Chapter VI

MARTYRS, HERMITS, ANCHORITES, AND RELICS.

THE VIRGIN MARTYR VALERIA (A.D. 50).

St. Martial, the apostle of the Gauls, when a lad of fifteen, was taken by his father to see Christ, and became thenceforth a constant follower, and at a later date was a companion of St. Peter. In his career as first bishop of Limoges, he was hospitably entertained by a noble widow named Susanna. Her daughter Valeria devoted her virginity to the Lord, and having taken a vow of chastity she rejected the marriage which had been arranged for her with Duke Stephen. He was so enraged at her indifference to his offers that he ordered her to be beheaded. When she reached the place of execution, she spread out her hands in prayer and commended herself to the Lord, during which voices from heaven were heard encouraging her. She voluntarily offered to her executioner her head, which was cut off with a blow. Before her death she had predicted the death of the tyrant Stephen; and when this was afterwards reported to him by a squire, the latter was seized with fear and trembling, and fell dead. The duke was then greatly alarmed, and besought Martial to come to him and restore his squire to life. Martial came and prayed with a loud voice, and in presence of the people restored the dead squire, whereupon the duke knelt before the holy bishop and implored forgiveness for his sins. The bishop enjoined penance for putting to death the virgin martyr, and baptised the duke and his officers, and they gave large sums of gold to build churches and endow a hospital to the memory of Valeria, and also erected a church over her tomb. The duke after these events lived an exemplary life; and while he was a wise father of the Christians, he was a fierce persecutor of the Pagans.

ST. THECLA CONVERTED BY ST. PAUL.

St. Thecla was a native of Lycaonia, of great beauty, and was early engaged to be married to a rich noble named Thamyris, but she was converted by St. Paul, and she then and there vowed that she would renounce the world and devote herself to virginity. She broke her plighted troth. The friends of the youth pressed her to keep her promise; but she forsook father and mother and riches and plenty, and would not listen to any of them. So the youth in revenge obtained a decree that she should be torn by wild beasts. She remained undaunted, and was exposed naked in the amphitheatre; and tigers, lions, and pards, starved and raging with fury, were let loose upon her. But the lions, instead of attacking, crouched at her feet and meekly kissed them; and though excited by the keepers again and again, they shrank like lambs. This startling picture of innocence saved from harm was a standing text with the Fathers, who glowed with enthusiastic eloquence while dilating on the story. At another time the virgin martyr was exposed to fire, and was in like manner untouched. It was said she was first converted by listening to St. Paul, whom she attended in several of his apostolic journeys. At last she died in peace in a retirement in Isauria, aged ninety, and was buried at Silencia, being treated as the first female martyr. A sumptuous church bearing her name was erected over the body, and crowds of pilgrims have always visited the spot. The great cathedral at Milan is dedicated to God in her honour, and part of her relics are deposited there. It is said that St. John deposed a priest for forging some scandalous tales about St. Paul and St. Thecla, and such tales were repeated in later ages also.

MARTYRDOM OF POLYCARP (A.D. 168).

When Polycarp, the Bishop of Smyrna, was burnt as a martyr about 168, a contemporary account by the leaders of the Church contained in Eusebius says this: “As soon as the martyr uttered ‘Amen’ after his prayer the fire was lighted, and a great flame burst out in the form of an arch, as the sail of a vessel filled with wind, surrounding as with a wall the body, which was in the midst, not as burning flesh, but as gold and silver refining in the furnace. We received in our nostrils such a fragrance as proceeds from frankincense or some other precious perfume. At length the wicked people, observing that the body could not be consumed with the fire, ordered the executioner to approach and to plunge his sword into his body. Upon this such a quantity of blood gushed out that the fire was extinguished, and all the multitude were astonished to see such a difference providentially made between the unbelievers and the elect. Afterwards the body was burned, and we gathered up the bones, more precious than gold and jewels, and deposited them in a proper place, where, if possible, we shall meet, and the Lord will grant us in gladness and joy to celebrate the birthday of his martyrdom, both in commemoration of those who have wrestled before us, and for the instruction and confirmation of those who come after.” Polycarp was burned at the age of eighty-six, and had been a pupil of St. John the Evangelist.

ST. FELICITAS AND HER SEVEN SONS (A.D. 173).

A rich widow named Felicitas lived at Rome about 173, and had seven sons, whom she brought up as Christians. She was cited before the tribunals for not sacrificing to the false gods. But she refused; and being told she should comply out of regard to her sons, she replied that her sons would know how to choose between everlasting death and everlasting life. They also were cited; but the mother encouraged them to defy the tyranny and refuse to obey. Then they were ordered to be tortured most cruelly, each in different form and before the mother’s eyes; but she heroically stood by and encouraged them to be firm. Instead of flinching, she gloried that she had seven sons worthy to be saints in Paradise, and she herself was subjected to a barbarous and lingering death, and at length beheaded or plunged into boiling oil.

THE MARTYRS OF LYONS, BLANDINA AND ATTALUS (A.D. 199).

Eusebius, referring to the end of the second century, says that one day, in place of the gladiatorial combats at Lyons, Blandina and Attalus were thrown to the wild beasts. Blandina was bound to a stake; and as her body appeared to hang in the form of the cross, this greatly encouraged her fellow-martyr. As none of the beasts touched her, she was remanded to prison to be kept for another day. Attalus was then demanded by the mob. He bore a label: “This is Attalus the Christian.” He was placed on the iron chair and his body roasted; but he maintained his courage to the last. Blandina was again brought forward, along with a youth of fifteen, named Ponticus. Refusing to swear as they were ordered, they were led the whole round, and subjected to horrible brutalities. When Ponticus drew his last breath, Blandina stood exulting, as if she were invited to a marriage feast rather than thrown to the wild beasts. After scourging and exposure to the beasts, and after being roasted, she was finally wrapped in a net and tossed in the air before a bull; and when she had been tossed by that beast, and had now no longer any sense of what was done to her by reason of her hope, confidence, and faith in Christ, she too was despatched. The Gentiles confessed that no woman among them had ever endured sufferings as many and great as these; yet they insisted on watching the dead bodies, and what remained after the mangling of beasts, day and night, lest the Christians should attempt to bury them. They finally burnt the remains to ashes, and cast them into the Rhone, that there might not be a vestige of them left on dry land. Some of the ashes, however, were preserved in the church at Lyons.

ST. CECILIA THE MARTYR AND HER SINGING (A.D. 200).

Peter de Natalibus says: Cecilia, virgin and martyr, born of a noble house among the Romans about 180, was brought up in the faith of Christ, and always carried the Gospel hid in her bosom, and never ceased from Divine colloquy and prayer. She composed hymns to the glory of God, which she sang so sweetly that the angels came down from heaven to hear them and sing along with her. Being espoused to a youth named Valerian, who heard her often speaking of an angel whom he desired to see, she told him where to go; he was directed to the Catacombs, where the angel appeared to him in white raiment, holding a book, on which was written, “One Lord, one faith, one baptism.” Valerian thereupon received baptism from Pope Urban. Valerian earnestly desired that his brother Tiburtius should be brought to the knowledge of the truth. So when on the morrow Tiburtius came to salute his sister-in-law Cecilia, he perceived an excellent odour of lilies and roses, and asked her wondering whence she had roses at that untimely season. He was told that God had sent them crowns of roses and lilies, but that he could not see them till his eyes were opened and his body purified, and yet that he also might see them if he would believe in Christ and renounce idols. And Tiburtius also believed and was baptised. The two brothers were afterwards seized and put to death. Cecilia also was ordered by the prefect Almachius to be burned; but though put in the fire a day and night, it had no effect on her. Nor could the executioner, though striking thrice at her neck, kill her. On the third day of her sufferings she distributed her goods and departed this life.

THE MARTYR PERPETUA (A.D. 202).

In the early persecution of 202 under the Emperor Severus, a touching scene occurred between a young wife, aged twenty-two, named Perpetua, and her father. She was arrested, and implored by her father, who threw himself in tears at her feet, beseeching her to renounce her creed, and not bring ruin on her brothers and parents and relatives. But she gloried in being called and in calling herself a Christian. The father brought her child in his arms, and called on her in vain to spare his grey hairs and to pity the child, and join in the Pagan sacrifice to the Emperor. The guards at last ordered him to be removed after his last appeal to her pity; and after tearing the hair of his beard in his anguish, she only exclaimed, “I am pained at the sight of my father as if I had been struck with a blow. His grief is enough to move any creature.” But no other faltering word escaped her. She and some young companions were thrown to the wild beasts to gratify the brutal tastes of the multitude when celebrating a prince’s birthday. The cruel spectacle made such an impression on one of the jailers, named Pudens, that he felt an irresistible impulse to acknowledge that there must be something divine in such a triumph over human weakness. He could not choose but indulge the friends of the wretched prisoners by giving them access to cheer the latter in their desolate state.

ST. URSULA AND THE ELEVEN THOUSAND VIRGIN MARTYRS (A.D. 237).

