said to persons with whose difficulties +I deeply sympathise, but from whose conclusions I differ utterly: those, +namely, who say that if we reject the miracles of these saints’ +lives, we must reject also the miracles of the New Testament. +The answer is, as I believe, that the Apostles and Evangelists were +sane men: men in their right minds, wise, calm; conducting themselves +(save in the matter of committing sins) like other human beings, as +befitted the disciples of that Son of Man who came eating and drinking, +and was therefore called by the ascetics of his time a gluttonous man, +and a wine-bibber: whereas these monks were not (as I have said elsewhere) +in their right minds at all.</p> +<p>This is, or ought to be, patent to any one who will compare the style +of the Apostles and Evangelists with that of the monkish hagiologists. +The calm, the simplicity, the brevity, the true grandeur of the former +is sufficient evidence of their healthy-mindedness and their trustworthiness. +The affectation, the self-consciousness, the bombast, the false grandeur +of the latter is sufficient evidence that they are neither healthy-minded +or trustworthy. Let students compare any passage of St. Luke or +St. John, however surprising the miracle which it relates, with St. +Jerome’s life of Paul the First Hermit, or with that famous letter +of his to Eustochium, which (although historically important) is unfit +for the eyes of pure-minded readers and does not appear in this volume; +and let them judge for themselves. Let them compare, again, the +opening sentences of the Four Gospels, or of the Acts of the Apostles, +with the words with which Reginald begins this life of St. Godric. +“By the touch of the Holy Spirit’s finger the chord of the +harmonic human heart resounds melodiously. For when the vein of +the heart is touched by the grace of the Holy Spirit, forthwith, by +the permirific sweetness of the harmony, an exceeding operation of sacred +virtue is perceived more manifestly to spring forth. With this +sweetness of spirit, Godric, the man of God, was filled from the very +time of his boyhood, and grew famous for many admirable works of holy +work (<i>sic</i>), because the harmonic teaching of the Holy Spirit +fired the secrets of his very bosom with a wondrous contact of spiritual +grace:”—and let them say, after the comparison, if the difference +between the two styles is not that which exists between one of God’s +lilies, fresh from the field, and a tawdry bunch of artificial flowers?</p> +<p>But to return. Godric himself took part in the history of his +own miracles and life. It may be that he so overworked his brain +that he believed that he was visited by St. Peter, and taught a hymn +by the blessed Virgin Mary, and that he had taken part in a hundred +other prodigies; but the Prologue to the Harleian manuscript (which +the learned Editor, Mr. Stevenson, believes to be an early edition of +Reginald’s own composition) confesses that Reginald, compelled +by Ailred of Rievaux, tried in vain for a long while to get the hermit’s +story from him.</p> +<p>“You wish to write my life?” he said. “Know +then that Godric’s life is such as this:—Godric, at first +a gross rustic, an unclean liver, an usurer, a cheat, a perjurer, a +flatterer, a wanderer, pilfering and greedy; now a dead flea, a decayed +dog, a vile worm, not a hermit, but a hypocrite; not a solitary, but +a gad-about in mind; a devourer of alms, dainty over good things, greedy +and negligent, lazy and snoring, ambitious and prodigal, one who is +not worthy to serve others, and yet every day beats and scolds those +who serve him: this, and worse than this, you may write of Godric.” +“Then he was silent as one indignant,” says Reginald, “and +I went off in some confusion,” and the grand old man was left +to himself and to his God.</p> +<p>The ecclesiastical Boswell dared not mention the subject again to +his hero for several years, though he came after from Durham to visit +him, and celebrate mass for him in his little chapel. After some +years, however, he approached the matter again; and whether a pardonable +vanity had crept over Godric, or whether he had begun at last to believe +in his miracles, or whether the old man had that upon his mind of which +he longed to unburthen himself, he began to answer questions, and Reginald +delighted to listen and note down till he had finished, he says, that +book of his life and miracles; <a name="citation316"></a><a href="#footnote316">{316}</a> +and after a while brought it to the saint, and falling on his knees, +begged him to bless, in the name of God, and for the benefit of the +faithful, the deeds of a certain religious man, who had suffered much +for God in this life which he (Reginald) had composed accurately. +The old man perceived that he himself was the subject, blessed the book +with solemn words (what was written therein he does not seem to have +read), and bade Reginald conceal it till his death, warning him that +a time would come when he should suffer rough and bitter things on account +of that book, from those who envied him. That prophecy, says Reginald, +came to pass; but how, or why, he does not tell. There may have +been, among those shrewd Northumbrian heads, even then, incredulous +men, who used their common sense.</p> +<p>But the story which Godric told was wild and beautiful; and though +we must not depend too much on the accuracy of the old man’s recollections, +or on the honesty of Reginald’s report, who would naturally omit +all incidents which made against his hero’s perfection, it is +worth listening to, as a vivid sketch of the doings of a real human +being, in that misty distance of the Early Middle Age.</p> +<p>He was born, he said, at Walpole, in Norfolk, on the old Roman sea-bank, +between the Wash and the deep Fens. His father’s name was +Æilward; his mother’s, Ædwen—“the Keeper +of Blessedness,” and “the Friend of Blessedness,” +as Reginald translates them—poor and pious folk; and, being a +sharp boy, he did not take to field-work, but preferred wandering the +fens as a pedlar, first round the villages, then, as he grew older, +to castles and to towns, buying and selling—what, Reginald does +not tell us: but we should be glad to know.