Chapter V (8)

Soon after, hearing by report of one Marinus, who was leading a hermit life in a desert in the Venetian territory, he resolved to retire from the fruitless struggle with the unfaithful monks, and to place himself under his guidance. He made known his desire to the abbot and the brethren, and craved permission from them to retire from the community, and this was granted with great alacrity. He immediately made his way to the neighbourhood in which Marinus dwelt, found him out, and was accepted by him as his disciple.

Marinus, who was a man of singular simplicity of character, and most rigid in his asceticism, took in hand the training of his neophyte in good earnest. His first task was to teach Romuald to read; for up to the time of his forsaking the world his literary education had been altogether neglected. Master and pupil would go forth together to roam about the wild, and recite the Psalter, sheltering now under one tree, now under another, and sitting always face to face at their work. Romuald, wearied by incessant poring over his book, would sometimes yield to the overwhelming lassitude which came over him, and seek a moment's repose; on which Marinus would strike him smartly on the left side of his head with a roll which he held in his right hand. At last, quite unable to bear the pain, Romuald one day said to him humbly, "Master, if you please, strike me next time on the right side of my head, for I am becoming quite deaf in my left ear," "On which," says the biographer, "Marinus, marvelling at his patience, relaxed the indiscreet severity of his discipline."

Before long they were joined in their solitude by Peter, Duke of Dalmatia, and a comrade of his, who had been moved to embrace the religious life. Romuald who, in time, had mastered the difficulties of the Psalter, kept so far in advance of his companions in devotion, and in the acquisition of every virtue, that they unanimously deferred to him in everything, and even Marinus, his whilom master, now became his scholar, and submitted to his direction in everything. The whole party maintained themselves by bodily labour, cultivating a piece of ground, all the time fasting most rigidly, but, as it would appear, living together in one common dwelling. However, reading one day in the Lives of the Fathers, that certain of the brethren in old time had lived a solitary life, fasting the whole week through, but on Saturdays and Sundays met together and relaxed the rigour of their fast, they at once resolved to adopt this way of life; viz., to live each in his own hut, apart from the rest, in silence and mortification, for five days of the week, and to allow themselves the solace of community life only on the Saturday and Sunday; and thus they lived for the space of fifteen years.

Once, during this time, it is related that Duke Peter came to Romuald with a piteous complaint that he could not subsist on the half-cake,[24] which formed the daily allowance of the brethren, and urging that his huge and corpulent frame really required more sustenance. Whereupon Romuald, condescending to the weakness of a brother, and willing to hold out a helping hand to save him from falling, increased his allowance to three-quarters.

Another occurrence tended greatly to increase the reputation of the hermit Saint. A peasant farmer in the neighbourhood, who had often ministered of his subsistence to Romuald and the brethren, was robbed of his only cow by the dependents of a certain Count, a proud and arrogant man. The poor man came to Romuald bewailing his loss with many lamentations. Romuald at once sent a messenger to the Count, beseeching him in all humility to restore his beast to the poor man. The Count turned a deaf ear to the message, sent back a haughty and insolent reply, adding moreover that he expected highly to enjoy the cow's sirloin at dinner that very day. But he had better have yielded to Romuald; for at dinner-time the meal was set before him, he inhaled its rich savour with a greedy joy, and at the first mouthful was choked and died miserably.

Romuald's sojourn in the Venetian territory was brought to an end, by the death of several of his companions. On this he returned to the neighbourhood which he had left years before, and erected a cell for himself, in the marsh of Classe, in the place called "Pons Petri," removing it subsequently to the locality in which afterwards arose the church of the Blessed Martin "in sylva." Here he experienced many and violent temptations of the devil, who plied him sometimes with terrifying visions, sometimes with distressing doubts about the reality of his vocation, and his hope of final salvation. But as a good soldier of Jesus Christ he combated the evil one with the spiritual weapons of prayer and fasting, and meeting him boldly at every turn, repelled all his assaults.

After a while, he removed again to another place, where he built a monastery in honour of Michael the Archangel, which he peopled with monks, he himself still living solitary in his cell. While he was living here, a friend one day sent him a sum of money, about £21 sterling, intending it as a relief to his bodily necessities. He immediately sent off a portion of the money to the brethren of a monastery which had been just burnt down, to help towards the rebuilding, and put the remainder away for some similar purpose. This coming to the ears of the monks at S. Michael's they were so enraged that they came down to his cell in a body, gave him a good beating, and drove him from the neighbourhood with insults and reproaches. Highly delighted with their exploit, they returned to the monastery, and made preparations to celebrate the occasion by a great feast. But their triumph was short; for the ringleader in the attack on Romuald, on his way to obtain some honey to make mead for the carouse, had to cross a bridge which overhung a furious torrent; in the midst of the bridge something tripped him up, he stumbled, and falling headlong into the stream, perished by the just judgment of God; and that very night the rest of the monks were all but buried in the ruins of their dwelling, which fell upon them as they were sleeping heavily after their banquet, and bruises and broken bones convinced them that they had made a bad bargain in revolting against Romuald's severe rule.