Ursula and eleven thousand British virgins were said to have suffered martyrdom at Cologne in 237. The story is somewhat vague, and some even suggest that, another virgin being named Undecimilla, some play on that word gave rise to the extraordinary number mentioned. The writers of the tenth century began to tell the story that Ursula was the daughter of a British prince, and had taken a vow of celibacy, but her father had wished her to marry the son of some ferocious tyrant. To get quit of the proposal, she said she would agree if her father and the king should choose each ten virgins of her own age and beauty, and that each of those ten should have a thousand damsels under them, and that they should all be allowed to cruise about as unsullied virgins for three years in eleven triremes. The tyrant succeeded in collecting the virgins and in providing gaily equipped galleys, and they put to sea and were driven by stress of weather up the Rhine to Cologne. From that place they went to visit the Apostles’ tombs at Rome, and on their return the barbarous Huns murdered them all at Cologne. The church of St. Ursula at Cologne is still visited by pilgrims who invoke the saint.

ST. BARBARA AND THE PRISON TOWER (A.D. 250).

St. Barbara was the daughter of a rich noble in Heliopolis, and, being of singular beauty, her father destined her for some great alliance. But she heard of Origen and visited him, and took his instruction and was converted to the Christian religion. Her father being a rabid Pagan, built a high tower in which to imprison her; and one day, on visiting it, and seeing only two windows in the plan, she ordered the workmen to add a third. Her father on hearing of this became enraged, dragged her by her hair to a dungeon, and procured a decree that she should be scourged and tortured; and as she still refused to acknowledge his gods he cut off her head. But thunder and lightning at once descended and consumed him. She became the patron saint to protect from lightning and gunpowder.

THE MARTYR POTAMIANA CONVERTS A SOLDIER (A.D. 299).

Eusebius says that at the end of the third century a soldier named Basilides was ordered to lead the celebrated Potamiana to execution, who had resisted many attacks on her purity. She was in the bloom of beauty, and was known far and wide for her virtues. She was, after horrible tortures, the mere relation of which made one shudder, ordered by a brutal judge for execution. The soldier who had charge of her showed much compassion and kindness in warding off the insolent mob. Perceiving this, she exhorted the soldier to be of good cheer, for that after she was gone she would intercede with her Lord for him. Boiling pitch was then poured over different parts of her body, gradually by little and little, from her feet up to the crown of her head. Not long afterwards it was observed by his comrades that Basilides himself refused to swear and take the oaths, and for this offence he was committed to prison. When some of the Christian brethren visited him to ascertain the cause of this unexpected conduct, he declared to them that for three days after the martyrdom of Potamiana she stood before him at night, placed a crown upon his head, and said that she had entreated the Lord on his account, that she had obtained her prayer, and that ere long she would take him with her. Thereupon the brethren baptised him, and he, bearing his testimony to the Lord, was beheaded.

ST. GENES THE ACTOR BECOMING A SAINT AND MARTYR (A.D. 303).

St. Genes was an actor performing before the Emperor Diocletian in 303, and, being a clever mimic, played the character of a sick man, troubled in mind about the false gods and the future, before him. He professed to lie on his deathbed groaning over his sins, which he said were heavy and burdensome, and he wished to be lightened of them. The other actors then approached him; and one of them, being the clown, exclaimed to the rest, “Oh, if the poor fellow feels overweighted, we can only do one thing with him—take him to the carpenter’s and get him planed, and so lighten him.” At this sally there was a great roar of laughter. The sick man still groaned and sighed, and said he desired to be a Christian, and wished them to call in a priest and an exorcist. Thereupon two actors came in dressed to represent these two characters, and they suggested baptism, whereon a great vat of water was brought on the stage, and the sick man dragged out of his bed and plunged in, clothed in white. At this last sally there was another roar of laughter. At the next moment some actors dressed as Roman soldiers rushed on the stage, and arrested the new convert and had him tried and sentenced. This was part of the jest. But Genes sprang to his feet, threw off the guards, and knocking down a statue of Venus, addressed the Emperor, saying that though he had amused them with mimicking the Christians, yet after all he was himself one in his heart, and having in sickness felt the comfort, he now confessed Christ to be very God, and in Him alone he would trust. The mimic was so earnest and serious in this address that the whole assembly were petrified. The Emperor called the actor before him, and told him not to carry the joke too far. But the actor persisted, said he was in earnest, and defied all the threats of power. He was first tortured and then beheaded. The artists often represent this saint with a clown’s cap and bells.

GENESIUS BAPTISED WITH HIS OWN BLOOD (A.D. 303).

Genesius was a notary at Arles in 303. He had originally been a soldier, and then he became registrar of a local court. In this capacity he was called on to read an edict of persecution issued by Diocletian, and rather than read it he resigned his office and fled. He ardently longed to be baptised, and requested the Bishop of Arles to grant him this favour. The bishop, for some reason not known, deferred it, but assured Genesius that, if called upon to die for Christ, he should in thus shedding his blood receive the perfection of the grace of baptism. Genesius was soon afterwards arrested, whereupon it is related that by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost he flung himself into the Rhone, wherein he received baptism, the river having become for him a second Jordan. The officers followed him to the other bank, and there beheaded him without any formal trial. Ado, speaking of this death of Genesius, says that “he received the crown of martyrdom, being baptised with his own blood.”

ST. ALBAN, THE FIRST BRITISH MARTYR (A.D. 303).

The first of the British martyrs was St. Alban, a wealthy native of Verulam and citizen of Rome, who in 303 entertained one Amphibalus, a Christian preacher from Caerleon in South Wales, then a Roman settlement. It was said that Alban exchanged clothes with his guest, and thus effected his escape. For this act of friendship Alban was beheaded in presence of a great concourse of people. And many other martyrdoms followed. About the same time Constantius, the father of Constantine the Great, who had been chosen emperor of the western provinces of France, Spain, and Britain, died at York, at which last city Constantine was born, who was the first Christian Emperor. Some, however, alleged that Constantine was born at London, and some at Colchester. Ten years after Alban’s death a stately church was erected and dedicated to his memory; and in 1880 a new and separate bishopric of St. Albans was created.

DIDYMUS AND THEODORA (A.D. 304).

The virgin Theodora, about 304, was a great beauty, and was condemned to hateful punishment for not sacrificing to the gods, and was kept in prison awaiting her terrible doom. Didymus was a young man moved to pity, and resolved to rescue the virgin of Christ out of her danger. He dressed himself as a soldier, and went into her room and told her to change clothes, and he would remain in her stead. She consented, and being instructed not to betray herself by any unusual walk or conduct, she escaped. When the truth was discovered, Didymus said he was inspired by God to rescue Theodora, and he was ready to undergo any tortures to which he might be exposed, for he would never consent to sacrifice to devils. He was ordered to be burnt. Then Theodora, hearing of this, ran to the spot, and wished to die in his place, and she was beheaded soon after his death. St. Ambrose dwells with rapture on the glorious contention between those two for the crown of martyrdom.

ST. CYPRIAN AND JUSTINA (A.D. 304).

St. Cyprian, surnamed the Magician, who died in 304, was a native of Antioch, and had travelled in all the countries where magic was cultivated, in order to acquire that diabolic art. In Antioch lived a young heathen virgin, named Justina, with whom a pagan noble, named Agladius, was deeply in love. And as she would not listen to him, Cyprian’s magical powers were invoked in order to overcome her resolution. She made the sign of the cross and warded off all their evil arts. Cyprian himself was equally enamoured, and, enraged at being baffled, resolved to give up the diabolic art. He consulted a priest, named Eusebius, who took him to an assembly of Christians, when he was struck with the new signs of devotion. He became a convert, and burned his books of magic, gave all his goods to the poor, and enrolled himself as a catechumen. Agladius was also about the same time converted. Justina was delighted to see this change, cut off her hair, gave away her jewels, and dedicated herself to a holy life. The persecution of Diocletian breaking out, they were all scourged, and torn with hooks, kept in chains, and finally beheaded. Their relics were carried to Rome by Christians, and a pious lady, named Rufina, built a church to their memory, near the square which bears the name of Claudius. The relics were afterwards removed to the Lateran basilica.

ST. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM AS HERMIT (A.D. 400).

St. John Chrysostom, who died about 407, passed many years among the anchorites who lived on the mountains near Antioch. When he was ordained deacon, he became a powerful and fervid preacher. Once, on a seditious resistance made by the people to a new tax levied by Theodosius I., he assisted the bishop in obtaining a pardon for the ringleaders. When he became himself bishop, he preached with great force against the indelicacy of the female dress, and against gaming, theatres, and swearing. The other bishops conspired against him, and obtained his banishment for alleged seditious acts, but he was soon recalled at the instance of the people. He was again banished to a bleak desert, and died after being a bishop about ten years. His body was carried to Constantinople, and was laid in the Church of the Apostles. He was said to be the most eloquent and fervid of the Fathers. Thomas Aquinas said he would rather be author of his homilies on St. Matthew than own the whole city of Paris.

ST. JAMES, INTERCISUS (A.D. 421).

