Part 39

“Such,” observes a late writer on this subject, “is one of the miracles of the ‘Golden Legend,’ which a wicked wit might comment on, and see nothing extraordinary in the whole story. The two nuns might be missing between the nativities, and be found at last with a child seated between them. They might not choose to account either for their absence or their child: the only touch of miracle is, that they asseverated they saw no child, that I confess is a little (child) too much.

Ribadeneira’s Lives of the Saints exhibit more of the legendary spirit than Alban Butler’s work on the same subject, (which, by the bye, is the most sensible history of these legends;) for wanting judgment and not faith, the former is more voluminous in his details, and more ridiculous in his narratives.

Alban Butler affirms that St. Genevieve, the patron of Paris, was born in 422, at Nanterre, four miles from Paris, near the present Calvary there, and that she died a virgin on this day in 512, and was buried in 545, near the steps of the high altar, in a magnificent church, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, began by Clovis, where he also was interred. Her relics were afterwards taken up and put into a costly shrine about 630. Of course they worked miracles. Her shrine of gold and silver, covered with precious stones, the presents of kings and queens, and with a cluster of diamonds on the top, presented by the intriguing Mary de Medicis, is, on calamitous occasions, carried about Paris in procession, accompanied by shrines equally miraculous, and by the canons of St. Genevieve walking barefoot.

The miracles of St. Genevieve, as related in the Golden Legend, were equally numerous and equally credible. It relates that when she was a child, St. Germaine said to her mother, “Know ye for certain that on the day of Genevieve’s nativity the angels sung with joy and gladness,” and looking on the ground he saw a penny signed with the cross, which came there by the will of God; he took it up, and gave it to Genevieve, requiring her to bear in mind that she was the spouse of Christ. She promised him accordingly, and often went to the minister, that she might be worthy of her espousals. “Then,” says the Legend, “the mother was angry, and smote her on the cheek—God avenged the child, so that the mother became blind,” and so remained for one and twenty months, when Genevieve fetched her some holy water, signed her with the sign of the cross, washed her eyes, and she recovered her sight. It further relates, that by the Holy Ghost she showed many people their secret thoughts, and that from fifteen years to fifty, she fasted every day except Sunday and Thursday, when she ate beans, and barley bread of three weeks old. Desiring to build a church, and dedicate it to St. Denis and other martyrs, she required materials of the priests for that purpose. “Dame,” answered the priests, “we would; but we can get no chalk nor lime.” She desired them to go to the bridge of Paris, and bring what they found there. They did so till two swineherds came by, one of whom said to the other, ‘I went yesterday after one of my sows and found a bed of lime;’ the other replied that he had also found one under the root of a tree that the wind had blown down. St. Genevieve’s priests of course inquired where these discoveries were made, and bearing the tidings to Genevieve, the church of St. Denis was began. During its progress the workmen wanted drink, whereupon Genevieve called for a vessel, prayed over it, signed it with the cross, and the vessel was immediately filled; “so,” says the Legend, “the workmen drank their belly full,” and the vessel continued to be supplied in the same way with “drink” for the workmen till the church was finished. At another time a woman stole St. Genevieve’s shoes, but as soon as she got home lost her sight for the theft, and remained blind, till, having restored the shoes, St. Genevieve restored the woman’s sight. Desiring the liberation of certain prisoners condemned to death at Paris, she went thither and found the city gates were shut against her, but they opened without any other key than her own presence. She prayed over twelve men in that city possessed with devils, till the men were suspended in the air, and the devils were expelled. A child of four years old fell into a pit, and was killed; St. Genevieve only covered her with her mantle and prayed over her, and the child came to life, and was baptised at Easter. On a voyage to Spain she arrived at a port “where, as of custom, ships were wont to perish.” Her own vessel was likely to strike on a tree in the water, which seems to have caused the wrecks; she commanded the tree to be cut down, and began to pray; when lo, just as the tree began to fall, “two wild heads, grey and horrible, issued thereout, which stank so sore, that the people there were envenomed by the space of two hours, and never after perished ship there; thanks be to God and this holy saint.”

