The Lives of the Saints, Volume 1 (of 16)

As a child, he showed singular simplicity, modesty, and piety. "Thus passed his childish years, and as the strength of youth began to succeed to boyhood, he silently meditated how to desert the flesh-pots of Egypt, and to strive to enter the Land of Promise, through the trials of the world. O good Jesu! how sweet is Thy call! how sweet the inspiration of Thy Spirit, which as soon as Thou strikest on the heart, turns the fire of the Babylonish furnace into love of the celestial country. So! as soon as thou strikest the heart of the youth, thou changest it." Whilst he was thus meditating, S. Majolus passed through Auvergne, and Odilo came to him; then the old man, looking on the graceful form and comely face of the youth, and by the instinct of the Saints seeing into his soul, he loved him greatly; also the youthful Odilo felt a great affection for the aged monk. And when they spoke to one another, Odilo opened his heart to Majolus, and the venerable man encouraged the youth to persevere in his good intentions.

Shortly after, Odilo left his home, "as Abraham of old went forth out of Ur of the Chaldees, and sought admittance into the abbey of Cluny, as into the Promised Land. O good Jesu! how pleasant it was to see this sheep shorn of its worldly fleece, again ascend as from the baptismal font! Then, wearing our habit, you might have seen our sheep amongst the others of His flock, first in work, last in place, seeking the pastures of eternal verdure; attending to the lamps, sweeping the floors, and doing other common offices. But the pearl could not remain long concealed. After four years, S. Majolus, after many hard labours borne for Christ, went out of the darkness of Egypt, entered Jerusalem, and was placed in eternal peace by Christ. As death approached, he chose Odilo to be his successor, and to him and to the Lord, he committed his flock." But S. Odilo shrank from the position for which his youth, as he considered, disqualified him; however, he was elected by the whole community, and was therefore unable to refuse the office wherewith he was invested by the vote of the brethren, and the desire of the late abbot.

His disciple, Jotsald, gives a very beautiful picture of his master. He describes him as being of middle stature, with a face beaming with grace, and full of authority; very emaciated and pale; his eyes bright and piercing, and often shedding tears of compunction. Every motion of his body was grave and dignified; his voice was manly, and modulated to the greatest sweetness, his speech straightforward and without affectation or artificiality.

His disciple says that he would recite psalms as he lay on his bed, and falling asleep, his lips would still continue the familiar words, so that the brethren applied to him the words of the bride, "I sleep but my heart waketh," Ego dormio et cor meum vigilat. He read diligently, and nothing gave him greater delight than study. His consideration for others was very marked. "He was burdensome to none, to none importunate, desirous of no honour, he sought not to get what belonged to others, nor to keep what was his own." His charity was most abundant; often the brethren feared that it exceeded what was reasonable, but they found that though he gave largely, he did not waste the revenues of the monastery. Once, in time of famine, he was riding along a road, when he lit on the naked bodies of two poor boys who had died of hunger. Odilo burst into tears, and descending from his horse, drew off his woollen under garment and wrapping the bodies in it, carefully buried them. In this famine he sold the costly vessels of the Sanctuary, and despoiled the Church of its gold and silver ornaments, that he might feed the starving people. Amongst the objects thus parted with was the crown of gold presented to the abbey by Henry, King of the Romans. He accompanied this Prince in his journey to Rome, when he was crowned emperor, in 1014. This was his second journey thither; he made a third in 1017, and a fourth in 1022. Out of devotion to S. Benedict, he paid a visit to Monte Cassino, where he kissed the feet of all the monks, at his own request, which was granted him with great reluctance.

"The convocation of the brethren was regularly held by him till he was at the point of death. O how joyous he was in the midst of them, as standing in the midst of the choir, and looking to right and left he saw the ring of young plantings, and remembered the verse of David's song, 'Thy children shall be as the olive branches round about thy table.' Filii tui sicut novellæ olivarum, in circuitu mensæ tuæ. And the more the number of brothers increased, the more he exhibited his joy of heart by signs. And when some seemed distressed thereat, he was wont to say, 'Grieve not that the flock has become great, my brothers, He who has called us in, He governs, and will provide.'"

