Sulpicius Severus, Life of St Martin

THE BOOK OF SULPICIUS SEVERUS ON THE LIFE OF BLESSED MARTIN, IN ONE BOOK.

THE AUTHOR'S LETTER TO DESIDERIUS ON THE BOOK OF THE LIFE OF BLESSED MARTIN.

Severus to his dearest Desiderius, greeting.

I indeed, brother of one mind with me, had resolved to keep the little book which I had written on the life of Saint Martin pressed within its own sheets, and to confine it within the walls of my house; because, being weak by nature, I was shunning the judgements of men, lest (as I think will happen) its rather unpolished style should displease its readers, and I should be judged most deserving of everyone's censure, as one who had shamelessly seized upon a subject that ought rightly to have been reserved for eloquent writers: but I could not refuse you when you asked so often. For what would there be that I would not spend for your love, even to the loss of my own modesty? Yet I have published the little book to you in the confidence that I believe it is to be betrayed to no one by you, because you promised this. But I fear lest you will be a door for it, and that once let out it cannot be called back; and if this should happen, and you see it being read by some, you will ask of the readers, with their good leave, that it be the matter rather than the words

HERE BEGINS THE BOOK.

I. Very many mortals, vainly given over to zeal and worldly glory, have sought from it a lasting memory of their name, as they supposed, if they had made illustrious with their pen the lives of famous men. This thing indeed brought not a lasting fruit, yet some little fruit of the hope they had conceived: because they both spread the memory of themselves, though in vain, and, by the examples of great men set before them, no small emulation was roused in their readers. But nevertheless this care of theirs had nothing to do with that blessed and eternal life. For what did the glory of their writings, which was to perish with the world, profit the writers themselves? Or what profit did posterity gain by reading of Hector fighting, or Socrates philosophizing

they weigh, and bear it with an even mind if a faulty style should perhaps strike their ears: because the kingdom of God consists not in eloquence but in faith. Let them remember too that salvation was preached to the world not by orators but by fishermen; though certainly, had it been useful, the Lord could have provided this as well. For when I first turned my mind to writing, because I thought it a wrong that the virtues of so great a man should lie hidden, I settled with myself that I would not blush at solecisms: for I had never attained any great knowledge of these matters; and if perhaps I had once tasted something of these studies, I had lost it all through the disuse of so long a time. But nevertheless, so that so troublesome a defence may not await us, let the little book be published, if you think fit, with the name suppressed. That this may be done, scrape the title off its front, so that the page may be mute; or, which is enough, let it speak of the subject, and not speak of the author.

since not only is it folly to imitate them, but it is madness not also to attack them most sharply: inasmuch as they, valuing human life by present deeds alone, gave their hopes to fables and their souls to the tomb; for they believed that they were to be made perpetual only in the memory of men; whereas it is man's duty to seek a lasting life rather than a lasting memory, not by writing or fighting or philosophizing, but by living piously, holily and religiously. This human error, handed down in writing, has indeed prevailed so far that it has found many open emulators either of empty philosophy or of that foolish virtue. Hence I think I shall do something worth the effort if I write out the life

of a most holy man, which will presently serve as an example to others: by which readers will surely be roused to true wisdom, to heavenly warfare and to divine virtue. In this we take account of our own advantage too, in such a way that we look not for an empty memory from men, but for an eternal reward from God: for though we ourselves have not so lived that we could be an example to others, we have nevertheless taken pains that he who ought to be imitated should not lie hidden. I shall begin, then, to write the life of Saint Martin, how he conducted himself both before his episcopate and in his episcopate. Yet I could by no means reach all his deeds, so much are those things unknown of which he alone was conscious to himself; for, not seeking praise from men, he would have wished, as far as lay in him, all his virtues to lie hidden. And indeed even of those things which had been ascertained by us we have left out a good many, because we believed it would be enough if only the more excellent were noted. At the same time regard had to be paid to the readers, lest an accumulated abundance should breed weariness in them. But I beseech those who are to read it to give credence to what is said, and not to think that I have written anything save what was ascertained and proved: otherwise I would rather have kept silent than say what is false.

II. Martin, then, was born at Sabaria, a town of the Pannonias, but was brought up within Italy at Ticinum, of parents not of the lowest rank by the world's standing, but pagans. His father was first a soldier, afterwards a tribune of the soldiers. He himself followed armed service in his youth, and served among the guard cavalry squadrons under the emperor Constantius, then under Julian Caesar: yet not of his own will, because from almost his earliest years the holy childhood of the illustrious boy breathed rather after the service of God. For when he was ten years old he fled to the church against his parents' will, and asked to be made a catechumen. Soon, wonderfully turned wholly to the work of God, when he was twelve years old he longed for the desert; and he would have satisfied his desires had not the weakness of his age stood in the way. Yet his mind, always intent either upon the monasteries or upon the church, was already pondering in boyhood what he afterwards fulfilled in devotion. But when it had been decreed by the emperors that the sons of veterans should be enrolled for military service, he was betrayed by his father, who begrudged his happy deeds, and at fifteen years of age was seized and put in chains and bound by the military oath, content with a single slave as his companion; yet, the roles reversed, the master served him, so much so that for the most part he himself took off his boots and himself cleaned them; they took their food together, yet it was the master who more often served it. For about three years before his baptism he was under arms, yet untouched by those vices in which that class of men is commonly entangled. Great was his kindness towards his fellow soldiers, wonderful his charity, and his patience and humility beyond human measure. For there is no need to praise his frugality, which he so practised that even at that time he was thought not a soldier but a monk. By these things he had so bound all his fellow soldiers to himself that they revered him with wonderful affection. Though not yet regenerated in Christ, he was acting as a kind of

candidate for baptism by good works: namely, standing by those in trouble, bringing help to the wretched, feeding the needy, clothing the naked: keeping back for himself nothing from his soldier's pay beyond his daily food, already then no deaf hearer of the Gospel, he took no thought for the morrow.

