Dialogues 2.4–3.3

“I have often noticed, Sulpicius, that Martin used to tell you that he by no means had the same grace of miracles as bishop that he remembered having had before. If this is true, or rather since it is true, we can guess how great were the things he did as a monk and did alone with no witness, since we have seen him work such great signs as bishop before the eyes of all. Many of his earlier deeds indeed became known to the world and could not be hidden; but innumerable are said to be the things which, avoiding boasting, he concealed and did not allow to come to people’s knowledge, since, having risen above human nature, trampling the world’s glory in the consciousness of his power, he was content with heaven as his witness. That this is true we can estimate even from the things we have learned and that could not be hidden: before his episcopate he restored two dead men to life, as your book has told more fully; but as bishop, which I am surprised you omitted, he raised only one. Of this I am a witness, if indeed you have no doubt of a suitable witness. How it happened I will explain to you. For some reason or other we were making for the town of Chartres. Meanwhile, as we were passing a village very crowded with inhabitants, a huge crowd came out to meet us, all of them pagans; for no one in that village knew a Christian. But at the fame of so great a man the multitude flocking together had covered all the widely spreading fields. Martin sensed that there was work to be done, and, as the Spirit announced it to him, he was wholly stirred, and, with no mortal sound, preached the word of God to the pagans, groaning often that so great a crowd did not know the Lord the Savior. Meanwhile, as the incredible multitude surrounded us, a certain woman, whose son had died shortly before, began to offer the lifeless body to the blessed man with outstretched hands, saying: ‘We know that you are a friend of God: restore my son to me, for he is my only one.’ The rest of the multitude joined her and added their cries to the mother’s prayers. Then Martin, seeing, as he himself afterward told us, that he could obtain the miracle for the salvation of those who were waiting, took the dead body in his own hands; and when he had knelt in the sight of all and had finished his prayer and risen, he gave the little one back to his mother alive. Then indeed the whole multitude, raising a shout to heaven, confessed Christ as God, and at last all began to rush in throngs to the blessed man’s knees, faithfully asking him to make them Christians. Without hesitation, in the middle of the field as they were, he laid his hand on them all and made them all catechumens, saying, as he turned to us, that it was not unreasonable for catechumens to be made in a field, where martyrs used to be consecrated.

“You have conquered, Gallus,” said Postumianus, “you have conquered: not me, indeed, who am rather a champion of Martin and have always known and believed all these things about that man, but you have conquered all the hermits and anchorites. For none of them, like this Martin of yours, or rather of ours, has commanded death. And rightly does Sulpicius here compare him with the apostles and prophets, since the power of his faith and the works of his miracles testify that he is like them in all things. But go on, I beg you; though we could hear nothing more magnificent, yet go on, Gallus, to unfold what still remains to be told of Martin. For my mind is eager to learn even his least and everyday deeds, because there is no doubt that his least deeds are greater than the greatest of others.” “I will do so,” said Gallus; “but what I am going to tell I did not see myself, for it happened before I joined that man; but the deed is famous, spread abroad by the account of faithful brothers who were present. At about the time when he was first made bishop, he had need to go to the court. Valentinian the elder was then in power. When he learned that Martin was seeking things he did not wish to grant, he ordered him to be kept from the doors of the palace; for to his harsh and proud mind had been added an Arian wife, who had turned him wholly against the holy man, so that he would not pay him due reverence. So Martin, having tried once and again to approach the proud emperor, had recourse to his familiar defenses: he wrapped himself in sackcloth, sprinkled himself with ashes, abstained from food and drink, and prayed continuously night and day. On the seventh day an angel stood by him and told him to go to the palace without fear: the royal doors, however closed, would be opened of their own accord, and the emperor’s proud spirit would be softened. Strengthened, then, by the words of the angel present with him and relying on his help, he made for the palace. The thresholds stand open; no one resists him; at last he comes right up to the king with no one stopping him. When the emperor saw him coming from afar, gnashing his teeth that he had been let in, he did not deign to rise for him as he stood there, until fire covered the royal seat and the flames scorched the king himself in that part of his body on which he was sitting. So the proud man was shaken from his throne and rose for Martin against his will; and embracing warmly the man he had earlier resolved to despise, he confessed, now reformed, that he had felt divine power; and without waiting for Martin’s requests he granted everything before he was asked. He often invited him to conversation and to his table; finally, when he was leaving, he offered him many gifts, all of which the blessed man, guardian of his poverty as always, refused.

