In old time the realm of England was greatly troubled with the Danes, so that in many kings’ days there could no peace be made, but continually war. And the Danes prevailed against England, and they brought it under their subjection, for their cruelty and tyranny was so great that, without sparing of anything, they burnt and destroyed.
But at the last it pleased Almighty God that this tyranny should cease, and sent of his grace unto this realm of England a peaceable king named Edgar, in whose birth angels sang that peace should be in his time, and so in his days was no war in England. S. Edward, king and martyr, his son, reigned not long after him, for his stepmother did do slay him in his young age, because her son Ethelred should reign, and S. Dunstan baptized Ethelred, and said because he defiled the fontstone that, he should live in great trouble, and so he did, for the Danes warred all his time. And this Ethelred wedded Earl Godwin’s daughter, on whom he gat Edmond Ironside. And after the death of that queen, he wedded the daughter of Richard, duke of Normandy, which hight Emma, by whom he had two sons, Alfred and Edward, which was a saint and confessor, of whom we purpose to speak. When king Ethelred was fallen in age, he made a parliament which of his two sons should be kings after him. And then by the provision of God it was concluded that Edward, which was not then born in his mother’s belly, should be king, and excluded Edmond Ironside and Alfred, which were the king’s older sons. And when the king had consented thereto, a general oath was made to perform the same in time coming. And after, when this child was born, all the land enjoyed in his birth, hoping to be greatly relieved by him. Yet always the cruelty of the Danes was so great, which the king so much doubted, that he sent the queen and his two sons Alfred and Edward, into Normandy, and took his oldest son Edmond with him to battle, to fight against the Danes. The sorrow was then great in England, for much people turned to the Danes against their own king, and without pity did burn and slay their own country with the Danes, among whom was slain Alphage, archbishop of Canterbury at Greenwich, and many other good men. And some bishops, priests, and men of religion, fled into secret places and deserts, where they devoutly prayed unto Almighty God for to have very peace in this land, but this war continued all the life of Ethelred, according to the prophecy of S. Dunstan.
And after Ethelred, reigned Edmond Ironside his son, in full great trouble, for in his days no man durst trust other, ne open his courage to his neighbour, for that time each man appeached other of treason, to the intent that he might have his good. And they that were not of power to overcome their neighbours, turned unto the Danes against their own neighbours, and so, by the help of the Danes, they fulfilled their cursed purpose, and so there was much extortion, and much people slain in divers places, in houses, fields and ways, that the people unnethe durst bury them. Also in that time was great tyranny, murder, oppressing of women, as wives, widows, and maidens against their wills. And in this persecution Englishmen were nigh destroyed, and great desolation was in holy church, for monasteries, churches, and houses of religion were burnt and destroyed, which caused many to flee into wilderness, among whom the good bishop of Winchester, Brightwold, fled into the abbey of Glastonbury, where he daily prayed unto Almighty God for peace of this realm of England.
Our blessed Lord, seeing his meekness, showed to him a vision by which he was greatly comforted. For in a night, as he was in his oratory, he fell in a sweet slumber, and saw the glorious apostle S. Peter with bright shining clothes appearing in a high place of dignity, and with him a seemly young man richly arrayed in clothing of a king, whom S. Peter did consecrate and anoint into a king, and commending his chastity greatly, and his clean living. And it was showed to this bishop many years tofore, that this Edward should reign in this land, and the bishop, being abashed of this vision, desired of S. Peter to know the vision thereof, to whom S. Peter said the estate of this realm, and told that the fury and woodness of the Danes should cease soon after, and said that all this punishment was for the sins of the people, and God should purvey for a peaceable king, which shall finish all the woodness of his enemies the Danes. In whose time shall be plenty of peace, both to the church and to the land, and great abundance of corn and fruit. And this realm shall be prosperous in all things, and the people shall be of such conditions that other lands shall both love and dread them. The king’s name shall be Edward, which shall rule all manner things to the pleasing of God, and shall end his life in the love of our Lord graciously. And when this holy bishop awoke, he kneeled down and made his prayers with shedding of tears, and though that peace was not yet reformed, nevertheless he thanked Almighty God that he was certain that, by God’s grace, he should see it in his days, wherefore he went about and preached to the people for to do penance, and our Lord should show to us mercy, and give to us peace and all things plenteous. And in this war was the king slain by treason, and he was buried at Glastonbury. Then both his sons were brought to King Canute the Dane, to do with them what he would, and when he saw them he might not for pity slay them, but sent them over the sea to be slain there, so that he might reign in England peaceably when the rightful blood was destroyed. Notwithstanding, they were preserved and kept alive, and were conveyed to the emperor of Rome, the which kept them till S. Edward was made king of England, and then he married the oldest of them to a cousin of his, because of the love that they had to King Edward, which was uncle to them. Then had King Canute the rule of England by strong hand, all law and good rule set aside. For in his days was full much trouble and robbery with other great oppressions and importable charges among the commonalty. For he dreaded no man except the two sons of the king, that were then with the emperor, wherefor his council would that he should wed the mother of them named Emma, to make the more alliance between them. And soon after, Alfred came to England for to speak with his mother, and anon as he was come over the sea into this land Earl Godwin came and welcomed him, and anon after slew him by treason, ere he came to the presence of his mother. For whose death S. Edward made great sorrow. And while this holy child S. Edward was in Normandy, he used a full good life, haunting ofttimes holy church, and loved and conversed many times with the company of holy religious men, and especially among holy monks. And used to pray and say in this manner: O good Lord, I have none help but thee only, my friends be gone from me, and they be become mine adversaries. My father is dead and my brethren be slain, my mother is wedded to my most enemy, and I am left alone, and daily they seek the means to slay me, but to thee, Lord, I am left poor. I beseech thee, Lord, to help me that am a fatherless child, for thou sometime helpedst marvellously Edwin and Oswald, which were exiled and ordained for to die. Thou defendedst them not only from death, but also thou, Lord, restoredst them again to their own kingdoms. O good Lord, I beseech thee and pray thee to keep me safe, and bring me into the kingdom of my father. Thou shalt be my God, and S. Peter the apostle my patron, the relics of whom, by the grace of God, I purpose to visit and to honour in the same place where they now rest, if thou, Lord, send to me life, health, opportunity and space.
And when King Canute had reigned in England twenty years, having two sons by the said Emma, that is to wit, Harold and Hardicanute, he died, and when his first son had reigned four years, he exiled his own mother, and died soon after. And after him reigned his brother a little time, and died also, as our Lord had ordained, and then was England delivered from the grievous tribute and thraldom of the Danes. And then the lords and the commons of England remembered the oath that they made in the parliament, which sware that Edward, which was then in his mother’s womb, should be their king, and anon sent into Normandy for this holy child Edward. And the lords and the commons received him with great gladness, and then the archbishop of Canterbury and the archbishop of York, with other bishops, did consecrate him, anointed and crowned him king of England. O good Lord! what joy and gladness was then in England. For when the old felicity of this land was almost despaired, then it was kindled again by the coming of this blessed king S. Edward. Then had the commons rest and peace, and the lords and gentlemen rest and honour, and then holy church received all her liberties again. Then was the sun lifted up, and the moon set in his order, that is to say, priests shined in wisdom and in holiness. The monasteries flourished in devotion by holy religion. The clerks gave light and prospered in their offices to the pleasure of God. The common people were content and were joyful in their degree, and in this king’s days there was no venom that might then corrupt the earth with pestilence, and in the sea none outrageous tempests, and the land plenteous of all manner of fruits; and in the clergy nothing inordinate; and among the common people was no grudging. And the renomee and fame of this holy king S. Edward sprang so marvellously about to other nations, in such wise that all christian kings desired to have peace with him. The king of France, which was nigh of his kin, made with him a general peace, so that it might be said of him as it was said of Solomon: All the kings of the earth desired to see his face, and to hear his wisdom; except only Denmark, which yet conspired against this realm of England. And what fell thereof, it shall be declared hereafter more openly, for this holy king Edward was ever full of meekness and of virtue, and never lifted up by vain glory, but ever he remembered the words of our Lord that saith: I have set thee prince of the people, but be not therefore lifted up in vain glory, but be thou among them as one of them.
He was among his household men equal and familiar, among priests meek and debonair, to his people amiable and cheerful, to wretches and needy men full of compassion and large of almsgiving. He was also much devout in the service of God, and diligent to repair and re-edify churches that were destroyed by the Danes. And in judgment full discreet, considering no man’s person, but only the weight of his cause, as well to the rich as to the poor, and he had riches enough, and his treasure seemed common to all poor men. His words were sad and discreet and meddled with mirth, speaking oft of Jesu Christ the second person in the Trinity, and of our blessed Lady his mother. And sometime he spake sharply, as he saw need, correcting trespassers, gentle and sweet to good men. He was never elate, ne enhanced in pride, ne dishonest by gluttony. He would not be compelled by wrath, ne incline for gift.
He despised riches, and was never sorry for loss of worldly goods and riches, ne the more glad for winning thereof, in such wise that all men marvelled of the sadness of him. And about the king were divers covetous men, which said to the king how his treasure wasted fast, and if the Danes came again he had not wherewith to defend him. Wherefore they counselled him to raise an aid among his commons, like as King Canute had done divers times. An aid was then except the danegeld, and they counselled to do in like wise. And he said: Nay, and he would not agree thereto, notwithstanding they daily cried upon him. And when he saw them so importunate and showed so great perils, then at the last he said to them to prove them, Let us see how ye will do. And when they heard that of his own mouth they were right glad, and sent out commissions for to gather it, and spared no country, but made them pay in the largest wise. And when this money was levied and brought in to the king’s treasury, then they brought the king thither for to see it. The king then standing afar from it, saw the devil in likeness of an ape, sitting upon the treasure, and said: What have ye done? and what money have ye brought to me? Forsooth, there shall not one penny be spent to my use, but I charge you for to deliver to each man his money again, but thereto they were much loth, and said that they might spend it in deeds of charity. Then the king said: God forbid that I should spend the goods of other men, for what alms should I make with the goods of poor commons and labourers? See ye not how the devil sitteth upon the heap of money, and maketh great joy that he hath taken us in his snare? Wherefore I charge you on pain of death that ye deliver this money again there as ye had it, every penny. Then they obeyed the king, and repaid it unto them of whom they had received it, and durst never after move the king to such matters, ne in none other like, so that all the days of S. Edward was neither task ne taillage levied among his commons, which was a great joy to the realm.
In a time the king was sick, lying in his bed, and there stood in his chamber a chest open, full of gold and silver, and a clerk came in, supposing the king had slept, and took out of it a certain sum of money, and went his way. And soon after he came again and would have taken more; then the king said: Forsooth, now thou art unwise to come again, for thou hadst sufficiently enough tofore, therefore beware, for if the treasurer come and find thee thou art like to die therefor, wherefore if thou love thy life flee fast away with that thou hast. And anon after came the treasurer and found how of the treasure was borne away a great part, and sought and enquired diligently for the thief that stole it. And the king seeing the great trouble and sorrow of the treasurer demanded him the cause of his heaviness. And when he had told it to the king, the king said to him: Sorrow no more, for peradventure he that hath it hath more need to it than we, and so the thief escaped and was not pursued.
After, when all things were quiet in the realm, the council of the land assembled for to treat for a marriage for the king, at which thing, when it was moved, he was greatly abashed, dreading to lose the treasure of his virginity, which was kept in a frail and brittle vessel; and what he should do or say he wist not. For, if he should obstinately deny it, he dreaded lest his vow of chastity should be openly known, and if he consented thereto he dreaded to lose his chastity, wherefore he commended himself only to God, saying these words: O good Lord, thou deliveredst sometime three children from the flame of fire in the chimney and furnace of the Chaldees, and, by the Lord, Joseph escaped with his chastity from the wife of Potiphar, she holding his mantle, and yet by thy mercy he escaped, and, good Lord, by thy virtue Susanna was delivered from the death to the which the old unchaste priests had damned her to; and by thy might, Lord, Judith escaped when she had slain Holofernes, and reserved her from defouling, and escaped without hurt; and above all other thou hast preserved thy blessed mother, most best and sweetest lady, she being both wife and virgin; then behold on me thy servant, and son of thine handmaid, that I am in great dread. I lift up my heart to thee, beseeching thee that art my Lord, and thy mother, my sweetest Lady, to help me now in this most need, that I may so receive the sacrament of wedlock that I fall not in peril of my chastity. And with this condition in his heart, he consented to matrimony.
Then was all the council right glad, and searched for a virgin that were according to his estate. And among all the virgins of the land Edith, daughter of Earl Godwin, was found most according to him by her virtuous conditions. And her father made great means to the king’s council for to accomplish this marriage, by which he might come in the king’s conceit. And by his wisdom, for his great might and power, he had his intent. And when the marriage was solemnised and accomplished by the holy sacrament, he and the queen vowed to live together chaste secretly, that no man knew it but God alone. There was between them a loving spousehood without bodily knowing of deed, chaste embracing without defloration of virginity. There was between them verily chaste love, without fleshly touching and knowing. Afterward, some of the realm grudged, saying he had taken a wife by compulsion against his will of an unkind lineage, and would not know his wife because he would not bring forth more tyrants. And thus none knew the very truth of his chaste life whilst he lived, but the very cleanness of his mind was sufficient witness of his chastity.
It happened on a Whitsunday, as the king was crowned at Westminster in his estate, and kneeling, made his prayers devoutly for the tranquillity and peace of his land before the altar of the blessed Trinity, at the elevation of the blessed sacrament he fell in a soft and demure laughing, so that the lords that were there present awaiting on him marvelled greatly, but durst say nothing to him till the service was done. Then one, that was hardier than another, demanded of him the cause of his laughing, and then he told to him how the Danes had assembled in great power of people against the realm of England, and were entering into their ships; and as the king of Denmark would have entered into the ship, suddenly his strength was taken from him, and so fell into the sea between two ships and was drowned, by whose death the people of Denmark, and also of England, were delivered from sin and peril. They, hearing this, marvelled greatly, and sent into Denmark to know the truth. And when the messengers returned, they reported that it was true as the king had said, and that the king of Denmark was drowned that same time that S. Edward laughed.
After this, the noble S. Edward remembered his vow and promise to visit S. Peter at Rome, which he made in Normandy, wherefore he let call his commons and his lords to a council tofore him, whereof he communed with them how and in what manner he might depart, and of the governance of the realm in his absence, what people should be convenient for to accompany him, and what money should suffice him and his meiny. And when the lords and commons heard this, they were full heavy and sorrowful that he should depart from them, and he seeing their heaviness comforted them, and said how that our Lord had sent to them peace, and by his good grace should continue the same in his absence. Yet, notwithstanding, the people required him to send unto the pope to be assoiled of his vow, or else delay it till another time. And the king, seeing the sorrow and lamentation of his people, which wept and wrung their hands, and as people amazed without a defender and keeper, comforted them and granted to abide still with them, and ordained certain bishops for to go to Rome and to ask of our holy father counsel, how he might be assoiled of this avow that he had made to visit S. Peter. And the archbishop of York, and bishop of Winchester, and two abbots, with divers clerks and laymen, went to Rome, and when they came to Rome, the pope had made that time a great congregation of clerks of divers great matters belonging to holy church, and when the pope wist of their coming, he was right glad and sent for them, and the pope bade them tell the cause of their coming. And anon, silence was made, and they exposed the cause of their coming, and recited the avow and the desire of King Edward, the peril of the realm, the trouble, the dread of the people, the breaking of the peace, the clamour of the poor commons, the jeopardy of the king in his absence, and the piteous destruction which the Danes had late made by their cruelty; and also declared the great devotion he had to visit the holy apostles Peter and Paul. Then the pope and the clergy marvelled greatly, and gave laud and praising unto Almighty God that he had sent so devout and virtuous a prince in the angle of the world to maintain by his wisdom the christian faith, and how dreadful he was to offend against the holy church. And when the pope understood how his people loved him, and how sorrowful they would be of his departing, he marvelled greatly, and thought verily that he was greatly beloved of God and was with him in all his works, for he saw in him the meekness of David, the chastity of Joseph, and the riches of Solomon, and yet he set nought thereby. Then the pope, considering the great perils that might ensue by his departing, dispensed with him, and assoiled him of his avow, of which he sent to him a bull under lead, and enjoined him in penance to give the goods that he should have spent in his pilgrimage, to deeds of charity, and to re-edify some church of S. Peter, and endow it with sufficient livelihood. And then the messengers received the pope’s blessing, and returned into England, and came unto the king at Westminster. And when the king understood how he was assoiled of his avow, and how they had sped, he was glad, and thanked Almighty God and our holy father the pope.
There was a holy man, a recluse in the diocese of Worcester, which knew nothing of the council assembled upon the governance of the land, ne of the avow of the king, ne of the message sent to Rome, to whom S. Peter appeared in a night, and said to him how King Edward had sent to Rome to be assoiled of the avow that he made when he was beyond the sea, and he hath great conscience because his council would not suffer him to accompany it in going in his proper person to Rome, wherefore thou shalt write to him in my name and give him knowledge that he is assoiled by mine authority from the bond of his avow, and how he shall have, in commandment of the pope for his penance, to give such goods as he hath ordained for his expenses, to poor men, and to make a new abbey in the honour of S. Peter, or to repair an old one, and to endow it sufficiently, and write to him that, by the same token that he chose me sometime to be his patron in Normandy, that he repair the abbey called Thorney in the west of the city of London, which sometime I hallowed myself. And let him set therein monks of good conversation, for from that place shall be a ladder stretching in to heaven, and angels descending and ascending, bearing up to heaven to our Lord the prayers of meek and devout men. And to him that ascendeth by that ladder, I shall open the gates of heaven, like as our Lord hath enjoined me by mine office, and I shall loose them that be bound, and receive them that be unbound. All this that thou hast herd of me, thou shalt write it, and send it to King Edward, which then was many a mile thence. And the messenger that came from this anker or recluse came to the presence of the king the same time that the bishops came from Rome. And when the king had received the letters that came from Rome with great reverence and read them, he thanked God that he was so clearly released of the bond of his avow. And then he commanded the letters of the recluse to be read. And when they were read, and he saw they were according to the letters that came from Rome, he humbly thanked God and S. Peter his patron, and incontinent disposed him to fulfil his penance, and began to repair the abbey that he was assigned to repair by the glorious apostle S. Peter, and gave largely alms to poor people, and franchised all England of the tribute that was used yearly to be paid to the Danes for evermore.
On a time when King Edward was at Westminster, there came to him a cripple, born in Ireland, which was named Giles Michell. And this cripple had no feet, but went upon his hands and knees, having in either hand a little stool to go with. His legs were both bent backward and cleaved to his thighs, and his toes grew fast to his buttocks. This cripple entered boldly into the king’s palace, and came to the king’s chamber door. And one Hulin, the king’s chamberlain, demanded him sharply what he did there. To whom the cripple said: Let me not, I pray you, for I must needs speak to the king, for I have been out of this land six times to visit the holy relics of the holy apostle S. Peter, to the intent to be healed, and S. Peter denied me not, but bade me go into England and let the king bear me on his back into the church of S. Peter, and then I shall be made perfectly whole. Which thing was told to the king by the same Hulin, and anon the king had pity on the poor man, and disdained not, but took him on his shoulders and bare him, whom the cripple beclipped with his foul and scabby hands and arms, and so, in the bearing, his sinews loosed and were reached out. And of kernels and botches of his face, and of scurvies, there ran great plenty of blood and matter on the king’s clothes, which was told to the king, and also that he was all whole, but the king took none heed thereto, but bare him to the high altar, and there he was set down on his feet, and was made perfectly whole to ride or go whither he would, but the king would in no wise have this miracle ascribed to him, but gave to him a reward and bade him to go to Rome and thank God and his holy apostle S. Peter.
In that time King Ethelbert, which reigned in Kent, and Sigbert in Middlesex, were converted to the faith of Christ by S. Austin. Which Ethelbert made in London, within the city, a noble and royal church in the honour of S. Paul, in which S. Austin ordained S. Mellitus to be bishop of that city. Which king was not satisfied with that good deed, but thought and also did do make another church in the west end of the city, which then was called Thorney, and now is named Westminster, which church he prayed Mellitus for to hailow in the honour of S. Peter, and the night before that he had purposed to hallow it, S. Peter appeared to a fisher in Thames, and bade him set him over from Stangate to Westminster, and he prayed the fisher to abide him there till he came again, and he would well reward him for his labour. And soon after the fisher saw S. Peter enter into the church with a great light, which light endured as long as he was in the church. And a certain space after, he returned to the fisher asking him if he had any meat to eat, and the fisher was so greatly abashed of the light that issued out of the church with him, that he durst not speak to him. To whom S. Peter said: Brother, dread thee not, I am a man as thou art; hast thou any fish? And he said: Nay, for I have awaited on you all this night while ye have been in the church. And then they entered into the boat, and S. Peter commanded him to cast out his net. And when he had so done, there came so great a multitude of great fishes into his net, that unnethe they might draw up the net for breaking. And when they were come to land S. Peter divided the fishes, and bade the fisher bear the greatest unto Mellitus, bishop of London, and deliver it to him, and tell to him that I have hallowed the church of Westminster this night, and say to him that he say mass therein to-morrow, and if he will not believe it, say to him, when he cometh he shall find there tokens sufficient, and I shall be patron of that church, and visit it ofttimes, and bear in the sight of Almighty God the prayers and devotions of true christian people that pray in that place, and take thou the remnant of the fish for thy labour. And this said, S. Peter vanished away. Then the fisher marvelled greatly of the sight that he had seen, and early by the morrow he went to the bishop Mellitus, of London, and delivered to him the fish that S. Peter had sent to him, and told to him, by order, like as S. Peter had given him charge, and as ye have heard tofore. But the bishop would not believe him till he came to Westminster and saw the tokens for to put him out of doubt. And when he had opened the church door he found a cross made of sand from that one side of the church unto that other, with a. b. c. Ietters of grewe, and he found also twelve crosses made on the walls in divers places of the church, and the ends of twelve candles almost burnt out, and also he saw the places that were anointed with holy oil, which were yet moist and appeared newly done. Then the bishop believed this thing verily, and said mass that same day in the church, and there preached to the people a glorious sermon, and declared the great miracle openly. Wherefore the people gave laud and praisings to God and to his glorious apostle S. Peter. And then S. Edward understood that this church was of old time hallowed by S. Peter, and how S. Peter had commanded him to repair the same church, as the letter of the recluse maketh mention. So then ever after he had full great devotion to the same place. And he did do cast down the old work, and did do build it up new, and endowed that monastery worshipfully with livelihood and jewels. And at that time pope Leo was dead and pope Nicholas was after him. And then the king, to give relation to him of his penance, enjoined by Leo his predecessor, to re-edify a monastery of the glorious apostle S. Peter, and sent Alfred, the archbishop of York, to Rome with other clerks to inform the pope that he had accomplished his penance, that is to wit, both distributed his goods to poor men, and also repaired a monastery of S. Peter, and how he had by revelation what place he should repair, praying him to ratify and confirm the same, which pope Leo had done tofore him. Then pope Nicholas, considering the great devotion and true intent of this christian king, S. Edward, confirmed the bull of absolution, and ratified the foundation and the statutes of the monastery, and gave thereto great and large privileges, that whosoever presumed to take away any movable or immovable goods, or would take any man by force or strength out of that church or of the precinct of the same, should be accursed by the authority of Peter and Paul to be damned with Judas, in hell everlastingly to lie in pain. Then the messengers returned again from Rome with letters of confirmation. And when the king saw the great benevolence of our holy father the pope, and his favour and gentleness, giving to him, by writing, more privileges and freedom than he desired, then he was full of gladness and joy, and thanked Almighty God of all his gifts.
