The Life of Saint Martin

Very many mortals, vainly devoted to zeal and worldly glory, sought thereby, as they thought, a perpetual memory of their name, if they should illustrate with their pen the lives of famous men. Which thing, indeed, did not bring a perpetual fruit of their conceived hope, but nevertheless some small fruit: because they propagated the memory of themselves, though in vain; and no small emulation was aroused in readers by the examples of great men set before them. But nevertheless this care of theirs pertained nothing to that blessed and eternal life. For what did the glory of their writings, itself destined to perish along with the world, profit even themselves? Or what benefit did posterity derive from reading of Hector fighting, or Socrates philosophizing?

Since it is not only folly to imitate them, but madness not to oppose them most fiercely: seeing that, esteeming human life only by present deeds, they gave their hopes to fables, their souls to tombs; since indeed they believed themselves to be perpetuated only in the memory of men; whereas it is the duty of man to seek rather perpetual life than perpetual memory, not by writing or fighting or philosophizing, but by living piously, holily, and religiously. This human error, handed down in literature, has prevailed so far that it has found many rivals plainly of an empty philosophy, or of that foolish valor. Whence it seems to me that I shall do a work worth the effort, if I write out fully the life of a most holy man, soon to be an example for others: whereby readers will certainly be incited to true wisdom, to heavenly warfare, and to divine virtue.

In which matter I also take account of my own advantage in such a way that I look not for an empty memory from men, but for an eternal reward from God: because even if I myself have not so lived that I can be an example to others, yet I have taken care that he should not remain hidden from these who ought to be imitated. Therefore I shall begin to write the life of St. Martin, how he conducted himself either before his episcopate or in his episcopate. Although I have by no means been able to attain to all things concerning him, so much are those things unknown in which he alone was conscious to himself, since, not seeking praise from men, he wished, as far as was in him, that all his virtues should lie hidden. Although even of those things which had come to our knowledge, we have omitted many: because we believed it sufficient if only the more excellent things were noted.

At the same time consideration had to be given to readers, lest a heaped-up abundance should produce distaste in them. But I beg those who are about to read, that they give credence to what is said; and that they think that I have written nothing except what was ascertained and proven: otherwise I would have preferred to be silent rather than to say false things.

Martin then was born at Sabaria, a town of Pannonia, but was brought up within Italy at Ticinum, of parents not of the lowest rank according to worldly dignity, yet pagans. His father was first a soldier, afterward a tribune of soldiers. He himself, having followed armed military service in his youth, served among the scholar-guards under King Constantius, then under Julian Caesar: yet not of his own will; because from almost his earliest years the sacred infancy of the illustrious boy breathed rather divine servitude. For when he was ten years old, against the wish of his parents, he fled to the church, and asked to be made a catechumen. Soon, in a wondrous manner wholly turned to the work of God, when he was twelve years old, he desired the desert: and he would have satisfied his vows, had not the weakness of his age stood in the way. Yet his mind, always intent upon monasteries or upon the church, meditated even in boyhood what he afterward devoutly fulfilled.

But when an edict had been issued by the kings that the sons of veterans should be enrolled for military service, his father, who envied his happy deeds, denounced him, and when he was fifteen years old, he was seized and chained and bound by military oaths, content with only one servant as companion, to whom nevertheless, in a reversal of roles, the master served, so much so that he often even took off his shoes and wiped them himself; they took food together, yet the servant more often did the serving. He was in arms for almost three years before his baptism, yet untouched by those vices with which that class of men is usually entangled. Great was his kindness toward his fellow soldiers, wondrous his charity; but his patience and humility were beyond human measure. As for his frugality, there is no need to praise it in him, which he practiced in such a way that even at that time he was thought not a soldier but a monk.

By these things he had so bound to himself all his fellow soldiers, that they venerated him with wondrous affection. Yet not having been regenerated in Christ, he was performing something like a candidate of baptism through good works: namely assisting those who labored, bringing help to the wretched, feeding the needy, clothing the naked: reserving nothing for himself from his military pay beyond daily sustenance, already then a not-deaf hearer of the Gospel, he took no thought for the morrow.

At a certain time, then, when he now had nothing beyond his arms and a simple military garment, in the middle of winter (which had grown more bitter than usual, so much so that the force of the cold destroyed very many) he meets, at the gate of the city of Amiens, a naked poor man: who, as he begged those passing by to have pity on him, and all passed by the wretched man, the man full of God understood that he was reserved for himself, since the others were not showing mercy. What, then, was he to do? He had nothing except the cloak he was wearing: for he had already spent the rest on a similar work. Seizing therefore the sword with which he was girded, he divides it in the middle, and gives a part of it to the poor man, and puts on the remainder again.

Meanwhile some of the bystanders began to laugh, because he seemed unsightly, cut short as he was in his garb; but many, whose mind was sounder, groaned the more deeply, that they had done nothing similar, since, having more, they could have clothed the poor man without their own nakedness. Therefore, the following night having come, when he had given himself to sleep, he saw Christ clothed in the part of his cloak with which he had covered the poor man. He is bidden to gaze most attentively upon the Lord, and to recognize the garment which he had given.