</p> +<p>One day he had a great deliverance, which Reginald thinks a miracle. +Wandering along the great tide-flats near Spalding and the old Well-stream, +in search of waifs, and strays, of wreck or eatables, he saw three porpoises +stranded far out upon the banks. Two were alive, and the boy took +pity on them (so he said) and let them be: but one was dead, and off +it (in those days poor folks ate anything) he cut as much flesh and +blubber as he could carry, and toiled back towards the high-tide mark. +But whether he lost his way among the banks, or whether he delayed too +long, the tide came in on him up to his knees, his waist, his chin, +and at last, at times, over his head. The boy made the sign of +the cross (as all men in danger did then) and struggled on valiantly +a full mile through the sea, like a brave lad never loosening his hold +of his precious porpoise-meat till he reached the shore at the very +spot from which he had set out.</p> +<p>As he grew, his pedlar journeys became longer. Repeating to +himself, as he walked, the Creeds and the Lord’s Prayer—his +only lore—he walked for four years through Lindsey; then went +to St. Andrew’s in Scotland; after that, for the first time, to +Rome. Then the love of a wandering sea life came on him, and he +sailed with his wares round the east coasts; not merely as a pedlar, +but as a sailor himself, he went to Denmark and to Flanders, buying +and selling, till he owned (in what port we are not told, but probably +in Lynn or Wisbeach) half one merchant ship and the quarter of another. +A crafty steersman he was, a wise weather-prophet, a shipman stout in +body and in heart, probably such a one as Chaucer tells us of 350 years +after:—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“—A dagger hanging by a las hadde hee<br />About his +nekke under his arm adoun.<br />The hote summer hadde made his hewe +al broun.<br />And certainly he was a good felaw;<br />Full many a draught +of wine he hadde draw,<br />From Burdeaux ward, while that the chapmen +slepe,<br />Of nice conscience took he no kepe.<br />If that he fought, +and hadde the higher hand,<br />By water he sent hem home to every land.<br />But +of his craft to recken wel his tides,<br />His stremes and his strandes +him besides,<br />His herberwe, his mone, and his lode manage,<br />There +was none swiche, from Hull unto Carthage.<br />Hardy he was, and wise, +I undertake:<br />With many a tempest hadde his berd be shake.<br />He +knew wel alle the havens, as they were,<br />From Gotland to the Cape +de Finisterre,<br />And every creke in Bretagne and in Spain.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But gradually there grew on the stout merchantman the thought that +there was something more to be done in the world than making money. +He became a pious man after the fashion of those days. He worshipped +at the famous shrine of St. Andrew. He worshipped, too, at St. +Cuthbert’s hermitage at Farne, and there, he said afterwards, +he longed for the first time for the rest and solitude of the hermitage. +He had been sixteen years a seaman now, with a seaman’s temptations—it +may be (as he told Reginald plainly) with some of a seaman’s vices. +He may have done things which lay heavy on his conscience. But +it was getting time to think about his soul. He took the cross, +and went off to Jerusalem, as many a man did then, under difficulties +incredible, dying, too often, on the way. But Godric not only +got safe thither, but went out of his way home by Spain to visit the +sanctuary of St. James of Compostella, a see which Pope Calixtus II. +had just raised to metropolitan dignity.</p> +<p>Then he appears as steward to a rich man in the Fens, whose sons +and young retainers, after the lawless fashion of those Anglo-Norman +times, rode out into the country round to steal the peasants’ +sheep and cattle, skin them on the spot, and pass them off to the master +of the house as venison taken in hunting. They ate and drank, +roystered and rioted, like most other young Normans; and vexed the staid +soul of Godric, whose nose told him plainly enough, whenever he entered +the kitchen, that what was roasting had never come off a deer. +In vain he protested and warned them, getting only insults for his pains. +At last he told his lord. The lord, as was to be expected, cared +nought about the matter. Let the lads rob the English villains: +for what other end had their grandfathers conquered the land? +Godric punished himself, as he could not punish them, for the unwilling +share which he had had in the wrong. It may be that he, too, had +eaten of that stolen food. So away he went into France, and down +the Rhone, on pilgrimage to the hermitage of St. Giles, the patron saint +of the wild deer; and then on to Rome a second time, and back to his +poor parents in the Fens.</p> +<p>And now follows a strange and beautiful story. All love of +seafaring and merchandise had left the deep-hearted sailor. The +heavenly and the eternal, the salvation of his sinful soul, had become +all in all to him; and yet he could not rest in the little dreary village +on the Roman bank. He would go on pilgrimage again. Then +his mother would go likewise, and see St. Peter’s church, and +the Pope, and all the wonders of Rome, and have her share in all the +spiritual blessings which were to be obtained (so men thought then) +at Rome alone. So off they set on foot; and when they came to +ford or ditch, Godric carried his mother on his back, until they came +to London town. And there Ædwen took off her shoes, and +vowed out of devotion to the holy apostles Peter and Paul (who, so she +thought, would be well pleased at such an act) to walk barefoot to Rome +and barefoot back again.</p> +<p>Now just as they went out of London, on the Dover Road, there met +them in the way the loveliest maiden they had ever seen, and asked to +bear them company in their pilgrimage. And when they agreed, she +walked with them, sat with them, and talked with them with superhuman +courtesy and grace; and when they turned into an inn, she ministered +to them herself, and washed and kissed their feet, and then lay down +with them to sleep, after the simple fashion of those days. But +a holy awe of her, as of some saint and goddess, fell on the wild seafarer; +and he never, so he used to aver, treated her for a moment save as a +sister. Never did either ask the other who they were, and whence +they came; and Godric reported (but this was long after the event) that +no one of the company of pilgrims could see that fair maid, save he +and his mother alone. So they came safe to Rome, and back to London +town; and when they were at the place outside Southwark, where the fair +maid had met them first, she asked permission to leave them, for she +“must go to her own land, where she had a tabernacle of rest, +and dwelt in the house of her God.” And then, bidding them +bless God, who had brought them safe over the Alps, and across the sea, +and all along that weary road, she went on her way, and they saw her +no more.