But in the midst of
all this dread, Augustin was given a gleam of hope: Boniface made his peace
with the Empire.
all this dread, Augustin was given a gleam of hope: Boniface made his peace
with the Empire.
Bertrand - Saint Augustin
It is the fondest dream of his life--the
plan he was never able to realize. All that, at first sight, astonishes
us. We ask ourselves, "What else had he been doing up to this time in his
treatises and letters and sermons, in all that sea of words and writings
which his enemies threw up at him, if he was not studying and explaining
the Holy Scriptures? " The fact is, that in most of these writings and
sermons he elucidates the truth only in part, or else he is confuting
heresiarchs. What he wanted to do was to study the truth for its own sake,
without having to think of and be hindered by the exposure of errors; and
above all, to seize it in all its breadth and all its depths, to have
done with this blighting and irritating eristic, and to reflect in a vast
_Mirror_ the whole and purest light of the sacred dogmas.
He never found the time for it. He had to limit himself to a handbook
of practical morals, published under this title before his death, and
now lost. Once more the heresiarchs prevented him from leading a life of
speculation. During his last years, amid the cruellest anxieties, he had
to battle with the enemies of Grace and the enemies of the Trinity, with
Arius and Pelagius. Pelagius had found an able disciple in a young Italian
bishop, Julian of Eclanum, who was a formidable opponent to the aged
Augustin. As for Arianism, which had seemed extinguished in the West, here
it was given a new life by the Barbarian invasion.
It was a grave moment for Catholicism, as it was for the Empire. The Goths,
the Alani, and the Vandals, after having laid waste Gaul and Spain, were
taking measures to pass over into Africa. Should they renew the attempts
of Alaric and Radagaisus against Italy, they would soon be masters of the
entire Occident. Now these Barbarians were Arians. Supposing (and it seemed
more and more likely) that Africa and Italy were vanquished after Gaul and
Spain, then it was all over with Western Catholicism. For the invaders
carried their religion in their baggage, and forced it on the conquered.
Augustin, who had cherished the hope of equalling the earthly kingdom
of Christ to that of the Cæsars, was going to see the ruin of both.
His terrified imagination exaggerated still more the only too real and
threatening peril. He must have lived hours of agony, expecting a disaster.
If only the truth might be saved, might swim in this sea of errors which
spread like a flood in the wake of the Barbarian onflow! It was from this
wish, no doubt, that sprang the tireless persistence which the old bishop
put into a last battle with heresy. If he selected Pelagius specially to
fall upon with fury, if he forced his principles to their last consequences
in his theory of Grace, the dread of the Barbarian peril had perhaps
something to do with it. This soul, so mild, so moderate, so tenderly
human, promulgated a pitiless doctrine which does not agree with his
character. But he reasoned, no doubt, that it was impossible to drive
home too hard the need of the Redemption and the divinity of the Redeemer
in front of these Arians, these Pelagians, these enemies of Christ, who
to-morrow perhaps would be masters of the Empire.
Therefore, Augustin continued to write, and discuss, and disprove. There
came a time when he had to think of fighting otherwise than with the pen.
His life, the lives of his flock, were threatened. He had to see to the
bodily defence of his country and city. The fact was, that some time
before the great drive of the Vandals, forerunners of them, in the shape
of hordes of African Barbarians, had begun to lay waste the provinces. The
Circoncelliones were not dead, nor their good friends the Donatists either.
These sectaries, encouraged by the widespread anarchy, came out of their
hiding-places and shewed themselves more insolent and aggressive than ever.
Possibly they hoped for some effective support against the Roman Church
from the Arian Vandals who were drawing near, or at least a recognition of
what they believed to be their rights. Day after day, bands of Barbarians
were landing from Spain. In the rear of these wandering troops of brigands
or irregular soldiers, the old enemies of the Roman peace and civilization,
the Nomads of the South, the Moors of the Atlas, the Kabylian mountaineers,
flung themselves upon country and town, pillaging, killing, and burning
everything that got in their way. All was laid desolate. "Countries but
lately prosperous and populated have been changed into solitudes," said
Augustin.
At last, in the spring of the year 429, the Vandals and the Alani, having
joined forces on the Spanish coast under their King, Genseric, crossed
the Straits of Gibraltar. It was devastation on a large scale this time.
An army of eighty thousand men set themselves methodically to plunder the
African provinces. Cherchell, which had already been sorely tried during
the revolt of Firmus the Moor, was captured again and burned. All the towns
and fortified places on the coast fell, one after another. Constantine
alone, from the height of its rock, kept the invaders at bay. To starve out
those who fled from towns and farms and took refuge in the fastnesses of
the Atlas, the Barbarians destroyed the harvest, burned the grain-houses,
and cut down the vines and fruit trees. And they set fire to the forests
which covered the slopes of the mountains, to force the refugees out of
their hiding-places.
This stupid ravaging was against the interest of the Vandals themselves,
because they were injuring the natural riches of Africa, the report of
which had brought them there. Africa was for them the land of plenty, where
people could drink more wine than they wanted and eat wheaten bread. It was
the country where life was comfortable, easy, and happy. It was the granary
of the Mediterranean, the great supply-store of Rome. But their senseless
craving for gold led them to ruin provinces, in which, nevertheless, they
counted upon settling. They behaved in Africa as they had behaved in Rome
under Alaric. By way of tearing gold out of the inhabitants, they tortured
them as they had tortured the wealthy Romans. They invented worse ones.
Children, before their parents' eyes, were sliced in two like animals in a
slaughterhouse. Or else their skulls were smashed against the pavements and
walls of houses.
The Church was believed to be very rich; and perhaps, as it had managed
to comprise in its domains the greatest part of the landed estates, it
was upon it chiefly that the Barbarians flung themselves. The priests and
bishops were tortured with unheard-of improvements of cruelty. They were
dragged in the rear of the army like slaves, so that heavy ransoms might
be extracted from the faithful in exchange for their pastors. They were
obliged to carry the baggage like the camels and mules, and when they gave
out the Barbarians prodded them with lances. Many sank down beside the
road and never rose more. But it is certain that fanaticism added to the
covetousness and ferocity of the Vandals. These Arians bore a special
grudge against Catholicism, which was, besides, in their eyes, the religion
of the Roman domination. This is why they made their chief attacks on
basilicas, convents, hospitals, and all the property of the Church. And
throughout the country public worship was stopped.
In Hippo, these atrocities were known before the Barbarians arrived. The
people must have awaited them and prepared to receive them with gloomy
resignation. Africa had not been tranquil for a century. After the risings
of Firmus and Gildo, came the lootings of the southern Nomads and the
Berber mountaineers. And it was not so long since the Circoncelliones were
keeping people constantly on the alert. But this time everybody felt that
the great ruin was at hand. They were stunned by the news that some town
or fortified place had been captured by the Vandals, or that some farm or
villa in the neighbourhood was on fire.
Amid the general dismay, Augustin did his best to keep calm. He, indeed,
saw beyond the material destruction, and at every new rumour of massacre
or burning he would repeat to his clerics and people the words of the Wise
Man:
"Doth the firm of heart grieve to see fall the stones and beams, and death
seize the children of men? "
They accused him of being callous. They did not understand him. While all
about him mourned the present misfortunes, he was already lamenting over
the evil to come, and this clear-sightedness pained him more than the shock
of the daily horrors committed by the Barbarians. His disciple Possidius,
the Bishop of Guelma, who was with him in these sad days, naively applied
to him the saying out of _Ecclesiastes_: "In much wisdom is much grief. "
Augustin did really suffer more than others, because he thought more
profoundly on the disaster. He foresaw that Africa was going to be lost to
the Empire, and consequently to the Church. They were bound together in his
mind. What was there to do against brutal strength? All the eloquence and
all the charity in the world would be as nothing against that unchained
elemental mass of Vandals. It was as impossible to convert the Barbarians
as it had been to convert the Donatists. Force was the only resource
against force.
