To the holy and most blessed lord, the special patron with God, venerable with all reverence and admiration, truly apostolic, a perpetual bishop and teacher in all religion—from Paulinus. By the zeal of charity and the affection of love you bid us forget shame, while you counsel modesty and reserve, lest the judgment be burdened with prevarication. You do not perceive that you are deceived, judging more favorably than truly: you believe to be good what you wish to be good, and you admit into the fellowship of your devotion even those whom you read to be among the foolish.
Concerning the merits and virtues of the holy and apostolic teacher and lord, you have sent us so splendid a history that, most rightly, if your benediction had so commanded, it might come to the knowledge of the whole world. But you have judged that I should cleave to these footprints and could add something more polished, as it were—though it is a far greater thing to set forth things discovered than to transcribe things already published. Let us, however, consent to submit obedience, not to estimate conscience too incautiously, since I think it ought not to be debated what he commands, to whom the vows of obeying in all things submit themselves. O holy and most blessed lord, truly perpetual patron of religion and grace, mirror of venerable doctrine, example of perfection:
follow him whom you love, imitate him whom you follow; be his successor in honor, his venerator in humility. Let us make use of the determination of your mandate. Claim what is yours, you who, as you know, have made me liable by this choice. When the writing shall have come into your hands, cherish what you receive, excuse my unskillfulness, beseech clemency: may it pardon the usurpation, succor the sinner, come to the aid of error. It was unworthy that we should dare to touch deeds so great, but it had been more arrogant to despise the mandates. Let it bear, through patience, the murmurs undertaken through grace; let it not be angry at boldness made stronger through joys. Our God wills that the things He deigns to work through Himself be known by whatever herald.
Cherish with your patronage the one taken up, whom you adopted, unknown, through those treasures of charity. Christ had scattered a venerable light over the whole world, unlocking the mysteries of the evangelical kingdom. But because the working of virtues had not moved all nations, and with frail sense they doubted to believe whatever a messenger of foreign lips had spread abroad (for words move what is discovered, but presence moves by deeds: things unseen are urged upon us, but things seen are proved), He therefore, whose mercy is equal toward the whole world, sowed also in our lands many miracles, granting to the farthest Gauls the marks of Martin—whom fruitful Pannonia sent afar unto our salvation, born of no humble stock, of a tribune. For his father was renowned with the praise of merits:
but this son was nobler than fathers so renowned, who, with Christ as his Father, scorned the sacrilegious rites—nobly degenerate in his earthly father. For scarcely in his tenth year, though already older in character, he passed over to the sacred law; with steadfast heart he signed his holy brow with the safeguard of the cross. In his tender breast was no slippery mind: his whole will was to keep, or to know, the precept of God, to shun the assemblies of men, to know the secrets of the blessed wilderness, and, the world despised, to know God, to leave behind earthly cares with a sublime heart. While he was striving after these things in scarcely twice six years, the sublime glory of so great a deed was barred; but with God numbering the merit—who approved the will—Augustus commands that the whole offspring of veteran stock be girded by the levy and prepared for wars. What does envy not contrive?
The father comes forth and thrusts arms upon his son. Alas, fatherly love forgetful of so great a peril! Nay rather, if a stony mind receives any sense, grow by your son's titles: for it is greater praise to be surpassed by you. Behold with pious vow all that he did: if they be good, imitate them gladly; if arduous, rejoice. Christ's soldier is conquered for the soldier of the world, but his mind is not dragged along, nor is his heart bound with the flesh. The names of recruitment are empty: he has long served as a soldier who, taken captive through many battles of his own king, has conquered avarice and warred down proud luxury; ambition lies now prostrate by his strength, and fury and wrath flee his steadfast mind, and deadly pride, surpassing all faults, departs. His one companion, scarcely, does he allow to go forth with him, not bound to him by labor, but a servant in name only.
O happy one, for whom so welcome a condition prepared such a yoke, that concerning your lot the contending vows of noble men might vie with you—if only it were permitted to serve. But you too are compelled to a harsh law, though loosed from the law of birth: for the devotion of the holy servant, made subject to you, serves you. The same garb, the common abundance of a frugal table; here the master is first in services, lest by any means any cleverness might be able to discern the servant set above his lord. Here now, among equals, what grace, and how modestly true love had subjected the very superiors to him! Then how great the discipline in taking food, lest distended entrails should corrupt the quick perception—nor the burden of the limbs press the watchful mind—so that the abundance divided might provide a portion to the needy, and each thing that would overwhelm one might better refresh both.