At Meaux, a master not forgiving his servant his faults, though St. Genevieve prayed him, she prayed against him. He was immediately seized with a hot ague: “on the morrow he came to the holy virgin, running with open mouth like a German bear, his tongue hanging out like a boar, and requiring pardon.” She then blessed him, the fever left him, and the servant was pardoned. A girl going out with a bottle, St. Genevieve called to her, and asked what she carried: she answered oil, which she had bought; but St. Genevieve seeing the devil sitting on the bottle, blew upon it, and the bottle broke, but the saint blessed the oil, and caused her to bear it home safely notwithstanding. The Golden Legend says, that the people who saw this, marvelled that the saint could see the devil, and were greatly edified.

It was to be expected that a saint of such miraculous powers in her lifetime should possess them after her death, and accordingly the reputation of her relics is very high.

Several stories of St. Genevieve’s miraculous faculties, represent them as very convenient in vexatious cases of ordinary occurrence; one of these will serve as a specimen. On a dark wet night she was going to church with her maidens, with a candle borne before her, which the wind and rain put out; the saint merely called for the candle, and as soon as she took it in her hand it was lighted again, “without any fire of this world.”

Other stories of her lighting candles in this way, call to mind a candle, greatly venerated by E. Worsley, in a “Discourse of Miracles wrought in the Roman Catholic Church, or, a full refutation of Dr. Stillingfleet’s unjust Exceptions against Miracles,” octavo, 1676. At p. 64, he says, “that the miraculous wax candle, yet seen at Arras, the chief city of Artois, may give the reader entertainment, being most certain, and never doubted of by any. In 1105, that is, much above 720 years ago, (of so great antiquity the candle is,) a merciless plague reigned in Arras. The whole city, ever devout to the Mother of God, experienced her, in this their necessity, to be a true mother of mercy; the manner was thus: The Virgin Mary appeared to two men, and enjoined them to tell the bishop of Arras, that on the next Saturday towards morning she would appear in the great church, and put into his hands a wax candle burning; from whence drops of wax should fall into a vessel of water prepared by the bishop. She said, moreover, that all the diseased that drank of this water, should forthwith be cured. This truly promised, truly happened. Our blessed Lady appeared all beautiful, having in her hands a wax candle burning, which diffused light over the whole church; this she presented to the bishop; he blessing it with the sign of the cross, set it in the urn of water; when drops of wax plentifully fell down into the vessel. The diseased drank of it; all were cured; the contagion ceased; and the candle to this day, preserved with great veneration, spends itself, yet loses nothing; and therefore remains still of the same length and greatness it did 720 years ago. A vast quantity of wax, made up of the many drops which fall into the water upon those festival days, when the candle burns, may be justly called a standing indeficient miracle.”

This candle story, though gravely related by a catholic writer, as “not doubted of by any,” and as therefore not to be doubted, miraculously failed in convincing the protestant Stillingfleet, that “miracles wrought in the Roman catholic church,” ought to be believed.

MONKS AND FRIARS.—SAINTS AND HERMITS.

The early monks attracted the notice of the people by the rigid exercise of their devotions. The greater part of them passed their time in deserted places, in divine contemplation, and in the acquisition of useful knowledge; in consequence of which, they began to be venerated and considered as heavenly-minded men, approaching to the perfection of angels; but in the course of time, and on this very account, their reclusion, and the regard in which they were held, soon induced multitudes to betake themselves to the same courses of life, though not with the same views; as being more profitable than the remuneration resulting from their own homely and industrious avocations. The numbers that embraced this profession became at length so overwhelming and intolerant, that factions burst out amongst them, to which the spirit of the people soon became subject, and to cause grievous disturbances thereby, both to church and state. Many of the wandering hordes, under the denomination of monks, are represented by Gregory Nazianzen, as crews of ruffians and banditti, rather than as sober-minded men, professing a scrupulous morality, with a view to the amelioration of society and the welfare of mankind in general. They were cruel, rapacious, insinuating, cunning, and not unfrequently malignant in the extreme, indulging in the vilest propensities that shock and disgust human nature; and if we may believe their contemporaries, no species of vice was unknown to, or left unpractised by them.