On a time when the king was in the church of S. Peter at Westminster, and was disposed in great devotion, as his custom was, to hear mass, Earl Leofric kneeled behind the king and saw with his bodily eyes our Lord Jesu Christ between the priest’s hands, appearing in the likeness of a glorious child or beauteous person, which blessed the king with his right hand. And the king, which was greatly comforted with the sight, bowed down his head, and with great devotion and meekness received the blessing of our Lord. Then the earl arose to tell the king, supposing that the king had not seen it, but he knew the earl’s intent and bade him stand still, for that thou seest I see, and him I honour. And when mass was done they talked together of their vision, and they were marvellously refreshed with the gifts of the Holy Ghost, and might not well speak for joy and weeping. Then the king commanded Leofric that this vision should never be uttered ne openly known till the time that they should die. And when Leofric should depart hence, he told it in confession to his ghostly father, and made it to be written, and that writing was laid in a chest among other relics. And many years after, when they were both dead, the writing was found and read. And then the holiness of the king was known, and his meekness showed, which would not it should be showed by their life for vain glory.
There was a young woman given in marriage to a noble man, and not long after she had twain misfortunes. First she was barren, and also there arose under her cheek many foul botches and kernels full of corrupt humours, which engendered foul worms, and made her flesh to stink, so that she was abominable and hateful to her husband, and to all her friends. And when she could not be healed by no medicine, then she put all her hope and trust in Almighty God, and with many a bitter tear, both day and night besought and prayed him to deliver her from that reproof and disease, or else to take her out of this world. And when she had thus long continued in prayer, she was commanded by a voice in her sleep that she should go to the holy King Edward, and if he would wash her face with his hands, she should be all whole. And when she awoke she avowed to seek the king in his palace, and then she came thither, and made means that the king might have knowledge of her dream. And when the king understood it, he called her to him and said: If God will that I should wash thy face, I will not refuse it, and called after water, and with his own hands he washed her face, and wrung out the worms and all the foul blood out of her face, and bade her tarry there three or four days till the skin might cover again her visage, and thank thou God for thy deliverance. And when she was made perfectly whole, and her visage fair and beauteous, then she fell down at the king’s feet. and thanked him humbly of her deliverance, but he forbade her for to give any praising to him therefor, but bade her to give laud and praising to God therefor, for he is the doer, not I. Then she prayed the king that he would pray to God for her that she might have a child by her husband, for she had been long barren. And the king promised her so to do. And then she returned joyously home to her husband, and soon after conceived and had a child, whereof she thanked God that she was healed of both her diseases.
S. Paul writeth that the Holy Ghost giveth graces diversely; to some he giveth wisdom, to some conning, and to some grace to heal and to cure sick people. But this blessed king S. Edward had a special grace above others in giving sight to blind men. There was a blind man well known, which heard a voice in his sleep, that if he might have of the water that the king washed his hands in, and wash his eyes therewith, he should have his sight again. Then the next day after, this blind man went in to the king’s palace, and told his vision to the king’s chamberlain, and the chamberlain told it to the king. Then the king said that it might be well an illusion or a dream which is not always true, for it hath not been seen that foul water of a sinner’s hands should give sight to blind men. Then said the chamberlain that many times dreams have been found true, as the dreams of Joseph, Pharaoh, Daniel, and many others. Then the king in great humility went into the church on a solemn day with a basin of water, and commanded the blind man to be brought to him. And as the king washed the face of the blind man, his eyes were opened and he had his sight, and stood all abashed looking on the people, as he had newly come into this world. And then the people wept for joy to see the holiness of the king. And then he was demanded if he might see clearly, and he said: Yea, forsooth, and the king kneeled down before the altar saying this verse with great dread and meekness: Non nobis domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam, that is to say: Not to us, Lord, not to us, but unto thy name be given glory.
After this, the holiness and fame of S. Edward sprang about so that, a citizen of Lincoln, which had been blind three years, came to the king’s palace to have of the water that the king had washed his hands in, for he believed that it would heal him. And as he had gotten of that water by one of the king’s officers, he washed his face and eyes therewith, and anon he was restored to his sight and was perfectly made whole, and so joyfully returned home, magnifying God and S. Edward that he had his sight again.
In a time there were gathered together certain workman to hew down trees to the King’s palace at Bruham. And after their labour, they laid them down to sleep in the shadow, and a young man of that fellowship that hight Wilwin, when he should rise, he opened his eyes and might not see. He washed his face and rubbed his eyes, but he might nothing see, wherefore he was full of heaviness. Then one of his fellows led him home to his house and he abode so blind eighteen years. And at the last, a worshipful woman came to visit and comfort him. And when she knew how he was made blind, she bade him be of good cheer, and said if he would visit sixty churches with good devotion, and then to have the water that the king had washed his hands in and wash his eyes withal, he should have his sight again. Then he was greatly comforted, and gat him a guide, and went and visited three score churches with great devotion, and came to the king’s palace and cried for help, and they that heard him bade him cease of his crying, but for all that he cried more and more. And when the king understood it, he called him to him and said: Why should I not set my hands to help this poor man, though I be unworthy, if it please God to relieve him and to give to him his sight? And because he would not be found disobedient to God ne presumptuous, he took water and washed his eyes full meekly, and anon he was restored to his sight, and saw as clearly as ever he did.
Also there was a fair miracle of three blind men, and the fourth had but one eye, which came to the king’s palace, and then came one of the king’s servants, which had pity on them, and he gat of the water that the king had washed his hands in when he had healed that other blind man, and he brought this water to the gate, and told these four men how the king a little before had healed a blind man with the same water, and said to them, if they would wash their eyes with good devotion, they might be healed by God’s grace with the same water. And then they kneeled down with great devotion and prayed this man to wash their eyes therewith. And then he made a cross with the water upon each of their eyes, and besought Almighty God to open their eyes, and they all there received their perfect sight, and returned in giving laud and praising God of their sight given to them by the merits of S. Edward.
As the king on a time sat at the table with the queen and her father Earl Godwin, and saw how Harold and Tosti, the two sons of Godwin, played tofore the king, but at the last the game turned into earnest, and they began to fight. And Harold took his brother by the hair, and threw him to the earth and fell upon him in great anger, and would have strangled him but if he had been let. Then the king demanded Godwin if he understood anything thereby, and he said: Nay, forsooth. Then the king said: Ye shall see when they come to man’s age that, one of them shall slay that other if he can. And Harold, which is the stronger, shall put that other out of his land. Then shall his brother Tosti come again with the king of Norway, and hold a battle against Harold his brother in England, in the which both the king of Norway and Tosti shall be slain, and all their host save a few that shall escape. And the same Harold shall give himself to penance for the death of his brother and so escape, or else he shall be put out of his kingdom and die wretchedly. The king was many time moved and displeased with Godwin, for he misused the king’s power, and attempted the king in many things that were unlawful. And in all that he might, he laboured to bring out of conceit, the king’s cousins and friends that came to him out of Normandy, to the intent that he might have all the rule about the king as well secretly as outward. And the king, understanding his falseness, said but little. But in a time, as the king sat at his dinner with divers lords and gentles about him, one of his servants was almost overthrown as he smote that one foot with that other, and yet the sadder foot saved all, and kept him on his feet; which thing gave occasion to the king to talk to his lords, and the two feet were likened to two brethren, that if one were overcharged that other should help and succour him. Then said the king: So might my brother have been a help to me, and a supporter in time of need, if he had not been betrayed of Godwin. Then Godwin, hearing these words of the king’s mouth, was sore afeard, and said: Sire, ye deem that I should betray your brother? I pray God that this morsel of bread may choke me if I consented to his death. Then the king blessed the bread, and bade him eat it, and the morsel abode in his throat and choked him, so that his breath was stopped, and so died wretchedly. Then the king said: Draw the traitor out of my presence, for now his treason and falsehood appeareth.
On Easter-day when he had received our Lord, and was set at his dinner, in the middle of it, when all was silence, he fell into a smiling, and after into a sadness, wherefore all that were there marvelled greatly, but none durst ask of him what he meant. But after dinner duke Harold followed him into his chamber with a bishop and an abbot that were of his privy council, and demanded of him the cause of that thing. Then the king said: When I remembered at my dinner the great benefits of worship and dignity of meats, of drinks, of servants, of array, and of all riches and royalty that I stood in at that time, and I referred all that worship to Almighty God, as my custom is, then our Lord opened mine eyes, and I saw the seven sleepers lying in a cave in the Mount Celion beside the city of Ephesus, in the same form and manner as though I had been by them. And I smiled when I saw them turn them from the right side to the left side, but when I understood what is signified by the said turning, I had no cause to laugh but rather to mourn. The turning signifieth that the prophecy be fulfilled that saith: Surget gens contra gentem, that is to say, people shall arise against people, and a kingdom against another. They have lain many years upon their right side, and they shall lie yet on their left side seventy years, in which times will be great battles, great pestilence, and great murrain, great earthquaves, great hunger and great dearth through all the world. Of which saying of the king they greatly marvelled, and anon they sent to the emperor to know if there were any such city or hill in his land in which such seven men should sleep. Then the emperor, marvelling, sent to the same hill and there found the cave and the seven martyrs sleeping as they had been dead, lying on the left side every one. And then the emperor was greatly abashed of that sight, and commended greatly the holiness of S. Edward, the king of England, which had the spirit of prophecy. For after his death began great insurrections through all the world. For the paynims destroyed a great part of Syria, and threw down both monasteries and churches, and what by pestilence and stroke of sword, streets, fields, and towns lay full of dead men. The prince of Greece was slain, the emperor of Rome was slain, the king of England and the king of France were slain, and all the other realms of the world were greatly troubled with divers diseases.
When the blessed King Edward had lived many years, and was fallen into great age, it happed he came riding by a church in Essex called Havering which was at that time in hallowing and should be dedicated in the honour of our Lord and S. John the Evangelist; wherefore the king for great devotion lighted down and tarried while the church was in hallowing. And in the time of procession, a fair old man came to the king and demanded of him alms in the worship of God and S. John the Evangelist. Then the king found nothing ready to give, ne his almoner was not present, but he took off the ring from his finger and gave it to the poor man, whom the poor man thanked and departed. And within certain years after, two pilgrims of England went into the holy land to visit holy places there, and as they had lost their way and were gone from their fellowship, and the night approached, and they sorrowed greatly as they that wist not whither to go, and dreaded sore to be perished among wild beasts; at the last they saw a fair company of men arrayed in white clothing, with two lights borne afore them, and behind them there came a fair ancient man with white hair for age. Then these pilgrims thought to follow the light and drew nigh. Then the old man asked them what they were, and of what region, and they answered that they were pilgrims of England, and had lost their fellowship and way also. Then this old man comforted them goodly, and brought them into a fair city where was a fair cenacle honestly arrayed with all manner of dainties, and when they had well refreshed them and rested there all night, on the morn this fair old man went with them, and brought them in the right way again. And he was glad to hear them talk of the welfare and holiness of their king S. Edward. And when he should depart from them, then he told them what he was, and said: I am John the Evangelist, and say ye unto Edward your king that I greet him right well, by the token that he gave to me this ring with his own hands at the hallowing of my church, which ring ye shall deliver to him again. And say ye to him that he dispose his goods, for within six months he shall be in the joy of heaven with me, where he shall have his reward for his chastity and for his good living. And dread ye not, for ye shall speed right well in your journey, and ye shall come home in short time safe and sound. And when he had delivered to them the ring he departed from them suddenly. And soon after they came home and did their message to the king, and delivered to him the ring, and said that S. John Evangelist sent it to him.
And as soon as he heard that name he was full of joy, and for gladness let fall tears from his eyes, giving laud and thanksgiving to Almighty God, and to S. John his avowry that he would vouchsafe to let him have knowledge of his departing out of this world. Also he had another token of S. John, and that was that the two pilgrims should die tofore him, which thing was proved true, for they lived not long after. And at the feast of Christmas the king was sick, and on the day of the Innocents he heard mass in the new church of Westminster, which he had re-edified, and then he, giving thankings unto Almighty God, returned into his chamber sore sick, there abiding the mercy of our Lord. And all the lords, gentles, and commons were in great heaviness when they understood that the king might not live, remembering what wealth and prosperity the land had been in during his days, and what jeopardy it was like to stand in after his decease. Then all things were committed to the queen whom he loved specially, and she full diligently ministered to him all things necessary. And when he was so feeble by sickness that his natural heat was almost gone, he lay nigh two days in a trance, as a man that had been ravished, and when he came to himself again they that were about him marvelled greatly, for they weened verily that he should no more have spoken. Notwithstanding, after, he spake with a noble spirit these words: O thou merciful Lord God, that art infinite Almighty, in whose power all things be put, which changest realms and empires, if those things be true that thou hast showed to me, so grant me space and strength to declare them to my people, that if peradventure they give them to penance, they may have grace and forgiveness. Then Almighty God gave to him a new strength that passeth all man’s reason, and that might not be without miracle, for before that time he spake so soft that for feebleness he might not well be heard, and at that time he spake with a whole breast, these words following: When I was young and dwelled in Normandy, I loved well the fellowship of good men, for he that spake most religiously and goodly, with him was I most conversant. And among all others there were twain to whom I drew much for their honest conversation, and for the holiness of their life, sweetness of their manners and their comfortable words, whom I saw translated into heaven; for many years gone they died, and now they have appeared to me by the sufferance of God and have showed to me the state of my people, and what sins reign among them, and what vengeance shall be taken on them for their sins. Priests have offended, for they minister the holy sacraments with unclean thoughts and polluted hands, and as an hired man and not as a very shepherd, defend not their sheep ne feed them. And as for princes and gentles, they be found false and untrue, and fellows to fiends, thieves, and robbers of the country, which have no dread of God ne honour him. And true law is a burden to them, and had in despite, and cruelness much used. And the prelates keep not righteousness, they correct not their subjects, ne teach ne inform them as they should do. And therefore our Lord hath now drawn out his sword of vengeance to smite his people. This punishment shall begin within this year both by sword and wasting this realm piteously. And then I began to sigh and mourn for the trouble that was coming to my people, and said: If they would be turned and do penance, shall not they have forgiveness and God shall bless them again? And it was answered to me: The hearts of the people be so indurate and so blinded, and their ears so stopped, that they will not hear of no correction, ne they be not moved ne provoked by no benefits that our Lord giveth them. Then I asked if there were any remedy that might attemper the wrath of our Lord. To whom it was answered in these words: A green tree cut from his stock shall be divided from his proper root the space of three furlongs, and without man’s hand shall turn again to his old root, and take again his sap and flourisheth and bringeth forth fruit, and when this is done there may come remedy. And when this was said they were suddenly gone out of my sight.
There was about the king that time, the queen, duke Harold her brother, Robert, keeper of the palace, and Stigand, which had defiled his father’s bed. For whiles Robert, the archbishop of Canterbury lived, the said Stigand put him down and came in by simony, wherefore he was suspended by the pope. And afterward God took vengeance upon him, so that his belly brake and his bowels fell out, and so he died wretchedly. This Stigand gave no credence to the king’s words, but ascribed it to his age, and to the feebleness of the king, and made it but a fantasy, but others that were better advised, wept and sorrowed and wrung their hands, and sent to our holy father the pope, giving him information of the same vision. And our holy father wrote epistles to England exhorting the people to do penance, but his writing profited not. But when king Harold had broken the oath that he had made to duke William, therefor he was slain in battle, then they knew well that the prophecy af S. Edward was come. For then the liberty of England made an end, and then came in bondship and thraldom. That time England was all changed, and I understand S. Dunstan prophesied the same trouble coming, and after a certain time he promised comfort also. Wherefore this foresaid vision may be conveniently expounded as here followeth. The tree signifieth the realm of England, whose greatness and fairness betokeneth riches plenteous, and honour of England, of whom all worship proceedeth which worship hath proceeded of the true blood of the land, and of the true lineage which descended from Alfred, which our holy father the pope crowned and anointed king, as for the first king of the true line of England, unto this holy king Edward, by succession. The tree is cut down from the stock when the realm is divided and translated from one seed or lineage to another. The space of three furlongs is the time of three kings, that is to say Harold, William Conqueror, and William his son. The coming again of the tree to the stock without man’s help was when king Henry the first came into the realm, not by man’s strength but by the very true love of his commons. He took his sap and his very strength when he wedded Maud the daughter of the niece of S. Edward, joining together the seed of England and of Normandy, and by the tree flourished, whom Maud the empress sprang of their seed, and it brought forth fruit when of her came Henry the second, and thus these two people were joined together. If this exposition displease any man, let him expound it better, or else let him abide a time till it be fulfilled, so that the prophecy of king Edward accord to the prophecy of S. Dunstan.
This holy king S. Edward, knowing that his hour drew nigh, spake to them that stood weeping about him and in comforting them said: Forsooth if ye loved me ye would pray that I should pass from this world to the father of heaven, there to receive the joy which is promised to all true christian men. Put ye away your weeping and speed forth my journey with prayers, with holy psalms and with almsdeeds. For though mine enemy the fiend may not overcome me in my faith, yet there is none found so perfect but he will assay and tempt to let or to fear him. And then he commended the queen to her brother in commending her virtues unto his lords, and declared to them their pure chastity. For she was to him in open places as his wife, and in secret places as his sister. And he commanded also that her dowry should be made sure to her, and they that came with him out of Normandy should be put to their choice, whether they should abide still in England and to be endowed with livelihood after their degree, or else to return again into Normandy with a sufficient reward. And he chose his place for his sepulture in the church of S. Peter, which he had new builded, and said he should not long abide in this world. And when he beheld the queen and saw her weep and sigh among, he said to her ofttimes: My daughter, weep not, for I shall not die, but I shall live, and shall depart from the land of death, and believe to see the goodness of God in the land of life. And then he set his mind all in God, and gave himself wholly to the faith of the church, in the hope and promises of Christ under the sacraments of the church. And among these words of praising, he yielded up his spirit unto God, in the year of our Lord one thousand and sixty-six, when he had reigned in this land twenty-three years and six months and twenty-seven days, the fourth day of January. And as his cousins and his lovers stood about this holy body when the spirit was passed, they saw a marvellous beauty, and a heavenly sight in his face. And when they looked on his naked body, they saw it shine with a marvellous brightness for the clearness of his virginity. And then they wrapped the holy body in palls and buried it with great reverence and worship, and largely alms were given for him. And all the lords, spiritual and temporal, were present at the burying of him, thanking God of the great benefits that he showed in this land during the life of the holy saint and king, S. Edward. Wherefore laud, glory and honour be given to Almighty God, world without end. Amen.
The eighth day after his burying there came a cripple to his tomb to be holpen of his great disease, which many times afore had received alms of the king’s hand, and he had been washen of the king’s hand on Cene-Thursday. Notwithstanding, the miracle of his curing was prolonged by the provision of God, and not showed in his lifetime, because that many miracles God showed for him, in like wise he would show after his death. This cripple was called Ralph, and was a Norman born, and the sinews of his arms were shrunken together, and his feet were drawn up to his buttocks that he might not go, neither on his feet ne on his knees, but sat on a hollow vessel in manner of a basin, drawing his body after him with his hands. And when he came to the tomb, he besought Almighty God and S. Edward devoutly that he might be cured and healed of his disease, which in his lifetime had most lived by his alms. And when he had continued awhile in his prayers other people that had compassion of him, prayed for him also, and at the last he lifted himself up, and felt his sinews loosed, and then he arose up and stood on his feet, and felt himself made perfectly whole for to do what he should. We have read of the virtues that S. Edward had in healing blind men in his living, which our Lord hath not withdrawn from him after his death. It happed that thirty days after his burying, there came to his tomb a man which had but one eye, leading after him six blind men, and each of them held other by the skirt. And all they devoutly prayed to God and to S. Edward that they might have their sight, and to be delivered of the great misery that they stood in, and much people came thither for to see what should befall of this thing. And when they saw how heartily these blind men prayed, then all the people being moved with pity, kneeled down devoutly, and prayed for them to God, and to this holy saint. And anon as they had ended their prayers all they received perfectly their sight. And then each of them that had been blind looked fast on each other, and thought it a new world with them. And each enquired of other, if they might see, and they said yea. And all kneeled down, thanking God full heartily that, by the merits of S. Edward he had restored to them their sight perfectly, and also to their leader, which had but one eye at his coming, and had sight of the blind eye also, and so all had their perfect sight. And after, they returned home each into his country, giving laud and thankings to God and to this holy king.
After this Harold Harfager, king of Norway, and Tosti, brother of king Harold of England, came with a great navy and a great host, and arrived in Humber, and there made war, intending to conquer this land. Howbeit, the people began to resist them, but they were not of power to overcome them. And when Harold understood this, he raised a great multitude of people to withstand them. Then S. Edward on a night appeared to a holy monk, which was abbot of Rumsey, and bade him go and tell to Harold that he should overcome his enemies, the which intended to destroy and consume this realm of England, and say to him that he dread not, for I shall so conduct him and his host, that he shall have victory, for I may not see ne suffer this realm of England to be destroyed. And when thou hast told to him this, he will not believe thee, wherefore thou shalt prove thy vision in this manner. Let him think and set his mind on what thing he will, and thou shalt tell him what he thinketh, for God shall show that to thee, and then he shall give credence to thy words. On the morn the abbot of Rumsey, named Alexis, went to king Harold and told to him this vision, and how he should by the aid of S. Edward overcome his enemies. And when he heard it first, he supposed it had been a fantasy, and when he showed to him his privy thought, then he gave faith thereto and went to the battle, howbeit that he was then sick in his groin of a pestilence botch, and slew Tosti, his brother, and Harold Harfager, and right few or none escaped alive, from the battle. Wherefore the Englishman thanked God and S. Edward of their victory.
In the monastery of Westminster there was a fair young man which was blind, whom the monks had ordained to ring the bells, and he had a custom daily to visit the tomb of S. Edward with certain prayers. And on a time as he prayed there, he fell asleep, and he heard a voice that bade him go and ring to the last hour. And when he awoke he saw S. Edward going tofore him like a king with a crown on his head, and had marvellous light about him. And he beheld him till he came to the high altar, and then he saw him no more, ne the light, but he had his sight ever after till his life’s end, and then he told unto the monks how he was healed, and had his sight again by this miracle.
When William Conqueror had gotten all England, and had it under his power, then he began to meddle with the church, and by the advice of Lanfranc, the holy bishop S. Wulstan, was challenged that he was not able of letters, ne of conning for to occupy the realm and office of a bishop, and was called tofore Lanfranc, and willed him to resign by the consent of the king to the said Lanfranc, archbishop, that a man of greater conning might occupy the dignity. To whom Wulstan said: Forsooth father, I know well that I am not worthy to have this dignity, ne am not sufficient to occupy so great a charge, for I knew well mine unconning at such time when I was elect thereto, but I was compelled by our holy father the pope, and by good king Edward, and sith it pleaseth the council that I shall resign, I shall gladly resign, but not to you, but to him that compelled me to take it. And he departed incontinent from the archbishop Lanfranc, and went straight to the tomb of S. Edward with his cross in his hand, and he said to S. Edward, as he had then been alive: O thou holy and blessed king, thou knowest well that I took this charge on me against my will, but by constraint of the pope and thee I obeyed to take it, and it now so is that we have a new king, new laws, and giveth new sentences, in reproving thee of thine error for so much as thou gavest it to me, simple and unconning man, and me, for the presumption that I would consent to take it. That time thou mightest well have been beguiled, for thou wert a frail man, but now thou art joined to God, whereas thou mayst not be deceived. Thou gavest to me the charge, and to thee I here resign it again. And with that he fixed his staff into the hard stone of his tomb, saying: Take this and give it to whom it pleaseth thee. And the hard stone that lay upon his tomb resolved by miracle, and received his cross or pastoral staff, and held it so fast that it might not be taken out by man’s hand. And anon he did off the habit of a bishop, and did on a cowl, and stood among the monks in such degree as he did tofore ere he was bishop. And when word came, and was reported to them that had consented to his resignation, they marvelled greatly and were all abashed, and some of them went to the tomb and would have pulled out the staff, but they could not move it. And when the archbishop Lanfranc heard thereof he commanded to Gundulf, bishop of Rochester, to go and fetch to him the pastoral staff, but when he came he set hand on it and pulled at it, but the stone held it so fast that he might not move it, wherefore he was sore abashed, and came to Lanfranc, and told to him of this miracle. Then the king and Lanfranc were abashed and came both in their persons to see this thing, and there made their prayers. And after, with great reverence Lanfranc assayed and set hand on the staff for to have pulled it out, but it would not move. Then the king and the archbishop were sore afraid, and repented them, and sent for to seek Wulstan, whom they found among the monks and brought him tofore the king and the archbishop, who anon kneeled down and asked forgiveness. And Wulstan meekly kneeled down and prayed them not so to do to him, and humbly and meekly pardoned them and prayed the archbishop humbly to bless him. Then Lanfranc went to this holy man Wulstan and said: Brother, thy rightful simplicity hath been but little set by among us, but our Lord hath made thy righteousness to shine like as a day-star. But, brother, we have trespassed and erred in judging the good to be evil and the evil good, but our Lord God hath araised the spirit of S. Edward which hath made void all our sentences, and thy simpleness is allowed tofore God. Wherefore come hither to thy king and ours, S. Edward, and receive again thy staff which he hath denied to us, for we suppose he will deliver it to you. Then Wulstan the servant of God meekly obeyed with great reverence unto the archbishop, and went unto the tomb whereas the staff stood fast fixed in the stone, and kneeling down saying: O blessed saint of God, I here meekly submit me to thy sentence to whom sometime thou gavest and chargedst me unworthy with this staff. If it so please thee that thine old sentence abide, then restore to me again this pastoral staff, and if it please to thee to change it, so show to us whom thou wilt shall take it. And this said he set his hand humbly and with great reverence on the staff, and anon the hard stone resolved, and let the staff to go out, as it had been soft earth or clay. And when they that stood about him saw this great miracle they wept for joy in giving out largely tears, and asked him forgiveness, giving laud and praising unto Almighty God and to this holy saint king Edward. And ever after, king William had great devotion to visit the tomb of his cousin, S. Edward, and did great cost toward the making of his shrine.