</p> +<p>Then with this fair mysterious face clinging to his memory, and it +may be never leaving it, Godric took his mother safe home, and delivered +her to his father, and bade them both after awhile farewell, and wandered +across England to Penrith, and hung about the churches there, till some +kinsmen of his recognised him, and gave him a psalter (he must have +taught himself to read upon his travels), which he learnt by heart. +Then, wandering ever in search of solitude, he went into the woods and +found a cave, and passed his time therein in prayer, living on green +herbs and wild honey, acorns and crabs; and when he went about to gather +food, he fell down on his knees every few yards and said a prayer, and +rose and went on.</p> +<p>After awhile he wandered on again, until at Wolsingham, in Durham, +he met with another holy hermit, who had been a monk at Durham, living +in a cave in forests in which no man dare dwell, so did they swarm with +packs of wolves; and there the two good men dwelt together till the +old hermit fell sick, and was like to die. Godric nursed him, +and sat by him, to watch for his last breath. For the same longing +had come over him which came over Marguerite d’Angoulême +when she sat by the dying bed of her favourite maid of honour—to +see if the spirit, when it left the body, were visible, and what kind +of thing it was: whether, for instance, it was really like the little +naked babe which is seen in mediæval illuminations flying out +of the mouths of dying men. But, worn out with watching, Godric +could not keep from sleep. All but despairing of his desire, he +turned to the dying man, and spoke, says Reginald, some such words as +these:—“O spirit! who art diffused in that body in the likeness +of God, and art still inside that breast, I adjure thee by the Highest, +that thou leave not the prison of this thine habitation while I am overcome +by sleep, and know not of it.” And so he fell asleep: but +when he woke, the old hermit lay motionless and breathless. Poor +Godric wept, called on the dead man, called on God; his simple heart +was set on seeing this one thing. And, behold, he was consoled +in a wondrous fashion. For about the third hour of the day the +breath returned. Godric hung over him, watching his lips. +Three heavy sighs he drew, then a shudder, another sigh: <a name="citation323"></a><a href="#footnote323">{323}</a> +and then (so Godric was believed to have said in after years) he saw +the spirit flit.</p> +<p>What it was like, he did not like to say, for the most obvious reason—that +he saw nothing, and was an honest man. A monk teased him much +to impart to him this great discovery, which seemed to the simple untaught +sailor a great spiritual mystery, and which was, like some other mediæval +mysteries which were miscalled spiritual (transubstantiation above all), +altogether material and gross imaginations. Godric answered wisely +enough, that “no man could perceive the substance of the spiritual +soul.”</p> +<p>But the monk insisting, and giving him no rest, he answered,—whether +he wished to answer a fool according to his folly, or whether he tried +to fancy (as men will who are somewhat vain—and if a saint was +not vain, it was no fault of the monks who beset him) that he had really +seen something. He told how it was like a dry, hot wind rolled +into a sphere, and shining like the clearest glass, but that what it +was really like no one could express. Thus much, at least, may +be gathered from the involved bombast of Reginald.</p> +<p>Another pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre did Godric make before he +went to the hermitage in Eskdale, and settled finally at Finchale. +And there about the hills of Judæa he found, says Reginald, hermits +dwelling in rock-caves, as they had dwelt since the time of St. Jerome. +He washed himself, and his hair shirt and little cross, in the sacred +waters of the Jordan, and returned, after incredible suffering, to become +the saint of Finchale.</p> +<p>His hermitage became, in due time, a stately priory, with its community +of monks, who looked up to the memory of their holy father Godric as +to that of a demigod. The place is all ruinate now; the memory +of St. Godric gone; and not one in ten thousand, perhaps, who visit +those crumbling walls beside the rushing Wear, has heard of the sailor-saint, +and his mother, and that fair maid who tended them on their pilgrimage.</p> +<p>Meanwhile there were hermits for many years in that same hermitage +in Eskdale, from which a Percy expelled St. Godric, possibly because +he interfered with the prior claim of some <i>protégé</i> +of their own; for they had, a few years before Godric’s time, +granted that hermitage to the monks of Whitby, who were not likely to +allow a stranger to establish himself on their ground.</p> +<p>About that hermitage hung one of those stories so common in the Middle +Ages, in which the hermit appears as the protector of the hunted wild +beast; a story, too, which was probably authentic, as the curious custom +which was said to perpetuate its memory lasted at least till the year +1753. I quote it at length from Burton’s “Monasticon +Eboracense,” p. 78, knowing no other authority.