After this, the martyr Apollinaris appeared to Romuald in a vision, and commanded him to return to Classis, and assume the government of the monastery there. He at once removed to the vicinity, probably taking up his quarters in his old cell. At this same time the brethren at the monastery being without an abbot were desired by the Emperor Otho III. to choose one for themselves. Their choice fell unanimously upon Romuald. The emperor himself went to announce his election to him, and to obtain his consent. He did not arrive at the cell until nightfall, and was glad to accept Romuald's invitation to spend the night there. The next morning the emperor broached the subject of the Abbacy. Romuald at first refused to listen to the proposal; but Otho threatening him with "excommunication and anathema from all the bishops and archbishops and the whole Synod of Council," he at last yielded, at the same time telling the emperor that the matter was by no means new to him, for that he had had a divine intimation of it some time before, and accompanied him to the monastery, where he was duly installed. Before long however, the brethren took offence at the severity of his rule, and began to repent of their choice. Perceiving this, Romuald, as eager to lay down his office as he had been backward to accept it, hastened to seek an interview with the emperor; and in his presence and that of the Archbishop of Ravenna, broke his rod of office, and formally dissolved the monastery, probably judging the traditions of laxity which had grown up in the place too strong to be disturbed except by the extirpation of the community.

About this time, hearing of one Venerius, a holy man, who was leading a solitary life in great austerity, but not under obedience to anyone, Romuald sought him out and persuaded him to return to the monastery which he had forsaken in consequence of the persecutions of unworthy brethren, and seek permission of his abbot to live apart from the community. "If thou bearest the Cross of Christ," said he, "it yet remains that thou forsake not the obedience of Christ." Venerius took Romuald's advice, obtained leave from his abbot, and returned in great peace of mind to the beloved solitude. Romuald remained with him for some time, and gave him much needful instruction in spiritual things.

It is a good illustration of the reality and thoroughness of the religious sentiment at that time, that men of the highest rank were found to submit themselves readily to the discipline of the Church. It is related that the famous Crescentius, Senator of Rome, had incurred Otho's displeasure, and apprehensive of the consequences, had taken sanctuary. Thammus, one of Otho's courtiers, had induced Crescentius by an oath of safe conduct to leave the sanctuary, and so to place himself in the emperor's power. The oath was violated, and Crescentius perished by the hand of the executioner. Before long the pangs of conscience drove both the emperor and his satellite to unburden their souls in confession to Romuald. He ordered Thammus to embrace the solitary life and

"His every future year,
In ceaseless pain and penance dree;"

a command which was unhesitatingly obeyed; while Otho himself accepted a severe penance for his share in the crime, which was avenged on him later by his victim's widow.

We now come upon a story which shows how Romuald's rule succeeded in training such as had the true vocation to be real heroes of the kingdom of heaven, and how the supernatural sanctity of his character impressed itself on his faithful followers.

Boleslas, king of Poland, had besought Otho to send him a missionary to convert his subjects, a people then, as ever, noted for a wild and lawless ferocity. Otho at once appealed to Romuald, who communicated the matter to his disciples, explaining to them the perils attending the mission, and saying that he would lay no command upon any of them, but that if any were willing to go and meet danger and death for Christ's sake, he would gladly send him. At once two of his monks, by name John and Benedict, came forward and offered to go. Before they had been long in the country, they were set upon at midnight in their hut, and murdered for the sake of treasures which they were supposed to possess. In order to conceal their crime, the murderers set fire to the hut, hoping to consume the bodies of their victims with the dwelling. To their horror the flames refused to approach the bodies of the holy men, and even the hut, built as it was of light and inflammable materials, could not be made to burn. Trembling and terror-struck, they then attempted to fly from the place; but an invisible power compelled them to wander round and round the scene of their crime, and held them enchained to the spot until daylight. The matter came to the ears of the king, who went with his guards and apprehended them. The soldiers would have put them to death at once, but the king prevented them, saying that the criminals should be reserved for the judgment of the martyrs. With their hands tied together they were dragged into the hut, and forced up to the couch on which the bodies yet lay, when in a moment their bonds fell off; and the king, saying that the martyrs had forgiven and acquitted them, ordered them to be set at liberty.

Meantime Romuald after vainly endeavouring to persuade Otho to lay down the sceptre, and retire from the world, and predicting his approaching death, which accordingly took place, had betaken himself into Istria, and built a monastery in the neighbourhood of Parenzo. Near this he lived, built into a cell, for two years, during which time he made great advance in piety and in knowledge of the Scriptures. At this time he experienced a great dryness of spirit, which caused him to long and pray earnestly for the gift of holy contrition. One day while in this state, singing the Psalter in his cell, the words "I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way wherein thou shalt go, and I will guide thee with Mine eye," came upon him with a strange light and force; his dryness of spirit vanished in a moment, he dissolved into tears, and from that day forward he never again experienced lack of contrition.

His mission in Istria being accomplished, he prepared to return into Italy. But the bishop of Parenzo left no stone unturned to keep him in his diocese; when persuasion and entreaty failed, he resorted to force, and forbade anyone to let Romuald have a boat in which to make the voyage across the bay. Romuald, no way discomposed, sat down on the shore to wait, saying that other boats from Italy were on their way, and would soon come purposely to take him off. Before long the vessels made their appearance, with an invitation to Romuald to return; and in one of them the journey was safely accomplished.

