Books: The Hermits

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"No one begs thus to threaten. No one does injury with tears. And
dost thou wonder why I do not let thee in, seeing thou art a mortal
guest?"

Then Paul, smiling, opened the door. They mingled mutual embraces,
and saluted each other by their names, and committed themselves in
common to the grace of God. And after the holy kiss, Paul sitting
down with Antony thus began--

"Behold him, whom thou hast sought with such labour; with limbs
decayed by age, and covered with unkempt white hair. Behold, thou
seest but a mortal, soon to become dust. But, because charity bears
all things, tell me, I pray thee, how fares the human race? whether
new houses are rising in the ancient cities? by what emperor is the
world governed? whether there are any left who are led captive by
the deceits of the devil?" As they spoke thus, they saw a raven
settle on a bough; who, flying gently down, laid, to their wonder, a
whole loaf before them. When he was gone, "Ah," said Paul, "the
Lord, truly loving, truly merciful, hath sent us a meal. For sixty
years past I have received daily half a loaf, but at thy coming
Christ hath doubled his soldiers' allowance." Then, having thanked
God, they sat down on the brink of the glassy spring.

But here a contention arising as to which of them should break the
loaf, occupied the day till well-nigh evening. Paul insisted, as
the host; Antony declined, as the younger man. At last it was
agreed that they should take hold of the loaf at opposite ends, and
each pull towards himself, and keep what was left in his hand. Next
they stooped down, and drank a little water from the spring; then,
immolating to God the sacrifice of praise, passed the night
watching.

And when day dawned again, the blessed Paul said to Antony, "I knew
long since, brother, that thou wert dwelling in these lands; long
since God had promised thee to me as a fellow servant: but because
the time of my falling asleep is now come, and (because I always
longed to depart, and to be with Christ) there is laid up for me
when I have finished my course a crown of righteousness; therefore
thou art sent from the Lord to cover my corpse with mould, and give
back dust to dust."

Antony, hearing this, prayed him with tears and groans not to desert
him, but take him as his companion on such a journey. But he said,
"Thou must not seek the things which are thine own, but the things
of others. It is expedient for thee, indeed, to cast off the burden
of the flesh, and to follow the Lamb: but it is expedient for the
rest of the brethren that they should be still trained by thine
example. Wherefore go, unless it displease thee, and bring the
cloak which Athanasius the bishop gave thee, to wrap up my corpse."
But this the blessed Paul asked, not because he cared greatly
whether his body decayed covered or bare (as one who for so long a
time was used to clothe himself with woven palm leaves), but that
Antony's grief at his death might be lightened when he left him.
Antony astounded that he had heard of Athanasius and his own cloak,
seeing as it were Christ in Paul, and venerating the God within his
breast, dared answer nothing: but keeping in silence, and kissing
his eyes and hands, returned to the monastery, which afterwards was
occupied by the Saracens. His steps could not follow his spirit;
but, although his body was empty with fastings, and broken with old
age, yet his courage conquered his years. At last, tired and
breathless, he arrived at home. There two disciples met him, who
had been long sent to minister to him, and asked him, "Where hast
thou tarried so long, father?" He answered, "Woe to me a sinner,
who falsely bear the name of a monk. I have seen Elias; I have seen
John in the desert; I have truly seen Paul in Paradise;" and so,
closing his lips, and beating his breast, he took the cloak from his
cell, and when his disciples asked him to explain more fully what
had befallen, he said, "There is a time to be silent, and a time to
speak." Then going out, and not taking even a morsel of food, he
returned by the way he had come. For he feared--what actually
happened--lest Paul in his absence should render up the soul he owed
to Christ.

And when the second day had shone, and he had retraced his steps for
three hours, he saw amid hosts of angels, amid the choirs of
prophets and apostles, Paul shining white as snow, ascending up on
high; and forthwith falling on his face, he cast sand on his head,
and weeping and wailing, said, "Why dost thou dismiss me, Paul? Why
dost thou depart without a farewell? So late known, dost thou
vanish so soon?" The blessed Antony used to tell afterwards, how he
ran the rest of the way so swiftly that he flew like a bird. Nor
without cause. For entering the cave he saw, with bended knees,
erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. And at
first, thinking that it still lived, he prayed in like wise. But
when he heard no sighs (as usual) come from the worshipper's breast,
he fell to a tearful kiss, understanding how the very corpse of the
saint was praying, in seemly attitude, to that God to whom all live.

