Footnotes: 1. A great number of other Irish saints retired to Cornwall, where many towns and churches still retain their names. Thus St. Burian's is so called from an Irish virgin called Buriana, to whose church and college here king Athelstan, in 936, granted the privilege of sanctuary. See Leland. Collect t. 3, pp. 7, 8.

ST. IA,

WAS daughter to an Irish nobleman, and a disciple of St. Barricus; Iae and Erwine, and many others, came out of Ireland into Cornwall, and landed at Pendinas, a stony rock and peninsula. At her request Dinan, a lord of the country, built there a church, since called St. Ies, eighteen miles from St. Piran's in the Sands, on the Severn. St Carantoke's is two miles above St. Piran's. Ies stands two miles from Lannant; St. Erth is a parish church two miles above Lannant. St. Cua and St. Tedy's parishes are situated in the same part. St. Lide's island, where her tomb was formerly visited by the whole country, still retains her name. See the life of St. Ia quoted by Leland, Coll. t. 3, p. 11.

ST. BREACA, V.

SHE was born in Ireland on the borders of Leinster and Ulster, and consecrated herself to God in a religious state under the direction of St. Bridget, who built for her a separate oratory, and afterwards a monastery, in a place since called the field of Breaca. She afterwards passed into Cornwall in company with abbot Sinnin, a disciple of St. Patrick, Maruan, a monk, Germoch, or Gemoch, king Elwen, Crewenna, and Helen. St. Breaca landed at Revyer, otherwise called Theodore's castle, situated on the eastern bank of the river Hayle, long since, as it seems, swallowed up by the sands on the coast of the northern sea of Cornwall. Tewder, a Welshman, slew part of this holy company. St. Breaca proceeded to Pencair, a hill in Penibro parish, now commonly called St. Banka. She afterwards built two churches, one at Trene, with the other at Talmeneth, two mansion places in the parish of Pembro, as is related in the life of St. Elwin. See Leland's Itinerary, published by Hearne, p. 5.

ST. GERMOKE'S church is three miles from St. Michael's Mount, by east-south-east, a mile from the sea. His tomb is yet seen there, and his chair is shown in the churchyard, and his well a little without the Churchyard. Leland, ib. p. 6.

ST. MAWNOUN'S church stands at the point of the haven towards Falmouth, ib. p. 13.

{512}

SAINT ROGER, C.

A DISCIPLE Of St. Francis of Assisio, who received him into his Order in 1216, and sent him into Spain, though Wading calls him a layman. The spirit of poverty which he professed, he inherited of his holy father in the most perfect degree, and St. Francis commended his charity above all his other disciples. The gifts of prophecy and miracles rendered him illustrious both living and after his death, which happened in 1236. His head is kept at Villa Franca, in the diocese of Asturia, and his body at Todi in Italy, where he is honored with a particular office ratified by Gregory IX. See Wading's Annals, published by Fonseca, at Rome, in 1732, t. 2, pp. 413, 414, also Henschenius, p. 418. Pope Benedict XIV. granted to the Franciscans for {his} festival the 5th of March.

ST. JOHN JOSEPH OF THE CROSS.

(SUPPLEMENT to Butler's Lives of the Saints—SADLIERS' EDITION.)

St. John Joseph of the Cross was canonized on Trinity Sunday, May 26th, 1839. His biography was written by the reverend postulator who conducted the process of his canonization, from authentic documents in his possession, and published at Rome in 1838, in a work entitled—Compendio della Vita di Giangiuseppe della Croce. The following account of the life of this eminent saint is compiled from the English translation of the above work, and thought worthy of being incorporated in this edition of the "Lives of the Saints."

A.D. 1654-1734.

HE was born on the Feast of the Assumption, in the year of our Lord 1654, at the town of Ischia, in the island of that name, belonging to the kingdom of Naples, of respectable parents, Joseph Calosirto and Laura Garguilo, and was upon the same day christened Charles Cajetan. He early discovered the seeds of those virtues that in a special manner enriched his soul, and sanctified his life in the religious state,—humility, sweetness, obedience, and an incomparable modesty; and at the same time manifested a marvellous inclination to silence, retirement, and prayer. Wherefore, even in childhood, he made choice of a room in the most secluded quarter of the house, and therein fitting up a little altar to Our blessed Lady, (on whose great festival he had the happiness to be born, and towards whom, through life, he cherished a tender and filial devotion,) he spent his whole time in study and pious exercises. Here, too, he early manifested his attachment to the cross, sleeping upon a narrow hard bed, and fasting on appointed days during the week; and as he mortified the flesh betimes, so also he checked all pride, by wearing constantly mean clothes, notwithstanding his birth and station, in despite of remonstrances and reproach. His horror of sin was equal to his love of virtue, so that his mind, from the first dawn of reason, shrunk like a delicate plant from the very shadow of guilt, and was all-imbued with zeal for God's glory. Idleness, levity, vanity, and falsehood, even in trivial matters, were censured by him as faults severely reprehensible. And when his efforts to check sin drew upon him the hostility of others, he was so far from losing patience, that he therein only discovered a fresh opportunity of practising virtue. Towards the poor he overflowed with tenderness, reserving for them the choicest portion of his meals, and devoting to their use the pocket-money he received.

The sanctity of his boyhood merited for him the grace of a divine call to a state of holiness; and feeling an interior movement to quit the world, he {513} sedulously sought counsel from the Father of lights, as to the manner in which he should obey this inspiration. For this end he redoubled his ordinary devotions and mortifications; performed a novena to the Holy Ghost, and threw himself upon the tender patronage and powerful intercession of Our Lady. God hearkened to his fervent appeal; for his providence so disposed that at this period the renowned servant of God, Father John da San Bernardo, a Spanish Alcantarine, came into the country of our saint, with the view of establishing his order in the kingdom of Naples. The mean habit and devout demeanor of this holy man and his companions, touched and won the heart of Joseph; he desired to imitate what he beheld, and doubted not but the desire came from God. Wherefore he journeyed to Naples, that he might impart to the fathers of the order his inclination; and they, having prudently considered his vocation, admitted him to the novitiate. He manifested so much ardor, that the superiors deemed it fitting to clothe him with the habit before the usual time had expired. This happy consummation of his wishes took place before he had completed his sixteenth year. He adopted the name of John Joseph of the Cross, and on the feast of St. John the Baptist, in the year of our Lord 1671, he completed his edifying novitiate, and took the solemn vows of his order; whose holy founder, St. Francis of Asisi, and St. Peter of Alcantara, he proposed to himself as models.

In obedience to the express desire of his superior, our saint submitted to receive the dignity of the priesthood, and was appointed to hear confessions; in which task he displayed a profound theological learning, which he had acquired solely at the foot of the cross. But, carried onward by an ardent love of the cross, whose treasures he more and more discovered as he advanced in the dignity and functions of the sacred ministry, he resolved to establish in the wood adjoining his convent a kind of solitude, where, after the manner of the ancient Fathers of the Desert, he might devote himself entirely to grayer and penitential austerities, and give to the Church an illustrious and profitable example of the sacerdotal spirit exercised in a perfect degree. There was found in the wood a pleasant fountain, whose waters healed the sick; and hard by he erected a little church, and round about it, at intervals, five small hermitages, wherein, with his companions, he renewed the austere and exalted life of the old anchorites, and advanced greatly in spirituality. And in order that no care or worldly thought might ruffle the sublime tranquillity of this contemplative life, the convent had charge of daily supplying the holy solitary with food.

But the superiors, who knew the rich treasure they possessed in our saint, when he had attained the age of twenty-four, chose him for master of the novices; in which new office, so far from allowing himself the smallest dispensation, he was foremost in setting the example of a scrupulous observance of every rule; assiduous in his attendance in choir, constant in silence, in prayer, and recollection. He was careful to instil into the hearts of those under his charge an ardent love of Our Lord Jesus, and a desire of imitating him; as also a special veneration for, and tender attachment to His blessed mother.

From Naples, where he was employed as master of the novices, our saint was transferred to Piedimonte, and invested with the office of guardian. The zeal which this new and more responsible charge called for, was surpassed only by the profound humility its exercise demanded. Ever a rigid enforcer of the rule, he was careful to make his enactments agreeable to others, by being the first to observe them himself. The beneficial result of such conduct was soon made manifest, for he thereby won the hearts of all the religious, who under him, advanced with rapid strides towards the most heroic {514} perfection. Still his humble and gentle spirit sighed to be disburdened of so heavy a charge; and having, after two years, obtained the desired release, turned its charitable energies to the direction of souls, the assistance and alleviation of the dying and distressed, and the conversion of sinners.

When he was released from his post of guardian, it was only to reassume that of master of the novices, which be held for four successive years, and exercised partly in Naples, and partly in Piedimonte. But now succeeded the accustomed visitation of crosses, to be afterwards followed by an increase of grace and supernatural favors; an alternation which checkered the whole course of his life. He was summoned to his native country, Ischia, to order to discharge the painful duty of filial affection, and receive the last sighs of his dying mother. Her death ensued, full of hope, and calm, in the presence of her beloved; and, stifling the swelling emotions of sensible grief, this incomparable son followed her remains to the church, and offered up for her soul the sacrifice of propitiation. Who shall adequately conceive his feelings during the celebration of that mass? Was his grief less filial, less poignant, because it was reasonable and Christian? and because, instead of breaking into wild laments and barren demonstrations, it remained pent up in the recesses of his strong heart, and left free play and exercise to calm judgment and the salutary measures of Christian charity? Christian fortitude requires that we should bear up against the stroke of death not despondingly, because inevitable, but firmly and cheerfully, because it is the season of better hope, whereby we plant the ensign of salvation upon the grave. This will be no unnatural check to those emotions, which it is so great and yet so painful a consolation to indulge. They will flow no less freely, and far more profitably, when the calls of religion have first been satisfied. Was St. Bernard a violator of the sentiments of humanity, when he followed with tearless eyes and calm countenance the body of his brother to the grave, assisting at all the offices of religion, and officiating thereat himself? Was that great heart insensible, when its uncontrollable grief burst out in the midst of a discourse on other topics, into an impassioned address to his departed brother, and a magnificent tribute to the virtues of this partner of his soul and affections? Or does not such an instance of Christian fortitude and magnanimity favorably contrast with the pusillanimous and almost heathen despondency and desolation which overwhelm many at the sight or news of death, even as the Catholic faith—warm, generous, and confident—cheers beyond that cold and gloomy creed, that bids farewell to hope at the brink of the grave?

