The Life of Saint Hilary, by Venantius Fortunatus

Fortunatus sets down that this work surpasses his powers.—But when I measure the smallness of my own talent, I recognize so great the immensity of blessed Hilary, that it seems to me nearly as equal a thing to be able to say this as to touch the sky with a finger: especially since even the torrent eloquence of blessed Jerome, as I hear, refused to attempt this subject, and he judged himself so unequal to this material that he kept silence. But I, whom no flowing streams of any learning come to aid, whom scarce a thin drop of a poor trickle wets, drawing no breath from any spring of my own—with what rashness would I wish to extend my dry course amid those mighty rivers, the Euphrates of blessed Hilary and the Nile of Jerome, when even whatever the most learned men have been able to say of him is less than he deserves?

And since it is more prudent to admire than to speak of so holy a man, it would have been more fitting to entrust these things to be written by blessed Ambrose concerning his brother, in whom words flourished joined to virtues. Yet even if, together with my own shame, I render obedience to you, and perhaps an injury to him of whom I speak unworthily: still we believe it may be granted by pardon, what is sinned through devotion. And lest a drawn-out page should beget weariness in the hearer rather than invite him; let us now set forth his life.

The homeland of St. Hilary, the splendor of his lineage, his virtues.—Therefore blessed Hilary, bishop of the city of Poitiers, was born of the region of Aquitaine, which is separated from the British Ocean by nearly ninety miles: among the Gallic families he was not obscure in the lamp of nobility, but rather adorned above the rest with the grace of high birth, and with the added brightness of his heart shining forth like Lucifer among the stars, he came forth. From his very cradle so great a first wisdom was suckled by his infancy, that even then it could have been understood that Christ had commanded a soldier necessary to His own causes to be raised up, for the obtaining of victory.

Having then a wife and a daughter, he so delivered their venerable souls, filled with the Lord, to be formed by the rule of the Church, that while still established in the lay state, by divine will he possessed the grace of a bishop; he so restrained himself by his own discipline, unshaven, as if indicating his future form, that he was prepared as a blameless priest in the temple of Christ. For what among mortals still seems very difficult—that anyone should be so cautious as to abstain from food with Jews or heretics—so greatly did this most holy man abhor the enemies of the Catholic religion, that I will not say a banquet, but not even a greeting was common between him and them as he passed by. He avoided these things, supported by the example of David, lest by sharing a table with heretics it should become a stumbling-block to him.

O how most perfect a layman, whose imitators even priests themselves desire to be; for whom to live was nothing other than to fear Christ with love, and to love Him with fear; whose followers run to glory, while those who turn aside go to punishment; to the believer rewards follow, to him who refuses, torments! Warning all from the pious work of religion, now instructing some concerning the confession of the inestimable holy Trinity, now inviting others by the promise of the heavenly kingdom, he did not cease to sow among the people words of truth overflowing with the fruit of faith.

He is chosen bishop.—When this was known of St. Hilary, since so great a light could not lie hidden even had it wished to, being indeed necessary to transfer the darkness of others into light, with the concurring favor of the people—or rather with the Spirit of God proclaiming—the man long appointed for the mystery was at last elected priest at the sacred altars. The reputation that serves his virtues grew in him daily: nor was his fame content to illuminate only the surrounding Gauls, but it filled foreign nations and regions as the grace of his merits spread abroad: and so it came to pass that the glory of the blessed bishop swiftly served throughout the whole world.

Having opposed the Arians, he is banished to Phrygia.—Therefore in the time of the Emperor Constantius, when the Arian heresy was sprouting with its poisonous flower from a venomous root, then this most holy man, stripped of fear and clothed with the fervor of faith, like a standard-bearing warrior thrust himself intrepidly through the midst of the battle-lines, amid the clamors of enemies, amid the swords of heretics. Secure in the charity of Christ, fearing nothing for his own death, dreading only this—God forbid—lest by a prejudgment of religion he should live at large in error. Hence it was persuaded to the Emperor by the bishops Valens and Ursacius, who persistently strove to disturb the Church of God with their perverse belief, that he should condemn to exile the most learned man of whom we speak, and Dionysius of Milan, and Eusebius of Vercelli. For the heretic could obtain nothing before the invincible eloquence of holy Hilary.