Then in despair the man of God turned once more to Cæsar. The monk appealed
to the soldier. He charged Boniface, Count of Africa, to save Rome and the
Church.
This Boniface, a rather ambiguous personage, was a fine type of the
swashbuckler and official of the Lower-Empire. Thracian by origin, he
joined the trickery of the Oriental to all the vices of the Barbarian. He
was strong, clever in all bodily exercises like the soldiers of those days,
overflowing with vigour and health, and even brave at times. In addition,
he was fond of wine and women, and ate and drank like a true pagan. He
was married twice, and after his second marriage he kept in the sight and
knowledge of everybody a harem of concubines. He was sent, first of all,
to Africa as a Tribune--that is to say, as Commissioner of the Imperial
Government, probably to carry out the decrees of Honorius against the
Donatists; and ere long he was made commander of the military forces of the
province, with the title of Count.
In reality, while seeming to protect the country, he set himself to plunder
it, as the tradition was among the Roman officials. His _officium_, still
more grasping than himself, persuaded him to deeds which the Bishop of
Hippo, who was, however, anxious to remain on the right side of him,
protested against by hints. Boniface was obliged to overlook much robbery
and pillage on the part of his subordinates so as to keep them faithful.
Moreover, he himself stole. He was bound to close his eyes to the
depredations of others, that his own might be winked at. Once become the
accomplice of this band of robbers, he had no longer the authority to
control them.
How did Augustin ever believe in the goodwill and good faith of this
adventurer full of coarse passions, so far as to put his final hopes in
him? Augustin knew men very well; he could detect low and hypocritical
natures at a distance. How came it that he was taken in by Boniface?
Well, Augustin wanted his support, first of all, when he came as Imperial
Commissioner to Carthage to bring the Donatists into line. Generally, we
see only the good points of people who do us good turns. Besides, in order
to propitiate the bishop, and the devout Court at Ravenna, the Tribune
advertised his great zeal in favour of Catholicism. His first wife, a very
pious woman whom he seems to have loved much, encouraged him in this.
When she died, he was so overcome by despair that he took refuge in the
extremest practices of religion--and in this, perhaps, he was quite
sincere. It is also possible that he was becoming discredited at Ravenna,
where they must have known about his oppressions and suspected his
ambitious intrigues. Anyhow, whether he was really disgusted with the
world, or whether he deemed it prudent to throw a little oblivion over
himself just then, he spoke on all hands of resigning his post and living
in retreat like a monk. It was just at this moment that Augustin and
Alypius begged him not to desert the African army.
They met the Commander-in-Chief at Thubunæ, in Southern Numidia, where,
no doubt, he was reducing the Nomads. We must remark once more Augustin's
energy in travelling, to the very eve of his death. It was a long and
dangerous road from Hippo to Thubunæ. Before making up his mind to so much
fatigue, the old bishop must have judged the situation to be very serious.
At Thubunæ, was Boniface playing a game, or was he, indeed, so crushed by
his grief that the world had become unbearable and he pondered genuine
thoughts of changing his way of life? What is sure is, that he gave the
two prelates the most edifying talk. When they heard the Count of Africa
speaking with unction of the cloister and of his desire to retire there,
they were a little astonished at so much piety in a soldier. Besides,
these excellent resolutions were most inconvenient for their plans. They
remonstrated with him that it was quite possible to save one's soul in
the army, and quoted the example of David, the warrior king. They ended
by telling him all the expectations they founded upon his resource and
firmness. They begged him to protect the churches and convents against
fresh attacks of the Donatists, and especially against the Barbarians of
Africa. These were at this moment breaking down all the old defence lines
and laying waste the territories of the Empire.
Boniface allowed himself to be easily convinced--promised whatever he was
asked. But he never budged. From now on, his conduct becomes most singular.
He is in command of all the military strength of the province, and he takes
no steps to suppress the African looters. It would seem as if he only
thought of filling the coffers of himself and his friends. The country was
so systematically scoured by them that, as Augustin said, there was nothing
more left to take.
This inactivity lent colour to the rumours of treason. Nor is it impossible
that he had cherished a plan from the beginning of his command to cut out
an independent principality for himself in Africa. Was this the reason that
he dealt softly with the native tribes, so as to make certain of their help
in case of a conflict with the Imperial army? However that may be, his
behaviour was not frank. Some years later, he landed on the Spanish coast
to war against the Vandals under the command of the Prefect Castinus, and
there he married a Barbarian princess who was by religion an Arian. It
is true that the new Countess of Africa became a convert to Catholicism.
But her first child was baptized by Arian priests, who rebaptized, at the
same time, the Catholic slaves of Boniface's household. This marriage
with a Vandal, these concessions to Arianism, gave immense scandal to the
orthodox. Rumours of treason began to float about again.
No doubt Boniface took great advantage of his fidelity to the Empress
Placidia. But he was standing between the all-powerful Barbarians and the
undermined Empire. He wanted to remain on good terms with both, and then,
when the hour came, to go over to the stronger. This double-faced diplomacy
caused his downfall. His rival Aëtius accused him of high treason before
Placidia. The Court of Ravenna declared him an enemy of the Empire, and an
army was sent against him. Boniface did not hesitate; he went into open
rebellion against Rome.
Augustin was thunderstruck by his desertion. But what way was there to make
this violent man listen to reason, who had at least the appearances of
right on his side, since there was a chance they had slandered him to the
Empress, and who thought it quite natural to take vengeance on his enemies?
His recent successes had still more intoxicated him. He had just defeated
the two generals who had been sent to reduce him, and he was accordingly
master of the situation in Africa. What was he going to do? The worst
resolutions were to be feared from this conqueror, all smarting, and hungry
for revenge. . . . Nevertheless, Augustin resolved to write to him. His letter
is a masterpiece of tact, of prudence, and also of Christian and episcopal
firmness.
It would have been dangerous to declare to this triumphant rebel: "You are
in the wrong. Your duty is to submit to the Emperor, your master. " Boniface
was quite capable of answering: "What are you interfering for? Politics are
no business of yours. Look after your Church! " This is why Augustin very
cleverly speaks to him from beginning to end of his letter simply as a
bishop, eager for the salvation of a very dear son in Jesus Christ. And so,
by keeping strictly to his office of spiritual director, he gained his end
more surely and entirely; and, as a doctor of souls, he ventured to remind
Boniface of certain truths which he would never have dared to mention as
counsellor.
According to Augustin, the disgrace of the Count, and the evils which
this event had brought on Africa, came principally from his attachment to
worldly benefits. It was the ambition and covetousness of himself and his
followers which had done all the harm. Let him free himself from perishable
things, let him prevent the thefts and plundering of those under him.