III. So at a certain time, when he now had nothing but his arms and his plain soldier's garment, in midwinter (which had set in harsher than usual, so that the force of the cold was killing many), he met at the gate of the city of the Ambiani a naked poor man: and when he begged the passers-by to have pity on him, and all passed the wretched man by, the man full of God understood that, since the others were showing no mercy, the poor man was being kept for him. Yet what was he to do? He had nothing but the cloak in which he was clad: for he had already spent the rest on a like work. So, seizing the sword with which he was girt, he divided it through the middle, and gave a part of it to the poor man, and put on the remainder again. Meanwhile some of the bystanders began to laugh, because he seemed unsightly in his cut-down garment: yet many, who were of sounder mind, groaned more deeply because they had done nothing of the kind, when, having more, they could surely have clothed the poor man without nakedness of their own. Then on the following night, when he had given himself to sleep, he saw Christ clothed in the part of his cloak with which he had covered the poor man. He is bidden to look most attentively at the Lord, and to recognize the garment he had given. Presently he hears Jesus saying in a clear voice to the multitude of angels standing round: Martin, still a catechumen, has covered Me with this garment. Truly mindful of His own words (He Who had foretold: As long as you did it to one of these least, you did it to Me), the Lord declared that He had been clothed in the poor man; and to confirm His witness to so good a work, He deigned to show Himself in the same garment that the poor man had received. When he saw this, the most blessed man was not lifted up to human glory, but, recognizing the goodness of God in his own work, at eighteen years of age he hastened to baptism. Yet he did not at once renounce military service, overcome by the entreaties of his tribune, to whom he was a close tent-companion; for the tribune promised that when the term of his tribunate was over he would renounce the world. Held in suspense by this expectation, Martin served for about two years after he had obtained baptism, though in name only.

IV. Meanwhile, as the barbarians were breaking into the Gauls, Julian Caesar, having gathered the army together at the city of the Vangiones, began to pay out a bounty to the soldiers: and, as is the custom, they were called up one by one, until it came to Martin. Then indeed, thinking it the opportune time to ask for his discharge (for he judged it would not be honest of him to take the bounty if he was not going to serve): Up to now, he said to Caesar, I have served you: allow me now to serve God: let him who is going to fight take your bounty: I am a soldier of Christ; it is not lawful for me to fight. Then indeed the tyrant raged against this speech, saying that it was from fear of the battle which was to take place the next day,

that he was refusing military service, not for the sake of religion. But Martin, undaunted, indeed the firmer for the terror brought against him, said: If this is put down to cowardice and not to faith, tomorrow I will stand unarmed before the battle line, and in the name of the Lord Jesus, protected by the sign of the cross, not by shield or helmet, I will go safely through the wedges of the enemy. He is ordered therefore to be thrust back into custody, so that he should make good his words by being thrown unarmed to the barbarians. The next day the enemy sent envoys about peace, surrendering all their goods and themselves. Hence who could doubt that this was truly the victory of the blessed man, to whom it was granted that he should not be sent unarmed into battle? And although the merciful Lord could have kept His soldier safe even amid the swords and weapons of the enemy, yet, lest the Saint's gaze should be violated even by the death of others, He took away the necessity of fighting: for Christ owed His soldier no other victory than that, the enemy being subdued without bloodshed, no one should die.

V. Then, having left military service, he sought out Saint Hilary, bishop of the city of Poitiers, whose faith in the things of God was at that time held to be proved and known; and he stayed with him for some time. Now this same Hilary tried, by laying on him the office of deacon, to bind him more closely to himself and to bind him to the divine ministry. But when he had very often resisted, crying out that he was unworthy, the man of deeper understanding perceived that he could be constrained only in this way, if he laid on him an office in which there might seem to be some place for humiliation. So he directed him to be an exorcist, an ordination which Martin did not refuse, lest he should seem to have despised it as too lowly. Not long after, being admonished in sleep to visit with religious solicitude his homeland and his parents, whom paganism still held, he set out with the consent of Saint Hilary, being bound by him with many prayers and tears to return. He entered upon that journey sorrowful, as they say, solemnly telling the brethren that he would suffer many adversities; which the outcome afterwards proved. And first, following byways in the Alps, he fell among robbers; and when one of them had raised an axe and poised a blow at his head, another held back the striker's right hand; yet, with his hands bound behind his back, he is handed over to one of them to be guarded and stripped. When this man had led him to a more remote place, he began to ask him who he was; he answered that he was a Christian. He asked him also whether he was afraid. Then indeed he declares most steadfastly that he had never been so free from care, because he knew that the mercy of the Lord would be present above all in trials: rather, he grieved for him, who, as one who practised robbery, was unworthy of the mercy of Christ; and entering upon a discourse on the Gospel he preached the word of God to the robber. Why should I delay longer? The robber believed, and escorting Martin restored him to the road, begging him to pray the Lord for him. And the same man was afterwards seen leading a religious life: so much so that what we have related above is said to have been heard from himself.