In the provincial chapter of 1690, he was appointed to the office of definitor, in addition to that which he already held. The difficulties of these two functions, requiring a union of the virtues of the active and contemplative life, our saint marvellously and happily surmounted. But now an event happened which well-nigh extinguished the institute to which he belonged, in Italy, and which gave occasion to an illustrious evidence of his exceeding utility to the order. The Spanish Alcantarines, having some differences with the Italian, procured from the apostolic see their dismemberment from the latter, who, being thus abandoned, recurred to our saint for succor. Suffering himself to be overcome by their entreaties, he undertook the advocacy of their cause with the pontiff, and succeeded, in a congregation held in 1702, in changing the sentiments of the cardinals and bishops, previously disposed to their suppression; so that on the day after the feast of St. Thomas the Apostle, a decree was issued by which the order was established in Italy under the form of a province. A chapter was convoked, in which the arduous task of government was, by the unanimous voice of {515} all, forced upon the humility of our saint, who, surmounting incredible hardships and obstacles, had at length the satisfaction of seeing the necessary means provided, and the order firmly established. Before the chapter-general of the order met, he was named definitor by the provincial chapter; but on his remonstrances at being thus so often compelled to assume offices, in spite of his repugnance, he at length obtained a papal brief, exempting him from all charges, and annulling even his active and passive vote in the chapter. During the course of the year 1722, another brief made over to the Alcantarines the convent of St. Lucy, in Naples, and thither our saint retired, never afterwards to be brought out into the public light, which he so much shunned, but left to edify his brethren during the remainder of his life, and to build up the fabric of those extraordinary virtues, of which we shall now proceed to give a sketch.

Faith, like the keystone of the arch, is that which gives the fabric of Christian virtue solidity and stability. Of the attachment of our saint to this necessary virtue, it would be superfluous to say any thing, as his whole life was a speaking evidence of that attachment, as well as of the eminent degree in which it pleased God to enable him to appreciate its consoling mysteries. But he was content to thank God for having admitted him to the truth, without rashly or profanely lifting the veil of the sanctuary, and scrutinizing that which is within. He was persuaded that the attempt to fathom the secrets of God, or to measure his designs, would prove as hopeless as it would be impious, and therefore he bowed to the truths of faith with implicit submission. From this attachment of our saint to the virtue of faith, proceeded his zeal to instruct the ignorant in the mysteries of religion, as well as the force, fervor, and clearness, with which he expounded the sublime dogmas of the Trinity and Incarnation, and even of predestination and grace; the gift he possessed of quieting doubts respecting faith; and finally, that constant exercise of the presence of God which he practised uninterruptedly, and constantly recommended, saying: "Whoever walks always in God's presence, will never commit sin, but will preserve his innocence and become a great saint."

Hope in God rendered our saint of even temper in the midst of the various contradictions he experienced in establishing his order in Italy. He used to say to his companions, when they were dismayed by the persecutions they suffered, "Let us hope in God, and doubtless we shall be comforted:" and to the distressed who flocked to him, "God is a tender father, who loves and succors all;" or, "Doubt not; trust in God, He will provide." Hence his heart enjoyed a peace which no sufferings could molest, and which did not desert him even when he lay under the stroke of apoplexy that terminated in his death. For his hope was based upon the Catholic principle, that God, who destined him for an eternal kingdom, would not refuse the succors necessary to attain it. Still, though his hopes, through the merits of our Lord's blessed passion, knew no bounds, yet was he tremblingly sensible of the guilt of sin, and the awful character of God's judgments; whence were derived that intense grief with which sin inspired him, and that astonishing humility which led him to bewail unceasingly his want of correspondence to divine grace, to proclaim himself everywhere a sinner, and implore the prayers of others.

To complete the crown of theological virtues, charity in both its branches pre-eminently characterized our saint. This divine virtue burned so warmly in his heart, as to be transfused through his features, over which it spread a superhuman and celestial glow, and gave to his discourse a melting tenderness. "Were there neither heaven nor hell," he would say, "still would I ever wish to love God, who is a father so deserving of our love." Or: {516} "Let us love our Lord, love him verily and indeed, for the love of God is a great treasure. Blessed is he that loveth God."

Our saint, who so ardently loved God, whom he saw not, was not without bowels of tenderness for his neighbor, whom he beheld. It was the constant practice of his life to feed the poor; and when he was superior, he ordered that no beggar should be dismissed from the convent gate without relief: in time of scarcity he devoted to their necessities his own portion, and even that of the community, relying upon Providence to supply their wants; and when he was only a private monk, he earnestly recommended this charity to the superiors.

But it was towards the sick that his charity displayed itself. He used to attend the infirm in his convent with unwearied assiduity; nor was he less anxious to serve those who were without, but generously sought them out, and visited them, even during the most inclement seasons. And as God maketh his sun to shine upon the wicked as well as the good, so our saint would not exclude even his enemies from the boundless range of his charity. For one who had insulted him he once labored strenuously to procure some advantageous post; and being warned that the man was his enemy, he replied, "that therefore he was under the greater obligation of serving him." Besides these general virtues, he possessed in the highest degree those which belonged to his religious state, especially a prompt and implicit obedience to all commands, however painful or difficult. That obedience which he practised himself, he was careful to enforce upon others, which his office of superior made it his duty, for he justly regarded this virtue as essential to a religious. Nor was his love of poverty less remarkable. A rouge seat and a table, a bed, consisting of two narrow planks, with two sheep-skins and a wretched woollen coverlet, a stool to rest his wounded legs upon, these, with his breviary, formed the whole furniture of his cell. And although the order allowed each one to possess two habits, yet during the forty-six years that he was a member of it, he never had any other than that which he put on in the novitiate. But it was in his vigilant guard over chastity, that our saint was most remarkable. His unremitting mortifications, his extreme modesty, and perpetual watchfulness over all his senses, preserved him from the slightest breath of contamination. Never during the sixty years of his life was he known to look any one not of his own sex in the face. His every word and action bespoke purity, and inspired the love thereof. Our saint, so solidly grounded in this virtue, was not without its only sure foundation,—humility. He delighted in performing menial offices in the convent, and when the task allotted to him was finished, he was anxious to fulfil that of others. Hence he also avoided all posts and honor, as much as was consistent with his vow of obedience. When he journeyed through Italy as provincial, he would not make himself known at the inns, where he lodged, lest any distinction should be paid him. To the same cause may be ascribed his unwillingness to revisit his native country, his aversion to being in company with the great, when their spiritual affairs did not require it, his not accepting the invitations of the viceroy and his consort to the palace; his calling himself, as he was wont, the greatest sinner in the whole world, ungrateful to God for his benefits, a worm on the face of the earth; his custom of frequently kissing the hands of priests; his unwillingness to declare his opinion in council; his care to break off every discourse touching upon his birth or connections; his gratitude to God for enlightening those who disparaged him; his never being scandalized at the sins of others, how great soever; and finally, his never evincing the smallest resentment at any insult or injury. He was studious to conceal and dissemble the great gifts of miracles and prophecy with which God favored {517} him; ascribing the miracles he performed to the faith of those in whose behalf they were wrought, or to the intercession of the saints. Not unfrequently he desired those whom he restored to health, to take some certain medicine, that the cure might be attributed to a mere natural remedy; and with regard to his prophecies, which were numerous, he affected to judge from analogy and experience. To the numerous penitential austerities enjoined by his order, he added as many more as an ingenious self-denial could devise. Silent as long as possible, when he spoke, it was in a low voice. Bareheaded in all seasons, he wore under his rough and heavy habit divers hair-shirts and chains, which he was careful to vary to keep the sense of torment ever fresh. Besides, he used the discipline to a severe degree; and when, at the age of forty, his superior obliged him to wear sandals, he placed between them and his feet a quantity of small nails; but the most tremendous instrument of torture, which he devised against himself, was a cross about a foot in length, set with rows of sharp nails, which he fastened tight over his shoulders, so as to open there a wound which never afterwards closed. In sooth, these things would appear incredible, did we not remember that St. John Joseph of the Cross had taken up the instrument of our Lord Jesus's blessed passion, and was miraculously supported under its weight. If we are not blessed with equal strength, still we are all capable of enduring much more than is demanded of us for gaining heaven. Is not the life of a worldling more irksome and more painful than that of a mortified religious man? How many heart-burnings, and aching heads, and palled appetites, and disordered faculties, and diseased frames, could bear out this assertion,—that the way to heaven would be easy on the score of mortification, if men could consent to sacrifice to virtue but one half what they sacrifice to feed their passions?