Fulbert, Bishop of Chartres, called him the archangel of monks; and the name, says his disciple, became him well. S. Odilo, out of his great compassion for the souls of the dead expiating the penalty of their sins in purgatory, instituted the commemoration of All Souls for the morrow of All Saints, in the Cluniac order, which was afterwards adopted by the whole Catholic Church in the West. Many incidents of his travels, and miracles that he wrought, are related by his pupil. As he was riding over the Jura mountains, in snowy weather, the horse carrying his luggage fell, and was precipitated into the valley, and all the baggage was scattered in the snow-drifts. With much trouble, the horse and much of the baggage were recovered, but a valuable Sacramentary, inscribed with gilt letters, and some glass vessels, with embossed work, were lost. That evening, Odilo and his monks arrived at a cell, under the jurisdiction of S. Eugendus, and being much troubled at his loss, as much rain fell in the night, S. Odilo sent some of the brethren early next morning to search for the lost treasures. But the snow-drifts were so deep that they could not find them, and he was obliged to leave without them. However, as the spring came round, a certain priest, named Ermendran, was walking in the glen, and he found the book uninjured, and the glass goblets unbroken. He brought them to the cell, and on the return of Odilo to the Jura, he received his lost treasures intact.

Another story of a glass vessel comes on good authority. The circumstances were related by Albert, Bishop of Como, in these words, "Once our Abbot and Superior came to the court of the Emperor Henry, and whilst there, it happened one day that at table a goblet of glass, of Alexandrine workmanship, very precious, with coloured enamel on it, was placed before him. He called me and Landulf, afterwards Bishop of Turin, to him, and bade us take this glass to Odilo. We accordingly, as the Emperor had bidden, took it, and going to the abbot, offered it to him, on the part of the Emperor, humbly bowing. He received it with great humility, and told us to return after a while for the goblet again. Then, when we had gone away, the monks, filled with natural curiosity to see and handle a new sort of thing, passed the vessel from hand to hand, and as they were examining it, it slipped through their fingers to the ground, and was broken. When the gentle man of God was told this, he was not a little grieved, and said, 'My brothers, you have not done well, for by your negligence, the young clerks who have the custody of these things will, maybe, lose the favour of the Emperor, through your fault. Now, that those who are innocent may not suffer for your carelessness, let us all go to church and ask God's mercy about this matter.' Therefore, they all ran together into the church, and sang psalms and prayed, lest some harm should befall us – Albert and Landulf, each of them earnestly supplicating God for us. When the prayer was over, the holy man ordered the broken goblet to be brought to him. He looked at it, and felt it, and could find no crack or breakage in it. Wherefore, he exclaimed indignantly, 'What are you about, brothers? You must be blind to say that the glass is broken, when there is not a sign of injury done to it.' The brethren, considering it, were amazed at the miracle, and did not dare to speak. Then, after a while, I and my companion came back for the vessel, and we asked it of him who was carrying it. He called me apart, and returned it to me, bidding me tell the Emperor to regard it as a great treasure. And when I asked his meaning, he told me all that had happened."

S. Odilo seems to have been fond of art, for he rebuilt the monasteries of his order, and made them very beautiful, and the churches he adorned with all the costly things he could procure. The marble pillars for Cluny were brought, by his orders, in rafts down the Durance, into the Rhone, and he was wont to say of Cluny, that he found it of wood and left it of marble. He erected over the altar of S. Peter, in the church, a ciborium, whose columns were covered with silver, inlaid with nigello work.

When he felt that his death approached, he made a circuit of all the monasteries under his sway, that he might leave them in thorough discipline, and give them his last admonitions. On this journey he reached Souvigny, a priory in Bourbonnais, where he celebrated the Vigil of the Nativity, and preached to the people, although at the time suffering great pain. After that, he announced to the brethren in chapter, that he was drawing nigh to his end, and he besought their prayers. As he was too weak to go to the great Church of S. Peter, which was attended by the monks, he kept the festival of the Nativity with a few brethren, whom he detained, to be with him in the Chapel of S. Mary; joyously he præcented the psalms and antiphons, and gave the benedictions, and performed all the ceremonies of that glad festival, forgetful of his bodily infirmities, knowing that soon he was to see God face to face, in the land of the living, and no more in a glass darkly. Most earnest was he, lest death should come and find him unprepared. Throughout the Octave, he was carried in the arms of the monks to church, where he assisted at the choir offices, night and day, and at the celebration of the mass, refreshing himself at the sacred mysteries, and looking forward to the feast of the Circumcision, when his friend William, abbot of Dijon, had fallen asleep, on which day, he foretold, he also should enter into his rest.