VI. So Martin, going on from there, had passed Milan when the devil, having taken human form, met him on the road, asking where he was going;

and when he had received from Martin the answer that he was making for wherever the Lord called him, he said to him: Wherever you go, or whatever you attempt, the devil will oppose you. Then he answered him in the words of the prophet: The Lord is my helper; I will not fear what man may do to me. And at once the enemy vanished from his sight. So, as he had conceived in heart and mind, he freed his mother from the error of paganism, while his father persisted in evil: yet he saved many by his example. Then (since the Arian heresy had sprung up through the whole world and above all within Illyricum), when he was fighting most fiercely, almost alone, against the faithlessness of the bishops, and had been subjected to many punishments (for he was both publicly beaten with rods and at last compelled to leave the city), he made again for Italy; and having learned that in the Gauls too the church was in disorder through the departure of Saint Hilary, whom the violence of the heretics had forced into exile, he established a monastery for himself at Milan. There too Auxentius, the author and chief of the Arians, persecuted him most severely, and after subjecting him to many injuries drove him out of the city. Judging therefore that he must yield to the times, he withdrew to an island named Gallinaria, with a certain priest as his companion, a man of great virtues. Here for some time he lived on the roots of plants: at which time he took as food hellebore, a poisonous herb, as they say; but when he felt the force of the poison raging within him, with death now near, he drove back the threatening danger by prayer, and at once all pain was put to flight. Not long after, having learned that leave to return had been granted to Saint Hilary through the emperor's change of mind, he tried to meet him at Rome, and set out for the city.

VII. As Hilary had already passed by, he followed him thus in his footsteps; and having been most gladly received by him, he set up a monastery for himself not far from the town. At that time a certain catechumen joined himself to him, desiring to be trained in the disciplines of the most holy man; and after a few days had passed he was seized with sickness and was suffering from a violent fever. And Martin had then by chance gone away; and when he had been absent for three days, on his return he found the body lifeless: the death had been so sudden that he had departed from human affairs without baptism. The body, laid out in the midst, was attended by the sad office of the mourning brethren, when Martin ran up weeping and wailing. Then indeed, conceiving the Holy Spirit with his whole mind, he bids the others leave the little cell in which the body lay; and having barred the doors he stretches himself upon the lifeless limbs of the dead brother: and when he had given himself to prayer for some time, and had perceived through the Spirit that the power of the Lord was present, raising himself a little and fixing his gaze on the dead man's face, he awaited without fear the outcome of his prayer and of the Lord's mercy: and scarcely the space of about two hours had passed when he saw the dead man gradually stir in all his limbs, and his eyes, opened to the use of sight, begin to blink. Then indeed, turning to the Lord with a loud voice and giving thanks, he had filled the little cell with his cry: hearing it, those who had stood before the doors at once rush in. A wonderful sight, that they saw alive the man whom they had left dead! Thus

restored to life, he at once obtained baptism and lived many years afterwards: and he was the first among us to be either the matter or the witness of Martin's mighty works. Yet the same man used to relate that, stripped of the body, he had been led to the tribunal of the Judge, and, assigned to dark places and the common crowds, had received a grim sentence: then it had been suggested to the Judge by two angels that this was the man for whom Martin was praying: so he had been ordered to be led back by the same angels, and given back to Martin and restored to his former life. From this time first the name of the blessed man shone forth, so that he who was already held by all to be holy was held to be powerful also and truly apostolic.

VIII. Not long after, as he was passing the estate of one Lupicinus, a man of rank by the world's measure, he is met by the clamour and grief of a lamenting crowd. When he had come up to it in concern, and asked what this weeping was, he is told that a young slave of the household had wrung the life out of himself with a noose. On learning this he enters the little room in which the body lay; and having shut out all the crowds, he stretched himself over the body and prayed for some while. Soon, his face coming to life, his eyes still dim, the dead man raises himself towards Martin's face; and having struggled with slow effort to rise, he took hold of the blessed man's right hand and stood on his feet; and so he walked with him as far as the forecourt of the house, while the whole crowd looked on.

IX. About the same time he was sought for the episcopate of the Church of Tours; but since he could not easily be torn from his monastery, a certain Ruricius, one of the citizens, feigning his wife's illness, threw himself at his knees and prevailed on him to come out. So, with crowds of citizens already posted along the road, he is escorted under a kind of guard all the way to the city. In wonderful fashion an incredible multitude had gathered, not only from that town but also from the neighbouring cities, to cast their votes. There was one will of all, the same wishes and the same opinion: that Martin was most worthy of the episcopate; that the Church would be happy with such a bishop. A few, however, and some of the bishops who had been summoned to appoint a prelate, were impiously opposing, saying, forsooth, that he was a contemptible person, unworthy of the episcopate, a man despicable in appearance, mean in dress, unkempt in hair. So this madness of theirs was laughed at by the people of sounder judgement, for while they wished to disparage the illustrious man, they were proclaiming his praise. Nor indeed was it open to them to do anything other than what the people, the Lord so willing, were pressing for. Among the bishops who had been present, however, one named Defensor is said to have resisted most of all: whence it was noticed that he was then severely branded by the reading from the prophet. For when by chance the reader whose duty it was to read that day had been shut out by the people and was absent, the ministers being thrown into confusion while the one who was not there was awaited, one of the bystanders took up the psalter and seized on the first verse he found. Now the psalm was this: Out of the mouth of infants and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise because of Thine enemies, that Thou mayest destroy the enemy and the defender (Ps. 8:3). When this was read the shout of the people is raised, and the opposing party is confounded.

And so it was held that this psalm had been read by divine will, so that Defensor might hear a testimony against his own work; because, the praise of the Lord having been perfected in Martin out of the mouth of infants and sucklings, the enemy was at once both exposed and destroyed.