“And since we have once entered the palace, I will join together things done in the palace at different times; for the example of a faithful queen in her admiration for Martin should by no means be passed over. The emperor Maximus was ruling the state, a man deserving praise for his whole life, if he had been allowed either to refuse the diadem placed on him illegally by a rebellious army or to abstain from civil war; but a great empire could not be refused without danger nor kept without arms. He often summoned Martin, received him in the palace, and honored him with reverence; all his talk with him was of things present and to come, of the glory of the faithful, of the eternity of the saints; meanwhile, day and night, the queen hung on Martin’s lips: not inferior to that gospel example, she watered the saint’s feet with tears and wiped them with her hair. Martin, whom no woman had ever touched, could not escape her constant attendance, or rather her servitude. She thought not of the riches of the kingdom, not of the dignity of the empire, not of the diadem, not of the purple: lying on the ground, she could not be torn from Martin’s feet. At last she asked her husband that they should both press Martin to let her alone, all servants removed, give him a meal. And the blessed man could not resist any longer. A chaste meal is prepared by the queen’s hands: she herself spreads his stool, brings up the table, gives him water for his hands, sets before him food she had cooked herself. While he ate, she stood at a distance, fixed motionless to the ground after the manner of servants, showing in everything the modesty of one who serves and the humility of a servant; she herself mixed his drink and handed it to him. When the little meal was over, she gathered the fragments and crumbs of the bread he had eaten, faithfully preferring those leftovers to imperial banquets. Blessed woman, who for the devotion of such piety may rightly be compared with her who came from the ends of the earth to hear Solomon, if we follow the simple history. But the faith of the two queens is to be compared (I may say this setting aside the majesty of the mystery): that one sought to hear a wise man; this one, not content only to have heard, was found worthy to serve a wise man.

At this Postumianus said: “For a long time now, Gallus, as I listen to you, I have greatly admired the queen’s faith; but what of the report that no woman ever came near Martin? Look, this queen not only came near him but even served him. And I am afraid that those who are glad to insinuate themselves among women may shelter themselves somewhat behind this example.” Then Gallus said: “Why, do you not see what the grammarians usually teach: place, time, and person? Picture to yourself a man held captive in the emperor’s palace, besieged by prayers, compelled by the queen’s faith, constrained by the necessity of the times, so that he might free those shut up in prison, restore those sent into exile, recover goods taken away: how much do you think these things ought to have been worth to a bishop, that for all of them he should not relax a little of the strictness of his rule? Still, since you think some will misuse the occasion of this example, they will indeed be happy if they do not depart from the discipline of this example. Let them see that once only in his life, when he was already seventy, not a free widow, not a wanton virgin, but a queen living under her husband, with her husband himself joining in the entreaty, served Martin and waited on him as he ate, did not recline with him at table, nor dared to share the meal, but offered service. Learn the discipline, then: let a matron serve you, not command you; and serve, not recline with you; as that Martha served the Lord and yet was not invited to the meal; indeed the one who rather listened to the word was preferred to her who served. But in Martin’s case this queen did both: she served like Martha and listened like Mary. If anyone wishes to use this example, let him keep it in every point: let the cause be such, the person such, the service such, the meal such, and only once in all his life.”