For thus he had divided all things among the suppliant needy, so that only coverings remained over his wasted limbs—when suddenly, in the icy cold of bristling winter, a naked man hastens to meet him, scarcely halving his words with a broken sound as he shivers; but his plight makes his speech plain, and his misery proclaims the parts of his tongue. All pass by, and the madness of the wealthy despised the disdained complaint with a cruel laugh at the wretch. The holy man stood still, uncertain in his troubled breast, what he should do: for the will was present, but the substance was lacking. If he should clothe him, he would have to be stripped. Nor thus even did delay suspend the illustrious deed of the hesitating man, even by a moment's pause. The sole covering of his blessed body had remained over—as ever, a doubled cloak, which by its twofold wrapping might ward off cold and rain and the rage of the winds.
For thus the hanging garment compensates for the part cut off, if he should feel his body warmed by the wool added, so that what was lacking to the head should have grown unto the warmth. But this happy resolve of his strict vow removes this, and condemns it as it were a loss of the heart, because the caution of his anxious faith thus preferred to have conceded to his limbs, in a doubled covering, an added part, rather than to have divided it between two. Nor does delay slow the work, but his right hand outstrips his vow: his deed accomplished whatever his mind saw must be done. The unconquered sword is drawn without the crime of a wound, and lavish mercy cuts off the middle part, choosing, I believe, the worse for himself. Then he covers the limbs of the trembling man, and, handing over some warmth from his garment, in a now lighter habit he recovers a part of himself from the cold.
O blessed one, conquering all miracles by your virtue and surpassing the commands of the Lord who enjoins! For He bids us be content with little and not to keep two garments: you divide a single one. All look on. Some laugh at the ugly covering and do not perceive the deeper, truer beauty within the heart. But others, with hearts pricked, lament among themselves that the justice of one so poor could decree such a thing to one in need, since the rich man, with his ample wealth, had denied the substance. Nor was there delay before the palm was rendered for so great a triumph. For scarcely had he laid his weary limbs upon the bed, admitting a light slumber—yet with a watchful heart (nor was it sleep, for his attentive mind remained vigorous):
when suddenly before his eyes the gracious Christ, robed in his own pauper's clothing, stood with a rich reward and fitted the blessed coverings to His own limbs. O truly precious cloak! What such thing have splendid garments earned, whether dyed with purple or wrought with thread and glowing weights of gold? What silken stuffs, smooth to the touch, or fabrics living with skillfully wrought figures? He, the God of men and earth, of sea and sky, who grants all things, without whom is nothing, whose very gifts are even what we give and the means by which we give—both gift and giver—He is enriched by this bounty, if He should count the gains of salvation. Yet not even from this did any boasting shake his steadfast mind, nor did he feel any empty swelling of pride in his heart.
O virtue near to God: to count nothing for praise though you do praiseworthy things, nor to ascribe to our own deed what we do, and in every act to let God be praised! Now surely he was secure regarding so great a Judge, yet he is not lifted up even by fellowship with Christ. The vision increased his faith; his limbs, renewed by the holy laver, shine and take on a beauty equal to that of his heart, and the mysteries of the font bring forth a ninth body. And yet, radiant with this maturity of conduct and of flesh, he had lived two years less than four lustres—I indeed believe it was because the Holy Spirit had earlier enriched his whole heart with the flowing river of His watering gift, just as once holy Peter saw the blessed gifts already foreshown by the Lord in such a soldier.
Who, I ask, being good, will be able so to complete as blessed Martin began in his tender years? And yet, doing these things, he did not think he had even begun, for scarcely had he passed a little beyond twice nine years—already a monk by his merits, but a soldier only in name—he longed to break the empty titles of the world he had trampled, looking to the holy fellowship of the tribune who pledged it, that after a short and just delay the doubled salvation through the vows of the two might soon be weighed by Christ the Judge. Meanwhile, the fierce enemy, the barrier broken and the frontier breached, had begun to ravage the Gallic countryside. The prince prepares to go out against them and drives into battle all the companies summoned by command, by exhortation, by entreaty, by largesse. For those whom dread holds back, gifts solicit, and bribes overcome fear.