Immediately on his arrival, he founded a new monastery, and filled it with monks; labouring meanwhile with great zeal and success for the conversion of the people in the vicinity. One day there, as Romuald and the brethren were sitting in chapter, the brethren who had been left in charge of the door came running in to give the alarm that a thief was breaking into one of the cells. The monks ran to the place, and caught the robber in the very act. They brought him to Romuald to know what was to be done with him. "Well but, brethren," said the holy man, looking pleasantly at them, "I really do not know what can be done with such a rascal. If we put his eyes out, he won't be able to see; if we cut off his hands, he won't be able to work; or his feet--there will be no more walking for him. Bring him in, and give him something to eat, while we consider what _is_ to be done with him." And so says the story, "having ministered to his bodily wants, and given him a sweet and gentle reproof, he dismissed the robber in peace."

About this time intelligence of the martyrdom of the blessed martyr Boniface reached Romuald, and inspired by the desire to win for himself the martyr's crown, he at once formed a plan to take a missionary journey into Hungary. But, before setting out, he proceeded to consolidate his order by the foundation of three new monasteries, one the parent house in the Val di Castro, and two others. Having appointed an abbot and priors over these houses, he obtained a commission from the Apostolic See for the conversion of the Huns, and set forth on his expedition, accompanied by a party of twenty-four monks; and such was the ardour and zeal that burned in the breasts of all his disciples to encounter death for Christ, that he had great difficulty to reconcile to their lot those whom he had decided to leave behind.

Hardly, however, had they entered the confines of Hungary, when Romuald was seized with a mysterious malady, which arrested their progress; for as often as he attempted to renew his journey and push forward to his destination, his sickness so increased in severity, as to compel him to desist; whereas, whenever he only thought of giving up the enterprise and returning homewards, the symptoms abated and his strength returned. Judging this to be a divine warning, he resolved to retrace his steps. Two of the brethren returned with him; the remainder pursued their journey with Romuald's consent, though he warned them that the crown of martyrdom would be granted to none of them. Accordingly they met with all manner of persecution and ill-treatment from the barbarious Huns, but to none of them was it given to lay down his life for Christ.

On his return, hearing that some one had obtained the abbacy of the monastery "in Classe," which would seem to have been reconstituted, by perjury and simony, he made all haste hither to rebuke the intruder, and exhort him to lay down his ill-gotten authority. The bad abbot in a rage attempted to murder Romuald, who was only saved by the special interposition of Providence. He returned to the monastery in the Val di Castro, and occupied his cell in the neighbourhood. But before long he experienced one of the many afflictions which befel him in the course of his life through false brethren; for the abbot of his own appointment, an unworthy monk, annoyed at the daily rebuke of his own laxity, conveyed by Romuald's silent example of ascetic holiness, managed to procure his expulsion from the territory. He did not move far, however, but settled for a time at a place in the Apennines called Agua Bella, where the disciples gathered round him, and began to erect huts or cells for the hermit life. One day in the midst of this work a secular priest who was helping the brethren in their work was attacked by an intolerable toothache, and after bearing up against the pain for some time, was reluctantly obliged to excuse himself to the brethren, and to desist from his work. Moaning piteously he was making his way home, when he encountered Romuald, who, from age and infirmity, was unable to take any active part in the manual labour of the brotherhood, and in answer to an enquiry from him explained why he was leaving them. Romuald bade him open his mouth, and placing his finger on the offending tooth desired him to apply to it a rough-and-ready remedy much in vogue among the country folk. The priest proceeded on his way, but scarce had he traversed a rood of ground when the pain left him of a sudden, and he felt that he was cured. Forthwith he returned to his work, loudly declaring the praises of God, who had sent among them so bright a light, so eminent a worker of miracles, as Romuald; and with great difficulty could the disciples succeed in silencing him; for if such expressions reached Romuald's ears, great was his displeasure.

In connection with this story, the biographer mentions an occurrence which took place at Camaldoli; his cell there was overshadowed by a large beech tree, which, for some reason or other, he desired might be felled. The workmen began to cut it down, and were in the midst of their work, when it became evident that the tree must fall right across the hut and crush both the dwelling and its occupant. They all, with one voice, besought him to come out; but, making the sign of the cross towards the tree, he desired them to proceed; they obeyed, and to the amazement of all, the tree swerved and fell wide of the cell.

"They all, therefore, thunderstruck at so great a miracle, raised their voices to heaven in praise, and gave grateful thanks to God."

After setting everything in order in his monasteries in the Apennines, Romuald revisited Istria, where he is said to have lived, built up[25] in his cell, and in unbroken silence, for seven years.

"But though his lips were silent, his life preached," and innumerable conversions were the fruit of his sojourning there. As the infirmities of age began to creep over him, he became more and more austere in his acts of self-mortification, pressing forward incessantly to new victories over the flesh, and yielding less and less indulgence to even the most innocent infirmities of his lower nature. But there was no sourness in his asceticism; in the midst of his bitterest mortifications his countenance bore at all times the impress of an unruffled serenity and cheerfulness of spirit.

But the wanderings of Romuald's long life were not yet at an end. He made a further excursion to the north, and settled for a while in Styria. And these many wanderings, says his biographer, arose not from fickleness of spirit, as if he were unable to rest long in one place, but solely from the wonderful attraction which his presence exercised where-ever he went. No sooner did he erect his cell anywhere, than men flocked to him from every quarter to be guided by his teaching, and to be edified by his life; so that the most complete solitudes speedily become populous. And as soon as he had duly instructed those who came to him in the discipline of a holy life, he would form them into a community, appoint one of their number to be prior over them, and then betake himself to some other solitude, soon to people that also, and to be driven from it in the same way.