Let him, who some time ago wished to live in perfect celibacy, now keep
at least to his wife and no other. Finally, let him remember his sworn
allegiance. Augustin did not mean to go into the quarrel between Boniface
and Placidia, and he gave no opinion as to the grievances of either. He
confined himself to saying to the general in rebellion: "If you have
received so many benefits from the Roman Empire, do not render evil for
good. If, on the other hand, you have received evil, do not render evil for
evil. "
It is clear that the Bishop of Hippo could scarcely have given any other
advice to the Count of Africa. To play the part of political counsellor
in the very entangled state of affairs was extremely risky. How was it
possible to exhort a victorious general to lay down his arms before
the conquered? And yet, in estimating the situation from the Christian
standpoint alone, Augustin had found a way to say everything essential, all
that could profitably be said at the moment.
How did Boniface take a letter which was, in the circumstances, so
courageous? What we know is that he did not alter his plans. It would
indeed have been very difficult for him to withdraw and yield; and more
than ever since a new army under Sigisvultus had been sent against him in
all haste. A real fatality compelled him to remain in revolt against Rome.
Did he believe he was ruined, as has been stated, or else, through his
family connections--let us remember that his wife was a Barbarian--had he
been for a long time plotting with Genseric to divide Africa? He has been
accused of that. What comes out is, that as soon as he heard of the arrival
of Sigisvultus and the new expeditionary force, he called in the Vandals to
his aid. This was the great invasion of 429.
Ere long, the Barbarians entered Numidia. The borderlands about Hippo were
threatened. Stricken with terror, the inhabitants in a mass fled before the
enemy, leaving the towns empty. Those who were caught in them rushed into
the churches, imploring the bishops and priests to help them. Or else,
giving up all hope of life, they cried out to be baptized, confessed,
did penance in public. The Vandals, as we have seen, aimed specially at
the clergy; they believed that the Catholic priests were the soul of the
resistance. Should not these priests, then, in the very interest of the
Church, save themselves for quieter times, and escape the persecution by
flight? Many sheltered themselves behind the words of Christ: "When they
persecute you in this city, flee ye into another. "
But Augustin strongly condemned the cowardliness of the deserters. In a
letter addressed to his fellow-bishop, Honoratus, and intended to be read
by all the clergy in Africa, he declares that bishops and priests should
not abandon their churches and dioceses, but stay at their post till the
end--till death and till martyrdom--to fulfil the duties of their ministry.
If the faithful were able to withdraw into a safe place, their pastors
might accompany them; if not, they should die in the midst of them. Thus
they would have at least the consolation of lending aid to the dying in
their last moments, and especially of preventing the apostasies which
readily took place under the shock of the terror. For Augustin, who foresaw
the future, the essential thing was that later, when the Vandal wave had
swept away, Catholicism might flourish again in Africa. To this end, the
Catholics must be made to remain in the country, and the greatest possible
number be strengthened in their faith. Otherwise, the work of three
centuries would have to be done all over again.
We must admire this courage and clear-mindedness in an old man of
seventy-five, who was being continually harassed by the complaints and
lamentations of a crowd of demoralized fugitives. The position became more
and more critical. The siege lines were drawing closer.
But in the midst of
all this dread, Augustin was given a gleam of hope: Boniface made his peace
with the Empire. Henceforward, his army, turning against the Barbarians,
might protect Hippo and perhaps save Africa.
Had Augustin a hand in this reconciliation? There is not the least doubt
that he desired it most earnestly. In a letter to Count Darius, the
special envoy sent from Ravenna to treat with the rebel general, he warmly
congratulates the Imperial plenipotentiary on his mission of peace. "You
are sent," he said to him, "to stop the shedding of blood. Therefore
rejoice, illustrious and very dear son in Jesus Christ, rejoice in this
great and real blessing, and rejoice upon it in the Lord, Who has made you
what you are, and entrusted to you a task so beautiful and important. May
God seal the good work He has done for us through you! " . . . And Darius
answered: "May you be spared to pray such prayers for the Empire and the
Roman State a long time yet, my Father. "
But the Empire was lost in Africa. If the reconciliation of the rebellious
Count had given some illusions to Augustin, they did not last long.
Boniface, having failed in his endeavours to negotiate the retreat of the
Vandals, was defeated by Genseric, and obliged to fall back into Hippo with
an army of mercenary Goths. Thus it came about that Barbarians held against
other Barbarians one of the last Roman citadels in Africa. From the end of
May, 430, Hippo was blockaded on the land side and on the side of the sea.
In great tribulation, Augustin resigned himself to this supreme
humiliation, and to all the horrors which would have to be endured if the
city were captured. As a Christian, he left all to the will of God, and
he would repeat to those about him the words of the Psalm: "Righteous art
Thou, O Lord, and upright are Thy judgments. " A number of fugitive priests,
and among them Possidius, Bishop of Guelma, had taken refuge in the
episcopal residence. One day, when he lost heart, Augustin, who was at
table with them, said:
"In front of all these disasters, I ask God to deliver this city from the
siege, or, if that be not His decree, to give His servants the necessary
strength to do His will, or at least to take me from this world and receive
me into His bosom. "
But it is more than probable that discouragement of that kind was
only momentary with him, and that in his sermons, as well as in his
conversations with Boniface, he did his utmost to stimulate the courage of
the people and the general. His correspondence includes a series of letters
written about this time to the Count of Africa, which manifest here and
there a very warlike spirit. These letters are most certainly apocryphal.
Yet they do reveal something of what must have been the sentiments just
then of the people of Hippo and of Augustin himself. One of these letters
emphatically congratulates Boniface upon an advantage gained over the
Barbarians.
"Your Excellency knows, I believe, that I am stretched upon my bed, and
that I long for my last day to come. I am overjoyed at your victory. I urge
you to save the Roman city. Rule your soldiers like a good Count. Do not
trust too much to your own strength. Put your glory in Him Who gives
courage, and you will never fear any enemy. Farewell! "
The words do not matter much. Whatever may have been Augustin's last
farewell to the defender of Hippo, it was no doubt couched in language not
unlike this. In any case, posterity has wished to believe that the dying
bishop maintained to the end his unyielding demeanour face to face with the
Barbarians. It would be a misuse of words to represent him as a patriot
in the present sense of the term. It is no less true that this African,
this Christian, was an admirable servant of Rome. Until his death he kept
his respect for it, because in his eyes the Empire meant order, peace,
civilization, the unity of faith in the unity of rule.
IV
SAINT AUGUSTIN
In the third month of the siege, he fell ill. He had a fever--no doubt an
infectious fever. The country people, the wounded soldiers who had taken
refuge in Hippo after the rout of Boniface, must have brought in the germs
of disease. It was, moreover, the end of August, the season of epidemics,
of damp heats and oppressive evenings, the time of the year most dangerous
and trying for sick people.
All at once, Augustin took to his bed. But even there, upon the bed in
which he was going to die, he was not left in quiet. People came to ask his
prayers for some possessed by devils. The old bishop was touched; he wept
and asked God to give him this grace, and the devils went out of those poor
crazy men. This cure, as may well be thought, made a great noise in the
city. A man brought him another one sick to be healed. Augustin, being most
weary, said to the man:
"My son, you see the state I am in. If I had any power over illnesses, I
should begin by curing myself. "
But the man had no idea of being put off: he had had a dream. A mysterious
voice had said to him, "Go and see Augustin: he will put his hands on the
sick person, who will rise up cured. " And, in fact, he did. I think these
are the only miracles the saint made in his life. But what matters that,
when the continual miracle of his charity and his apostolate is considered?