It was usual for our saint to be absorbed and rapt in heavenly ecstasies and visions. In this state he was lost to all that passed around him; seeing, hearing, and feeling nothing, he stood like a statue of marble, and when he was awakened, his countenance glowed like a burning coal. In a condition so closely resembling that of the blessed, he was, from time to time, made a partaker of their glories. Thus, during prayer a halo of light often encircled his head; and, during mass, a supernatural brightness overspread his countenance. In the practice of every virtue, and in the enjoyment of sublime graces, our saint passed the days of his pilgrimage, glorifying God and giving alms and doing good, until it pleased the Lord to close his career on earth, not without a previous forewarning as to the time and circumstances of his death. In the year when it occurred, his nephew writing to him from Vienna, that he would return home in May, he sent back answer that he would not then find him living. And only a week before his departure, discoursing with his brother. Francis, he said, "I have never asked a boon of you till now; do me the charity to pray to Almighty God for me, next Friday, do you hear? mind, do not forget." It was the very day he died. Two days before his last mortal attack, accosting Vincent of Laines, "We shall never," said he, "meet on earth again." Now, upon the last day of February, after hearing mass, and receiving communion with extraordinary fervor, he betook himself to his room, to deliver to the crowds that resorted to him his last paternal admonitions. He continued without interruption till mid-day, and at that hour precisely, turning to the lay-brother that assisted him, said, "Shortly a thunderclap will lay me prostrate on the ground, you will have to raise me thence, but this is the last I shall experience." Accordingly, at two hours and a half after sunset, an apoplectic stroke threw him on the ground. At first the nature of his disease was mistaken. It was thought that over-fatigue had brought on giddiness but the next day {518} the symptoms manifested themselves alarmingly, and spread in defiance of remedies. Yet though he was thus, to all appearances, senseless during the five days that he survived, doubtless his soul was occupied in interior ecstasies and profound contemplation; as indeed his countenance, his lips, and gestures, expressive of the tenderest devotion, indicated. His eyes, generally shut, opened frequently to rest upon the mild image of Our Lady, whose picture was opposite him. Sometimes, too, he turned them towards his confessor, as if demanding absolution, according to what had been previously concerted between them. A pressure of the eyes and an inclination of the head were also perceptible, and he was seen to strike his breast when he received, for the last time, the sacramental absolution from the hands of the superior. At length the morning dawned, which was to witness the passage of our saint from this vale of tears and land of sorrow to a better life. It was Friday, the 5th of March, a day yet unoccupied in the calendar, as if purposely left for him. He had spent the previous night in unceasing fervent acts of contrition, resignation, love, and gratitude, as his frequent beating of his breast, lifting his hands towards heaven, and blessing himself, testified. Before the morning was far advanced, turning to the lay-brother that attended him, as if awoke out of an ecstasy, he said, "I have but a few moments to live." Hereupon the lay-brother ran in all speed to give notice to the superior, who, with the whole community, at that moment in choir, hastened to the cell of the dying man. The recommendation of a departing soul was recited with an abundance of tears. The father-guardian perceiving he was in his agony, imparted to him the last sacramental absolution; which he, bowing his head to receive, instantly raised it again; opened, for the last time, his eyes, now swimming in joy, and inebriated with heavenly delight; fixed them, just as they were closing, with a look of ineffable tenderness, upon the image of Out blessed Lady, and composing his lips to a sweet smile, without farther movement or demonstration, ceased to breathe.

Thus expired, without a struggle, John Joseph of the Cross, the mirror of religious life, the father of the poor, the comforter of the distressed, and the unconquerable Christian hero: but when death came to pluck him from the tree he dropped like a ripe fruit, smiling, into his hands: or, even as a gentle stream steals unperceived into the ocean, so calmly that its surface is not fretted with a ripple, his soul glided into eternity. To die upon the field of battle, amidst the shouts of victory, in presence of an admiring throng, surrounded by the badges of honor and respect, bequeathing to history a celebrated name, may merit the ambition of the world; or to perish in some noble cause, buoyed up by enthusiasm, conscious worth, and the certainty of having the sympathy and applause of all from whom meed is valuable, may make even selfishness generous, and cowardice heroic, but to suffer during life the lingering martyrdom of the cross; and then to expire, not suddenly, but like a taper, burnt out; to fall like a flower, not in its prime and beauty but gradually shedding its leaves and perfume, and bearing its fibres to the last, till it droops and lies exhaled and prostrate in the dust; is a death too pure, too self-devoted, too sublime, for any but the annals of Christian heroism to supply. And assuredly a day will come when the conqueror's crown shall not be brighter than the Christian's halo, nor the patriot's laurel-branch bear richer foliage than the palms of Paradise, which the humblest denizen of heaven shall carry. A day will come that will give to all their proper measure and dimensions; yet even before that day shall God glorify those who have died the peaceful death of the just, by embalming their memory and rendering their tombs and relics illustrious, so that, for the one who shall have heard of the hero, thousands shall bless and invoke the Saint.

{519}

* * * * *

He alone is a perfect Christian who is crucified to the world, and to whom the world is crucified, and who glorieth in nothing save the cross of out Lord Jesus. Nor without embracing the cross at least in heart and affection, can any one belong to the religion of Christ. Upon entering life we are marked with the cross; through the various vicissitudes thereof our every step is encountered by it—go whithersoever thou wilt and thou shalt find it impossible to escape the cross—and it accompanies us even unto death and the grave. For a Christian dieth pressing the cross to his lips; and the cross is engraven upon his tomb that it may bear witness of his faith and hope. But if Our Lord has said, in general terms, "Whosoever will be my disciple, let him take up his cross and follow me;" and if it be true that through many tribulations it is necessary to enter into the kingdom of heaven, then are all without exception called upon to assume this burden. It is not strange, then, that saints should have delighted to blend their names with the cross wherewith their hearts were so closely entwined; or that men, after their departure to glory, should have designated them by the title of that whereof they were so deeply enamored.

MARCH VI.

ST. CHRODEGANG, BISHOP OF METZ, CONFESSOR.

From Paul the Deacon, l. 2 de Gest. Longob. c. 16. Henschenius, p. 453. Mabill. Annal. Ben. l. 22, t. 2, & Act. SS. Ord. Ben. t. 4, p. 184. Ceillier, t. 18, p. 176. His life, published by George Von Eckart, Hist Francie Orient. t. 1, p. 912. Also Meurisse, Hist. des Eveques de Metz, l. 2.

A.D. 766.

THIS saint, nobly born in Brabant, then called Hasbain, was educated in the abbey of St. Tron, and for his great learning and virtue was made referendary, chancellor of France, and prime minister, by Charles Martel, mayor of the French palace, in 737. He was always meanly clad from his youth; he macerated his body by fasting, watching, and hair-cloths, and allowed his senses no superfluous gratifications of any kind. His charity to all in distress seemed to know no bounds; he supported an incredible number of poor, and was the protector and father of orphans and widows. Soon after the death of Charles Martel, he was chosen bishop of Metz, in 742. Prince Pepin, the son and successor of Charles, uncle to our saint by his mother, Landrada, would not consent to his being ordained, but on the condition that he should still continue at the helm of the state. Chrodegang always retained the same sweetness, humility, recollection, and simplicity in his behavior and dress. He constantly wore a rough hair-shirt under his clothes, spent good part of the night in watching, and usually at his devotions watered his cheeks with tears. Pope Stephen III. being oppressed by the Lombards, took refuge in France. Chrodegang went to conduct him over the Alps, and king Pepin was no sooner informed that he had passed these mountains in his way to France, but he sent Charles, his eldest son, to accompany him to Pont-yon, in Champagne, where the king was to receive him. The pope being three miles distant from that city, the king came to meet him, and having joined him, alighted from his horse, and prostrated himself, as did the queen, his children, and the lords of his court; and the king walked some time by the side of his horse to do him honor. The pope {520} retired to the monastery of St. Deny's; and king Pepin, in the year 754, sent St. Chrodegang on an embassy to Astulph, king of the Lombards, praying him out of respect to the holy apostles not to commit any hostilities against Rome, nor to oblige the Romans to superstitions contrary to their laws, and to restore the towns which he had taken from the holy see; but this embassy was without effect. The saint, in 755, converted the chapter of secular canons of his cathedral into a regular community, in which he was imitated by many other churches. He composed for his regular canons a rule, consisting of thirty-four articles. In the first he lays down humility for the foundation of all the rest.[1] He obliged the canons to confess at least twice a year to the bishop, before the beginning of Advent and Lent.[2] But these churches, even that of Metz, have again secularized themselves. The saint built and endowed the monasteries of St. Peter, that of Gorze, and a third in the diocese of Worms, called Lorsh or Laurisham. He died on the 6th of March. in 766, and was buried at Gorze, to which by his will, which is still extant, he demised several estates. He is named in the French, German, and Belgic Martyrologies.

* * * * *

The zeal of St. Chrodegang in restoring the primitive and apostolic spirit in the clergy, particularly their fervor and devotion in the ministry of the altar, is the best proof of his ardor to advance the divine honor. To pay to Almighty God the public homage of praise and love, in the name of the whole church, is a function truly angelical. Those, who by the divine appointment are honored with this sublime charge, resemble those glorious heavenly spirits who always assist before the throne of God. What ought to be the sanctity of their lives! how pure their affections, how perfectly disengaged from all inordinate attachments to creatures, particularly how free from the least filth of avarice, and every other vice! All Christians have a part in this heavenly function.

Footnotes: 1. Ch. 14. 2. See the other regulations abridged in Fleury, &c., the entire rule published genuine in {Le Cointe Amaise} t. 5, and in the later editions of the councils{}.

B. COLETTE, VIRGIN AND ABBESS.

From her life, written by her confessor, Peter de Vaux. See Helyot, Hist. des Ord. Relig. t. 7, p. 96. Miraeus and Barbaza, Vies des Saints du Tiers Ordre de St. Francois, t. 2, p. 51.

A.D. 1447.