In Styria it is related that those who gathered around him, all lived so devoutly, that the rage for mortification reached even to the herdsmen and shepherds of the neighbourhood, who vied with the monks and hermits in all the exercises of the religious life, fasting, keeping silence, and administering the discipline to each other with great zeal and earnestness. On which Peter Damian ejaculates, "Oh! holy time of Romuald! in which, though the torments of persecution were unknown, yet there was no lack of spontaneous martyrdom!"

The whole career of Romuald from the time of his profession, is one continuous illustration of the two-fold force of reality in religion--a force of attraction on the one hand, of repulsion on the other. We see in him one, who in the depth and fervour of his penitence, stedfastly adhered through a long life to his first renunciation, not only of the pomps and vanities of this world, but of the most necessary and innocent refinements of life, and by the mere force of reality drew after him crowds of disciples of every class, and peopled the waste places of his native land with monks and hermits. We see, on the one hand, those in whom the grace of a true vocation responded to the example and teaching of their master, led on by degrees to vie with him in the fervour of his self-devotion; and those, on the other hand, who sought in monasticism only a coward's refuge from the temptations and trials of secular life, repelled almost at once by the stern thoroughness of his religion, and by their own unreality forced into rebellion against his rule.

At the age of 102 he visited the Apennines, seeking a new retreat, and one day falling asleep beside a fountain in a pleasant plain among the mountains, he dreamed that he saw a ladder set up between heaven and earth, up which his monks ascended in white habits. On awaking, he resolved to change the colour of the dress of his monks, and to found a monastery on the spot. It was the property of a gentleman named Maldoli, who at once gave it him, and the monastery was called Campo Maldoli, whence the order assumed its name of Camaldoli.

Romuald died on June 19th, 1027. He is said to have attained the age of 120, but this has been disputed with every show of reason by Bollandus and Baronius. He died in his monastery of the Val di Castro, in the Marches of Ancona, and was there buried. The elevation of the relics took place in 1467, and they were translated to the Church of S. Blase, in the town of Fabri, where they remain to this day. The Roman Breviary celebrates his festival on the day of the translation, which took place in the year 1481.

In Art he appears with his finger on his lips, and the ladder, he saw in vision, at his side.

[24] Paximatium. A cake baked under the ashes on the hearth.

[25] Inclusus.

February 8.

S. JUVENTIUS, _B. of Pavia, 2nd cent._
SS. DIONYSIUS, ÆMILIAN, AND SEBASTIAN, _MM., in Lesser Armenia_.
SS. MARTYRS IN PERSIA, _under Cabades, beginning of 6th cent._
S. HONORATUS, _B. of Milan_, A.D. 570.
S. NICETIUS, _B. of Besancon, beginning of 7th cent._
S. PAUL, _B. of Verdun, circ._ A.D. 649.
S. ELFLEDA, _V. Abss. of Whitby_, A.D. 716.
S. MENGOLD, _M. at Huy in Belgium, circ._ A.D. 892.
S. CUTHMAN, _C. at Steyning in Sussex_.
B. PETER ALDOBRANDINI, _Card. B. of Albano, circ._ A.D. 1000.
S. STEPHEN, _Ab. Founder of the Order of Grandmont_, A.D. 1124.
S. JOHN OF MATHA, _C. Founder of the Trinitarians_, A.D. 1213.
B. ISAIAH BONER, _C. at Casimir and Cracow, circ._ A.D. 1380.
S. JEROME ÆMILIAN, _Founder of the Order of Somasch_, A.D. 1537.

S. JUVENTIUS, B. C.

(2ND CENT.)

[Roman Mart., and that of Usuardus. Juventius is sometimes called
Eventius, but it seems that Eventius, B. of Pavia, was a later
prelate, and ought not to be confounded with Juventius. The Acts are
late, written by Paulus Diaconus, or at all events re-written by him
in what was regarded as a more polished style. These Acts belong to
S. Syrus, see December 9th; but contain much concerning S.
Juventius.]

Hermagoras, the disciple of S. Peter the Apostle, and S. Mark the Evangelist, who was also Bishop of Aquileia, sent Syrus and Juventius to preach the Gospel in Ticinum, or Pavia. When it was known that SS. Celsus and Nazarius had shed their blood for the faith at Milan, and that SS. Gervase and Protasius were in bonds, Syrus sent Juventius to Milan, to comfort the church there, and to animate the Confessors. On his return he was ordained by S. Syrus, who had received episcopal consecration from S. Hermagoras. He succeeded Syrus, his master, in the see of Pavia. But few traditions of his episcopate have been wafted down to us. Perhaps the most interesting is this. A collector of taxes in crossing the river was nearly drowned, and lost the money for which he was held responsible. In great tribulation, the man hastened to the bishop, who, commiserating his trouble, advanced with him to the banks of the Ticino, and cried, "I say unto thee, O water, on which Christ the Lord walked, in His name restore the money for which this man is distressed!" Immediately the bag of coins was washed to their feet.