Soon the bishop's illness grew worse. Eventually, he succeeded in
persuading them not to disturb him any more, and that they would let him
prepare for death in silence and recollection. During the ten days that
he still lingered, nobody entered his cell save the physicians, and the
servants who brought him a little food. He availed himself of the quiet to
repent of his faults. For he was used to say to his clergy that "even after
baptism, Christians--nay, priests, however holy they might be, ought never
go out of life without having made a general confession. " And the better
to rouse his contrition, he had desired them to copy out on leaves the
Penitential Psalms, and to put these leaves on the wall of his room. He
read them continually from his pillow.
Here, then, he is alone with himself and God. A solemn moment for the great
old man!
He called up his past life, and what struck him most, and saddened him, was
the foundering of all his human hopes. The enemies of the Church, whom he
had battled with almost without ceasing for forty years, and had reason to
believe conquered--all these enemies were raising their heads: Donatists,
Arians, Barbarians. With the Barbarians' help, the Arians were going to be
the masters of Africa. The churches, reformed at the price of such long
efforts, would be once more destroyed. And see now! the authority which
might have supported them, which he had perhaps too much relied upon--well,
the Empire was sinking too. It was the end of order, of substantial peace,
of that minimum of safety which is indispensable for all spiritual effort.
From one end to the other of the Western world, Barbarism triumphed.
Sometimes, amid these sad thoughts of the dying man, the clangour of
clarions blared out--there was a call to arms on the ramparts. And these
musics came to him in his half-delirious state very mournfully, like the
trumpets proclaiming the Judgment Day. Yes, it might well be feared that
the Day of Wrath was here! Was it really the end of the world, or only the
end of a world? . . . Truly, there were then enough horrors and calamities to
make people think of the morrow with dismay. Many of the signs predicted
by Scripture dazed the imagination: desolations, wars, persecutions of the
Church, increased with terrific steadiness and cruelty. Yet all the signs
foretold were not there. How many times already had humanity been deceived
in its fear and its hope! In reality, though all seemed to shew that the
end of time was drawing nigh, no one could tell the day nor the hour of
the Judgment. Hence, men should watch always, according to the words of
Christ. . . . But if this trial of Barbarian war was to pass like the others,
how woeful it was while it endured! How hard for Augustin, above all, who
saw nearly the whole of his work thrown down.
One thought at least consoled him, that since his conversion, for forty
years and more, he had done all he was able--he had worked for Christ
even beyond his strength. He said to himself that he left behind him the
fruit of a huge labour, a whole body of doctrine and apology which would
safeguard against error whatever was left of his flock and of the African
Church. He himself had founded a Church which might serve as an example,
his dear Church of Hippo, that he had done his best to fashion after the
divine plan. And he had also founded convents, and a library full of books,
which had become still larger recently through the generosity of Count
Darius. He had lessoned his clergy who, once the disasters were past, would
scatter the good seed of Truth. Books, monasteries, priests, a sure and
solid nourishment for the mind, shelters and guides for souls--there is
what he bequeathed to the workers of the future. And with a little joy
mingling with his sorrow, he read on the corner of the wall where his bed
was, this verse of the Psalm: _Exibit homo ad opus suum et operationem suam
usque ad vesperum_--"Man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until
the evening. " He, too, had worked until evening.
If the earthly reward seemed to slip from him now, if all was sinking
around him, if his episcopal city was beleaguered, if he himself, although
still a strong man--"he had the use of all his limbs," says Possidius;
"a keen ear and perfect sight"--if he himself was dying too soon, it was
doubtless in expiation for the sins of his youth. At this remembrance of
his disorders, the tears fell over his face. . . . And yet, however wild had
been his conduct at that time, he could descry in it the sure marks of his
vocation. He recalled the despair and tears of his mother, but also his
enthusiasm when he read the _Hortensius_; his disgust for the world and
all things when he lost his friend. In the old man he recognized the new.
And he said to himself: "Nay! but that was myself. I have not changed. I
have only found myself. I have only changed my ways. In my youth, in the
strongest time of my mistakes, I had already risen to turn to Thee, my
God! "
His worst foolishness had been the desire to understand all things. He had
failed in humility of mind. Then God had given him the grace to submit his
intelligence to the faith. He had believed, and then he had understood, as
well as he could, as much as he could. In the beginning, he acknowledged
very plainly that he did not understand. And then faith had thrown open
the roads of understanding. He had splendidly employed his reason, within
the limits laid down against mortal weakness. Had that not been the proud
desire of his youth? To understand! What greater destiny?
To love also. After he had freed himself from carnal passions, he had much
employed his heart. He thought of all the charity he had poured out upon
his people and the Church, upon all he had loved in God--upon all he had
done, upon all the consequence of his labour, inspired and strengthened by
the divine love. . . . Yes, to love--all was in that! Let the Barbarians come!
Had not Christ said: "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the
world"? So long as there shall be two men gathered together for love of
Him, the world will not be entirely lost, the Church and civilization will
be saved. The religion of Christ is a leaven of action, understanding,
sacrifice, and charity. If the world be not at this hour already condemned,
if the Day of Judgment be still far off, it is from this religion that
shall arise the new influences of the future. . . .
And so Augustin forgot his sufferings and his human disappointments in
the thought that, in spite of all, the Church is eternal. The City of God
gathered in the wreckage of the earthly city: "The Goth cannot capture what
Christ protects"--_Non tollit Gothus quod custodit Christus_. And as his
sufferings increased, he turned all his thoughts on this unending City,
"where we rest, where we see, where we love," where we find again all the
beloved ones who have gone away. All--he called them all in this supreme
moment: Monnica, Adeodatus, and her who had nearly lost herself for him,
and all those he had held dear. . . .
On the fifth day of the calends of September, Augustin, the bishop,
was very low. They were praying for him in the churches at Hippo, and
especially in the Basilica of Peace, where he had preached and worked for
others so long. Possidius of Guelma was in the bishop's room, and the
priests and monks. They sent up their prayers with those of the dying man.
And no doubt they sang for the last time before him one of those liturgical
chants which long ago at Milan had touched him even to tears, and now,
since the siege, in the panic caused by the Barbarians, they dared not sing
any more. Augustin, guarding himself even now against the too poignant
sweetness of the melody, attended only to the sense of the words. And he
said:
"My soul thirsts after the living God. When shall I appear before His
face? "
Or again:
"He Who is Life has come down into this world. He has suffered our death,
and He has caused it to die by the fullness of His life. . . . Life has come
down to you--and will you not ascend towards Him and live? . . . "
He was passing into Life and into Glory. He was going very quietly, amid
the chanting of hymns and the murmur of prayers. . . . Little by little his
eyes were veiled, the lines of his face became rigid. His lips moved no
more. Possidius, the faithful disciple, bent over him. Like a patriarch of
the Scriptures, Augustin of Thagaste "slept with his fathers. ". . .