The enemy of the faith hoped to be able to cast some clouds before the Catholic splendor, if such a man, thrust back by exile, should be absent from the contest: because if any perverse person wished to contend with him, he could neither bring forth words nor run to make replies, as if mute and lame; but like one swimming in the deep, he was submerged before the flood of his eloquence. And so, sent into exile to Phrygia, a region of Asia, for the increase of his virtue, he gave thanks to God: because the farther he departed from his own soil for the name of Christ, the more he merited to be made nearer to heaven.

His letter to his daughter, in which he persuades her to virginity.—While he had arrived at that longed-for place, we must not pass over in silence what was granted to him by divine gift. For at that time, with the Holy Spirit revealing it to him, he learned that a certain most noble young man, very wealthy and very handsome, was seeking to bind to himself in the bond of marriage his most blessed daughter Abra, whom he had left at Poitiers with her mother. But he himself, through the intervention of assiduous prayer, had provided for her a heavenly spouse without defilement.

Soon, finding an opportunity, he sent to his daughter a letter subscribed with his own hand, seasoned with sufficient salt and as if infused with aromatic ointments, which is kept at Poitiers preserved as a treasure; indicating to her that her anxious father had provided for her such a spouse whose nobility ascended to the heavens, whose beauty surpassed the comparison of roses and lily, whose eyes would cloud the brightness of gems, whose garment would surpass the whiteness of snow, whose ornaments would bloom with inestimable splendor, whose riches would enclose kingdoms within themselves: whose incomprehensible wisdom would flow forth, whose sweetness would set aside the honey of the comb, whose chastity would remain undefiled, whose fragrance would breathe with sweetness, whose treasures would stand without diminishment. He adds therefore to his counsels that his daughter should join herself to no one before she was parted from him by death, until she should await her father's promise, and the spouse who would come together with the promise.

Abra, receiving this sweetly, and embracing as it were the future spouse in her father's letter, followed the admonition, yielding herself to no one in marriage. But in what manner she came to that spouse is reserved for a later place in what follows.

On the way to Seleucia, he baptizes Florentia.—Meanwhile, as the perversity of the Arian heresy was spreading throughout the whole world, a general edict of the Emperor having been given that all the Eastern bishops should assemble at Seleucia, a town of Isauria, to dispute what they held concerning the truth of the faith, then among the rest, now in the fourth year of his exile, holy Hilary was compelled to come to the synod from Phrygia, having been given conveyance to proceed to the said place. When he had approached a certain village, he entered the church on the Lord's Day: and straightway Florentia, a pagan girl, breaking through the crowd of people, testified with a loud voice that the servant of God had arrived there, and running to his feet, did not cease to petition until she had faithfully obtained the sign of the cross to be made upon her by him. Her father Florentius followed, and all the household merited to be baptized together in the name of the Lord.

This Florentia, leaving her parents, clung to his footsteps and was led all the way to Poitiers: and she declared that she had as father not him by whom she was born, but him through whom she was reborn.

His deeds at Seleucia and then at Constantinople.—When he had arrived at Seleucia, he was received with great favor by all, because divine mercy had brought forth into the spectacle of the world such a most prudent man, known for singular learning, where judgment was to be passed on the faith. Hence after examination, the enemies having been recognized and overcome, decrees having been set down in writing, a legation of the synod was directed to the emperor with favorable results: with which holy Hilary went, although it had not been enjoined upon him, fearing lest the condemned perfidy might still breathe against the dogmas of religion. But it would take long to set forth how at the synod of Rimini, by a composed mention, referring one thing from another, the heretical fraud crept in with a serpentine glide, and how afterwards the same calumny was inflicted upon the legates of Seleucia through the iniquity of the emperor.