St. James was a Persian noble. The king declared war against the Christians, and the noble had not firmness to refuse. His wife and mother, however, being Christians, and shocked to see this, upbraided him, and wrote a letter that they renounced him for ever. This sank into his soul, and he withdrew from the Court, bewailing the crime he had committed; and the king, hearing of his change of views, was enraged, and, after calling the Council of Ministers, they all agreed that James should be hung on the rack, and his limbs cut off, joint after joint. The executioners, after entreating him in vain to recant, with their scimitars cut off his right thumb. The judge and bystanders, in tears, called out to him that it was enough, and he ought to surrender. But he exulted, and finger after finger was cut off; then the little toe of the left foot, and all the other toes. After fingers and toes and arms and feet left him only a trunk weltering in his blood, he continued to pray and speak cheerfully, till at last a guard severed the head from the body. This happened in 421. The Christians offered a large sum to obtain the relics, but were refused. They, however, watched an opportunity, and collected them by stealth, finding the limbs in twenty-eight different places. They were all buried in an urn, and in a place concealed from the heathen. The glory of this martyr was renowned in all the Persian, Syrian, Greek, and Latin Churches.

STEPHEN A MARTYR FOR IMAGE WORSHIP (A.D. 720).

During the controversy raised by the iconoclasts, when all the monks resisted the decrees against image worship, one monk, Stephen, a hermit who had lived thirty years in a cave at Sinope, greatly distinguished himself. The monks had flocked to the desert to watch in security over their tutelary images, and the most devout of the laity crowded round the cell of Stephen, who furiously denounced the iconoclasts. So many pilgrims resorted to him as their champion that the Emperor ordered him to be carried away from his cell, and shut up in a cloister at Chrysopolis. This act drove the other monks to frenzy. One named Andrew hastened from his dwelling in the desert and boldly confronted the Emperor in the church of St. Mammas, and sternly addressed him thus: “If thou art a Christian, why do you treat Christians with such indignity?” The Emperor commanded his temper, but after again ordering this monk into his presence, the latter was so violent and scornful that the Emperor ordered him to be scourged. Stephen, however, continued to thunder from his cell against the iconoclasts, and mounted a pillar to be better heard; and other monks flocked and built their cells round this pillar. But this did not satisfy Stephen, who returned to the city and openly denounced and defied the Emperor, and collected a large following. The Emperor ordered him to prison. His followers on hearing of his majesty’s annoyance at last rushed to the prison, dragged the old man into the streets and murdered him, and threw his body into the malefactors’ grave (as is elsewhere mentioned, ante, p. 134).

HUSS THE BOHEMIAN BURNT FOR HERESY IN 1415.

John Huss, who was a Luther a century too soon, was born in 1369, became a preacher, and soon began to see the impostures connected with relic worshipping and indulgences, and became known as a great admirer of Wicliff’s writings. He was soon marked out as a heretic, and worried with citations and excommunicated. When three young artisans publicly exclaimed against the sale of indulgences and were seized and condemned and executed, great excitement arose. Some friends dipped their handkerchiefs in the blood of the victims, a woman in the crowd offered white linen to enshroud them; the dead bodies were carried as saints with chanted hymns and anthems, and buried with great solemnity under the direction of Huss. Huss was summoned to answer for his many heresies, and he offered to defend himself before the Council of Constance, on condition of the Emperor securing him a safe conduct. The assurance was given, the Emperor Sigismund being at first thought favourable to the views of Huss. But the bishops craftily, on pretence of his attempt at escape, seized and imprisoned him. The Emperor acted weakly and with too much deference to the cardinals, who professed to give Huss a hearing, but took care that it should be only before themselves. His friends had early presentiment that Huss would be done to death by hook or crook. His faithful friend the Knight of Chlum stood always by his side, and protested vigorously against the breach of faith, in all the crafty steps taken, and by the imprisonments imposed before the hearing of the case. At one prison on the Rhine Huss was nearly killed by the noisome effluvia. He was next removed and imprisoned in a tower, and chained day and night. The usual result followed after a few hearings before the council, where he had no opportunity of meeting most of the charges, and where he was mocked and offered a period to recant, and then sentenced to be burnt as an incorrigible heretic. Seven bishops were appointed to see him clothed in priestly vestments, then stripped and degraded. A cap painted with devils was placed on his head and inscribed with the word “Arch-heretic.” He was placed on a pile of fagots, and chained to it by the neck. He sang hymns till the smoke and flames stopped him. When his body was burned the ashes were cast into the Rhine, so that nothing of him might be left to pollute the earth, as his murderers vainly imagined.

JOAN OF ARC, A MODERN PATRIOTIC MARTYR (A.D. 1430).

One consequence of William the Conqueror’s success was the long and bloody wars which lasted for three centuries. It was a misfortune that William Duke of Normandy, one of the great French vassals, should become King of England. From the eleventh to the fourteenth century—from Philip I. to Philip de Valois—this position gave rise between the two crowns and the two states to questions, to quarrels, to political struggles, and to wars which were a frequent source of trouble to France. The evil and the peril became far greater still when in the fourteenth century there arose between France and England—between Philip de Valois and Edward III.—a question touching the succession to the throne of France, and the application of exemption from the Salic law. Then there commenced between the two crowns and the two peoples that war which was to last more than a hundred years, was to bring upon France the saddest days of her history, and was to be ended only by the inspired heroism of a young girl, who alone in the name of her God and His saints restored confidence and victory to her king and country. Joan of Arc at the cost of her life brought to the most glorious conclusion the longest and bloodiest struggle that had devastated France and sometimes compromised its glory.

JOAN OF ARC BELIEVES SHE HAS A MISSION.

In 1412 this little girl was born at Domremy, and soon learnt to sew and spin and to tend her parents’ cattle and sheep. She did not take to dancing, like other girls, though willing to sing and eat cakes under the fairy beech tree of her village. At the age of nine she was noted for her constant attendance at church; the sound of bells enchanted her, and she went often to confession and communion, and was even then taxed with being too religious. France was then torn with civil strife; and the sight of lads of the village sent home torn and bleeding from the wars, and the stories of her poor neighbours whose houses were fired and homesteads devastated by troopers, and the domineering and brutal English, then masters of France, whom she always called “Goddams,” stirred her blood and made her wonder that the God in heaven could allow such mad work to go on. When she was thirteen, she declared then, and ever after, that, as she was sitting in her father’s garden, she heard a voice from heaven calling her, and a great brightness all round the church; and listening with awe, she heard the voice of angels which urged her to go to France and deliver the kingdom. She became then rapt in thought, and often the voices came to her again and again, urging her on. She at last broke the secret to her father; but he, being only a stupid peasant, chided her for her nonsense, and even threatened to drown her if she repeated it. She soon found home uncomfortable, and went and nursed her aunt, and also opened her heart to her uncle, begging him to take her to see the captain of the bailiwick, for she was sure he would help her to go to the Dauphin and assist to recover France for the French. She did get an audience, and told the captain she came from the Lord, who would be sure to help the Dauphin. On asking her who was her Lord, she said He was the King of Heaven, at which the captain set her down at once for a little madcap who should be sent home and well whipped. But the little persistent cow-girl, still further excited by news of the wars, told the captain that she was determined to go and raise the siege of Orleans, and that if she had a hundred fathers and mothers, and if she were the King’s daughter, she must and would go in spite of them all. At last the captain, puzzled and at his wits’ end, wrote about the little crazy girl and her visions to the Duke of Lorraine, who was so impressed that he sent for her, and then everybody began to talk of her wild schemes and enterprise as the wonder of the times.

JOAN OF ARC GOES TO INTERVIEW THE KING.

When Joan of Arc, aged nineteen, got the length of being sent for by the Duke of Lorraine, John of Metz, the knight, was assigned to escort her, and he asked if she meant to go in her little red petticoat. “No,” said she, “I should like to be in man’s clothes.” When this was known, the people round about subscribed to get her a military costume, and she was supplied with a horse, a coat of mail, a lance, a sword, a messenger, and a train; and she took farewell of her rustic friends and got their blessing. In the journey of eleven days her spirit never flagged, and she only wished she could hear Mass daily which she contrived once or twice to do. Everybody treated with respect the inspired cow-girl, and her constant appeals to Heaven and to the commission which she said she bore direct from the God of Battles. She was rather tall, well shaped, dark, with a look of composed assurance which staggered even the old veterans of the war. Once on her journey a band of roughs had prepared to waylay and rob her; but on a sight of her they were struck motionless and quailed. When she arrived near to headquarters, the King’s council debated whether the King ought to receive her; and as he was then at his wits’ end, and had spent all the money in the treasury, it was decided that he might. The high steward conducted her forward; it was candlelight: warriors and knights, richly dressed, stood in rows looking on; and yet it was noticed that she by instinct fixed on the King among the crowd of grandees, and the young shepherdess at once made her bends and courtesies, as if she had been bred in courts. She at once took high ground, and said, “Good Dauphin, my name is Joan, the maid. The King of Heaven sends me to assure you that you shall be anointed and crowned in the city of Rheims, and shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who is King of France. It is God’s will that these English foes shall be driven out of our country.” The King was astounded, and the chroniclers say he received her message with radiant face as a message from Heaven. Many interviews followed, and as he listened he began to believe in Heaven, and even in himself as destined to recover his kingdom as the true heir of France.