Presently he hears Jesus saying in a clear voice to the multitude of angels standing about: "Martin, still a catechumen, has covered me with this garment." The Lord, truly mindful of his own words (who had before foretold: "As long as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me"), declared that he had been clothed in the poor man; and, to confirm the testimony of so good a deed, he deigned to show himself in that very garb which the poor man had received. Having seen this, the most blessed man was not lifted up into human glory, but recognizing the goodness of God in his own deed, when he was eighteen years old, hastened to baptism. Yet he did not immediately renounce military service, overcome by the entreaties of his tribune, to whom he rendered close companionship. For, once the time of his tribunate had elapsed, the tribune promised that he would renounce the world.

In this expectation Martin was held in suspense, and served, though in name only, for almost two years after he had received baptism.

Meanwhile, as barbarians were rushing into Gaul, Julian Caesar, having gathered his army together at the city of the Vangiones, began to distribute a donative to the soldiers: and, as is the custom, each one was called by name, until it came to Martin. Then indeed, judging it an opportune time to seek his discharge (for he did not think it would be right for him to accept the donative if he was not going to fight): "Hitherto," he said to Caesar, "I have served you as a soldier: allow me now to serve God: let your donative be received by one who is going to fight: I am a soldier of Christ; it is not lawful for me to fight." Then indeed the tyrant raged fiercely against this word, saying that it was from fear of the battle which was to take place the next day, not for the sake of religion, that he was declining military service.

But Martin, undaunted, indeed made more steadfast by the terror cast upon him: "If," he said, "this is ascribed to cowardice and not to faith, tomorrow I will stand unarmed before the battle line: and in the name of the Lord Jesus, protected by the sign of the cross, not by shield or helmet, I will penetrate the ranks of the enemy in safety." He is therefore ordered to be thrust back into custody, to make good his word by being exposed unarmed to the barbarians. The next day the enemy sent legates concerning peace, surrendering all their possessions and themselves. Whence who could doubt that this was truly the victory of the blessed man, to whom it was granted that he should not be sent unarmed into battle?

And although the merciful Lord could have preserved his soldier even amid the swords and weapons of the enemy, yet, lest the gaze of the Saint should be violated even by the death of others, he removed the necessity of battle: for Christ ought to provide no other victory for his soldier than that, the enemies being subdued without bloodshed, no one should die.

Thereupon, having left military service, he sought out Saint Hilary, bishop of the city of Poitiers, whose faith in the things of God was then regarded and known to be well-tested; and he remained with him for some time. This same Hilary attempted, by imposing on him the office of the diaconate, to bind him more closely to himself, and to conquer him by means of divine ministry. But since Martin very often resisted, crying out that he was unworthy, the man of deeper insight understood that he could be constrained in this way, if he imposed on him that office in which a certain place seemed to be one of injury. And so he directed that he be made an exorcist, which ordination Martin did not refuse, lest he should seem to have despised it as too humble.

Not much later, being admonished in his sleep to visit, with religious solicitude, his fatherland and his parents, whom paganism still held, he set out with the consent of Saint Hilary, who bound him with many prayers and tears to return. Sorrowful, as they say, he undertook that journey, protesting to the brethren that he would suffer many adversities; which the outcome afterward proved. And first, following byways among the Alps, he fell in with robbers, and when one of them, having raised his axe, had aimed a blow at his head, another held back the hand of the striker; yet with his hands bound behind his back he was handed over to one of them to be kept and to be despoiled. And when this man had led him to a more remote place, he began to ask him who he was; he replied that he was a Christian. He asked him also whether he was afraid.

Then indeed he professed most steadfastly that he had never been so secure, because he knew that the mercy of the Lord would be present most of all in times of trial: that he grieved rather for him, who, in practicing robbery, was unworthy of the mercy of Christ; and, entering upon an evangelical discourse, he preached the word of God to the robber. Why should I delay longer? The robber believed, and having escorted Martin, restored him to the road, praying that he would pray to the Lord for him. And this same man was afterward seen leading a religious life: so much so that these things, which we have related above, are said to have been heard from him.

Therefore Martin, setting out from there, when he had passed Milan, the devil, having assumed human form, met him on the road and asked whither he was tending; and when he had received this answer from Martin, that he was intent on going wherever the Lord called him, he said to him: Wherever you go, or whatever you attempt, the devil will oppose you. Then he answered him with the prophetic voice: The Lord is my helper; I will not fear what man may do to me. And immediately the enemy vanished from his sight. And so, as he had conceived in mind and purpose, he freed his mother from the error of paganism, his father persisting in his evils: yet by his own example he saved many.

Then (when the Arian heresy had spread throughout the whole world and especially within Illyricum), since he alone, almost, was fighting most fiercely against the treachery of the priests, and had been afflicted with many punishments (for he was publicly beaten with rods, and at last was compelled to leave the city), returning toward Italy, when he found that within the Gauls too the church had been thrown into confusion by the departure of Saint Hilary, whom the violence of the heretics had driven into exile, he established a monastery for himself at Milan. There too Auxentius, the author and chief of the Arians, persecuted him most grievously; and having afflicted him with many injuries, drove him out of the city. Thinking it right therefore to yield to the times, he withdrew to the island called Gallinaria, accompanied by a certain priest, a man of great virtues.

There he lived for some time on the roots of plants: at which time he took as food hellebore, a poisonous herb, as they say; but when he perceived the force of the poison working within him, death now near, he drove off the imminent danger by prayer, and immediately all the pain was put to flight. Not long after, when he learned that by the king's repentance power had been granted to Saint Hilary to return, he attempted to meet him at Rome, and set out for the city.

