The Life of Paul the First Hermit

Under the persecutors Decius and Valerian, at which time Cornelius at Rome and Cyprian at Carthage endured martyrdom by blessed bloodshed, a savage storm ravaged many churches throughout Egypt and the Thebaid. It was then the wish of Christians to be struck down by the sword for the name of Christ. But the crafty enemy, seeking slow torments for death, desired to slay souls, not bodies. And as Cyprian himself, who suffered from him, says: To those willing to die, it was not permitted to be killed. That his cruelty may be made more known, we subjoin two examples for the sake of remembrance.

A martyr persevering in the faith, and victor amid the rack and the burning plates, he ordered to be smeared all over with honey, and, his hands bound behind his back, to be set beneath the most burning sun, namely that he who had overcome fiery frying-pans before might yield to the stings of flies. Another, flourishing in youthful age, he commanded to be led away into most pleasant little gardens. And there, among gleaming lilies and blushing roses, while a stream crept by with a gentle murmur of waters nearby, and the wind brushed the leaves of the trees with a soft whisper, he was laid supine upon a bed heaped up with feathers, and, so that he could not shake himself free from it, was left entangled in the soft bonds of garlands.

When to him, all others withdrawing, a beautiful harlot had come, she began to bind his neck with delicate embraces, and—a thing shameful even to say—to handle his private parts with her hands, so that, his body being roused to lust, she, victorious in her shamelessness, might lie upon him. What the soldier of Christ should do, and where he should turn himself, he did not know. Him whom torments had not conquered, pleasure was overcoming. At last, inspired from heaven, he bit off his tongue and spat it into the face of the woman as she kissed him; and thus the greatness of pain, following upon the sense of lust, overcame it.

At that same time, then, when such things were being done in the lower Thebaid, Paul was left, along with his sister already given in marriage, after the death of both his parents, heir to a wealthy inheritance, being about sixteen years old, thoroughly learned in letters both Greek and Egyptian, of a gentle spirit, greatly loving God. And when the storm of persecution was thundering, he withdrew into a more remote and more secret estate. But what does the accursed hunger for gold not drive human hearts to? The husband of his sister began to wish to betray him, whom he ought rather to have concealed. Neither his wife's tears, as is usual, nor the bond of blood, nor God who beholds all things from on high, called him back from the crime. He was present, he pressed on, he practiced cruelty as though it were piety.

When the most prudent young man perceived this, fleeing to the deserts of the mountains, while he awaited the end of the persecution, he turned necessity into a choice, and gradually going forward, and again stopping, and doing this same thing repeatedly, at last found a rocky mountain, at whose base a cave, not large, was closed by a stone. When this was removed (as men naturally desire to know hidden things), searching more eagerly, he noticed within a great vestibule, which, open to the sky above, an old palm tree with spreading branches had covered over, showing a most clear spring; whose stream, only just bursting forth outside, the earth that had produced it immediately swallowed again through a small opening. There were, moreover, throughout the hollowed-out mountain, not a few dwellings, in which rough anvils and hammers, with which money is stamped, were to be seen. Egyptian records say that this place had been a secret mint, at the time when Antony was joined to Cleopatra.

Having therefore fallen in love with this dwelling (as though it were offered to him by God), he spent his whole life there in prayers and solitude. The palm tree provided him food and clothing. And lest this seem impossible to anyone, I call to witness Jesus and His holy angels that in that part of the desert which borders on Syria and joins the Saracens, I have both seen and still see monks, one of whom, shut up for thirty years, lived on barley bread and muddy water; another, in an old cistern (which the Syrians in their native tongue call GUBBA), was sustained by five dried figs each day. These things, then, will seem incredible to those who do not believe that all things are possible to believers.

But to return to that from which I digressed, when now blessed Paul had been living a heavenly life on earth for one hundred and thirteen years, and Antony, ninety years old, was dwelling in another solitude (as he himself used to affirm), this thought came into his mind, that no monk more perfect than himself had settled in the desert. But to him, resting at night, it was revealed that there was another, further within, much better than himself, whom he ought to set out to visit. Immediately, at the break of light, the venerable old man, supporting his weak limbs with the guidance of a staff, began to wish to go where he did not know. And now midday was growing hot with the sun blazing overhead, and yet he was not drawn back from the journey he had begun, saying: I believe in my God, that he will one day show me the fellow-servant he has promised me.

And no sooner had he said this than he sees a man mingled with a horse, to whom the fancy of the poets has given the name Hippocentaur. At the sight of him, he armed his forehead with the impression of the saving sign, and said: Ho there, in what part does this servant of God dwell here? But he, gnashing out some barbarous sound, and rather breaking than uttering words, sought, amid the bristling hair around his rugged mouth, to give a gentle reply. And by the stretching forth of his right hand he indicated the desired path, and thus, speeding across the open plains in swift flight, vanished from the eyes of the wondering man. But whether the devil feigned this to terrify him, or whether the desert, as it is often fruitful of monstrous animals, produces this beast also, we hold uncertain.