On that day, carried by his brethren, he was laid before the altar of the Virgin Mother, and the monks sang vespers. Now and then their voices failed, through over much sorrow, and then he recited the words of the psalms they in their trouble had omitted. As night crept in at the windows, he grew weaker and fainter. Then the brothers laid sack-cloth and ashes under him, and as he was lifted in the arms of one, brother Bernard, he asked, reviving a little, where he was. The brother answered, "On sack-cloth and ashes." Then he sighed forth, "God be thanked!" and he asked that the little children, and the whole body of the brethren, might be assembled. And when all were gathered around him, he directed his eyes to the Cross, and his lips moved in prayer, and he died thus in prayer, gazing on the sign of his salvation.

His body was laid in the nave of the Church of Souvigny, near that of S. Majolus.

He is often represented saying mass, with purgatory open beside the altar, and those suffering extending their hands to him, in allusion to his having instituted the commemoration of All Souls.

January 2.

The Octave of S. Stephen, the First Martyr

SS. Frontasius, and Companions, MM. in Gaul.

SS. Martyrs, at Lichfield, circ. a.d. 304. S. Isidore, B.C., in Egypt, 4th cent.

S. Macarius, of Alexandria, Ab., a.d. 394.

S. Aspasius, C., at Melun, France, a.d. 550.

S. Maximus, Ab. M., in France, a.d. 614.

S. Adalhardt, Ab. of Corbie, a.d. 826.

S. Silvester, Monk of Trani, in S. Italy, a.d. 1185.

THE HOLY MARTYRS OF LICHFIELD(a. d. 304.)[Anglican Martyrologies.]

Lichfield derives its name from Lyke-field, the field of dead bodies, because it is traditionally said, that in the persecution of Diocletian, many Christians suffered there for the faith. The arms of Lichfield are a plain strewn with corpses. Nothing certain is known of this event, which is probably altogether apocryphal.

S. MACARIUS OF ALEXANDRIA, AB(a. d. 394.)

[There were two Macarii. Both are commemorated together by the Greeks, on Jan. 19th; but the Latins commemorate S. Macarius of Alexandria, on Jan. 2nd; and S. Macarius the Egyptian, on Jan. 15th. The history of this S. Macarius is perfectly authentic, having been written by S. Palladius (B. 368,) in the year 421; the writer knew S. Macarius personally, having been nine years in "the cells," of which S. Macarius was priest. Three of these years Macarius and Palladius lived together; so that, as the author says, he had every opportunity of judging of his manner of life and actions.]

Saint Macarius the younger was born in Alexandria, of poor parents, and followed the trade of confectioner. Desirous of serving God with his whole heart, he forsook the world in the flower of his age, and spent upwards of sixty years in the deserts, in the exercise of fervent penance and prayer. He first retired into the Thebaid, or Upper Egypt, about the year 335; then, aiming at greater disengagement, he descended to Lower Egypt, in or about the year 373. Here there were three deserts almost adjoining each other; that of Scété; that of the Cells, so called because of the multitude of cells wherewith its rocks were honey-combed; and a third, which reached the western bank of the Nile, called the Nitrian desert. S. Macarius had a cell in each of these deserts. When he was in Nitria he gave advice to those who sought him. But his chief residence was in the desert of the Cells. There each hermit lived separate, assembling only on Saturday and Sunday, in the church, to celebrate the divine mysteries, and to partake of the Holy Communion. All the brothers were employed at some handicraft, generally they platted baskets or mats. All in the burning desert was still; in their cells the hermits worked, and prayed, and cooked their scanty victuals, till the red ball of the sun went down behind the sandy plain to the west; then from all that region rose a hum of voices, the rise and fall of song, as the evening psalms and hymns were being chanted by that great multitude of solitaries in dens and caves of the earth.

