Life of Saint Martin 17–27

At the same time a slave of a certain Taetradius, a man of proconsular rank, was seized by a demon and tormented to a pitiful end. So Martin was asked to lay his hand on him, and he ordered the slave to be brought to him; but the evil spirit could by no means be brought out of the room in which he was, so fiercely did he rage with his teeth at those who approached. Then Taetradius threw himself at the blessed man's knees, begging him to go down himself to the house where the possessed man was kept. But Martin said that he could not enter the house of a profane man and a pagan; for Taetradius at that time was still entangled in the error of paganism. So he promised that if the demon were driven out of the boy he would become a Christian. Then Martin laid his hand on the boy and cast the unclean spirit out of him. Seeing this, Taetradius believed in the Lord Jesus; he at once became a catechumen, was baptized not long afterwards, and always revered Martin with remarkable affection as the author of his salvation. About the same time, in the same town, entering the house of a certain head of a household, he stopped on the very threshold, saying that he saw a horrible demon in the forecourt of the house. When he ordered it to depart, it seized the head of the household, who was in the inner part of the house, and the wretched man began to rage with his teeth and to tear at everyone he met. The house was in uproar, the household in confusion, and the people put to flight. Martin threw himself in the way of the madman and first ordered him to stand still. But when he gnashed his teeth and threatened to bite with gaping mouth, Martin put his fingers into his mouth and said: "If you have any power, devour these." Then, as if he had taken red-hot iron into his throat, he drew his teeth far back and avoided touching the blessed man's fingers; and when by punishments and torments the demon was compelled to flee from the possessed body, and yet was not allowed to go out through the mouth, it was expelled through a flux of the bowels, leaving foul traces behind.

Meanwhile, when a sudden rumour of a movement and attack of barbarians had thrown the city into alarm, he ordered a possessed man to be brought before him and commanded him to confess whether this report was true. Then the man confessed that there had been ten demons with him who had spread this rumour among the people, so that by this fear at least Martin might be driven from that town: the barbarians were thinking of anything rather than an invasion. When the unclean spirit confessed this in the middle of the church, the city was freed from its present fear and turmoil. At Paris, as he was entering the gate of that city with great crowds going with him, he kissed a leper of pitiable appearance, while all shuddered, and blessed him; and at once the man was cleansed of all his disease. The next day he came to the church with shining skin and gave thanks for the health he had received. Nor should it be passed over that threads pulled from his garment and his hair shirt worked frequent miracles on the sick. For tied to fingers or hung round the neck they often drove away diseases from those who were ill.

Arborius, a man of prefectural rank and of very holy and faithful character, when his daughter was burning with the most severe quartan fevers, placed on the girl's breast, at the very onset of the fever, a letter of Martin's that had happened to be brought to him, and at once the fever was put to flight. This had such an effect on Arborius that he immediately vowed the girl to God and dedicated her to perpetual virginity; and going to Martin, he presented the girl to him as a living witness to his miracles, since she had been healed by him though he was absent; nor would he allow her to be consecrated by anyone other than Martin, who invested her with the dress of virginity. Paulinus, a man who was later to become a great example, had begun to suffer severely in one eye, and a thick film had already spread over and covered the pupil; Martin touched his eye with a fine brush and restored it to its former health, removing all pain. Martin himself, when by some accident he had fallen from an upper room and, tumbling down the rough steps of the stair, had received many wounds, lay half-dead in his cell, tormented by excessive pains; in the night an angel appeared to him, washing his wounds and anointing the bruises of his battered body with a healing salve; and so on the next day he was restored to health, so that one would have thought he had suffered no harm at all. But it would take long to go through them one by one; let these few out of very many suffice, and let it be enough that we neither withhold the truth in outstanding matters nor weary the reader with many.