Yet the athlete of Christ, blessed Hilary, recognizing this, grieves deeply that at Rimini the lie of the devil had prevailed, to such a degree that it infected the Eastern parts as well with a similarly composed taint of wickedness. Having presented three libelli to the emperor, he poured forth prayers: that in his presence, with adversaries assembled, he might have leave to dispute with the heretics concerning religion, lest falsehood should overshadow truth, lest iniquity should prevail over equity, lest the emperor should resist God, lest perfidy should rebel against faith. Whereupon Valens and Ursacius, terrified by the guilt of their conscience, since, if opportunity for contest were given, they recognized that they would straightway be prostrated by Hilary's contention, stirred the mind of the emperor—held captive by so malign a party—to press the very man of God to return to the Gauls, saying that with him present the heretical machinations could not prosper.

By this pretext he was compelled to return to the Gauls, thinking he suffered a greater exile in that he was leaving the disturbance of the Church there, the end of the dispute not having been achieved. O blessed bishop, who in the highest peril, even with the enemy as his judge, approaches the tribunal of the Empire without fear of torment! Truly with all his heart he loved the kingdom of Christ, who did not dread Constantius in his principate. For in that he thus thrust himself for the Lord into open danger, he desired martyrdom, had the executioner not been wanting: and yet his spirit received the glory, even if the time did not bring the punishment. But I testify that this same man was preserved by divine will for the correction of all. For that nearly the whole world, confused by grave error, was led back to the way of truth through Hilary, by synods held repeatedly in Gaul, is confessed by the tongue of many.

But what does it matter, whether it had been done for himself, to have been a martyr for eternal life; or to have lived longer, lest the rest should perish? Therefore, even if the sword of the persecutor did not take away his most holy soul, he did not lose the palm of martyrdom.

Holy Martin accompanies him on his return.—And so while he was returning to his own, then blessed Martin, likewise not hidden in the light of his merits, who was afterwards appointed exorcist by the same St. Hilary, having learned of his coming, hastened to meet him at Rome. When he learned that he had already passed by, he followed him all the way to the Gauls. Nor indeed would Martin, who while still a catechumen had merited to see Christ covered with his own cloak, have come to meet him with such devotion, unless he had foreseen in him a spirit full of mysteries in all things. Nor is it a wonder, if he who first saw God in a poor man, afterwards recognized Him to dwell in a teacher.

He puts the serpents to flight from the island of Gallinaria.—It is likewise not fitting for us to pass over so noble a miracle.

For when he was drawing near the island of Gallinaria, he learned by the report of the neighbors that enormous coils of serpents without number roamed there: and on this account, although the island seemed near to them, yet on account of the inaccessible place it seemed to them farther away than Africa. Hearing this, the man of God, sensing that victory over the bestial combat would come to him, descended to the island in the name of the Lord, with the aid of the cross going before: and at the sight of him, the serpents were turned to flight, not enduring his gaze. Then fixing his staff in the ground as a boundary, as far as they were to run, he marked out by the power of his virtue: nor was freedom given them any longer to occupy what he had forbidden, as if the remaining part of the island were not land but sea; because while they always dread to touch that part, it was easier for them to cross the sea than his word.

O immovable boundary, planted from a word! It appears how much better the second Adam is than the ancient one. That one obeyed the serpent: this one has servants who can command serpents. That one was cast from the seat of paradise by the beast: this one drove the serpents from their own lairs. The lie of the ancient serpent was laid down, by him who learned to fulfill the commandment. O sweetness of Hilary, both remedy and pure draught, before whom poisons were put to flight without delay! He added land to men, because in the place of the beast a human inhabitant came to dwell. But let us return to the order.

Who was received at Poitiers.—When, returning from exile, he entered Poitiers, all alike applauded him with the greatest favour, because the church had received its bishop and the flock its shepherd: and as though all had then returned with him to their homeland, so did they weep that they had been exiles without him.

He raises an infant who died without baptism.—And so, when he had commanded the blessed Martin to remain in a village called Locogeiacus, the blessed Martin there merited by divine power to raise a dead man. Then after some days a certain infant died without the regeneration of baptism: condemned by a twofold death, he had lost the present light, and was not free from the punishment of the age to come. Then the mother of the dead child, who was no longer a mother since she no longer had a son, cast herself at the feet of holy Hilary, her tears going before her, and poured out the body of her child, crying out: Martin, still a beginner, recalled a dead catechumen to life; do thou, O bishop, restore my son, I beg, either to me or to baptism: thou who art acknowledged as father of the people, grant, I pray, that I may be called mother.