Porphyrius, præfect of Rome, having made the circuit of the country, came to Pavia, holding inquisition upon the Christians and other reputed disturbers of the Commonwealth. Juventius was brought before him, and Porphyrius was so won by his gentleness and innocence that he let him go, with an admonition to abstain from preaching the doctrine of Christ to the people; and the bishop, to prevent a persecution, abandoned public orations and discussions, and confined himself to private expositions of the truth.

SS. DIONYSIUS, ÆMILIAN, AND SEBASTIAN, MM.

(DATE UNCERTAIN.)

[Roman Mart., and those of S. Jerome, Bede, Notker, Ado,
Usuardus, &c.]

Of these saints, who suffered in Lesser Armenia, though noticed in nearly all Martyrologies, nothing whatever is known; and Bollandus supplies the place of their lost Acts with the Acts of certain other saints,--Æmilian, Hermippus, and Dionysius, commemorated on Jan. 28th, with the caustic heading: "Acta horum sanctorum martyrum, vel potius quatuor aliorum."

S. PAUL, B. OF VERDUN.

(ABOUT A.D. 649.)

[Roman Martyrology, Usuardus, &c. Authority:--A very ancient
anonymous life, of which Restarius, Canon of S. Vito, who flourished
in 887, made use in his "Hist. brevis episcoporum Virdunensium."]

This saint, a native of Autun, and not, as some have maintained, of Flanders, was of noble birth. He received an excellent education in his youth, whereby his parents, unintentionally, prepared him for the service of the church, their desire being that he should distinguish himself in the world. But he, despising the pomps and pleasures of a secular life, retired into the Vosges mountains, and lived as a hermit on that mountain which has since borne his name, the Paulsberg, within sight of Trèves. On one occasion, having visited the monastery of Tholey, near S. Wendelin, he was so moved by the piety of the monks, and their earnest desire to number him amongst them, that he entered the monastery, where he soon endeared himself to all the brethren by his gentleness and holy example. Amongst the pupils at Tholey was Grimo, a kinsman of king Dagobert, on whose property the monastery was situated. On the death of Ermenfried, bishop of Verdun, on the recommendation of Grimo, Paul was nominated to the vacant see. He found that on account of the disorder of the times, his church was in the most profound debasement. The cathedral was without clergy to celebrate mass and recite the psalter, and it was served occasionally by a priest who visited it at wide intervals, and was unendowed. The bishop at once sent for his friend and patron, Grimo, and exposed to him the spiritual and temporal distress; and by the intercession of Grimo with Dagobert, the king, Paul was provided with land, by means of which he could support a staff of clergy. By his diligence and zeal he was enabled, before he died, to organise the diocese, and to provide for its spiritual supervision.

In Art, he is represented, for some unknown reason, with a taper in his hand, also with an oven, for he is said to have been baker at Tholey for the community, and to have, on one occasion, gone into the oven to place the loaves, when the shovel was lost.

S. ELFLEDA, V. ABSS. OF WHITBY.

(A.D. 716.)

[Inserted in Anglican Martyrology by J. Wilson, and in the
Benedictine by Hugh Menard; and Ferrarius in his Gen. Catalogue.
Authorities:--Bede and Malmesbury.]

Throughout his life, Penda, the fierce heathen king of Mercia, or the midland counties of England, waged war with the kingdom of Northumbria, which included Yorkshire, Durham, and Northumberland. But this bloodthirsty and stubborn hatred led him to his destruction. Oswy, son of Ethelfrid, the ravager, and grandson of Ida, the Man of Fire, was king of Northumbria, which had been so wasted and exhausted by the former ravages of Penda, that it could ill withstand another attack. It was only at the last extremity, that king Oswy resolved to engage in a final conflict with the terrible enemy who had conquered and slain his two predecessors, Edwin and the saintly Oswald. He had married his son and his daughter to children of Penda; and he gave him another of his sons as a hostage. But Penda would not consent to any durable peace. During the thirteen years that had elapsed since the overthrow of Oswald, and the accession of Oswy, he had periodically subjected Northumberland to frightful devastations. In vain Oswy, driven to desperation, offered him all his jewels, ornaments, and treasures, of which he could dispose, as a ransom for his desolated and hopeless provinces. The arrogant and fierce octogenarian refused everything, being resolute, as he said, to exterminate the whole Northumbrian race, from first to last. "Well, then," said Oswy, "since this heathen despises our gifts, let us offer them to one who will accept them--to the Lord our God." He then made a vow to devote to God a daughter who had just been born to him, and at the same time to give twelve estates for the foundation of as many monasteries. After this he marched at the head of a small army against Penda, whose troops were, according to a Northumbrian tradition, thirty times more numerous, and a battle was fought near the site of the present town of Leeds, in which Penda was defeated and slain. Thus perished, at the age of eighty, after a reign of thirty years, the conqueror and murderer of five Anglo-Saxon kings, and the last and indefatigable champion of paganism among the Anglo-Saxons.

Oswy faithfully kept his word. He set apart twelve estates to be thenceforward monastic property--six in the north, and six in the south of his double kingdom. He then took his daughter Elfleda, who was but yet a year old, and consecrated her to God by the vow of perpetual virginity. Her mother, the daughter of Edwin, first Christian king of Northumbria, had been also dedicated to God from her birth, but only by baptism, and as a token of the gratitude of a still pagan father for the protection of the Christian's God. The daughter of Oswy was to be the price of a yet higher gift of heaven--the conclusive victory of his race, and of the Christian faith in his country; the sacrifice reminds us of that of Jepthah's daughter; but she, far from desiring to escape her vow, showed herself, during a long life, always worthy of her heavenly Bridegroom. The king took her from the caresses of her mother, to intrust her to the abbess Hilda of Hartlepool, who nearly ten years before had been initiated into the monastic life by S. Aidan.