The first dawn of monkish influence and power in the western world, was ushered in by St. Jerome, who, though represented as a very pious and good man, but having some passions the world had not yet gratified, grew wroth with and retired into the east, where he turned monk; and, as if to be revenged of the ungrateful world, he openly professed, that it were hardly possible to receive salvation in it without adopting the same course as he had done, that was, to become a monk. And although thus far monkery had its way paved in the west by the resolutions of Jerome, it was many years after his death, before any order of monkhood was instituted in that quarter.

Benedict, who lived about an hundred years after St. Jerome, being reckoned the father of the order in the western parts, and although it does not appear that he formed any order of monks, with the three vows, yet since the oldest monkish order in the Roman church is called by his name, we shall give first a short sketch of him and his order; leaving the reader to take, as well in this instance as in those that follow, as much for granted as he can well swallow, without danger of being choked.

Of the birth, parentage, and education of the Blessed Benedict, all we can state is, that his holiness drew his first pious and miraculous breath in Rome, about the year 480; and that having, whilst a boy, become weary of a wicked world, he retired to the Desert of Sabulea in Italy, where he was kindly received and hospitably entertained by a monk, whose name was Roman, who lived retired from man, in the cleft of an immense high rock, of difficult and hazardous access. The generous and christianlike Roman supplied his young guest with a portion of all he begged, borrowed, or stole, or could possibly spare out of his own all devouring paunch. But it would appear, that getting tired of his protegé, whose appetite, perhaps, might be too great a drawback upon his fortuitous resources, or whether in the midst of an accidental and unexpected blow out that he met with, somewhere or other, on an Easter-eve, he forgot to supply his guest in the cranny with his usual fare; be this as it may, all protecting Providence, that “feeds the young ravens,” and who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” was not on this occasion unmindful of young Benedict; for it turned out that a certain priest, whose name we are not favoured with, and who it appears had been on a similar foraging expedition as Roman, against Eastertide, was hailed by a voice from heaven, and bid “not to take so much care of his own gut, but to carry that he had provided to the place where Benedict was.” The priest obeyed; gave Benedict the contents of his market basket, and also told him that it was Easter-day, an event that was unknown to him previous to this unexpected visit. Having, however, been subsequently forced out of his den to procure food, for it does not appear that either Roman or the priest ever returned, some shepherds discovered him crawling among the bushes covered with “beasts’ hair;” at which they became so terrified, that taking him for some savage monster, they were about to depart, when they had a glimpse of his physog, which certainly formed an encouraging contrast when compared with the preter human developement of his body; the result was, the shepherds took courage and approached him; and having, as the story goes, been much edified with his discourse, they informed the neighbourhood of the affair, which was the means of young Benedict being well supplied with every thing he stood in need of; in return for which, they were as well repaid with godly exhortations. But the devil, who, no doubt, is always on the que vive when any of his opponents are getting a-head of him, was resolved to put young ’Dict’s chastity to the test, appeared to him in the shape of a blackbird, and approached so near to his mouth that ’dict might, had he thought proper, have grabbed him; but, instead of availing himself of this opportunity to crush old Beelzebub, he heroically suffered him to escape, although he, the devil, left behind him “so terrible a dishonest carnal temptation,” that Benedict never before nor after this time, felt such queer and indescribable sensations; in short, he was in such a quandary, that he hesitated and doubted whether it would not be better for him to return once more to the world, the flesh, sin and the devil; yet, having recovered himself a little from the paroxysm with which the devil had contrived to possess him, he threw off his clothes and rolled among thorns. But whereas Benedict, for sundry causes and reasons moving him thereunto, did keep a raven, which said raven the aforesaid Benedict did constantly every day feed with his own hand, which raven, Benedict, whether from similarity of appetite or other latent and peculiar passion, always addressed by the familiar and consanguineous appellation of brother; on this occasion, having offered him a part of the poisoned loaf, the sagacious raven rejected it with indignation, and commenced flying and croaking about his master, pointing out to him, in the most ravenous manner, the evil intended him. Alarmed at such conduct, Benedict said, Brother, I did not offer you this loaf that you should eat it, but that you might carry it and hide it somewhere, that it may never do any hurt. This was done, the raven disposed of the poisoned loaf, returned, and had his dinner as usual.