</p> +<p>“In the fifth year of the reign of King Henry II. after the +conquest of England by William, duke of Normandy, the Lord of Uglebardby, +then called William de Bruce, and the Lord of Sneton, called Ralph de +Perci, with a gentleman and a freeholder called Allatson, did on the +16th day of October appoint to meet and hunt the wild boar, in a certain +wood or desert place belonging to the abbot of the monastery of Whitby; +the place’s name is Eskdale-side; the abbot’s name was Sedman. +Then these gentlemen being met, with their hounds and boar-staves, in +the place before-named, and there having found a great wild boar, the +hounds ran him well near about the chapel and hermitage of Eskdale-side, +where was a monk of Whitby, who was a hermit. The boar being very +sore, and very hotly pursued, and dead run, took in at the chapel door, +and there died: whereupon the hermit shut the hounds out of the chapel, +and kept himself within at his meditations and prayers, the hounds standing +at bay without. The gentlemen in the thick of the wood, being +put behind their game, followed the cry of their hounds, and so came +to the hermitage, calling on the hermit, who opened the door and came +forth, and within they found the boar lying dead, for which the gentlemen +in very great fury (because their hounds were put from their game) did +most violently and cruelly run at the hermit with their boar-staves, +whereby he died soon after: thereupon the gentlemen, perceiving and +knowing that they were in peril of death, took sanctuary at Scarborough. +But at that time the abbot, being in very great favour with King Henry, +removed them out of the sanctuary, whereby they came in danger of the +law, and not to be privileged, but likely to have the severity of the +law, which was death. But the hermit, being a holy and devout +man, at the point of death sent for the abbot, and desired him to send +for the gentlemen who had wounded him: the abbot so doing, the gentlemen +came, and the hermit, being very sick and weak, said unto them, ‘I +am sure to die of those wounds you have given me.’ The abbot +answered, ‘They shall as surely die for the same;’ but the +hermit answered, ‘Not so, for I will freely forgive them my death, +if they will be contented to be enjoined this penance for the safeguard +of their souls.’ The gentlemen being present, and terrified +with the fear of death, bade him enjoin what penance he would, so that +he would but save their lives. Then said the hermit, ‘You +and yours shall hold your lands of the Abbot of Whitby and his successors +in this manner: That upon Ascension Eve, you or some of you shall come +to the woods of the Strag Heads, which is in Eskdale-side, the same +day at sun-rising, and there shall the abbot’s officer blow his +horn, to the intent that you may know how to find him; and he shall +deliver unto you, William de Bruce, ten stakes, eleven strut-towers, +and eleven yethers, to be cut by you or some for you, with a knife of +one penny price; and you, Ralph de Perci, shall take twenty and one +of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and you, Allatson, shall +take nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid, and to be taken on your +backs, and carried to the town of Whitby, and to be there before nine +of the clock the same day before-mentioned; at the same hour of nine +of the clock (if it be full sea) your labour or service shall cease; +but if it be not full sea, each of you shall set your stakes at the +brim, each stake one yard from the other, and so yether them on each +side of your yethers, and so stake on each side with your strut-towers, +that they may stand three tides without removing by the force thereof: +each of you shall do, make, and execute the said service at that very +hour every year, except it shall be full sea at that hour: but when +it shall so fall out, this service shall cease. You shall faithfully +do this in remembrance that you did most cruelly slay me; and that you +may the better call to God for mercy, repent unfeignedly for your sins, +and do good works, the officers of Eskdale-side shall blow, <i>Out on +you, out on you, out on you</i>, for this heinous crime. If you +or your successors shall refuse this service, so long as it shall not +be full sea at the aforesaid hour, you or yours shall forfeit your lands +to the Abbot of Whitby, or his successors. This I intreat, and +earnestly beg that you may have lives and goods preserved for this service; +and I request of you to promise by your parts in heaven that it shall +be done by you and your successors, as it is aforesaid requested, and +I will confirm it by the faith of an honest man.’ Then the +hermit said: ‘My soul longeth for the Lord, and I do as freely +forgive these men my death as Christ forgave the thieves upon the cross;’ +and in the presence of the abbot and the rest he said, moreover, these +words: ‘Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit, for from +the bonds of death Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord of truth. Amen.’ +So he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of December, A.D. 1160, upon +whose soul God have mercy. Amen.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ANCHORITES, STRICTLY SO CALLED</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The fertile and peaceable lowlands of England, as I have just said, +offered few spots sufficiently wild and lonely for the habitation of +a hermit; those, therefore, who wished to retire from the world into +a more strict and solitary life than that which the monastery afforded +were in the habit of immuring themselves, as anchorites, or in old English +“Ankers,” in little cells of stone, built usually against +the wall of a church. There is nothing new under the sun; and +similar anchorites might have been seen in Egypt, 500 years before the +time of St. Antony, immured in cells in the temples of Isis or Serapis. +It is only recently that antiquaries have discovered how common this +practice was in England, and how frequently the traces of these cells +are to be found about our parish churches. They were so common +in the Diocese of Lincoln in the thirteenth century, that in 1233 the +archdeacon is ordered to inquire whether any Anchorites’ cells +had been built without the Bishop’s leave; and in many of our +parish churches may be seen, either on the north or the south side of +the chancel, a narrow slit in the wall, or one of the lights of a window +prolonged downwards, the prolongation, if not now walled up, being closed +with a shutter. Through these apertures the “incluse,” +or anker, watched the celebration of mass, and partook of the Holy Communion. +Similar cells were to be found in Ireland, at least in the diocese of +Ossory; and doubtless in Scotland also. Ducange, in his Glossary, +on the word “inclusi,” lays down rules for the size of the +anker’s cell, which must be twelve feet square, with three windows, +one opening into the church, one for taking in his food, and one for +light; and the “Salisbury Manual” as well as the “Pontifical” +of Lacy, bishop of Exeter, in the first half of the fifteenth century, +contains a regular “service” for the walling in of an anchorite. +<a name="citation330"></a><a href="#footnote330">{330}</a> There +exists too a most singular and painful book, well known to antiquaries, +but to them alone, “The Ancren Riwle,” addressed to three +young ladies who had immured themselves (seemingly about the beginning +of the thirteenth century) at Kingston Tarrant, in Dorsetshire.