COLETTE BOILET, a carpenter's daughter, was born at Corbie, in Picardy, in 1380. Her parents, out of devotion to St. Nicholas, gave her the name of Colette, the diminutive of Nicholas. She was brought up in the love of humiliations and austerities. Her desire to preserve her purity without the least blemish made her avoid as much as possible all company, even of persons of her own sex, unless it was sometimes to draw them from the love of the world by her moving discourses, which were attended with a singular blessing from almighty God. Humility was her darling virtue; and her greatest delight seemed to be in seeing herself contemned. She was so full of confusion at her own miseries and baseness, and was so contemptible in her own eyes, that she was ashamed to appear before any one, placed herself far below the greatest sinners, and studied by all sorts of humiliations to prevent the least motion of secret pride or self-conceit in her heart. She served the poor and the sick with an affection that charmed and comforted them. She lived in strict solitude in a small, poor, abandoned apartment in {521} her father's house, and spent her time there in manual labor and prayer. Being very beautiful, she begged of God to change her complexion, and her face became so pale and thin, that she could scarce be known for the same person. Yet a certain majesty of virtue, shining in her countenance, gave her charms conducive to the edification of others by the sweetness, modesty, and air of piety and divine love discernible in her looks. Her parents, who, though poor, were virtuous, and exceeding charitable, according to their abilities, and great peacemakers among their neighbors, seeing her directed by the Spirit of God, allowed her full liberty in her devotions. After their death she distributed the little they left her among the poor, and retired among the Beguines, devout societies of women, established in several parts of Flanders, Picardy, and Lorrain, who maintain themselves by the work of their hands, leading a middle kind of life between the secular and religious, but make no solemn vows. Not finding this way of life austere enough, she, by her confessor's advice, took the habit of the third order of St. Francis, called the Penitents; and, three years after, that of the mitigated Clares or Urbanists, with the view of reforming that order, and reducing it to its primitive austerity. Having obtained of the abbot of Corbie a small hermitage, she spent in it three years in extraordinary austerity, near that abbey. After this, in order to execute the project she had long formed of re-establishing the primitive spirit and practice of her order, she went to the convent at Amiens, and from thence to several others. To succeed in her undertaking, it was necessary that she should be vested with proper authority: to procure which she made a journey to Nice in Provence, to wait on Peter de Luna, who, in the great schism, was acknowledged pope by the French under the name of Benedict XIII., and happened then to be in that city. He constituted her superioress-general of the whole order of St. Clare, with full power to establish in it whatever regulations she thought conducive to God's honor and the salvation of others. She attempted to revive the primitive rule and spirit of St. Francis in the convents of the diocese of Paris, Beauvais, Noyon, and Amiens; but met with the most violent opposition, and was treated as a fanatic. She received all injuries with joy, and was not discouraged by human difficulties. Some time after she met with a more favorable reception in Savoy, and her reformation began to take root there, and passed thence into Burgundy, France, Flanders, and Spain. Many ancient houses received it, that of Besanzon being the first, and she lived to erect seventeen new ones. Several houses of Franciscan friars received the same. But Leo X., in 1517, by a special bull, united all the different reformations of the Franciscans under the name of Observantines: and thus the distinction of Colettines is extinct. So great was her love for poverty, in imitation of that of Christ, that she never put on so much as sandals, going always barefoot, and would have no churches or convents but what were small and mean. Her habit was not only of most coarse stuff, but made of above a hundred patches sewed together. She continually inculcated to her nuns the denial of their own wills in all things, as Christ, from his first to his last breath, did the will of his heavenly Father: saying, that all self-will was the broad way to hell. The sacred passion of Christ was the subject of her constant meditation. On Fridays, from six in the morning till six at night, she continued in this meditation, without eating or doing any other thing, but referring all her thoughts and affections to it with a flood of tears; also during the Holy-Week, and whenever she assisted at mass: she often fell into ecstasies when she considered it. She showed a particular respect to the holy cross; but, above all, to Christ present in the blessed eucharist, when she appeared in raptures of adoration and love. She often purified her conscience by sacramental confession before she heard mass, to {522} assist thereat with the greater purity of soul. Her zeal made her daily to pour forth many fervent prayers for the conversion of sinners, and also for the souls in purgatory, often with many tears. Being seized with her last sickness in her convent at Ghent, she received the sacraments of the church, foretold her death, and happily expired in her sixty-seventh year, on the 6th of March, in 1447. Her body is exposed to veneration in the church of that convent called Bethleem, in Ghent. She was never canonized, nor is she named in the Roman Martyrology: but Clement VIII., Paul V., Gregory XIII., and Urban VIII., have approved of an office in her honor for the whole Franciscan order, and certain cities. Her body was taken up at Ghent, in 1747, and several miracles wrought on the occasion were examined by the ordinary of the place, who sent the process and relation of them to Rome.

ST. FRIDOLIN, A.

HE was an Irish or Scotch abbot, who, leaving his own country, founded several monasteries in Austria, Burgundy, and Switzerland: the last was that of Sekingen, in an isle in the Rhine, now one of the four forest towns belonging to the house of Austria. In this monastery he died, in 538. He is the tutelar patron of the Swiss canton of Glaris, who carry in their coat of arms his picture in the Benedictin habit, though he was not of that order. See Molanus, Addit. ad Usuard; Pantaleon, Prosopographiae Vir. Illustr. German. ad an. 502; King in Calend Wion, Lignum Vitae, l. 3.

ST. BALDREDE, BISHOP OF GLASGOW, C.

HE was immediate successor of St. Mungo, in that see, established many nunneries in Scotland, and died in the province of Laudon, about the year 608. His relics were very famous in many churches in Scotland. See Adam King, in Calend., and the historians Boetius, Major, Leslie, &c.

SS. KYNEBURGE, KYNESWIDE, AND TIBBA.

THE two first were daughters of Penda, the cruel pagan king of Mercia, and sisters to three successive Christian kings, Peada, Wulfere, and Ethelred, and to the pious prince Merowald. Kyneburge, as Bede informs us,[1] was married to Alefrid, eldest sort of Oswi, and in his father's life-time king of Bernicia. They are said to have lived in perpetual continency. By his death she was left a widow in the bloom of life, and, renouncing the world, governed a nunnery which she built; or, according to others, found built by her brother Wulfere, in a moist fenny place, on the confines of the counties of Huntingdon and Northampton, then called Dormundcaster, afterwards, from her, Kyneburgecaster, now Caster. The author of her life in Capgrave says, that she lived here a mirror of all sanctity, and that no words can express the bowels of charity with which she cherished the souls which served God under her care; and how watchful she was over their comportment, and how zealous in instructing and exhorting them; and with what floods of tears she implored for them the divine grace and mercy. She had a wonderful compassion for the poor, and strongly exhorted her royal brothers {523} to alms-giving and works of mercy. Kyneswide and Kynedride (though many confounded the latter with St. Kyneburge) were also daughters of Penda, left very young at his death. By an early consecration of their virginity to God, they devoted themselves to his service, and both embraced a religious state. Kyneswide took the holy veil in the monastery of Dormundcaster.

The bodies of these saints were translated to Peterborough, where their festival was kept on the 6th of March, together with that of Saint Tibba, a holy virgin, their kinswoman, who, having spent many years in solitude and devotion, passed to glory on the 13th of December. Camden informs us, that she was honored with particular devotion at Rihal, a town near the river Wash, in Rutlandshire. See Ingulphus, Hist. p. 850; Will. of Malmesbury l. 4, de Pontif. p. 29; Capgrave and Harpsfield, saec. 7, c. 23.

Footnotes: 1. Bede Hist. l. 3, c. 21. 2. Camdem in Rutlandshire.

ST. CADROE, C.

HE was a noble Scotsman, son of count (or rather laird) Fokerstrach, and travelling into France, he took the monastic habit at Saint Bennet's on the Loire. He afterwards reformed the monastery of St. Clement, at Metz, in 960, and died in a visit which he made to Adelaide, mother of the emperor Otho I., at Neristein, about the year 975. His relics are kept at St. Clement's, at Metz, and he is honored on the 6th of March. See Mabillon, sec. 5, Ben. p. 480, and sec. 6, p. 28; Henschenius; and Calmet, Hist. de Lor. l. 19, n. 67, p. 1011.

MARCH VII.

ST. THOMAS OF AQUINO,

DOCTOR OF THE CHURCH AND CONFESSOR.

From his life written by Bartholomew of Lucca, some time the saint's confessor: also another life compiled for his canonization by William of Tocco, prior of Benevento, who had been personally acquainted with the saint, &c. See F. Touron, in his life of St. Thomas, in quarto, Paris, 1737.

A.D. 1274.