Notwithstanding this disappointment, Florentino did not cease to persecute Benedict. He got together, for this purpose, a number of common strumpets, whom he sent to dance naked before the holy Friar; this ordinance, to the great joy of Florentino, they correctly performed to the letter, which compelled Benedict to leave the place, lest peradventure he might be tempted di novo to sin against the flesh, as he was in the wilderness, by the Devil in the shape of a blackbird. But that joy was not of long duration, for soon after Florentino’s house fell down upon him and killed him. When Benedict heard of his death, he was exceedingly troubled, not because he died during his wicked courses, but because he had, he said, lost an enemy, who, if he had lived, would have increased his merits much. After this great loss, Benedict was informed, that Apollo still had a temple on the mountain of Callino, and was worshipped in it with sacrifices; he accordingly mustered together some of his brethren, and went and pulled it down to the ground, set fire to all the groves that surrounded it, and having built a monastery on the same spot, he converted the whole country round to christianity.

The Devil, as may easily be supposed, got very angry with Benedict for having deprived him of that mountain, called out Benedict, Benedict, for the purpose of speaking to him, but Benedict, it appears, did not vouchsafe to answer him; in consequence of which, the Devil left him, ejaculating, as he fled away, Maledict, Maledict, what hast thou to do with me? Why do you persecute me so much? And, in the height of his diabolical passion and despair, threw down a wall that was building, which unfortunately fell upon a boy and killed him; but Benedict, to be revenged of the Devil, soon brought him to life again. Brother Plaudo had been drowned, if brother Mauro had not been sent by Benedict to draw him out of the water. There was a great fuss made to know who was the author of that miracle; Benedict conferring the merit on Mauro, and Mauro, equally courteous and condescending, attributing it to Benedict.

The order styled the Benedictine, was not only the oldest but the richest in the Roman church. The costume was black, in compliment, no doubt, to the Raven, who had the honour of being Benedict’s first brother; and the leather belt which they wore, was believed to possess so much virtue, that it was kissed kneeling by all who visited them, if they wished to be well received.

The second order of monks, and which, similar to the others, arose out of the relaxations of the Benedictines, was that of Cluny in France, instituted about the year 900, by Abbot Odo.

This order differed very little from the Benedictine. When Odo was a boy he was much delighted with Virgil: “he was cured of that dangerous appetite by a vessel, which was very curious, being shewn to him, but which was within full of deadly serpents; and lest Odo should, by his great fondness for Virgil, have been hindered from applying that vision right, the application was made by a voice from Heaven; and which Odo having heard, he flung away his Virgil and all his serpents with it. And having been after that much devoted to St. Martin, though he met with no serpents in his way, as he went by night to St. Martin’s church to pray to him, he met with herds of foxes, which so pestered him, that he scarcely knew what to do; this plague continued until a kind wolf came, and did offer Odo his assistance, and of which Odo having accepted, that wolf, when he travelled, was such a guard to him, and when he was within doors such a porter, that the foxes never molested him any more.”

The third order of monks in the Roman church was the Camalduman in Italy, instituted by Romualdus about the year 970. He was born at Ravenna, and had been sentenced to live 40 days in a monastery, for having been concerned in a duel, in which his father, who was a duke, had killed his adversary; and it was from this circumstance that he was miraculously converted into a monk, an honour which he had previously frequently refused, at the solicitation of a brother of the order with whom he had contracted an acquaintance. The monk at length asked whether he would consent to be one of them, if St. Apolonar appeared to him, to which he replied he would. It was therefore contrived that St. Apolonar, or his representative, should actually appear; and in order to receive this visit, his friend, the monk and himself, spent the night in prayer before an altar. Just as the cock crowed, St. Apolonar emerged from under the identical altar, where, no doubt, his proxy had previously been concealed, “clothed with light and having a golden censor in his hand: he went about in his pontificalibus, and incensed all the altars in the church, and after he had done that, went back by the same way that he came. And though it is not said that Apolonar did speak a word to Romualdus of turning monk, he did nevertheless, upon that vision, take the habit upon him; and not having learnt to read and sing his psalter, he was taught it by a monk whose name was Marinus, and who switched him so severely on the left-side of his head, that his left ear lost its hearing; and which was borne with that cheerfulness, that he spoke to Marinus to switch him on the other side of the head, when he deserved to be corrected.”