* * * * *
And now, whatever may be the worth of this book, which has been planned
and carried out in a spirit of veneration and love for the saint, for the
great heart and the great intellect that Augustin was, for this unique type
of the Christian, the most perfect and the most admirable perhaps that
has ever been seen--the author can only repeat in all humility what was
said fifteen hundred years ago by the Bishop of Guelma, Augustin's first
biographer:
"I do desire of the charity of those into whose hands this work shall fall,
to join with me in thanksgiving and blessing to Our Lord, Who has inspired
me to make known this life to those present and those absent, and has given
me the strength to do it. Pray for me and with me, that I may try here
below to follow in the steps of this peerless man, whom, by God's goodness,
I have had the happiness of living with for such a long time. . . . "
THE END
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1.
plan he was never able to realize. All that, at first sight, astonishes
us. We ask ourselves, "What else had he been doing up to this time in his
treatises and letters and sermons, in all that sea of words and writings
which his enemies threw up at him, if he was not studying and explaining
the Holy Scriptures? " The fact is, that in most of these writings and
sermons he elucidates the truth only in part, or else he is confuting
heresiarchs. What he wanted to do was to study the truth for its own sake,
without having to think of and be hindered by the exposure of errors; and
above all, to seize it in all its breadth and all its depths, to have
done with this blighting and irritating eristic, and to reflect in a vast
_Mirror_ the whole and purest light of the sacred dogmas.
He never found the time for it. He had to limit himself to a handbook
of practical morals, published under this title before his death, and
now lost. Once more the heresiarchs prevented him from leading a life of
speculation. During his last years, amid the cruellest anxieties, he had
to battle with the enemies of Grace and the enemies of the Trinity, with
Arius and Pelagius. Pelagius had found an able disciple in a young Italian
bishop, Julian of Eclanum, who was a formidable opponent to the aged
Augustin. As for Arianism, which had seemed extinguished in the West, here
it was given a new life by the Barbarian invasion.
It was a grave moment for Catholicism, as it was for the Empire. The Goths,
the Alani, and the Vandals, after having laid waste Gaul and Spain, were
taking measures to pass over into Africa. Should they renew the attempts
of Alaric and Radagaisus against Italy, they would soon be masters of the
entire Occident. Now these Barbarians were Arians. Supposing (and it seemed
more and more likely) that Africa and Italy were vanquished after Gaul and
Spain, then it was all over with Western Catholicism. For the invaders
carried their religion in their baggage, and forced it on the conquered.
Augustin, who had cherished the hope of equalling the earthly kingdom
of Christ to that of the Cæsars, was going to see the ruin of both.
His terrified imagination exaggerated still more the only too real and
threatening peril. He must have lived hours of agony, expecting a disaster.
If only the truth might be saved, might swim in this sea of errors which
spread like a flood in the wake of the Barbarian onflow! It was from this
wish, no doubt, that sprang the tireless persistence which the old bishop
put into a last battle with heresy. If he selected Pelagius specially to
fall upon with fury, if he forced his principles to their last consequences
in his theory of Grace, the dread of the Barbarian peril had perhaps
something to do with it. This soul, so mild, so moderate, so tenderly
human, promulgated a pitiless doctrine which does not agree with his
character. But he reasoned, no doubt, that it was impossible to drive
home too hard the need of the Redemption and the divinity of the Redeemer
in front of these Arians, these Pelagians, these enemies of Christ, who
to-morrow perhaps would be masters of the Empire.
Therefore, Augustin continued to write, and discuss, and disprove. There
came a time when he had to think of fighting otherwise than with the pen.
His life, the lives of his flock, were threatened. He had to see to the
bodily defence of his country and city. The fact was, that some time
before the great drive of the Vandals, forerunners of them, in the shape
of hordes of African Barbarians, had begun to lay waste the provinces. The
Circoncelliones were not dead, nor their good friends the Donatists either.
These sectaries, encouraged by the widespread anarchy, came out of their
hiding-places and shewed themselves more insolent and aggressive than ever.
Possibly they hoped for some effective support against the Roman Church
from the Arian Vandals who were drawing near, or at least a recognition of
what they believed to be their rights. Day after day, bands of Barbarians
were landing from Spain. In the rear of these wandering troops of brigands
or irregular soldiers, the old enemies of the Roman peace and civilization,
the Nomads of the South, the Moors of the Atlas, the Kabylian mountaineers,
flung themselves upon country and town, pillaging, killing, and burning
everything that got in their way. All was laid desolate. "Countries but
lately prosperous and populated have been changed into solitudes," said
Augustin.
At last, in the spring of the year 429, the Vandals and the Alani, having
joined forces on the Spanish coast under their King, Genseric, crossed
the Straits of Gibraltar. It was devastation on a large scale this time.
An army of eighty thousand men set themselves methodically to plunder the
African provinces. Cherchell, which had already been sorely tried during
the revolt of Firmus the Moor, was captured again and burned. All the towns
and fortified places on the coast fell, one after another. Constantine
alone, from the height of its rock, kept the invaders at bay. To starve out
those who fled from towns and farms and took refuge in the fastnesses of
the Atlas, the Barbarians destroyed the harvest, burned the grain-houses,
and cut down the vines and fruit trees. And they set fire to the forests
which covered the slopes of the mountains, to force the refugees out of
their hiding-places.
This stupid ravaging was against the interest of the Vandals themselves,
because they were injuring the natural riches of Africa, the report of
which had brought them there. Africa was for them the land of plenty, where
people could drink more wine than they wanted and eat wheaten bread. It was
the country where life was comfortable, easy, and happy. It was the granary
of the Mediterranean, the great supply-store of Rome. But their senseless
craving for gold led them to ruin provinces, in which, nevertheless, they
counted upon settling. They behaved in Africa as they had behaved in Rome
under Alaric. By way of tearing gold out of the inhabitants, they tortured
them as they had tortured the wealthy Romans. They invented worse ones.
Children, before their parents' eyes, were sliced in two like animals in a
slaughterhouse. Or else their skulls were smashed against the pavements and
walls of houses.
The Church was believed to be very rich; and perhaps, as it had managed
to comprise in its domains the greatest part of the landed estates, it
was upon it chiefly that the Barbarians flung themselves. The priests and
bishops were tortured with unheard-of improvements of cruelty. They were
dragged in the rear of the army like slaves, so that heavy ransoms might
be extracted from the faithful in exchange for their pastors. They were
obliged to carry the baggage like the camels and mules, and when they gave
out the Barbarians prodded them with lances. Many sank down beside the
road and never rose more. But it is certain that fanaticism added to the
covetousness and ferocity of the Vandals. These Arians bore a special
grudge against Catholicism, which was, besides, in their eyes, the religion
of the Roman domination. This is why they made their chief attacks on
basilicas, convents, hospitals, and all the property of the Church. And
throughout the country public worship was stopped.
In Hippo, these atrocities were known before the Barbarians arrived. The
people must have awaited them and prepared to receive them with gloomy
resignation. Africa had not been tranquil for a century. After the risings
of Firmus and Gildo, came the lootings of the southern Nomads and the
Berber mountaineers. And it was not so long since the Circoncelliones were
keeping people constantly on the alert. But this time everybody felt that
the great ruin was at hand. They were stunned by the news that some town
or fortified place had been captured by the Vandals, or that some farm or
villa in the neighbourhood was on fire.
Amid the general dismay, Augustin did his best to keep calm. He, indeed,
saw beyond the material destruction, and at every new rumour of massacre
or burning he would repeat to his clerics and people the words of the Wise
Man:
"Doth the firm of heart grieve to see fall the stones and beams, and death
seize the children of men? "
They accused him of being callous. They did not understand him. While all
about him mourned the present misfortunes, he was already lamenting over
the evil to come, and this clear-sightedness pained him more than the shock
of the daily horrors committed by the Barbarians. His disciple Possidius,
the Bishop of Guelma, who was with him in these sad days, naively applied
to him the saying out of _Ecclesiastes_: "In much wisdom is much grief. "
Augustin did really suffer more than others, because he thought more
profoundly on the disaster. He foresaw that Africa was going to be lost to
the Empire, and consequently to the Church. They were bound together in his
mind. What was there to do against brutal strength? All the eloquence and
all the charity in the world would be as nothing against that unchained
elemental mass of Vandals. It was as impossible to convert the Barbarians
as it had been to convert the Donatists. Force was the only resource
against force.