So, having wrapped up and carried forth the corpse, and chanting
hymns of the Christian tradition, Antony grew sad, because he had no
spade, wherewith to dig the ground; and thinking over many plans in
his mind, said, "If I go back to the monastery, it is a three days'
journey. If I stay here, I shall be of no more use. I will die,
then, as it is fit; and, falling beside thy warrior, Christ, breathe
my last breath."

As he was thinking thus to himself, lo! two lions came running from
the inner part of the desert, their manes tossing on their necks;
seeing whom he shuddered at first; and then, turning his mind to
God, remained fearless, as though he were looking upon doves. They
came straight to the corpse of the blessed old man, and crouched at
his feet, wagging their tails, and roaring with mighty growls, so
that Antony understood them to lament, as best they could. Then not
far off they began to claw the ground with their paws, and, carrying
out the sand eagerly, dug a place large enough to hold a man: then
at once, as if begging a reward for their work, they came to Antony,
drooping their necks, and licking his hands and feet. But he
perceived that they prayed a blessing from him; and at once,
bursting into praise of Christ, because even dumb animals felt that
he was God, he saith, "Lord, without whose word not a leaf of the
tree drops, nor one sparrow falls to the ground, give to them as
thou knowest how to give." And, signing to them with his hand, he
bade them go.

And when they had departed, he bent his aged shoulders to the weight
of the holy corpse; and laying it in the grave, heaped earth on it,
and raised a mound as is the wont. And when another dawn shone,
lest the pious heir should not possess aught of the goods of the
intestate dead, he kept for himself the tunic which Paul had woven,
as baskets are made, out of the leaves of the palm; and returning to
the monastery, told his disciples all throughout; and, on the solemn
days of Easter and Pentecost, always clothed himself in Paul's
tunic.

I am inclined, at the end of my treatise, to ask those who know not
the extent of their patrimonies; who cover their houses with
marbles; who sew the price of whole farms into their garments with a
single thread--What was ever wanting to this naked old man? Ye
drink from a gem; he satisfied nature from the hollow of his hands.
Ye weave gold into your tunics; he had not even the vilest garment
of your bond-slave. But, on the other hand, to that poor man
Paradise is open; you, gilded as you are, Gehenna will receive. He,
though naked, kept the garment of Christ; you, clothed in silk, have
lost Christ's robe. Paul lies covered with the meanest dust, to
rise in glory; you are crushed by wrought sepulchres of stone, to
burn with all your works. Spare, I beseech you, yourselves; spare,
at least, the riches which you love. Why do you wrap even your dead
in golden vestments? Why does not ambition stop amid grief and
tears? Cannot the corpses of the rich decay, save in silk? I
beseech thee, whosoever thou art that readest this, to remember
Hieronymus the sinner, who, if the Lord gave him choice, would much
sooner choose Paul's tunic with his merits, than the purple of kings
with their punishments.

This is the story of Paul and Antony, as told by Jerome. But, in
justice to Antony himself, it must be said that the sayings recorded
of him seem to show that he was not the mere visionary ascetic which
his biographers have made him. Some twenty sermons are attributed
to him, seven of which only are considered to be genuine. A rule
for monks, too, is called his: but, as it is almost certain that he
could neither read nor write, we have no proof that any of these
documents convey his actual language. If the seven sermons
attributed to him be really his, it must be said for them that they
are full of sound doctrine and vital religion, and worthy, as
wholes, to be preached in any English church, if we only substitute
for the word "monk," the word "man."

But there are records of Antony which represent him as a far more
genial and human personage; full of a knowledge of human nature, and
of a tenderness and sympathy, which account for his undoubted power
over the minds of men; and showing, too, at times, a certain covert
and "pawky" humour which puts us in mind, as does the humour of many
of the Egyptian hermits, of the old-fashioned Scotch. These
reminiscences are contained in the "Words of the Elders," a series
of anecdotes of the desert fathers collected by various hands; which
are, after all, the most interesting and probably the most
trustworthy accounts of them and their ways. I shall have occasion
to quote them later. I insert here some among them which relate to
Antony.

SAYINGS OF ANTONY, FROM THE "WORDS OF THE ELDERS."

A monk gave away his wealth to the poor, but kept back some for
himself. Antony said to him, "Go to the village and buy meat, and
bring it to me on thy bare back." He did so: and the dogs and
birds attacked him, and tore him as well as the meat. Quoth Antony,
"So are those who renounce the world, and yet must needs have money,
torn by daemons."