Palladius has recorded an instance of the great self-denial observed by these hermits. A present was made to S. Macarius of a bunch of grapes, newly gathered. The holy man carried it to a neighbouring solitary who was sick; he sent it to another, and each wishing that some dear brother should enjoy the fruit rather than himself, passed it on to another; and thus the bunch of grapes made the circuit of the cells, and was brought back to Macarius.

The severity of life practised by these hermits was great. For seven years together S. Macarius lived on raw herbs and pulse, and for the three following years contented himself with four or five ounces of bread a day. His watchings were not less surprising. He told Palladius that it had been his great desire to fix his mind on God alone for five days and nights continuously. And when he supposed he was in the proper mood, he closed his cell, and stood up, and said, "Now thou hast angels and archangels, and all the heavenly host in company with thee. Be in heaven, and forget earthly things." And so he continued for two nights and days, wrapped in heavenly contemplations, but then his hut seemed to flame about him, even the mat on which he stood, and his mind was diverted to earth. "But it was as well," said he; "for I might have fallen into pride."

The reputation of the monastery of Tabenna, under S. Pachomius, drew him to it in disguise. S. Pachomius told him he seemed too far advanced in years to begin to practise the austerities undergone by himself and his monks; nevertheless, on his earnest entreaty, he admitted him. Then Lent drew on, and the aged Macarius saw the monks fasting, some two whole days, others five, some standing all night, and sitting at their work during the day. Then he, having soaked some palm leaves, as material for his work, went apart into a corner, and till Easter came, he neither ate nor drank, nor sat down, nor bowed his knee, nor lay down, and sustained life on a few raw cabbage leaves which he ate on Sundays; and when he went forth for any need he returned silently to his work, and occupied his hands in platting, and his heart in prayer. But when the others saw this, they were astonished, and remonstrated with S. Pachomius, saying, "Why hast thou brought this fleshless man here to confound us with his austerities. Send him away, or we will desert this place." Then the abbot went to Macarius, and asked him who he was, and when he told his name, Pachomius was glad, and cried, "Many years have I desired to see thee. I thank thee that thou hast humbled my sons; but now, go thy way, sufficiently hast thou edified us; go, and pray for us." Macarius, on one occasion, to subdue his flesh, filled two great baskets with sand, and laying them on his shoulders, walked over the hot desert, bowed beneath them. A friend meeting him, offered to ease him of his burden, but "No," said the old hermit, "I have to torment my tormentor;" meaning his body.

One day, a gnat stung him in his cell, and he killed it. Then, ashamed that he had allowed himself to be irritated by the petty insect, and to have lost an opportunity of enduring mortification with equanimity, he went to the marshes of Scété, and stayed there six months, suffering greatly from the stings of the insects. When he returned, he was so disfigured by their bites, that he was only recognized by his voice.

The terrible severity with which these Egyptian hermits punished themselves is perhaps startling, but it was something needed at a time when the civilized world was sunk in luxury, profligacy, and indifference. That was a time which called for a startling and vivid contrast to lead minds into self-inspection. "Private profligacy among all ranks was such as cannot be described in any modern pages. The clergy of the cities, though not of profligate lives, and for the most part unmarried, were able to make no stand against the general corruption of the age, because – at least if we are to trust such writers as Jerome and Chrysostom – they were giving themselves up to ambition and avarice, intrigue and party spirit. No wonder if, in such a state of things, the minds of men were stirred by a passion akin to despair. It would have ended often, but for Christianity, in such an actual despair as that which had led, in past ages, more than one noble Roman to slay himself, when he lost all hope for the Republic. Christianity taught those who despaired of society, of the world – in one word, of the Roman empire, and all that it had done for men – to hope at last for a Kingdom of God after death. It taught those, who, had they been heathens and brave enough, would have slain themselves to escape out of a world which was no place for honest men, that the body must be kept alive, at least, for the sake of the immortal soul, doomed, according to its works, to endless bliss or endless torment. But that the world – such, at least, as they saw it then – was doomed, Scripture and their own reason taught them. They did not merely believe, but see, in the misery and confusion, the desolation, and degradation around them, that all that was in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, was not of the Father, but of the world; that the world was passing away, and the lust thereof, and that only he who did the will of God could abide for ever. They did not merely believe, but saw, that the wrath of God was revealed from heaven against all unrighteousness of men; and that the world in general was treasuring up to themselves wrath, tribulation, and anguish, against a day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who would render to every man according to his works. That they were correct in their judgment of the world about them, contemporary history proves abundantly. That they were correct, likewise, in believing that some fearful judgment was about to fall on man, is proved by the fact that it did fall; that the first half of the fifth century saw, not only the sack of Rome, but the conquest and desolation of the greater part of the civilized world, amid bloodshed, misery, and misrule, which seemed to turn Europe into a chaos, which would have turned it into a chaos, had there not been a few men left who still felt it possible and necessary to believe in God, and to work righteousness. Under these terrible forebodings, men began to flee from a doomed world, and try to be alone with God, if by any means they might save each man his own soul in that dread day."16