And to insert lesser things among such great ones — although, given the character of our times, when everything is now depraved and corrupt, it is almost exceptional that a bishop's firmness should not have yielded to flattery of the emperor — when many bishops from different parts of the world had gathered at the court of the emperor Maximus, a man of fierce temper and elated by his victory in civil wars, and the shameful flattery of all towards the ruler was remarked, and the dignity of bishops had, with degenerate inconstancy, subjected itself to be the emperor's clients, apostolic authority remained in Martin alone. For even when he had to plead with the emperor on behalf of some, he commanded rather than asked; and though frequently invited to his banquets, he stayed away, saying that he could not share the table of a man who had deprived two emperors, one of his kingdom and the other of his life. At last, when Maximus asserted that he had not taken power of his own will, but had defended by arms the necessity of rule laid on him by the soldiers by divine will; that the will of God did not seem to be against a man to whom victory had come by so incredible an outcome; and that none of his adversaries had fallen except in battle — at length, overcome either by reason or by entreaties, Martin came to the banquet, to the wonderful joy of the emperor at having obtained this. The guests, as though summoned to a feast day, were men of the highest rank and distinction: Evodius, prefect and also consul, the most just man who ever lived, and two counts of the highest power, the emperor's brother and his uncle. Between these had reclined Martin's presbyter, while Martin himself had taken his seat on a stool placed next to the emperor. About the middle of the banquet, as is the custom, a servant offered the emperor a goblet. He ordered it to be given rather to the very holy bishop, expecting and hoping to receive the cup from his right hand. But when Martin had drunk, he handed the goblet to his presbyter, judging, of course, that no one was more worthy to drink first after himself, and that it would not be right for him to prefer either the emperor himself or those next to the emperor to the presbyter. The emperor and all who were present so admired this act that the very thing in which they had been slighted pleased them. And it was talked about throughout the palace that Martin had done at the emperor's dinner what no bishop had done at the banquets of the lowest magistrates. To this same Maximus he foretold long beforehand that if he went to Italy, as he wished to do, to make war on the emperor Valentinian, he should know that at the first onset he would be victorious, but that a little later he would perish. And we have seen this come to pass. For at his first arrival Valentinian was put to flight; then, about a year later, having regained his strength, he captured Maximus within the walls of Aquileia and put him to death.

It is also established that angels were very often seen by him, so that they conversed with one another in his presence. The devil, too, he had so visible and so subject to his eyes that, whether he kept to his own nature or had changed himself into the various shapes of spiritual wickedness, under whatever form he appeared he was seen by Martin. Since the devil knew that he could not escape him, he frequently assailed him with abuse, because he could not deceive him by snares. Once he burst into his cell with a great roar, holding a bloody ox horn in his hand; and showing his bloody right hand and rejoicing in a crime just committed, he said: "Where is your power, Martin? I have just killed one of your people." Then Martin called the brothers together and told them what the devil had disclosed; he ordered them to go anxiously through the cells of each to find out who had been struck by this misfortune. They reported that none of the monks was missing, but that a countryman hired for wages to bring down wood on a cart had gone to the forest. So he ordered some of them to go and meet him; and so he was found not far from the monastery, already almost dead. Yet drawing his last breath, he told the brothers the cause of his death and of his wound: while he was tightening the harness that had come loose on the yoked oxen, an ox had tossed its head and driven its horn into his groin. Not long afterwards he gave up his life. You must consider by what judgment of the Lord this power was given to the devil. What was wonderful in Martin was that not only this, which we related above, but many things of this kind, as often as they happened, he foresaw long before, or, when they were reported to him, disclosed them to the brothers.

Often the devil, trying with a thousand harmful arts to deceive the holy man, thrust himself on him visibly in the most varied forms. Sometimes he presented himself transformed into the person of Jupiter, often of Mercury, often too with the faces of Venus and Minerva. Against him Martin, always undaunted, protected himself with the sign of the cross and the help of prayer. Often abuse was heard with which a crowd of demons railed at him in insolent words; but knowing it all to be false and empty, he was not moved by what was thrown at him. Some of the brothers also testified that they had heard a demon railing at Martin in insolent words, asking why he had received back into the monastery, after their conversion, some of the brothers who had once lost their baptism through various errors, and setting out the crimes of each. They said that Martin, opposing the devil, answered firmly that old sins are cleansed by the conduct of a better life, and that by the mercy of the Lord those who have ceased to sin are to be absolved from their sins. When the devil retorted that criminals had no claim to pardon, and that to those who had once fallen no clemency could be granted by the Lord, Martin is said to have cried out: "If you yourself, wretched one, would cease from persecuting men and repent of your deeds even now, when the day of judgment is near, I, truly trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, would promise you mercy." O what a holy presumption on the Lord's mercy! In it, even if he could not give authority, he showed his love. And since our discourse has turned to the devil and his arts, it seems not out of place, though it is a digression, to relate something that happened, because there is in it a share of Martin's miracles, and a thing worthy of wonder will rightly be handed down to memory as an example of caution, should anything of the kind happen anywhere hereafter.