X. Now what and how great he showed himself after taking up the episcopate it is beyond our power to unfold. For he remained most steadfastly the same man that he had been before. There was the same humility in his heart, the same cheapness in his clothing: and so, full of authority and grace, he fulfilled the dignity of a bishop in such a way as not to abandon the purpose and virtue of a monk. For some time, then, he used a little cell attached to the church; then, when he could not bear the disturbance of those who thronged to him, he established a monastery for himself about two miles outside the city. This place was so secluded and remote that it lacked nothing of the solitude of the desert: for on one side it was enclosed by the sheer rock of a lofty hill; the remaining level ground the river Loire had shut in with a gently curving bend. It could be approached by one way only, and that a very narrow one. He himself had a little cell built of timber, and many of the brethren likewise; most had made dwellings for themselves by hollowing out the rock of the overhanging hill. There were eighty disciples, who were being trained after the example of their blessed master. No one there had anything of his own; all things were put in common; it was not lawful to buy or sell anything, as is the custom of most monks. No craft was practised there except that of the copyists; and to this work the younger age was assigned: the elders gave themselves to prayer. Rarely did anyone go out of his cell, except when they gathered at the place of prayer. All took their food together after the hour of fasting: no one knew wine, unless sickness had compelled him. Most were clothed in camels' hair; softer clothing was there counted a crime: which must be the more wonderful, because many among them were reckoned noble, who, brought up very differently, had forced themselves to this humility and endurance; and many of these we have afterwards seen as bishops. For what city or church would there be that did not desire for itself a bishop from Martin's monastery?

XI. But to come to the other mighty works which he did in his episcopate: there was, not far from the town, a place very near the monastery which a false opinion of men had hallowed, as if martyrs had been buried together there: for an altar too was held to have been set up there by earlier bishops. But Martin, not rashly giving credence to uncertain things, demanded of those who were elder in years, priests or clerics, that the name of the martyr or the time of his passion be shown to him: he was greatly troubled by a scruple, he said, because no consistent memory of those before them had handed down to him anything certain. So when for some time he had kept away from that place, neither disparaging the devotion, because he was uncertain, nor lending his authority to the common people, lest the superstition should grow strong, one day, taking a few brethren with him, he goes to the place. Then, standing over the tomb itself, he prayed to the Lord to show who was buried there, or of what merit. Then

turning to the left he saw standing near him a foul and savage shade. He commands it to tell its name and its merit. It declares its name and confesses its crime: that it had been a robber, executed for its crimes, honoured by the error of the common people; that it had nothing in common with the martyrs, since glory held them and punishment held it. In wonderful fashion those who were present heard the voice of the speaker, yet did not see the person. Then Martin set out what he had seen, and ordered the altar which had been there to be removed from that place: and so he freed the people from the error of that superstition.

XII. Now it happened at a later time, while he was on a journey, that he met the body of a certain pagan which was being carried to the tomb with a superstitious funeral: and catching sight from afar of the crowd that was coming, not knowing what it was, he stood still for a little: for the distance was about five hundred paces, so that it was hard to make out what he was seeing. Yet because he saw a band of country people, and the linen cloths laid over the body were fluttering as the wind drove them, he believed that profane rites of sacrifice were being performed: because this was the custom of the Gaulish country people, to carry about through their fields, in their wretched madness, images of demons covered with a white veil. Raising the sign of the cross, therefore, against those coming towards him, he commands the crowd not to move from the spot, and to set down its burden. Then indeed you would have seen, in wonderful fashion, the wretches first stiffen like stones: then, when they strove with the utmost effort to move forward, being unable to advance further, they were whirled round in a ridiculous spin, until, overcome, they set down the burden of the body. Astounded, and looking at one another, they were silently wondering what had happened to them. But when the blessed man had learned that this was a gathering for a funeral, not for sacrifices, he raised his hand again and gives them leave to go away and to take up the body. So he both compelled them to stand when he willed, and allowed them to go when he pleased.

XIII. Likewise, when in a certain village he had pulled down a very ancient temple, and had set about cutting down a pine tree which stood very near the shrine, then indeed the priest of that place and the rest of the crowd of pagans began to resist; and though these same people, at the Lord's command, had kept quiet while the temple was being overthrown, they would not suffer the tree to be cut down. He diligently admonished them that there was nothing sacred in a tree trunk: let them rather follow God, Whom he himself served: that tree must be cut down, because it was dedicated to a demon. Then one of them, who was bolder than the rest, said: If you have any confidence in your God, Whom you say you worship, we ourselves will cut down this tree, and you shall receive it as it falls: and if your Lord is with you, as you say, you will escape. Then he, fearlessly trusting in the Lord, promises that he will do it. At this all that crowd of pagans agreed to a bargain of this sort: and they reckoned the loss of their tree a light thing if they could crush the enemy of their sacred rites by its fall. So, since that pine leaned to one side, so that there was no doubt to which side it would crash when cut, he is bound and set, at the countrymen's pleasure, in the place where no one doubted that the tree would fall. They began, then, themselves to cut down their own pine

with great joy and gladness. A crowd of wondering onlookers stood at a distance. And now little by little the pine began to sway, and, about to fall, to threaten its collapse. The monks at a distance grew pale, and, terrified by the danger now drawing nearer, had lost all hope and faith, awaiting only Martin's death. But he, trusting in the Lord, waiting undaunted, when the pine in falling had already given out its crash, as it was already falling, already rushing down upon him, raising his hand to meet it, he sets against it the sign of salvation: then indeed (you would have thought it driven back like a whirlwind) it fell to the opposite side: so much so that it almost laid low the countrymen, who had stood in a place quite safe. Then indeed, a shout being raised to heaven, the pagans were amazed at the miracle; the monks wept for joy; the name of Christ was proclaimed by all together. And it was well established that on that day salvation had come to that region: for there was scarcely anyone out of that huge multitude of pagans who, having desired the laying on of hands, did not abandon the error of impiety and believe in the Lord Jesus. And indeed before Martin very few, nay almost none in those regions had received the name of Christ: which grew so strong through his mighty works and example that now there is no place there which is not filled either with very crowded churches or with monasteries. For where he had destroyed shrines, there he at once built either churches or monasteries.