Thus she pleading more with tears than with words, the man of God was moved with compassion, and before the watching people, having recourse to his accustomed weapons, he prostrated himself upon the ground. Soon little by little the pallor of the dead child turned to redness, the cold limbs grew warm as the spirit returned, the eyes, the doors of their eyelids being opened, recognized the unfamiliar light, a voice formed from the air drawn into the dwelling of the breast was brought forth, the step of the revived child was extended upon its own feet, the whole structure was renewed to the condition of its former foundation. What more? The priest lay in the dust until both rose together—the old man from prayer, the infant from death. Behold a praiseworthy life, which by prayers drove death from another's body, and despoiled hell, having hope in Christ. Death held no sway there, where Hilary brought the force of prayer to bear.

But so great a deed cannot be adorned more by our words than by his own merits. Now indeed it must be recorded what we passed over above, how he heaped up the remaining miracles upon this miracle that follows.

He obtains death by prayers for his daughter Abra and his wife.—And so, when he had found his most blessed daughter Abra, to whom he had sent a letter from exile, in good health, he addressed her, as the tenderness of a father and the eloquence of an orator could. What shall I say? Hilary addressed her—a man whose eloquence after him we scarcely dare compare with anyone's, unless he were filled with the divine Spirit as he was—he tested her mind, whether she wished to take the bridegroom whom her father's care had provided. Then she desired willingly and eagerly to be joined to him quickly. The devoted father, recognizing this wish, persisted in prayers without ceasing, until, without pain, without corruption, in his presence, his daughter passed from the mockery of the world to Christ: and with his own hands, as was fitting, he committed her to venerable burial. O the glory of that death, which is held better than life: because what it took from the earth, it sent to heaven!

Truly, as I consider, it was more than to be raised from the dead, to die thus. For it is a sure salvation not to be defiled by sins. How many would wish, surrendering their possessions along with their life, to obtain such a passing, if they could perhaps find a merchant? What difference is there between the mystery of the revived infant and the dead daughter? The one he raised to baptism, the other he predestined to the kingdom: except that in the former the hope of sinning still remained, while she had ended immaculate. When the mother of the blessed Abra saw this, she asked the bishop that she too, if she merited it, might be snatched from the guilt of the world and presented with her daughter to the kingdom. Considering her vows, by assiduous prayer he sent her also before him to glory. Who will reckon that such a man so loved the Lord, having set aside his affection for wife and daughter?

Yet in this he is known to have loved them the more, since through him they are transferred to everlasting light.

The learning of Hilary.—Who indeed would undertake to unfold the abundance of his flowing genius, or be able to match his words with words? How he wove together with swelling style the books on the undivided Trinity, or unlocked the writings of the Davidic song one by one in lofty speech? How provident he was in disputation, how profound in exposition, eloquent through learning, wonderful through virtue, manifold in combinations, subtle in resolution, shrewd according to the prophet—nay, prudent according to the Lord's word as a serpent, not losing the grace of the simple dove. He was the salt of refined genius, the fountain of speech, the treasury of knowledge, the light of doctrine, the defender of the Church, the assailant of enemies. Whoever reads his words will believe not that he speaks, but that he thunders. This was to be wise beyond the human, to judge of religion with such caution.

But whoever wishes to know him, let him recall his exiles, look upon his merits, read through his volumes, weigh his words, review his daily signs. While he lived in this world, he either wrote the documents of ecclesiastical faith, or by fighting trampled down heretical crimes, or bestowed upon those who asked the aid of miracles; which by the Lord's will persist to this day through his prayers. But my tongue does not suffice to set forth singly, as is worthy of him, all things concerning the Holy Spirit, who both worked and spoke through him.

Let the gracious one grant me pardon, because I have passed over many things, I who have scarcely written a few. Thus the blessed Hilary departed from the life of the present age to Christ with glory, in the reign of Valens and Valentinian, the earth weeping, heaven rejoicing, through the same Jesus Christ who with the Father and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns as God for ever and ever. Amen.

Fortunatus to the lord holy and most blessed in merits father, Pope Pascentius, and to the inhabitants of the Church of Poitiers, ever blooming in Christ with flower-bearing perennial charity.