After this miracle was showed, there was much talking of his holiness, and the devotion of the people increased daily more and more, so there were many diverse worshipful persons that desired to see this holy body. For some said that it lay incorrupt, and some said nay; and in this meek strife they gat licence of the abbot Gilbert to see it. And when the day was set that this holy body should be showed, there came thither many worshipful men and women of religion, among whom came Gundulf, bishop of Rochester, and this was six-and-thirty years after his burying that they opened his tomb. And when the stone was removed they felt a marvellous sweet savour, that all the church was replete thereof as though an odour aromatic had flowed out of the tomb. And they found the pall that lay next his body as whole and as fair as it was when he was buried; and when the pall was taken off they drew forth his arms, they moved his fingers and his toes, and they were bowing and whole as they had been newly buried. And in his flesh was found no corruption, but it was fair and fresh of colour, pure, and brighter than glass, whiter than snow, and it seemed a body glorified. And they feared to discover his visage, but Gundulf which was hardier than another, with devotion unbound his head, and the first that appeared was the fair hoar hair of his head, and then he thought to take some thereof for a relic, and with reverence and dread plucked thereat, but he could none have out, for they were as fast as they were when he was alive. Then said the abbot: Father, suffer him to lie in rest, and attempt not to minish that our Lord hath so long preserved and kept whole. Then the pall in which the holy body was wrapt was taken away, and another of the same value was fetched, and the holy body laid therein, and covered again his tomb with full great reverence, abiding the great resurrection.
In the city of London there was a noble woman which was right conning in silk work, which was desired to embroider certain garments to the countess of Gloucester, which then was young, Iusty, fresh, and newly wedded, and would have them made in short space. And when the festal day of S. Edward approached, this noble woman was sore troubled in her mind for she dreaded the indignation of the great lady if her garments were not ready at time set, and also she dreaded to work on the day of S. Edward, for it was both sinful and perilous. Then she said to a young damoiselle that was fellow with her, and wrought in the same work: What think ye best now, either to displease this lady or else this good S. Edward? And she answered: Is this not that Edward whom the churls of the country worship as he were a god? And she said yet more: What have I to do with him? I will no more worship him than if he were a churl. Then this noble woman was sore abashed and moved with her, that she said such words of blasphemy to this holy saint, and she all to-beat her for to be in peace, and she of frowardness blasphemed him more and more, and then suddenly was smitten with a palsy, so that her mouth was drawn to her ear, and also she had lost her speech, and foamed at the mouth like a boar, and grinded her teeth together marvellously, and was sore punished in all her members. And when this noble woman saw this, she was full heavy that she had beaten her, because Almighty God had so punished her, and wept full bitterly. And when it was known in the city, her neighbours came, some for to comfort her and some to wonder upon her so lying. And then there came a worshipful man to visit her, and counselled that she should be carried by water unto the shrine of S. Edward, and to pray to God there, that by the merits of the holy S. Edward he would show some miracle for her. And when she was so brought thither, much people prayed for her, but they had not their intent anon, but abode in their prayers till midnight that matins began, and then they prayed the monks to pray for her. And when they had done matins they came to the shrine also and prayed for this damoiselle which lay there in full great pain and torment. And when the holy monks had prayed for her a good while, then this damoiselle arose up all whole, and demanded why they wept and made so much sorrow. And when they saw her mouth in his right place and all her members restored again, they were full of joy, and gave laud and thankings unto Almighty God and to his holy king and confessor S. Edward.
In the abbey of Westminster there was a virtuous monk and conning named Gilbert, which was sore vexed with a fever quartan from the month of July to Christmas, and consumed like a dry image, whereof he prayed God to release his pain or take him out of this world. And on Christmas night he took heart to him and went to matins with his brethren. And when he heard the gospel, how a little child was born and given to us from the father of heaven, whose mother was a pure virgin, he had so great devotion that his mind was ravished with so great joy that he felt no disease two days after. After those two days the fever came again, and vexed him continually unto the feast of S. Edward which is always in the vigil of the Epiphany. And that day in the high mass time he came to the tomb of S. Edward and fell down plat in great devotion, and weeping, and said thus: O thou, my lord and king, how long wilt thou forget me? How long shall I suffer this pain? How long shalt thou turn thy face from me? Where be all the great miracles that our fathers have told to us, done in their days? Thou hast holpen many strangers, but me that am in thine own church thou forgettest and closest to me the gate of thy pity. Would God that I might die, I am nourished in pain and may not die, my life is sorrow to me, but it can have none end, and I desire death and dare not have it. What shall I strive with thee? But I beseech thee, good king, laudable prince, and sweet patron, move thy bowels of mercy on me, if it please thee give me health, or else let me die anon. And among these words the tears brake out of his eyes, and sobbings from his heart, that he could not speak with his mouth but with his affection. And when mass was done, he arose up from prayer all whole, and felt all his members marvellously refreshed with a new strength and entered in and asked after meat and drink, and anon he felt himself that he had received again his strength. And ever after he was moved with great devotion unto the glorious S. Edward, by whose merits he was delivered from his sickness and disease.
And in like wise a knight named Gerin was healed that same day, a year after, of the fever quartan, which came that day unto the shrine and heard the same monk that had so been healed, which then was prior, make a sermon in which he told of the miracle, how he was whole. And after the sermon this knight thought he would not cease. but devoutly prayed this holy saint till he were whole, and abode there praying all that day and night following till the monks came to matins, whom he prayed to pray for him. And when they had prayed a good while he felt himself made perfectly whole, and then he with all the people gave thankings to our Lord, Almighty God, and S. Edward, for his deliverance.
Also a nun of Barking, that had been sick twelve months, and nigh consumed away, had a vision on a night by which she understood that she should go to S. Edward and be whole; and she making her prayers to S. Edward. And at such time as her sickness came, she entered into her oratory and said the seven Psalms and Litany, and when she did so twice all her pain was gone, and she was made perfectly whole, and thanked Almighty God, which by the merits of S. Edward had healed her, and soon after came to Westminster in pilgrimage, and there did show this miracle, and told how she was made whole.
Also there was a monk of Westminster which was accustomed to say every day five Psalms in the worship of God and S. Edward, which monk was grieved with three manner sicknesses. For he had on his arm a congelation of blood in manner of a posthume, he had also in his breast a straitness that unnethe he might draw his breath, also he had in his foot a marvellous swelling and a great, that he might not go but with great pain. And when the yearly feast was hallowed, he saw his brethren go to the church at midnight for to ring the bells, and he was right sorry that he might not do the same. Notwithstanding he pained himself and went thither, and said the seven psalms. And when he had done, and saw his brethren ring merrily, he said in his prayer to
S. Edward: O thou my good king, I beseech thee to pray for me that I may have strength to do as I see my brethren do, for I commit me fully to thy might, and I believe verily that thou wilt suffer me no longer in this great disease. And when he had made an end of his prayers he arose up, and went to the bells for to ring them, and anon the posthume of his arm brake, and when the foul matter was out, he felt himself whole of that disease. Then his most pain was in his breast, and he went again to pray and to give thankings to God and to S. Edward of the deliverance of his posthume. And there he prayed full devoutly that he might be delivered of the disease of his breast, and when he arose from prayer he felt his heart all whole from the sickness that he had in his breast. Then he felt no disease but on his foot, and when he came among his brethren in the fraitour, he told them how he was delivered from twain of his sicknesses, and when they saw him they marvelled greatly, and besought Almighty God and S. Edward that he might be delivered of that disease in his foot. And at night, when he went to his bed, he put himself wholly in the merits of S. Edward, and when he arose he felt no pain, but put down his hand to his foot to feel how it was, and he felt that the swelling was gone. He leapt out of his bed and told to his brethren, with full great joy, how he was made perfectly whole as ever he was. Then they were all full glad, and went with him to the church to give thankings and praisings to Almighty God, and to his holy confessor S. Edward for these miracles, and for his deliverance from the three sicknesses, wherefore God be praised in his servant without end. Amen.
Luke is as much to say as arising or enhancing himself. Or Luke is said of light, he was raising himself from the love of the world, and enhancing into the love of God. And he was also light of the world, for he enlumined the universal world by holy predication, and hereof saith S. Matthew, Mathei quinto: Ye be the light of the world. The light of the world is the sun, and that light hath height in his seat or siege. And hereof saith Ecclesiasticus the twenty-sixth chapter: The sun rising in the world is in the right high things of God, he hath delight in beholding. And as it is said Ecclesiastes undecimo: The light of the sun is sweet, and it is delightable to the eyes to see the sun. He hath swiftness in his moving as it is said in the Second Book of Esdras the fourth chapter. The earth is great and the heaven is high and the course of the sun is swift, and hath profit in effect, for after the philosopher, man engendereth man, and the sun. And thus Luke had highness by the love of things celestial, delectable by sweet conversation, swiftness by fervent predication and utility, and profit by conscription and writing of his doctrine.
Luke was of the nation of Syria, and Antiochian by art of medicine, and after some he was one of seventy-two disciples of our Lord. S. Jerome saith that he was disciple of the apostles and not of our Lord, and the gloss upon the twenty-fifth chapter of the Book of Exodus signifieth that he joined not to our Lord when he preached, but he came to the faith after his resurrection. But it is more to be holden that he was none of the seventy-two disciples, though some hold opinion that he was one. But he was of right great perfection of life, and much well ordained as toward God, and as touching his neighbour, as touching himself, and as touching his office. And in sign of these four manners of ordinances he was described to have four faces, that is to wit, the face of a man, the face of a lion, the face of an ox and the face of an eagle, and each of these beasts had four faces and four wings, as it is said in Ezechiel the first chapter. And because it may the better be seen, let us imagine some beast that hath his head four square, and in every square a face, so that the face of a man be tofore, and on the right side the face of the lion, and on the left side the face of the ox, and behind the face of the eagle, and because that the face of the eagle appeared above the other for the length of the neck, therefore it is said that this face was above, and each of these four had four pens. For when every beast was quadrate as we may imagine, in a quadrate be four corners, and every corner was a pen. By these four beasts, after that saints say, be signified the four evangelists, of whom each of them had four faces in writing, that is to wit, of humanity, of the passion, of the resurrection, and of the divinity. How be it these things be singularly to singular, for after S. Jerome, Matthew is signified in the man, for he was singularly moved to speak of the humanity of our Lord. Luke was figured in the ox, for he devised about the priesthood of Jesu Christ. Mark was figured in the lion, for he wrote more clearly of the resurrection. For as some say, the fawns of the lion be as they were dead unto the third day, but by the braying of the lion they been raised at the third day, and therefore he began in the cry of predication. John is figured as an eagle, which fleeth highest of the four, for he wrote of the divinity of Jesu Christ. For in him be written four things. He was a man born of the virgin, he was an ox in his passion, a lion in his resurrection, and an eagle in his ascension. And by these four faces it is well showed that Luke was rightfully ordained in these four manners. For by the face of a man it is showed that he was rightfully ordained as touching his neighbour, how he ought by reason teach him, draw him by debonairly, and nourish him by liberality, for a man is a beast reasonable, debonair, and liberal. By the face of an eagle it is showed that he was rightfully ordained as touching God, for in him the eye of understanding beheld God by contemplation, and the eye of his desire was to him by thought or effect, and old age was put away by new conversation. The eagle is of sharp sight, so that he beholdeth well, without moving of his eye, the ray of the sun, and when he is marvellous high in the air he seeth well the small fishes in the sea. He hath also his beak much crooked, so that he is let to take his meat, he sharpeth it and whetteth it against a stone, and maketh it convenable to the usage of his feeding. And when he is roasted by the hot sun, he throweth himself down by great force into a fountain, and taketh away his old age by the heat of the sun, and changeth his feathers, and taketh away the darkness of his eyes. By the face of the lion it is showed how he was ordained as touching himself. For he had noblesse by honesty of manners and holy conversation, he had subtlety for to eschew the lying in wait for his enemies, and he had sufferance for to have pity on them that were tormented by affliction. The lion is a noble beast, for he is king of beasts. He is subtle, he defaceth his traces and steps with his tail when he fleeth, so that he shall not be found; he is suffering, for he suffereth the quartan. By the face of an ox it is showed how he was ordained as touching his office, that was to write the gospel. For he proceeded morally, that is to say by morality, that he began from the nativity and childhood of Jesu Christ, and so proceeded little and little unto his last consummation. He began discreetly, and that was after other two evangelists, that if they had left any thing he should write it, and that which they had suffciently said he should leave. He was well mannered, that is to say well learned and induced in the sacrifices and works of the temple, as it appeareth in the beginning, in the middle, and in the end. The ox is a moral beast and hath his foot cloven, by which is discretion understood, and it is a beast sacrificeable. And truly, how that Luke was ordained in the four things, it is better showed in the ordinance of his life. First, as touching his ordinance unto God. After S. Bernard, he was ordained in three manners, that is by affection and desire, by thought and intention. The affection ought to be holy, the thought clean, and intention rightful. He had the affection holy, for he was full of the Holy Ghost, like as Jerome saith in his prologue upon Luke: He went into Bethany full of the Holy Ghost. Secondly, he had a clean thought, for he was a virgin both in body and mind, in which is noted cleanness of thought. Thirdly, he had rightful intention, for in all things that he did he sought the honour of God. And of these two last things it is said in the prologue upon the Acts of the Apostles: He was without sin and abode in virginity, and this is touching the cleanness of thought. He loved best to serve our Lord, that is to the honour of our Lord, this is as touching the rightful intention. Fourthly, he was ordained as touching his neighbour. We be ordained to our neighbour when we do that we ought to do. After Richard of S.Victor, there be three things that we owe to our neighbour, that is our power, our knowledge, and our wild, and let the fourth be put to, that is all that we may do. Our power in helping him, our knowledge in counselling him, our will in his desires, and our deeds in services. As touching to these four, S. Luke was ordained, for he gave first to his neighbour his power in aiding and obsequies, and that appeareth by that he was joined to Paul in his tribulations and would not depart from him, but was helping him in his preachings, like as it is written in the second epistle of Paul in the fourth chapter to Timothy, saying: Luke is only with me. In that he saith, only with me, it signifieth that he was a helper, as that he gave to him comfort and aid, and in that he said only, it signifieth that he joined to him firmly. And he said in the eighth chapter to the II Corinthians: He is not alone, but he is ordained of the churches to be fellow of our pilgrimage. Secondly, he gave his knowledge to his neighbour in counsels. He gave then his knowledge to his neighbour when he wrote to his neighbours the doctrine of the apostles, and of the gospel that he knew. And hereof he beareth himself witness in his prologue; saying: It is mine advice, and I assent, good Theophilus, to write to thee, right well of the beginning by order, so that thou know the truth of the words of which thou art taught. And it appeareth well that he gave his knowledge in counsels to his neighbours, by the words that Jerome saith in his prologue, that is to wit, that his words be medicine unto a sick soul. Thirdly, he gave his will unto the desires of his neighbour, and that appeareth by that, that he desireth that they should have health perdurable, like as Paul saith to the Colossians: Luke the leech saluteth you; that is to say, Think ye to have health perdurable, for he desireth it to you. Fourthly, he gave to his neighbour his deed in their services. And it appeareth by that that he supposed that our Lord had been a strange man, and he received him into his house and did to him all the service of charity, for he was fellow to Cleophas when they went to Emmaus, as some say. And Gregory saith in his Morals, that Ambrose saith it was another, of whom he nameth the name. Thirdly, he was well ordained as touching himself. And after S. Bernard, three things there be that ordain a man right well as touching himself, and maketh him holy, that is to live soberly, and rightful labour, and a debonair wit. And after S. Bernard each of these three is divided into three, that is, to live soberly, if we live companionably, continently, and humbly. Rightful work is, if he be rightful, discreet, and fruitful. Rightful by good intention, discreet by measure, and fruitful by edification. The wit is debonair, when our faith feeleth God to be sovereign good, so that by his puissance we believe that our infirmity be holpen by his power, our ignorance be corrected by his wisdom, and that our wickedness be defaced by his bounty. And thus saith Bernard: In all these things was S. Luke well ordained. He had, first, sober living in treble manner, for he lived continently. For as S. Jerome witnesseth of him in the prologue upon Luke, he had never wife ne children. He lived companionably, and that is signified of him, where it is said of him and Cleophas in the opinion aforesaid: Two disciples went that same day, etc. Fellowship is signified in that he saith, two disciples, that is to say, well mannered. Thirdly he lived humbly, of which humility is showed of that he expressed the name of his fellow Cleophas and spake not of his own name. And after the opinion of some, Luke named not his name for meekness. Secondly, he had rightful work and deed, and his work was rightful by intention, and that is signified in his collect where it is said: Qui crucis mortificationem jugiter in corpore suo pro tui nominis amore portavit: he bare in his body mortification of his flesh for the love of thy name. He was discreet by temperance, and therefore he was figured in the form of an ox, which hath the foot cloven, by which the virtue of discretion is expressed; he was also fruitful by edification; he was so fruitful to his neighbours that he was holden most dear of all men, wherefore, Ad Colossenses quarto, he was called of the apostle most dearest: Luke the leech saluteth you. Thirdly, he had a meek wit, for he believed and confessed in his gospel, God to be sovereignly mighty, sovereignly wise, and sovereignly good. Of the two first, it is said in the fourth chapter: They all were abashed in his doctrine, for the word of him was in his power. And of the third, it appeareth in the eighteenth chapter, where he saith: There is none good but God alone. Fourthly, and last, he was right well ordained as touching his office, the which was to write the gospel, and in this appeareth that he was ordained because that the said gospel is ennoblished with much truth, it is full of much profit, it is embellished with much honesty and authorised by great authority. It is first ennoblished with much truth. For there be three truths, that is of life, of righteousness, and of doctrine. Truth of life is concordance of the hand to the tongue, truth of righteousness is concordance of the sentence to the cause, and truth of doctrine is concordance of the thing to the understanding, and the gospel is ennoblished by this treble verity and this treble verity is showed in the gospel. For Luke showeth that Jesu Christ had in him this treble verity, and that he taught it to others, and showeth that God had this truth by the witness of his adversaries. And that saith he in the twenty seventh chapter: Master, we know well that thou art true, and teachest and sayest rightfully that is the verity of the doctrine, but thou teachest in truth the way of God, that is the truth of life, for good life is the way of God. Secondly, he showeth in his gospel that Jesu Christ taught this treble truth. First, he taught the truth of life, the which is in keeping the commandments of God, whereof it is said: Thou shalt love thy Lord God, do that and thou shalt live. And when a Pharisee demanded our Lord: What shall I do for to possess the everlasting life? He said: Knowest thou not the commandments? Thou shalt not slay, thou shalt do no theft, ne thou shalt do no adultery? Secondly, there is taught the verity of doctrine, wherefore he said to some that perverted this truth, the eleventh chapter: Woe be to you Pharisees, that tithe the people, et cetera, and pass over the judgment and charity of God. Also in the same: Woe be to you wise men of law, which have taken the key of science. Thirdly, is taught the truth of righteousness, where it is said: Yield ye that longeth to the emperor, and that ye owe to God, to God. And he saith the nineteenth chapter: They that be my enemies and will not that I reign upon them, bring them hither and slay them tofore me. And he saith in the thirteenth chapter, where he speaketh of the doom, that he shall say to them that be reproved: Depart from me, ye that have done wickedness. Secondly, his gospel is full of much profit, whereof Paul and himself write that he was a leech or a physician, wherefore in his gospel it is signified that he made ready for us medicine most profitable. There is treble medicine, curing, preserving, and amending. And this treble medicine showeth S. Luke in his gospel that, the leech celestial hath made ready. The medicine curing is that which cureth the malady, and that is penance, which taketh away all maladies spiritual. And this medicine saith he that the celestial leech hath made ready for us when he saith: Heal ye them that be contrite of heart, and preach ye to the caitiffs the remission of sins. And in the fifth chapter he saith: I am not come to call the just and true men, but the sinners to penance. The medicine amending is that which encreaseth health, and that is the observation of counsel, for good counsel maketh a man better and more perfect. This medicine showeth us the heavenly leech when he saith in the eighteenth chapter: Sell all that ever thou hast and give to poor men. The medicine preservative is that which preserveth from falling, and this is the eschewing of the occasions to sin, and from evil company. And this medicine showeth to us the heavenly leech when he saith in the twelfth chapter: Keep you from the meat of the Pharisees, and there he teacheth us to eschew the company of shrews and evil men. Or it may be said that the said gospel is replenished with much profit, because that all virtue is contained therein. And hereof saith S. Ambrose: Luke compriseth in his gospel all the virtues of wisdom in history, he enseigned the nativity when he showed the incarnation of our Lord to have been made of the Holy Ghost. But David enseigned natural wisdom when he said: Send out the Holy Ghost, and they shall be created, and when he enseigned darkness made in the time of the passion of Jesu Christ, and trembling of the earth, and the sun had withdrawn her light and rays. And he taught morality when he taught manners in his blessedness. He taught reasonable things when he said: He that is true in little things, he is true in great things. And without this treble wisdom, the mystery of the Trinity, ne of our faith, may not be, that is to wit, wisdom natural, reasonable, and moral. And this is that S. Ambrose saith. Thirdly, his gospel is embellished and made fair with much honesty, so that the style and manner of speaking is much honest and fair. And three things be convenient to this, that some men hold in his dictes honesty and beauty, the which S. Austin teacheth, that is to wit, that it please, that it appear and move. That it please, he ought to speak ornately; that it appear, that he ought to speak appertly; that it move, that he speak fervently. And this manner had Lucas in writing and in preaching. Of the two first it is said in the eighth chapter of the II Corinthians: We sent with him a brother, the gloss Barnabas or Luke, of whom the praising is in all churches of the gospel. In this that he said the praising of him, is signified that he spake ornately; in this that he said in all churches, it is signified that he spake appertly. And that he spake fervently it appeared when he said: Was not then our heart burning within us in the love of Jesu when he spake with us in the way? Fourthly, his gospel is authorised by authority of many saints. What marvel was it though it were authorised of many, when it was authorised first of the Father? whereof S. Jerome saith in the thirty-first chapter: Lo, the days shall come, our Lord saith: I shall make a new covenant with the house of Israel and of Judah, not after the covenant that I made with their fathers, but this shall be the covenant, saith our Lord: I shall give my law into the bowels of them. And he speaketh plainly to the letter of doctrine of the Gospel. Secondly, it is enforced of the Son, for he saith in the same gospel, the one-and-twentieth chapter: Heaven and earth shall pass and my word shall not perish. Thirdly, he is inspired of the Holy Ghost, whereof S. Jerome saith in his prologue upon Luke: He wrote this gospel in the parts of Achaia by the admonishment of the Holy Ghost. Fourthly, he was tofore figured of the angels, for he was prefigured of the same angel of whom the apostle saith in the fourteenth chapter of the Apocalypse: I saw the angel flying by the midst of heaven, and had the gospel perdurable. This is said perdurable, for it is made perdurable, that is, of Jesu Christ. Fifthly, the gospel was pronounced of the prophets, that Ezechiel the prophet pronounced tofore this gospel, when he said that one of these beasts should have the face of an ox, wherefore the gospel of S. Luke is signified as it is said tofore. And when Ezechiel said in the second chapter that he had seen the book that was written without and within, in which was written the lamentation song, by this book is understood the gospel of Luke that is written within for to hide the mystery of profoundness, and without for the showing of the history. In which also be contained the lamentation of the passion, the joy of the resurrection, and the woe of the eternal damnation as it appeareth the eleventh chapter, where many woes be put. Sixthly, the gospel was showed of the virgin. For the blessed Virgin Mary kept and heled diligently all these things in her heart, as it is said, Luce secundo, to the end that she should afterward show them to the writers, as the gloss saith, that all things that were done and said of our Lord Jesu Christ she knew and retained them in her mind. So that when she was required of the writers or of thee preachers of the incarnatio and of all other things, she might express the sufficiently, like as it was done and were in deed. Wherefore S. Bernard assigned the reason why the angel of our Lord showed to the blessed Virgin the conceiving of Elizabeth. The conceiving of Elizabeth was showed to Mary because of the coming, now of our Saviour, and now of his messenger that came tofore him. The cause why she retained the ordinance of these things was because that she might the better show to writers and preachers the truth of the gospel. This is she that fully from the beginning was instructed of the celestial mysteries, and it is to be believed that the evangelists enquired of her many things, and she certified them truly. And specially that the blessed Luke had recourse to her like as to the ark of the Testament, and was certified of her many things, and especially of such things as appertained to her, as of the salutation of the angel Gabriel, of the nativity of Jesu Christ, and of such other things as Luke speaketh only. Seventhly, the gospel was showed of the apostles. For Luke had not been with Christ in all his acts and miracles, therefore he wrote his gospel after that the apostles that had been present showed and reported to him, like as he showeth in his prologue, saying: Like as they that had seen him from the beginning, and had been ministers with him and heard his words, informed and told to me. And because it is accustomed in double manner to bear witness, it is of things seen and of things heard Therefore saith S. Austin: Our Lord would have two witnesses of things seen, they were John and Matthew, and two of things heard, and they were Mark and Luke. And because that the witness of things seen be more firm and more certain than of things heard, therefore saith S. Austin: The two gospels that be of things seen be set first and last, and the others, that be of hearing, be set in the middle, like as they were the stronger and more certain of, and by the other twain. Eighthly, this gospel is marvellously approved of S. Paul, when he bringeth the gospel of Luke to the confirmation of his sayings and dictes, whereof S. Jerome saith in the Book of Noble Men, that some men have suspicion that always when S. Paul saith in his epistles: Secundum Evangelium meum, that is, after my gospel, that is signified the volume of Luke. And he approved his gospel when he wrote of him (Secundo ad Corintheos octavo): Of whom the laud and praising is in the gospel in all the church. It is read in the history of Antioch that the christian men were besieged of a great multitude of Turks, and did to them many mischiefs, and were tormented with hunger and ill hap. But when they were plainly converted to our Lord by penance, a man full of clearness in white vestment appeared to a man that woke tn the church of our Lady at Tripoli, and when he demanded him who he was, he said that he was Luke that came from Antioch, where our Lord had assembled the chivalry of heaven and his apostles for to fight for his pilgrims against the Turks. Then the christian men enhardened themselves and discomfited all the host of the Turks.