XIV. About the same time he showed no less a mighty work in the same kind of task: for when in a certain village he had set fire to a very ancient and much-frequented shrine, balls of flame were carried by the driving wind on to a house next to it, indeed adjoining it. When Martin noticed this, he climbed the roof of the house at a swift run, putting himself in the way of the oncoming flames. Then indeed you would have seen, in wonderful fashion, the fire turned back against the force of the wind, so that it seemed a kind of conflict of elements fighting one another. Thus by the power of Martin the fire worked only where it was ordered. But in a village whose name is Leprosum, when he wished likewise to overthrow a very rich temple, held in religious superstition, a multitude of pagans resisted him, so that he was driven back not without injury. So he withdrew to places nearby, and there for three days, clothed in haircloth and ashes, always fasting and praying, he besought the Lord that, since human hands had not been able to overthrow that temple, the divine power might pull it down. Then suddenly two angels with spears and shields, in the likeness of the heavenly host, presented themselves to him, saying that they had been sent by the Lord to put the rustic multitude to flight and to bring protection to Martin, so that no one should resist while the temple was being pulled down: let him therefore go back and devoutly complete the work he had begun. So, returning to the village (while the crowds of pagans looked on and kept still as he pulled down the profane building to its foundation), he reduced all the altars and images to dust. Seeing this, the countrymen, perceiving that they had been stunned and terrified by the divine will so that they should not oppose the bishop, almost all believed in the Lord Jesus, crying out openly and confessing that the God of Martin was to be worshipped, and the idols to be disregarded, which to help them

could not. — XV. What was done also in a village of the Aedui, I shall relate. There, while he was likewise overturning a temple, a raging multitude of heathen country-folk rushed upon him; and when one bolder than the rest attacked him with drawn sword, he threw back his cloak and offered his bare neck to the striker: nor did the heathen hesitate to strike; but when he had raised his right hand higher, he fell flat on his back: and, struck with a fear from God, he begged for pardon. Not unlike this was that other: when someone had wished to strike him with a knife as he was destroying idols, at the very blow the iron was struck from his hands and was not to be seen. Often, moreover, when the country-folk opposed him, so that he should not destroy their shrines, he so softened the minds of the heathen by holy preaching that, the light of truth having been shown to them, they themselves overturned their own temples.

XVI. So powerful, indeed, was the grace of healings in him that scarcely any sick person came to him who did not at once recover health: which will be clear even from the following example. At Trier a certain girl was held by the dread sickness of paralysis, so that for a long time now she performed no function of the body for human uses: dead beforehand in every part, she barely fluttered with a faint breath. Her relatives stood by in sorrow, awaiting only the funeral, when suddenly it is announced that Martin has come to that city. When the girl's father learned this, he ran breathless to plead for his daughter. And Martin, as it happened, had already entered the church. There, with the people looking on and many other bishops present, the old man, wailing, clasps his knees, saying: My daughter is dying of a wretched kind of sickness, and, what is crueller than death itself, she lives by breath alone, her flesh already dead beforehand; I ask that you go to her and bless her, for I trust that through you she is to be restored to health. Confounded by this speech, he was astonished, and drew back, saying: This was not within his power; the old man was mistaken in his judgement; he was not worthy that through him the Lord should show a sign of power. The father persisted, weeping more vehemently, and begged him to visit the lifeless girl. At last, compelled by the bishops standing round to go, he went down to the girl's house. A huge crowd was waiting before the doors to see what the servant of God would do. And first, with what were his familiar weapons in matters of this kind, he prayed prostrate on the ground; then, looking at the sick girl, he asks for oil to be given him; and when he had blessed it, he poured the strength of the holy liquid into the girl's mouth, and at once her voice was restored. Then little by little, at his touch, her limbs one by one began to come to life, until, her steps made firm, she rose up, with the people as witness.

XVII. At the same time the slave of a certain Tetradius, a man of proconsular rank, seized by a demon, was tormented with a grievous end. So Martin, asked to lay his hand on him, orders him to be brought to him; but the wicked spirit could in no way be brought out of the cell in which he was: so fiercely did he rage with rabid teeth at those who approached. Then Tetradius throws himself at the knees of the blessed man, begging that he himself would go down to the house in which the demoniac was kept. But Martin refused, saying that he could not enter the house of a profane man and a heathen (for Tetradius at that time was still held entangled in the error of heathenism)

He promises, therefore, that if the demon were driven out of the boy, he would become a Christian. So Martin, laying his hand on the boy, cast the unclean spirit out of him: at the sight of which Tetradius believed in the Lord Jesus; and at once he was made a catechumen, and not long after was baptized, and ever honoured Martin with wonderful affection as the author of his salvation. About the same time, in the same town, having entered the house of a certain householder, he stopped on the very threshold, saying that he saw a horrible demon in the forecourt of the house. When he commanded it to depart, it seized one of the household, who was staying in the inner part of the dwelling. The wretch began to rage with his teeth and to tear whoever came in his way. The house was in uproar, the household thrown into confusion, the people put to flight. Martin threw himself in the way of the madman, and first commands him to stand still; but when he gnashed his teeth and with gaping mouth threatened to bite, Martin put his fingers into his mouth: If you have, he said, any power, devour these. Then indeed, as if he had received red-hot iron into his jaws, he drew his teeth far back and avoided touching the blessed man's fingers: and when by pains and torments he was compelled to flee from the possessed body, and yet was not permitted to go out through the mouth, he was voided by a flux of the bowels, leaving foul traces behind.