THE counts of Aquino, who have flourished in the kingdom of Naples these last ten centuries, derive their pedigree from a certain Lombard prince. They were allied to the kings of Sicily and Aragon, to St. Lewis of France, and many other sovereign houses of Europe. Our saint's grandfather having married the sister of the emperor Frederick I., he was himself grand nephew to that prince, and second cousin to the emperor Henry VI., and in the third degree to Frederick II.[1] His father, Landulph, was count of Aquino, and lord of Loretto and Belcastro: his mother Theodora was daughter to the count of Theate. The saint was born towards the end of the year 1226. St. Austin observes,[2] that the most tender age is subject to various passions, {524} as of impatience, choler, jealousy, spite, and the like, which appear to children: no such thing was seen in Thomas. The serenity of his countenance, the constant evenness of his temper, his modesty and sweetness, were sensible marks that God prevented him with his early graces. The count of Aquino conducted him to the abbey of Mount Cassino, when he was but five years old, to be instructed by those good monks in the first principles of religion and learning; and his tutors soon saw with joy the rapidity of his progress, his great talents, and his happy dispositions to virtue. He was but ten years of age when the abbot told his father that it was time to send him to some university. The count, before he sent him to Naples, took him for some months to see his mother at his seat at Loretto, the place which, about the end of that century, grew famous for devotion to our Lady. Thomas was the admiration of the whole family. Amidst so much company, and so many servants, he appeared always as much recollected, and occupied on God, as he had been in the monastery; he spoke little, and always to the purpose: and he employed all his time in prayer, or serious and profitable exercises. His great delight seemed to be to intercede for, and to distribute, his parents' plentiful alms among the poor at the gate, whom he studied by a hundred ingenious contrivances to relieve. He robbed himself of his own victuals for that purpose; which his father having discovered, he gave him leave to distribute things at discretion, which liberty he made good use of for the little time he stayed. The countess, apprehensive of the dangers her son's innocence might be exposed to in an academy, desired that he should perform his studies with a private preceptor under her own eyes; but the father, knowing the great advantages of emulation and mutual communication in studies, was determined to send him to Naples, where the emperor Frederick II., being exasperated against Bologna, had lately, in 1224, erected a university, forbidding students to resort to any other in Italy. This immediately drew thither great numbers of students, and with them disorder and licentiousness, like that described by St. Austin in the great schools of Carthage.[3] Thomas soon perceived the dangers, and regretted the sanctuary of Mount Cassino: but by his extraordinary watchfulness, he lived here like the young Daniel in the midst of Babylon; or Toby in the infidel Ninive. He guarded his eyes with an extreme caution, shunned entirely all conversation with any woman whatever, and with any young men whose steady virtue did not render him perfectly secure as to their behavior. While others went to profane diversions, he retired into some church or into his closet, making prayer and study his only pleasure. He learned rhetoric under Peter Martin and philosophy under Peter of Hibernia, one of the most learned men of his age, and with such wonderful progress, that he repeated the lessons more clearly than the master had explained them yet his greater care was to advance daily in the science of the saints, by holy prayer, and all good works. His humility concealed them; but his charity and fervor sometimes betrayed his modesty, and discovered them, especially in his great alms, for which ne deprived himself of almost all things, and in which he was careful to hide from his left-hand what his right did.

The Order of St. Dominick, who had been dead twenty-two years, then abounded with men full of the spirit of God. The frequent conversations Thomas had with one of that body, a very interior holy man, filled his heart with heavenly devotion and comfort, and inflamed him daily with a more ardent love of God, which so burned in his breast that at his prayers his countenance seemed one day, as it were, to dart rays of light, and he conceived {525} a vehement desire to consecrate himself wholly to God in that Order. His tutor perceived his inclinations and informed the count of the matter who omitted neither threats nor promises to defeat such a design. But the saint, not listening to flesh and blood in the call of heaven, demanded with earnestness to be admitted into the Order, and accordingly received the habit in the convent of Naples, in 1243, being then seventeen years old. The countess Theodora his mother, being informed of it, set out for Naples to disengage him, if possible, from that state of life. Her son, on the first news of her journey, begged his superiors to remove him, as they did first to the convent of St. Sabina in Rome, and soon after to Paris, out of the reach of his relations. Two of his brothers, Landulph and Reynold, commanders in the emperor's army in Tuscany, by her direction so well guarded all the roads that he fell into their hands, near Acqua-pendente{?}. They endeavored to pull off his habit, but he resisted them so violently that they conducted him in it to the seat of his parents, called Rocca-Secca. The mother, overjoyed at their success, made no doubt of overcoming her son's resolution. She endeavored to persuade him that to embrace such an Order, against his parents' advice, could not be the call of heaven; adding all manner of reasons, fond caresses, entreaties, and tears. Nature made her eloquent and pathetic. He appeared sensible of her affliction, but his constancy was not to be shaken. His answers were modest and respectful, but firm, in showing his resolution to be the call of God, and ought consequently to take place of all other views whatsoever, even for his service any other way. At last, offended at his unexpected resistance, she expressed her displeasure in very choleric words, and ordered him to be more closely confined and guarded, and that no one should see him but his two sisters. The reiterated solicitations of the young ladies were a long and violent assault. They omitted nothing that flesh and blood could inspire on such an occasion, and represented to him the danger of causing the death of his mother by grief. He on the contrary spoke to them in so moving a manner, on the contempt of the world, and the love of virtue, that they both yielded to the force of his reasons for his quitting the world, and, by his persuasion, devoted themselves to a sincere practice of piety.

This solitude furnished him with the most happy opportunity for holy contemplation and assiduous prayer. Some time after, his sisters conveyed to him some books, viz., a Bible, Aristotle's logics, and the works of the Master of the Sentences. During this interval his two brothers, Landulph and Reynold, returning home from the army, found their mother in the greatest affliction, and the young novice triumphant in his resolution. They would needs undertake to overcome him, and began their assault by shutting him up in a tower of the castle. They tore in pieces his habit on his back, and after bitter reproaches and dreadful threats they left him, hoping his confinement, and the mortifications every one strove to give him, would shake his resolution. This not succeeding, the devil suggested to these two young officers a new artifice for diverting him from pursuing his vocation. They secretly introduced one of the most beautiful and most insinuating young strumpets of the country into his chamber, promising her a considerable reward in case she could draw him into sin. She employed all the arms of Satan to succeed in so detestable a design. The saint, alarmed and affrighted at the danger, profoundly humbled himself, and cried out to God most earnestly for his protection; then snatching up a firebrand struck her with it, and drove her out of his chamber. After this victory, not moved with pride, but blushing with confusion for having been so basely assaulted, he fell on his knees and thanked God for his merciful preservation, consecrated to him anew his chastity, and redoubled his prayers, and the earnest cry of his {526} heart with sighs and tears, to obtain the grace of being always faithful to his promises. Then falling into a slumber, as the most ancient historians of his life relate,[4] he was visited by two angels, who seemed to gird him round the waist with a cord so tight that it awaked him, and made him to cry out. His guards ran in, but he kept his secret to himself. It was only a little before his death that he disclosed this incident to F. Reynold, his confessor, adding that he had received this favor about thirty years before, from which time he had never been annoyed with temptations of the flesh; yet he constantly used the utmost caution and watchfulness against that enemy, and he would otherwise have deserved to forfeit that grace. One heroic victory sometimes obtains of God a recompense and triumph of this kind. Our saint having suffered in silence this imprisonment and persecution upwards of a twelvemonth, some say two years, at length, on the remonstrances of Pope Innocent IV. and the emperor Frederick, on account of so many acts of violence in his regard, both the countess and his brothers began to relent. The Dominicans of Naples being informed of this, and that his mother was disposed to connive at measures that might be taken to procure his escape, they hastened in disguise to Rocca-Secca, where his sister, knowing that the countess no longer opposed his escape, contrived his being let down out of his tower in a basket. He was received by his brethren in their arms, and carried with joy to Naples. The year following he there made his profession, looking on that day as the happiest of his whole life in which he made a sacrifice of his liberty that he might belong to God alone. But his mother and brothers renewed their complaints to Pope Innocent IV., who sent for Thomas to Rome, and examined him on the subject of his vocation to the state of religion, in their presence; and having received entire satisfaction on this head, the pope admired his virtue, and approved of his choice of that state of life, which from that time he was suffered to pursue in peace. Albertus Magnus teaching then at Cologne, the general, John the Teutonic, took the saint with him from Rome to Paris, and thence to Cologne. Thomas gave all his time, which was not employed in devotion and other duties, to his studies, retrenching part of that which was allowed for his meals and sleep, not out of a vain passion, or the desire of applause, but for the advancement of God's honor and the interests of religion, according to what he himself teaches.[5] His humility made him conceal his progress and deep penetration, insomuch that his schoolfellows thought he learned nothing, and on account of his silence, called him The dumb Ox, and the Great Sicilian Ox. One of them even offered to explain his lessons to him, whom he thankfully listened to without speaking, though he was then capable of teaching him. They who know how much scholars and masters usually seek to distinguish themselves, and display their science, will give to so uncommon an humility its due praise. But the brightness of his genius, his quick and deep penetration and learning were at last discovered, in spite of all his endeavors to conceal them: for his master Albertus, having propounded to him several questions on the most knotty and obscure points, his answers, which the duty of obedience extorted, astonished the audience; and Albertus, not able to contain his joy and admiration, said, "We call him the dumb ox, but he will give such a bellow in learning as will be heard all over the world." This applause made no impression on the humble saint. He continued the same in simplicity, modesty, silence, and recollection, because his heart was the same; equally insensible to praises and humiliations, full of nothing but of God and his own insufficiency, never reflecting on his own qualifications, or on what was the opinion of others concerning him. In his first year, {527} under Albertus Magnus, he wrote comments on Aristotle's Ethics. The general chapter of the Dominicans, held at Cologne in 1245, deputed Albertus to teach at Paris, in their college of St. James, which the university had given them; and it is from that college they are called in France Jacobins. St. Thomas was sent with him to continue his studies there. His school exercises did not interrupt his prayer. By an habitual sense of the divine presence, and devout aspirations, he kept his heart continually raised to God; and in difficult points redoubled with more earnestness his fervor in his prayers than his application to study. This he found attended with such success, that he often said that he had learned less by books than before his crucifix, or at the foot of the altar. His constant attention to God always filled his soul with joy, which appeared in his very countenance, and made his conversation altogether heavenly. His humility and obedience were most remarkable in all things. One day while he read at table, the corrector, by mistake, bid him read a word with a false quantity, and he readily obeyed, though he knew the error. When others told him he ought notwithstanding to have given it the right pronunciation, his answer was, "It matters not how a word is pronounced, but to practise on all occasions humility and obedience is of the greatest importance." He was so perfectly mortified, and dead to his senses, that he ate without reflecting either on the kind or quality of his food, so that after meals he often knew not what he had been eating.