When Hilary had already passed by, he followed in his footsteps; and when he had been most kindly received by him, he set up a monastery for himself not far from the town. At that time a certain catechumen joined himself to him, desiring to be instructed in the discipline of the most holy man; and after a few days had passed, he was seized by a languor of fevers. And at that time Martin had by chance gone away; and when he had been absent for three days, on his return he found the lifeless body: so sudden had been the death that he departed from human affairs without baptism. The body, laid out in the midst, was attended by the sad office of the mourning brothers, when Martin came running up, weeping and wailing.

Then indeed, conceiving the Holy Spirit with his whole mind, he ordered the others to go out of the cell in which the body lay; and, the doors having been shut, he prostrated himself over the lifeless limbs of the deceased brother; and when he had lain some while in prayer, and had perceived through the Spirit that the power of the Lord was present, he rose up a little, and, fixing his eyes on the face of the dead man, awaited undaunted the outcome of his prayer and of the Lord's mercy: and scarcely had a space of about two hours passed, when he saw the dead man gradually move in all his limbs, and his eyes, relaxed for the purpose of seeing, begin to flutter. Then indeed, turning with a loud voice to the Lord in thanksgiving, he had filled the cell with the cry: which being heard, those who had been standing before the doors at once rushed in. A wondrous spectacle, that they saw alive him whom they had left dead!

Thus restored to life, he immediately obtained baptism, and afterward lived many years: and he was among us the first matter and testimony of Martin's powers. He himself, however, was accustomed to relate that, stripped of his body, he had been led to the tribunal of the judge, and, assigned to dark places and common crowds, had received a sad sentence: then that by two angels it had been suggested to the judge that this was he for whom Martin was praying: and that thus by the same angels he was ordered to be led back, and was restored to Martin and to his former life. From this time first the name of the blessed man shone forth, so that he who was already held by all to be holy, was also held to be powerful and truly apostolic.

Not long after, while he was passing through the field of a certain Lupicinus, a man honored according to the world, he was met by the shout and grief of a lamenting crowd. When, being concerned, he had stood by, and inquired what this weeping was, it was pointed out that one of the household servants had taken his own life by a noose. When he learned this, he entered the cell in which the body lay; and, all the crowds having been excluded, he lay stretched over the body and prayed for some time. Soon, as the face grew alive again and the fading eyes lifted toward his face, the dead man rose; and, striving to get up with a slow effort, having taken hold of the right hand of the blessed man, he stood upon his feet; and thus, with the whole crowd looking on, he went with him even to the vestibule of the house.

At about this same time he was being sought for the episcopate of the Church of Tours; but since he could not easily be torn away from his monastery, a certain Ruricius, one of the citizens, feigning the illness of his wife, having fallen at his knees, obtained that he should go forth. Thus, the crowds of citizens having already arranged themselves on the way, he was led under a certain guard all the way to the city. In a wondrous manner an incredible multitude had gathered, not only from that town but even from the neighboring cities, to cast their votes. There was one will of all, the same desire, and the same judgment: that Martin was most worthy of the episcopate, and that the Church would be fortunate with such a priest. A few, however, and some among the bishops who had been summoned to appoint the bishop, resisted impiously, saying, namely, that he was a contemptible person, unworthy of the episcopate, a man despicable in countenance, sordid in dress, deformed in hair.

Thus this folly of theirs was mocked by the people of sounder judgment, who, while wishing to disparage an illustrious man, were praising him. Nor indeed was it permitted them to do otherwise than what the people, by the will of the Lord, was compelling. Among the bishops, however, who were present, it is said that one especially, named Defensor, resisted: whence it was noted that he was gravely marked at that time by a prophetic reading. For when by chance the reader, whose office it was that day to read, had been shut out by the crowd and was absent, the ministers being thrown into confusion, while they waited for him who was not present, one of the bystanders, taking up the Psalter, seized upon the first verse he found. Now this was the psalm: Out of the mouths of infants and sucklings thou hast perfected praise because of thine enemies, that thou mightest destroy the enemy and the defender. When this had been read, the shout of the people was raised, and the opposing party was confounded.

And thus it was held that this psalm had been read by divine will, so that Defensor might hear the testimony of his own deed; because, out of the mouth of infants and sucklings the praise of the Lord being perfected in Martin, the enemy was both shown forth and destroyed.

Now indeed, having taken up the episcopate, what sort of man and how great he showed himself, it is not within my capacity to unfold. For he continued most steadfastly the same man he had been before. The same humility was in his heart, the same lowliness in his clothing: and thus, full of authority and grace, he fulfilled the dignity of a bishop in such a way that he did not, however, abandon the resolve and virtue of a monk. For some time, therefore, he made use of a cell adjoining the church; then, when he could not bear the disturbance of those who frequented him, he established for himself a monastery about two miles outside the city. This place was so secret and remote that it lacked nothing of the solitude of a desert: for on one side it was surrounded by a sheer cliff of a high mountain; the remaining plain the river Loire had enclosed with a slightly withdrawn bend. It could be approached by one and the same very narrow path only.

He himself had a cell built of wood: and many of the brothers had similar ones; most, however, had made themselves shelters by hollowing out the rock of the overhanging mountain. There were eighty disciples, who were being trained after the example of the blessed master. No one there had anything of his own; all things were brought together in common; it was not permitted to buy or sell anything, as is the custom with most monks. No craft was practiced there, except for copyists, and that work was assigned to the younger ones: the elders devoted themselves to prayer. Rarely did anyone go out from his cell, except when they gathered at the place of prayer. They all took food together after the hour of fasting was over: no one knew wine, except one whom infirmity compelled.