Then in despair the man of God turned once more to Cæsar. The monk appealed
to the soldier. He charged Boniface, Count of Africa, to save Rome and the
Church.
This Boniface, a rather ambiguous personage, was a fine type of the
swashbuckler and official of the Lower-Empire. Thracian by origin, he
joined the trickery of the Oriental to all the vices of the Barbarian. He
was strong, clever in all bodily exercises like the soldiers of those days,
overflowing with vigour and health, and even brave at times. In addition,
he was fond of wine and women, and ate and drank like a true pagan. He
was married twice, and after his second marriage he kept in the sight and
knowledge of everybody a harem of concubines. He was sent, first of all,
to Africa as a Tribune--that is to say, as Commissioner of the Imperial
Government, probably to carry out the decrees of Honorius against the
Donatists; and ere long he was made commander of the military forces of the
province, with the title of Count.
In reality, while seeming to protect the country, he set himself to plunder
it, as the tradition was among the Roman officials. His _officium_, still
more grasping than himself, persuaded him to deeds which the Bishop of
Hippo, who was, however, anxious to remain on the right side of him,
protested against by hints. Boniface was obliged to overlook much robbery
and pillage on the part of his subordinates so as to keep them faithful.
Moreover, he himself stole. He was bound to close his eyes to the
depredations of others, that his own might be winked at. Once become the
accomplice of this band of robbers, he had no longer the authority to
control them.
How did Augustin ever believe in the goodwill and good faith of this
adventurer full of coarse passions, so far as to put his final hopes in
him? Augustin knew men very well; he could detect low and hypocritical
natures at a distance. How came it that he was taken in by Boniface?
Well, Augustin wanted his support, first of all, when he came as Imperial
Commissioner to Carthage to bring the Donatists into line. Generally, we
see only the good points of people who do us good turns. Besides, in order
to propitiate the bishop, and the devout Court at Ravenna, the Tribune
advertised his great zeal in favour of Catholicism. His first wife, a very
pious woman whom he seems to have loved much, encouraged him in this.
When she died, he was so overcome by despair that he took refuge in the
extremest practices of religion--and in this, perhaps, he was quite
sincere. It is also possible that he was becoming discredited at Ravenna,
where they must have known about his oppressions and suspected his
ambitious intrigues. Anyhow, whether he was really disgusted with the
world, or whether he deemed it prudent to throw a little oblivion over
himself just then, he spoke on all hands of resigning his post and living
in retreat like a monk. It was just at this moment that Augustin and
Alypius begged him not to desert the African army.
They met the Commander-in-Chief at Thubunæ, in Southern Numidia, where,
no doubt, he was reducing the Nomads. We must remark once more Augustin's
energy in travelling, to the very eve of his death. It was a long and
dangerous road from Hippo to Thubunæ. Before making up his mind to so much
fatigue, the old bishop must have judged the situation to be very serious.
At Thubunæ, was Boniface playing a game, or was he, indeed, so crushed by
his grief that the world had become unbearable and he pondered genuine
thoughts of changing his way of life? What is sure is, that he gave the
two prelates the most edifying talk. When they heard the Count of Africa
speaking with unction of the cloister and of his desire to retire there,
they were a little astonished at so much piety in a soldier. Besides,
these excellent resolutions were most inconvenient for their plans. They
remonstrated with him that it was quite possible to save one's soul in
the army, and quoted the example of David, the warrior king. They ended
by telling him all the expectations they founded upon his resource and
firmness. They begged him to protect the churches and convents against
fresh attacks of the Donatists, and especially against the Barbarians of
Africa. These were at this moment breaking down all the old defence lines
and laying waste the territories of the Empire.
Boniface allowed himself to be easily convinced--promised whatever he was
asked. But he never budged. From now on, his conduct becomes most singular.
He is in command of all the military strength of the province, and he takes
no steps to suppress the African looters. It would seem as if he only
thought of filling the coffers of himself and his friends. The country was
so systematically scoured by them that, as Augustin said, there was nothing
more left to take.
This inactivity lent colour to the rumours of treason. Nor is it impossible
that he had cherished a plan from the beginning of his command to cut out
an independent principality for himself in Africa. Was this the reason that
he dealt softly with the native tribes, so as to make certain of their help
in case of a conflict with the Imperial army? However that may be, his
behaviour was not frank. Some years later, he landed on the Spanish coast
to war against the Vandals under the command of the Prefect Castinus, and
there he married a Barbarian princess who was by religion an Arian. It
is true that the new Countess of Africa became a convert to Catholicism.
But her first child was baptized by Arian priests, who rebaptized, at the
same time, the Catholic slaves of Boniface's household. This marriage
with a Vandal, these concessions to Arianism, gave immense scandal to the
orthodox. Rumours of treason began to float about again.
No doubt Boniface took great advantage of his fidelity to the Empress
Placidia. But he was standing between the all-powerful Barbarians and the
undermined Empire. He wanted to remain on good terms with both, and then,
when the hour came, to go over to the stronger. This double-faced diplomacy
caused his downfall. His rival Aëtius accused him of high treason before
Placidia. The Court of Ravenna declared him an enemy of the Empire, and an
army was sent against him. Boniface did not hesitate; he went into open
rebellion against Rome.
Augustin was thunderstruck by his desertion. But what way was there to make
this violent man listen to reason, who had at least the appearances of
right on his side, since there was a chance they had slandered him to the
Empress, and who thought it quite natural to take vengeance on his enemies?
His recent successes had still more intoxicated him. He had just defeated
the two generals who had been sent to reduce him, and he was accordingly
master of the situation in Africa. What was he going to do? The worst
resolutions were to be feared from this conqueror, all smarting, and hungry
for revenge. . . . Nevertheless, Augustin resolved to write to him. His letter
is a masterpiece of tact, of prudence, and also of Christian and episcopal
firmness.
It would have been dangerous to declare to this triumphant rebel: "You are
in the wrong. Your duty is to submit to the Emperor, your master. " Boniface
was quite capable of answering: "What are you interfering for? Politics are
no business of yours. Look after your Church! " This is why Augustin very
cleverly speaks to him from beginning to end of his letter simply as a
bishop, eager for the salvation of a very dear son in Jesus Christ. And so,
by keeping strictly to his office of spiritual director, he gained his end
more surely and entirely; and, as a doctor of souls, he ventured to remind
Boniface of certain truths which he would never have dared to mention as
counsellor.
According to Augustin, the disgrace of the Count, and the evils which
this event had brought on Africa, came principally from his attachment to
worldly benefits. It was the ambition and covetousness of himself and his
followers which had done all the harm. Let him free himself from perishable
things, let him prevent the thefts and plundering of those under him.