In 658, when Elfleda was three years old, S. Hilda founded her monastery of Streaneshalch, now called Whitby, and moved thither with her little spiritual daughter.

Elfleda was scarcely twenty-five years of age, when S. Hilda died, and she was called to succeed her as abbess of Whitby. She is described by Bede as a most pious mistress of spiritual life. But like all the Anglo-Saxon princesses whom we meet within the cloister at this epoch, she did not cease to take a passionate interest in the affairs of her race and her country, and to exercise that extraordinary and salutary influence which was so willingly yielded by the Anglo-Saxon kings and people to those princesses of their sovereign races who became the brides of Christ.

She maintained that reverent and affectionate relation with S. Cuthbert which had been maintained by S. Hilda.

Before he became bishop, while he lived on a desert rock near Lindisfarne, she prevailed on him to grant her an interview in an island on the Northumbrian coast, called then, as now, Coquet Island. She was anxious and alarmed for her brother Egfrid, and she desired to consult the holy Cuthbert on the affairs of the state and her family. The hermit and the abbess went each to their meeting by sea; and when he had answered all her questions, she threw herself at his feet, and entreated him to tell her, by virtue of those prophetic powers, with which he was known to be gifted, whether her brother, Egfrid, would have a long life and reign. "I am surprised," he answered, "that a woman well versed, like you, in the Holy Scriptures should speak to me of length with regard to human life, which lasts no longer than a spider's web, as the Psalmist has said. How short then must life be for a man who has but a year to live, and has death at his door!" At these words, she wept long; then, drying her tears, she continued, with feminine boldness, and inquired who should be the king's successor, since he had neither sons nor brothers. "Do not say," he replied, "that he is without heirs; he shall have a successor whom you will love, as you love Egfrid, as a sister." "Then tell me, I entreat you, where this successor is." "You see," returned Cuthbert, directing the eyes of his companion towards the archipelago of islets which dots the Northumbrian coast around Lindisfarne, "how many isles are in the vast ocean; it is easy for God to bring from them some one to reign over the English." Elfleda then perceived that he spoke of a young man, Aldfrid, supposed to be the son of her father Oswy, by an Irish mother, and who, since his infancy, had lived as an exile at Iona, where he gave himself up to study.

The troubles concerning S. Wilfrid which had vexed the Northumbrian Church still prevailed. Wilfrid was still in banishment for his persistence in introducing the Roman customs into the Keltic Church of the north of England. The new king, Aldfrid, had brought with him from Iona attachment to the ritual of SS. Columba and Aidan. Elfleda inherited the prejudices of her spiritual mother, Hilda, against the stern and inflexible innovator; but there was on their side a desire for reconcilation with the Church of the province of Canterbury, which was of Roman foundation, and they hoped that now Wilfrid was an aged man, some of his harshness might have been softened.[26]

To the new king, as well as to his sister, the Abbess Elfleda, Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury wrote, to exhort them both to lay aside their enmity against Wilfrid, and to receive him with unreserved kindness. They yielded, and recalled Wilfrid, but were mistaken in supposing that age had altered his determination. He returned in 687 to excite storms throughout his diocese, and was again exiled, in 691.

Aldfrid died in 705, and the Northumbrian crown descended to a prince named Eadwulf. Wilfrid had taken advantage of the death of Aldfrid to return to Ripon, but was ordered to leave the country in six days. But Eadwulf was dethroned, and a son of Aldfrid, Osred, aged eight, was given the realm of Bernicia, the counties of Northumberland and Durham. By means of some mysterious influence, the nature of which is unknown, the aged exile Wilfrid, who had been expelled from the country for fourteen years, and was to all appearance forgotten, became, all at once, the master of the situation, and the arbiter of events. He soon acquired a more powerful protector than the young sovereign in the person of Earl Bertfrid, who was considered the most powerful noble in the kingdom, and who was at the head of Osred's party. King Eadwulf marched against the insurgents, and obliged them to retreat to the fortress of Bamborough, where the earl, shut up in the narrow enclosure of this fortified rock, and reduced to the last extremity, vowed that, if God would deliver him and his charge, the young prince and his people should bow to the Roman subjection. An opportune desertion of Eadwulf's followers gave victory to Bertfrid, and Eadwulf was exiled after a short reign of two months. As soon as the royal child was placed on the throne, the Archbishop of Canterbury made his appearance, perceiving that the time was come for reinstating Wilfrid, and settling his affairs in a general assembly. This was held in the open air on the banks of the Nid. Wilfrid was present, and met there Bertfrid and the Abbess Elfleda, who had come over to his side, and to Roman obedience. All the Northumbrians regarded her as the consoler and best counsellor of the kingdom. The bishops and abbots present opposed the claims of Wilfrid, and refused to accept him, though he came armed with the authority of the Holy See. At this point, the Abbess Elfleda interposed: in a voice which all listened to as an utterance from heaven, she described the last illness and agony of the king her brother, and how he had vowed to God and S. Peter to accomplish the papal decrees which he had so vigorously rejected. "This," she said, "is the last will of Aldfrid the king; I attest the truth of it before Christ." Bertfrid afterwards spoke and announced his vow. Nevertheless the three bishops would not yield, they retired from the assembly to confer among themselves, and with Archbishop Britwald, but above all with the sagacious Elfleda. Thanks to her, all ended in a general reconciliation.