</p> +<p>For women as well as men entered these living tombs; and there spent +their days in dirt and starvation, and such prayer and meditation doubtless +as the stupified and worn-out intellect could compass; their only recreation +being the gossip of the neighbouring women, who came to peep in through +the little window—a recreation in which (if we are to believe +the author of “The Ancren Riwle”) they were tempted to indulge +only too freely; till the window of the recluse’s cell, he says, +became what the smith’s forge or the alehouse has become since—the +place where all the gossip and scandal of the village passed from one +ear to another. But we must not believe such scandals of all. +Only too much in earnest must those seven young maidens have been, whom +St. Gilbert of Sempringham persuaded to immure themselves, as a sacrifice +acceptable to God, in a den along the north wall of his church; or that +St. Hutta, or Huetta, in the beginning of the thirteenth century, who +after ministering to lepers, and longing and even trying to become a +leper herself, immured herself for life in a cell against the church +of Huy near Liège.</p> +<p>Fearful must have been the fate of these incluses if any evil had +befallen the building of which (one may say) they had become a part. +More than one in the stormy Middle Age may have suffered the fate of +the poor women immured beside St. Mary’s church at Mantes, who, +when town and church were burnt by William the Conqueror, unable to +escape (or, according to William of Malmesbury, thinking it unlawful +to quit their cells even in that extremity), perished in the flames; +and so consummated once and for all their long martyrdom.</p> +<p>How long the practice of the hermit life was common in these islands +is more than my learning enables me to say. Hermits seem, from +the old Chartularies, <a name="citation331"></a><a href="#footnote331">{331}</a> +to have been not unfrequent in Scotland and the North of England during +the whole Middle Age. We have seen that they were frequent in +the times of Malcolm Canmore and the old Celtic Church; and the Latin +Church, which was introduced by St. Margaret, seems to have kept up +the fashion. In the middle of the thirteenth century, David de +Haigh conveyed to the monks of Cupar the hermitage which Gilmichael +the Hermit once held, with three acres of land. In 1329 the Convent +of Durham made a grant of a hermitage to Roger Eller at Norham on the +Tweed, in order that he might have a “fit place to fight with +the old enemy and bewail his sins, apart from the turmoil of men.” +In 1445 James the Second, king of Scots, granted to John Smith the hermitage +in the forest of Kilgur, “which formerly belonged in heritage +to Hugh Cominch the Hermit, and was resigned by him, with the croft +and the green belonging to it, and three acres of arable land.”</p> +<p>I have quoted these few instances, to show how long the custom lingered; +and doubtless hermits were to be found in the remoter parts of these +realms when the sudden tempest of the Reformation swept away alike the +palace of the rich abbot and the cell of the poor recluse, and exterminated +throughout England the ascetic life. The two last hermits whom +I have come across in history are both figures which exemplify very +well those times of corruption and of change. At Loretto (not +in Italy, but in Musselburgh, near Edinburgh) there lived a hermit who +pretended to work miracles, and who it seems had charge of some image +of “Our Lady of Loretto.” The scandals which ensued +from the visits of young folks to this hermit roused the wrath of that +terrible scourge of monks, Sir David Lindsay of the Mount: yet as late +as 1536, James the Fifth of Scotland made a pilgrimage from Stirling +to the shrine, in order to procure a propitious passage to France in +search of a wife. But in 1543, Lord Hertford, during his destructive +voyage to the Forth, destroyed, with other objects of greater consequence, +the chapel of the “Lady of Lorett,” which was not likely +in those days to be rebuilt; and so the hermit of Musselburgh vanishes +from history.</p> +<p>A few years before, in 1537, says Mr. Froude, <a name="citation333"></a><a href="#footnote333">{333}</a> +while the harbours, piers, and fortresses were rising in Dover, “an +ancient hermit tottered night after night from his cell to a chapel +on the cliff, and the tapers on the altar before which he knelt in his +lonely orisons made a familiar beacon far over the rolling waters. +The men of the rising world cared little for the sentiment of the past. +The anchorite was told sternly by the workmen that his light was a signal +to the King’s enemies” (a Spanish invasion from Flanders +was expected), “and must burn no more; and, when it was next seen, +three of them waylaid the old man on his way home, threw him down and +beat him cruelly.”</p> +<p>So ended, in an undignified way, as worn-out institutions are wont +to end, the hermit life in the British Isles. Will it ever reappear? +Who can tell? To an age of luxury and unbelief has succeeded, +more than once in history, an age of remorse and superstition. +Gay gentlemen and gay ladies may renounce the world, as they did in +the time of St Jerome, when the world is ready to renounce them. +We have already our nunneries, our monasteries, of more creeds than +one; and the mountains of Kerry, or the pine forests of the Highlands, +may some day once more hold hermits, persuading themselves to believe, +and at last succeeding in believing, the teaching of St. Antony, instead +of that of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of that Father of the spirits +of all flesh, who made love, and marriage, and little children, sunshine +and flowers, the wings of butterflies and the song of birds; who rejoices +in his own works, and bids all who truly reverence him rejoice in them +with him. The fancy may seem impossible. It is not more +impossible than many religious phenomena seemed forty years ago, which +are now no fancies, but powerful facts.