XVIII. Meanwhile, when a sudden report about a movement and onslaught of the Barbarians had thrown the city into alarm, he orders a demoniac to be brought before him: he commands him to declare whether this news was true. Then he confessed that there had been ten demons who had spread this rumour among the people, so that by this fear at least Martin might be driven from that town: the Barbarians were thinking of nothing less than an invasion. So, when the unclean spirit confessed these things in the middle of the church, the city was freed from the fear and turmoil of the moment. At Paris, moreover, as he was entering the gate of that city with great crowds going along with him, he kissed a leper of pitiable face, while all shuddered, and blessed him: and at once, cleansed from all his affliction, coming to the church on the next day with shining skin, he gave thanks for the health which he had received. Nor is this to be passed over, that threads drawn from his garments and his hair-cloth worked frequent miracles upon the sick: for, either tied to the fingers or put round the neck, they very often drove away diseases from the ailing.

XIX. Arborius, moreover, a man of prefectorial rank, of a very holy and faithful disposition, when his daughter was burning with most severe quartan fevers, placed a letter of Martin's, which had by chance been brought to him, on the girl's breast at the very onset of the heat, and at once the fever was put to flight. This thing so prevailed with Arborius that he at once vowed the girl to God and dedicated her to perpetual virginity; and, setting out to Martin, he presented the girl to him, a living witness of his miracles, since she had been healed by him though absent; nor would he allow her to be consecrated by any other than Martin, by the putting on of the habit of virginity. Paulinus, too, a man who was afterwards to be of great example, when he had begun to suffer severe pain in an eye, and a thicker cloud drawn over it had already covered its pupil, Martin touched his eye with a small brush, and, all pain removed, restored to him his former health. He himself

himself, when by some accident he had fallen from an upper room, and, tumbling down the rough steps of the stair, had suffered many wounds, as he lay lifeless in his cell and was tormented with excessive pains, an angel was seen by night to wash his wounds and to touch the limbs of his bruised body with a healing ointment: and so on the next day he was restored to health, so that he was thought never to have suffered any harm. But since it is long to go through each thing singly, let these, though few out of very many, suffice: and let it be enough that we neither withhold the truth in things outstanding nor, in many, provoke weariness.

XX. And to insert lesser things among such great ones (although, such is the age of our times, in which all things are now depraved and corrupt, it is almost a singular thing that priestly firmness did not yield to royal flattery): when a number of bishops from various parts had gathered to the emperor Maximus, a man of fierce disposition and elated by victory in civil wars, and the foul flattery of all around the prince was remarked, and the priestly dignity, with degenerate inconstancy, had subjected itself to royal patronage, in Martin alone apostolic authority endured; for even if he had to make supplication to the king for anyone, he commanded rather than asked: and, though frequently invited, he kept away from his table, saying that he could not be a sharer of the table of one who had driven two emperors, one from his kingdom, the other from life. At length, when Maximus affirmed that he had not taken the empire of his own will, but had defended with arms the necessity of rule laid upon him by the soldiers by the will of God; and that the will of God did not seem alien from one with whom victory had rested by so incredible an outcome, and that none of his adversaries had fallen except in the battle line; overcome at last either by reasoning or by entreaties, he came to the banquet; the king rejoicing wonderfully that he had obtained it. Present as guests, moreover, as if summoned to a feast day, were the highest and most illustrious men: the prefect and also consul Evodius, a man than whom nothing was ever more just; two Counts endowed with the highest power, the king's brother and his uncle: between these Martin's priest had reclined: he himself had sat down on a small seat placed beside the king. About the middle of the banquet, as is the custom, an attendant offered the bowl to the king. He orders it rather to be given to the very holy bishop, expecting and seeking to receive the cup from his right hand; but Martin, when he had drunk, handed the bowl to his priest, judging, of course, that no one was worthier to drink first after him, and that it would not be right for him if he preferred to the priest either the king himself or those who were next to the king. This deed the emperor and all who were then present so admired that this very thing, in which they had been slighted, pleased them: and it was much talked of through the whole palace that Martin had done at the king's dinner what none of the bishops had done at the banquets of the lowest judges; and to the same Maximus he foretold long before what would come about: that if he went on into Italy, whither he desired to go, bringing war upon the emperor Valentinian, he should know that he would indeed be victor at the first onset, but would perish a short time after. Which indeed we saw thus: for at his first coming Valentinian

was put to flight: then, about a year later, having regained his strength, he took Maximus within the walls of Aquileia and killed him.