Most were clothed in camel's hair; a softer garb there was held a crime: which must seem the more remarkable, because many among them were held to be of noble birth, who, though brought up quite differently, had forced themselves to this humility and patience; and we have seen many of these afterward become bishops. For what city or church was there that did not desire for itself a priest from Martin's monastery?

But that I may approach his other virtues, which he performed while bishop; there was, not far from the town, near the monastery, a place which the false opinion of men had consecrated, as though martyrs were buried there together: for indeed an altar had been set up there by former bishops. But Martin, not rashly lending faith to uncertain things, kept demanding of those priests or clerics who were older that they show him the name of the martyr, or the time of his passion: he was moved by great scruple, because the consistent memory of his elders had handed down nothing certain. When, therefore, he had for some time kept himself away from that place, neither detracting from religion, since he was uncertain, nor lending his authority to the common opinion, lest superstition should grow stronger; on a certain day, taking with him a few brothers, he went to the place. Then, standing over the very tomb, he prayed to the Lord that he would show who this was, or of what merit he was who was buried.

Then, turning to the left, he saw a dark, grim shade standing nearby. He commands it to speak its name and its merit. It states its name, confesses its crime: that it had been a robber, put to death for its crimes, celebrated by the error of the common people; that it had nothing in common with martyrs, since glory held them, but punishment held him. In a wondrous manner, those who were present heard the voice of the one speaking, yet did not see the figure. Then Martin explained what he had seen, and ordered the altar that had been there to be removed from that place: and thus he freed the people from the error of that superstition.

It happened, moreover, at a later time, that while he was on a journey, he met the body of a certain pagan, which was being carried to the tomb with a superstitious funeral rite: and, catching sight from a distance of the crowd coming toward him, not knowing what it was, he stood still a while: for the interval was nearly five hundred paces, so that it was difficult to make out what he was seeing. Yet, because he discerned a rustic band, and because, the wind blowing, the linen cloths thrown over the body were fluttering, he believed that profane rites of sacrifice were being performed: because this was the custom of the rustic Gauls, to carry about their fields, in their wretched folly, images of demons covered with a white veil. Therefore, having raised the sign of the cross against them, he commands the crowd not to move from the spot, and to set down the burden.

Here indeed one might see in a wondrous manner the wretched people first as if turned to stone; then, when they strove with their utmost effort to move forward, unable to advance further, they were whirled about in a ridiculous vertigo, until, overcome, they set down the burden of the body. Astonished, and looking at one another, they wondered in silence what had happened to them. But the blessed man, when he had learned that this crowd was a funeral procession and not a sacred rite, again raising his hand, gives them the power to depart and to lift the body. Thus he compelled them to stand when he wished, and permitted them to go when he pleased.

Likewise, when in a certain village he had demolished a most ancient temple, and had begun to cut down a pine tree which stood next to the shrine, then indeed the priest of that place, and the rest of the crowd of pagans, began to resist; and though those same people, while the temple was being overturned, had kept quiet at the Lord's command, they would not allow the tree to be cut down. He carefully admonished them that there was nothing sacred in a tree-trunk: rather they should follow God, whom he himself served: that tree ought to be cut down, because it had been dedicated to a demon. Then one of them, who was bolder than the rest, said: "If you have any confidence in your God, whom you say you worship, we ourselves will cut down this tree, and you catch it as it falls; and if, as you say, your Lord is with you, you will escape." Then he, fearlessly trusting in the Lord, promised that he would do so.

At this condition, all that crowd of pagans agreed; and they reckoned the loss of their tree an easy price, if by its fall they should crush the enemy of their sacred rites. And so, since that pine leaned to one side, so that there was no doubt in which direction it would fall when cut, he was bound and placed, at the pleasure of the rustics, in that spot where no one doubted the tree would fall. So they themselves began to cut down their pine with great joy and gladness. A crowd of onlookers stood at a distance, marveling. And now little by little the pine began to totter, and threaten its own downfall as it was about to fall. The monks grew pale at a distance, and now, terrified by the nearer danger, had lost all hope and faith, expecting nothing but Martin's death.

But he, trusting in the Lord, waited fearlessly; and when the falling pine had already made its crashing sound, and was now falling, now toppling over upon him, he raised his hand and met it with the sign of salvation: then indeed (you would think it driven back as if by a whirlwind) it crashed down in the opposite direction, so much so that it nearly overthrew the rustics who had stood in that spot. Then indeed, with a shout raised to heaven, the pagans marveled at the miracle; the monks wept for joy; the name of Christ was proclaimed by all in common. And it was sufficiently established that on that day salvation had come to that region: for there was scarcely anyone out of that vast multitude of pagans who did not, upon the desired laying-on of hands, abandon the error of impiety and believe in the Lord Jesus.

And truly, before Martin, very few indeed, nay almost none, in those regions had received the name of Christ; which has so grown strong through his virtues and example, that now there is no place there which is not filled either with most crowded churches or with monasteries. For wherever he had destroyed shrines, there he immediately built either churches or monasteries.