“Splendidly,” said Postumianus, “your speech binds these people of ours not to go beyond Martin’s example; but I tell you that these things will be heard by deaf ears. For if we followed Martin’s ways, we would never be pleading cases about a kiss, and we would be free of all the reproaches of a scandalous reputation. But as you are accustomed to say, when you are accused of gluttony, ‘We are Gauls’: so in this respect we shall never be corrected either by Martin’s example or by your arguments. But while we have been dealing with these things so long, why are you so obstinately silent, Sulpicius?” “I,” I said, “not only keep silent now, but long ago resolved to keep silent about these things. For because I rebuked a certain widow, gadding about, smartly dressed, extravagant, living rather wantonly, and likewise a virgin who clung too unbecomingly to a young man dear to me (though I had often heard her rebuking others too who did such things), I stirred up against myself such hatred of all the women and all the monks that both legions have taken up sworn war against me. So please be silent, lest what you say too be laid to my account. Let all mention of these people be dropped: let us return rather to Martin. You, Gallus, carry on the work you began, as you set out to do.” Then he said: “I have already told you so much that my talk ought to have satisfied your eagerness; but since I may not fail to comply with your wish, I will speak as long as daylight remains. For indeed, as I look at that straw which is being got ready for our beds, it comes to my memory that a miracle was done even with the straw on which Martin had lain. It happened thus. Claudiomagus is a village on the border of the Bituriges and the Turoni. There is a church there, celebrated for the devotion of its saints and no less glorious for its multitude of consecrated virgins. Martin, passing through, lodged in the sacristy of the church. After his departure all the virgins rushed into that sacristy: they kissed every place where the blessed man had sat or stood, and divided even the straw on which he had lain. A few days later one of them hung part of the straw, which she had gathered for herself as a blessing, around the neck of a possessed man whom a spirit of error was tormenting. Without delay, quicker than words, the demon was cast out and the person was healed.

“At about the same time, as Martin was returning from Trier, a cow tormented by a demon met him: leaving its herd, it was charging at people and had already gored many, dangerous in its butting. But when it began to come near us, those who were following it at a distance began to shout loudly to warn us to take care. But after it came closer to us, raging with fierce eyes, Martin raised his hand and ordered the beast to stand still; and at his word it at once stood motionless. Meanwhile Martin saw a demon sitting on its back; rebuking it, he said: ‘Go away, deadly one, from the beast, and stop tormenting a harmless animal.’ The wicked spirit obeyed and withdrew. Nor did the heifer lack the sense to understand that she had been freed: her calm recovered, she lay down at the saint’s feet; then, at Martin’s bidding, she made for her herd and joined the rest of the cattle, gentler than a sheep. That was the time when, set in the midst of flames, he did not feel the fire. I do not think I need tell that, because Sulpicius here, though he passed it over in his book, set it out more fully afterwards in the letter he wrote to Eusebius, then a presbyter, now a bishop; you, Postumianus, have either read it, I believe, or, if you do not know it, you have it ready to hand in that cupboard whenever you like. We will tell what he left out. Once, while he was going around his parishes, we came upon a band of huntsmen. The dogs were chasing a hare; and the little creature, already worn out over a long distance, since there was no escape anywhere in the wide-open fields, kept putting off the death that threatened it, about to be caught at any moment, by frequent doubling back. The blessed man, pitying its danger with a devout heart, commanded the dogs to stop chasing and let the fugitive go. At once, at the first word of his command, they stood still: you would have thought them bound, or rather fixed, sticking in their tracks. So the little hare escaped unharmed, its pursuers tied fast.

“It is worth while also to recall his familiar sayings, spiritually seasoned. When he happened to see a sheep newly shorn, he said: ‘She has fulfilled the gospel command: she had two tunics, and gave one of them to one who had none; so you too ought to do.’ Likewise, when he had seen a swineherd shivering and almost naked in a garment of skins, he said: ‘Look, Adam in a garment of skins is feeding pigs; but let us rather put off that old Adam, who still remains in this man, and put on the new Adam.’ Oxen had grazed part of a meadow, and pigs had rooted up some of it; the remaining part, which was left untouched, was blooming with various flowers as though painted. ‘That part,’ he said, ‘which has been grazed by the cattle, bears the likeness of marriage: though it has not wholly lost the grace of its grass, it keeps none of the glory of flowers. That which the pigs, unclean beasts, have rooted up shows the foul image of fornication. But that portion which has suffered no harm shows the glory of virginity: it is luxuriant with rich grass, the crop of hay abounds in it, and, adorned with flowers beyond all beauty, it shines as if decked with sparkling gems. Blessed beauty, and worthy of God: for nothing is to be compared with virginity. So those who compare marriage with fornication greatly err, and those who think marriage equal to virginity are utterly wretched and foolish. But this distinction is to be held by the wise: marriage belongs to pardon, virginity looks to glory, fornication is assigned to punishment, unless it is cleansed by satisfaction.’