</p> +<p>The following books should be consulted by those who wish to follow +out this curious subject in detail:—</p> +<p>The “Vitæ Patrum Eremiticorum.”</p> +<p>The “Acta Sanctorum.” The Bollandists are, of course, +almost exhaustive of any subject on which they treat. But as they +are difficult to find, save in a few public libraries, the “Acta +Sanctorum” of Surius, or of Aloysius Lipommasius, may be profitably +consulted. Butler’s “Lives of the Saints” is +a book common enough, but of no great value.</p> +<p>M. de Montalembert’s “Moines d’Occident,” +and Ozanam’s “Etudes Germaniques,” may be read with +much profit.</p> +<p>Dr. Reeves’ edition of Adamnan’s “Life of St. Columba,” +published by the Irish Archæological and Celtic Society, is a +treasury of learning, which needs no praise of mine.</p> +<p>The lives of St. Cuthbert and St. Godric may be found among the publications +of the Surtees Society.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> About +A.D. 368. See the details in Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xxviii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a> In +the Celtic Irish Church, there seems to have been no other pattern. +The hermits who became abbots, with their monks, were the only teachers +of the people—one had almost said, the only Christians. +Whence, as early as the sixth century, if not the fifth, they, and their +disciples of Iona and Scotland, derived their peculiar tonsure, their +use of bells, their Eastern mode of keeping the Paschal feast, and other +peculiarities, seemingly without the intervention of Rome, is a mystery +still unsolved.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17a"></a><a href="#citation17a">{17a}</a> +A book which, from its bearing on present problems, well deserves translation.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17b"></a><a href="#citation17b">{17b}</a> +“Vitæ Patrum.” Published at Antwerp, 1628.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23">{23}</a> He +is addressing our Lord.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24">{24}</a> “Agentes +in rebus.” On the Emperor’s staff?</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27">{27}</a> St. +Augustine says, that Potitianus’s adventure at Trêves happened +“I know not when.” His own conversation with Potitianus +must have happened about A.D. 385, for he was baptized April 25, A.D. +387. He does not mention the name of Potitianus’s emperor: +but as Gratian was Augustus from A.D. 367 to A.D. 375, and actual Emperor +of the West till A.D. 383, and as Trêves was his usual residence, +he is most probably the person meant: but if not, then his father Valentinian.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29">{29}</a> See +the excellent article on Gratian in Smith’s Dictionary, by Mr. +Means.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30">{30}</a> I cannot +explain this fact: but I have seen it with my own eyes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32">{32}</a> I use +throughout the text published by Heschelius, in 1611.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33">{33}</a> He +is said to have been born at Coma, near Heracleia, in Middle Egypt, +A.D. 251.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34">{34}</a> Seemingly +the Greek language and literature.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35">{35}</a> I have +thought it more honest to translate ασκησις +by “training,” which is now, as then, its true equivalent; +being a metaphor drawn from the Greek games by St. Paul, 1 Tim. iv. +8.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41">{41}</a> I give +this passage as it stands in the Greek version. In the Latin, +attributed to Evagrius, it is even more extravagant and rhetorical.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42">{42}</a> Surely +the imagery painted on the inner walls of Egyptian tombs, and probably +believed by Antony and his compeers to be connected with devil-worship, +explain these visions. In the “Words of the Elders” +a monk complains of being troubled with “pictures, old and new.” +Probably, again, the pain which Antony felt was the agony of a fever; +and the visions which he saw, its delirium.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44">{44}</a> Here +is an instance of the original use of the word “monastery,” +viz. a cell in which a single person dwelt.</p> +<p><a name="footnote45"></a><a href="#citation45">{45}</a> An +allusion to the heathen mysteries.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49"></a><a href="#citation49">{49}</a> A.D. +311. Galerius Valerius Maximinus (his real name was Daza) had +been a shepherd-lad in Illyria, like his uncle Galerius Valerius Maximianus; +and rose, like him, through the various grades of the army to be co-Emperor +of Rome, over Syria, Egypt, and Asia Minor; a furious persecutor of +the Christians, and a brutal and profligate tyrant. Such were +the “kings of the world” from whom those old monks fled.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52a"></a><a href="#citation52a">{52a}</a> +The lonely alluvial flats at the mouths of the Nile. “Below +the cliffs, beside the sea,” as one describes them.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52b"></a><a href="#citation52b">{52b}</a> +Now the monastery of Deir Antonios, over the Wady el Arabah, between +the Nile and the Red Sea, where Antony’s monks endure to this +day.</p> +<p><a name="footnote60"></a><a href="#citation60">{60}</a> This +most famous monastery, <i>i.e</i>. collection of monks’ cells, +in Egypt is situate forty miles from Alexandria, on a hill where nitre +was gathered. The hospitality and virtue of its inmates are much +praised by Ruffinus and Palladius. They were, nevertheless, the +chief agents in the fanatical murder of Hypatia.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65">{65}</a> It +appears from this and many other passages, that extempore prayer was +usual among these monks, as it was afterwards among the Puritans (who +have copied them in so many other things), whenever a godly man visited +them.