Antony, therefore, stupefied, and turning over in his mind what he had seen, goes on further. Without delay, amid a rocky valley he sees a little man, not large, with hooked nostrils, his brow rough with horns, whose lower part of the body ended in goats' feet. At this sight Antony, like a good warrior, seized the shield of faith and the breastplate of hope; nonetheless the remembered animal was offering him the fruits of palm trees as provision for the journey, as pledges of peace, so to speak. Having noted this, Antony slowed his pace, and asking who he was, received this answer from him: I am mortal, and one of the dwellers of the desert, whom the Gentile world, deluded by various error, worships, calling us Fauns, and Satyrs, and Incubi. I perform an embassy of my flock. We beg that you intercede for us with the common Lord, whom we have learned came once for the salvation of the world; and his sound has gone out into all the earth.

As he was speaking such things, the aged traveler bathed his face abundantly with tears, which the greatness of his joy, the witness of his heart, had poured forth. For he rejoiced at the glory of Christ, and at the destruction of Satan; and marveling likewise that he could understand his speech, striking the ground with his staff, he said: Woe to you, Alexandria, who venerate monsters instead of God. Woe to you, harlot city, into which the demons of the whole world have flowed together. What will you say now? Beasts speak Christ, and you venerate monsters instead of God. He had not yet finished his words, when, as if on wingèd flight, the wanton creature fled away. Lest this cause any scruple of unbelief to anyone, it is vouched for under King Constantius, with the whole world as witness.

For a man of this kind was brought alive to Alexandria, and provided a great spectacle for the people; and afterward his lifeless corpse, lest it should decay in the summer heat, was preserved with salt and brought to Antioch, that it might be seen by the Emperor.

But to pursue my purpose, Antony went on into the region he had begun, seeing only the tracks of wild beasts, and the broad vastness of the desert. What he should do, whither he should turn his step, he did not know. Now a second day had passed. One thing remained, that he should trust he could not be forsaken by Christ. Through the whole night he spent the second watch of darkness in prayer, and while the light was still uncertain, he sees not far off a she-wolf, panting with the heat of thirst, creeping to the foot of the mountain. Following her with his eyes, and, when the beast had gone off, approaching near the cave, he began to peer within; his curiosity availing nothing, the darkness barring his sight. But as Scripture says, perfect love casts out fear; with cautious step and restrained breath, the crafty explorer entered, and going forward little by little, and often stopping, caught sounds with his ear.

At last, through the horror of the blind night, having glimpsed a light far off, while he hastened more eagerly, striking his foot against a stone, he raised a noise; after the sound of which blessed Paul, closing the door that stood open, made it fast with a bolt. Then indeed Antony, falling before the doors, begged for entrance until the sixth hour and beyond, saying: Who I am, whence, why I have come, you know. I know I do not deserve to see you: yet unless I see you, I will not withdraw. You who receive beasts, why do you repel a man? I have sought, and I have found: I knock that it may be opened. But if I do not obtain this, I will die here before your doorposts: at least you will bury my corpse.

Such things he kept recalling, and remained fixed there.
To whom the hero returned this brief reply.

No one seeks in such a way as to threaten; no one makes an accusation with tears. And do you wonder if I do not receive you, when you have come ready to die? So Paul, smiling, threw open the entrance. When it was opened, as they fell into mutual embraces, they greeted each other by name; thanks were rendered together to the Lord.

And after the holy kiss, Paul, sitting down, began thus with Antony: Behold him whom you have sought with such labor—unkempt grey hair covers limbs rotting with old age. Behold, you see a man soon to be dust. Yet since charity bears all things, tell me, I pray, how the human race fares. Whether new roofs rise in ancient cities; by what empire the world is ruled; whether any still remain who are carried off by the error of demons. Amid these conversations they look up and see a raven, a winged bird, perched on the branch of a tree, which then gently flew down and laid a whole loaf before the faces of the wondering men; after its departure, Paul said: Behold, the Lord has sent us a meal, truly kind, truly merciful. It is now sixty years that I have always received a fragment of half a loaf; but at your coming, Christ has doubled the ration for his soldiers.

Therefore, thanksgiving having been celebrated to the Lord, both sat down on the margin of the glassy spring. Here indeed a dispute arose over who should break the bread, and nearly drew the day into evening. Paul urged by the law of hospitality, Antony refused by the right of age. At last the plan was that, each taking hold of the bread from opposite sides, while each strove toward himself, the portion should remain in his own hands. Then they sipped a little water from the spring with mouths bent low; and, offering to God the sacrifice of praise, they passed the night in vigils.

And when day had already been restored to the earth, blessed Paul spoke thus to Antony: Long ago, brother, I knew you dwelt in these regions; long ago God promised you to me as my fellow-servant; but since now the time of my falling asleep has come, and since what I have always desired—to be dissolved and to be with Christ—the course being finished, there remains for me the crown of justice: you have been sent by the Lord to cover my poor little body with earth, or rather to restore earth to earth.