He performed no lesser feat of virtue at about the same time in the same undertaking: for when in a certain village he had set fire to a most ancient and much-frequented shrine, the wind drove masses of flame toward the neighboring house, indeed one adjoining it. When Martin noticed this, he climbed with rapid course to the roof of the house, throwing himself in the path of the oncoming flames. Then indeed one might have seen, in a wondrous manner, the fire driven back against the force of the wind, so that there seemed to be a certain conflict of elements struggling against each other. Thus by Martin's power the fire wrought its effect only where it was commanded. But in the village called Leprosum, when he likewise wished to overturn a most wealthy temple out of religious superstition, a multitude of pagans resisted him, so much so that he was driven back not without injury.

And so he withdrew to a nearby place, and there for three days, covered with sackcloth and ashes, fasting and praying continually, he besought the Lord that, since human hand could not overturn that temple, divine power might tear it down. Then suddenly two angels, armed with spears and shields after the manner of the heavenly host, presented themselves to him, saying that they had been sent by the Lord to put to flight the rustic multitude, and to bring aid to Martin, lest anyone resist while the temple was being torn down; let him therefore return, and devoutly complete the work he had begun. Thus he went back to the village (while the crowds of pagans looked on and remained quiet, while he tore down the profane building to its very foundation), and he reduced all the altars and images to dust.

Seeing this, the rustics, understanding that they had been stupefied and terrified by divine will, lest they should resist the bishop, nearly all believed in the Lord Jesus, crying out openly and confessing that Martin's God should be worshipped, and the idols disregarded, since they could not help themselves.

Let me also relate what happened in the district of the Aedui. There, while he was likewise overturning a temple, a raging multitude of pagan rustics rushed upon him; and when one, bolder than the rest, drew his sword and came at him, he threw back his cloak and offered his bare neck to the striker: and the pagan did not hesitate to strike; but when he had raised his right hand higher, he fell backward, and, struck with dread of the divine, begged for pardon. Not unlike this was the following: when a certain man wished to strike him with a knife as he was destroying idols, at the very moment of the blow the iron was knocked from his hands and could not be found. Very often, when the rustics opposed him lest he destroy their shrines, he so softened the minds of the pagans by his holy preaching, that once the light of truth had been shown to them, they themselves overturned their own temples.

So powerful indeed was the grace of healing in him, that hardly any sick person approached him who did not immediately receive health: which will be clear even from the following example. At Trier a certain girl was held by a dreadful illness of paralysis, so that for a long time now she performed no function of the body for human use: utterly as if dead throughout, she barely fluttered with faint breath. Her relatives stood by in sorrow, awaiting nothing but her funeral, when suddenly it was announced that Martin had come to that city. When the girl's father learned this, he ran, half-lifeless, to beg on behalf of his daughter. And it happened that Martin had already entered the church.

There, with the people looking on and many other bishops present, the old man, wailing, embraced his knees, saying: "My daughter is dying of a wretched kind of sickness, and, what is more cruel than death itself, she lives by breath alone, her flesh already as if dead; I beg you to go to her, and bless her, for I trust that through you she may be restored to health." Confounded at this speech, he was struck dumb, and drew back, saying that this was not within his power; that the old man erred in his judgment; that he was not worthy for the Lord to show a sign of power through him. The father persisted, weeping still more violently, and begged that he would visit the lifeless girl. At last, compelled to go by the bishops standing around, he went down to the girl's house. A vast crowd waited before the doors to see what the servant of God would do.

And first, prostrate on the ground, he prayed with those familiar weapons of his in such matters; then, looking upon the sick girl, he asked that oil be brought to him; and when he had blessed it, he poured the power of the holy liquid into the girl's mouth, and immediately her voice was restored. Then gradually, at his touch, each limb began to come to life, until, with the people as witnesses, she rose up with firm steps.

At the same time, the slave of a certain Tetradius, a man of proconsular rank, was seized by a demon and tormented with a pitiable outcome. Martin, therefore, being asked to lay his hand upon him, ordered him to be brought to him; but the wicked spirit could by no means be brought forth from the cell in which he was; so fiercely did he rage with rabid teeth against those who approached. Then Tetradius fell at the knees of the blessed man, begging that he himself would go down to the house in which the demoniac was kept. But Martin refused, saying that he could not enter the house of a profane and pagan man (for Tetradius at that time was still entangled in the error of paganism). He therefore promised that, if the demon were driven out of the boy, he would become a Christian.

So Martin, laying his hand on the boy, cast the unclean spirit out of him: seeing which, Tetradius believed in the Lord Jesus; and immediately made a catechumen, not long after he was baptized, and he always cherished Martin with wondrous affection as the author of his salvation. At the same time, in the same town, entering the house of a certain head of a household, he stopped right on the threshold, saying that he saw a horrible demon in the courtyard of the house. When he commanded it to depart, it seized one of the household who was staying in the inner part of the house. The wretched man began to rage with his teeth, and to tear at whomever he met. The house was thrown into confusion, the household in turmoil, the people turned to flight.

Martin threw himself in the way of the raging man, and first commanded him to stand still; but as he gnashed his teeth and threatened a bite with gaping mouth, Martin thrust his fingers into his mouth, saying: "If you have any power, devour these." Then indeed, as if he had received a red-hot iron in his jaws, he drew back his teeth far away, avoiding touching the blessed man's fingers; and though he was forced, by pains and torments, to flee from the possessed body, yet was not allowed to go out through the mouth, he was expelled, leaving foul traces, through a flux of the bowels.