</p> +<p><a name="footnote66a"></a><a href="#citation66a">{66a}</a> +Meletius, bishop of Lycopolis, was the author of an obscure schism calling +itself the “Church of the Martyrs,” which refused to communicate +with the rest of the Eastern Church. See Smith’s “Dictionary,” +on the word “Meletius.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote66b"></a><a href="#citation66b">{66b}</a> +Arius (whose most famous and successful opponent was Athanasius, the +writer of this biography) maintained that the Son of God was not co-equal +and co-eternal with the Father, but created by Him out of nothing, and +before the world. His opinions were condemned in the famous Council +of Nicæa, A.D. 325.</p> +<p><a name="footnote67"></a><a href="#citation67">{67}</a> If +St. Antony could use so extreme an argument against the Arians, what +would he have said to the Mariolatry which sprang up after his death?</p> +<p><a name="footnote68a"></a><a href="#citation68a">{68a}</a> +<i>I.e</i>. those who were still heathens.</p> +<p><a name="footnote68b"></a><a href="#citation68b">{68b}</a> +ιερευς. The Christian +priest is always called in this work simply πρεσθυτερος, +or elder.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72a"></a><a href="#citation72a">{72a}</a> +Probably that of A.D. 341, when Gregory of Cappadocia, nominated by +the Arian Bishops, who had assembled at the Council of Antioch, expelled +Athanasius from the see of Alexandria, and great violence was committed +by his followers and by Philagrius the Prefect. Athanasius meanwhile +fled to Rome.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72b"></a><a href="#citation72b">{72b}</a> +<i>I.e</i>. celebrated there their own Communion.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77">{77}</a> Evidently +the primæval custom of embalming the dead, and keeping mummies +in the house, still lingered among the Egyptians.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108"></a><a href="#citation108">{108}</a> +These sounds, like those which St. Guthlac heard in the English fens, +are plainly those of wild-fowl.</p> +<p><a name="footnote115"></a><a href="#citation115">{115}</a> +The Brucheion, with its palaces and museum, the residence of the kings +and philosophers of Egypt, had been destroyed is the days of Claudius +and Valerian, during the senseless civil wars which devastated Alexandria +for twelve years; and monks had probably taken up their abode in the +ruins. It was in this quarter, at the beginning of the next century, +that Hypatia was murdered by the monks.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116"></a><a href="#citation116">{116}</a> +Probably the Northern, or Lesser Oasis, Ouah el Baharieh, about eighty +miles west of the Nile.</p> +<p><a name="footnote117a"></a><a href="#citation117a">{117a}</a> +Jerome (who sailed that sea several times) uses the word here, as it +is used in Acts xxvii. 27, for the sea about Malta, “driven up +and down in Adria.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote117b"></a><a href="#citation117b">{117b}</a> +The southern point of Sicily, now Cape Passaro.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118"></a><a href="#citation118">{118}</a> +In the Morea, near the modern Navarino.</p> +<p><a name="footnote119a"></a><a href="#citation119a">{119a}</a> +At the mouth of the Bay of Cattaro.</p> +<p><a name="footnote119b"></a><a href="#citation119b">{119b}</a> +This story—whatever belief we may give to its details—is +one of many which make it tolerably certain that a large snake (Python) +still lingered in Eastern Europe. Huge tame snakes were kept as +sacred by the Macedonian women; and one of them (according to Lucian) +Peregrinus Proteus, the Cagliostro of his time, fitted with a linen +mask, and made it personate the god Æsculapius. In the “Historia +Lausiaca,” cap. lii. is an account by an eye-witness of a large +snake in the Thebaid, whose track was “as if a beam had been dragged +along the sand.” It terrifies the Syrian monks: but the +Egyptian monk sets to work to kill it, saying that he had seen much +larger—even up to fifteen cubits.</p> +<p><a name="footnote121"></a><a href="#citation121">{121}</a> +Now Capo St. Angelo and the island of Cerigo, at the southern point +of Greece.</p> +<p><a name="footnote123a"></a><a href="#citation123a">{123a}</a> +See p. 52. [Around footnote 52a in the text—DP.]</p> +<p><a name="footnote123b"></a><a href="#citation123b">{123b}</a> +Probably dedicated to the Paphian Venus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130">{130}</a> +The lives of these two hermits and that of St. Cuthbert will be given +in a future number.</p> +<p><a name="footnote131"></a><a href="#citation131">{131}</a> +Sihor, the black river, was the ancient name of the Nile, derived from +the dark hue of its waters.</p> +<p><a name="footnote159"></a><a href="#citation159">{159}</a> +Ammianus Marcellinus, Book xxv. cap. 9.</p> +<p><a name="footnote160"></a><a href="#citation160">{160}</a> +By Dr. Burgess.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163"></a><a href="#citation163">{163}</a> +History of Christianity, vol. iii. p. 109.</p> +<p><a name="footnote203"></a><a href="#citation203">{203}</a> +An authentic fact.</p> +<p><a name="footnote204"></a><a href="#citation204">{204}</a> +If any one doubts this, let him try the game called “Russian scandal,” +where a story, passed secretly from mouth to mouth, ends utterly transformed, +the original point being lost, a new point substituted, original names +and facts omitted, and utterly new ones inserted, &c. &c.; an +experiment which is ludicrous, or saddening, according to the temper +of the experimenter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote209"></a><a href="#citation209">{209}</a> +Les Moines d’Occident, vol. ii. pp. 332-467.</p> +<p><a name="footnote210"></a><a href="#citation210">{210}</a> +M. La Borderie, “Discours sur les Saints Bretons;” a work +which I have unfortunately not been able to consult.</p> +<p><a name="footnote212a"></a><a href="#citation212a">{212a}</a> +Vitæ Patrum, p. 753.</p> +<p><a name="footnote212b"></a><a href="#citation212b">{212b}</a> +Ibid. p. 893.</p> +<p><a name="footnote212c"></a><a href="#citation212c">{212c}</a> +Ibid. p. 539.</p> +<p><a name="footnote212d"></a><a href="#citation212d">{212d}</a> +Ibid. p. 540.