Crisaunt is said as grown and multiplied of God. For when his father natural would have made him to sacrifice unto the idols, God gave to him force and power to contrary and gainsay his father, and yield himself to God. Daria is said of dare, to give, and of dia, which is as much to say as twain. For she gave her to two things, first, will to do evil, when she had will to draw Crisaunt to sacrifice to the idols, and after, she gave her to good will when Crisaunt had converted her to God.
Crisaunt was son of a right noble man that was named Polimius. When the father saw that his son was taught in the faith of Jesu Christ, and that he could not withdraw him therefrom and make him do sacrifice unto the idols, he commanded that he should be closed in a stronghold, and put to him five maidens for to withdraw him with blandishing and fair words. And then he prayed God that he should not be surmounted with no fleshly desire of these evil beasts, and anon these maidens were so overcome with sleep that they might not take neither meat nor drink as long as they were there, but as soon as they were out they took both meat and drink. And one, Daria, a noble and wise virgin of the goddess Vesta, arrayed her nobly with clothes as she had been a goddess, and prayed that she might be let enter in to Crisaunt, and that she would restore him to the idols and to his father. And when she was come in, Crisaunt reproved her of the pride of her vesture, and she answered that she had not done it for pride, but for to draw him to do sacrifice to the idols, and restore him to his father. And then Crisaunt reproved her because she worshipped them as gods, for they had been in their time evil and sinners, and haunted common women. And Daria answered: The philosophers felt the elements by the names of men. And Crisaunt said to her: If one worship the earth as a goddess, and another ear and labour the earth as a churl or a ploughman, to whom giveth the earth most? It is proved that it giveth more to the ploughman than to him that worshippeth it. And in like wise he said of the sea, and of other elements. And then Crisaunt and Daria, converted of him, coupled them together by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and feigned to be joined by carnal marriage, and converted many others to our Lord. For Claudius, which had been tormentor of them, they converted to the faith of our Lord, with his wife and children, and many other knights. After this, Crisaunt was enclosed in a stinking prison by the commandment of Numerianus, but the stench was anon turned into a right sweet odour and savour. And Daria was brought to the bordel, but a lion that was in the amphitheatre came and kept the door of the bordel. And then there was sent thither a man to deflower and corrupt the virgin, but anon he was taken of the lion, and the lion began to look on the virgin like as he demanded what he should do with the caitiff. And the virgin commanded that he should not misdo him, but let him go, and anon he was converted, and ran through the city, and began to cry that Daria was a goddess. And then hunters were sent thither for to take the lion, and they anon fell down to the feet of the virgin and were converted by her. And then the provost commanded to make a great fire within the entry of the bordel, so that the lion should be burnt with Daria, and the lion considering well this thing, dread, and roaring took licence of the virgin and went whither he would without hurting of anybody. And when the provost had done to Crisaunt and Daria many diverse torments, and might not grieve them, at the last, they being married without corruption, were put in a deep pit, and thrown on them earth and stones, and so were consecrated martyrs of Christ.
The passion of eleven thousand virgins was hallowed in this manner. In Britain was a christian king named Notus or Maurus, which engendered a daughter named Ursula. This daughter shone full of marvellous honesty, wisdom, and beauty, and her fame and renomee was borne all about. And the king of England which then was right mighty, and subdued many nations to his empire, heard the renomee of her, and said that he would be well happy if this virgin might be coupled to his son by marriage. And the young man had great desire and will to have her. And there was a solemn embassy to the father of Ursula, and promised great promises, and said many fair words for to have her; and also made many menaces if they returned vainly to their lord. And then the king of Britain began to be much anxious, because that she that was ennobled in the faith of Jesu Christ should be wedded to him that adored idols, because that he wist well she would not consent in no manner, and also because he doubted much the cruelty of the king. And she, that was divinely inspired, did so much to her father that she consented to the marriage by such a condition, that for to solace her he should send to her father ten virgins, and to herself, and to those ten other virgins, he should send to each a thousand virgins, and should give to her space of three years for to dedicate her virginity, and the young man should be baptized, and in these three years he should be informed in the faith sufficiently, so that by wise counsel, and by virtue of the condition made, he should withdraw from her his courage. But this youngling received this condition gladly, and hasted his father and was baptized and commanded all that Ursula had required should be done. And the father of the virgin ordained that his daughter, whom he most loved, and the others that had need of the comfort of men and service, ordained in their company good men for to serve them.
Then virgins came from all parts, and men came for to see this great company, and many bishops came for to go with them in their pilgrimage, among whom was Pantulus, bishop of Basle, which went with them to Rome, and returned from thence with them and received martyrdom. S. Gerasine, queen of Sicily, which had made of her husband that was a cruel tyrant a meek lamb, and was sister of Maurice the bishop, and of Daria, mother of S. Ursula, to whom the father of S. Ursula had signified by secret letters. She, by the inspiration of God, put herself in the way with her four daughters, Babilla, Juliana, Victoria and Aurea, and her little son Adrian, which, for love of his sisters, went in the same pilgrimage, and left all in the hands of his own son, and came into Britain, and sailed over sea into England. And by the counsel of this queen the virgins were gathered together from divers realms, and she was leader of them, and at the last she suffered martyrdom with them. And then, the condition made, all things were made ready. Then the queen showed her counsel to the knights of her company, and made them all to swear this new chivalry; and then began they to make divers plays and games of battle, as to run here and there, and feigned many manner of plays. And for all that they left not their purpose, and sometimes they returned from this play at midday and sometimes unnethe at evensong time. And the barons and great lords assembled them to see the fair games and disports, and all had joy and pleasure in beholding them, and also marvel.
And at the last, when Ursula had converted all these virgins unto the faith of Christ, they went all to the sea, and in the space of a day, they sailed over the sea, having so good wind that they arrived at a port of Gaul, named Tielle, and from thence came to Cologne, where an angel of our Lord appeared to Ursula, and told her that they should return again, the whole number to that place, and there receive the crown of martyrdom. And from thence, by the monition of the angel, they went towards Rome. And when they came to Basle they left there their ships and went to Rome afoot. At the coming of whom the pope Ciriacus was much glad, because he was born in Britain and had many cousins among them, and he with his clerks received them with all honour. And that same night it was showed to the pope that he should receive with them the crown of martyrdom, which thing he hid in himself, and baptized many of them that were not then baptized. And when he saw time convenable, when he had governed the church one year and eleven weeks, and was the nineteenth pope after Peter, he purposed tofore all the people, and showed to them his purpose, and resigned his office and his dignity. But all men gainsaid it, and especially the cardinals, which supposed that he trespassed, leaving the glory of the papacy and would go after these foolish virgins, but he would not agree to abide, but ordained an holy man to occupy in his place, which was named Ametus. And because he left the see apostolic against the will of the clergy, the clerks put out his name of the catalogue of popes. And all the grace that he had gotten in his time, this holy company of women made him for to leave it.
And then two felon princes of the chivalry of Rome, Maximus and Africanus, saw this great company of virgins, and that many men and women assembled to them, doubted that christian religion should much be increased by them, wherefore they required diligently of their voyage. And then sent they messengers to Julian, their cousin, prince of the lineage of the Huns, that he should bring his host against them, and should assemble at Cologne, and there behead them because they were christian. And the blessed Ciriacus issued out of the city of Rome with this blessed company of virgins, and Vincent, priest cardinal, and Jacobus that was come from Britain into Antioch, and had held there seven years the dignity of the bishop, which then had visited the pope, and was gone out of his city and held company with these virgins, when he heard of their coming, and suffered martyrdom with them. And Maurice, bishop of Levicana, the city, uncle of Babilla and Juliana, and Follarius, bishop of Lucca, with Sulpitius, bishop of Ravenna, which then were come to Rome, put them in the company of these virgins.
Ethereus, the husband of Ursula, abiding in Britain, was warned of our Lord by a vision of an angel that he should exhort his mother to be christian. For his father died the first year that he was christened, and Ethereus, his son, succeeded after him in his reign. And then when these holy virgins returned from Rome with the bishops, Ethereus was warned of our Lord that he should anon arise and go to meet his wife at Cologne, and there receive with her the crown of martyrdom, the which anon obeyed to admonishments divine, and did do baptize his mother and came with her and his little sister Florence, then also baptized, and with the bishop Clement, meeting the holy virgins, and accompanied them unto martyrdom. And Marculus, bishop of Greece, and his niece Constance, daughter of Dorotheus, king of Constantinople, which was married to the son of a king, but he died tofore the wedding, and she avowed to our Lord her virginity; they were also warned by a vision, and came to Rome and joined them to these virgins unto the martyrdom.
And then all these virgins came with the bishops to Cologne, and found that it was besieged with the Huns. And when the Huns saw them they began to run upon them with a great cry, and araged like wolves on sheep, and slew all this great multitude. And when they were all beheaded, they came to the blessed Ursula, and the prince of them, seeing her beauty so marvellous, was abashed, and began to comfort her upon the death of the virgins, and promised to her to take her to his wife. And when she had refused him and despised him at all, he shot at her an arrow, and pierced her through the body, and so accomplished her martyrdom. And one of the virgins, which was named Cordula, was sore afeared, and hid herself all that night in a ship, but on the morn she suffered death by her free will, and took the crown of martyrdom. And because her feast was not held with the other virgins, she appeared long after to a recluse, and commanded him that the next day following the feast of the virgins, her feast should be remembered. They suffered death the year of our Lord two hundred and thirty-eight. But some hold opinion that the reason of the time showeth that they suffered not death in that time, for Sicily ne Constantinople were then no realms, but it is supposed that they suffered death long time after, when Constans was emperor, and that the Huns and Goths enforced them against christian men in the time of the emperor Marcian, that reigned in the year of our Lord four hundred and fifty-two. It is to be remembered that among these eleven thousand virgins were many men, for the pope Cyriacus and other bishops, and Ethereus king, with other lords and knights, had much people to serve them. And as I have been informed in Cologne that there were men besides women that thilke time suffered martyrdom, fifteen thousand. So the number of this holy multitude, as of the holy virgins and men, were twenty-six thousand, to whom let us pray to our Lord that he have mercy on us.
There was an abbot that impetred of the abbess of the place where these holy virgins rest in Cologne, a body of one of these virgins, and promised that he would set it in his church in a fair shrine of silver, but when he had it, he kept it a year upon the altar in a chest of tree. And in a night as the abbot sang matins, the said virgin descended from the altar bodily, and inclined honourably tofore the altar, and went through the choir, seeing all the monks which, were thereof sore abashed, and then the abbot ran and found it all void and nothing therein. Then the abbot went to Cologne and told to the abbess all the thing by order. Then went they to the place where they had taken the body, and found the same there again. And then the abbot required pardon, and prayed the abbess that he might have again the same body or another, promising right certainly to make hastily a precious shrine, but he could none have in no manner.
There was a religious monk which had great devotion to these holy virgins, and it happed that he was on a day sick, and saw a right fair and noble virgin appear to him, and demanded him if he knew her. And he was amarvelled of this vision, and said he knew her not. And she said: I am one of the virgins to whom thou hast such great devotion, and thereof thou shalt have a reward. If thou say eleven thousand paternosters for the love and honour of us, we shall come unto thine aid and comfort at the hour of thy death, and then she vanished away. And he accomplished her request as soon as he might, and anon after he did do call his abbot, and did him to be annealed or anointed. And as they anointed him he cried suddenly: Make ye place to the holy virgins, and go out of the way that they may come to me. And when the abbot demanded him what it was, and what he meant, he told to him by order the promise of the virgin. Then all they withdrew them a little after, and soon came again and found him departed out of this world unto our Lord. Then let us devoutly give laud and praising unto the blessed Trinity and pray him that by the merits of this great multitude of martyrs he will forgive and pardon us of our sins, that after this life we may come unto this holy company in heaven Amen.
In the time when the furious persecution of christian men was made under Diocletian and Maximian, together running, Crispin and Crispinian, born at Rome of noble lineage, came with the blessed SS. Quintin, Fustian, and Victorin unto Paris, in France, and they there chose divers places for to preach the faith of Christ. Crispin and Crispinian came to the city of Soissons and chose that city for the place of their pilgrimage, where they followed the steps of S. Paul the apostle, that is to say to labour with their hands for to provide to them necessarily to live, and exercised the craft of making of shoes. In which craft they passed others and took by constraint no reward of no body, wherefore the gentiles and paynims, overcome by the love of them, not only for need of the craft, but also for the love of God, came oft to them, and left the error of the idols, and believed in very God. At the last these holy men being sought of Rictius Varius were founden amending and clouting poor men’s shoes, which were taken and bounden with chains and brought unto him. And after many interrogations and questions, they, refusing to sacrifice to the idols, were stretched and bounden unto a tree, and were commanded to be beaten with staves, and after, awls such as shoes be sewed with, were threaden and put under the ongles or nails of their fingers, and lainers or latchets of their skin were cut out of their back. Who among these sharp and strong pains praying, the awls sprang from their ongles and nails, and smote the ministers that pained them and wounded them cruelly. Then Rictius Varius commanded to hang on their necks millstones, and in the winter time, under the ice in the river of Anxion to be drowned, but the water might not drown them ne the stones make them to sink, ne the cold constrain ne hurt them, but as they had bained and washen them in summer time, they throwing away the burthen of stones, arrived and came to that other brink of the river. Which thing Rictius Varius beholding and seeing this miracle, by the instigation of the devil was all araged, and commanded to melt lead in the fire, and the holy martyrs to be cast into it, therein to be drowned and consumed. But these holy men praying and saying: Blessed art thou, Lord God of our fathers, et cetera, a drop of the fervent oil sprang into the eye of Rictius Varius and blinded it cruelly, paining him by grievous torment. But he, yet for all that being wood for anger, commanded to boil pitch, oil, and grease, and to throw the holy men therein for to be drowned and consumed. But the saints, immovable of their hope, and busy in their prayers said: O Lord thou art strong and mighty enough to deliver us from these torments to us showed and done, to the confusion of the devil and of all his servants. And as soon as their prayer was finished an angel led them out without hurt or scathe, which thing when Rictius saw, he sprang and fell down himself in the fire, and there perished by the righteous judgment of God, which had put to death by fire many martyrs of Christ, and descended down to everlasting fire. These holy men seeing this, the next night following they prayed our Lord that he would command them, so delivered by the torments, to come unto him. To whom it was showed that same night that, the next day following they should receive the meed of their reward. and so it was done. For Maximian hearing the death of Rictius, commanded that their heads should be smitten off, and thus they suffered and received the crown of martyrdom the tenth kalends of November. And their bodies were left to be devoured of beasts and fowls, but God suffered them to be kept undefouled, and not to be touched of any beast.
After this the angel of our Lord appeared to a certain old man, commanding him to take up the bodies and bury them in his house, which old man took a cousin of his, an old woman which dwelled with him in his cell, and went to the place where they had been beheaded. And because it was nigh to the river, they might lightly be brought to the cell by water, but they had no ship ne boat ready, ne they couth not the craft of rowing, ne had the strength to bring them against the stream of the river. And when they came to the place, they found the bodies of the saints and a boat ready in the river, ordained by our Lord. Then, they having hope and trust in our Lord, each of them took up a body of the martyrs, and went freely without burthen, in such wise that it seemed to them that they bare no burthen, but that they were borne of the burthens. And they entering with the holy bodies into the little boat, without oars and governail that might be seen, against the strong stream of the flood were brought unto the rivage of his cell, and there buried them in his oratory. And when the persecution of them ceased the honour of them was showed to the people by miracles. In such wise that a great church was afterwards made in the honour of the holy saints, of true christian people. Then let us pray to them that they pray for us, et cetera.
Simon is as much to say as obedient, or being in heaviness. And he had a double name; he was said Simon Zelotes, and Simon Cananean of Cana a street that is in Galilee, there whereas our Lord converted the water into wine. And Zelotes is as much to say as Cananean. This holy man had in him obedience of the commandments by execution, heaviness by pity of torment, and had love of souls by firm ardour of love. Judas is as much to say as confessing or glorious; or Judas is as much to say as giving joy. For he had confession of faith, glory of reign, and glory of the everlasting joy. This Judas was called by many names. He was said Judas James, for he was brother to James the Less, and he was called Thaddeus, which is as much to say as taking a prince; or Thadee is said of Thadea, that is a vesture, and of Deus, that is God, for he was vesture royal of God by ornament of virtues, by which he took Christ the prince. He is said also in the History Ecclesiastic, Lebbæus, which is as much to say as heart, or worshipper of heart. Or he is said Lebbæus of lebes, that is a vessel of heart by great hardiness, or a worshipper of heart by purity, a vessel by plenitude of grace, for he deserved to be a vessel of virtues and a caldron of grace. And Abdias, bishop of Babylon, by the apostles ordained, wrote their passion and legend in Greek, and Tropæus the disciple of Abdias translated it out of Greek into Latin. And he was named Africanus.
Simon Cananean and Judas Thaddeus were brethren of James the Less and sons of Mary Cleophas, which was married to Alpheus. And Jude was sent of Thomas to the king Abgarus of Edessa after the ascension of our Lord. And it is read in the History Scholastic that the said Abgarus sent an epistle unto our Lord Jesu Christ in this manner. Abgarus the son of Euchania to Jesus, blessed Saviour, which appeareth in the places of Jerusalem, sendeth salutation. I have heard of thee, and that the healths and recoverings that thou makest and dost, be without medicines and herbs, and that thou makest the blind to see by thine only word, and the lame to go, the mesels to be cured and made whole, and the dead bodies to live again. Which things heard of thee, I ween in my courage that thou art one of two, that is that thou art God that art descended from heaven for to do this, or that thou art the son of God that dost such things. Wherefore I pray thee by writing that thou wilt travail so much as to come to me and heal me of my malady, of which I have long been vexed. And I have heard say that the Jews murmur against thee and lie in await against thee. Come therefore to me, for I have a little city, but it is honest, and shall shall well suffice to us both. Our Lord Jesus answered him by writing in these words: Blessed art thou that hast believed in me when thou hast not seen me. It is written of me, that they that see me not shall believe in me, and they that see me shall not believe. Of that thou hast written to me that I shall come to thee, me behoveth to accomplish that which I am sent for, and after to be received of him from whom I am sent. When I am ascended, I shall send to thee one of my disciples to heal thee and quicken thee. This is written in Historia Ecclesiastica. And when Abgarus saw that he might not see God presently, after that it is said in an ancient history, as John Damascene witnesseth in his fourth book, he sent a painter unto Jesu Christ for to figure the image of our Lord, to the end that at least that he might see him by his image, whom he might not see in his visage. And when the painter came, because of the great splendour and light that shone in the visage of our Lord Jesu Christ, he could not behold it, ne could not counterfeit it by no figure. And when our Lord saw this thing he took from the painter a linen cloth and set it upon his visage, and emprinted the very phisiognomy of his visage therein, and sent it unto the king Abgarus which so much desired it.
And in the same history is contained how this image was figured. It was well-eyed, well-browed, a long visage or cheer, and inclined, which is a sign of maturity or ripe sadness. That epistle of our Lord Jesu Christ is of such virtue, that in the city of Edessa no heretic ne no paynim may live therein, ne none tyrant may grieve it. For if any people come against that city by force of arms, a child shall stand upon the gate, and shall read that epistle, and that same day either the enemies shall flee and be afraid, or they shall make peace with them of the town. And as is said: This hath been done. But this city hath been sith taken of the Saracens and touched in such wise, that for the multiplying of sins this benefit is lost.
Also it is read in the History Ecclesiastic that when our Lord was ascended into heaven, Thomas the apostle sent Thaddeus, that was Jude, unto the king Abgarus according to the promise of our Lord. And when he was come to him, and had told to him that he was messenger of our Lord Jesu Christ, which had promised to send him one, then Abgarus saw in the visage of Thaddeus a marvellous and godly brightness. And when he had seen it he was all abashed and afeared, and worshipped our Lord saying: Verily, thou art the disciple of Jesu Christ, Son of God, which sent to me word that he would send to me some one of his disciples that should heal me and give to me life. To whom Thaddeus said: If thou believest in the Son of God thou shalt have all the desires of thine heart. And Abgarus said: I believe on him, verily, and those Jews that slew him, I would gladly slay them if it were possible to me, and had power, howbeit that the authority letteth it. And as it is read in some places and books, that Abgarus was leper, and Thaddeus took the epistle of our Saviour, and rubbed and frotted therewith the visage of Abgarus, and anon he received full health.