Antony heard high praise of a certain brother; but, when he tested
him, he found that he was impatient under injury. Quoth Antony,
"Thou art like a house which has a gay porch, but is broken into by
thieves through the back door."

Antony, as he sat in the desert, was weary in heart, and said,
"Lord, I long to be saved, but my wandering thoughts will not let
me. Show me what I shall do." And looking up, he saw one like
himself twisting ropes, and rising up to pray. And the angel (for
it was one) said to him, "Work like me, Antony, and you shall be
saved."

One asked him how he could please God. Quoth Antony, "Have God
always before thine eyes; whatever work thou doest, take example for
it out of Holy Scripture: wherever thou stoppest, do not move
thence in a hurry, but abide there in patience. If thou keepest
these three things, thou shalt be saved."

Quoth Antony, "If the baker did not cover the mill-horse's eyes he
would eat the corn, and take his own wages. So God covers our eyes,
by leaving us to sordid thoughts, lest we should think of our own
good works, and be puffed up in spirit."

Quoth Antony, "I saw all the snares of the enemy spread over the
whole earth. And I sighed, and said, 'Who can pass through these?'
And a voice came to me, saying, 'Humility alone can pass through,
Antony, where the proud can in no wise go.'"

Antony was sitting in his cell, and a voice said to him, "Thou hast
not yet come to the stature of a currier, who lives in Alexandria."
Then he took his staff, and went down to Alexandria; and the
currier, when he found him, was astonished at seeing so great a man.
Said Antony, "Tell me thy works; for on thy account have I come out
of the desert." And he answered, "I know not that I ever did any
good; and, therefore, when I rise in the morning, I say that this
whole city, from the greatest to the least, will enter into the
kingdom of God for their righteousness: while I, for my sins, shall
go to eternal pain. And this I say over again, from the bottom of
my heart, when I lie down at night." When Antony heard that, he
said, "Like a good goldsmith, thou hast gained the kingdom of God
sitting still in thy house; while I, as one without discretion, have
been haunting the desert all my time, and yet not arrived at the
measure of thy saying."

Quoth Antony, "If a monk could tell his elders how many steps he
walks, or how many cups of water he drinks, in his cell, he ought to
tell them, for fear of going wrong therein."

At Alexandria, Antony met one Didymus, most learned in the
Scriptures, witty, and wise: but he was blind. Antony asked him,
"Art thou not grieved at thy blindness?" He was silent: but being
pressed by Antony, he confessed that he was sad thereat. Quoth
Antony, "I wonder that a prudent man grieves over the loss of a
thing which ants, and flies, and gnats have, instead of rejoicing in
that possession which the holy Apostles earned. For it is better to
see with the spirit than with the flesh."

A Father asked Antony, "What shall I do?" Quoth the old man, "Trust
not in thine own righteousness; regret not the thing which is past;
bridle thy tongue and thy stomach."

Quoth Antony, "He who sits still in the desert is safe from three
enemies: from hearing, from speech, from sight: and has to fight
against only one, his own heart."

A young monk came and told Antony how he had seen some old men weary
on their journey, and had bidden the wild asses to come and carry
him, and they came. Quoth Antony, "That monk looks to me like a
ship laden with a precious cargo; but whether it will get into port
is uncertain." And after some days he began to tear his hair and
weep; and when they asked him why, he said, "A great pillar of the
Church has just fallen;" and he sent brothers to see the young man,
and found him sitting on his mat, weeping over a great sin which he
had done; and he said, "Tell Antony to give me ten days' truce, and
I hope I shall satisfy him;" and in five days he was dead.

Abbot Elias fell into temptation, and the brethren drove him out.
Then he went to the mountain to Antony. After awhile, Antony sent
him home to his brethren; but they would not receive him. Then the
old man sent to them, and saying, "A ship has been wrecked at sea,
and lost all its cargo; and, with much toil, the ship is come empty
to land. Will you sink it again in the sea?" So they took Elias
back.

Quoth Antony, "There are some who keep their bodies in abstinence:
but, because they have no discretion, they are far from God."

A hunter came by, and saw Antony rejoicing with the brethren, and it
displeased him. Quoth Antony, "Put an arrow in thy bow, and draw;"
and he did. Quoth Antony, "Draw higher;" and again, "Draw higher
still." And he said, "If I overdraw, I shall break my bow." Quoth
Antony, "So it is in the work of God. If we stretch the brethren
beyond measure, they fail."