Let him, who some time ago wished to live in perfect celibacy, now keep
at least to his wife and no other. Finally, let him remember his sworn
allegiance. Augustin did not mean to go into the quarrel between Boniface
and Placidia, and he gave no opinion as to the grievances of either. He
confined himself to saying to the general in rebellion: "If you have
received so many benefits from the Roman Empire, do not render evil for
good. If, on the other hand, you have received evil, do not render evil for
evil. "
It is clear that the Bishop of Hippo could scarcely have given any other
advice to the Count of Africa. To play the part of political counsellor
in the very entangled state of affairs was extremely risky. How was it
possible to exhort a victorious general to lay down his arms before
the conquered? And yet, in estimating the situation from the Christian
standpoint alone, Augustin had found a way to say everything essential, all
that could profitably be said at the moment.
How did Boniface take a letter which was, in the circumstances, so
courageous? What we know is that he did not alter his plans. It would
indeed have been very difficult for him to withdraw and yield; and more
than ever since a new army under Sigisvultus had been sent against him in
all haste. A real fatality compelled him to remain in revolt against Rome.
Did he believe he was ruined, as has been stated, or else, through his
family connections--let us remember that his wife was a Barbarian--had he
been for a long time plotting with Genseric to divide Africa? He has been
accused of that. What comes out is, that as soon as he heard of the arrival
of Sigisvultus and the new expeditionary force, he called in the Vandals to
his aid. This was the great invasion of 429.
Ere long, the Barbarians entered Numidia. The borderlands about Hippo were
threatened. Stricken with terror, the inhabitants in a mass fled before the
enemy, leaving the towns empty. Those who were caught in them rushed into
the churches, imploring the bishops and priests to help them. Or else,
giving up all hope of life, they cried out to be baptized, confessed,
did penance in public. The Vandals, as we have seen, aimed specially at
the clergy; they believed that the Catholic priests were the soul of the
resistance. Should not these priests, then, in the very interest of the
Church, save themselves for quieter times, and escape the persecution by
flight? Many sheltered themselves behind the words of Christ: "When they
persecute you in this city, flee ye into another. "
But Augustin strongly condemned the cowardliness of the deserters. In a
letter addressed to his fellow-bishop, Honoratus, and intended to be read
by all the clergy in Africa, he declares that bishops and priests should
not abandon their churches and dioceses, but stay at their post till the
end--till death and till martyrdom--to fulfil the duties of their ministry.
If the faithful were able to withdraw into a safe place, their pastors
might accompany them; if not, they should die in the midst of them. Thus
they would have at least the consolation of lending aid to the dying in
their last moments, and especially of preventing the apostasies which
readily took place under the shock of the terror. For Augustin, who foresaw
the future, the essential thing was that later, when the Vandal wave had
swept away, Catholicism might flourish again in Africa. To this end, the
Catholics must be made to remain in the country, and the greatest possible
number be strengthened in their faith. Otherwise, the work of three
centuries would have to be done all over again.
We must admire this courage and clear-mindedness in an old man of
seventy-five, who was being continually harassed by the complaints and
lamentations of a crowd of demoralized fugitives. The position became more
and more critical. The siege lines were drawing closer.
But in the midst of
all this dread, Augustin was given a gleam of hope: Boniface made his peace
with the Empire. Henceforward, his army, turning against the Barbarians,
might protect Hippo and perhaps save Africa.
Had Augustin a hand in this reconciliation? There is not the least doubt
that he desired it most earnestly. In a letter to Count Darius, the
special envoy sent from Ravenna to treat with the rebel general, he warmly
congratulates the Imperial plenipotentiary on his mission of peace. "You
are sent," he said to him, "to stop the shedding of blood. Therefore
rejoice, illustrious and very dear son in Jesus Christ, rejoice in this
great and real blessing, and rejoice upon it in the Lord, Who has made you
what you are, and entrusted to you a task so beautiful and important. May
God seal the good work He has done for us through you! " . . . And Darius
answered: "May you be spared to pray such prayers for the Empire and the
Roman State a long time yet, my Father. "
But the Empire was lost in Africa. If the reconciliation of the rebellious
Count had given some illusions to Augustin, they did not last long.
Boniface, having failed in his endeavours to negotiate the retreat of the
Vandals, was defeated by Genseric, and obliged to fall back into Hippo with
an army of mercenary Goths. Thus it came about that Barbarians held against
other Barbarians one of the last Roman citadels in Africa. From the end of
May, 430, Hippo was blockaded on the land side and on the side of the sea.
In great tribulation, Augustin resigned himself to this supreme
humiliation, and to all the horrors which would have to be endured if the
city were captured. As a Christian, he left all to the will of God, and
he would repeat to those about him the words of the Psalm: "Righteous art
Thou, O Lord, and upright are Thy judgments. " A number of fugitive priests,
and among them Possidius, Bishop of Guelma, had taken refuge in the
episcopal residence. One day, when he lost heart, Augustin, who was at
table with them, said:
"In front of all these disasters, I ask God to deliver this city from the
siege, or, if that be not His decree, to give His servants the necessary
strength to do His will, or at least to take me from this world and receive
me into His bosom. "
But it is more than probable that discouragement of that kind was
only momentary with him, and that in his sermons, as well as in his
conversations with Boniface, he did his utmost to stimulate the courage of
the people and the general. His correspondence includes a series of letters
written about this time to the Count of Africa, which manifest here and
there a very warlike spirit. These letters are most certainly apocryphal.
Yet they do reveal something of what must have been the sentiments just
then of the people of Hippo and of Augustin himself. One of these letters
emphatically congratulates Boniface upon an advantage gained over the
Barbarians.
"Your Excellency knows, I believe, that I am stretched upon my bed, and
that I long for my last day to come. I am overjoyed at your victory. I urge
you to save the Roman city. Rule your soldiers like a good Count. Do not
trust too much to your own strength. Put your glory in Him Who gives
courage, and you will never fear any enemy. Farewell! "
The words do not matter much. Whatever may have been Augustin's last
farewell to the defender of Hippo, it was no doubt couched in language not
unlike this. In any case, posterity has wished to believe that the dying
bishop maintained to the end his unyielding demeanour face to face with the
Barbarians. It would be a misuse of words to represent him as a patriot
in the present sense of the term. It is no less true that this African,
this Christian, was an admirable servant of Rome. Until his death he kept
his respect for it, because in his eyes the Empire meant order, peace,
civilization, the unity of faith in the unity of rule.
IV
SAINT AUGUSTIN
In the third month of the siege, he fell ill. He had a fever--no doubt an
infectious fever. The country people, the wounded soldiers who had taken
refuge in Hippo after the rout of Boniface, must have brought in the germs
of disease. It was, moreover, the end of August, the season of epidemics,
of damp heats and oppressive evenings, the time of the year most dangerous
and trying for sick people.
All at once, Augustin took to his bed. But even there, upon the bed in
which he was going to die, he was not left in quiet. People came to ask his
prayers for some possessed by devils. The old bishop was touched; he wept
and asked God to give him this grace, and the devils went out of those poor
crazy men. This cure, as may well be thought, made a great noise in the
city. A man brought him another one sick to be healed. Augustin, being most
weary, said to the man:
"My son, you see the state I am in. If I had any power over illnesses, I
should begin by curing myself. "
But the man had no idea of being put off: he had had a dream. A mysterious
voice had said to him, "Go and see Augustin: he will put his hands on the
sick person, who will rise up cured. " And, in fact, he did. I think these
are the only miracles the saint made in his life. But what matters that,
when the continual miracle of his charity and his apostolate is considered?