JOAN OF ARC PUT AT THE HEAD OF AN ARMY.

After Joan of Arc had had an interview with the King and assured him that God was on her side, the King took the advice kindly, but his stiff-necked courtiers shook their heads at the shepherdess and her schemes. At last a large committee of bishops, kings, councillors, and learned doctors resolved to go and question this presumptuous young person. One doctor tried to puzzle her by asking why she wanted men-at-arms to go and rout out the English, when, if it were God’s will, no men would be needed. She answered that warriors would fight, and God would give them the victory. Another pundit asked her in what language the voices spoke to her, and she retorted, “A better dialect than yours.” A third pundit thought he would stop her by asking if she believed in God, to which she replied, “More than you do.” Next the wiseacres told her they must have a sign before they could trust her with an army. She answered, “In the name of God, I am not come to Poitiers to show signs; take me to Orleans and I will give you signs of what I am sent for. I come on behalf of the King of Heaven to cause the siege of Orleans to be raised, and to take the King to Rheims that he may be crowned and anointed there.” The doctors and councillors kept up their siege of questions at this obscure shepherdess for a fortnight, and her good temper and unflagging faith in her mission broke down their unbelief, so that they all decided that she must surely be inspired. Next a deputation of princesses and court ladies visited and questioned her, and they also were all so struck with the modesty, sweetness, and grace of her demeanour and speech that they were subdued to tears. The King no longer hesitated. Joan was accepted as a heaven-born marshal, and there was assigned to her a squire, a page, two heralds, a chaplain, many serving-men, and a complete suit of armour. She asked that her sword should be marked with five crosses; her banner was white and studded with lilies, and there were the words “Jesu Maria,” with angels adoring, and a picture of God in the clouds holding in His hand the globe and its destinies. These accoutrements being provided, she was urgent for the immediate departure of the expedition, as she said Orleans was crying aloud for succour. It took five weeks to get together an army of twelve thousand men; but at last off they went, Joan’s chaplain and some priests chanting sacred hymns, much to the amazement of the swearing troopers, who had never seen the like before.

JOAN OF ARC RAISES THE SIEGE OF ORLEANS.

When the army marched with Joan to succour Orleans, the generals suggested that the best plan would be for her to go into the city with a convoy of provisions, and she at once acted on the advice; and with her banner and priests and two hundred men-at-arms she entered the city at night; and on sight of her the besieged inhabitants rose in a mass, and with torches and shouts of joy hailed her as a goddess sent to deliver them. She said her first duty was to enter the church and give thanks to God, and then she would go to the governor’s house. A splendid supper was prepared for her, but she would only dip some slices of bread in wine and water. Her modesty and simplicity charmed all the company, and she had quarters in the governor’s house, and slept with one of his daughters. The besiegers heard of Joan and the frenzy she had excited, and they cursed her as a little sorceress. But her own soldiers were keen to go out at once and storm the bastiles of the English. She thought it fair to give the enemy warning, and mounted one of the bastions and shouted to the English to stop and be gone; but the English general only jeered at her; and told her to go home and mind her cows. The battle went on a few days, and Joan, having called for her horse and armour, eagerly joined and encouraged the garrison. At one stage of the attack she took a scaling-ladder, set it against the rampart, and was the first to mount. But an arrow struck her between the neck and shoulder, and she fell. Yet, after retiring to have her wound dressed, she remounted her horse and shook her banner in the air; her men rallied, and with one great rush carried the bastile and routed the English. The bells rang out all night at this victory, and the Te Deum was chanted. The English were soon seen to be in retreat, leaving much victual and ammunition behind, and many sick and prisoners. The siege of Orleans was raised. A few days later Joan was anxious to visit the King; and when they met, he took off his cap and held out his hand, and the chroniclers say he would fain have kissed her for the joy that he felt. She on her side thought of nothing but to urge him to march at once while the enemy was flying, and get himself crowned at Rheims. The pious maid again reminded him that the voices were urging her and would not let her rest.

JOAN GETS THE KING CROWNED AT RHEIMS.

After the siege of Orleans was raised, and Joan of Arc was urging the next part of the programme, to have the King crowned at Rheims, she took part in sieges and assaults, and was gravely consulted by the generals. Difficulties were started about going at once to Rheims, and sometimes she issued military orders herself which embarrassed the plans; but she had great influence with the army and the people and those who flocked to join the standard attracted by her fame. She urged an instant assault on Troyes, and got a grumbling assent of the chiefs; and when mounting the earthwork and shouting out “Assault,” it so happened that Troyes capitulated to the King on terms. The royal forces then entered in triumph, with the maid at the King’s side carrying her banner. At that stage some of her old village friends came to see her in her great position, and she received and welcomed them like a born princess, so that they were charmed. The King in a day or two thereafter entered Rheims, and at the coronation Joan rode in state between a general, an archbishop, and the Chancellor of France. When this great ceremony was over, Joan said she had completed the charge given her by the Lord, and now if it pleased Him she would gladly go back to her father and mother and tend the cattle as before. On hearing this the great councillors more and more believed that Joan had been sent as a messenger from Heaven. But difficulties still surrounded the army, and Joan seemed bent on driving out the English. Yet people noticed that Joan’s power somehow drooped after the King was crowned. She kept with the King and busied herself with affairs. Talbot, the English general, insulted her by sending flags painted with a sign of the distaff and the words, “Now, fair one, come on!” The King moved on to Paris, and she took part in an unsuccessful assault there and elsewhere. When she was fighting at Compiégne, and the enemy being determined to capture the little warrior in her red sash and rich surcoat, she was at last overmastered, and was taken prisoner. She had for some time before surmised that she would be betrayed, and that her career was near its close.

A YOUNG PRINCE’S FIRST SIGHT OF JOAN.

When Joan had raised the siege of Orleans and was urging the King to go to Rheims to be crowned, and he was distracted by the diversity of his councillors, a young prince, Guy de Laval, wrote on June 8th, 1429, to his mother about Joan as follows: “The King had sent for Joan to come and meet him at Selles-en-Berry. Some say that it was for my sake, in order that I might see her. She gave right good welcome to my brother and myself, and after we had dismounted at Selles I went to see her in her quarters. She ordered wine, and told me that she should soon have me drinking some at Paris. It seems a thing divine to look on her and listen to her. I saw her mount on horseback, clad all in white armour save her head, and with a little axe in her hand, on a great black charger, which at the door of her quarters was very restive and would not let her mount. Then said she, ‘Lead him to the cross,’ which was in front of the neighbouring church on the road. There she mounted him without his moving, and as if he were tied up; and turning towards the door of the church, which was very nigh at hand, she said in a soft womanly voice, ‘You priests and churchmen, make procession and prayer to God.’ Then she resumed her road, saying, ‘Push forward! push forward!’ She told me that three days before my arrival she had sent my dear grandmother a little golden ring, but that it was a very small matter, and she would have liked to send you something better, having regard to your dignity.”

JOAN TAKEN CAPTIVE AND BURNT AS A HERETIC (1431).

When Joan was taken prisoner at the siege of Compiégne, she was kept six months in various castles by John of Luxemburg; but her youth, virtue, and courage made friends of her gaolers. The governor, however, was a sordid creature, and sold her to her enemies for English gold. Then another brutal creature called a bishop of Beauvais, also an inquisitor, rose up and insisted on his right to judge her, as she was captured within his diocese. She was taken to Rouen to be tried as a rebel heretic. Joan had a presentiment of her fate, and said, “I know well that these English will put me to death; but were they a hundred thousand more Goddams than have already been in France, they shall never have the kingdom.” On hearing this, the English Earl of Stafford half drew his dagger to strike her, but was held back. As she was led to Rouen, great crowds came to see her; ladies of distinction went five leagues to speak comfort to her and encourage her, and wept on parting. The brutal bishop, like a vulture of the desert, seized on her as his prey; and though some lookers-on cried shame, and protested that the trial was illegal, this demon inquisitor had her locked in an iron cage, with irons on her feet, and kept in a dark room, guarded night and day in a castle tower, while a sham trial was kept up for forty days, and idle questions cast at her. The demon judge, after trying in vain to shake her fortitude, at last had her brought into the torture chamber. But Joan told him, “If you tear me limb from limb, you shall get nothing more from me; nay, if I were at the stake and saw the torch lighting the fagots, I shall say naught else.” Joan was declared a heretic and a rebel; she was harassed to sign an abjuration, and a mock signature being forced from her, she was at first condemned to perpetual imprisonment. Part of her alleged crime was the wearing of man’s clothes, and after a struggle she refused to give this up. She was tried and retried, and at last forty judges agreed that she must be burned at the stake. A woman’s dress was put on her, and she was dragged to the place of execution. Her last wish was to have the cross, whereon God hung, kept continually in her sight as long as she lived. She was then done to death, and even the demon bishop was said for once to drop a tear as the inspired maid was in her last agony.

OUTBREAK OF THE HERMIT ZEAL (A.D. 340).