Meanwhile, when a sudden rumor of the movement and onrush of the Barbarians had thrown the city into confusion, he ordered the demoniac to be brought before him: he commanded him to confess whether this report was true. Then he confessed that they had been ten demons, who had spread this rumor among the people, so that by this fear at least Martin might be driven from that town: that the Barbarians had nothing less in mind than an invasion. Thus, when the unclean spirit confessed these things in the midst of the church, the city was freed from its present fear and confusion. At Paris, indeed, while he was entering the gate of that city with great crowds accompanying him, he kissed a leper of pitiable appearance, from whom all shrank in horror, and blessed him: and immediately, cleansed of all his affliction, he came the next day to the church with glowing skin, giving thanks for the health he had received.

Nor should this be passed over, that fringes torn from his garments and his sackcloth wrought frequent wonders upon the sick: for either bound to fingers, or placed upon the neck, they very often drove away diseases from the ailing.

Arborius, moreover, a man of prefectorial rank, of a truly holy and faithful disposition, when his daughter was burning with the most severe quartan fevers, inserted into the girl's breast, at the very onset of the fever's heat, a letter of Martin's which had by chance come into his hands, and immediately the fever was put to flight. This matter had such an effect upon Arborius that he immediately vowed the girl to God, and consecrated her to perpetual virginity; and, setting out to Martin, he brought the girl to him, a present witness of his powers, since though healed at a distance, he would not allow her to be consecrated, with the habit of virginity imposed, by anyone other than Martin. Paulinus, moreover, a man who was afterward to be of great example, when he began to suffer severely from an eye ailment, and already a rather thick cloud had spread over covering his pupil, Martin touched his eye with a small brush, and restored his former health to him, all pain being removed.

He himself, moreover, when by some chance he had fallen from an upper room, and, tumbling down the rough steps of a stairway, had been afflicted with many wounds, while he lay lifeless in his cell and was tormented with immoderate pains, at night an angel appeared to him, washing his wounds, and touching the limbs of his bruised body with a healing ointment; and thus on the next day he was restored to such health that he seemed never to have suffered any harm at all. But since it would take long to go through every instance, let these few out of very many suffice: let it be enough for us neither to withhold the truth in outstanding matters, nor to cause weariness by dwelling on too many.

And that I may insert lesser things among such great ones (although, such as is the character of our times, in which now all things have been depraved and corrupted, it is almost a chief matter that priestly constancy should not have yielded to royal flattery): when to the emperor Maximus, a man of fierce disposition and puffed up by victory in civil wars, several bishops from different parts had assembled, and a foul flattery toward the prince was noted in all, and the priestly dignity had submitted itself with degenerate inconstancy to royal clientage, in Martin alone did apostolic authority remain; for even if it was necessary to entreat on behalf of certain persons before the king, he commanded rather than asked: and though frequently invited to his banquet, he abstained, saying that he could not be partaker of the table of one who had driven out two emperors, one from his kingdom, the other from his life.

At last, when Maximus affirmed that he had not taken up the empire of his own accord, but had defended by arms the necessity of rule imposed upon him by the soldiers by divine will; and that the will of God did not seem foreign to him, in whose favor victory had come by so incredible an event, and none of his adversaries had perished except in battle; at length, overcome either by reasoning or by entreaties, he came to the banquet; the king rejoicing wonderfully that he had obtained this. Now there were present at the banquet, as if summoned for a festal day, men of the highest rank and illustrious, the prefect who was also consul Evodius, than whom none was ever more just; two Counts endowed with the highest power, the brother of the king and his uncle: between these Martin's presbyter had reclined; Martin himself had sat down on a small stool placed next to the king. About the middle of the banquet, as is the custom, the servant offered the cup to the king.

He ordered it rather to be given to the most holy bishop, waiting and hoping that he might receive the cup from his right hand; but Martin, when he had drunk, handed the cup to his presbyter, judging, namely, that none was worthier to drink next after himself, nor would it be right for him, if he had preferred either the king himself or those who were nearest to the king, before his presbyter.

This deed the emperor and all who were then present so admired, that this very thing, in which they had been slighted, pleased them: and it became most celebrated throughout the whole palace, that Martin had done at the king's dinner what none of the bishops had done at the banquets of inferior judges; and to this same Maximus he foretold long before that it would come to pass, that if he went into Italy, whither he desired to go, waging war against the emperor Valentinian, he should know that at the first onset indeed he would be victorious, but a little while after he would perish. And this indeed we saw come to pass: for at his first arrival Valentinian was put to flight: then after nearly a year, his forces resumed, Maximus, captured within the walls of Aquileia, was slain.

It is agreed, moreover, that angels also were frequently seen by him, so that a conversation was carried on between them with him in mutual speech: but he had the devil so visible and subject to his eyes, that whether he kept himself in his own substance, or had transformed himself into the various shapes of spiritual wickedness, he was seen by him under whatever image; and since the devil knew that he could not escape him, he assailed him frequently with reproaches, because he could not deceive him by stratagems. On a certain occasion, holding in his hand a bloody ox-horn, he burst into his cell with a great roar, and displaying his bloody right hand, and rejoicing over a crime just committed, said, "Where, Martin, is your power? I have just now killed one of your men." Then he, having called the brethren together, related what the devil had disclosed; and bade them be diligent through the cells of each, to see who might have been affected by this misfortune.