“A certain soldier had thrown off his military belt in the church, professing himself a monk, and had built himself a cell some distance off in a remote place, intending to live as a hermit. Meanwhile the cunning enemy stirred up his dull breast with various thoughts, so that, changing his mind, he wished that his wife, whom Martin had directed to be in a monastery of women, should rather live with him. So the brave hermit went to Martin and confessed what was on his mind. Martin vehemently refused: it was unfitting that a woman should again be joined with a man who was now a monk and not a husband. Finally, when the soldier insisted, declaring that this would do his purpose no harm: he wished only for the comfort of his wife, and there was no fear that they would fall back into their old ways; he was a soldier of Christ, and she too had sworn the oath of the same military service; let the bishop allow saints, who by the merit of faith knew nothing of their sex, to serve together; then Martin (I will tell you his very words) said: ‘Tell me, have you ever been in a war? Have you stood in the battle line?’ He answered: ‘I have often stood in the battle line and often been in war.’ To this Martin said: ‘Tell me, then: in that line which was being drawn up armed for battle, or was already fighting at close quarters with drawn sword against the enemy army, did you ever see any woman standing or fighting?’ Then at last the soldier was confounded and blushed, thanking him that he had not been allowed to follow his error, and that he had been corrected not by harsh rebuke but by a true and reasonable comparison suited to a soldier. And Martin, turning to us, as a large crowd of brothers had surrounded him, said: ‘Let a woman not enter the camp of men; let the battle line of soldiers stand apart; let the woman be removed far off, living in her own tent. For an army is made contemptible if a crowd of women is mixed with the cohorts of men. Let the soldier fight in the line, the soldier in the field; let the woman keep herself within the defenses of the walls. She too has her glory, if she keeps her chastity while her husband is away; and her first virtue and complete victory is not to be seen.’

“I believe you remember, Sulpicius, with what feeling, when you too were present, he praised to us that virgin who had so wholly withdrawn herself from the eyes of all men that she did not admit even Martin himself when he wished to visit her as a courtesy. For when he was passing by her little property, in which she had kept herself chastely shut away for a good many years, having heard of her faith and virtue, he turned aside so that he, as bishop, might honor with a devout courtesy a girl of such distinguished merit. We, following, thought that the virgin would be delighted, since she would have it as a testimony to her virtue that a priest of so great a name had come to her, setting aside the strictness of his rule. But she did not loosen the bonds of her very firm resolve even out of regard for Martin. So the blessed man, having received a praiseworthy excuse through another woman, went away gladly from the doors of her who had not let herself be seen or greeted. O glorious virgin, who would not let herself be seen even by Martin! O blessed Martin, who did not take that refusal as an insult to himself, but, magnifying her virtue with exultation, rejoiced in an example unusual, at least in these regions! So when the approaching night had forced us to stay not far from that little farm, the same virgin sent the blessed man a gift; and Martin did what he had never done before (for he never accepted anyone’s gift or present): he refused nothing of what the venerable virgin had sent, saying that her blessing was by no means to be rejected by a priest, since she was to be preferred to many priests. Let virgins hear this example, I beg, so that, if they wish to bar their doors to the wicked, they may close them even to the good, and, lest the wicked have free access to them, may not fear to shut out even priests. Let the whole world hear this: a virgin did not let herself be seen by Martin. She did not, surely, repel just any priest, but the girl did not come into the sight of that man whom to see was salvation for those who saw him. But what priest other than Martin would not have taken this as an insult to himself? What emotions, how great anger, would he have conceived against the holy virgin! He would have judged her a heretic and decreed that she be anathematized. And how he would have preferred to that blessed soul those virgins who everywhere put themselves in the priest’s way with frequent meetings, who arrange sumptuous banquets, who recline at table with him! But where is my speech taking me? This rather free talk must be checked a little, lest perhaps it give offense to some; for words of rebuke will not help the unfaithful, and the example will suffice for the faithful. But I will praise the virtue of this virgin in such a way that I think nothing should be taken from those who often came from distant regions to see Martin, since angels too, in their love, often visited this blessed man.