The cause and reward of writing differ for pagans and Christians.—Whereas the ancient founders of the volumes of unbelievers were provoked by the cause of inflated opinion to display the pomp of their eloquence to all: while amid the vows or funerals of kingdoms, that is, amid prosperity or adversity, in a confused order of voice, they seemed in a certain manner to sing and weep at the same time: so that those who spoke, or of whom they spoke, might at least live in books, even if they had vainly perished in empty deeds. Why then, urged by the prompting of a better hope, should I suffer the living merits and victories of the supreme confessor to be passed over in silence, not without—God forbid—incurring heavenly punishment; when I would scarcely be paying what is owed, if concerning the splendour of the blessed Hilary's unfailing lamp I were to sing with untiring voice, day continued with night alike?

By what ignorance ensnared, or by what offence impelled, should I persist in that intention under a heavy body; so that while those deceived ones, with much treatment of the dissolved image of shades, composed certain things, and animated with false praises bodies reduced to dust, I should say nothing of the holy ones who endure, and—what is more blessed—daily flourish in the kingdom of Christ: especially where the cause of rewards for the different parties seems to be different: in that the pagans wished the fruit of their labour to consist in empty favour alone; whereas we ought to plant it in the intercession of blessed men, to whom if here we render words, there we gain joys.

Many miracles of Hilary unknown to the author.—Therefore let a ready tongue render to him the praise, from whom hearts first conceived this affection. For it will rightly be thought that his good deeds are envied, if what we have learned of him seems to be hidden in silence. Rightly therefore, along with the rest, he compels me also to speak of him, who has even loosed the mute to speak.

But how many things he did while yet living in the body, or how great things he wrought after he migrated as victor from the contest of the world to Christ in eternal rest, with the Angels applauding him—even if I could not reach them, stolen away as they are by the antiquity of years; yet what miracles the merciful one has granted in the present time, I desire not to defraud from a needy memory: so that whoever shall receive these things with faithful hearing, as is fitting, may both rejoice to know the past, and be confident that similar things will be done in the future by the power of the confessor.

Probianus, at the point of death, is healed. Therefore when Probianus was already hanging in the uncertain end of life, and envious death was hastening to steal from his parents the hope of the child's recovery, heeding neither the bitterness of the little one's death nor regarding the longings of groaning old age, greedily shutting up everything it found beyond its lot—yet by the sole intercession of the blessed Hilary an occasion of salvation had remained for the dying child. His father Franco and his mother Periculosa—who, by a name reversed, was herself in peril in the death of her son—already meditating the funeral rites as though for one dead, brought him with great grief and weeping into the shrine of the confessor.

Then holy Hilary, displaying from his Author the medicine of a secret art, accustomed as he was to render from the loss of death the gain of health, suddenly by the working of his word raised up the failing fabric of the limbs, and reformed it to its former state, as though nothing in it had been dissolved: and straightway he dried the tears of the parents as a flood of joy came upon them, and stopped their groaning as their vow was fulfilled—where now there was no cause for weeping through grief, but through joy. What pains, what torments did death itself then endure, when it thus lost what it believed it was seizing? Surely when it could not strike the one as victor, it struck itself as vanquished. This same Probianus afterwards merited to attain the rank of bishop, and to this day, as a debtor for his life, he pays his annual tribute at the shrine of his physician.

Two lepers are cleansed by the dust of the tomb.—This also is so singular a miracle that it must be recalled to the memory of the people for the glory of its bestower. For when two men had come from Cahors, disfigured by the spots of leprosy, they persisted, founding the hope of their salvation in the intercession of holy Hilary, and washing their heads with water mixed with the dust that was wiped from his tomb, and anointing their remaining limbs, they faithfully applied such a cure to themselves for so long, until the ulcerous variety of that infirmity departed as a captive from the body it had held captive: so that, deceived of its own consolations, it left untouched the colour it had invaded, and did not retain the appearance of ugliness it had brought with it.