A brother said to Antony, "Pray for me." Quoth he, "I cannot pity
thee, nor God either, unless thou pitiest thyself, and prayest to
God."

Quoth Antony, "The Lord does not permit wars to arise in this
generation, because he knows that men are weak, and cannot bear
them."

Antony, as he considered the depths of the judgments of God, failed;
and said, "Lord, why do some die so early, and some live on to a
decrepit age? Why are some needy, and others rich? Why are the
unjust wealthy, and the just poor?" And a voice came to him,
"Antony, look to thyself. These are the judgments of God, which are
not fit for thee to know."

Quoth Antony to Abbot Pastor, "This is a man's great business--to
lay each man his own fault on himself before the Lord, and to expect
temptation to the last day of his life."

Quoth Antony, "If a man works a few days, and then is idle, and
works again and is idle again, he does nothing, and will not possess
the perseverance of patience."

Quoth Antony to his disciples, "If you try to keep silence, do not
think that you are exercising a virtue, but that you are unworthy to
speak."

Certain old men came once to Antony; and he wished to prove them,
and began to talk of holy Scripture, and to ask them, beginning at
the youngest, what this and that text meant. And each answered as
best they could. But he kept on saying, "You have not yet found it
out." And at last he asked Abbot Joseph, "And what dost thou think
this text means?" Quoth Abbot Joseph, "I do not know." Quoth
Antony, "Abbot Joseph alone has found out the way, for he says he
does not know it."

Quoth Antony, "I do not now fear God, but love Him, for love drives
out fear."

He said again, "Life and death are very near us; for if we gain our
brother, we gain God: but if we cause our brother to offend, we sin
against Christ."

A philosopher asked Antony, "How art thou content, father, since
thou hast not the comfort of books?" Quoth Antony, "My book is the
nature of created things. In it, when I choose, I can read the
words of God."

Brethren came to Antony, and asked of him a saying by which they
might be saved. Quoth he, "Ye have heard the Scriptures, and know
what Christ requires of you." But they begged that he would tell
them something of his own. Quoth he, "The Gospel says, 'If a man
smite you on one cheek, turn to him the other.'" But they said that
they could not do that. Quoth he, "You cannot turn the other cheek
to him? Then let him smite you again on the same one." But they
said they could not do that either. Then said he, "If you cannot,
at least do not return evil for evil." And when they said that
neither could they do that, quoth Antony to his disciples, "Go, get
them something to eat, for they are very weak." And he said to
them, "If you cannot do the one, and will not have the other, what
do you want? As I see, what you want is prayer. That will heal
your weakness."

Quoth Antony, "He who would be free from his sins must be so by
weeping and mourning; and he who would be built up in virtue must be
built up by tears."

Quoth Antony, "When the stomach is full of meat, forthwith the great
vices bubble out, according to that which the Saviour says: 'That
which entereth into the mouth defileth not a man; but that which
cometh out of the heart sinks a man in destruction.'"

[This may be a somewhat paradoxical application of the text: but
the last anecdote of Antony which I shall quote is full of wisdom
and humanity.]

A monk came from Alexandria, Eulogius by name, bringing with him a
man afflicted with elephantiasis. Now Eulogius had been a scholar,
learned, and rich, and had given away all he had save a very little,
which he kept because he could not work with his own hands.

And he told Antony how he had found that wretched man lying in the
street fifteen years before, having lost then nearly every member
save his tongue, and how he had taken him home to his cell, nursed
him, bathed him, physicked him, fed him; and how the man had
returned him nothing save slanders, curses, and insults; how he had
insisted on having meat, and had had it; and on going out in public,
and had company brought to him; and how he had at last demanded to
be put down again whence he had been taken, always cursing and
slandering. And now Eulogius could bear the man no longer, and was
minded to take him at his word.

Then said Antony with an angry voice, "Wilt thou cast him out,
Eulogius? He who remembers that he made him, will not cast him out.
If thou cast him out, he will find a better friend than thee. God
will choose some one who will take him up when he is cast away."
Eulogius was terrified at these words, and held his peace.

Then went Antony to the sick man, and shouted at him, "Thou
elephantiac, foul with mud and dirt, not worthy of the third heaven,
wilt thou not stop shouting blasphemies against God? Dost thou not
know that he who ministers to thee is Christ? How darest thou say
such things against Christ?" And he bade Eulogius and the sick man
go back to their cell, and live in peace, and never part more. Both
went back, and, after forty days, Eulogius died, and the sick man
shortly after, "altogether whole in spirit."