Judas preached first in Mesopotamia and in Pontus, and Simon preached in Egypt, and from thence came they into Persia, and found there two enchanters, Zaroes and Arphaxat, whom S. Matthew had driven out of Ethiopia. And found there also Baradach, a duke of the kings of Babylon, which should go in battle against them of India, and could have none answer of his gods. And then they went to a temp]e nigh to the city, and there they had answer that because that the apostles that were come they might not answer. Then the duke did enquire for them, and found them, and demanded them wherefore they were come, and what they were. Which answered: If thou demand of our lineage, we be Hebrews, and if thou demand of our condition, we be servants of Jesu Christ, and if thou demand wherefore we be come, we be for your health. To whom the duke answered: When I shall return joyously from the battle I shall hear you. To whom the apostles said: It is more convenable to thee to know him now, by whom thou mayst overcome and appease them that be rebel to thee. And the duke answered: I see you more mighty than our gods; I pray you to say to us tofore the end of the battle. And the apostles said: Because that thou knowest thy gods to be liars, we command them that they give answer to that thou demandest, because that when they have we shall prove that they have lied. Then the idols said that the battle should be great, and much people should be overthrown on both sides. And then the apostles began to laugh and the duke said to them: I am afeard and ye laugh. And the apostles said: Doubt ye nothing, for peace shall be made among you, and tomorn at the hour of tierce the messengers of the Medes shall come, and shall submit them to thy puissance with peace. And then the bishops of the idols made a great laughter, and said to the duke: These men here would assure thee here, to the end that thou shouldst believe foolishly, and that thou shouldst be betaken of thine adversaries. And the apostles said: We say not abide a month, but one day only, and thou shalt be vanquisher all in peace. Then the duke made to be kept that one and that other, that they that said the truth should be honoured, and the liars punished. Then on the morn, like as the apostles had said, it happed, and then the duke would have burnt the bishops of the idols, but the apostles letted him that he should not slay them, for they were not come for to slay but for to quicken the dead. And then the duke much marvelled that they would not that they should be slain ne receive none of their goods, and brought them to the king and said: These be gods hid in form of men. And when he had told all to him in the presence of his enchanters, the enchanters, being moved of envy, said that they were malicious and wicked men, and purposed some malice against the realm subtly. Then the duke said to them: Now if ye dare, assay ye and dispute with them. And the enchanters said: If thou wilt, thou shalt see that they shall not now speak. We being present, make men to come hither that be eloquent and can well speak. And if they dare speak tofore us despise ye us, and say we be fools. And then were brought tofore them many advocates, and anon they were made dumb tofore the enchanters, so that by signs they might not show that they might not speak. Then said the enchanters to the king: To the end that thou know that we be gods, we shall suffer them to speak, but they shall not mow go, and then we shall give to them their going and shall take away their sight, and yet shall their eyes be open. And when they had done all these things, the duke brought the advocates all confused unto the apostles, and when the advocates saw the apostles so evil clothed, they had of them great despite in their courage. To whom Simon said: Ofttimes it happeth that among coffers of gold wrought with precious stones be right evil things enclosed, and within coffers of tree be laid gold rings and precious stones. Promise ye that ye will forsake the idols and will worship one only God invisible, and we shall make the sign of the cross in your foreheads, and ye shall then mow confound these enchanters. And when these advocates had renounced the idols and were marked in the foreheads with the sign of the cross, they entered again to the king tofore the enchanters. Then might they not be overcome of the enchanters, but confounded them openly before the king and all the people. The enchanters were then angry, and made to come a great multitude of serpents. Then the apostles came anon by the commandment of the king, and filled their mantles with the serpents, and threw them against the enchanters, saying: Move ye not in the name of our Lord Jesu Christ but be ye to-torn and beaten, so that ye cry and bray in showing what sorrow and pain ye suffer. And then when the serpents bit and eat the flesh of the enchanters, they cried and howled like wolves, and the king and the others prayed the apostles that they would suffer them to die with the serpents. And the apostles answered that they were sent for to bring men from death to life, and not from life to death. Then made they their prayers and commanded the serpents that they should take from them again the venom that they had shed, and return again to the places that they came from. And the enchanters felt greater pain when they drew out their venom again, than they did the first time when they bit them. And the apostles said to them: Ye shall feel this pain three days, and at the third day ye shall be whole, so that ye depart from your malice. And when they had been tormented three days without meat and drink and without sleep, the apostles came to them and said: God deigneth not to have service by force, and therefore arise ye all whole and go your way, ye have power to do what ye will. And they, abiding in their malice, arose up and fled from the apostles and moved almost against them all Babylon.
After, the daughter of a duke conceived a son by fornication, and at her deliverance thereof she defamed an holy deacon, and said that he had defouled her and she had conceived of him. And when the friends of her would have slain the deacon, the apostles came and demanded when the child had been born. And they said: Yesterday, the first hour of the day. And the apostles said: Bring hither the child to us, and also the deacon that ye accuse. And when that was done, the apostles said to the child: Say to us in the name of our Lord if this deacon hath done this deed, and the child answered: This deacon is chaste and an holy man, ne he never defouled his flesh. And then the parents and friends required that the apostle should demand who had done that felony. They answered: It appertaineth to us for to excuse the innocents, and not betray ne hurt them that be culpable. That time it happed that two cruel tigers, which were enclosed in a pit, brake out and devoured all them that they met and encountered, and then the apostles came to them and made them as meek and debonair, in the name of our Lord, as they had been sheep or lambs. And then the apostles would have departed thence, but they were holden by prayers so that they abode there a year and three months, and in that espace of time the king and more than sixty thousand men were baptized, without children. And the foresaid enchanters went into a city called Suamar, whereas were seventy bishops of idols, whom they moved against the apostles, so that when they came thither, either they should do sacrifice to the idols or they should be slain. And when the apostles had gone round about the province, they came to said city, and anon all the bishops and the people took them and brought them to the temple of the sun. And the devils began to cry in the simulachres: What will these apostles of the living God do to us? Lo! how we be burnt by flames in their entering into this city. And then the angel of our Lord appeared unto the apostles, and said to them: Choose ye of two things that one, that is, either that this people be suddenly dead or slain, or that ye be martyred. To whom they said: We will that thou convert them here, and lead us to the pain of martyrdom. And they then commanded silence, and the apostles said: Because that ye shall know that these idols be full of devils, we comnmand them for to come out, and that each of them break and destroy his false image. And anon two Ethiopians, black and naked, issued out of the idols, all the people seeing which were abashed, and all tobrake their idols, and went their way, crying cruelly. And when the bishops saw this, they ran upon the apostles and hewed them to death anon. And that same hour, which was right fair weather, came so great thunder and lightning that the temple was smitten in three, and the two enchanters were turned into coals by the stroke of thunder. And the king bare the bodies of the apostles into his city, and did do make a church of marvellous greatness in the honour of them. And it is founden in divers places, of S. Simon, that he was nailed to the cross, which thing Isidore saith in the book of the Death of the Apostles, and Eusebius in the History Ecclesiastic, and Bede upon the Acts of the Apostles, and Master John Beleth in his Summa witnesseth the same. And as they say, when he had preached in Egypt, he came again and was made bishop in Jerusalem after the death of James the Less, and was chosen of the court of the apostles, and it is said that he raised thirty dead men to life. When he had governed the church of Jerusalem many years, unto the time of Trajan the emperor, in the time that Atticus was consul in Jerusalem, of whom he was taken and tormented and done to much wrong. And at the last he was tormented and fixed to the cross, and the judge and all they that were there marvelled that the man which was six score years old might suffer the torment of the cross. And some say verily that it was not this Simon that suffered the martyrdom of the cross, but it was another, the son of Cleophas, brother of Joseph, and Eusebius, bishop of Cæsarea, witnesseth it in his chronicle. For Isidore and Eusebius corrected their chronicles of that they said tofore, which appeareth by Bede, that when he felt this he revoked it in his retractions. And the same witnesseth Usuard in his Martyrology. Then let us devoutly pray these apostles to be our special advocates unto our blessed Lord Jesu Christ their master, to have pity and mercy on us. Amen.
Quintin is said of quin, that be five, and of teneo, tenes, that is to hold, and is as much to say as holding five things. He held first in himself honesty of life, faith catholic, purity and cleanness of conscience, true preaching and crown of martyrdom
Quintin was of noble lineage of the city of Rome, and came into the city of Amiens, showing many miracles. And was taken there of the provost of the city by commandment of Maximian, and was beaten until they that beat him were weary, and after was put in prison, but he was unbound of an angel, and he went into the city and there preached to the people. Then he was taken again, and was strained on the eculee, an instrument to torment saints on, unto the breaking of his veins, and beaten with raw sinews right long, and afterwards he was boiled in burning pitch and oil, and yet for all that he mocked the judge. Then the judge did do put into his mouth quicklime, vinegar, and mustard, and yet always he abode constant and unmovable. And then he was brought into Vermandos, and fixed in him two nails from his head unto his knees, and ten nails between his nails and the flesh of his nails and the flesh on his hands. And at the last the provost made him to be beheaded, and threw the body into the water.
Which body was hid there fifty-five years, and then founden there by a noble woman of Rome. For as she was continually in prayer, she was in a night warned by an angel that she should go hastily unto the castle of Vermandos, and it was commanded to her that she should fetch the body of S. Quintin in such a place and bury it honourably. And when she came to the said place with a great company, and as she made her prayers, the body of S. Quintin appeared above the water, sweetly smelling and without corruption, which body she took and buried it worshipfully. And for the sepulture that she made honourably, she that tofore was blind, received her sight again for a reward. And then there she edified a fair church, and returned home to her own place again. In which church now is a fair monastery of monks and a good town called S. Quintins in Vermandos, where daily be showed many great miracles, especially for the dropsy, etc., and swelling of great bellies for over great superfluity of water. For this sickness in especial he is sought, and many men have been cured and made whole by the merits of this blessed saint and martyr S. Quintin. To whom pray we that we may be delivered from all infirmities, as far as it shall please God, and necessary for us. Amen.
Eustace was named tofore his baptism Placidus, which is as much as to say as pleasant to God. And Eustace is said of eu, that is to say, good, and statics, that is, fortune, therefore Eustace is, as it were, good fortune. He was pleasant to God in his conversation, and after, he held him in good works.
Eustace, which first was named Placidus, was master of the chivalry of Trajan, the emperor, and was right busy in the works of mercy, but he was a worshipper of idols. And he had a wife of the same rite, and also of the deeds of mercy, of whom he had two sons, which he did do nourish after his estate. And because he was ententive to the works of mercy, he deserved to be enlumined to the way of truth.
So on a day, as he was on hunting, he found an herd of harts, among whom he saw one more fair and greater than the other, which departed from the company and sprang into the thickest of the forest. And the other knights ran after the other harts, but Placidus siewed him with all his might, and enforced to take him. And when the hart saw that he followed with all his power, at the last he went up on a high rock, and Placidus approaching nigh, thought in his mind how he might take him. And as he beheld and considered the hart diligently, he saw between his horns the form of the holy cross shining more clear than the sun, and the image of Christ, which by the mouth of the hart, like as sometime Balaam by the ass, spake to him, saying: Placidus, wherefore followest me hither? I am appeared to thee in this beast for the grace of thee. I am Jesu Christ, whom thou honourest ignorantly, thy alms be ascended up tofore me, and therefore I come hither so that by this hart that thou huntest I may hunt thee. And some other say that this image of Jesu Christ which appeared between the horns of the hart said these words. And when Placidus heard that, he had great dread, and descended from his horse to the ground. And an hour after he came to himself, and arose from the ground, and said: Rehearse again this that thou hast said, and I shall believe thee. And then our Lord said: I am Jesu Christ that formed heaven and earth, which made the light to increase, and divided it from darkness, and established time, days, and hours. Which formed men of the slime of the earth, which appeared on earth in flesh for the health of the lineage human, which was crucified, dead, buried, and arose the third day. And when Placidus heard this, he fell down again to the earth, and said: I believe, Lord, that thou art he that made all things, and convertest them that err. And our Lord said to him: If thou believest, go to the bishop of the city and do thee be baptized. And Placidus said to him: Lord, wilt thou that I hide this thing from my wife and my sons? And our Lord said to him: Tell to them that they also make them clean with thee. And see that thou come again to-morrow hither that I appear again to thee, and may show to thee that which shall come hereafter to thee. And when he was come home to his house, and had told this thing to his wife in their bed, she cried: My Lord! and said: And I saw him this night that is passed, and he said to me: To-morn thou, thy husband, and thy sons, shall come to me. And now I know that it was Christ. Then they went to the bishop of Rome at midnight, which baptized them with great joy, and named Placidus, Eustace, and his wife, Theospis.
And on the morn Eustace went to hunt as he did tofore, and when he came nigh to the place he departed his knights as for to find venison. And anon he saw in the place the form of the first vision, and anon he fell to the ground tofore the figure, and said: Lord, I pray thee to show to me that which thou hast promised to me thy servant, to whom our Lord said: Eustace, thou that art blessed, which hast taken the washing of grace, for now thou hast surmounted the devil, which had deceived thee, and trodden him under foot, now thy faith shall appear. The devil now, because thou hast forsaken him, is armed cruelly against thee, and it behoveth thee to suffer many things and pains. For to have the crown of victory thou must suffer much, because to humble thee from the high vanity of the world, and shalt afterward be enhanced in spiritual riches, thou therefore fail not, ne look not unto thy first glory. For thee behoveth that by temptations thou be another Job, and when thou shalt so be humbled, I shall come to thee, and shall restore thee unto thy first joy. Say to me now whether thou wilt now suffer and take temptations, or in the end of thy life? And Eustace said to him: Lord, if it so behoveth. command that temptation to come now, but I beseech thee to grant to me the virtue of patience. To whom our Lord said: Be thou constant, for my grace shall keep your souls. Then our Lord ascended into heaven, and Eustace returned home and showed all this to his wife.
After this, a few days, the pestilence assailed his servants and his knights, and slew them all, and in a little while after, all his horses and his beasts died suddenly, and after this, some that had been his fellows, seeing his depredation, entered into his house by night and robbed him, and bare away gold and silver, and despoiled him of all other things. And he, his wife, and children thanked God, and fled away by night all naked, and because they doubted shame, they fled into Egypt. And all his great possessions came to nought by ravin of wicked people. Then the king and all the senators sorrowed much for the master of the chivalry, which was so noble, because they might hear no tidings of him. And as they went they approached the sea, and found a ship, and entered into it for to pass, and the master of the ship saw the wife of Eustace was right fair, and desired much for to have her. And when they were passed over, he demanded his reward for their freight, and they had not whereof to pay, so that the master of the ship commanded that the wife should be holden and retained for his hire, and would have her with him. And when Eustace heard that, he gainsaid it long. Then the master of the ship commanded his mariners to cast him in the sea, so that he might have his wife, and when Eustace saw that, he left his wife much sorrowfully, and took his two children and went weeping, and said: Alas! woe am I for you, for your mother is delivered to a strange husband. And thus sorrowing he and his children came to a river, and for the great abundance of water he durst not pass that river with his both sons at once, which were then young. But at the last he left one of them on the brink of the river, and bare over that other on his shoulders, and when he had passed the river, he set down on the ground the child that he had borne over, and hasted him for to fetch that other that he had left on that other side of the river. And when he was in the midst of the water, there came a wolf and took the child that he had borne over, and fled withal to the woods. And he then, all despaired of him, went for to fetch that other, and as he went, there came a great lion and bare away that other child, so that he might not retain him, for he was in the middle of the river. And then he began to weep and draw his hair, and would have drowned himself in the water if the divine purveyance had not letted him. And the herdmen and ploughmen saw the lion bearing the child all alive, and they followed him with their dogs, so that by divine grace the lion left the child all safe without hurt. And other ploughmen cried and followed the wolf, and with their staves and falchions delivered the child whole and sound from his teeth without hurt. And so both the herdmen and ploughmen were of one village, and nourished these children among them. And Eustace knew nothing thereof, but weeping and sorrowing, saying to himself: Alas! woe is me! for tofore this mishap I shone in great wealth like a tree, but now I am naked of all things. Alas! I was accustomed to be accompanied with a great multitude of knights, and I am now alone, and am not suffered to have my sons. O Lord, I remember me that thou saddest to me: Thee behoveth to be tempted as Job was, but I see that in me is more done to than was to Job. For he lost all his possessions, but he had a dunghill to sit on, but to me is nothing left, he had friends which had pity on him, and I have none but wild beasts, which have borne away my sons. To him was his wife left, and my wife is taken from me and delivered to another. O good Lord, give thou rest to my tribulations, and keep thou so my mouth that mine heart decline not into words of malice, and be cast from thy visage. And thus saying and wailing, in great weeping, went into a street of the town, and there was hired for to keep the fields of the men of that town, and so kept them fifteen years. His sons were nourished in another town, and knew not that they were brethren; and our Lord kept the wife of Eustace, so that the strange man had not to do with her ne touched her, but died and ended his life.
In that time the emperor and the people were much tormented of their enemies, and then they remembered of Placidus, how he many times had fought nobly against them, for whom the emperor was much sorrowful, and sent out, into divers parts, many knights to seek him, and promised to them that found him much riches and great honour. And two knights, which had been under him in chivalry, came into the same street where he dwelled, and anon as Placidus saw them, he knew them, and then he remembered his first dignity and began to be heavy, and said: Lord, I beseech thee to grant to me that I may sometime see my wife, for as for my sons I know well that they be devoured of wild beasts. And then a voice came to him and said: Eustace, have thou good affiance, for anon thou shalt recover thine honour, and shalt have thy wife and thy children. And anon he met with these knights, and they knew him not, but demanded of him if he knew any strange man named Placidus, and had a wife and two children. And he said: Nay, yet he had these home to his hostel, and he served them. And when he remembered of his first estate he might not hold him from weeping. Then he went out and washed his face and returned for to serve them. And they considered and said that one to that other, how that this man resembleth much unto him that we seek, and that other answered: Certainly he is like unto him; now let us see if he have a wound in his head that he gat in a battle. Then they beheld, and saw the sign of the wound, and then they wist well it was he that they sought. Then they arose and kissed him and demanded of his wife and children, and he said that his sons were dead, and his wife was taken away from him. And then the neighbours ran for to hear this thing, because the knights told and recounted his first glory and his virtue. And they said to him the commandment of the emperor, and clad him with noble vestments. Then after the journey of fifteen days they brought him to the emperor. And when he heard of his coming he ran anon against him, and when he saw him he kissed him. Then Eustace recounted tofore them all by order that which had happened to him. And he was re-established unto the office to be again master of the chivalry, and was constrained to do the office as he did tofore.
And then he counted how many knights there were, and saw there were but few as to the regard of their enemies, and commanded that all the young men should be gathered in the cities and towns, and it happed that the country where his sons were nourished should make and send two men of arms. Then all the inhabitants of that country ordained these two young men, his sons, most convenable above all others for to go with the master of the chivalry; and then when the master saw these young men of noble form and adorned honestly with good manners, they pleased him much and ordained that they should be with the first of his table.
Then he went thus to the battle, and when he had subdued his enemies to him, he made his host to rest three days in a town, where his wife dwelt and kept a poor hostelry. And these two young men, by the purveyance of God were lodged in the habitation of their mother, without knowing what she was. And on a time about midday, as they spake that one to that other of their infancy, and their mother, which was there, hearkened what they said much attentively, so that the greatest said to the less: When I was a child, I remember none other thing, save that my father which was master of the knights, and my mother, which was right fair, had two sons, that is to say, me and another, younger than I, and was much fair. And they took us and went out of their house by night, and entered into a ship for to go I wot not whither. And when we went out of the ship our mother was left in the ship, I wot not in what manner, but my father bare me and my brother, and sore weeping. And when he came to a water he passed over with my younger brother, and left me on he bank of the water, and when he returned a wolf came and bare away my brother. And ere my father might come to me, a great lion issued out of the forest, and took me up and bare me, to the wood, but the herdmen that saw him took me from the mouth of the lion, and was nourished in such a town as ye know well, ne I could never know what happened to my brother, nor where he is. And when the younger heard this he began to weep and say: Forsooth, like as I hear, I am thy brother, for they that nourished me said that they had taken me from a wolf. And then they began to embrace and kiss each other, and weep.
And when their mother had heard all this tbing, she considered long in herself if they were her two sons, because they had said by order what was befallen them. And the next day following she went to the master of the chivalry and required him, saying: Sir, I pray thee command that I may be brought again to my country, for I am of the country of the Romans, and here I am a stranger. And in saying these words she saw n him signs, and knew by them that he was her husband, and then she might no longer forbear, but fell down at his feet and said to him: Sir, I pray thee to tell of thy first estate, for I ween that thou art Placidus, master of the knights, which otherwise art called Eustace, whom the Saviour of the world hath converted, and hast suffered such temptation and such, and I that am thy wife was taken from thee in the sea, which nevertheless have been kept from all corruption, and haddest of me two sons Agapitus and Theospitus. And Eustace hearing this, and diligently considered and beheld her, anon knew that she was his wife, and wept for joy and kissed her; and glorified much our Lord God, which comforteth the discomforted. And then said his wife: Sir, where be our sons? And he said that they were slain of wild beasts, and recounted to her how he had lost them. And she said: Let us give thankings to God, for I suppose that like as God hath given to us grace each to find other, so shall he give us grace to recover our sons. And he said: I have told thee that they be devoured of wild beasts; and she then said: I sat yesterday in a garden and heard two younglings thus and thus expounding their infancy, and I believe that they be our sons, demand them and they shall tell to thee the truth. Then Eustace called them, and heard their infancy and knew that they were his sons. Then he embraced them and the mother also, and kissed them also. Then all the host enjoyed strongly of the finding of his wife and children, and for the victory of the barbarians. And when he was returned, Trajan was then dead, and Adrian succeeded in the empire, which was worst in all felonies. And as well for the victory as for the finding of his wife and children, he received them much honourably and did do make a great dinner and feast. And on the next day after, he went to the temple of the idols, for to sacrifice for the victory of the barbarians. And then the emperor seeing that Eustace would not do sacrifice, neither for the victory, ne for that he had found his wife and children, warned and commanded him that he should do sacrifice. To whom Eustace said: I adore and do sacrifice to our Lord Jesu Christ, and only serve him. And then the emperor, replenished with ire, put him his wife and his sons in a certain place, and did to go to them a right cruel lion, and the lion ran to them and inclined his head to them, like as he had worshipped them, and departed. Then the emperor did do make a fire under an ox of brass or copper, and when it was fire-hot he commanded that they should be put therein all quick and alive. And then the saints prayed and commended them unto our Lord, and entered into the ox, and there yielded up their spirits unto Jesu Christ. And the third day after, they were drawn out tofore the emperor, and were found all whole and not touched of the fire, ne as much as an hair of them was burnt, ne none other thing on them. And then the christian men took the bodies of them, and laid them in a right noble place honourably, and made over them an oratory. And they suffered death under Adrian the emperor, which began about the year one hundred and twenty in the calends of November.