After innumerable wounds, therefore, a single skin was restored to all the limbs: that face, effaced by long-standing filth, began to be repainted in its own image in both of them, nor could it be recognized as it had been through the infirmity. For through that most faithful washing of dust, a purifying Jordan was found for them at Poitiers: and not they went to the river, but the river came to meet them here. From this so praiseworthy a compassion of the confessor was made manifest, in that he both removed from them the labour of a long journey and extended to them the vows of salvation. O how the proofs of inestimable virtues shone forth, where the uncleanness of the tomb cleansed the stains of leprosy! Whose skill could have done this, who would bring the benefits of medicine from such dust?

Of these, Castorius was ordained deacon and Crispus subdeacon, and they clung to his service to their own end, through whom they were healed: and rightly they chose to bear the yoke of the Lord by whom they were made free from punishment.

A contracted hand is healed. A certain girl coming into this life had drawn forth a dead right hand, and the contracted threads of the sinews had gathered the weak hand into the shape of a ball: the loose web of the fingers drooped on its own thread. Then coming to the tomb of the most blessed Hilary, she was set in order with lively functions by his intercession: little by little a mobile vigour crept into the numb joints and nails. After a long time her hand was then born to her, when she felt the gifts of the confessor. A dead hand came from the womb: it returned alive from the saint's tomb. Behold how generous is the mercy of the rewarder, that what nature did not produce, he should supply in her members.

Sight is restored to a blind man.—Nor indeed is it fitting to pass over what came to pass happily for a blind man after his vows. For when he was hastening intently to the threshold of the blessed Martin to recover his sight, he entered in passing the church of holy Hilary. While the clergy were there celebrating the night-watches in the customary office, when morning came, with his eyes opened, he himself began to announce the day to others—he who had always needed to hear it from them. For him there was always one unbroken night; Saint Hilary purged his darkness on that night. He who had never seen the adornments of day, began to have a new sun of wondrous brightness rise for him. Then all things were made for him, when he merited to see their making, and, so to speak, in a certain manner the world was born after him, when it came to be known.

The blind man was hastening to approach the church of the blessed Martin; yet Hilary deigned to enlighten him in his own church. How great is the grace of the giver, who anticipates the desires of the suppliant!

Victory is granted to Chlodoveus by promised light and voice.—What else worthy shall I recount of so royal a mystery, which was conferred upon him as king? For when King Chlodoveus, about to fight against a heretical people, had set his armed ranks in motion, he merited in the middle of the night to behold a light coming upon him from the basilica of blessed Hilary, and was moreover admonished to descend swiftly against the enemies to give battle, yet not without the prayer of the venerable place. Observing this diligently and joining himself to prayer, he went forth to war with such great prosperity—another fighting in his stead—that within the third hour of the day he obtained victory from the Lord beyond all human hope. There the multitude of slain corpses was seen to have raised hills from itself. Behold portents to be feared with terror, and miracles to be embraced with delight.

It was too little for him to show a sign of light for the king's consolation, unless he had openly added warnings and a voice as well. Something similar occurred, in the time of the Israelite people, by reason of this same power. For there a pillar of fire had gone before the people; here a figure of a lamp gave warning.

Even in death he vanquishes the Arians.—I would wish to know what was the secret mystery of so great a zeal, so openly manifested. But insofar as I seem to perceive it by his own inspiration, I will not be silent. For against the heretical ranks, just as once in the body, he did not cease to fight in spirit. How great was his eagerness always for the worship of the Catholic religion; since even in his repose, the abundance of his solicitude is not lacking? For he who then in the synod brought forth faithful words to confound the enemy, here on the field wielded the arms of victory.

A woman's withered hand is restored to health.—A woman in the village of Tonaciacus, while carrying water for her work on the Lord's Day (it is not for me to know by what sin she was overtaken), had her hand drawn up, the course of her veins having dried up. She was then warned by a revelation to hasten to the threshold of the saint, if she wished to be made whole. Trusting in this message, she ran joyfully thither, as though with the very forerunner of her health. And while the psalms were being sung in the church, likewise at the absolution, on the Lord's Day on which the punishment had preceded, joys followed. Behold the lovable custom of this singular patron, who, that he may find what to bestow, even seeks out the occasions. O blessed Hilary, to be sung by all in heart, mouth, and voice: whose benignity is so abundant that he not only hides himself from no one, but thrusts himself forward unbidden!