XXI. It is well established, moreover, that angels too were often seen by him, so that they spoke in conversation with him, word answering word: and the devil he held so visible and subject to his eyes that, whether he kept himself in his own substance or had changed himself into the various shapes of spiritual wickedness, under whatever image he was seen by him; and since the devil knew that he could not escape him, he often assailed him with abuse, because he could not deceive him by snares. Once, then, holding a bloody ox-horn in his hand, he burst into his cell with a huge roar, and, displaying his bloody right hand and exulting in a crime just committed, Where, he said, Martin, is your power? I have just killed one of your people. Then he called the brothers together and relates what the devil had disclosed; and he directs them to inquire anxiously through the cells of each, who had been struck by this mischance. They report that none indeed of the monks was missing, but that one peasant, hired for pay to bring wood by cart, had gone to the forest. He orders some, therefore, to go to meet him. So he is found not far from the monastery, already almost lifeless. Yet, drawing his last breath, he shows the brothers the cause of his death and wound: namely, that while he was tightening the loosened thongs on the yoked oxen, an ox, tossing its head, had driven its horn into his groin: and not long after he gave up his life. Let him see to it, by what judgement of the Lord this power was given to the devil. In Martin this was wonderful, that not only these things which we have related above, but many of this kind, whenever they had happened, he foresaw long before, or made known to the brothers as reported to himself.

XXII. Often, moreover, the devil, while he was trying with a thousand arts of harm to mock the holy man, thrust himself visibly upon him in the most varied forms. For sometimes he presented himself in the person of Jupiter, most often of Mercury, very often also transformed into the features of Venus and of Minerva: against whom, ever undaunted, he protected himself with the sign of the cross and the help of prayer. Often, too, abuse was heard, with which a crowd of demons railed at him in insolent voices: but knowing it all to be false and empty, he was not moved by the charges. Some of the brothers also testified that they had heard a demon railing at Martin in insolent voices, asking why he had received back within the monastery some of the brothers who had once lost their baptism through various errors, when they afterwards turned back, and setting out the crimes of each: and that Martin, withstanding the devil, had answered steadfastly that old offences are purged by the conduct of a better life; and that through the mercy of the Lord those who ceased to sin were to be absolved from their sins. When the devil said in reply that the guilty have no claim to pardon, and that to those who have once fallen no clemency is shown by the Lord; then Martin is said to have cried out in these words: If you yourself, O wretched one, would desist from persecuting men, and would repent of your deeds even at this time, when the day of judgement is near; I, truly trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ,

would promise you mercy. O how holy a presumption concerning the Lord's goodness, in which, though he could not give authority, he showed his affection! And since our discourse has arisen about the devil and his arts, it does not seem out of place, although it lies outside our subject, to relate what was done: because there is in it also a certain share of Martin's miracles, and a thing worthy of wonder will rightly be committed to memory, as an example of caution, if anything of the kind should hereafter happen anywhere.

XXIII. A certain man named Clarus, a most noble young man, soon a priest, now blessed by a happy departure, having left all things and betaken himself to Martin, in a short time shone forth to the highest summit of faith and of all virtues. And so, when he had set up a dwelling for himself not far from the bishop's monastery, and many brothers were staying with him, a certain young man named Anatolius came to him, under the profession of a monk, feigning all humility and innocence, and lived for some time in common with the others. Then, as time went on, he said that angels were accustomed to speak with him: and since no one gave credence, he constrained many to believe by certain signs. At length he went so far as to declare that angels passed to and fro between himself and God: and now he wished to be held one of the prophets. Clarus, however, could by no means be forced to believe. The other threatened him with the wrath of the Lord and present plagues, for not believing a saint. At last he is said to have burst out in these words: Behold, this night the Lord will give me a white garment from heaven, clothed in which I shall dwell in your midst: and this will be a sign to you that I am the power of God, I who have been presented with God's garment. Then indeed great was the expectation of all at this declaration. And so about midnight the whole monastery seemed to be shaken in its place by the din of those stamping on the ground: and you might see the cell in which that same young man was kept flashing with frequent lights: and the din of people running about in it, and a kind of murmur of many voices, was heard. Then, silence having fallen, he came out; he calls to himself one of the brothers, named Sabacius, and shows him the tunic with which he was clothed. Astounded, he calls the others together; Clarus himself also runs up; and, a light being brought, they all examine the garment carefully. It was, moreover, of the utmost softness, of exceptional whiteness, of gleaming purple; and yet of what kind or of what fleece it was could not be recognized. Yet, handled more closely by eyes or fingers, it seemed nothing other than a garment. Meanwhile Clarus urges the brothers to persevere in prayer, that the Lord might show them more clearly what it was: and so the rest of the night is spent in hymns and psalms. But when day dawned, he wished to take him by the right hand and drag him to Martin, well aware that he could not be deceived by the devil's art. Then indeed the wretch began to resist and protest, and said that he had been forbidden to show himself to Martin. And when they compelled him to go against his will, the garment vanished between the hands of those dragging him. Wherefore who would doubt that this too was Martin's power, that the devil, when his phantom had to be thrust before Martin's eyes, could no longer dissemble or conceal it?