Shortly before his death, and during his last pastoral visitation, S. Cuthbert went to see Elfleda in the neighbourhood of the great monastery of Whitby, to consecrate a church which she had built there, and to converse with her for the last time. They dined together, and during the meal, seeing his knife drop from his trembling hand in the abstraction of supernatural thoughts, she had a last opportunity of admiring his prophetic intuition, and his constant care for the salvation of souls. The fatigue of the holy bishop, who said laughingly, "I cannot eat all day long; you must give me a little rest"; the eagerness and pious curiosity of the young abbess, anxious to know and do everything, who rushed up breathlessly during the ceremony of the dedication to ask the bishop a _memento_ for a monk, whose death she had just heard of,--all these details, says a modern writer,[27] form a picture complete in its simplicity, upon which the charmed mind can repose amid the savage habits and wild vicissitudes of the struggle, then more violent than ever, between the Northumbrians and Picts, the Saxons and the Celts.

S. Elfleda died at the age of sixty. No account of her last illness has been transmitted to us.

S. MENGOLD, M.

(ABOUT A.D. 892.)

S. Mengold, second patron of the town of Huy on the Meuse, where a church is erected under his invocation, was count of Huy, and was murdered by some knights of his court, whose vices he attempted to restrain.

His relics, along with those of several other saints of Huy, are preserved in the noble church of Our Lady in that town.

S. CUTHMAN, C.

(DATE UNCERTAIN.)

[In Ancient Anglo-Saxon Kalendar belonging to the Abbey of Fécamp,
and French Martyrology. Authority:--Two lives of uncertain date, by
anonymous writers.]

The blessed Cuthman was by birth a native of Devonshire or Cornwall, and his youth was spent in pasturing his father's sheep on the granite moors. One day, when dinner time came, he was hungry, and not having a companion to whom he could entrust his flock during his absence, he drew a circle in the heather and gorse with his staff, and then planted it in the soil, and said, "In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I command you sheep not to transgress the bounds I have drawn, till I return from my dinner." And, wonderful to relate, the sheep obeyed his command. Now there was a grey moorstone on which he was wont to sit; and this moorstone has been ever since regarded with singular veneration, says the ancient writer of his life.

After some years his father died, and the widow was reduced to great poverty. Cuthman ministered to her with the tenderest care and filial devotion, and worked for their joint subsistence. When the poor woman fell sick, he was unable to leave her, at the same time he was so destitute that, unless he went forth to work or beg, they must starve. He, therefore, contrived a wooden truck or barrow on two wheels, and laid his mother on it, and went behind, thrusting her on with his hands, and supporting her by a rope slung round his neck, and begged from door to door, as her condition incapacitated him from working. One day, as he was thus thrusting his little cart through a field where the hay-makers were mowing the grass, the rope broke, and the holy youth stood a while hesitating what to do. Then he tore from an elder tree a bough, and twisted it, and attached it to his mother's cart, and supported it therewith. But the mowers laughed at him as a fool for endeavouring to supply the place of a rope with hollow elder wood. Their mockery was, however, soon arrested by a pelting rain, which drove them from their work, and by seeing the bough hold as firmly as a rope.

And when Cuthman saw that God assisted and avenged him, he vowed to build a church to his holy Name. But how to do so he knew not. So he continued his wanderings, ever journeying East way, and thrusting his mother before him, till he came to Steyning, in Sussex, where the rope suddenly broke, and his mother was much shaken, but, mercifully, was not injured. Then he thought that this was to be the place of his rest, and he said, "O Lord, on me has fallen to undertake the work of building Thee a house; for to do this thou didst inspire me with the will. Whither shall I fly from Thy Spirit? This is the place where I shall finish my wanderings, this shall be my habitation, in which I shall offer and pay Thee my vows, day by day. Almighty Father, who hast brought my journey to an end, bless my work of building to thee a temple. Thou knowest how poor I am, and a labourer from my youth, and of myself I can do nothing, unless thou dost succour me."

The place was still and solitary, trees surrounded it, and hard by flowed the tidal river Adur. The land was little populated; here and there only a farm, buried in a nook of the great chalk downs. He chose a spot at the foot of these downs, and there he built a hut and laid his poor mother in it, and at once began to measure out the ground for his proposed church. He found favour with the people round about, and they contributed to his sustenance and the support of his mother, as they watched him single-handed dig the foundations, cut the timber, and rear the walls of the church he had vowed to God. He was given two oxen to help him in his work of carrying stones. Now, one day, these oxen strayed into the field of a woman who had two grown up sons. The young men at once seized on the oxen, and took them into their house. Cuthman went after the oxen, and when he could not find them, asked the young men for them, but they refused to surrender them. Then he said angrily, "I need them not to do my own work, but to labour for God. See I have laded my cart with those logs, and must move them to the house of God. Come then you and draw them." And he grasped the youths, and yoked them to the wain, and made them drag the stones to their destination.