S. Macarius, of Alexandria, and his namesake, the Egyptian, lived much together. They were both exiled in 375, at the instigation of the Arian patriarch of Alexandria, who dreaded their influence over the people, and zeal for the orthodox faith. They crossed the Nile together in a ferryboat, when they encountered two military tribunes, accompanied by a great array of horses, with decorated bridles, of equipages, soldiers, and pages covered with ornaments. The officers looked long at the two monks in their old dresses, humbly seated in a corner of the bark. They might well look at them, for in that bark two worlds stood face to face; old Rome, degraded by the emperors, and the new Christian republic, of which the monks were the precursors. As they approached the shore, one of the tribunes said to the cenobites, "You are happy, for you despise the world." "It is true," answered the Alexandrine, "we despise the world, and the world despises you. You have spoken more truly than you intended; we are happy in fact, and happy in name, for we are called Macarius, which means in Greek happy."

The tribune made no answer, but, returning to his house, renounced all his wealth and rank, and went to seek happiness in solitude.

In art, S. Macarius is represented with wallets of sand on his shoulders; sometimes with a hyæna and its young, because the story is told that one day a hyæna brought her young one and laid it at the feet of the hermit. He looked at the animal, and saw that it was blind, therefore he pitied the poor whelp, and prayed to God; then he touched the eyes of the young hyæna, and it saw plain. Next day, the mother brought a sheepskin and laid it at his feet, and this the hermit wore continually afterwards, till he gave it to S. Melania.

S. ADALHARDT, OR ADELARD, AB. C(a. d. 826.)

[Named in many later Western Martyrologies, but not enrolled in the Roman Kalendar. He is variously called Adelhard, Adalarch, Alard, and Adelhardt. His life was written by S. Paschasius Radbertus, his disciple, and this was epitomized by S. Gerard, of Sauve-Majeur, in the 11th century. Paschasius says that the reason of his writing the life, was "to recall him whom almost the whole world regards as holy and admirable; whom we have seen, and whose love we enjoyed."]

Adalhardt was of royal race, having been the son of Bernhardt, son of Charles Martel, the brother of King Pepin; so that Adalhardt was cousin-german to Charlemagne, by whom he was called to court in his youth, and created Count of the Palace. But when the king put away his wife, the daughter of Desiderius, King of Italy, to marry another, Adalhardt left the court, disgusted with its lawlessness and vice, and became a monk at Corbie, at the age of twenty, in the year 773. He was made gardener, and, as his historian says, "With Mary he sought Jesus in the garden." At Corbie, he was so frequently visited by his relations, his friends, and acquaintances, that he had not sufficient solitude for the labour of turning his soul from earth to heaven; therefore he left Corbie and betook himself to Monte Cassino; but by order of the Emperor Charles, he was brought back again to Corbie, where he was shortly after elected abbot. He was compelled at last, by Charlemagne, to quit the monastery, and take upon him the charge of prime minister to his son Pepin, to whom he had intrusted the government of Italy.

On the death of Charlemagne, Louis the Pious succeeded to the throne, and dismissed all the old ministers and officers of his father. Bernard, son of Pepin, the elder brother of Louis, who was dead, having asserted his right to the throne, King Louis suspected the abbot of Corbie of having been privy to this attempt, and he exiled him to the island of Heri, or Herimoutier, and his brothers and sisters were sent into monasteries. His brother Walla was forced to become a monk at Corbie; Bernharius was sent to Lerins; his sister Gundrada was given to the charge of S. Radegund, at Poictiers, and only Theodradra was left unmolested at Soissons.