Egypt afforded the first example of the monastic life; and at the head of the new zealots for macerating the body in order to perfect the soul was Antony, an illiterate youth, born in 305. After rehearsing the solitary life in Thebais and searching for a suitable site in the desert, he settled on Mount Colzim, near the Red Sea. He was a friend of Athanasius, the champion of the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity. Others followed his example, and the region of the Nile soon swarmed with disciples. It was said that five thousand anchorites peopled the Desert of Nitria, south of Alexandria. Some thought that half of the population had taken to this sequestered mode of life, so that the old saying was repeated that in Egypt it was less difficult to find a god than a man. Athanasius introduced the knowledge and admiration of the monastic life to the Roman senators who began to take an interest in this new philosophy. A Syrian youth, named Hilarion, was incited by his enthusiasm to follow Antony’s example, and fix his cell on a sandy beach seven miles from Gaza, where he lived forty-eight years. Even Basil once spent some time in a savage solitude in Pontus. And Martin of Tours, who was soldier, hermit, bishop, and saint, established the monasteries of Gaul. The fame of these hermits filled the whole earth wherever a knowledge of Christianity had spread. This pilgrim, visiting Jerusalem, carried there the habits of the new models of Christian life, and members of wealthy families yielded to the fashion of piety. Jerome himself persuaded Paula and her daughter Eustochium to retire to Bethlehem and found monasteries, and pursue a system of rigid self-mortification.

FIRST BEGINNINGS OF MONASTIC LIFE (A.D. 340).

The monastic life, as a system, was not much known till the end of the fourth century. It has been conjectured that the circumstances of the Decian persecution, about the middle of the third century, caused many persons in Egypt to retreat for safety to the desert, and then, finding complete security, this became a second nature, the climate being mild and cells and cottages being easily constructed. There were at first only individuals here and there, and no regular society till the peaceable reign of Constantine, when Pachomius is said to have founded some monasteries in Thebais. Antony, the first hermit of note, gave a contemporary of Pachomius this account: “When I first became a monk, there was as yet no monastery in any part of the world where one man was obliged to take care of another, but every one of the ancient monks, when the persecution was ended, exercised the monastic life by himself in private. Afterwards Father Pachomius, by the help of God, brought the monks to live in communities.” Before 250 those who lived a lonely life were called ascetics. Hilarion, who was scholar to Antony, was the first monk who ever lived in Palestine or Syria. Not long after this new mode of life spread to Armenia, Paphlagonia, and Pontus; then it reached Thrace and parts of Europe. It was not till Athanasius came to Italy and Rome in 340 that he introduced this mode of society. Marcella was the first noble woman who took to this life at Rome, being instructed by Athanasius during the Arian persecution. Pelagius, about 400, introduced monastic life into Britain. Monks at first were laymen and not clergy, their office being not to teach but to mourn. It was not till after 1311 that Pope Clement obliged all monks to take holy orders, so that they might say private Mass for the honour of God.

THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTONY (A.D. 340).

St. Antony, the founder of the monastic life in Egypt, who died in 356, at the age of one hundred and four, soon after he began to live in the tombs as a hermit was found in a trance, and carried to a church as one dead. He afterwards related that in the night the devil had sent his legions to terrify him. They upraised so great a clamour that the whole place seemed to quake, and, as if bursting through the four walls of the cell, devils rushed in upon him from all sides, transformed in the guise of wild beasts and creeping things, and the place was straightway filled with spectres of lions, bears, leopards, bulls, serpents, asps, scorpions, and wolves, all of them in motion after their proper fashion,—the lion roaring as about to spring on him, the bull threatening to gore him, the serpent hissing, the wolf in the act of flying at him, but all in seeming only as under restraint, though dire were the noises and fierce the menaces of those phantoms crowding around him. And Antony mocked them and said, “Ye seek to terrify me with numbers, but this aping of wild beasts only proves your weakness. If you have any power, delay not, but come on; for faith in the Lord is my seal and my wall of salvation.” And they all gnashed their teeth at him, looking as if preparing to assail him. But the Lord meanwhile did not forget Antony, and came to his assistance. The saint, looking up, saw as it were the roof opened and a ray of light descending upon him. And the devils on a sudden disappeared; and the pain of his body was straightway assuaged, and the cell was clear as before. And Antony rose up and prayed, and received more strength than he ever had before.

ONE HERMIT VISITING ANOTHER (A.D. 340).

Ruffinus says that Macarius once went to visit Antony in the mountain, and, knocking at the door, Antony opened to him and asked, “Who art thou?” He answered, “I am Macarius.” And Antony, to prove him, shut the door and left him without, as if holding him in contempt, till, considering his patience, he opened and admitted him joyfully, saying, “Long have I heard of thy fame and desired to see thee.” And then he made ready, and they ate together in charity. And in the evening Antony wetted certain palm leaves to weave baskets with, and Macarius asked for some likewise to work along with him; and thus sitting and discoursing of things useful to the soul they made a mat of those leaves; and Antony, seeing that what Macarius had woven was well done, kissed his hands, and said, “Much virtue issues forth of these hands, my brother.”

A STARVED HERMIT AND THE BUNCH OF GRAPES.

Macarius the hermit, in order to subdue the rebellious flesh, remained six months in a marsh, and exposed his naked body to the attacks of African gnats. Once he was presented by a traveller with a bunch of grapes, at which he looked longingly; but on reflection he thought another brother was more worthy, to whom he gave them. That brother again remembered another still more worthy, and passed them on. The tempting cluster passed from hand to hand, from worthy to more worthy, until it came back once more to the hands of Macarius, who, not to be tempted overmuch by the devil, flung the morsel far out of his reach.

TWO HERMITS EXCHANGING COURTESIES OVER A LOAF (A.D. 340).

St. Jerome, in his Life of Paul, the first hermit, who for fifteen years never slept except standing against a wall, relates that Antony, hearing that there was a better hermit than himself, went across the desert to find him, and after many dangers at last saw a wolf enter a cave, and divined that this must be the cell of Paul. So he went in, and at the noise Paul shut his door; but Antony fell on his knees and prayed, and then besought admittance, which was granted. Paul then said, “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, which, flying gently down, deposited, to their wonder, a whole loaf for their use. When he was gone, “Ah!” said Paul, “the Lord, truly loving, truly merciful, has sent us a meal. For sixty years past I have received daily half a loaf, but at thy coming Christ has doubled his soldier’s allowance.” Then having thanked God, they sat down on the bank of a glassy spring. 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 raising to God the sacrifice of praise, they passed the night watching.

TWO HERMITS TRYING TO QUARREL (A.D. 350).

Ruffinus, in his Lives of the Fathers, relates that there were two ancient hermits who dwelt together and never quarrelled. At last one said to the other, with much simplicity, “Let us have a quarrel, as other men have.” And the other answering that he did not know how to quarrel, the first replied, “Look here, I will place this stone in the middle between you and me. I will say it is mine, and do you say that it is not true, for that it is yours; in this manner we will make a quarrel.” And placing the stone in the midst, he said, “This stone is mine.” And the other said, “No, it is mine.” And the first said, “If it be yours, then take it.” Not being able either to stamp and swear and blaspheme and slang and defame each other’s parents, and shake their fists or strike a blow at a venture at each other, they could not carry the conversation further, and the whole quarrel collapsed.

THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF HERMITS.

St. Jerome and others relate that a certain anchorite in Nitria having left one hundred crowns at his death, which he had acquired by weaving cloth, the monks of that desert met to deliberate what should be done with all that money. Some were for giving it to the poor, others to the Church; but Macarius, Pambo, Isidore, and others, who were called the Fathers, ordered that the one hundred crowns should be thrown into the grave and buried with the corpse of the deceased, and that, at the same time, the following words should be pronounced: “May thy money go with thee to perdition!” This example struck such a terror into all the monks that no one dared lay up any money.

THE WISE SAYINGS OF ST. PAMBO THE HERMIT (A.D. 350).

In the fourth century lived St. Pambo, who became a famous hermit, and practised rush-weaving. One day the blessed Melania took a fine present to him of a silver vessel, which he did not raise his head from his work even to acknowledge, and which caused her to ask if he knew its value. He replied, “He to whom it was offered need not that you should tell him.” Two Spanish brothers spent their fortune, one by building hospitals, and the other by giving it away and becoming an anchorite, and Pambo was asked which was the more perfect. His reply was, “Both are perfect before God: there are many roads to perfection, besides that which leads through the desert cell.” Some one gave Pambo gold to distribute in alms, and told him to count it. He answered, “God does not ask how much, but how!” He was on a visit at Alexandria, and there saw an actress perform. Pambo looked sad and observed, “Alas! how much less do I labour to please God than does this poor girl to delight the eyes of men!” He used to say that “a monk should only wear such a dress as no one would pick up, if thrown away.” When Pambo was on his deathbed, he said, “I thank God that not a day of my life has been spent in idleness; never have I eaten bread that I have not earned with the sweat of my brow. I thank God that I do not recall any bitter speech I have made, for which I ought to repent now.” It is said that Pambo, on beginning his own career, consulted Antony how to act, and the latter gave this advice: “Never trust in your own merits; never trouble yourself about transitory affairs; keep a check on your stomach, and learn to hold your tongue.” And Pambo acted strictly on these lines.