The feast of all the saints was established for four causes. First, for the dedication of the temple; secondly, for supplement of offences done; thirdly, for to take away negligence; and fourthly, for to get more lightly that thing which we pray for. This feast was established principally for the dedication of the temple. For the Romans saw that they were seigniored all over the world, and therefore they made a right great temple and set their idol in the middle, and all about this idol they set the false images of all the provinces; so that all the images beheld right the idol of Rome. And it was ordained by art of the devil that, when a province would rebel against the Romans, the image of that province should turn his back to the idol of Rome, like as in showing that it departed from the seigniory of Rome. And then anon the Romans would bring great puissance into that province, and there subdued it to their seigniory. And yet it sufficed not to the Romans that they had in their seigniory all the false images of the provinces, but made to each of those false gods a temple, like as those gods had made them lords and vanquishers of all the provinces. And because that all the idols might not be in that temple, they made a greater temple, more marvellous and high than all the others, and for to show the more their woodness, they dedicated this temple in the honour of all their gods. And more for to deceive the people, feigned that it had been commanded to them of Cybele, a goddess, that is called mother of the gods. And they called this temple, Pantheon, which is as much to say as all gods; of pan, that is all, and theos, that is god. And because they would have victory of all the people, therefore they made a great temple to all the sons of Cybele. And the foundament of this temple was cast round by a sphere, that by this form the perdurability of their gods should be showed. And for as much as the great quantity of the earth which was within seemed not sustainable to be voided, and that the work was a little seen above the earth, they filled the crevices within the earth, and meddled pennies with the earth, and did always so till the said temple was fully accomplished. And then they gave licence that whosoever would take away the earth, that all the money that he found with the earth should be his. Then came hastily great company of people and voided anon the temple. And at the last the Romans made a pinnacle of copper and gilt, and set it in a right high place, and it is said all the provinces were entailed and graven marvellously within that pinnacle, so that all they that came to Rome might see in that pinnacle in what part his province was. And this pinnacle after long time fell, and remained in the overest part of the temple. And in the time of Phocas the emperor, what time Rome had received the faith, Boniface, the fourth pope from S. Gregory, about the year of our Lord six hundred and five, gat of Phocas the said temple, and did do take away and efface all the ordure of all these idols. And the fourth kalends of May he hallowed it in the honour of our Lady S. Mary and of all the martyrs. And called it S. Mary at martyrs, which is now called Sancta Maria Rotunda, that is S. Mary the round. For then was made no solemnity of the confessors. And because there assembled great multitude of people at this feast, and there might not be found abundance of victual for the people that came, Pope Gregory established this feast to be in the kalends of November, for then ought to be greater abundance of victual, when the corn is had in, and wine made, and he established this day to be hallowed through the world in the honour of all saints. And thus the temple that had been made for all the idols is now dedicate and hallowed to all the saints, and whereas the worshipping of idols was used, there is now the praising of all saints. Secondly, it is ordained for the supplement of things offended and trespassed, that is to say, for to accomplish such as we have overpassed, for we have left and overpassed many saints of whom we have made no feast. We may not hallow the feast of every saint by himself, as well for the great multitude, which be infinity, as for our infirmity. For we be feeble and weak, and may not suffice for the shortness of time, for the time may not suffice thereto. And as S. Jerome saith in an epistle which is in the beginning of his kalendar: There is no day, except the first day of January, but that there may be found every day more than five thousand martyrs. And therefore, because we may not singularly make feast of every saint, S. Gregory the pope hath ordained and established that we shall on one day honour them generally and together. And Master William of Auxerre putteth six reasons, in the sum of the office, wherefore it was established that we should here in this world make solemnity of the saints. The first is, for the honour of the divine majesty, for when we do worship the saint or saints, we worship God in his saints, and say that he is marvellous in them. For who that doth honour to saints, he honoureth him specially which hath sanctified them. The second is to have aid in our infirmity, for by ourselves we may have none health, therefore have we need of the prayers of saints, and therefore we ought to honour them, that we may deserve that they aid and help us. It is read in the Third Book of Kings, of the first chapter, that Beersheba is as much to say as the pit of filling, which is to say the church triumphant saying to her son, that is to say that to the church triumphant he had obtained the reign by his prayers. The third cause is for the augmentation of our surety, that is to say for the glory that is purposed in us; in their solemnity our hope and surety be augmented and increased. And if mortal men and dead might thus be enhanced by their merits, it is truth that the might and puissance shall nothing thereby be minished ne lessed. The fourth for the example of us following. For when the feast is remembered, we be called to ensue and follow them. So that by the example of them we despise all earthly things, and desire celestial things. The fifth is for the debt of interchanging neighbourhood, for the saints make of us feast in heaven. For the angels of God and the holy souls have joy and make feast in heaven of a sinner that doth penance, and therefore it is right when they make of us feast in heaven, that we make feast of them in earth. The sixth is for the procuration of our honour, for when we honour the saints we procure our honour, for their solemnity is our dignity, for when we worship our brethren we worship ourselves, for charity maketh all to be common, and our things be celestial, earthly and perdurable. And above these reasons, John Damascene putteth three reasons in his fourth book the seventh chapter, why and wherefore the saints and their relics ought to be honoured, of which some be praised for their dignities and some for the preciousness of their bodies. And the dignity of them is in four manners. For they be friends of God, sons of God, heirs of God, and our dukes and leaders. And S. John putteth these authorities: Johannis decimo quinto. For the first: Jam non dicam vos servos et cetera, I say you not now servants but friends. For the second, Johannis primo: Dedit eis potestatem filios Dei fieri, he gave to them power to be made the sons of God. Of the third: Ad Romanos octavo, if ye be sons ye be heirs, et cetera. Of the fourth he saith thus: How much shouldst thou labour to find a leader to bring thee to the king and speak for thee, that is to wit, that they be leaders of grace and of all human lineage, and speak and pray for us to God, wherefore they ought to be worshipped. Others be taken as touching the preciosity of their bodies. And the said John Damascene putteth four reasons, and S. Augustine putteth thereto the fifth, by which is showed the preciosity of the bodies or of the relics. For the holy bodies were the celiers of God, temple of Jesu Christ; they were the alabaster or box of the precious ointment, and the fountain of the divine life, members of the Holy Ghost. First, they were the celiers of God, for the saints be celiers of God and pure adornments. Secondly, they were the temple of Jesu Christ, for it followeth because that God dwelled in them by entendment, whereof the apostle saith: Ne know ye not that your bodies be the temple of the Holy Ghost dwelling in you? Hereof saith Chrysostom: Man delighteth him in edification of walls, and God delighteth him in the conversation of saints. Whereof David saith: Sire, I have loved the beauty of thy house. But that beauty is not made by diversity of marble, but it is given to living men by diversity of graces. The beauty of marble the flesh delighteth, the beauty of grace quickeneth the soul, the first deceiveth the eyes, and that other edifieth by double entendment. Thirdly, they be the alabaster or box of spiritual ointment, wherefore it is said: Ointment of good odour cometh of himself, and this give the relics of saints. If the water ran from the rock and out of the stone, in desert, and also water ran out of the jaw of the ass to Samson which had thirst, then it is not incredible that there runneth from the relics of saints ointments well-smelling to them that know the gift of God and the honour of saints which cometh from him. Fourthly, they be fountains of divinity. Of whom it is said: They that live in verity with free patience be assistant to God, and be to us wells of health. Our Lord Jesu Christ giveth unto relics of his saints many benefits in divers manners. Fifthly, they be members of the Holy Ghost. This reason assigneth S. Augustine in the book, De Civitate Dei, and saith: They be not to be despised but to be honoured greatly, and to worship the bodies of the saints, of whom, when they lived, the Holy Ghost used as his own member in all good works. And the apostle saith: Ye seek experience of him that speaketh in me, Christ. And of S. Stephen it is said: They might not resist his wisdom, ne to the Holy Ghost that spake in him. And Ambrose saith in the Hexametron: It is a right precious thing that a man is made the member of divine voice, and with his bodily lips expresseth the words celestial. Thirdly, the feast of all the saints is established for the cleansing of our negligences. For howbeit that we hallow the feasts of a few saints, yet we keep them negligently ofttimes, and leave many things undone by ignorance and by negligence. And if we have not solemnised any feasts as we ought to do, but negligently, now in this general feast we ought to fulfil and amend it, and purge us of our negligence. And this reason is touched in a sermon that is recited this day in the church. And it is ordained that at this day memory is made of all saints, that whatsomever fragility human hath done less than he ought by ignorance, by negligence, or by occupation of secular things in the solemnity of saints, that it be appeased in the observation of this holy feast. It is to be noted that there be four differences of the saints that we honour by the course of the year, which be of the New Testament, of whom on this day we gather together for to accomplish that which we have negligently done, that be apostles, martyrs, confessors, and virgins. And after Rabanus, these four be signified by the four parts of the world, by the orient, that is east, the apostles; by the south, the martyrs; by the north, the confessors; and by the west, the virgins. The first difference is of the apostles, of whom the excellence is manifested because they surmount all the other saints in four things. First, in sovereignty of dignity, for they be the wise princes of the church militant, they be the puissant assessors of the judge perdurable, they be sweet pastors of the sheep and flock of our Lord, and they be sweet judges. As Bernard saith: It beseemeth well to establish such pastors and such doctors of the human lineage that be sweet or soft, puissant and wise. Sweet or soft, that they receive us goodly by mercy, mighty, for to defend us puissantly, wise, for to bring us to the way of truth. After, they surmount the other saints in sovereignty of puissance, whereof S. Augustine saith thus: God gave power to the apostles over the devils, for to destroy them, above the elements, to change them, above nature, to cure it, above the souls for to assoil them of their sins, above the death, for to despise it, above the angels, for to sacre the precious body of our Lord Jesu Christ. Thirdly, they exceed other saints in prerogative of holiness, so that by their great holiness and plenitude of graces, the life and conversation of Jesu Christ shone in them as in a mirror, and was known in them as the sun in his splendour, as a rose in his odour, and as fire in his heat. And hereof saith Chrysostom upon Matthew: Jesu Christ sent his apostles as the sun his rays, and as the rose is felt by his odour and as the fire is seen in his sparkles, so by the virtues of them is known the puissance of Jesu Christ. Fourthly, the apostles exceed other saints in the effect of profit. Of which utility S. Augustine, speaking of the apostles, saith: Of the most vile, of the most idiotic, and of the least, be ennobled, enlumined, and multiplied the most eloquent and fair speakers, the clearest wits and cunning, and most plenteous wisdom, of facound and speaking of authors and doctors. The second diflference is of martyrs, of whom the excellence is showed, by that they suffered in many manners profitably, constantly and multiplyingly. For above the martyrdom of blood-shedding they suffered three other martyrdoms without effusion of blood, that is scarceness in plenty, which David had, largesse in poverty, which Tobit showed, and chastity of widowhood in youth, of which Joseph used in Egypt. And after Gregory also, this is treble martyrdom without shedding of blood, that is patience in adversity, whereof it is said: We may be martyrs without iron if we keep verily patience in our courage. Compassion of them that be in affliction and torments, whereof it is said: Who that hath compassion of any that is in necessity, he beareth the cross in his thought. And he that suffered villainy and loveth his enemy is a martyr secretly in his mind. Secondly, they suffered martyrdom profitably, which profit on the part of the martyrs is remission of all sins, heaping and having plenty of merits and receiving of joy perdurable. And these things have they bought with their precious blood, and therefore it is said: Their blood is precious, that is to say, full of price. And of the first and second, Augustine saith, in the City of God: What thing is more precious than death, by which sins be pardoned and merits increased? And the same upon John, saith: The blood of Jesu Christ is precious without sin, and yet made he the blood of his saints precious, for whom he gave his precious blood. For if he had not made the blood of his saints precious, it should not be said that the death of saints is precious in the sight of our Lord. And Cyprian saith that martyrdom is the end of sin, term of peril, leader of health, master of patience and house of life. Of the third, S. Bernard saith: Three things there be that make the death of saints precious, rest of travail, joy of novelty, surety of perdurability. And as touching to us the profit is double; for they be given to us for an example to fight, whereof S. John Chrysostom saith to us: Thou, christian man, art a knight delicate if thou ween to have victory without fighting and triumph without battle. Exercise thy strength mightily, and fight thou cruelly in this battle. Consider the covenant, understand the condition, know the noble chivalry, know the covenant that thou hast made and promised, the condition that thou hast taken, the chivalry to whom thou hast given the name. For by that covenant all men fight, and by that condition all have vanquished and by that chivalry. This saith Chrysostom. Secondly, they be given to us, patrons for to aid and help us, they aid us by their merits and their orisons. Of the first, saith S. Augustine: O the immeasured pity of our Lord, which will that the merits of the martyrs be our aids and suffrages. He examineth them for to enseign and teach us. He breaketh them for to gather us, and he will that their torments be our profits. Of the second, saith S. Jerome against Vigilantius: If the apostles and martyrs, when they were yet in their bodies alive, might pray for others, and were therein diligent, how much more then ought they to do after their crowns, victory and triumphs? Of whom Moses, one only man, get pardon for six thousand men armed, and S. Stephen prayed for his enemies, and sith they be now with God should they do less? Thirdly, the martyrs have suffered constantly. S. Augustine saith that the soul of a martyr is the glaive resplendent by charity, sharp by verity, brandished by the virtue of God fighting, the which hath surmounted the company of gainsaying them in reproving them. She hath smitten the wicked, and thrown down them that were contrary to her. And Chrysostom saith that the martyrs tormented were stronger than the tormentors, and the torn members vanquished the renting irons. The third difference is of the confessors, of whom the dignity and excellence is manifested because they confessed God in three manners, by heart, by mouth, and by work. The confession of heart sufficeth not without confession of mouth; like as John Chrysostom saith and proveth it in four manners. And as to the first he saith thus: The root of confession is faith of the heart, and as long as the root is alive and quick in the earth it is necessary that she bring forth boughs and leaves, and if it bring none forth it is to understand that it is dried in the earth. And all in like wise when to the root of faith is whole in the heart, she bringeth forth always confession in the mouth, and if the confession of the heart appeareth not in the mouth, understand without doubt that the faith of the heart is dried up. As to the second, he saith: If it sufficeth to believe in the heart and not to confess it tofore men, then thou art untrue and a hypocrite. For how be it that he believeth not at the heart, yet it profiteth him to confess with his mouth. And if it profiteth not him that confesseth without belief, it profiteth not to him that believeth without confession. And as to the third, he saith: If it suffice to Jesu Christ that thou know him, how be it that thou confess him not tofore men, then it sufficeth to thee also that thou know him, and if thou confess Jesu Christ tofore God and if his cognisance sufficeth not to thee, no more sufficeth to thee thy faith. As to the fourth, he saith: If only the faith of thy heart should suffice to thee, God would then have created to thee but only the heart, but God hath created both the heart and the mouth, for to believe with thy heart, and to confess it with thy mouth. Thirdly, they confessed God by work, and S. Jerome showeth how God is confessed by work or renied, and saith: Jesu Christ is sapience, righteousness, truth, holiness, and strength. Sapience is denied by folly, righteousness by iniquity, truth by leasings, holiness by filth, and strength by feeble courage. And as oft as we be overcome by vices and by sins, we reny God. Also in the contrary, as oft as we do any good, we confess God. The fourth difference is of the virgins, of whom the excellence and dignity is showed and manifested. First, in that they be the spouses of the eternal king, and hereof saith S. Ambrose: Who may esteem more greater beauty than the beauty of her that is loved of the king, approved of the judge, dedicated of God, always an espouse, and always without corruption? Secondly, because she is compared to angels; virginity surmounteth all conditions of nature human, by which men be associate to angels, and the victory of virgins is more than of angels. The angels live without flesh, and virgins living in their flesh triumph. Thirdly, for because they be more noble than other christian people, whereof Cyprian saith: Virginity is the flower of the seed of the church, beauty and adornment of spiritual grace, a glad joy of laud and honour, work entire and incorrupt, image of God, and yet more noble as to the holiness of God and portion of the flock of Jesu Christ. Fourthly, because they be put to their husbands; and this excellence that virginity had as to the respect of the accouplement of marriage appeareth by manifold comparation. For marriage filleth and swelleth the belly, and virginity the mind, whereof Augustine saith: Virginity chooseth to follow the life of angels in their flesh, than to increase the number of mortal people in their flesh. For it is more blessed and more plenteous to increase their mind than to be great with child. For some have children of sorrow, and virginity bringeth forth children of joy, virginity replenisheth heaven of children, and they that be married replenish the earth. And Jerome saith: The weddings fill the earth, and virginity filleth heaven; that one is of great business, and this is of great rest; virginity is silence of charge, peace of the flesh, redemption of vices and princess of virtues. Marriage is good, but virginity is better. S. Jerome saith to Palmatius the difference between marriage and virginity, and saith: The difference is as much as is between not to sin and to do well, or as I may clearlier say, as is between good and better. For marriage is compared to thorns, and virginity to roses. And he saith to Eustochius: I praise marriage, for they engender virgins. I gather from the thorns roses, gold from the earth, and out of the shell a precious margaret or stone. Fifthly is showed the dignity and excellence of virgins, for they enjoy many privileges. For the virgins shall have the crown that is called aureole, they only shall sing the new song, they shall be clad with vestments of the same with Jesu Christ, and joy always with him, and they shall follow always the Lamb. The fourth and the last: This feast is established for to impetre and get the sooner that thing that we pray for, because that we honour this day all the saints generally which also pray for us all together, and so they may the lightlier get the mercy of our Lord for us. For if it be impossible that the prayers of some saints be not heard, it is much more impossible that the prayers of all should not be heard. And this reason is touched when it is said in the collect: Desideratam nobis tuæ propitiationis abundantiam multiplicatis intercessoribus largiaris: Lord, give to us by the multiplied prayers of all thy saints the desired abundance of thy debonairly. And the saints pray for us by merit and by effect, by merit when their merit helpeth us, by effect when they desire our desires to be accomplished, and this do they not but thereas they accomplish the will of our Lord. And that on this day all the saints assemble them for to pray for us, it is showed in a vision that happened in the second year after this feast was stablished. On a time when the sexton of S. Peter had by devotion visited all the altars of the church, and had required suffrages of all the saints, at the last he came again to the altar of S. Peter, and there rested a little, and saw there a vision. For he saw the King of Kings in a high throne sit, and all the angels round about him, and the Blessed Virgin of virgins came crowned with a right resplendishing crown, and there followed her a great multitude of virgins without number, and continents also. And anon the king arose against her and made her to sit on a seat by him. And after came a man clad with the skin of a camel, and a great multitude of ancient and honourable fathers following him, and after came a man in the habit of a bishop, and a great multitude in semblable habit following him. And after came a multitude of knights without number, whom followed a great company of divers people. Then came they all tofore the throne of the king, and adored him upon their knees. And then he that was in the habit of a bishop began matins, and the others followed. And an angel which led this sexton thus in the vision, expounded this vision to him and said that our Blessed Lady the Virgin was she that was in the first company, and he that was clad in the hair of camels was S. John Baptist with the patriarchs and prophets, and he that was adorned in the habit of a bishop was Peter with the apostles; the knights were the martyrs and the others the confessors; the which all came tofore our Lord sitting in his throne, for to give to him laud and thankings of the honour that was done to them in this world of the mortal people, and prayed to him for all the universal world. And after, the angel brought him into another place, and showed to him men and women, some in beds of gold, others enjoying in divers delights, others naked and poor, and others begging, and said to him that this was the place of purgatory, they that dwelled there were the souls. They that abounded in wealth were the souls of them which were succoured by their friends by many aids, the poor were the souls of whom their executors and friends set not by them, ne did nothing for them. And then he commanded him that he should show this to the pope, that after the feast of All Hallows he should establish the commemoration of all souls, and that general suffrages temporal might be done for them on the next day, where they may have none in special.
The memory of the departing of all christian souls is stablished to be solemnised in the church on this day, to the end that they may have general aid and comfort, whereas they may have none special, like as it is showed in the foresaid revelation. And Peter Damian saith that in Sicily, in the isle of Vulcan, S. Odille heard the voices and the howlings of devils, which complained strongly because that the souls of them that were dead were taken away from their hands by alms and by prayers, and therefore he ordained that the feast and remembrance of them that be departed out of this world should be made and holden in all monasteries the day after the feast of All Hallows, the which thing was approved after of all holy church. And thereof we may specially touch two things; first, of the purgation of those souls, and secondly, of their suffrages. Of the first is to be considered three things, first, who be they that be purged, secondly, by whom they be purged, thirdly, where they be purged. The first be they that die tofore ever they have done satisfaction of the penance that hath been enjoined to them. Nevertheless if they had so much contrition in the heart that it had sufficed to efface the sin, they should have freely passed to the life perdurable, howbeit that they had not accomplished their will ne satisfaction, for contrition is right great satisfaction of their sins, and putting away of sin. And hereof saith S. Jerome: The length of time availeth not so much as of sorrow, ne the abstinence of meats availeth not so much as the mortification of vices, but now they that die without this contrition tofore to accomplishing of their penance be grievously punished in purgatory, but if it happen that the satisfaction of them be done of some of their friends. But to this, that such mutation of the satisfaction may avail, four things be required. The first is of the authority of the changer, for it ought to be done of the authority of the priest. The second is of his part for whom this mutation is of the satisfaction, that is the necessity of him. For he may be in such estate that he may not well do satisfaction for that other, that is to say in charity, for he ought to be in charity. The third is on his side on whom the commutation is made of satisfaction for that other, that is to say of charity. For it is requisite that he be in charity, by which he maketh satisfaction to be meritorious and sufficient. The fourth thing is proportion, that is to wit, that the lesser pain be proportioned in to greater, for the proper pain of the sinner satisfieth more to God than of a stranger, and always is he tormented in purgatory, but for the pain that he suffereth and that other payeth for him, he is the sooner delivered, for God accounteth his pain and the pain of that other. For if he were condemned to suffer the pain of two months in purgatory, he might so be holpen that he should be delivered in a month, but he shall never be taken thence till the debt be paid. And when it is paid that ought to be paid, after, it is converted into the weal of him that had done it, and if he have no need, it is turned into the weal of others that be in purgatory. The second that be in purgatory be they that have accomplished their penance, but always by the negligence or ignorance of the priest which confessed them it was not sufficient. And if they have not right contrition that may suffice for their sin, they shall accomplish all that there, because of the little penance doing in this life, for our Lord that knoweth the manner and the measure of pains and of sins, he giveth pain sufficient in such wise that there remaineth not one sin unpunished. Then the penance that is enjoined, either it is greater, or equal, or less. If it be greater, they that have done more it shall turn to the increasing of glory; if it be equal, then it shall suffice to the remission of his sin; if it be less, then that which lacketh shall be fulfilled by the virtue of the divine puissance and justice. Of them that repent them at the last, hearken what Augustine saith: He that is baptized, and at that hour goeth out of this world, he goeth surely. A man well living and so dieth, goeth surely. A man doing penance at the last and reconciled, if he go surely, I am not sure, therefore hold the certain way and leave the uncertain way. This saith S. Austin, for such do penance more for need than of will, and rather for dread of pain, than for love of glory. The third that go into purgatory be they that bear wood, hay, and stubble. These be they that, notwithstanding they love God, yet they have carnal affection to their riches, their wives, and possessions, yet they love nothing tofore God. And these be tormented in purgatory after the manner of their long or short being therein, as the wood in long burning, as the hay less, or the stubble least and shortest. And S. Augustine saith: Though this fire be not perdurable yet it is grievous marvellously, so that it surmounteth all the pain that any man suffered ever in this world. For so grievous pain was never found in the flesh, howbeit that martyrs have suffered great pains. The second is to wit by whom they be purged, or by whom punition is made. It is done by the evil angels and not by the good. For the good angels torment not the good souls, but the good angels torment the evil angels, and the evil angels torment the evil christian souls. And it is well to believe that the good angels visit oft and comfort their brethren and their fellows, and warn them to suffer in patience. And yet have they another remedy of comfort of this that attend certainly the glory to come, for they be certain to have joy, less than they that be in their country, and more certainly than they that be in their life. For the certainty of them that be in their country is without abiding and dread, for they abide not that is for to come when they have it present and doubt nothing to lose it. But the certainty of them that be in the life is contrary, but the certainty of them that be in purgatory is moyenne, for they abide to have it and without dread, for they have free will without dread confirmed, that they may no more sin. And yet have they another comfort, that they ween always that there be made prayers and done alms for them; and peradventure it is more true that this punition is not made by evil angels, but by commandment of the divine justice, and by the force thereof succeeding. As to the third, it is to wit where they be purged. In a place by hell which is called purgatory, after the opinion of divers wise men, how be it that it seemeth to some other that it is in the air, in a place burning and round. But nevertheless there be ordained diverse places to diverse souls, and for many causes, and that is for light punition or for hasty deliverance, or for the sin committed in that place, or for the prayer of some saint. First, for the light punition, as it is showed to some, after that S. Gregory saith: That some souls be purged in the shadow. Secondly, for their hasty deliverance, that they may show unto others how that they need to require aid, and thereby might hastily issue out of the pain.