A certain Clarus, a young man of very noble birth, soon afterwards a presbyter and now blessed by a happy death, had left everything and betaken himself to Martin, and in a short time he rose to the highest summit of faith and of all virtues. When he had set up a hut for himself not far from the bishop's monastery and many brothers were staying with him, a certain young man named Anatolius came to him, feigning all humility and innocence under the profession of a monk, and lived for some time in common with the others. Then, as time went on, he began to say that angels regularly talked with him. When no one believed him, he pressed many to believe by certain signs. At last he went so far as to proclaim that messengers passed to and fro between him and God, and he now wished to be held one of the prophets. Clarus, however, could by no means be brought to believe. Anatolius threatened him with the wrath of the Lord and immediate plagues for not believing a saint. At last he is said to have burst out with these words: "See, this night the Lord will give me a white garment from heaven, and clothed in it I shall dwell in your midst; and this will be a sign to you that the power of God is in me, since I have been presented with the garment of God." Then all waited eagerly for this claim to be fulfilled. About midnight the whole monastery seemed to be shaken by the noise of people stamping on the ground; and you could have seen the cell in which the young man was staying flash with frequent lights, and the noise of people running about in it and a murmur of many voices was heard. Then, when silence had fallen, he came out and called one of the brothers to him and showed him the tunic he was wearing. Astonished, the man called the others; Clarus himself also ran up, and bringing a light they all examined the garment carefully. It was of the greatest softness, of exceptional whiteness, and of gleaming purple, and yet it could not be recognized of what material or fleece it was; examined by curious eyes or fingers, however, it seemed nothing other than a garment. Meanwhile Clarus urged the brothers to persist in prayer, so that the Lord might show them more clearly what it was. So the rest of the night was spent in hymns and psalms. When day dawned, Clarus took him by the right hand and wanted to drag him to Martin, knowing well that Martin could not be deceived by the devil's art. Then the wretch began to resist and protest, saying that he had been forbidden to show himself to Martin. And when they forced him to go against his will, the garment vanished between the hands of those dragging him. Who, then, could doubt that this too was Martin's power, that the devil could no longer disguise or conceal his illusion when it was about to be brought before Martin's eyes?

It was noticed, however, that at about the same time there was a young man in Spain who, having gained authority for himself by many signs, was so puffed up that he declared himself to be Elijah. When many rashly believed this, he went further and said that he was Christ; and in this he deceived so far that a certain bishop named Rufus worshipped him as God, for which we afterwards saw him deposed from his episcopate. Many of the brothers also told us that at the same time someone arose in the East who boasted that he was John. From this we can conclude that, since false prophets of this kind are appearing, the coming of Antichrist is imminent, who is already working in them the mystery of iniquity. It seems that we should not pass over with what art the devil tempted Martin in those same days. For one day, preceded by a glow and himself surrounded with a purple light, so that he might more easily deceive by the brightness of the splendour he had assumed, clothed also in a royal robe, crowned with a diadem of gems and gold, his shoes overlaid with gold, with a serene expression and a joyful face, so that he might be thought anything rather than the devil, he stood beside Martin as he was praying in his cell. When Martin was dazed at the first sight of him, they both kept a long, deep silence. Then the devil spoke first: "Recognize, Martin, whom you see: I am Christ. As I am about to descend to earth, I wished first to manifest myself to you." When Martin kept silent at this and made no reply, the devil dared to repeat his bold claim: "Martin, why do you hesitate to believe, when you see? I am Christ." Then Martin, the Spirit revealing to him that it was the devil and not the Lord, said: "The Lord Jesus did not foretell that he would come clothed in purple or glittering with a diadem. I will not believe that Christ has come unless he comes in the dress and form in which he suffered, unless he bears the marks of the cross." At these words he at once vanished like smoke and filled the cell with such a stench that he left unmistakable proof that he had been the devil. This event, as I said above, I learned from Martin's own lips, so that no one may think it a fable.