A HERMIT CULTIVATING AN OLIVE TREE (A.D. 350).

Mr. Baring-Gould says that Meffreth, a German priest of Meissen, in 1443, told, in one of his sermons, this story of a hermit: There was once an aged hermit in the Egyptian Desert, who thought it would be well with him if he had an olive tree near his cave. So he planted a little tree; and thinking it might want water, he prayed to God for rain; and so rain came and watered his olive. Then he thought that some warm sunshine would do good and swell its buds; so he prayed, and the sun shone out. Now the nursling looked feeble, and the old man deemed it would do good if some frost would come and harden it. He prayed for frost, and hoarfrost settled that night on its branches. Next he thought a hot southerly wind would benefit his tree, and, after praying, the south wind blew upon the olive tree. And then it died. Some little while after, the hermit visited a brother hermit, and lo! by his cell door there grew a flourishing olive tree. “How came that goodly plant here, brother?” asked the unsuccessful hermit. “I planted it, and God blessed it as it grew.” “Ah! brother, I, too, planted an olive, and when I thought it wanted water I asked God to give it rain, and the rain came; and when I thought it needed sun, I asked, and the sun shone; and when I thought it needed strengthening, I prayed, and the frost came. God gave me all I demanded for my tree, as I saw fit, and yet it is dead.” “And I, brother,” replied the other hermit, “left my tree in God’s hands, for He knew what it wanted better than I.”

MACARIUS STUNG BY A GNAT (A.D. 380).

Ruffinus, in his Life of the hermit Macarius, says that that holy man, sitting one day in his cell and feeling himself bitten in the foot by a gnat, put his hand to the place, and, finding the gnat, killed it. On seeing the blood he blamed himself, as it seemed to him he had revenged himself for the injury received. For this thing and in order to learn meekness he went into the utmost solitude of the wilderness called Scilis, where those gnats are largest and most venomous. He lived there for six months naked, that he might be stung by them; and at the end of that time he returned so disfigured and wounded that he was unrecognisable save by his voice, being covered all over with boils and blisters, so that he lost all shape and appeared leprous.

ST. MARTIN, BISHOP OF TOURS, HERMIT MONK (A.D. 380).

St. Martin of Tours, who died 397, was from infancy devout, but was obliged to enter the army, owing to a decree of the Emperor. While in the army, one very cold and frosty day a poor naked and shivering beggar stood near the gate of Amiens; and as none relieved him, St. Martin, having already given away all he had, took off his own cloak, and with his sword cut it in two, giving one half to the beggar and keeping the other. The bystanders laughed at the figure of the saint; but the following night in his sleep he was astonished to see Jesus Christ appear to him dressed in the beggar’s half of the cloak, and asked if he knew it. Jesus then said to a troop of angels attending him, “Martin, yet a catechumen, has clothed Me with this garment.” This vision encouraged the saint to persevere in his course. He soon left the army, went into a monastery, and afterwards became a bishop. He had many visions and had great insight into impostors. One day when he was praying in his cell, the devil came to him environed with light and clothed in royal robes, with a crown of gold and precious stones upon his head, and with a gracious and pleasant countenance told Martin how that he was Christ. Martin looked hard at him and said, “The Lord Jesus said not that He was to come clothed with purple and crowned and adorned with a diadem. Nor will I ever believe Him to be Christ who shall not come in the habit and figure in which Christ suffered, and who shall not bear the marks of the cross in his body.” At these words the fiend vanished and left in his cell an intolerable stench. The bishop died of a fever at the age of eighty, and insisted in his last days on lying among ashes and in a hair shirt, refusing any comforts; for he said, “It becomes not a Christian to die otherwise than on ashes.” Thousands of monks and virgins and the whole population, with hymns, carried his body to its resting-place.

DOROTHEUS, THE HERMITS’ ARCHITECT (A.D. 440).

Sozomen, who wrote his history about 440, says that about two thousand monks dwelt near Alexandria in a district called the Hermitage. Dorotheus, a native of Thebes, was among the most celebrated of these. He spent the day in collecting stones upon the seashore, which he used in erecting cells for those who were unable to build them. During the night he employed himself in weaving baskets of palm leaves, and these he sold to obtain the means of subsistence. He ate six ounces of bread with a few vegetables daily, and drank nothing but water. Having accustomed himself to this extreme abstinence from his youth, he continued to observe it in old age. He was never seen to recline on a mat or a bed, nor even to place his limbs in an easy attitude for sleep. Sometimes from natural lassitude his eyes would involuntarily close when he was at his daily labour or his meals, and the food would drop on the way to his mouth. One day Piammon, a presbyter, was conducting the service, and said that he noticed an angel standing near the altar, and writing down the names of the monks who were present and erasing the names of those who were absent.

ST. PŒMEN, THE PRINCE OF HERMITS (A.D. 450).

The prince of the desert, the chief of the solitaries and the fellow-citizen of angels, as he was long called, was St. Pœmen, an Egyptian who flourished in 450. He had six brothers, and they all had a turn for fasting and self-mortifications, and retired to the desert and lived there, scorning the indulgences of ordinary life. All the people round soon confessed that Pœmen was the greatest hermit of his time, and his sayings were quoted over all Christendom. A monk who suffered from violent temptations consulted Pœmen how to overcome his evil temper, and was told to retire into the desert and wrestle there with his temper and conquer it. The monk said, “But, father, how if I were to die without Sacraments in the wild waste?” To this Pœmen answered, “Do you think God would not receive you, coming from the battle-field?” Another monk, perplexed where to live and how to act, asked Pœmen whether he should live in community or in solitude. Pœmen replied, “Wherever you find yourself humble-minded, there you may settle down and dwell with security.” Another monk went a long journey to see and consult Pœmen, and began to talk about subtle theological niceties. Pœmen looked grave and silent, till the visitor departed, expressing his disgust at coming so far for nothing. Pœmen observed on this afterwards, “This anchorite flies far above my reach. He sails up to heaven, while I creep along the earth. If he would talk about our passions and infirmities and how to overcome them, then we should have some subject in common to talk about.” Another time Pœmen, asked by a troublesome monk to tell him what was a living faith, replied, “A living faith consists in thinking little of oneself and showing tenderness to others.” He also once said, “A warm heart, boiling with charity, is not troubled with temptations, any more than with the flies hovering round it. When the caldron cools, then the flies collect and swarm round it.” Pœmen lived to one hundred and ten, and had no equal in his time.

ST. MOYSES, WATER-CARRIER TO THE SICK HERMITS (A.D. 470).

St. Moyses of the tenth century was a brawny negro slave who had escaped from his master and lived for a time by rapine and murder. In one of his hairbreadth escapes he took refuge among the hermits, and began to see great merit in them, and tried to live like them and conquer his own furious passions. He consulted the Abbot Isidore, who told him this enterprise would take some time. Moyses said he would wait and try, and he became a priest. In order to give himself exercise and tame his evil spirit, he made a practice of regularly going round the cells of the hermits, and wherever he found one sick he would go and fetch water and fill his pitcher. And this he would do at any hour of the night and go any distance. One night, in stooping over a pool and filling a hermit’s pitcher, he was doubled up with an attack of lumbago, and thought the devil had given him a sudden stroke with a club. Moyses lay groaning with pain till next morning, when he was carried to a church, and there people took care of him. He was many months disabled, but on recovery at once resumed his work. One day, the governor hearing of Moyses and being curious to see him, met Moyses, and asked where that famous hermit Moyses lived. Moyses replied, “He’s not worth visiting, for he is only a fool.” The governor related this to the monks at the nearest monastery, and said that the man who thus answered him was a huge old black fellow, covered with rags. The monks thereupon all exclaimed, “That was Moyses himself; it could be no other.”

A HERMIT DEVISING NEW AUSTERITIES (A.D. 479).

In 479 Barnadatus, a Syrian monk, devised some new ways of self-mortification. First he shut himself up in a small chamber; and then, ascending a mountain, he made for himself a wooden box, in which he could not stand upright, and was always confined to a stooping posture. This box having no close covering, he was exposed to the wind, to the rain, and to the sun, and for a long time dwelt in this incommodious house. Afterwards he always stood upright, stretching up his hands to heaven, covered with a garment of skin, with only a small aperture to draw his breath. James, another contemporary monk, lived at first in a small hut, and afterwards in the open air, with only heaven for his covering, enduring the extremes of heat and cold. He had iron chains round his neck and waist, and four other chains hung down from his neck, two before and two behind. He had also chains about his arms. His only food was lentils. For three days and nights he was often so covered with snow, whilst he was prostrate and praying, that he could hardly be seen. This man, according to Theodoret, was celebrated for the many miracles which he wrought.

HERMIT ST. CARILEFF REFUSING A QUEEN’S VISIT (A.D. 540).