But a mind full of God fears nothing, scorns all things, mocks terror, and tramples earthly gifts. Therefore, when the foremost who had gone before had taken the donative—the order being run through, the holy man is summoned in his turn by custom. He rejects the gifts of the king pressing them upon him, and with such words he goes to meet the words of the tyrant: 'Give this earthly money, O prince, to another: greater rewards from a greater King await me. This is the wage of war: let those who wish to fight take it.' At these words, then, the prince is inflamed with savage wrath, charging him with being a coward, forgetful of glory in time of war, having invented pretexts of fear. But he replied: 'There is no dread of imminent peril, nor does a steadfast breast fear an easy death. In short, what my words declare, my deeds also shall prove.
I, the first, going before the ranks with weapons cast aside, not seizing the arms of man but the standards of salvation, trusting not in the covering of a shield but in the name of Christ, and placing the cross upon my brow as a help in place of a helmet, will meet all perils with an undaunted heart.' He assented, and so that the proofs might confirm the faith of his word, the godly man is ordered to be kept under grim guard. And now the rising day was scattering the earth with new light: there comes to the king a suppliant embassy, submitting bowed necks to the rule of him who commands. What here, I ask, do we see done by men, what done by arms? What did the iron battle-line avail, what terror and the sword? What wedge fell by javelins, what squadron by arrows? One man, and the sole trust in the eternal King, conquered countless nations without the wound of slaughter.
This, Martin, is your triumph, with Christ doing the fighting—lest you should at all stain your holy face with blood, nor lest the deaths of the dying should afflict your godly mind. Therefore, eager by merit and made keener by the very success, with the enemy crushed, he hastens to conquer the world. He seeks out Hilary, a teacher of the faith proved through so many tokens. Lest boasting inflict any wound or the judgment of his own heart exalt him, the teacher now treats him as a disciple, and he is proved the greater while he desires to be the less—for to scorn praise is praise. Thus, already worthy of the honor of a chief see, he refused, so that he might shine at least in the honor of a deacon; and scarcely did he take the place which he had long since surpassed by his holy conduct, demanding for himself the lower walls, in the rank of an exorcist—yet already a priest in virtue.
Next, lest even earthly piety should mark him whom divine piety so especially ruled, with eager vow he chooses to visit the authors of his birth and rather to convert their estranged minds. For headlong and wandering error was oppressing his father and mother, who worshiped sacrilegious rites and stones and bronze, living under an exceedingly mighty death. So when he set out on the journey, piety went as his companion, and an angel sent from the Lord had paved all the shores before him, so that a gentle ascent might lie open with the hill sunk down, and that steep places and hollows might not draw the descending traveler into headlong falls. And while he was hastily crossing the cloud-bearing Alps, being caught by chance in the ambush of savage robbers, with their threatening swords and his hands bound behind his back—he laughed and, with unmoved countenance, despised the danger.
Indeed—that I may recall the miracle of so great a deed—he is said by his admonitions to have saved his guard with the warnings of salvation, a truer guardian here of the soul than the other of the body. For the one did not even have the limbs of his own under control, while the other bound the inner chambers of an estranged mind. Yet both skillfully taught the way that must be followed: the one showed the path of the road and learned the path of salvation. So he completes the journey begun and draws near his fatherland, having entered the Italian fields with the Alps crossed. Here again the enemy, hostile to his holy endeavors, feigning a human form with a counterfeit body, presented himself in his path, daring to ask from him whither he was going and what this haste demanded. He, in reply: 'For me the only way and guide is Christ:
In Him is the effect of what is known, from whom the will was given.' But that demon, gnashing his teeth, went against him in all his attempts, offended by so great an enterprise. To him the holy man said: 'The Lord defends; the enemy does not harm. With God as helper, no adverse power can be feared. Fearing the Lord, I despise the peril. That fear makes me not to fear.' After he had uttered such words, the shadow, driven from his eyes, vanished. But when he reached his parents' shore with the Lord as guide, and while perdition, hardened by habit, held his father persuading him, refusing the words of the salvation offered, then at least he received his mother, by Christ's gift. O woman blessed by so great a birth, who brought forth a son through whom she was born to God, and in one childbearing became both mother and infant!