HILARION

I would gladly, did space allow, give more biographies from among
those of the Egyptian hermits: but it seems best, having shown the
reader Antony as the father of Egyptian monachism, to go on to his
great pupil Hilarion, the father of monachism in Palestine. His
life stands written at length by St. Jerome, who himself died a monk
at Bethlehem; and is composed happily in a less ambitious and less
rugged style than that of Paul, not without elements of beauty, even
of tragedy.

PROLOGUE

Remember me in thy holy prayers, glory and honour of virgins, nun
Asella. Before beginning to write the life of the blessed Hilarion,
I invoke the Holy Spirit which dwelt in him, that, as he largely
bestowed virtues on Hilarion, he may give to me speech wherewith to
relate them; so that his deeds may be equalled by my language. For
those who (as Crispus says) "have wrought virtues" are held to have
been worthily praised in proportion to the words in which famous
intellects have been able to extol them. Alexander the Great, the
Macedonian (whom Daniel calls either the brass, or the leopard, or
the he-goat), on coming to the tomb of Achilles, "Happy art thou,
youth," he said, "who hast been blest with a great herald of thy
worth"--meaning Homer. But I have to tell the conversation and life
of such and so great a man, that even Homer, were he here, would
either envy my matter, or succumb under it.

For although St. Epiphanius, bishop of Salamina in Cyprus, who had
much intercourse with Hilarion, has written his praise in a short
epistle, which is commonly read, yet it is one thing to praise the
dead in general phrases, another to relate his special virtues. We
therefore set to work rather to his advantage than to his injury;
and despise those evil-speakers who lately carped at Paul, and will
perhaps now carp at my Hilarion, unjustly blaming the former for his
solitary life, and the latter for his intercourse with men; in order
that the one, who was never seen, may be supposed not to have
existed; the other, who was seen by many, may be held cheap. This
was the way of their ancestors likewise, the Pharisees, who were
neither satisfied with John's desert life and fasting, nor with the
Lord Saviour's public life, eating and drinking. But I shall lay my
hand to the work which I have determined, and pass by, with stopped
ears, the hounds of Scylla. I pray that thou mayest persevere in
Christ, and be mindful of me in thy prayers, most sacred virgin.

THE LIFE

Hilarion was born in the village of Thabatha, which lies about five
miles to the south of Gaza, in Palestine. He had parents given to
the worship of idols, and blossomed (as the saying is) a rose among
the thorns. Sent by them to Alexandria, he was entrusted to a
grammarian, and there, as far as his years allowed, gave proof of
great intellect and good morals. He was soon dear to all, and
skilled in the art of speaking. And, what is more than all, he
believed in the Lord Jesus, and delighted neither in the madness of
the circus, in the blood of the arena, or in the luxury of the
theatre: but all his heart was in the congregation of the Church.

But hearing the then famous name of Antony, which was carried
throughout all Egypt, he was fired with a longing to visit him, and
went to the desert. As soon as he saw him he changed his dress, and
stayed with him about two months, watching the order of his life,
and the purity of his manner; how frequent he was in prayers, how
humble in receiving brethren, severe in reproving them, eager in
exhorting them; and how no infirmity ever broke through his
continence, and the coarseness of his food. But, unable to bear
longer the crowd which assembled round Antony, for various diseases
and attacks of devils, he said that it was not consistent to endure
in the desert the crowds of cities, but that he must rather begin
where Antony had begun. Antony, as a valiant man, was receiving the
reward of victory: he had not yet begun to serve as a soldier. He
returned, therefore, with certain monks to his own country; and,
finding his parents dead, gave away part of his substance to the
brethren, part to the poor, and kept nothing at all for himself,
fearing what is told in the Acts of the Apostles, the example or
punishment, of Ananias and Sapphira; and especially mindful of the
Lord's saying--"He that leaveth not all that he hath, he cannot be
my disciple."

He was then fifteen years old. So, naked, but armed in Christ, he
entered the desert, which, seven miles from Maiuma, the port of
Gaza, turns away to the left of those who go along the shore towards
Egypt. And though the place was blood-stained by robbers, and his
relations and friends warned him of the imminent danger, he despised
death, in order to escape death. All wondered at his spirit,
wondered at his youth. Save that a certain fire of the bosom and
spark of faith glittered in his eyes, his cheeks were smooth, his
body delicate and thin, unable to bear any injury, and liable to be
overcome by even a light chill or heat.

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