Having heard these things, Antony wept and groaned, begging that he not be deserted, and that he be taken as companion of such a journey. And he said: You ought not seek what is your own, but what belongs to another. It is expedient for you, having cast off the burden of the flesh, to follow the Lamb. But it is also expedient for the other brothers, that they may yet be instructed by your example. Wherefore, I ask, go, if it is not troublesome: and bring the pallium which Bishop Athanasius gave you, to wrap my poor body. Now the blessed Paul asked this, not because he greatly cared whether his corpse rotted covered or naked (since for so long a span of time he had been clothed with woven palm leaves), but that the grief of his death might be lightened for the one departing from him.

Antony therefore, stupefied at what he had heard concerning Athanasius and his pallium, as though seeing Christ in Paul, and venerating God in his breast, dared to answer nothing further: but weeping in silence, having kissed his eyes and hands, he returned to the monastery which afterward was occupied by the Saracens. Yet his steps did not keep pace with his spirit. But although his body, empty from fastings, and now his aged years too had broken him, still in spirit he conquered his age.

At length, wearied and panting, having completed the journey, he arrived at his dwelling. When two disciples, who had already begun to minister to him in his great age, met him, saying: Where have you tarried so long, father? He answered: Woe to me, a sinner, who bear the false name of Monk. I have seen Elijah, I have seen John in the desert, and truly I have seen Paul in paradise. And so, with his mouth closed, and striking his breast with his hand, he brought forth the pallium from his cell. And when the disciples asked that he explain more fully what the matter was, he said: There is a time to be silent, and a time to speak.

Then, going forth, and taking not even a little food, he returned by the way he had come, thirsting for him, desiring to see him, embracing him with his eyes and with his whole mind. For he feared, as indeed happened, lest in his absence Paul should render up the spirit owed to Christ. And when another day had already dawned, and a journey of three hours' space remained, he saw, among the throngs of angels, among the choirs of prophets and apostles, Paul, shining with snowy brightness, ascending on high. And immediately falling upon his face, he cast sand upon his head, and weeping and wailing, said: Why do you leave me, Paul? Why do you depart without a farewell? Known so late, do you withdraw so soon?

Blessed Antony afterward related that he had run the remainder of the way with such swiftness that he flew along like a bird: and not without reason; for entering the cave, he saw the lifeless body, its knees folded, its neck upright, its hands stretched out on high. And at first, believing him still alive, he too prayed alongside him. But after he heard no sighs of one praying, as was his custom, rushing into a tearful kiss, he understood that even the corpse of the saint was praying to God, for whom all things live, by the posture of its bearing.

Then, having wrapped the body and carried it forth, singing hymns also and psalms according to Christian tradition, Antony was grieved that he had no mattock with which to dig the earth. Wavering therefore with various surges of mind, and pondering many things with himself, he said: If I return to the monastery, it is a four days' journey: if I remain here, I shall accomplish nothing further. I will die then, as is fitting, beside your warrior, Christ, and falling, I will breathe out my last breath. As he was turning over such thoughts in his mind, behold, two lions came running from the inner part of the desert, their manes flying about their necks. At the sight of them he at first shuddered. But turning his mind again to God, as though he saw doves, he remained unafraid.

And they indeed, in a straight course, halted at the body of the blessed old man: and fawning with their tails, they lay down about his feet, roaring with a great growling, so that you would understand that they were mourning, in whatever way they could. Then, not far off, they began to scrape the ground with their paws; and eagerly casting up the sand, they dug out a place large enough for one man. And at once, as though demanding a reward for their labor, with a motion of their ears and their necks bowed down, they came to Antony, licking his hands and feet. But he perceived that they were begging a blessing from him. And without delay, pouring himself out in praise of Christ, because even dumb animals perceived that he was God, he said: Lord, without whose nod not even a leaf of a tree falls, nor one of the sparrows to the ground, grant them as you know how. And with a nod of his hand he bade them depart.

And when they had withdrawn, he bent his aged shoulders to the burden of the holy body; and having laid it down, gathering the earth he had dug over it, he raised a mound in the customary manner. But when another day had dawned, lest the pious heir should possess nothing from the goods of the intestate, he claimed for himself the tunic, which Paul had woven for himself in the manner of baskets from palm leaves. And so, returning to the monastery, he related everything in order to his disciples; and on the solemn days of Easter and Pentecost he was always clothed in Paul's tunic.

At the end of this little work it is fitting to ask those who do not know their own patrimonies, who clothe their houses with marbles, who sew together in a single thread the estates of their villas: what did this naked old man ever lack? You drink from jeweled cups, he satisfied himself with nature's hollowed hands. You weave gold into your tunics, he did not have even the garment of the vilest of your slaves. But on the contrary, paradise lies open to that poor little man, while gehenna will receive you, gilded as you are. He, though naked, nonetheless kept the garment of Christ: you, clothed in silks, have lost the garment of Christ. Paul lies covered with the vilest dust, destined to rise again into glory: you are pressed down by elaborately wrought sepulchers of stone, destined to burn along with your riches. Spare, I beg you, spare at least the riches which you love. Why do you wrap even your dead in gilded garments? Why does ambition not cease amid mournings and tears?

Do the corpses of the rich know how to rot only in silk?

I beseech you, whoever you are who read these things, to remember me, Jerome, a sinner: to whom, if the Lord gave the choice, he would far rather choose the tunic of Paul with his merits, than the purples of kings with their punishments.