In the year 1248, being twenty-two years of age, he was appointed by the general chapter to teach at Cologne, together with his old master Albertus, whose high reputation he equalled in his very first lessons. He then also began to publish his first works, which consist of comments on the Ethics, and other philosophical works of Aristotle. No one was more courteous and affable, but it was his principle to shun all unnecessary visits. To prepare himself for holy orders he redoubled his watchings, prayer, and other spiritual exercises. His devotion to the blessed Sacrament was extraordinary. He spent several hours of the day and part of the night before the altar, humbling himself in acts of profound adoration, and melting with love in contemplation of the immense charity of that Man-God, whom he there adored. In saying mass he seemed to be in raptures, and often quite dissolved in tears; a glowing frequently appeared in his eyes and countenance which showed the ardor with which his heart burned within him. His devotion was most frequent during the precious moments after he had received the divine mysteries; and after saying mass he usually served at another, or at least heard one. This fire and zeal appeared also in his sermons at Cologne, Paris, Rome, and in other cities of Italy. He was everywhere heard as an angel; even the Jews ran of their own accord to hear him, and many of them were converted. His zeal made him solicitous, in the first place, for the salvation of his relations. His example and exhortations induced them to an heroic practice of piety. His eldest sister consecrated herself to God in St. Mary's, at Capua, and died abbess of that monastery: the younger, Theodora, married the count of Marsico, and lived and died in great virtue; as did his mother. His two brothers, Landulph and Reynold, became sincere penitents; and having some time after left the emperor's service, he, in revenge, burnt Aquino, their seat, in 1250, and put Reynold to death; the rest were obliged to save themselves by a voluntary banishment, but were restored in 1268. St. Thomas, after teaching four years at Cologne, was sent, in 1252, to Paris. His reputation for perspicuity and solidity drew immediately to his school a great number of auditors.[6] St. Thomas, with great reluctancy, compelled by holy obedience {528} consented to be admitted doctor, on the 23d of October, in 1257, being then thirty-one years old. The professors of the university of Paris being divided about the question of the accidents remaining really, or only in appearance, in the blessed sacrament of the altar, they agreed, in 1258, to consult our saint. The young doctor, not puffed up by such an honor, applied himself first to God by prayer, then he wrote upon that question the treatise still extant, and, carrying it to the church, laid it on the altar. The most ancient author of his life assures us, that while the saint remained in prayer on that occasion, some of the brethren who were present, saw him raised a little above the ground.[7]

The holy king, St. Louis, had so great an esteem for St. Thomas, that he consulted him in affairs of state, and ordinarily informed him, the evening before, of any affair of importance that was to be treated of in council, that he might be the more ready to give advice on the point. The saint avoided the honor of dining with the king as often as be could excuse himself: and, when obliged to assist at court, appeared there as recollected as in his convent. One day at the king's table, the saint cried out: "The argument is conclusive against the Manichees."[8] His prior, being with him, bade him remember where he was. The saint would have asked the king's pardon, but that good prince, fearing he should forget the argument that had occurred to his mind, caused his secretary to write it down for him. In the year 1259 St. Thomas assisted at the thirty-sixth general chapter of his order, held at Valenciennes, which deputed him, in conjunction with Albertus Magnus and three others, to draw up rules for studies, which are still extant in the acts of that chapter. Returning to Paris, he there continued his lectures. Nothing was more remarkable than his meekness on all occasions. His temper was never ruffled in the heat of any dispute, nor by any insult. It was owing to this sweetness, more than to his invincible force of reasoning, that he brought a young doctor to retract on the spot a dangerous opinion, which he was maintaining a second time in his thesis. In 1261, Urban IV. called St. Thomas to Rome, and, by his order, the general appointed him to teach here. His holiness pressed him with great importunity to accept of some ecclesiastical dignity,{529} but he knew how much safer it is to refuse than to accept a bishopric. The pope, however, obliged him always to attend his person. Thus it happened that the saint taught and preached in all the towns where that pope ever resided, as in Rome, Viterbo, Orvieto, Fondi, and Perugia. He also taught at Bologna, Naples, &c.[9]

The fruits of his preaching were no less wonderful than those of his pen. While he was preaching, on Good Friday, on the love of God for man, and our ingratitude to him, his whole auditory melted into tears to such a degree that he was obliged to stop several times, that they might recover themselves. His discourse on the following Sunday, concerning the glory of Christ, and the happiness of those who rise with him by grace, was no less pathetic and affecting. William of Tocco adds, that as the saint was coming out of St. Peter's church the same day, a woman was cured of the bloody flux by touching the hem of his garment. The conversion of two considerable Rabbins seemed still a greater miracle. St. Thomas had held a long conference with them at a casual meeting in cardinal Richard's villa, and they agreed to resume it the next day. The saint spent the foregoing night in prayer, at the foot of the altar. The next morning these two most obstinate Jews came to him of their own accord, not to dispute, but to embrace the faith, and were followed by many others. In the year 1263, the Dominicans held their fortieth general chapter in London; St. Thomas assisted at it, and obtained soon after to be dismissed from teaching. He rejoiced to see himself reduced to the state of a private religious man. Pope Clement IV. had {530} such a regard for him, that, in 1265, among other ecclesiastical preferments, he made him an offer of the archbishopric of Naples, but could not prevail with him to accept of that or any other. The first part of his theological Summ St. Thomas composed at Bologna: he was called thence to Naples. Here it was that, according to Tocco and others, Dominick Caserte beheld him, while in fervent prayer, raised from the ground, and heard a voice from the crucifix directed to him in these words: "Thou hast written well of me, Thomas: what recompense dost thou desire?" He answered: "No other than thyself, O Lord."[10]

From the 6th of December, in 1273, to the 7th of March following, the day of his death, he neither dictated nor wrote any thing on theological matters. He from that time laid aside his studies, to fix his thoughts and heart entirely on eternity, and to aspire with the greatest ardor and most languishing desires to the enjoyment of God in perfect love. Pope Gregory X. had called a general council, the second of Lyons, with the view of extinguishing the Greek schism, and raising succors to defend the holy land against the Saracens. The ambassadors of the emperor Michael Palaeologus, together with the Greek prelates, were to assist at it. The council was to meet on the 1st of May, in 1274. His holiness, by brief directed to our saint, ordered him to repair thither, and to prepare himself to defend the Catholic cause against the Greek schismatics. Though indisposed, he set out from Naples about the end of January. His dear friend, F. Reynold of Piperno, was appointed his companion, and ordered to take care that he did not neglect himself, which the saint was apt to do. St. Thomas on the road called at the castle of Magenza, the seat of his niece, Francisca of Aquino, married to the count of Cecan. Here his distemper increased, which was attended with a loss of appetite. One day he said, to be rid of their importunities, that he thought he could eat a little of a certain fish which he had formerly eaten in France, but which was not easily to be found in Italy. Search however was made, and the fish procured; but the saint refused to touch it, in imitation of David on the like occasion. Soon after his appetite returned a little, and his strength with it; yet he was assured that his last hour was at hand. This however did not hinder him from proceeding on his journey, till, his fever increasing, he was forced to stop at Fossa-Nuova, a famous abbey of the Cistercians, in the diocese of Terracina, where formerly stood the city called Forum Appii. Entering the monastery, he went first to pray before the Blessed Sacrament, according to his custom. He poured forth his soul with extraordinary fervor, in the presence of Him who noto called him to his kingdom. Passing thence into the cloister, which he never lived to go out of, he repeated these words:[11] This is my rest for ages without end. He was lodged in the abbot's apartment, where he lay ill for near a month. The good monks treated him with uncommon veneration and esteem, and as if he had been an angel from heaven. They would not employ any of their servants about him, but chose to serve him themselves in the meanest offices, as in cutting or carrying wood for him to burn, &c. His patience, humility, constant recollection, and prayer, were equally their astonishment and edification.