“But this, which I am about to tell, Sulpicius, I declare with you as witness” (and he looked at me). “One day Sulpicius here and I, keeping watch before his doors, had been sitting in silence for some hours, with great awe and trembling, as though we were keeping an appointed watch before an angel’s tent, though he, with the door of his cell shut, did not know we were there. Meanwhile we hear the murmur of people talking, and soon we are filled with a kind of awe and amazement, and could not be unaware that something divine was there. After about two hours Martin comes out to us; and then Sulpicius here, since no one talked with him more familiarly, began to beg him to tell us, who asked devoutly, what that divine awe was which we both confessed we had felt, or with whom he had been talking in his cell; for we had heard before the doors a faint and barely intelligible sound of people conversing. Then he, after long and much hesitation (but there was nothing Sulpicius could not wring from him against his will; I am going to tell something perhaps very hard to believe, but with Christ as witness I do not lie, unless anyone is so sacrilegious as to think that Martin lied), said: ‘I will tell you, but please tell no one: Agnes, Thecla, and Mary were with me.’ And he described to us the face and appearance of each. And not only on that day, but he confessed that he was often visited by them; nor did he deny that he quite often saw the apostles Peter and Paul. Moreover, as each of the demons came to him, he rebuked them by their own names. Mercury he found especially hostile; Jupiter, he said, was brutish and dull. These things seemed incredible even to many who lived in the same monastery; much less can I be confident that all who hear them will believe. For unless Martin had led a life and shown a virtue beyond all estimate, he would by no means be held among us in such glory. Yet it is no wonder if human weakness has doubted about Martin’s works, since we see many even today who have not believed the Gospels. But we both perceived and experienced that angels were often seen by Martin and spoke familiarly with him. I am going to tell a very small thing, but I will tell it. A synod of bishops was being held at Nîmes, to which he had refused to go, but he wanted to know what had been done. As it happened, Sulpicius here was sailing with him, but Martin sat, as always, far from the others in a remote part of the ship. There an angel told him what had been done at the synod. Afterwards, inquiring carefully about the time when the council had been held, we found well established that it was the very day of the meeting, and that the same things had been decreed there which the angel had told Martin.

“When we asked him about the end of the world, he told us that Nero and Antichrist would come first. Nero would rule in the western region, having subdued ten kings, and his persecution would go so far as to compel the worship of the idols of the Gentiles. Antichrist, on the other hand, would first seize the empire of the East, and would have Jerusalem as the seat and capital of his kingdom; the city and the temple would be rebuilt by him. His persecution would be such as to compel people to deny that Christ is God, he himself rather affirming that he is the Christ, and he would order all to be circumcised according to the law; finally Nero himself would be slain by Antichrist, and so the whole world and all nations would be brought under his power, until the impious one is overthrown by the coming of Christ. And there was no doubt, he said, that Antichrist, conceived by an evil spirit, was already born and already in his boyhood, and would take power when he came of age. It is now the eighth year since we heard this from him: judge, then, how close at hand are the things that are feared to come.” While Gallus was saying this, before he had finished what he meant to tell, a servant of the household came in, announcing that the presbyter Refrigerius was standing at the door. We began to hesitate whether it was better to go on listening to Gallus or to go to meet a man most dear to us, who was coming to us out of courtesy. Then Gallus said: “Even if we did not have to break off this talk because of the arrival of that most holy priest, night itself would compel us to end the conversation drawn out so far. But since by no means everything about Martin’s miracles could be set out, let it be enough that you have heard these things today; tomorrow we will tell the rest.” So, having all accepted Gallus’s promise, we rose.