Now as the church approached completion, Cuthman was grieved one day to find that a wooden pillar he had set up, was bent with the weight imposed upon it, and he feared to remove it, lest he should bring down a part of the building. Then there came a traveller to the door, of very grave and beautiful aspect, and asked Cuthman why he was troubled. And Cuthman pointed to the bent post. Then said the stranger, "O man of little faith! to those who fear God, nothing is impossible. Stretch forth thine hand and let me help thee, and we will straighten it." And he did so, and the pillar became upright. Then Cuthman fell at the stranger's feet, and said, "My lord, tell me thy name!" And he answered, "I am Jesus, to whom thou buildest this house;" and so vanished.

Now Cuthman not only built and laboured for his old bed-ridden mother, but he also preached to the people, and stirred up the love of God, and zeal for His commandments in their hearts. And as his church approached completion, he was glad, and he worked without, and then rested for a while in prayer within. And chipping at the logs without, he wore thick gloves, and when he went within he took off his gloves, and hung them on a little ray of light that pierced through one of the small windows he had made in the walls. And there, where he worked, he died, but what was the nature of his illness, and his disposition at death is not recorded. He was buried at Steyning, and the Adur, then navigable as far as this place, long bore the name of S. Cuthman's Port. Steyning was given by Edward the Confessor, and afterwards by the Conqueror, to the abbey of Fécamp, in Normandy, from which circumstance Bollandus supposed Steyning was in Normandy, and many have been misled thereby. The church of Steyning, dedicated to S. Cuthman, was built by monks of Fécamp to replace his wooden one.

The Monasticon Anglicanum of Dugdale, (II. p. 992), Leland, Collect. I. p. 96; II. p. 409; III. p. 82; and Camden asserts plainly that S. Cuthman was buried at Steyning in Sussex. "Cella de Stening Nigrorum Monachorum in quâ sepultus Stus. Cudman;" "S. Cudmannus in Stenig prope Brambre flumen." "Stus. Caudmannus in loco qui dicitus ad Staning requiescit prope amnem Brembre;" this Brembre is Bramber; the name is no longer given to the river, but to the castle hard by, upon it.

S. STEPHEN OF GRANDMONT, AB.

(A.D. 1124.)

[Roman Martyrology. Authority: a life by Gerald Itherius, prior of
Grandmont.]

S. Stephen was born in the year 1046, in the castle of Thiers, in Auvergne, belonging to his father, the Viscount de Thiers. At an early age of twelve he was taken by his pious father a pilgrimage into Italy. On their return, the lad fell ill at Benevento, and the father was obliged to leave him in the charge of Milo, archbishop of that city, a native of Auvergne. This prelate took the greatest care of the young Stephen and reared him in all holy lore; and as he grew up intent on serving God in a spiritual and ecclesiastical state, he ordained him, first sub-deacon, and afterwards deacon.

After the death of the archbishop, Stephen, being then twenty-four years old, went to Rome and remained there four years. There the vocation to the religious life growing stronger in him, he formed the resolution of imitating certain monks of Calabria, living in great holiness, of whom he had heard Milo speak, and whom he had once visited. He therefore asked permission of Pope Gregory VII. to live apart in some solitude, following the rule of the Calabrian hermits. The pope hesitated for some while, thinking him too delicate of constitution, but at length yielded to his pressing solicitations in 1073. Stephen then returned to France, and resided at Thiers for a short time with his parents; and then, departing, established himself at Aureille or Soviat, a few leagues from Limoges, where he placed himself under the direction of S. Gaucher, who had built a monastery of regular Canons, called S. Jean d'Aureille. But S. Gaucher having erected a nunnery in the neighbourhood, S. Stephen disliking the proximity to women, left Aureille, and retired to Muret, in 1076. This is a mountain near Limoges, where, amongst the rocks and trees, he built a small cabin, and vowed himself to Jesus Christ in a very special manner. Having retained a ring, the only thing belonging to his father and home, that he had not given away or refused, he placed it on his finger saying, "I, Stephen, renounce the devil and all his pomps, and offer myself to God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, the One true God in Three Persons." Then having written these words, he placed them on his head, and added, "O God Almighty, who livest eternally, and reignest One in Three Persons, I promise to serve Thee in this hermitage in the Catholic faith; in sign whereof I place this writing on my head, and place this ring on my finger, that at the hour of my death this promise may serve as my defence against my enemies." Then addressing himself to the Holy Virgin he said, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, I commend my body, soul, and senses to thy Son and to thee."

In this wild solitude, amidst rocks and trees, Stephen passed forty-six years in prayer, and the practice of such austerities as almost surpassed the strength of a human body. He lived at first on wild herbs and roots. In the second summer he was discovered by certain shepherds who brought him a little coarse bread; which some country people from that time continued to do as long as he lived. He always wore next his skin a hair-cloth with iron plates and hoops studded with sharp spikes, over which his only garment, made of the coarsest stuff, was the same both in summer and winter. When overcome by sleep, he took a short rest on rough boards, laid in the form of a coffin. By degrees, disciples gathered about him, and placed themselves under his rule. He would not suffer them to call him abbot or master, but only corrector. To them he was ever compassionate, urging them not to discipline their bodies by excessive fasting, but with himself he was never lenient.

Gregory de Papercesis and Pierre de Léon, two legates of the Holy Father, having visited him in his retreat, asked him what he was, a monk, a hermit, or a canon. "I am a sinner," was his answer.