The nearer he saw himself to the term of all his desires, the entering into the joy of his Lord, the more tender and inflamed were his longings after death. He had continually in his mouth these words of St. Austin,[12] "Then shall I truly live, when I shall be quite filled with you alone, and your love; {531} now I am a burden to myself, because I am not entirely full of you." In such pious transports of heavenly love, he never ceased sighing after the glorious day of eternity. The monks begged he would dictate an exposition of the book of Canticles, in imitation of St. Bernard. He answered: "Give me St. Bernard's spirit, and I will obey." But at last, to renounce perfectly his own will, he dictated the exposition of that most mysterious of all the divine books. It begins: Solomon inspiratus: It is not what his erudition might have suggested, but what love inspired him with in his last mordents, when his pure soul was hastening to break the chains of mortality, and drown itself in the ocean of God's immensity, and in the delights of eternity.[13] The holy doctor at last finding himself too weak to dictate any more, begged the religious to withdraw, recommending himself to their prayers, and desiring their leave to employ the few precious moments he had to live with God alone. He accordingly spent them in fervent acts of adoration, praise, thanksgiving, humility, and repentance. He made a general confession of his whole life to F. Reynold, with abundance of tears for his imperfections and sins of frailty; for in the judgment of those to whom he had manifested his interior, he had never offended God by any mortal sin. And he said to F. Reynold, before his death, that he thanked God with his whole heart for having prevented him with his grace, and always conducted him as it were by the hand, and preserved him from any known sin that destroys charity in the soul; adding, that this was purely God's mercy to which he was indebted for his preservation from every sin which he had not committed.[14] Having received absolution in the sentiments of the most perfect penitent, he desired the Viaticum. While the abbot and community were preparing to bring it, he begged to be taken off his bed, and laid upon ashes spread upon the floor. Thus lying on the ground, weak in body but vigorous in mind, he waited for the priest with tears of the most tender devotion. When he saw the host in the priest's hand, he said: "I firmly believe that Jesus Christ, true God and true Man, is present in this august sacrament. I adore you, my God and my Redeemer: I receive You, the price of my redemption, the Viaticum of my pilgrimage; for whose honor I have studied, labored, preached, and taught. I hope I never advanced any tenet as your word, which I had not learned from you. If through ignorance I have done otherwise, I revoke every thing of that kind, and submit all my writing, to the judgment of the holy Roman church." Then recollecting himself, after other acts of faith, adoration, and love, he received the holy Viaticum; but remained on the ashes till he had finished his thanksgiving. Growing still weaker, amid his transports of love, he desired extreme unction, which he received, answering himself to all the prayers. After this he lay in peace and joy, as appeared by the serenity of his countenance; and he was heard to pronounce these aspirations: "Soon, soon will the God of all comfort complete his mercies on me, and fill all my desires. I shall shortly be satiated in him, and drink of the torrent of his delights: be inebriated from the abundance of his house, and in him who is the source of life, I shall behold the true light." Seeing all in tears about him, he comforted them, saying: Death was his gain and his joy. F. Reynold said he had hoped to see him triumph over the adversaries of the church in the council of Lyons, and placed in a rank in which he might do it some signal service. The saint answered: "I have begged of God, as the greatest favor, to die a simple religious man, and I now thank him for it. It is a {532} greater benefit than he has granted to many of his holy servants, that he is pleased to call me out of this world so early, to enter into his joy; wherefore grieve not for me, who am overwhelmed with joy." He returned thanks to the abbot and monks of Fossa-Nuova for their charity to him. One of the community asked him by what means we might live always faithful to God's grace. He answered: "Be assured that he who shall always walk faithfully in his presence, always ready to give him an account of all his actions, shall never be separated from him by consenting to sin." These were his last words to men, after which he only spoke to God in prayer, and gave up the ghost, on the 7th of March, in 1274, a little after midnight: some say in the fiftieth year of his age. But Ptolemy of Lucca, and other contemporary authors, say expressly in his forty-eighth, which also agrees with his whole history. He was very tall, and every way proportioned.

The concourse of people at the saint's funeral was extraordinary: several monks of that house, and many other persons, were cured by his relics and intercession, of which many instances, juridically proved, are mentioned by William of Tocco, in the bull of his canonization, and other authors. The Bollandists give us other long authentic relations of the like miracles continued afterwards, especially in the translation of those holy relics. The University of Paris sent to the general and provincial of the Dominicans a letter of condolence upon his death, giving the highest commendations to the saint's learning and sanctity, and begging the treasure of his holy body. Naples, Rome, and many other universities, princes, and Orders, contended no less for it. One of his hands, uncorrupt, was cut off in 1288, and given to his sister, the countess Theodora, who kept it in her domestic chapel of San Severino. After her death it was given to the Dominicans' convent of Salerno. After several contestations, pope Urban V., many years after his death, granted his body to the Dominicans to carry to Paris or Toulouse, as Italy already possessed the body of St. Dominick at Bologna. The sacred treasure was carried privately into France, and received at Thoulouse in the most honorable mariner: one hundred and fifty thousand people came to meet and conduct it into the city, having at their head Louis duke of Anjou, brother to king Charles V., the archbishops of Thoulouse and Narbonne, and many bishops, abbots, and noblemen. It rests now in the Dominican's church at Thoulouse, in a rich shrine, with a stately mausoleum over it, which reaches almost up to the roof of the church, and hath four faces. An arm of the saint was at the same time sent to the great convent of the Dominicans at Paris, and placed in St. Thomas's chapel in their church, which the king declared a royal chapel. The faculty of theology meets to assist at a high mass there on the anniversary festival of the saint. The kingdom of Naples, after many pressing solicitations, obtained, in 1372, from the general chapter held at Thoulouse, a bone of the other arm of St. Thomas. It was kept in the church of the Dominicans at Naples till 1603, when the city being delivered from a public calamity by his intercession, it was placed in the metropolitan church among the relics of the other patrons of the country. That kingdom, by the briefs of Pius V. in 1567, and of Clement VIII. in 1603, confirmed by Paul V., honors him as a principal patron. He was solemnly canonized by pope John XXII. in 1323. Pope Pius V., in 1567, commanded his festival and office to be kept equal with those of the four doctors of the western church.

* * * * *

Many in their studies, as in other occupations, take great pains to little purpose, often to draw from them the poison of vanity or error; or at least to drain their affections, and rather to nourish pride and other vices in the heart than to promote true virtue. Sincere humility and simplicity of heart {533} are essential conditions for the sanctification of studies, and for the improvement of virtue by them. Prayer must also both go before and accompany them. St. Thomas spoke much to God by prayer, that God might speak to him by enlightening his understanding in his reading and studies; and he received in this what he asked in the other exercise. This prodigy of human wit, this unparalleled genius, which penetrated the most knotty difficulties in all the sciences, whether sacred or profane, to which he applied himself, was accustomed to say that he learned more at the foot of the crucifix than in books. We ought never to set ourselves to read or study any thing without having first made our morning meditation, and without imploring in particular the divine light in every thing we read; and seasoning our studies by frequent aspirations to God in them, and by keeping our souls in an humble attention to his presence. In intricate difficulties, we ought more earnestly, prostrate at the foot of a crucifix, to ask of Christ the resolution of our doubts. We should thus receive, in the school of so good a master, that science which makes saints, by giving, with other sciences, the true knowledge of God and ourselves, and purifying and kindling in the will the fire of divine love with the sentiments of humility and other virtues. By a little use, fervent aspirations to God will arise from all subjects in the driest studies, and it will become easy, and as it were natural in them, to raise our heart earnestly to God, either despising the vain pursuits, or detesting the vanity, and deploring the blindness of the world, or aspiring after heavenly gifts, or begging light, grace, or the divine love. This is a maxim of the utmost importance in an interior or spiritual life, which otherwise, instead of being assisted, is entirely overwhelmed and extinguished by studies, whether profane or sacred, and in its place a spirit of self-sufficiency, vanity, and jealousy is contracted, and the seeds of all other spiritual vices secretly sown. Against this danger St. Bonaventure warns all students strongly to be upon their guard, saying, "If a person repeats often in his heart, Lord, when shall I love thee? he will feel a heavenly fire kindled in his soul much more than by a thousand bright thoughts or fine speculations on divine secrets, on the eternal generation of the Word, or the procession of the Holy Ghost."[15] Prayer and true virtue even naturally conduce to the perfection of learning, in every branch; for purity of the heart, and the disengagement of the affections from all irregular passions, render the understanding clear, qualify the mind to judge impartially of truth in its researches, divest it of many prejudices, the fatal sources of errors, and inspire a modest distrust to a person's own abilities and lights. Thus virtue and learning mutually assist and improve each other.