Like as it is read that some fishers of S. Thibault that fished on a time in harvest, and took a great piece of ice instead of a fish. And they were gladder thereof than of a fish, because the bishop had a great burning of heat in his leg, and they laid that ice thereto and it refreshed him much. And on a time the bishop heard the voice of a man in the ice, and he conjured him to tell him what he was. And the voice said to him: I am a soul which for my sins am tormented in this ice, and may be delivered if thou say for me thirty masses continually together in thirty days. And the bishop emprised to say them, and when he had said half of them he made him ready to continue forth and say the other. And the devil made a dissension in thc city, that the people of the city fought each against other, and then the bishop was called for to appease this discord, and did off his vestments and left to say the mass. And on the morn he began all new again. And when he had said the two parts, him seemed that a great host had besieged the city, so that he was constrained by dread, and left to say the office of the mass. And after, yet he began again service, and when he had all accomplished except the last mass, which he would have begun, all the town and the bishop’s house were taken by fire. And when his servants came to him, and bade him leave his mass, he said: Though all the city should be burnt, I shall not Ieave to say the mass. And when the mass was done the ice was molten, and the fire that they had supposed to have seen was but a phantom and did no harm. Thirdly, for our infirmity that is, that we know what great pain is made ready to sinners after this mortal life. Also divers places be deputed to divers souls for our instruction, as it happed at Paris.
There was a master which was chancellor at Paris named Silo, which had a scholar sick, and he prayed him that after his death he should come again to him and say to him of his estate. And he promised him so to do, and after died. And a while after he appeared to him clad in a cope written full of arguments fallacious, and sophisms, and was of parchment, and withinforth all full of flame of fire. And the chancellor demanded him what he was. And he told to him: I am such one that am come again to thee. And the chancellor demanded him of his estate, and he said: This cope weigheth on me more than a mill-stone or a tower, and it is given me for to bear, for the glory that I had in my sophisms and sophistical arguments, that is to say, deceivable and fallacious. The skins be light, but the flame of fire withinforth tormenteth and all to-burneth me. And when the master judged the pain to be light, the dead scholar said to him, that he should put forth his hand and feel the lightness of his pain. And he put forth his hand, and that other let fall a drop of his sweat on it, and the drop pierced through his hand sooner than an arrow could be shot through, whereby he felt a marvellous torment. And the dead man said: I am all in such pain. And then the chancellor was all afeard of the cruel and terrible pain that he had felt, and concluded to forsake the world, and entered into religion with great devotion. Fourthly, for the sin that hath been committed in the place. As S. Augustme saith: Sometimes souls be punished in the places where they have sinned, as appeareth by an ensample that S. Gregory reciteth in the fourth book of his Dialogues, and saith that there was a priest which used gladly a bath, and when he came in to the bath he found a man whom he knew always ready for to serve him. And it happed on a day, that for his diligent service and his reward, the priest gave to him a holy loaf. And he weeping, answered: Father, wherefore givest thou me this thing? I may not eat it for it is holy. I was sometime lord of this place, but after my death, I was deputed for to serve here for my sins, but I pray thee that thou wilt offer this bread unto Almighty God for my sins, and know thou for certain that thy prayer shall be heard, and when then thou shalt come to wash thee, thou shalt not find me. And then this priest offered a week entire sacrifice to God for him, and when he came again he found him not. Fifthly, diverse places are deputed to diverse souls for the prayers of some saint, as it is read of S. Patrick that he impetred a place of purgatory in Ireland for some, of which the history is written tofore in his life. And as to the third, that is suffrages, three things ought to be considered. First, the suffrages that be done. Secondly, of them for whom they be done. Thirdly, of them by whom they be done. About the suffrages that be done, it is to be noted that there be done four manner of suffrages, which profit unto them that be dead, that is to wit, prayers of good friends, giving of alms, singing of masses, and observation of fastings.
As touching to that that the prayers of friends profit to them, it appeareth by ensample of Paschasius, of whom Gregory telleth in the fourth book of his Dialogues, and saith that there was a man of great holiness and virtue, and two were chosen for to have been popes, but nevertheless at the last the church accorded unto one of them, and this Paschasius always by error suflered that other, and abode in this error unto the death. And when he was dead the bier was covered with a cloth named a dalmatic, and one that was vexed with a devil was brought thither and touched the cloth, and anon he was made whole. And a long time after, as S. Germain, bishop of Capua, went to wash him in a bath for his health, he found Paschasius deacon there and served. And when he saw him he was afeard, and enquired diligently what thing so great and so holy a man made there. And he said to him that he was there for none other cause but for that he held and sustained more than right required in the cause aforesaid, and said: I require thee that thou pray our Lord for me. And know that thou shalt be heard, for when thou shalt come again, thou shalt not find me here. And then the bishop prayed for him, and when he came again he found him not.
And Peter, abbot of Cluny, saith that there was a priest that sung every day mass of requiem for all christian souls, and hereof he was accused to the bishop, and was suspended therefor of his oflice.
And as the bishop went on a day of great solemnity in the churchyard, all the dead arose up against him, saying: This bishop giveth to us no mass, and yet he hath taken away our priest from us, now he shall be certain but if he amend he shall die. And then the bishop assoiled the priest, and sang himself gladly for them that were passed out of this world. And so it appeareth that the prayers of living people be profitable to them that be departed, by this that the chanter of Paris rehearseth.
There was a man that always as he passed through the churchyard he said De profundis for all christian souls. And on a time he was beset with his enemies, so that for succour he leapt into the churchyard. And they followed for to have slain him, and anon all the dead bodies arose, and each held such an instrument in his hand that they defended him that prayed for them, and chased away his enemies, putting them in great fear. And the second manner of suffrages is for to give alms, and that helpeth them that be in purgatory, as it appeareth in the book of Maccabees, where it is read that Judas, the most strong man, made a collection and sent to Jerusalem twelve thousand drachmas of silver, there to be offered for the sins of dead men, remembering rightfully and religiously of the resurrection. And how much to give alms availeth for them that be departed, it appeareth by ensample, that S. Gregory putteth in his fourth book of Dialogues.
There was a knight that lay dead and his spirit taken from him, and a while after the soul returned to the body again. And what he had seen done he told, and said there was a bridge, and under that bridge was a flood, foul, horrible, and full of stench, and on that other side of the bridge was a meadow, sweet, odorous, and adorned full of all manner of flowers. And there on that side of the bridge were people assembled, clad all in white, that were filled with the sweet odour of the flowers. And the bridge was such that if any of the unjust would pass over the bridge, he should slide and fall into that stinking river, and the righteous people passed over lightly and surely into that delectable place. And this knight saw there a man named Peter, which lay bound and great weight of iron upon him, which when he asked why he lay so there, it was said to him of another: He suffereth because if any man were delivered to him to do vengeance, he desired it more to do it by cruelty than by obedience. Also he said he saw there a pilgrim that, when he came to the bridge, he passed over with great lightness and shortly, because he had well-lived here and purely in the world, and without sin. And he saw there another named Stephen, which when he would have passed, his foot slid that he fell half over the bridge, and then there came some horrible black men and did all that they might to draw him down by the legs, and then came other right fair creatures and white, and took him by the arms and drew him up. And as this strife endured, this knight that saw these things returned to his body and knew not which of them vanquished. But this way we understand that the wicked deeds that he had done strove against the works of alms, for by them that drew him by the arms upward it appeared that he loved alms, and by the other that he had not perfectly lived against the sins of the flesh. The third manner of suffrages is the oblation and offering of the holy sacrament of the altar, which profiteth much to them that be departed, as it appeareth by many examples.
Like as S. Gregory recounteth, in the fourth book of his Dialogues, that one of his monks named Justus when he came to his last end, he showed that he had hid three pieces of gold, and thereof sorrowed sore, and anon after he died. And then S. Gregory commanded his brethren that they should bury his body in a dunghill, and the three pieces of gold with him, saying: Thy money be to thee in perdition. Nevertheless, S. Gregory commanded one of his brethren to say for him every day mass, thirty days long, and so he did. And when he had accomplished his term, the monk that was dead appeared on the thirtieth day to one which demanded how it was with him, and he answered to him: I have been evil at ease unto this day, but now I am well. I have this day received communion, and thie sacrifice of the altar profiteth not only to them that be dead, but also to them that be living in this world. It happed there was a man which was with others, laboured in a rock for to dig for silver, and suddenly the rock fell on them and slew them all save this one man, which was saved in a crevice of the rock, but for all that he might not issue ne go out, and his wife supposed that he had been dead, and did do sing every day a mass for him, and bare every day to the offering a loaf and a pot of wine and a candle. And the devil which had envy thereat appeared three days continually to this woman in form of a man, and demanded her whither she went, and when she had said to him, he said to her: Thou goest in vain, for the mass is done. And thus she left the mass three days that she did not sing for him. And after this another man digged in the same rock for silver, and heard under this the voice of this man, which said to him: Smite softly and spare thine hand, for I have a great stone hanging over my head. And he was afeard, and called more men to him for to hear this voice, and began to dig again, and then they heard semblably that voice, and then they went more near and said: Who art thou? And he said: I pray you to spare your smiting, for a great stone hangeth over my head. And then they went and digged on that one side till that they came to him and drew him out all whole. And they enquired of him in what manner he had so long lived there. And he said that every day was brought to him a loaf, a pot of wine, a candle, save these three days. And when his wife heard that, she had great joy, and knew well that he had been sustained of her offering, and that the devil had deceived her that she had do sing no mass those three days.
And as Peter, the abbot of Cluny, witnesseth and saith that, in the town of Ferrara in the diocese of Grationopolitana, that a mariner was fallen into the sea by a tempest, and anon a priest sang mass for him, and at the last he came out of the sea all safe. And when he was demanded how he escaped, he said that when he was in the sea and almost dead, there came to him a man which gave to him bread, and when he had eaten he was well comforted, and recovered his strength, and was taken up of a ship that passed by. And that was found that it was the same time that the priest offered to God the blessed sacrament for him. And the fourth manner of suffrages that profiteth to them that be dead is fasting. S. Gregory, in speaking of this matter and of three others, witnesseth it and saith: The souls of them that be departed be assoiled in four manners, by the oblation of priests, by the prayers of saints, by the alms of friends, and by the fastings of their kinsmen.
That the penance done for them by their friends is available to them, is showed by a solemn doctor which rehearseth that, there was a woman which had her husband dead, and she was in great despair for poverty. And the devil appeared to her, and said that he would make her rich if she would do as he would say to her, and she promised to do it. And he enjoined her that the men of the church that she should receive into her house, that she should make them do fornication. Secondly, that she should take into her house by daytime poor men, and in the night drive them out void, and having nothing. Thirdly, that she should in the church let prayers by her jangling, and that she should not confess her of none of all these things. And at the last, as she approached towards her death, her son warned her to be confessed, and she discovered to him what she had promised, and said that she might not be shriven, and that her confession should avail her nothing. But her son hasted her, and said he would do penance for her. She repented her, and sent for to fetch the priest, but tofore ere the priest came, the devils ran to her and she died by the horribleness of them. Then the son confessed the sin of the mother and did for her seven years penance, and that accomplished he saw his mother, and she thanked him of her deliverance. And in likewise avail the indulgences of the church.
It happed that a legate of the pope prayed a noble knight, that he would make war in the service of the church and ride to the Albigeois, and he would therefor give pardon to his father which was dead. And the knight rode forth, and abode there a whole Lent, and that done his father appeared to him more clear than the day, and thanked him for his deliverance. And as to the third, that is to say for whom the suffrages be done, there be four things to be considered. First, who be they to whom it may profit; secondly, wherefore it ought to profit them; thirdly, it must be known if it profit to all equally; fourthly, how they may know the suffrages that be done for them. As to the first, who be they to whom the suffrages may profit? It is to be known, as S. Austin saith: That all they that depart out of this world, or they be right good or right evil, or between both. Then the suffrages that be done for the good, be for to yield thankings for them. And they that be done for the evil, be some comfort to them that live. And they that be done for them that be middle and between both, they be cleansings to them. And they that be right good be they that an anon fly to heaven, and be quit of the fire of purgatory and of hell also. And there be three manners of this people; that be, children baptized, martyrs, and perfect men, these be they that perfectly maintained the love of God, the love of his neighbour, and good works, and thought never to please the world but to God only. And if they had done any venial sin, it was anon put away by the love of charity, like as a drop of water in a furnace, and therefore they bear nothing with them that ought to be burnt. And who that prayeth for any of these three manner people, or doth any suffrages for them, he doth to them wrong. For S. Augustine saith: He doth wrong that prayeth for a martyr, but if one pray for one that is right good, of whom he doubteth that he be in heaven, then of his orisons be given thankings, and they come to the profit of him that prayeth, like as David saith: My prayer shall be turned into my bosom. And to these manner of people is the heaven anon open when they depart, ne they feel no fire of purgatory, and this is signfied to us by the three to whom the heaven was opened. It was first opened to Jesu Christ when he was baptized and praying, by which is signified that the heaven is open to them that be baptized, be they young or aged, if they die, anon they flee into heaven. For baptism is cleansing of all original sin and mortal, by the virtue of the passion of Jesu Christ. Secondly, it was opened to S. Stephen when he was stoned, whereof it is said in the Acts of the Apostles: I see the heavens open. And in this is signified that it is open to all martyrs, and they flee anon to heaven as soon as they depart. Thirdly, it was open to S. John the Evangelist, which was right perfect, whereof is said in the Apocalypse: I beheld, and lo! the door was open in heaven. By which it appeared that it is open to perfect men that have all accomplished their penance, and have in them no venial sins, or if any happen to be committed, anon it is consumed and extinct by the ardour of charity. And thus heaven is open to these three manner of people which enter lightly in for to reign perpetually. The right evil and wicked men be they that anon be plunged into the fire of hell, for whom if their damnation be known there ought no suffrages to be done for them, after that S. Augustine saith: If I knew my father to be in hell I would no more pray for him than for the devil, but if any suffrages were done for a damned man, of whom were doubt that he so were, nevertheless they should not profit him to his deliverance, ne that is to say from the pains, ne to the mitigation of them, ne lessing of it, ne shorting of time. For as Job saith: In hell is no redemption. They that be middle good, be they that have with them something to be burnt and purged, that is to say wood, hay, and stubble, or else they that be surprised with death before they might have accomplished their penance in their life, nor they be not so good but that they need have suffrages of their friends, ne they be not so evil but that suffrages might profit and ease them. And the suffrages that be done for them be cleansings for them, and these be they to whom suffrages only may profit. And in doing such manner suffrages, the church is accustomed to observe three manner days, that is the seventh day, the thirtieth day, and the anniversary. And the reason of these three days is assigned in the book of office. The seventh day is kept and observed that the souls should come to the Sabbath of everlasting rest, or because that all the sins that they have committed in their life be forgiven, which they have done by seven days, or that all the sins that they have committed in their body, which is made of four complexions, and in their soul, in which be three powers, may be forgiven. The trental is kept, which is in three dizains, that they may be purged of all such things as they have sinned in the Trinity and breaking of the ten commandments. The anniversary is observed, that they come from the years of calamity and maleurty unto the years of perdurability. And like as we solemnise every year the feast of a saint to their honour and our profit, right so we observe the anniversary of them that be dead unto their profit and our devotion. Of the second, that is wherefore the suffrages ought to profit to them, it is to wit that it ought to profit for three reasons. First, by reason of unity, for they be one body with them of the church militant, and therefore their goods ought to be common; secondly, by reason of dignity, by which they deserved when they lived that these suffrages should profit them. For they help other, and it is reason that they be holpen that have holpen other. Thirdly, by reason of necessity, for they be in the state in which they may not help themselves. As to the third, it is to wit if it profit to all equally. It is to wit that the suffrages, if they be done for some in special, they profit more to them for whom they be made than for others; and if they be done for the common, they profit more to them that have deserved most in this life; and if they be made equal, it profiteth them that have most need. Fourthly, that is to wit, if they know the suffrages that be done for them. After S. Augustine they may know it by three manners: first, by divine revelation, that is when our Lord showeth to them such thing; secondly, by manifestation of good angels, which be always here with us, and consider all that we do, and may incontinent descend to them and anon show it to them. Thirdly, by intimation of souls that go hence and go thither, for the souls that go from hence out of this world may well tell such things and others. Fourthly, nevertheless they may know it by experience and by revelation, for when they feel themselves alleged and relieved of their pain, they know well that some suffrages have been done for them. Thirdly, it is to wit by whom these suffrages be made. That is to wit, that if these suffrages should profit, it behoveth that they be done by them that be in charity, for if they be done by evil and sinful persons, they may not profit to them. Whereof is read that when a knight lay in his bed with his wife, and the moon shone right clear which entered in by the crevices, he marvelled much wherefore man which was reasonable obeyed not to his Maker, when the creatures not reasonable obeyed to him. And then began to say evil of a knight which was dead, and had been familiar with him; and then this knight, ot whom they so talked, entered into the chamber and said to him: Friend, have none evil suspicion of any man, but pardon me if I have trespassed to thee. And when he had demanded him of his state, he answered: I am tormented of divers torments and pains, and especially because I defouled the churchyard and hurt a man therein, and despoiled him of his mantle which he ware, which mantle I bear on me and is heavier than a mountain. And then he prayed the knight that he would do pray for him. And then he demanded if he would that such a priest should pray for him, or such one, and the dead man wagged his head, and answered not, as he would not have him. Then he asked of him if he would that such a hermit should pray for him, and then the dead man answered: Would God that he would pray for me. And the living knight promised that he should pray for him, and then the dead man said: And I say to thee that this day two years thou shalt die, and so vanished away. And this knight changed his life into better and at the day slept in our Lord. That which is said, that suffrages done by evil men may not profit but if they be works sacramental, as is the celebration of the mass, for that may not be defouled of an evil minister. Or else if he that is dead left any goods to dispose by some evil man, and should anon have disposed them and did not, like as it is read that it happed:
As Turpin the archbishop of Rheims saith, that there was a noble knight that was in the battle with Charles the Great for to fight against the Moors, and prayed one that was his cousin that if he died in battle, that he should sell his horse and give the price thereof to poor people. And he died, and that other desired the horse and retained it for himself. And a little while after, he that was dead appeared to that other knight, shining as the sun, and said to him: Cousin, thou hast made me to suffer pain eight days in purgatory, because thou gavest not the price of my horse to poor people, but thou shalt not escape away unpunished. This day devils shall bear thy soul into hell, and I being purged go into the kingdom of heaven. And suddenly was a great cry heard in the air, as of bears, lions, and wolves, which bare him away. Then let every executor beware that he execute well the goods of them that they have charge of, and to beware by this ensample heretofore written, for he is blessed that can beware by other men’s harms. And let us also pray diligently for all christian souls, that by the moyen of our prayers, alms, and fastings, they may be eased and lessed of their pains. Amen.
After that the holy man Beuno had do make many churches, and had ordained the service of God devoutly to be said in them, he came to a place of a worshipful man named Tenythe, the which was the son of a noble senator called Elinde, and desired that he would give to him as much ground as he might build a church on in the honour of God. Then he granted him his asking with good will, and then did do build thereon a fair church, to the which this worshipful man, his wife, and his daughter Winifred, resorted daily for to hear therein divine service. And then Winifred was set to school to this holy man Beuno, and he taught her full diligently and informed her perfectly in the faith of Jesu Christ. And this holy maid Winifred gave credence to his words, and was so inflamed with his holy doctrine that she purposed to forsake all worldly pleasancies and to serve Almighty God in meekness and in chastity. And then it fortuned upon a Sunday she was diseased, and she abode at home and kept her father’s house while they were at church. To whom there came a young man for to defoul her, who was named Cradok, the son of a king named Alane, which young man burned in the concupiscence of her by the enticing of the fiend, which had envy at this holy virgin, Winifred. And she demanded the cause of his coming. And when she understood his corrupt intent, she excused her and put him off all she might. And he, alway abiding in his foul purpose, would in no wise be answered. Then she, considering his foul desire, and fearing lest he would oppress her, feigned her as she would have consented, and said she would go into her chamber for to array herself for to please him the better. And when he had agreed to her, she closed fast the chamber door, and fled privily by another door toward the church. And when this young man had espied her, he followed her with his sword drawn like a wood man, and when he had overtaken her he said to her these words: Sometime I loved thee and desired to have thee to my wife, but one thing tell now to me shortly, either consent to me to accomplish my pleasure or else I shall slay thee with this sword. Then this blessed virgin Winifred thought firmly that she would not forsake the son of the everlasting king for to please the son of a temporal king, and said to him in this manner: I will in no wise consent to thy foul and corrupt desire, for I am joined to my spouse Jesu Christ which preserveth and keepeth my virginity. And trust thou verily, that I will not forsake him for all thy menaces and threatenings. And when she had said thus, this cursed tyrant full of malice, smote off her head. And in the same place whereas the head fell to the ground, there sprang up a fair well giving out abundantly fair clear water, where our Lord God yet daily showeth many miracles. And many sick people having divers diseases have been there cured and healed by the merits of this blessed virgin, S. Winifred. And in the said well appear yet stones besprinkled and speckled as it were with blood, which cannot be had away by no means, and the moss that groweth on these stones is of a marvellous sweet odour, and that endureth unto this day. And when the father and mother knew of their daughter, they made great lamentation for her death because they had no more children but her only.
And when this holy man Beuno understood the death of Winifred, and saw the heaviness of her father and mother, he comforted them goodly, and brought them to the place whereas she lay dead. And there he made a sermon to the people, declaring her virginity, and how she had avowed to be a religious woman. And after, took up the head in his hands, and set it to the place where it was cut off, and desired all the people that were there present to kneel down and pray devoutly to Almighty God that it might please him to raise her again unto life, and not only for the comfort of father and mother, but for to accomplish the vow of religion. And when they arose from prayer, this holy virgin arose with them also; made by a miracle alive again by the power of Almighty God. Wherefore all the people gave laud and praising unto his holy name for this great miracle. And ever, as long as she lived after, there appeared about her neck a redness round about, like to a red thread of silk, in sign and token of her martyrdom.
And this young man that had thus slain her had wiped his sword on the grass, and stood still there beside, and had no power to remove away, ne to repent him of that cursed deed. And then this holy man Beuno, reproved him, not only of the homicide, but also because he reverenced not the Sunday and dreaded not the great power of God, there showed upon this holy virgin, and said to him: Why hast thou no contrition for thy misdeed? But sith thou repentest not, I beseech Almighty God to reward thee after thy deserving. And then he fell down dead to the ground, and his body was all black, and suddenly borne away with fiends. Then after, this holy maid Winifred was veiled and consecrate into religion by the hands of this holy man Beuno. And he commanded her to abide in the same church that he had do make there by the space of seven years, and there to assemble to her virgins of honest and holy conversation whom she should inform in the laws of God. And after the seven years to go to some holy place of religion, and there to abide the residue of her life. And when this holy man should depart from her and go into Ireland, she followed him, till she came to the foresaid well, where they stood talking a long while of heavenly things. And when they should depart, this holy man said: It is the will of our Lord that thou send to me every year some token, which thou shalt put into the stream of this well, and from hence it shall by the stream be brought into the sea, and so by the purveyance of God it shall be brought over the sea the space of fifty miles, to the place where I shall dwell. And after they were departed, she with her virgins made a chasuble of silk work, and the next year following she wrapt it in a white mantle and laid it upon the stream of the said well, and from thence it was brought unto this holy man Beuno, through the waves of the sea, by the purveyance of God. After this, the blessed virgin Winifred increased from day to day in great virtue and goodness, and specially in holy contemplation with her sisters, moving them into great devotion and love of Almighty God. And when she had abode there seven years, she departed thence and went to the monastery called Wytheriachus, in which were both men and women of virtuous and holy conversation. And when she had confessed and told her life unto the holy abbot Elerius, he received her honourably and brought her to his mother, Theonia, a blessed woman which had the rule and charge of all the sisters of that place, and when Theonia was deceased out of this world, this holy abbot Elerius delivered to this holy virgin Winifred, the charge of the sisters, but she refused it as long as she might. But by constraint she took the charge and lived afterward a virtuous life, and more straiter and harder than she did tofore in giving good ensample to all her sisters. And when she had continued there in the service of God eight years, she yielded up her spirit to her maker, to whom let us pray to be a special intercessor for us. Amen.