XXIV. It was observed, however, that at about the same time there was in the Spains a young man who, when he had procured authority for himself by many signs, was so puffed up that he professed himself to be Elijah. And when very many had rashly believed this, he went further and said that he was Christ: in which he so far deceived them that a certain bishop named Rufus worshipped him as the Lord: on account of which we afterwards saw him deposed from the episcopate. Many of the brothers also related to us that at the same time there had arisen in the East a certain man who boasted that he was John. From which we may conjecture, since false prophets of this kind are appearing, that the coming of Antichrist is at hand, who is already working the mystery of iniquity in them. It does not seem, however, that we should pass over with how great art the devil tempted Martin in those same days. For on a certain day, a purple light sent before him and himself surrounded by it, so that he might deceive the more easily by the brightness of the splendour he had put on, clothed also in a royal robe, crowned with a diadem of gems and gold, with shoes overlaid with gold, with serene countenance and joyful face, so that he might be thought anything rather than the devil, he stood beside him as he prayed in his cell. And when Martin had been dazed at the first sight of him, both kept silence long and much. Then the devil first: Recognize, Martin, he said, whom you see: I am Christ: being about to descend to the earth, I wished first to manifest myself to you. When at this Martin kept silent and gave no answer, the devil dared to repeat the audacity of his claim: Martin, why do you hesitate to believe, when you see? I am Christ. Then he, the Spirit revealing to him that he should understand it was the devil, not God: The Lord Jesus, he said, did not foretell that He would come clad in purple and gleaming with a diadem. I will not believe that Christ has come, unless in that dress and form in which He suffered, unless bearing before Him the marks of the cross. At this word he at once vanished like smoke, and filled the cell with so great a stench that he left undoubted signs that he had been the devil. That this was done as we have related above, I learned from the mouth of Martin himself, lest anyone should perhaps think it a fable.

XXV. For when, having long ago heard of his faith, life and miracles, we were burning with longing for him, we undertook a journey, welcome to us, to see him: at the same time, because my mind was already on fire to write his life, we inquired partly of him himself, so far as he could be questioned; partly we learned from those who had been present or knew. At which time indeed it cannot be believed with what humility, with what kindness he received me, congratulating himself greatly and rejoicing in the Lord that he had been held in such esteem by us that we had sought him out by undertaking a journey. Wretched me! (I scarcely dare to confess it) when he had deigned to admit me to his holy table, he himself offered water for our hands; and at evening he himself washed our feet. Nor had I the firmness to resist or go against it: I was so overborne by his authority that I should have thought it a sin if I had not acquiesced. His discourse with us, moreover, was of nothing else than that the allurements of this world and the burdens of the age must be left, so that we might, free and unencumbered, the Lord Jesus

follow: and he pressed upon us the most excellent example of the present times, that of the illustrious man Paulinus, whom we mentioned above, who, having cast away the greatest wealth and followed Christ, almost alone in these times had fulfilled the precepts of the Gospel: him, he cried, we must follow, him we must imitate: and blessed was the present age in such a proof of faith and virtue, since, according to the Lord's saying, being rich and possessing much, by selling all and giving to the poor he had made possible by example what was impossible to do. And then in his words and his conversation, how great a gravity, how great a dignity there was! how keen, how effective, and how ready and easy in resolving the questions of the Scriptures! And since I know that many are incredulous on this point, seeing that I have seen them not believe even when I myself related it, I call Jesus and our common hope to witness that I have never heard from anyone's mouth so much knowledge, so much intelligence, speech so good and so pure. And yet among Martin's virtues how slight is this praise! except that it is wonderful that not even this grace was lacking to an unlettered man.

XXVI. But now the book demands an end, the discourse must be closed: not because all that was to be said of Martin has run out; but because we, like idle poets, careless at the end of the work, overcome by the mass of the material, give way. For although his deeds could in some fashion be set forth in words, his inner life and daily conduct, and his mind ever intent on heaven, no speech (I truly profess it), no speech will ever set forth. That perseverance, namely, and moderation in abstinence and fasts, that strength in vigils and prayers, and nights spent by him just as days, and no time free from the work of God, in which he indulged either in leisure or in business, nor even in food or sleep, except in so far as the necessity of nature compelled; truly I will confess, not even if Homer himself, as they say, were to emerge from the underworld, could he set it forth: so much greater are all things in Martin than that they could be grasped in words. Never did any hour or moment pass in which he was not either bent on prayer or intent on reading: although even while reading,

or if he happened to be doing anything else, he never relaxed his mind from prayer: just as is the custom of blacksmiths, who while working strike their anvil as a kind of relief from their labour, so Martin, even while he seemed to be doing something else, was always praying. O truly blessed man, in whom there was no guile! condemning no one, rendering evil for evil to none. For he had taken up such patience against all injuries that, though he was the highest priest, he was wronged with impunity even by the lowest clerics; and he never on that account either removed them from their place or, so far as lay in him, drove them from his charity.

XXVII. No one ever saw him angry, no one disturbed, no one grieving, no one laughing: always one and the same, bearing as it were a heavenly gladness in his face, he seemed beyond the nature of man. Never was there anything on his lips but Christ; never anything in his heart but piety, but peace, but mercy. Often, too, he used to weep for the sins of those who seemed to be his detractors, who with venomous tongues and viperous mouth carped at him in his retirement and quiet. And truly we have known some who were envious of his virtues and his life, who hated in him what they did not see in themselves and what they were not able to imitate. And (O wickedness to be grieved and groaned over!) his persecutors, though very few, were said to be scarcely any others than bishops. Nor indeed is it necessary to name anyone, although many of them bark around us ourselves: it suffices that if any of them reads this and recognizes himself, he should blush; for if he is angry, he will confess that it was said of himself, when perhaps we had others in mind. We do not shrink, moreover, from this: that if there are any such, they should hate us too along with so great a man. This I readily trust, that this little work will be pleasing to all the saints. For the rest, if anyone reads these things without faith, he himself will sin. I am conscious in myself that, impelled by the faithfulness of the facts and the love of Christ to write these things, I have set forth what is manifest and told what is true; and a reward, as I hope, is prepared from God, not for whoever reads, but for whoever believes.