“It is getting light, Gallus: we must get up. For, as you see, Postumianus is pressing, and this presbyter, who missed his audience yesterday, is waiting for you to pay your promised debt and unfold what you had put off until today about our Martin. He is not, indeed, ignorant of anything worth recording, but knowledge is sweet and welcome even to one who goes over what he knows, since nature is so made that one rejoices, with a better conscience, to know things that one learns are not uncertain from the testimony of many. For he, having followed Martin from his early youth, knows everything indeed, but gladly recognizes what he knows. For I will confess to you, Gallus, that I have often heard of Martin’s miracles, since I have committed many things about him to writing; but through admiration of his deeds the things told about him are always new to me, though I have often heard them. So we are the more glad that Refrigerius has been added to our audience, because Postumianus here, who is hastening to carry these things to the East, will be the readier to receive the truth from you sealed, as it were, before witnesses.” While I was saying this, and Gallus was already prepared to narrate, a crowd of monks burst in: the presbyter Evagrius, Aper, Sabbatius, Agricola; and after a little the presbyter Aetherius came in with the deacon Calupio and the subdeacon Amator; last of all the presbyter Aurelius, my dearest friend, coming from farther away, hurried in out of breath. “Why,” I said, “do you come together so suddenly and unexpectedly, from such different places, so early?” “We learned yesterday,” they said, “that Gallus here spent the whole day telling of Martin’s miracles and put off the rest until today, since night had overtaken him; so we hurried to make a full audience for one who is going to speak on so great a subject.” Meanwhile it was announced that many people of the world were standing at the doors, not daring to come in, but asking to be admitted. Then Aper said: “It is by no means fitting that they should be mixed with us, because they have come to listen from curiosity rather than devotion.” I, embarrassed on behalf of those he thought should not be admitted, at last with difficulty obtained that they admit Eucherius, one of the vicars, and Celsus, a former consular; the rest were turned away. Then we set Gallus in a seat in the middle; and when, with his noble modesty, he had kept silent for a long time, he at last began thus.

“You have come together to hear me,” he said, “holy and eloquent men; but you have brought, I think, devout rather than learned ears, to hear me speak as a witness to the faith, not with an orator’s fluency. What was said yesterday I will not repeat; those who did not hear it will learn it from the written account. Postumianus expects new things to report to the East, so that it may not prefer itself to the West in comparison with Martin. And first my mind is eager to set out what Refrigerius is whispering in my ear. The event took place in the city of the Carnutes. A certain father of a family began to bring to Martin his twelve-year-old daughter, mute from birth, asking that the blessed man might loose her bound tongue by his holy merits. Martin, deferring to the bishops who happened to be at his side, Valentinus and Victricius, declared that he was unequal to so great a task, but that nothing was impossible for them, as holier men. But they joined their devout prayers with the father’s suppliant voice and begged Martin to grant what was hoped for. Without further hesitation (both admirable things: showing humility and not delaying mercy) he ordered the crowd of people standing around to be moved away; with only the bishops and the girl’s father present, he prostrated himself in prayer in his usual way. Then he blessed a little oil, with the preliminary words of exorcism, and so poured the sanctified liquid into the girl’s mouth, while holding her tongue with his fingers. Nor did the result of power disappoint the saint. He asks her father’s name: at once she answered. The father cried out with joy and tears together, embracing Martin’s knees, and declared to the amazement of all that this was the first word he had heard from his daughter. And lest this perhaps seem incredible to anyone, let Evagrius, who is present, bear witness to the truth for you; for the thing was done then in his presence.”

“It is a small thing, which I learned lately from the account of the presbyter Arpagius, but it does not seem to be passed over. The wife of the count Avitianus sent Martin some oil, needed for various kinds of illness, for him to bless, as is the custom. The glass flask was of such a kind that it swelled out round in the belly, with a long neck; but the hollow of the projecting neck was not filled, because it is the custom to fill such vessels so that the top part is left free for inserting the stoppers. The presbyter testified that he saw the oil increase under Martin’s blessing until it overflowed abundantly from the top; and that the same power was at work while the vessel was being carried back to the lady: for in the hands of the boy carrying it the oil kept overflowing, so that the abundance of the spilling liquid covered all his clothing; and the lady received the vessel so full to the very brim that the presbyter declares to this day that there was no room in that glass to insert the stopper with which things to be kept with special care are usually closed. This too is wonderful, which I remember happened to him” (and he looked at me). “He put a glass vessel containing oil that Martin had blessed in a rather high window; a household servant, rather careless, not knowing the flask was there, pulled the linen cloth laid over it. The vessel fell onto the marble-paved floor. While all were terrified that God’s blessing had been lost, the flask was found unharmed, just as if it had fallen on the softest feathers. This is to be ascribed not to chance but to the power of Martin, whose blessing could not perish. What of the thing done by a certain man whose name, since he is present and has forbidden it to be revealed, will be suppressed; Saturninus here was present at the time. A dog was barking at us rather troublesomely. ‘In the name of Martin,’ he said, ‘I command you to be silent.’ The dog (the bark stuck in its throat: you would have thought its tongue cut out) fell silent. So it is a small thing that Martin himself worked miracles: believe me, others too have done many things in his name.