Never was monk so kicked and cuffed about, persecuted and tormented by the Devil, as poor Romualdus. At first the Devil knocked such a dust at the door of his cell whenever he went to bed, that he could not get a wink of sleep for the noise. Being at length so much exhausted for want of a nap, he began, notwithstanding the horrid noise, to snooze a little, when the Devil turned himself into some heavy body and laid so heavy upon his thighs and legs, that he severely bruised them, and broke some of the bones. And though monk Romualdus often made his tormentor slink out of his cell, ashamed of his evil doings, he would, nevertheless, not cease to molest him. So frequently, in fact, was he visited by Armadeus, and so numerous were their conflicts, that a brother monk could not approach the cell of Romualdus without being mistaken for the Devil by him: and believing this to be the case, he would cry out as loud as his lungs would permit—“Accursed, what would’st thou have? Bold dog, I forbid thee to come here; thou poisonous serpent, that was thrown down from Heaven, I do forbid thee!” These were the weapons with which this miraculously converted monk had always ready to meet the Devil whenever he made his appearance. One evening, however, as he was muttering over his Completus, a whole squadron of Devils rushed in upon him, knocked him down, kicked him for falling, and inflicted several very severe wounds upon his precious body; and although he was weary and faint with loss of blood, he continued saying all the while his Completus till he completed, when by a short prayer he dispersed the whole battalion.

After this great and glorious victory, the Devil would never grapple with him again; but would, sometimes, in the shape of a Raven, a Bustard, an Ethiopian, or some savage beast, stand at a distance, loll out his tongue, and make wry faces at him. And although Romualdus was a bit of a duellist, as we have already shewn, would challenge and dare the Devil to come up to the mark, his devilship was too good a judge to venture near him; and finding at length that he was no match for Romualdus, he stirred up divers monks to persecute him, which, in fact, they did with great fury, but with as ill success as he who prompted them.

The fourth order of monks is that of the Valle Umbrosa, instituted by one Gilbert, from whom his fraternity assumed the name of Gilbertines. The reader will at once know enough of this Mr. Gilbert when we inform him, at once, that he was the pupil of Romualdus, and that he was called to be a monk by a crucifix, which, when he was in the act of worshipping it, nodded its head and smiled at him.

The fifth order is the Carthusian, instituted towards the end of the eleventh century; it is governed by institutions of its own making, and is the strictest order in the Roman church. This monastery was generally the last refuge of the discontented, rather than the retreat of unfeigned piety and devotion, who threw themselves into this solitary state of life, to which they fettered themselves, by indissoluble vows, for the remainder of their days. They were allowed enough of good bread and wine, and although they abstained from flesh, and every thing that had touched it, they had a plentiful supply of good fish and fruit.

This inhuman order was instituted by one Bruno, a German, but who was a canon of the church of Rheims; of whom the reader will learn enough, when we inform him that he was driven to this determination by a Parisian doctor, with whom he had been intimately acquainted, and of whose piety as well as learning, he entertained a very high opinion, and who for three days following after his death, when he was on the point of being committed to the grave, sate up, and loudly declared, that by the just judgment of God he was damned; which, as soon as he had pronounced, he lay down again.

There is another story that the bishop of Grenoble, the night before Bruno and his six companions came to him, in quest of a solitary place to live in, had a vision, in which he saw Christ come down from Heaven, and in a desert place of his diocese, called the Chartreuse, built a palace. He likewise beheld seven stars of the colour of gold, which having joined themselves together, they made a crown, which by degrees raised itself from the earth, and ascended up into heaven. The bishop at first sight knew Bruno and his companions to be the seven stars he had seen; and in consequence of this recognition, he bestowed upon them all the lands called the Chartreuse. In order, also, that Bruno should be as little remiss in his duty and gratitude, he erected the monastery as conformable to the vision of the bishop as means and materials would allow.

The sixth order of monks in the Roman church is the Cistertian, said to have been instituted by Abbot Robert; but whether it was so or otherwise, Bernard has always been named as the founder.

Bernard was born in France in the 12th century; and to do him justice, he seems to have had the best natural parts, and the most learning of any of the monastic founders; and had it not been for the tragical fraud he adopted to promote a very unfortunate cruzado, and the other frauds he used in favour of the Pope, to whom he adhered during the time of a schism, his sincerity and piety might have been judged equal to his other talents.