Soon the bishop's illness grew worse. Eventually, he succeeded in
persuading them not to disturb him any more, and that they would let him
prepare for death in silence and recollection. During the ten days that
he still lingered, nobody entered his cell save the physicians, and the
servants who brought him a little food. He availed himself of the quiet to
repent of his faults. For he was used to say to his clergy that "even after
baptism, Christians--nay, priests, however holy they might be, ought never
go out of life without having made a general confession. " And the better
to rouse his contrition, he had desired them to copy out on leaves the
Penitential Psalms, and to put these leaves on the wall of his room. He
read them continually from his pillow.
Here, then, he is alone with himself and God. A solemn moment for the great
old man!
He called up his past life, and what struck him most, and saddened him, was
the foundering of all his human hopes. The enemies of the Church, whom he
had battled with almost without ceasing for forty years, and had reason to
believe conquered--all these enemies were raising their heads: Donatists,
Arians, Barbarians. With the Barbarians' help, the Arians were going to be
the masters of Africa. The churches, reformed at the price of such long
efforts, would be once more destroyed. And see now! the authority which
might have supported them, which he had perhaps too much relied upon--well,
the Empire was sinking too. It was the end of order, of substantial peace,
of that minimum of safety which is indispensable for all spiritual effort.
From one end to the other of the Western world, Barbarism triumphed.
Sometimes, amid these sad thoughts of the dying man, the clangour of
clarions blared out--there was a call to arms on the ramparts. And these
musics came to him in his half-delirious state very mournfully, like the
trumpets proclaiming the Judgment Day. Yes, it might well be feared that
the Day of Wrath was here! Was it really the end of the world, or only the
end of a world? . . . Truly, there were then enough horrors and calamities to
make people think of the morrow with dismay. Many of the signs predicted
by Scripture dazed the imagination: desolations, wars, persecutions of the
Church, increased with terrific steadiness and cruelty. Yet all the signs
foretold were not there. How many times already had humanity been deceived
in its fear and its hope! In reality, though all seemed to shew that the
end of time was drawing nigh, no one could tell the day nor the hour of
the Judgment. Hence, men should watch always, according to the words of
Christ. . . . But if this trial of Barbarian war was to pass like the others,
how woeful it was while it endured! How hard for Augustin, above all, who
saw nearly the whole of his work thrown down.
One thought at least consoled him, that since his conversion, for forty
years and more, he had done all he was able--he had worked for Christ
even beyond his strength. He said to himself that he left behind him the
fruit of a huge labour, a whole body of doctrine and apology which would
safeguard against error whatever was left of his flock and of the African
Church. He himself had founded a Church which might serve as an example,
his dear Church of Hippo, that he had done his best to fashion after the
divine plan. And he had also founded convents, and a library full of books,
which had become still larger recently through the generosity of Count
Darius. He had lessoned his clergy who, once the disasters were past, would
scatter the good seed of Truth. Books, monasteries, priests, a sure and
solid nourishment for the mind, shelters and guides for souls--there is
what he bequeathed to the workers of the future. And with a little joy
mingling with his sorrow, he read on the corner of the wall where his bed
was, this verse of the Psalm: _Exibit homo ad opus suum et operationem suam
usque ad vesperum_--"Man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until
the evening. " He, too, had worked until evening.
If the earthly reward seemed to slip from him now, if all was sinking
around him, if his episcopal city was beleaguered, if he himself, although
still a strong man--"he had the use of all his limbs," says Possidius;
"a keen ear and perfect sight"--if he himself was dying too soon, it was
doubtless in expiation for the sins of his youth. At this remembrance of
his disorders, the tears fell over his face. . . . And yet, however wild had
been his conduct at that time, he could descry in it the sure marks of his
vocation. He recalled the despair and tears of his mother, but also his
enthusiasm when he read the _Hortensius_; his disgust for the world and
all things when he lost his friend. In the old man he recognized the new.
And he said to himself: "Nay! but that was myself. I have not changed. I
have only found myself. I have only changed my ways. In my youth, in the
strongest time of my mistakes, I had already risen to turn to Thee, my
God! "
His worst foolishness had been the desire to understand all things. He had
failed in humility of mind. Then God had given him the grace to submit his
intelligence to the faith. He had believed, and then he had understood, as
well as he could, as much as he could. In the beginning, he acknowledged
very plainly that he did not understand. And then faith had thrown open
the roads of understanding. He had splendidly employed his reason, within
the limits laid down against mortal weakness. Had that not been the proud
desire of his youth? To understand! What greater destiny?
To love also. After he had freed himself from carnal passions, he had much
employed his heart. He thought of all the charity he had poured out upon
his people and the Church, upon all he had loved in God--upon all he had
done, upon all the consequence of his labour, inspired and strengthened by
the divine love. . . . Yes, to love--all was in that! Let the Barbarians come!
Had not Christ said: "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the
world"? So long as there shall be two men gathered together for love of
Him, the world will not be entirely lost, the Church and civilization will
be saved. The religion of Christ is a leaven of action, understanding,
sacrifice, and charity. If the world be not at this hour already condemned,
if the Day of Judgment be still far off, it is from this religion that
shall arise the new influences of the future. . . .
And so Augustin forgot his sufferings and his human disappointments in
the thought that, in spite of all, the Church is eternal. The City of God
gathered in the wreckage of the earthly city: "The Goth cannot capture what
Christ protects"--_Non tollit Gothus quod custodit Christus_. And as his
sufferings increased, he turned all his thoughts on this unending City,
"where we rest, where we see, where we love," where we find again all the
beloved ones who have gone away. All--he called them all in this supreme
moment: Monnica, Adeodatus, and her who had nearly lost herself for him,
and all those he had held dear. . . .
On the fifth day of the calends of September, Augustin, the bishop,
was very low. They were praying for him in the churches at Hippo, and
especially in the Basilica of Peace, where he had preached and worked for
others so long. Possidius of Guelma was in the bishop's room, and the
priests and monks. They sent up their prayers with those of the dying man.
And no doubt they sang for the last time before him one of those liturgical
chants which long ago at Milan had touched him even to tears, and now,
since the siege, in the panic caused by the Barbarians, they dared not sing
any more. Augustin, guarding himself even now against the too poignant
sweetness of the melody, attended only to the sense of the words. And he
said:
"My soul thirsts after the living God. When shall I appear before His
face? "
Or again:
"He Who is Life has come down into this world. He has suffered our death,
and He has caused it to die by the fullness of His life. . . . Life has come
down to you--and will you not ascend towards Him and live? . . . "
He was passing into Life and into Glory. He was going very quietly, amid
the chanting of hymns and the murmur of prayers. . . . Little by little his
eyes were veiled, the lines of his face became rigid. His lips moved no
more. Possidius, the faithful disciple, bent over him. Like a patriarch of
the Scriptures, Augustin of Thagaste "slept with his fathers. ". . .
* * * * *
And now, whatever may be the worth of this book, which has been planned
and carried out in a spirit of veneration and love for the saint, for the
great heart and the great intellect that Augustin was, for this unique type
of the Christian, the most perfect and the most admirable perhaps that
has ever been seen--the author can only repeat in all humility what was
said fifteen hundred years ago by the Bishop of Guelma, Augustin's first
biographer:
"I do desire of the charity of those into whose hands this work shall fall,
to join with me in thanksgiving and blessing to Our Lord, Who has inspired
me to make known this life to those present and those absent, and has given
me the strength to do it. Pray for me and with me, that I may try here
below to follow in the steps of this peerless man, whom, by God's goodness,
I have had the happiness of living with for such a long time. . . . "
THE END
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