They report that none of the monks was missing, but that one rustic, hired for wages to bring wood by wagon, had gone to the forest. He therefore orders some to go to meet him. Thus, not far from the monastery, he is found already almost lifeless. Yet drawing his last breath, he indicates to the brothers the cause of his death and wound: namely, that while, having yoked the oxen, he was tightening loosened straps more firmly, an ox, tossing its head, had driven its horn into his groin; and not long after he gave up his life. Let him see by what judgment of the Lord this power was given to the devil. In Martin this was marvelous, that not only this which we have related above, but many things of this kind, whenever they happened, he foresaw long beforehand, or, when reported to him, made known to the brothers.

Frequently, moreover, the devil, while trying by a thousand arts of harming to mock the holy man, thrust himself upon him visibly in the most varied forms. For sometimes in the person of Jupiter, often of Mercury, very often too he presented himself transformed into the countenances of Venus and Minerva: against whom, ever undaunted, he protected himself by the sign of the cross and the aid of prayer. There were also often heard reproaches, with which a crowd of demons berated him with impudent voices: but knowing all to be false and vain, he was not moved by what was thrown at him.

Some also of the brothers testified that they had heard a demon upbraiding Martin with impudent voices, as to why within the monastery he had received back, after their conversion, certain of the brothers who had once lost their baptism through various errors, setting forth the crimes of each; and that Martin, resisting the devil, answered steadfastly, that old offenses are purged by the practice of a better life; and that through the mercy of the Lord those who ceased to sin ought to be absolved from their sins.

The devil replying on the other hand, that pardon did not belong to the guilty, and that no clemency was granted by the Lord to those who had once fallen; then it is reported that Martin broke out into this utterance: "If you yourself, O wretched one, would cease from the pursuit of men, and would repent of your deeds, even at this time, since the day of judgment is at hand, I, truly trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, would promise you mercy." O how holy a presumption concerning the goodness of the Lord, in which, even if he could not confer authority, he showed his affection! And since discourse has arisen concerning the devil and his arts, it seems not out of place, although extraneous, to relate what was done: because it is in some part also a portion of Martin's virtues, and a matter worthy of the miracle will rightly be committed to memory, as an example of caution, if anything of this sort should ever happen anywhere hereafter.

A certain man named Clarus, a most noble young man, soon a presbyter, now blessed by a happy departure, when, having left all things, he had betaken himself to Martin, in a short time shone forth to the highest summit of faith and of all virtues. And so, when he had set up his tent not far from the bishop's monastery, and many brothers dwelt with him, a certain youth named Anatolius came to him, feigning, under the profession of a monk, all humility and innocence, and dwelt for some time in common with the others. Then, as time went on, he began to say that angels were accustomed to speak with him: when no one gave credence, he compelled many toward belief by certain signs. At last he proceeded so far as to proclaim that angels ran back and forth between himself and God; and now he wished to be regarded as one of the prophets. Clarus, however, could by no means be compelled to believe.

He threatened him with the anger of the Lord and present plagues, asking why he did not believe the holy man. At last he is reported to have burst forth into this utterance: "Behold, this night the Lord will give me a white garment from heaven, clothed in which I shall dwell in the midst of you: and this shall be a sign to you, that I am the power of God, since I have been endowed with the garment of God." Then indeed there was great expectation of all at this profession. And so, about the middle of the night, the whole monastery seemed to be shaken with the noise of things trampling the earth: and you might have seen the cell in which the same young man was kept flashing with frequent lights: and there was heard in it the noise of things running about, and a certain murmur of many voices.

Then, silence having fallen, he came out; he calls to himself one of the brothers, named Sabacius, and shows him the tunic with which he was clothed. He, struck with amazement, calls the others together; Clarus himself also runs up; and, a light having been brought, all diligently examine the garment. It was, moreover, of the utmost softness, of exceptional whiteness, of glittering purple; and yet it could not be recognized of what kind or of what fleece it was. Yet, more carefully handled with eyes or fingers, it seemed nothing else than a garment. Meanwhile Clarus admonishes the brothers to press on in prayer, that the Lord might show them more clearly what this was: and so the rest of the night is consumed in hymns and psalms. But when day dawned, he wished to take him by the right hand and drag him to Martin, well aware that the man could not do that by the devil's craft.

Then indeed the wretch began to resist and cry out, and said that it was forbidden him to show himself to Martin. And when they compelled him to go against his will, the garment vanished amid the hands of those dragging him. Whence who could doubt that this too was a virtue of Martin's, that the devil, when his phantasm had to be thrust before Martin's eyes, could not any longer dissemble or hide it?

It was noted, however, that about the same time there was in Spain a young man who, when by many signs he had gained authority for himself, was so exalted that he professed himself to be Elijah. And when very many had rashly believed this, he added further that he called himself Christ: in which matter he so deluded a certain bishop, named Rufus, that he adored him as the Lord: on account of which we afterward saw him deposed from the episcopate. Many also of our brothers reported to us that at the same time in the East there existed a certain man who boasted himself to be John. From which we may conjecture, since such pseudo-prophets are arising, that the coming of Antichrist is imminent, who already in these men works the mystery of iniquity. It seems, moreover, not to be passed over, with what art the devil tempted Martin in those same days.