Let us come to other venerable fruits of miracle.

Several miracles are wrought in a single girl.—A certain paralytic girl, grown in years yet not in merit, lived without the functions of life. Within the burial of her extinguished body only the soul survived and pulsed, and in the whole corpse the eyes alone seemed to have vigor, and as though dead, the watchful eyes kept guard over the members within her. The tongue, torpid within the chamber of the palate, did not run forth with suppleness, nor could a voice drawn up from the depths of the chest arrange words when uttered; the hand, when the nature of it lay dissolved in languor, performed no due service, nor did the unsteady foot support the frame of the limbs; and beyond all this, the unformed mass of the whole body lay torpid. She was placed within the basilica on the feast of blessed Hilary, and was raised up to the great rejoicing of all who looked on. Thus in the body of one feeble person the Saint accomplished many miracles.

He strengthened the wasted joints of her knees, fitted the rigid tongue to flexibility and ease of voice, armed her once feeble palms for the use of wool-working, and animated the frame of her inward parts with the grace of his pious gift. At length the aged infant burst forth into words; and what is remarkable, with her first voice she sought the nourishment of milk. That she should ask for such food before all else—what else is to be understood by this, but that when she was healed, she then first believed herself to be born?

Wax offered at the tomb of Hilary.—Nor let so faithful a mystery be withdrawn by harmful forgetfulness. When two merchants had come to the basilica of the blessed one, having a piece of wax as it were held in common between them, one of them addressed the other, that they should willingly offer it, however small a thing it was, to so great a confessor. But he spent his words in vain upon the unwilling mind of his companion. He himself, however, prostrated himself in prayer together with that same companion, and secretly placed the wax before the railings of the awe-inspiring tomb.

And straightway the piece of wax divided itself into perfect equality, and the portion of the faithful offerer was accepted, while the other portion, in the sight of many, was rolled away by divine will with all contumely to the other railings and repelled: as though the Saint were unwilling to seize what the other, not being devoted to him, had not offered; and since he always abhorred what does not come from faith, he is as certain in judgment as he is merciful in granting a vow. O how incorruptible a judge shines forth! He is more discerning in the examination of judgment than that creature which, chaste, produces wax, is in the choice of flowers.

Then he who had refused to offer, confounded by his own testimony of the sin committed, and struck by the guilt of immense shame, and seeing the reproaches of so great a baseness springing up from the root of his own conscience, and the deeds of his hidden knowledge revealed before his face, looked, considered, groaned, and wept: that he might at least wash away by the flowing of a fountain of tears what he had defiled by a sinning heart. He afterwards, chastened by the judgment of the wax, offered greater things under compulsion.

A candle customarily lit at night.—Likewise, when according to custom a candle had been lit there one night, it fell burning by chance upon the tomb of him who by his intercession quickens the dead: so that it burned on without any damage upon the veil upon which it had fallen. For to the full length of the candle, the wax was found lying with the wick consumed: as though the wax itself had made a boundary between the fire and the garment, so that it might be found defended by the very thing through which it could have been burned. Mark the benefit. That the precept of the confessor might be obeyed—he who always knows how to subdue it—here the fire shrank from the wax, and that which it had taken as an aid to burning seemed itself to resist it.

But among these things, that rather calls to be said: that in the power of the confessor, the wax extinguished the flames it was conducting, and in reversed order smothered that by which it could have been devoured. Different substances seemed to have changed their own nature: and lest the fire should harm anything, the garment served as marble, the wax served as a river. But how great a thing is it for him to extinguish the light of a candle, who kindles the light of the blind? Or when he restores the fire of eyes at the burial of another's corpse, how easily do we believe that he drives away flames from his own tomb?

I would still wish, insatiable, to sing the miracles of this most holy man as though for myself alone; but I fear lest, where I desire to show my devotion, I may seem to close the mind of the hearer with rising weariness. Grant me, O gracious one, pardon for the smallness of this text, grant the blame to my failing; lest while I desire to avoid the tedium of men, I may seem to incur the offense of the confessor, of whom I would say too little if I filled books. But I presume to say less of you than is due, so that brevity may invite the people to read more of you: with the help of our Lord God, now and always, Amen.