The mother, herself to be born, first bore from her blessed womb him through whom she has now arisen by baptism. And yet many gave way before the wholesome example, rightly marveling at the tokens of such great virtues. And then by chance an evil error of a deadly teaching had scattered among the peoples, into hearts heedless and following it, the poison which Arius had poured forth from his insane mouth. Yet this plague especially held Illyricum infected, rampaging utterly through it with all its venom. Here, mighty in steadfast virtue, while he dares to strive against it and breaks the waves with his breast set in opposition, often shielding the priests, often restraining the people—oppressed by the snares of all, having suffered blows, driven out at last—he left earthly dwellings: yet with his mouth he held the faith and with his heart, salvation.
Therefore, when he judged that he must yield, lest perchance the madness of a subverted world should overwhelm the holy man as he lingered, he seeks the Gallic countryside again and retraces the footprints he had observed, not unmindful of the faith. But when deadly error raged throughout the whole world, and these crimes pressed even the farthest Gauls, and when the faction of an insane world had thrust out Hilary himself, the very wall and strong column of the faith, he resolved to rest a little in a constructed cell here, where most beautiful Milan paints Italy rejoicing in the shade of grove and vine. Driven out from here also, he departs, leaving lands and walls, and seeks the sea and its waves—because the wave was more faithful for lodging, and the storm of the people and the rabble was more to be feared than that of the deep.
A presbyter accompanies him as he goes, of equal merit and like peril. An island is chosen for lodging, far from any host. Herbs are food enough; using their roots, with such barren fare the holy men double their fastings. And while they indiscriminately search out a slender food, whatever the bowels of an untried land offered, they suddenly perceived the herb of hellebore with sudden poison spreading death-bearing venom through all their limbs. They proceed to the Lord with all their power of praying, but piety went before the prayers. Nothing was accomplished by arts, but present medicine was the sole hope of salvation.
Let us consider—we who are wont to seek life at the cost of our whole fortune, our wealth poured out as a price to physicians, that the times of our living may grow with our coins—what here did cups of choice juices, or remedies once gathered in ancient books, accomplish? Here surely the heart earned swift salvation without expense or art, and gave the word: let us marvel, rejoicing. The voice is silent, and the cause is established by the cry of those keeping silence. The physician is felt, not seen: all the limbs admit the whole cure to their inmost parts through closed pores. Meanwhile, the holy priest is reported at last to return from his unjust exile by the king's command—he with whom there had been a fellowship of illustrious life, while the teacher flourished on the shores of the Pictavi, handing down the precepts of salvation to untamed peoples.
And although swift piety, eager with affection, had carried off the rejoicing holy man, yet he, impatient of delays, had already left the lofty heights of Rome's walls, to be carried back more quickly to the Pictonian shores. So, following the footprints that had gone before with godly course, he earned the desire of his heart and the end of his labor. Here he builds a cell, a solace for his weary limbs; for his mind, full of God, abode in the heavenly seat. Here, if now we should recall the songs of ancient bards—when miracles would suddenly shake their astonished senses, frantic madness would cry out for wretched Phoebus and would not let even the false Muses rest, the Delphic temples would be shaken by the lying Apollo, and the whole throng of deaf sisters would be snatched away, and the roused monsters would fill up the whole frenzy:
we, to whom understanding and words are sought from Christ, pray that you, Martin, worshiper of Christ, may inspire us a little. You who were able, supported by the Lord's aid, to restore life to the dead, restore salvation to me: first, I shall work the miracles of a life granted; first, I shall burst the bars of a stinking tomb. Dead in my whole heart, I beseech my patron with justice, that a living mind may proclaim the titles of so great a praise. Therefore, although matters of the sublime surpass the powers of speech, and the slight measure of prayer cannot match itself to praises, I shall attempt it. You, whoever you are reading, who scorn such cheap songs—while you mock the words, you shall marvel at the deeds. A certain man, beholding the miracles of so illustrious a life, chose to join himself to so great a master—a man whom the mystic wave of the font had not yet renewed.