</p> +<p><a name="footnote212e"></a><a href="#citation212e">{212e}</a> +Ibid. p. 532.</p> +<p><a name="footnote224"></a><a href="#citation224">{224}</a> +It has been handed down, in most crabbed Latin, by his disciple, Eugippius; +it may be read at length in Pez, Scriptores Austriacarum Rerum.</p> +<p><a name="footnote238"></a><a href="#citation238">{238}</a> +Scriptores Austriacarum Rerum.</p> +<p><a name="footnote245"></a><a href="#citation245">{245}</a> +Hæften, quoted by Montalembert, vol. ii. p. 22, in note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote256"></a><a href="#citation256">{256}</a> +Dr. Reeves supposes these to have been “crustacea:” but +their stinging and clinging prove them surely to have been jelly-fish—medusæ.</p> +<p><a name="footnote257"></a><a href="#citation257">{257}</a> +I have followed the Latin prose version of it, which M. Achille Jubinal +attributes to the eleventh century. Here and there I have taken +the liberty of using the French prose version, which he attributes to +the latter part of the twelfth. I have often condensed the story, +where it was prolix or repeated itself: but I have tried to follow faithfully +both matter and style, and to give, word for word, as nearly as I could, +any notable passages. Those who wish to know more of St. Brendan +should consult the learned <i>brochure</i> of M. Jubinal, “La +Légende Latine de St. Brandaines,” and the two English +versions of the Legend, edited by Mr. Thomas Wright for the Percy Society, +vol. xiv. One is in verse, and of the earlier part of the fourteenth +century, and spirited enough: the other, a prose version, was printed +by Wynkyn de Worde, in his edition of the “Golden Legend;” +1527.</p> +<p><a name="footnote260a"></a><a href="#citation260a">{260a}</a> +In the Barony of Longford, County Galway.</p> +<p><a name="footnote260b"></a><a href="#citation260b">{260b}</a> +3,000, like 300, seems to be, I am informed, only an Irish expression +for any large number.</p> +<p><a name="footnote269"></a><a href="#citation269">{269}</a> +Some dim legend concerning icebergs, and caves therein.</p> +<p><a name="footnote270"></a><a href="#citation270">{270}</a> +Probably from reports of the volcanic coast of Iceland.</p> +<p><a name="footnote272"></a><a href="#citation272">{272}</a> +This part of the legend has been changed and humanized as time ran on. +In the Latin and French versions it has little or no point or moral. +In the English, Judas accounts for the presence of the cloth thus:—</p> +<p>“Here I may see what it is to give other men’s (goods) +with harm.<br />As will many rich men with unright all day take,<br />Of +poor men here and there, and almisse (alms) sithhe (afterwards) make.”</p> +<p>For the tongs and the stone he accounts by saying that, as he used +them for “good ends, each thing should surely find him which he +did for God’s love.”</p> +<p>But in “the prose version of Wynkyn de Worde, the tongs have +been changed into “ox-tongues,” “which I gave some +tyme to two preestes to praye for me. I bought them with myne +owne money, and therefore they ease me, bycause the fysshes of the sea +gnaw on them, and spare me.”</p> +<p>This latter story of the ox-tongues has been followed by Mr. Sebastian +Evans, in his poem on St. Brendan. Both he and Mr. Matthew Arnold +have rendered the moral of the English version very beautifully.</p> +<p><a name="footnote274"></a><a href="#citation274">{274}</a> +Copied, surely, from the life of Paul the first hermit.</p> +<p><a name="footnote283"></a><a href="#citation283">{283}</a> +The famous Cathach, now in the museum of the Royal Irish Academy, was +long popularly believed to be the very Psalter in question. As +a relic of St. Columba it was carried to battle by the O’Donnels, +even as late as 1497, to insure victory for the clan.</p> +<p><a name="footnote290"></a><a href="#citation290">{290}</a> +Bede, book iii. cap. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote292"></a><a href="#citation292">{292}</a> +These details, and countless stories of St. Cuthbert’s miracles, +are to be found in Reginald of Durham, “De Admirandis Beati Cuthberti,” +published by the Surtees Society. This curious book is admirably +edited by Mr. J. Raine; with an English synopsis at the end, which enables +the reader for whom the Latin is too difficult to enjoy those pictures +of life under Stephen and Henry II., whether moral, religious, or social, +of which the book is a rich museum.</p> +<p><a name="footnote299"></a><a href="#citation299">{299}</a> +“In this hole lie the bones of the Venerable Bede.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote303"></a><a href="#citation303">{303}</a> +An English translation of the Anglo-Saxon life has been published by +Mr. Godwin, of Cambridge, and is well worth perusal.</p> +<p><a name="footnote312"></a><a href="#citation312">{312}</a> +Vita S. Godrici, pp. 332, 333.</p> +<p><a name="footnote316"></a><a href="#citation316">{316}</a> +The earlier one; that of the Harleian MSS. which (Mr. Stevenson thinks) +was twice afterwards expanded and decorated by him.</p> +<p><a name="footnote323"></a><a href="#citation323">{323}</a> +Reginald wants to make “a wonder incredible in our own times,” +of a very common form (thank God) of peaceful death. He makes +miracles in the same way of the catching of salmon and of otters, simple +enough to one who, like Godric, knew the river, and every wild thing +which haunted it.</p> +<p><a name="footnote330"></a><a href="#citation330">{330}</a> +That of the Salisbury Manual is published in the “Ecclesiologist” +for August 1848, by the Rev. Sir W. H. Cope, to whom I am indebted for +the greater number of these curious facts.</p> +<p><a name="footnote331"></a><a href="#citation331">{331}</a> +I owe these facts to the courtesy of Mr. John Stuart, of the General +Register Office, Edinburgh.</p> +<p><a name="footnote333"></a><a href="#citation333">{333}</a> +“History of England,” vol. iii. p. 256, note.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE HERMITS ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named hrmt10h.htm or hrmt10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, hrmt11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, hrmt10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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