For when some time ago, having heard of his faith, his life, and his virtue, we were burning with desire for him, we undertook a pilgrimage, pleasant to us, to see him. At the same time, because my mind was already on fire to write his life, we inquired partly from him himself, as far as he could be questioned, and partly learned from those who had been present or knew. At that time it is beyond belief with what humility and kindness he received me, congratulating himself greatly and rejoicing in the Lord that he was so highly esteemed by us that we had undertaken a pilgrimage to seek him out. Wretch that I am — I hardly dare confess it — when he deigned to admit me to his holy table, he himself offered water for our hands, and in the evening he himself washed our feet. Nor had I the firmness to resist or oppose him: I was so overborne by his authority that I would have thought it wrong not to comply. His talk with us was of nothing else than that the allurements of the world and the burdens of this age must be left behind, so that we might follow the Lord Jesus free and unencumbered. He pressed on us as the most outstanding example of our times that of the illustrious Paulinus, whom we mentioned above, who, having cast away the greatest wealth, had followed Christ and was almost alone in these times in having fulfilled the precepts of the gospel. He cried out that we should follow him, that we should imitate him; that the present age was blessed in having so great a proof of faith and virtue, since, according to the Lord's saying, a rich man who possessed much had, by selling everything and giving to the poor, made possible by his example what was impossible to do. And in his words and conversation how great was his seriousness, how great his dignity! How keen, how forceful he was, how ready and easy in solving questions about the Scriptures! And because I know that many are incredulous on this point — I have seen them disbelieve even when I myself was telling it — I call Jesus and our common hope to witness that I have never heard from anyone's lips so much knowledge, so much goodness, and such pure speech. Yet among Martin's virtues how small is this praise! Except that it is remarkable that even this grace was not lacking in an unlettered man.

But now the book calls for an end; the discourse must be closed. Not because everything that should be said about Martin has been exhausted, but because we, like slack poets who grow careless at the end of their work, give way, overcome by the weight of the material. For although his deeds could be set out in words after a fashion, his inner life, his daily conduct, and his mind always intent on heaven — I say it truly — no speech will ever set out. That perseverance and moderation in abstinence and fasting, that strength in vigils and prayers, the nights he spent just like the days, and no time free from the work of God in which he indulged in leisure or business, not even in food or sleep except as far as nature's necessity compelled — truly I will confess it: not even if Homer himself, as they say, were to rise from the dead could he set it out; so much greater is everything in Martin than can be expressed in words. Never did an hour or a moment pass in which he was not either giving himself to prayer or applying himself to reading; and even while reading, or if he happened to be doing anything else, he never relaxed his mind from prayer. Just as blacksmiths are accustomed, while they work, to strike their anvil as a kind of relief from their labour, so Martin, even when he seemed to be doing something else, was always praying. O truly blessed man, in whom there was no guile: judging no one, condemning no one, rendering to no one evil for evil. He had taken on such patience against all injuries that, though he was the chief bishop, he was injured with impunity even by the lowest clergy, and yet he never removed them from their place on that account, nor, as far as it lay with him, excluded them from his love.

No one ever saw him angry, no one agitated, no one grieving, no one laughing: he was always one and the same, and, bearing on his face a kind of heavenly joy, he seemed beyond the nature of man. Never was anything on his lips but Christ, never anything in his heart but piety, peace, and mercy. Often, too, he used to weep for the sins of those who seemed to be his detractors, who, while he lived withdrawn and quiet, pulled him to pieces with poisonous tongues and viper's mouths. And truly we have known some who envied his virtue and life, who hated in him what they did not see in themselves and could not imitate. And — O wickedness to be lamented and bewailed! — his persecutors, though they were very few, were said to be almost none other than bishops. There is no need to name anyone, although many of them snarl round us too; it will be enough that if any of them reads this and recognizes himself, he should blush. For if he is angry, he will be admitting that it was said of him, when perhaps we had others in mind. We do not shrink, however, from being hated, if there are any such, together with such a man. This I readily trust: that this little work will be welcome to all the saints. For the rest, if anyone reads it without faith, he himself will sin. I am conscious that I, moved by faith in the facts and by the love of Christ to write, have set out what is evident and said what is true; and a reward, I hope, will be prepared by God, not for whoever reads, but for whoever believes.