For on a certain day, having sent purple light before him and surrounded himself with it, that he might the more easily deceive by the brightness of the assumed splendor, clothed also in a royal garment, crowned with a diadem of gems and gold, his shoes gilded, his countenance serene, his face joyful, so that he would be thought anything but the devil, he stood before him as he prayed in his cell. And when Martin at first sight of him had been dazzled, both kept silence long and much. Then the devil spoke first: "Recognize, Martin, whom you behold: I am Christ: about to descend to earth, I wished first to manifest myself to you." At this, when Martin kept silence, and gave no answer at all, the devil dared to repeat the audacity of his profession: "Martin, why do you hesitate to believe, when you see?

I am Christ." Then he, the Spirit revealing to him that it was the devil, not God, said: "The Lord Jesus did not foretell that he would come clothed in purple and gleaming with a diadem. I will not believe that Christ has come, unless in that habit and form in which he suffered, unless displaying the marks of the cross." At this utterance he immediately vanished like smoke, and filled the cell with such a stench that he left undoubted proof that he had been the devil. This, as we have related above that it was done, I learned from Martin's own mouth, lest anyone should perhaps think it fabulous.

For when, having once heard of his faith, life, and virtues, we were burning with desire of him, we undertook a pilgrimage pleasing to us, to see him: at the same time, because my mind was already ardent to write his life, partly from himself, so far as he could be questioned, we inquired; partly we learned from those who had been present or knew. At which time it cannot be believed with what humility, with what kindness he received me, rejoicing greatly and glad in the Lord, that he had been held of such account by us, that we had sought him out by undertaking a pilgrimage. Wretched me! (I scarcely dare to confess it) when he had deigned to admit me to his holy table, he himself offered water to our hands; and in the evening he himself washed our feet. Nor was there constancy to resist or go against it: so overcome was I by his authority, that I thought it wicked if I did not acquiesce.

His discourse, moreover, with us was of nothing else than that the allurements of this world and the burdens of the age must be left behind, that we might follow the Lord Jesus free and unencumbered: and he kept setting before us the most excellent example of the present times, that of the illustrious man Paulinus, of whom we made mention above, who, having cast away the greatest riches, followed Christ, and almost alone in these times had fulfilled the precepts of the Gospel: him he cried aloud we ought to follow, him to imitate: and he called the present age blessed with such an example of faith and virtue, since, according to the sentence of the Lord, a rich man and possessor of much, by selling all and giving to the poor, had made possible by his example what was impossible to do. Now moreover in his words and conversation, what gravity, what dignity there was! How keen, how effective, and how ready and facile in resolving questions of the Scriptures!

And because I know many to be incredulous on this point, since I have seen them not believe even when I myself reported it, I call to witness Jesus and our common hope, that never from any man's mouth have I heard so much knowledge, so much genius, so good and so pure a discourse. And yet, among Martin's virtues, how small a thing is this praise! Except that it is wonderful that an unlettered man should not have lacked even this grace.

But now the book demands its end, and the discourse must be closed: not because all things that were to be said about Martin have been exhausted; but because we, like sluggish poets, negligent in the final part of the work, succumb overcome by the mass of the material. For although his deeds could somehow be set forth in words, yet his inner life and daily conduct, and his mind ever intent upon heaven—no speech (I truly profess), no speech will ever be able to explain.

That perseverance, I mean, and moderation in abstinence and fasting, that power in vigils and prayers, and the nights spent by him just as the days, with no time ever empty of the work of God, in which he indulged either leisure or business, nor even food or sleep, except so far as the necessity of nature compelled: I will truly confess, not even if Homer himself, as they say, should rise up from the dead, could he set it forth: so far do all things in Martin exceed what can be conceived in words. Never did an hour or a moment pass in which he was not either engaged in prayer or intent upon reading: although even while reading, or if he happened to be doing something else, he never relaxed his mind from prayer: just as it is the custom of blacksmiths, who, as a kind of relief in their labor, strike their anvil while working; so Martin, even while he seemed to be doing something else, was always praying.

O truly blessed man, in whom there was no guile! Condemning no one, rendering evil to no one for evil. Indeed he had assumed such patience against all injuries, that, though he was the highest bishop, he was injured with impunity even by the lowest clerics: nor on that account did he ever remove them from their place, or, so far as it was in his power, drive them away from his love.

No one ever saw him angry, no one saw him agitated, no one saw him grieving, no one saw him laughing: one and the same always, bearing on his countenance a certain heavenly joy, he seemed to be beyond the nature of man. Never was anything but Christ in his mouth; never was anything but piety, but peace, but mercy in his heart. He was even accustomed frequently to weep for the sins of those who seemed to be his detractors, who tore at him, remote and quiet as he was, with venomous tongues and glassy mouths. And truly we have experienced some who were envious of his virtues and his life, who hated in him what they did not see in themselves, and what they were unable to imitate.

And (oh, a wickedness to be lamented and groaned over!) his persecutors, though very few, were reported to be none other than bishops; nor indeed is it necessary to name anyone, although many bark round about us on all sides: let it suffice that if anyone of these should read this and recognize himself, let him blush: for if he grows angry, he will confess that it was said of himself, though perhaps we had others in mind. We do not shrink, however, from having such men hate us together with so great a man, if they are of that sort. This I readily trust, that this little work will be pleasing to all the saints. As for the rest, if anyone reads these things without faith, he himself will sin.

I am conscious to myself that, impelled by fidelity to the facts and by love of Christ, I have set forth what is manifest, and have spoken the truth: and I hope to have a reward prepared for me by God—not whoever shall read this, but whoever shall believe it.