St. Carileff was a monk at Menat, near Clermont, and died about 540. He early became dissatisfied with his monastery, and resolved to penetrate farther into the forest, and live a more retired and perfect life. He and a companion went to reconnoitre, and in a remote corner came upon an old neglected vineyard, where they thought of settling down. One hot day the saint was working and had hung his hood on an oak tree, and on returning to resume it he found a wren had laid an egg in it. So the good hermit rejoiced and left his hood, so as not to disturb the tiny creature’s nest. When he reported to his abbot this circumstance, the latter said, “This is no accident; return thither, and there a monastery shall arise some day.” Carileff returned and settled in the old vineyard, and he gained the confidence of other animals besides the wren; for a large buffalo used to come to his cell and let him rub his shaggy neck, and then it galloped back into the forest. One day the king heard of this splendid buffalo roaming about, and made up a hunting party to secure it. But it took refuge in the hermit’s cell; and the huntsmen, hot with pursuit, were so amazed at seeing the great monarch of the forest standing thus peaceably beside its protector, that they acknowledged the man of God’s superior power, and ended by giving him a grant of lands to build a monastery there. When the king told this story, the queen was eager to visit the holy recluse, and sent a message; but he most peremptorily refused to see her, saying, “As long as I live I shall never see the face of a woman, and no woman shall ever enter my cell. Why should this queen be so anxious to see a man disfigured by fasting and toil, and as brown as a chameleon? I will pray for her. A monk has no need of great possessions, nor has she of a monk’s blessing. But his blessing she shall have, if she will only leave him alone.”

THE FIRST SAXON HERMIT (A.D. 708).

Fuller, in his “Church History,” says: “St. Guthlake, a Benedictine monk in 708, was the first Saxon that professed a hermitical life in England, to which purpose he chose a fenny place in Lincolnshire called Crowland—that is, the ‘raw or crude land’; so raw, indeed, that before him no man could digest to live therein. Yea, the devils are said to claim this place as their peculiar, and to call it their own land. Could those infernal fiends, tortured with immaterial fire, take any pleasure or make any ease to themselves by paddling here in puddles and dabbling in the moist dirty marshes? However, Guthlake took the boldness to ‘enter common’ with them, and erect his cell in Crowland. But if his prodigious life may be believed, ducks and mallards do not now flock thither faster in September than herds of devils came about him, all whom he is said victoriously to have vanquished. After the example of Moses and Elias, he fasted forty days and nights, till, finding this project destructive to nature, he was forced in his own defence to take some necessary but very sparing refection. He died in his own cell; and Pega, his sister, an anchoritess, led a solitary life not far from him.”

ST. GUTHLAC, HERMIT OF CROYLAND (A.D. 708).

This St. Guthlac, according to his biographer, after he had been two years living in a monastery, began to long for the wilderness and a hermitage. Being directed to a fen of immense size in the east of England, he met a man named Tatwaine, who told him of an island which many had attempted to inhabit, but no man could do it on account of manifold horrors and fears and the loneliness of the wide wilderness, so that no man could endure it and fled from it. The holy man at once selected and went through the wild fens till he came to a spot called Croyland. It was a place of accursed spirits; but he was strengthened with heavenly support, and vowed that he would serve God on that island all the days of his life. He used neither woollen nor linen garments, but was clothed in skins; and he tasted nothing but barley bread and water. He was sorely tempted by the devil; but at last the ravens, the beasts, and the fishes came to obey him. Once a venerable brother named Wilfred visited him, and they held many discourses on the spiritual life, when suddenly two swallows came flying in, and, behold, they raised up their song rejoicing. And often they sat fearlessly on the shoulders of the holy man Guthlac, and then lifted up their song, and afterwards they sat on his bosom and on his arms and his knees. When Wilfred had long beheld with wonder the birds so submissively sitting with him, he asked the reason, and Guthlac answered him thus: “Hast thou never learned, brother Wilfred, in Holy Writ, that he who hath led his life after God’s will, the wild beasts and birds have made friends with him? And the man who would separate himself from worldly thoughts, to him the very angels come near.” When Guthlac died in due time, angelic songs were heard in the sky, and all the air had a wondrous odour of exceeding sweetness.

ST. SIMEON STYLITES (A.D. 459).

St. Simeon Stylites, who immortalised himself by living on a high pillar, flourished about 459, was the son of a shepherd, and in his youth displayed a genius for mortifications of the flesh. He begged admittance to a monastery, and at once outdid all the monks there; for while they ate only once a day, he ate only once a week, and that on Sunday. He at a later stage passed the forty days of each Lent without eating or drinking. Not content with a hermitage, he built himself a small unroofed enclosure of rude stones, on a high mountain forty miles east of Antioch, exposed to the weather. Crowds began to flock to see him and get his benediction. He next built a pillar six cubits high, and lived on it four years. He gradually raised higher pillars; and the fourth time he made a pillar of forty cubits (sixty feet) high, on which he spent his last twenty years of life. It was only three feet in diameter at the top, so that he might not have even the luxury of lying down or sitting. He sometimes prayed in an erect attitude, with his outstretched arms in the figure of a cross; but his most familiar practice was that of bending his meagre skeleton from the forehead to the feet. He bowed his body in continual prayer, and a visitor once counted twelve hundred and forty-four reverences of adoration made by him in one day. He made exhortations to the people twice a day. He died at sixty-nine in the act of prayer on his pillar, and the bishops and all the people round attended his burial, and many miracles were said to have been worked that day in testimony of his sanctity.

A PILLAR MONK IN WESTERN CLIMATES (A.D. 591).

In 591 Vulfilaic, a monk of Lombardy, had a pillar erected for him at Treves, and stood upon it barefoot, enduring great hardship in the winter. The bishops therefore compelled him to come down and to live like other monks, telling him that the severity of the climate would not permit him to imitate the great Simeon of Antioch. He obeyed his superiors, but with tears and reluctance. And this, says Fleury, is the only instance that we know of a stylites or pillar monk in the Western world.

ST. HERBERT, THE HERMIT OF DERWENTWATER (A.D. 650).

Herbert was a monk of Lindisfarne or of Melrose at the same time as St. Cuthbert, by whose advice he retired to the island in Derwentwater, which is five miles long and one and a half miles broad, and lived there. He used to meet St. Cuthbert once every year; and at their meeting about 687 that saint, being then Bishop of Lindisfarne, said to him on parting, “Remember at this time, brother Herbert, to ask and say to me all that you wish, for after our parting now we shall not see each other with the eyes of the flesh in this world; for I know that the time of my departure is at hand, and that I must shortly put off this tabernacle.” On this Herbert, falling at his feet with groans and tears, said, “For our Lord’s sake, I beseech you not to leave me, but remember your most faithful companion, and entreat the mercy of Heaven that we who have together served Him on earth may pass together to behold His grace and glory in the heavens. You know I have always studied to live according to your direction; and if from ignorance or infirmity I have in any point failed, I have taken pains to chastise and amend my fault according to the decision of your will.” The bishop bent in prayer, and being immediately informed by the Spirit that his request was granted, said, “Rise up, my brother, and do not mourn, but rather rejoice greatly, for the mercy of Heaven has granted what we asked.” They separated, and never again met; for on March 20th, 687, their spirits, departing from the body, were immediately united in the blessed vision of each other, and by the ministry of angels translated to the kingdom of heaven. In 1374 the then Bishop of Carlisle directed that the anniversary of these saints’ death should be commemorated by the vicar of Crosthwaite, with a choir chanting the Mass of St. Cuthbert on this St. Herbert’s isle.

ST. ETHELWALD, HERMIT AT FARNE (A.D. 700).

St. Cuthbert, the first hermit of Farne, near Holy Island, was succeeded by Edelwald about 700, and next by Felgund, who told the following anecdote to the Venerable Bede: The walls of St. Cuthbert’s oratory in Farne, being composed of planks somewhat carelessly put together, had become loose and tottering by age, and the planks left an opening to the weather. The venerable man, whose aim was rather the splendour of the heavenly than of an earthly mansion, had taken hay or clay or whatever he could get, and filled up the crevices, that he might not be disturbed from the earnestness of his prayers by the daily violence of the winds and storms. When Ethelwald entered and saw these contrivances, he begged the brethren who came thither to give him a calf’s skin, and fastened it with nails in the corner where himself and his predecessor used to kneel or stand when they prayed, as a protection against the storm. Twelve years after, he also ascended to the joys of the heavenly kingdom, and Felgund became the third inhabitant of the place. It then seemed good to the Bishop of Lindisfarne to restore from its foundation the time-worn oratory. This being done, many devout persons begged of Christ’s holy servant Felgund to give them a small portion of the relics of God’s servants Cuthbert and Ethelwald. He accordingly determined to cut up the above-named calf’s skin into pieces, and give a portion to each. But he first experienced the influence on his own person, for his face was much deformed by a swelling and a red patch. The malady increased, and fearing lest he should be obliged to abandon the solitary life and return to the monastery, presuming in his faith, he trusted to heal himself by the aid of those holy men whose house he dwelt in, and whose holy life he sought to imitate; for he steeped a piece of the skin above mentioned in water and washed his face therewith, whereupon the swelling was immediately healed, and the cicatrice disappeared. “This I was told,” says Bede, “in the first instance by a priest of the monastery of Jarrow, who said he knew Felgund, and saw his face before and after the cure, and Felgund also told me the same. This he ascribed to the agency of the Almighty grace.” The Venerable Bede says he was told also of another miracle by one of the brothers on whom it was wrought, namely Guthrid, who narrated as follows: “I came to the island of Farne to speak with the reverend father Ethelwald. Having been refreshed with his discourse, and taken his blessing, as we were returning home, on a sudden when we were in the midst of the sea, there ensued so dismal a tempest that neither the sails nor the oars were of any use to us, nor had we anything to expect but death. After long struggling with the wind and waves to no effect, we looked behind us to see if we could return, and then we observed on the island of Farne Father Ethelwald, beloved of God, come out of his cavern to watch our course. When he beheld us in distress and despair, he bowed his knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ in prayer for our life and safety, upon which the swelling sea was calmed, so that the storm ceased on all sides, and a fair wind attended us to the very shore. When we had landed, the storm which had ceased for a short time for our sakes immediately returned, and raged continually during the whole day; so that it plainly appeared that the brief cessation of the storm had been granted from Heaven, at the request of the man of God, in order that we might escape.” Ethelwald lived twelve years on the island of Farne, and at his death his remains were taken to Lindisfarne and buried beside his master, St. Cuthbert. Here they remained two centuries till the Danes frightened the holy household, when they were taken away, and at last in the tenth century were buried under the shadow of the new cathedral at Durham.