Footnotes: 1. St. Thomas was born at Belcastro: on his ancient illustrious pedigree and its branches, which still flourish in Calabria, see Barrius, de Antiquitate et Situ Calabriae, with the notes of Thomas Aceti, l. 4, c. 2, p. 288, &c, where he refutes the Bollandists, who place his birth at Aquino in Campania, on the border of that province. 2. L. 1, Conf. c. 7. 3. Conf. l. 5, c. 3. 4. Gul. Tocco. Bern. Guid. Antonin. Malvend. 5. Footnote: 2. 2dae, q. 188, a. 5. 6. The manner of teaching then was not, as it is generally at present, by dictating lessons, which the scholars write, but it was according to the practice that still obtains in some public schools, as in Padua, &c. The master delivered his explanation like an harangue; the scholars retained what they could, and often privately took down short notes to help their memory. Academical degrees were then also very different from what they now are; being conferred on none but those who taught. To be Master of Arts, a man must have studied six years at least, and be twenty-one years old. And to be qualified for teaching divinity, he must have studied eight years more, and be at least thirty-five years old. Nevertheless, St. Thomas, by a dispensation of the university, on account of his distinguished merit, was allowed to teach at twenty-five. The usual way was for one named bachelor to explain the Master of the Sentences for a year in the school of some doctor, upon whose testimony, after certain rigorous public examinations, and other formalities, the bachelor was admitted in the degree of licentiate; which gave him the license of a doctor, to teach or hold a school himself. Another year, which was likewise employed in expounding the Master of the Sentences, completed the degree of doctor, which the candidate received from the chancel for of the university, and then opened a school in form, with a bachelor to teach under him. In 1253, St. Thomas began to teach as licentiate; but a stop was put to his degrees for some time, by a violent disagreement between the regulars, principally Dominicans and Franciscans, and the university which had at first admitted them into their body, and even given the Dominicans a college. In these disputes St. Thomas was not spared, but he for a long time had recourse to no other vindication of himself than that of modesty and silence. On Palm Sunday he was preaching in the Dominican's church of St. James, when a beadle coming in commanded silence, and read a long written invective against him and his colleagues. When he had done, the saint, without speaking one word to justify himself or his Order, continued his sermon with the greatest tranquillity and unconcern of mind. William de Saint-Amour, the most violent among the secular doctors, published a book, On the dangers of the latter Times, a bitter invective against the mendicant Orders, which St. Louis sent to pope Alexander IV. SS. Thomas and Bonaventure were sent into Italy to defend their Orders. And to confute that book, St. Thomas published his nineteenth Opusculum, with an Apology for the mendicant Orders, showing they lay under no precept that all should apply themselves to manual labor, and that spiritual occupations were even preferable. The pope, upon this apology, condemned the book, and also another, called the Eternal Gospel, in defence of the error of the abbot Joachim. who had advanced that the church was to have an end, and be succeeded by a new church which should be formed perfectly according to the Spirit: this heresy, and the errors of certain other fanatics, were refuted by our saint at Rome. In his return to Paris, a violent storm terrified all the mariners and passengers; only Thomas appeared without the least fear, and continued in quiet prayer till the tempest had ceased. William de Saint-Amour being banished Paris, peace was restored in the university. 7. Gul. Tocco. 8. Conclusum est contra Manichaeos. 9. The works of St. Thomas are partly philosophical, partly theological; with some comments on the holy scriptures, and several treatises of piety. The elegance of Plato gave his philosophy the greater vogue among the Gentiles; and the most learned of the Christian fathers were educated is the maxims or his school. His noble sentiments on the attributes of the Deity, particularly his providence, and his doctrine on the rewards and punishments in a future state, seemed favorable to religion. Nor can it be doubted but he had learned, in his travels in Egypt and Phoenicia, many traditional truths delivered down from the patriarchal ages, before the corruptions of idolatry. On the other hand, the philosophy of Aristotle was much less in request among the heathens, was silent as to all traditional truths, and contained some glaring errors, which several heretics of the first ages adopted against the gospel. On which account he is called by Tertullian the patriarch of heretics, and his works were procribed by a council of Paris, about the year 1209. Nevertheless it must be acknowledged, by all impartial judges, that Aristotle was the greatest and most comprehensive genius of antiquity, and perhaps of any age: and he was the only one that had laid down complete rules, and explained the laws of reasoning, and had given a thorough system of philosophy. Boetius had penetrated the depth of his genius, and the usefulness of his logic; yet did not redress his mistakes. Human reasoning is too weak without the light of revelation; and Aristotle, by relying too much on it fell into the same gross errors. Not only many ancient heretics, but also several in the twelfth and thirteenth ages, as Peter Aballard, the Albigenses, and other heretics, made a bad use of his philosophy. But above all, the Saracens of Arabaia and Spain wrote with incredible subtilty on his principles. St. Thomas opposed the enemies of truth with their own weapons, and employed the philosophy of Aristotle in defence of the faith, in which he succeeded to a miracle. He discerned and confuted his errors, and set in a clear and new light the great truths of reason which that philosopher had often wrapt up in obscurity. Thus Aristotle, who had been called the terror of Christians, in the hands of Thomas became orthodox, and furnished faith with new arms against idolatry and atheism. For this admirable doctor, though he had only a bad Latin translation of the works of that philosopher, has corrected his errors, and shown that his whole system of philosophy, as far as it is grounded in truth, is subservient to divine revelation. This he has executed through the nicest metaphysical speculations, in the five first volumes of his works. He everywhere strikes out a new track for himself; and enters into the most secret recesses of this shadowy region; so as to appear new even on known and beaten subjects. For his writings are original efforts of genius and reflection, and every point he handles in a manner that makes it appear new. If his speculations are sometimes spun fine, and his divisions run to niceties, this was the fault of the age in which he lived, and of the speculative refining geniuses of the Arabians, whom he had undertaken to pursue and confute throughout their whole system. His comments on the four books of the Master of the Sentences contain a methodical course of theology, and make the sixth and seventh volumes of his works; the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth give us his Summ, Or incomparable abridged body of divinity, though this work he never lived to finish. Among the fathers, St. Austin is principally his guide; so that the learned cardinals, Norris and Aguirre, call St. Thomas his most faithful Interpreter. He draws the rules of practical duties and virtues principally from the morals of St. Gregory on Job. He compassed his Summ against the Gentiles, at the request of St. Raymund of Pennafort, to serve the preachers in Spain in converting the Jews and Saracens to the faith. He wrote comments on most parts of the holy scriptures, especially on the epistles of St. Paul, in which latter he seemed to outdo himself. By the order of pope Urban IV., he compiled the office of the blessed sacrament, which the church uses to this day, on the feast and during the Octave of Corpus-Christi. His Opuscula, or lesser treatises, have in view the confutation of the Greek schismatics and several heresies; or discuss various points of philosophy and theology; or are comments on the creed, sacraments, decalogue, Lord's prayer, and Hail Mary. In his treatises on piety he reduces the rules of an interior life to these two gospel maxims: first. That we must strenuously labor by self-denial and mortification to extinguish in our hearts all the sparks of pride, and the inordinate love of creatures; secondly, That by assiduous prayer, meditation, and doing the will of God in all things, we must kindle his perfect love in our souls. (Opusc. 17 & 18; His works are printed in nineteen volumes folio.) 10. Bene scripsisti de me, Thoma: quam mercedem addipies? Non aliam, nisi te Domine. 11. Psalm cxxxi. 14. 12. Conf. l. 10, c. 28. 13. There is another commentary on the same book which sometimes bears his name, and begins: Sonet vox tua in auribus meis: which was not the work of this saint, but of Hayme{}, bishop of Halberstadt. See Echard, t. 1, p. 323. Touron, p. 714. Le Long. Bibl. Sacra. n. 766. 14. Tibi debo et quod non feci. St. Au{}. 15. St. Bonav. l. de Mystica Theol. a. ult.

SS. PERPETUA, AND FELICITAS, MM.

WITH THEIR COMPANIONS.

From their most valuable genuine acts, quoted by Tertullian, l. de anima, c. 55, and by St. Austin, serm. {}, 283, 294. The first part of these acts, which reaches to the eve of her martyrdom, was written by St. Perpetua. The vision of St. Saturus was added by him. The rest was subjoined by an eye-witness of their death. See Tillemont, t. 3, p. 139. Ceillier, t. 2, p. 213. These acts have been often republished; but are extant, most ample and correct, in Ruinart. They were publicly read in the churches of Africa, as appears from St. Austin, Serm. 180. See them vindicated from the suspicion of Montanism, by O{}, Vindicae Act. SS. Perpetuae et Felicitatis.

A. D 203.

A VIOLENT persecution being set on foot by the emperor Severus, in 202, reached Africa the following year; when, by order of Minutius Timinianus, {534} (or Firminianus,) five catechumens were apprehended at Carthage for the faith: namely, Rovocatus, and his fellow-slave Felicitas, Saturninus, and Secundulus, and Vibia Perpetua. Felicitas was seven months gone with child; and Perpetua had an infant at her breast, was of a good family, twenty-two years of age, and married to a person of quality in the city. She had a father, a mother, and two brothers; the third, Dinocrates, died about seven years old. These five martyrs were joined by Saturus, probably brother to Saturninus, and who seems to have been their instructor: he underwent a voluntary imprisonment, because he would not abandon them. The father of St. Perpetua, who was a pagan, and advanced in years, loved her more than all his other children. Her mother was probably a Christian, as was one of her brothers, the other a catechumen. The martyrs were for some days before their commitment kept under a strong guard in a private house: and the account Perpetua gives of their sufferings to the eve of their death, is as follows: "We were in the hands of our persecutors, when my father, out of the affection he bore me, made new efforts to shake my resolution. I said to him: 'Can that vessel, which you see, change its name?' He said: 'No.' I replied: 'Nor can I call myself any other than I am, that is to say, a Christian.' At that word my father in a rage fell upon me, as if he would have pulled my eyes out, and beat me: but went away in confusion, seeing me invincible: after this we enjoyed a little repose, and in that interval received baptism. The Holy Ghost, on our coming out of the water, inspired me to pray for nothing but patience under corporal pains. A few days after this we were put into prison: I was shocked at the horror and darkness of the place;[1] for till then I knew not what such sort of places were. We suffered much that day, chiefly on account of the great heat caused by the crowd, and the ill-treatment we met with from the soldiers. I was moreover tortured with concern, for that I had not my infant. But the deacons, Tertius and Pomponius, who assisted us, obtained, by money, that we might pass some hours in a more commodious part of the prison to refresh ourselves. My infant being brought to me almost famished, I gave it the breast. I recommended him afterwards carefully to my mother, and encouraged my brother; but was much afflicted to see their concern for me. After a few days my sorrow was changed into comfort, and my prison itself seemed agreeable. One day my brother said to me: 'Sister, I am persuaded that you are a peculiar favorite of Heaven: pray to God to reveal to you whether this imprisonment will end in martyrdom or not, and acquaint me of it.' I, knowing God gave me daily tokens of his goodness, answered, full of confidence, 'I will inform you to-morrow.' I therefore asked that favor of God, and had this vision. I saw a golden ladder which reached from earth to the heavens; but so narrow, that only one could mount it at a time. To the two sides were fastened all sorts of iron instruments, as swords, lances, hooks, and knives; so that if any one went up carelessly he was in great danger of having his flesh torn by those weapons. At the foot of the ladder lay a dragon of an enormous size, who kept guard to turn back and terrify those that endeavored to mount it. The first that went up was Saturus, who was not apprehended with us, but voluntarily surrendered himself afterwards on our account: when he was got to the top of the ladder, he turned towards me and said: 'Perpetua, I wait for you; but take care lest the dragon bite you.' I answered: 'In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, he shall not hurt me.' Then the dragon, as if afraid of me, gently lifted his head from under the ladder, and I, having got upon the first step, set my foot upon his head. Thus I mounted to the top, and there {535} I saw a garden of an immense space, and in the middle of it a tall man sitting down dressed like a shepherd, having white hair. He was milking his sheep, surrounded with many thousands of persons clad in white. He called me by my name, bid me welcome, and gave me some curds made of the milk which he had drawn: I put my hands together and took and ate them; and all that were present said aloud, Amen. The noise awaked me, chewing something very sweet. As soon as I had related to my brother this vision, we both concluded that we should suffer death.