A fever, having utterly devoured all his marrow, wrenched out his slender life with his body consumed. And then by chance the teacher was absent; but the diligent devotion of the brethren, in mourning, was bewailing the lifeless corpse, grieving at the punishment of a brother, not at the death of the flesh. Arriving, the holy man wets his face with abundant weeping, pitying the sad fate of the deceased, and filled the whole place with his cry. Soon, the witness removed, he burst into the mournful cell with so sad a death. Then he cast himself upon his lifeless friend, embraced the cold limbs with all his members, breathing a faint breath over the stiffening face. Yet his whole hope is referred inwardly to the Lord: the accustomed piety is prayed for, the known compassion is asked, and the merit of faith is earned by believing.
The confidence of a pure heart saw God present, and the inner parts felt the effect from the godly breathings. Nor was there delay: scarcely is the vow held in suspense for two hours; little by little the cloths are stirred by the struck limbs, and the dry joints are watered with the moisture of the veins, and the icy breast grows warm at the breath of the soul; the covered eyes are unsealed by the light poured in. 'Blessed are they to whom, beneath the rising of the light granted, it fell to behold Martin in their first world.' The whole body is raised suddenly with a full effort, and the skin, long since wan with wasted limbs, takes on a purple flush with a better juice. The voice is ready, the step steady, the hand fit, the heart vigorous: the whole man, with his body fused from various causes, received in a diverse gift one life. The greatest joys soon draw forth a great cry:
The tongue sounds praises, the herald of a grateful mind; the cry of the mouth proclaims the affection of the heart. Soon the crowd burst the doors and filled the cell, and a concordant symphony of holy ones sang praises. But he, that he might wholly renew his life after death, at once shone forth renewed from the eternal wave, and the blessed man drew out his old age into many years, a witness for no small time of so illustrious a deed. For often he was wont to relate the same thing to many: that he had trembled at the tribunal of the eternal Judge, condemned to the base throngs and plunged into darkness, until a prayer uttered in angelic words offered his vow to the Lord and brought back his life. This man was the first to make Martin known on our shores; by this entrance the glory came to the remaining praises. Nor indeed had much time passed after these miracles:
A new glory hastens a famous deed. For while he passes the neighboring field of Lupicinus—a man not lowly nor of small account, but distinguished almost throughout the world by his virtue, by whom the glory might thence shine more brightly, confirmed through so great a witness, drawing the unlearned commons through so many miracles—hearing afar the cry of those pitiably weeping, he halted: he inquires the cause and learns it in turn, and just compassion roused his godly grief. For one of the servants, with a noose tightening his throat, had broken in madness the bounds of a life wrenched away. He runs up quickly, embracing the sad corpse—the eyes forced out, the throat dry of blood, the eyes too grim and the face menacing in death. To the Lord again weeping, sighs again and groans, the cry of the heart, the great voice of one keeping silence:
One faith of merit, and a grace of the gift not unequal. He is received with a grateful choir, with a thronging band: they display to all the miracles of the Lord Christ, and the spoil of the enemy, the joys of a believing people. Behold, a ninth sea is opened, and kindly breezes have drawn my leaky keel into the midst of the waves; and while the joys of a placated sea sweep me along, the rash skiff has rushed into the vast deep, scarcely well grazing the shores with the nearby lands. Now what do I do, and trembling, whither do I direct the uncertain prow? The breezes urge the course on, fear urges retreat. Let us proceed, since land is far off, whither the wave shall have drawn us—only that the spirit of Martin may diffuse a placated breeze and so grant a light gust to one going, that the rotten sail may sustain blessed winds.
Thus far the bank has served, that I might relate the conduct and deeds of the monk: now the sea shall be the teaching of the chair. Now I shall unfold the illustrious deeds of the great priest. Once there flourished greatly on the Gallic shores the city of Tours, spread out with fields and crowded with peoples. But desiring to be more powerful through such a bishop, it burned with all its vows to win Martin. Yet, utterly driving pride from his holy heart, his humble mind, unmoved by frequent prayers, remained—until, with composed words and tears forced out, just falsehoods overcame his too-great rigor. For a certain man, conscious of such great piety, prays, pitying the sad distress of his sick wife, that he would deign to visit the petitioner at his holy vow: that he would be the cause either of salvation by coming quickly, or of death, if a harsh resolve should delay the prayers.