AN ENGLISH QUEEN CONSULTING A HERMIT ON FAMILY TROUBLES (A.D. 1082).

Matilda of Flanders, the wife of William the Conqueror, being greatly distressed by the constant quarrels between the King and her favourite son Robert, sent to a German hermit of great sanctity, entreating his prayers and advice. The hermit gave his answer thus: “Tell your mistress I have prayed in her behalf, and the Most High has made known to me in a dream the things she desires to learn. I saw in my vision a beautiful pasture covered with grass and flowers, and a noble charger feeding therein. A numerous herd gathered round about, eager to enter and share the feast, but the fiery charger would not permit them to approach near enough to crop the flowers and herbage. But alas! the majestic steed in the midst of his pride and courage died, the terror of his presence ceased, and a poor silly steer appeared in his place as the guardian of the pasture. Then the throng of meaner animals, who had hitherto feared his approach, rushed in and trampled the flowers and grass beneath their feet, and that which they could not devour they defiled and destroyed.” The hermit then explained that the steed was William the Conqueror, the silly steer was Robert, and added, “Illustrious lady, if, after hearing the words of the vision in which the Lord has vouchsafed to reply to my prayers, you do not labour to restore the peace of Normandy, you will henceforth behold nothing but misery, the death of your royal spouse, the ruin of all your race, and the desolation of your beloved country.” It is said that this answer of the hermit gave no comfort to the Queen, who redoubled her prayers and penitential exercises, but drooped and soon died of a broken heart at the age of fifty-one. She was buried at Caen in a convent.

A THOROUGHLY CONSCIENTIOUS HERMIT (A.D. 1138).

The blessed Schetzelo was a hermit about 1138, living in the woods near Luxemburg, feeding on roots and acorns. His clothing was so scanty as to be scarcely decent; and St. Bernard, who greatly respected him, sent his monks with a present of a shirt and a pair of drawers. Schetzelo at once put them on, but on reflection he pulled them off again, saying that he found he could do without them, and that it was his earnest desire to live without superfluities. The monks asked him if he had suffered many temptations in his time. “Yes,” he answered; “the life of man is one long series of temptations.” And he then told them how he had once given way, and how heavily he felt the bitterness of self-reproach ever since. One winter, he said, he was lying out in the snow, and the drift covered all his body except the face, where his breath had melted a hole. A poor, half-frozen rabbit, seeking shelter, jumped into the hole and crouched on the hermit’s breast. He was moved first to laughter, and then to compassion and pleasure, for the little creature, benumbed with cold, suffered him to stroke its fur; and so, said Schetzelo, “when I ought to have been praying and meditating, I was playing with the rabbit under the snow.”

ST. BARTHOLOMEW, THE HERMIT OF FARNE (A.D. 1151).

St. Bartholomew, in 1151, was living quietly as a monk in the cathedral monastery at Durham, when St. Cuthbert appeared to him in a dream and bade him go to the island of Farne, near Holy Island, and there live as a hermit. He went off with the prayers of all the convent, and took up his abode and lived sequestered from the world. He found, however, another monk there before him, called Ebwin, who was very jealous of the newcomer; but Bartholomew endured all the scoffs and reproaches patiently, and at last Ebwin left the place entirely to him. Bartholomew had a cow and a little patch of ground on which he grew barley. He also caught fish occasionally, and filled up the pauses with chanting psalms and hymns, repeating the whole Psalter once, twice, and thrice every day. He was charmed to watch the seagulls and cormorants, his only companions. He would allow no passing sailor to throw stones at these birds. He even tamed one, which came regularly to feed out of his hand every day. One day when he was out fishing, a hawk pursued this poor bird into the chapel and killed it, leaving only the feathers and bones lying on the portal of the holy place. The assassin, however, could not find its way out of the chapel, and kept wheeling round and round, beating against the windows and walls. Brother Bartholomew entered at last and found the cruel bird with its bloody talons, looking shameless and helpless. He mourned bitterly over the fate of his poor favourite and caught the hawk. He kept it two days without food to punish it for its crime, and then, seized with compassion, let go the guilty prisoner. Another time the saint was sitting on the seashore, when he was surprised to feel a cormorant close by his side, pulling with its bill the corner of his garment. He rose and followed the bird along the beach till he came to a hole in the rock, down which one of the young ones had fallen. He soon extricated the trembling creature and restored it to its mother. After living forty-two years in this way, one night one of the brethren at Lindisfarne dreamed that Bartholomew was dead. He immediately aroused the convent, and a party of monks at once sailed across to Farne, and sure enough the holy hermit was lying in his stone coffin, having just died at the time indicated by the dreamer.

A FRENCH KING ON HIS DEATHBED SENDS FOR A HERMIT (1483).

When Louis XI. of France was in his last illness, in 1483, and his sufferings awoke in him remorse for many crimes, he gathered round him all the most famous relics which could be procured—among others, the holy phial, which had never been removed from Rheims since the time of Clovis (656). He entreated Pope Sixtus IV. to send him any relics to relieve his agonies, and liberal supplies were given. The King also sent for hermits and other holy men, in the hope that their intercessions for his life might prevail. The most renowned of the holy men of the period was Francis of Paola, in Calabria, who was born with one eye; but his mother had vowed that, if the other eye might be granted to him, he should become a Franciscan. And her desire was fulfilled. Though utterly illiterate, he became a Minorite friar, and soon withdrew to live in a cave, where the austerity of his life and his supposed miraculous powers made him famous. When Louis first sent a message to Francis, the latter refused; but the Pope interposed and commanded him. The hermit passed through Rome, and caused great excitement, and led the Pope to give leave to Francis to found a society of “Hermits of St. Francis.” On reaching the French Court, Francis was received with as much honour as if he had been the Pope himself. Louis could not live without his company, knelt before him, hung on his words, and entreated the holy man to spare his life, even if for a little longer. Rich rewards were heaped on the hermit, and even convents founded in his honour, the members of which were called Minims, owing to their habit of self-abasement. After a few weeks Louis died, notwithstanding the hermit’s merit.

CONSECRATION OF HERMITS AND RECLUSES.

The great idea of the hermit life was to live entirely alone, though some hermits lived in small communities in one district in close neighbourhood. Pope Innocent IV., in the middle of the thirteenth century, enrolled these into a separate order with the rule of St. Augustine, and hence called Austin Friars. There were also two grades of hermits. Hermits occasionally visited their fellow-men, but those called recluses abstained from any such visits. The female solitaries were usually recluses. The English hermit of the Middle Ages lived more luxuriously than the foreign hermit, and sometimes had one or two servants to wait upon him in the hermitage, which was often a comfortable house. The usual garb of a hermit was a brown frock with girdle, and over it an ample gown or cloak with hood. A man latterly could not become a recognised hermit without consecration by a bishop, which was a religious service, and he was assigned a district. The service for blessing a hermit consisted of prayers and psalms and a gift of the eremitical habit. Some hermitages had cells to accommodate more than one, as the hermitage at Wetheral, near Carlisle, cut out of the face of a rock one hundred feet high, nearly midway. These hermits and recluses lived in places where alms were likely to be found, and an almsbox was hung up for receiving gifts. The bishop, before giving his licence, usually satisfied himself that alms would be forthcoming sufficient for maintenance. Some female recluses had a room or anchor-house assigned to them near a church or in a churchyard, as was the case at St. Julian, Norwich, and other places, so that the benefit of hearing or seeing Mass was available. In the latter days anchoresses were blamed as having too great a tendency to gossip. Their founder and patroness was Judith, and the first who made any formal rule for their mode of life was one Grimlac, who lived about A.D. 900.