Sighs are joined with feigned words, and voices choking with broken murmur. He gives kisses to his knees, gathers his footsteps in his arms, surpassing real grief through so many fabrications. What wonder if a simple soul, a holy mind, follows the one calling, when God compels: for He Himself would rather betray the deceitful design, did He not approve what was to be done. A crowd of peoples receives him as he goes out, doing him kindly violence, and a numerous turmoil of those praying throngs the way—motions peaceful, an uproar without gall, and watchful guard sets even sleepless vigils and keeps watch over its own master who must be kept. They exult with concordant joys in equal vows. There is a going forth to meet him; eager rivalry rushes out against him at every gate, and the contending favor of the people:
One will in all, and no divorce of mind in their zeal. But devouring envy, blackening with the gall of dark venom, infects some, and burning the hearts of the wretched with its goads, a carnal judgment drags them back to the opposing side. Some too they report—it is a sin to believe it—that priests of learned mind drew on a like frenzy, mocking what they ought to have rejoiced at: that no charm had adorned his face that should be revered, that with cut hair his free brow displayed the whole sign of the Lord, nor did the eyes lie beneath a cloud of tremulous locks; that his squalid garment, attesting the brightness of his heart, betrayed the zeal of one praying, because often, his limbs rolled to the ground, his body pressed prostrate, the rough dust had clung in the dingy fleece.
Rightly therefore did so depraved a will give way before the people, and the sounder judgment of the proceres conquered the mob. For truly it was allowed to none to be ignorant of the judgment of Christ who calls, proved through so many tokens. For among the rest whom the savage faction had unjustly allied to itself, desiring the opposite, one bishop, Defensor, was more violent: by which name they perchance thought the schemes of their false counsel must be defended, with God refusing, who approved just things. For the devout people were celebrating the accustomed honor in the holy assembly, visiting the mysteries in a frequented gathering, while denser throngs crowd the altars and the supporters hang frequent upon their vows—nor can the lector pass the obstacles set before him.
But the deacon, who happened to be present, having scarcely snatched the book which the page of the unrolled psalm had first quickly offered, suddenly, hastening in time, seizes the verse, chanting these words of the ancient prophet: 'Out of the mouth of infants and out of the little murmur of sucklings You have made tender tongues unfold praise, because of Your foes, that this praise uttered by little ones may destroy the perverse defender.' A cry is raised to heaven, and a present judgment is proved with God crying out: the sentence of Christ overwhelmed the adverse side with the thunderbolt of its words. For the same verse approved the vows of those praising and repressed the envious hearts of those resisting. Nor was the toil of the monk less from this, because the glory increased with the right of the priest. By deeds are things-to-be-done taught:
The work of example persuades more than the grace of the word. Thus for him a most cheap garment with worn cloak, thus the humble, precious modesty of his holy heart, thus the blessed resolve of an unremitting life remains. First, then, his cell was joined to the sacred altars. Soon, that he might be able to avoid the frequent peoples, so that prayer in secret might be apart from the unremitting throngs, going out he withdrew two miles from the city. Nor did so great a nearness harm the remote cell: a secret lodging for the monk, a short road for the master, a neighboring house for the teacher, far off for one at leisure.
On this side, the natural margin of a sheared rock had hemmed it in with a small recess of the curved cliff; on that side, the Loire with its bent banks and small winding had fenced in the enclosed land with its outstretched flood, and one narrow entrance lay open between rock and river, where, separated by a slightly straitened path, the gliding of the river touches the borders of the mountain. Here he chose rather to weave a small cell from a pile of logs, recognizing the mysteries of the holy wood—the most lofty guest succeeding to a humble roof, so that the learned modesty of the gathered brethren might thus learn to despise pomp with scant expense, having gone before, eagerly imitating their master by his examples. But to others not even logs are pleasing, and the neighboring cliff offers dug-out recesses with the mountain hollowed.