Leonard is as much to say as the odour of the people. And it is said of leos, that is, people, and of nardus, that is, a herb sweet smelling, for by the odour of good fame he drew the people to him, and by the odour of good renomee. Or Leonard may be said as gathering high things. Or it is said of lion. The lion hath in himself four things. The first is force or strength, and as Isidore saith, it is in the breast and in the head. And so the blessed Leonard had strength in his breast by the refraining of evil thoughts, in the head by the contemplation of sovereign things. Secondly, the lion hath subtlety in two things, for he hath his eyes open when he sleepeth, and defaceth his traces when he fleeth. And thus Leonard waked by labour of good works, and in waking he sleepeth by rest of contemplation, and defaceth in himself the trace of all worldly affection. Thirdly, the lion hath might in his voice, for by his voice he raiseth the third day his whelp that is dead born, and maketh all other beasts by him to be in peace and rest. And in like wise Leonard raiseth many that were dead in sin, and many that lied bestially he fixed them in good works and profitable. Fourthly, the lion hath dread in his heart after that Isidore saith: He doubteth two things, that is, the noise of wheels of chariots or carts, and fire burning. In like wise Leonard doubted, and in doubting he eschewed all the noise of the world, and therefore he fled into the desert. And he eschewed the fire of covetise, and therefore he refused the treasures that were offered him
It is said that Leonard was about the year of our Lord five hundred. And he was baptized in the holy font of S. Remigius, archbishop of Rheims, and was instructed of him and induced in holy discipline of health. And the parents and kinsmen of S. Leonard were chief and highest in the palace of the king of France. This Leonard gat so much grace of the king, that all the prisoners that he visited were anon delivered. And when the renomee of his holiness grew and increased, the king constrained him for to dwell with him long time, till that he had time convenable, and gave to him a bishopric. And he refused it and left all, desiring to be in desert, and went to Orleans, preaching there with his brother Lifardus, and there lived a little while in a convent. And then Lifardus had desire to dwell alone in a desert upon the river of Loire, and Leonard was warned by the Holy Ghost to preach in Guienne, and then they kissed together and departed. Then Leonard preached there and did many miracles, and dwelled in a forest nigh to the city of Limoges. In which forest the king had do make a hall or a lodge, which was ordained for him when he should go hunt. And it happed on a day that the king went for to hunt in that forest, and the queen, which was gone thither with him for her recreation, which then was great with child, began to travail of child. And the travail endured long, and she was in point to perish, so that the king and all the meiny wept for the peril of the queen. And then Leonard passed through the forest and heard the voice of them that wept, and was moved with pity and went thither. And the king called him, and demanded him what he was, and he said that he was a disciple of S. Remigius. And then the king had good hope because he had been informed of a good master, and brought him to the queen, and prayed him that he would pray for her, and for the fruit that she bare, that she might get of God double joy. And anon as he had made his prayer, he gat of God that he required. Then the king offered to him much gold and silver, but he refused all, and desired him to give it to poor men, and said: I have no need of such things, it sufficeth me to despise the riches of the world and to serve God in this wood, and that is that I desire. And then the king would have given to him all the wood. I will not have all, but as much as I may go about with mine ass in a night, I desire, which the king gladly granted to him. And there was made a monastery in which he lived long in abstinence, and two monks with him. And their water was a mile from them, wherefore he did do make a pit all dry, the which he filled with water by his prayers, and called that place noble, because he had received it of a noble king. And he shone there by so great miracles, that who that was in prison and called his name in aid, anon his bonds and fetters were broken, and went away without any gainsaying freely, and came presenting to him their chains or irons. And many of them that were so delivered, dwelled still with him and served there our Lord. And there were seven of his noble lineage which sold away all their goods and dwelled with him, and he delivered to each of them a part of that wood. And by his holy example he drew many to him. And at the last this holy man, being endowed with many virtues, the eighth ides of November departed out of this world, and slept in our Lord, whereafterward for the many miracles that God showed there, it was showed to the clerks of the church that because that place was over little for the great multitude of people that came thither, that they should do make in another place another church, and bear therein the body of S. Leonard honourably.
And then the clerks and the people were all three days in fastings and in prayers. And on the third day they saw all the country covered with snow, save only the place wherein S. Leonard would rest, which was all void. And thither was the body transported, and the church made. And the great multitude of irons of diverse manners witness well how many miracles our Lord hath showed for him, and specially to prisoners, of whom the fetters and irons hang tofore his tomb.
The viscount of Limoges had do make a great chain for to fear withal the malefactors, and commanded that it should be fastened unto a trunk in his tower. And whosomever was bounden with this chain to that trunk thereas it was set, he might see no light. And it was a place right dark, and whoso died there, died not of one death only, but more than of a thousand torments. And it happed that one of the servants of S. Leonard was bounden with this chain without deserving, so that almost he gave over his spirit. And then as he might, in his courage he avowed to S. Leonard, and prayed him that sith he delivered other that he would have pity on his servant. And anon S. Leonard appeared to him in a white vesture and said: Fear thee nothing, for thou shalt not die. Arise up, and bear thou this chain with thee to my church; follow me, for I go tofore. Then he arose and took the chain and followed S. Leonard, which went tofore him till he came to the church. And anon, as he was tofore the gates, S. Leonard left him there, and he then entered into the church and recounted to all the people what S. Leonard had done. And he hung that great chain tofore his tomb. There was a certain man which dwelled in the place of S. Leonard, and was much faithful and devout to S. Leonard. And it happed that this good man was taken of a tyrant, which began to think in himself that S. Leonard unbindeth and looseth all them that be bounden in irons, and the might of iron hath no more might against him than wax hath against the fire. If I set this man in irons Leonard shall anon deliver him, and if I may keep him I shall make him pay for his ransom a thousand shillings. I wot well what I shall do. I shall go make a right great and deep pit under the earth in my tower, and I shall cast him therein bounden with many bonds. And after I shall do make a chest of tree upon the mouth of the pit, and shall make my knights to lie therein all armed. And how be it that if Leonard break the irons, yet shall he not enter into it under the earth.
And when he had made all this that he thought, this man which was enclosed therein cried oft to S. Leonard, so that on a night S. Leonard came and turned the chest wherein the knights lay armed, and closed them therein like as dead men be in a tomb. And after entered into the fosse or pit with great light, and took the hand of his true servant, and said to him: Sleepest thou or wakest. Lo! here is Leonard whom thou so much desirest. And he, sore marvelling, said: Lord help me! And anon his chains were broken, and took him in his arms and bare him out of the tower, and then spake to him as a friend doth to a friend, and set him at home in his house. There was a pilgrim which returned from the visiting of S. Leonard, and was taken in Almaine and put in a pit or fosse, and fast closed therein. And this pilgrim prayed strongly S. Leonard and also them that took him, that they would for the love of S. Leonard let him go, for he had never trespassed to them. And they answered, but if he would pay much money he should not depart. And he said: Be it between you and S. Leonard, to whom I remit the matter. And the night following S. Leonard appeared to the lord of the castle and commanded him that he should deliver his pilgrim, and on the morn he supposed he had dreamed, and would not deliver him. The next night he appeared to him again, and commanded him to let him go, but yet he would not obey. The third night S. Leonard took this pilgrim and brought him out of the castle, and anon the tower and half the castle fell, and oppressed many of them that were therein, and the prince only was left, to his confusion, alive, and had his thighs broken. et cetera.
There was a knight in prison in Brittany which oft called on S. Leonard, which anon appeared to him in the sight of all men, and knowing him, and they being sore abashed, entered into the prison and brake his bonds and put them in the man’s hand, and brought him forth before them all, being sore afeard.
There was another Leonard, which was of the same profession and of one virtue, of whom the body resteth at Corbigny. And when this Leonard was prelate in a monastery he was of so great humility that he was seen to be lowest of all. And much people came to him, so fast and so many, that they that were envious said to the king Clothair that, if he took not good heed to the realm of France he should suffer damage, and that great by Leonard, which gathered to him much people under the shadow of religion. And then this cruel king commanded that he should be chased away, but the knights that came for to chase him were so converted by his words that, they were compunct, and promised to be his disciples. And then the king repented him, and required pardon of him, and put them from him that had so missaid of him, and from their goods and honours, and loved much S. Leonard, so that unnethe the king would not re-establish them again to their estate at the prayers of the holy saint. And this holy saint impetred and had grant of God, that whosomever were holden in prison and prayed in his name that he should anon be delivered. And on a day, as he was in his prayers, a right great serpent stretched him from the foot of S. Leonard along upward unto his breast, and he never therefore left his orison. And when he had accomplished his orisons, he said to the serpent: I know well that sith the beginning of thy creation thou tormentest men as much as thou mayst, but thy might is given to me now, do to me now that which I have deserved. And when he had said thus the serpent sprang out of his hood and fell down dead at his feet. After this, on a time when he had appeased two bishops that had been in discord, he said that he should on the morn finish his life. And so he did, and that was about the year of our Lord five hundred and seventy.
The four crowned martyrs were Severus, Severianus, Carpoforus, and Victorinus, which by the commandment of Diocletian were beaten with plummets of lead unto the death. The names of whom could not be found, but after long time they were showed by divine revelation, and it was established that their memory should be worshipped under the names of five other martyrs, that is to wit Claudian, Castor, Symphorian, Nicostratus, and Simplician, which were martyred two years after the four crowned martyrs. And these martyrs knew all the craft of sculpture or of carving, and Diocletian would have constrained them to carve an idol, but they would not entail ne carve it, ne consent to do sacrifice to the idols. And then by the commandment of Diocletian they were put into tuns of lead all living, and cast into the sea about the year of our Lord two hundred four score and seven. And Melchiades, the pope, ordained these four saints to be honoured and to be called the four crowned martyrs before that their names were found. And though their names were afterward found and known, yet for the usage they be always called the four crowned martyrs.
Theodore is said of theos, that is as much to say as God, and of das, that is to say, give. And of rus, ruris, that is, a field. And thus Theodorus is as much to say as a field given of God. For he gave him to God and renounced the field of the chivalry of the emperor.
Theodore suffered death under Diocletian and Maximian in the city of Marine. And when the provost said to him that he should do sacrifice and return to his first chivalry, Theodore answered: I serve my God and his son Jesu Christ. To whom the provost said: Then thy God hath a son? And Theodore said: Yea, certainly. To whom the provost said: Of whom may we know him? And Theodore said: Forsooth ye may well know him and go to him. And then there was term given to S. Theodore for to do sacrifice unto the idols. And he entered into the temple of Mars by night and put fire in it under, and burnt all the temple. And then he was accused of a man that had seen him, and was enclosed in the prison for to die there for hunger, and then our Lord appeared to him and said: Theodore my servant, have thou good hope, for I am with thee. Then came to him a great company of men clad in white, the door being closed and began to sing with him. And when the keepers saw that they were afeard and fled. Then he was taken out and warned to do sacrifice. He said: If thou burn my flesh by fire and consumest it by divers torments, I shall never reny my God as long as my spirit is in me. Then he was hanged on a tree by commandment of the emperor, and cruelly his body was rent and torn with hooks of iron, that his bare ribs appeared. Then the provost demanded of him: Theodore, wilt thou be with us or with thy God Christ? And Theodore answered: I have been with my Jesu Christ, and am, and shall be. Then the provost commanded that he should be burnt in a fire. In which fire he gave up his spirit, but the body abode therein without hurt about the year of our Lord two hundred and seventy-seven. And all the people were replenished with right sweet odour, and a voice was heard which said: Come to me, my friend, and enter into the joy of thy Lord, and many of the people saw the heaven open.
Martin is as much to say as holding Mars, that is the God of battle, against vices and sins. Or Martin is said as one of the martyrs, for he was a martyr by his will, and by mortifying of his flesh. Or Martin is expounded thus: As despising, provoking, or seignioring. He despised the devil his enemy, he provoked the name of our Lord to mercy, and he seigniored over his flesh by continual abstinence in making it lean. Over which flesh reason or courage should dominate, as S. Denis saith in an epistle to Demophile: Like as a lord domineth over his servant, or a father his son, or an old man a young wanton, so should reason dominate the flesh. Severus which otherwise was called Sulpicius, disciple of S. Martin, wrote his life, which Severus, Gerandius remembereth, and numbereth among the noble men.
Martin was born in the castle of Sabaria in the country of Pannonia, but he was nourished in Italy at Pavia with his father, which was master and tribune of the knights under Constantian and Julian Cæsar. And Martin rode with him, but not with his will. For from his young infancy he was inspired divinely of God, and when he was twelve years old he fled to the church against the will of all his kin, and required to be made new in the faith. And from thence he would have entered into desert, if infirmity of malady had not let him. And as the emperors had ordained that the sons of ancient knights should ride instead of their fathers, and Martin, which was fifteen years old, was commanded to do the same, and was made knight, and was content with one servant, and yet ofttimes Martin would serve him and draw off his boots.
In a winter time as Martin passed by the gate of Amiens, he met a poor man all naked, to whom no man gave any alms. Then Martin drew out his sword and carved his mantle therewith in two pieces in the middle, and gave that one half to the poor man, for he had nothing else to give to him, and he clad himself with that other half. The next night following, he saw our Lord Jesu Christ in heaven clothed with that part that he had given to the poor man, and said to the angels that were about him: Martin, yet new in the faith, hath covered me with this vesture. Of which thing this holy man was not enhanced in vain glory, but he knew thereby the bounty of God. And when he was eighteen years of age he did do baptize himself, and promised that he should renounce the dignity to be judge of the knights, and also the world, if his time of his provostry were accomplished.
Then held he yet chivalry two years. And in the meanwhile the barbarians entered among the Frenchmen, and Julian Cæsar, which should have fought against them, gave great money unto the knights. And Martin willing no more to fight, refused his gift, but said to Cæsar: I am a knight of Jesu Christ, it appertaineth not to me for to fight. Then Julian was wroth, and said that it was not for the grace of religion that he renounced chivalry, but for fear and dread of the present battle following. To whom Martin, not being afeard, said to him: Because that thou holdest it for cowardice, and that I have not done it for good faith, I shall be to-morn all unarmed tofore the battle, and shall be protected and kept by the sign of the cross, and not by shield ne by helm, and shall pass through the battles of the enemies surely. And then he was commanded to be kept for to be on the morn all unarmed against the enemies. But on the morn the enemies sent messengers that they would yield them and their goods, whereof it is no doubt but that by the merits of this holy man that this victory was had without shedding of blood. And then forthon he left chivalry and went to S. Hilary, bishop of Poictiers and he made him acolyte. And he was warned of our Lord in his sleep that he should yet visit his father and mother which yet were paynims, and also that he should suffer many tribulations. For as he went over the mountains he fell among thieves. And when one of the thieves had lifted up an axe for to have smitten him in the head, he bare the stroke with his right hand, and then that other took his hands and bound them behind him at his back, and delivered him to another to hold him. And it was asked of him if he were afraid or doubted. To whom Martin answered that he was never tofore so sure, for he knew well that the mercy of God was ready and would come in temptations, and then began to preach to the thief and converted him to the faith of Jesu Christ; and then the thief brought Martin forth on his way, and afterward lived a good life.
And when he was past Milan, the devil appeared to him in a man’s likeness, and demanded him whither he went. And he said: Thither whereas our Lord would that he should go. And the devil said to him: Wheresoever thou goest the devil shall always be against thee; and Martin answered to him: Our Lord is mine helper, and therefore I doubt nothing that may be done to me, and then anon the fiend vanished away. Then he went home and converted his mother, but his father abode still in his error. And when the heresy Arian grew in the world, he was beaten openly and put out of the city, and came to Milan, and did do make there a monastery, but he was cast out of the Arians, and went with one priest only into the isle of Gallinaria and there took for his meat, herbs. And among others he took a herb envenomed, which was named hellebore. And when he felt that he should die and was in peril, he chased away the pain and peril of the venom by the virtue of prayer.
And then he heard that the blessed Hilary returned from his exile, and went to meet him, and ordained a monastery by Poictiers. And there was one renewed in the faith which he had in keeping. And when he went a little out and came again, he found him dead without baptism. And then he went into his cell and brought the corpse thither, and there kneeled by the corpse, and by his orisons he remised him in his life again. And as that same rehearseth oft, that when the sentence was given against him, he was put in a dark place, and two angels said to the judge: This is he for whom Martin is pledge, and then he commanded that he should be removed unto his body, and so was yielded alive to Martin. And also he re-established the life to another that was hanged.
And truly, when the people of Tours had no bishop, they required strongly him to be their bishop, and he refused it. But there was one which was to him contrary because he was of evil habit and despicable of cheer, and one there was among the other which was named defensor. And when the lector was not present, another took the psalter and read the first psalm that he found, in which psalm was written this verse: Ex ore infantium, God, thou hast performed the laud by the mouth of children and young suckers, and for thine enemies thou shalt destroy the enemy defensor.
And thus that defensor was chased out of the town by all the people. And then he was ordained bishop. And because he might not suffer the tumult ne noise of the people, he established a monastery at two leagues from the city, and there lived in great abstinence with four score disciples, of whom divers cities chose of them to be their bishops.
And there was a corpse in a chapel which was worshipped as a martyr, and S. Martin could find nothing of his life ne of his merits. He came on a day on the sepulchre of him, and prayed unto our Lord that he would show to him what he was, and of what merit. And then he turned him on the left side and saw there a right obscure and a dark shadow. Then S. Martin conjured him, and demanded him what he was. And he said to him that he was a thief, and that for his wickedness was slain. Anon then S. Martin commanded that the altar should be destroyed. It is read in the Dialogue of Severus and Gallus, disciples of S. Martin, that there be many things left out in the life of S. Martin which be accomplished in the said Dialogue. So on a time S. Martin went to Valentinian the emperor for a certain necessity, and the emperor knew well that he would require such thing as he would not give to him, and Martin came twice to have entered, but he might not enter. Then he wrapped him in hair and cast ashes on him, and made his flesh lean of a whole week by fastings, and did great abstinence, and then the angel warned him to go to the palace and no man should gainsay him. And then he went to the emperor, and when he saw him he was angry because he was let come in, and would not arise against him till that the fire entered into his chamber, and felt the fire behind him. Then he arose all angry and confessed that he had felt the virtue divine, and began to embrace S. Martin, and granted to him all that he desired, and offered to him many gifts, but he refused and took none.
And in this Dialogue it is read how he raised the third dead person. For when a youngling was dead, his mother prayed S. Martin, with weeping tears, for to raise him to life. And he kneeled down and made his prayer, and the child arose tofore them all. And all the paynims that saw this converted them to the faith of Jesu Christ. And all things obeyed to this holy man, as well things not sensible as vegetative, and not reasonable, as things insensible, as the fire and water.
For when he had commanded to set fire in a temple, the flame was brought with the wind upon a house that was joining. And he mounted upon the house and set himself against the fire, and anon the flame returned against the might of the wind, so that there was seen the fighting of the elements. And when a ship should have perished in the sea, there was therein a merchant which was not christian, and escried and said: God of S. Martin help us. And anon the tempest ceased, and the sea became all still and even. And also to him obeyed things vegetative as trees, for he destroyed in a place right old trees. And there was a tree of a pine, which was dedicated to the devil, he would have razed down that tree, and the villains and paynims withsaid him so that one of them said to him: If thou hast affiance in thy God, we shall hew down this tree, and thou shalt receive it. And if thy God be with thee as thou sayest, thou shalt escape. And he granted it, and then the tree was hewn and bounden for to fall upon him.
And when it should fall he made the sign of the cross against it, and it fell on that other side and slew almost all the villains that were there, and then the others were converted to the faith when they had seen this miracle.
And many beasts not reasonable obeyed to him, like as it is said in the Dialogue: Hounds followed a hare, and he commanded them to leave to follow him, and anon they tarried, and abode still, like as they had been overcome. A serpent passed over a river, and S. Martin said to the serpent: I command thee in the name of God that thou return anon. And the serpent returned by the words of S. Martin, and went to that other side, and then S. Martin said, all weeping: The serpents understand me well, and the men will not hear me.
On a time as a hound barked on one of the disciples of S. Martin, the disciple returned and said to the hound: I command thee in the name of S. Martin that thou hold thy peace, and anon the hound was all still as his tongue had been cut off. The blessed S. Martin was of great humility; for he met at Paris a foul leper, horrible to all men, and he kissed him and blessed him, and anon he was all whole. When he was secretly in the revestiary he had no chair, ne no man never saw him in the church sit, but in his cell he sat upon a threefoot stool. He was of much great dignity, for he was like unto the apostles, and that was by the grace of the Holy Ghost that descended in him in the likeness of fire, like as he descended in the apostles, and the apostles visited him, as he had been seen one of them.
And as it is read in the Dialogue that, he sat on a time alone in his cell, and Severus and Gallus abode him without the gates, the which were smitten suddenly with great fear, for they heard divers people speak together within the cell, and then they told it to S. Martin. And S. Martin said: I will tell it to you, but I pray you to tell it to nobody, Agnes, Thecla and Mary came to me; and he confessed that they had oft visited him, and also Peter and Paul were come oft and visited him. And he was of great humility, for when the emperor Maximian had on a time bidden him to a feast, the drink was brought to Martin for to drink, and each man weened that he would have given after to the king, but he gave it to his priest, for he wist well that there was none worthy to drink tofore the priest, and judged in himself that it was not a thing worthy if he had given it to the king or his neighbours tofore the priest. He was of much great patience, for he kept so great patience that he that was sovereign priest was oft-time hurt of his clerks without punishing them, ne therefore put he them not out of charity. Never man saw him angry, ne never man saw him weep, ne laugh, ne never was in his mouth but Jesu Christ, ne in his heart but pity, peace and mercy.
It is read in the same Dialogue that S. Martin was clad with a sharp clothing, blue, and with a great coarse mantle hanging here and there upon him, and rode upon his ass. And horses that came against him were afeard of him in such wise that they that rode on them fell down to the earth. And then they took Martin and beat him grievously, and he, saying nothing, suffered gladly the strokes. And they enforced them to beat him the more, and him seemed that he felt no harm, ne set not by the strokes, ne was not moved ne angry with them. And then they returned to their horses, whom they found lying fast to the ground, and they might no more move them than a rock till they returned to S. Martin, and confessed their sin and trespass that they had so done by ignorance, and prayed him to pardon them and to give them licence to depart. And so he did, and then the beasts arose and went forth their way a good pace. He was of great business in prayers, for there was never hour ne moment, as it is said in his legend, but that he prayed or else went to his lesson. For he never ceased but he read or prayed in his courage. For like as it is custom to the smiths that work in iron, that otherwhile when they smite the iron, for to allege and ease them of their labour, they smite on the stithie or anvil, in like wise S. Martin always when he laboured or did anything he prayed continually. He was alway of great cruelty toward himself, and hard and sharp.
Severus saith in an epistle unto Eusebius, that on a time when he came into a place of his diocese, the clerks had made ready for him a bed full of straw. And when he lay thereon, he doubted that it was softer than it was which he was woned to lie on, for he was accustomed to lie on the bare ground, and but one coverlet of hair upon his bed. And then he, being angry, arose and threw away the straw, and laid him down on the bare ground. And about mid-night all that straw was set afire. Martin arose and supposed to have escaped and might not, for he was so environed with fire that his clothes burned. And then he returned to his prayers accustomed, and made the sign of the cross, and abode in the middle of the fire without any touching of it, and felt the flames well-smelling and sweetly, which he had tofore found evil burning. And then the monks were all moved, and ran thither, and found S. Martin in the middle of the flames without hurt. And they had supposed that he had been all destroyed and burnt with the fire.
He was much piteous against them that would be repentant and be penitent; them would he receive into the bosom of pity. And when the devil reproved this holy man S. Martin because he received to penance them that had once fallen, and S. Martin answered to him: If thou, most cursed wretch, wouldst leave to torment the people and repent thee of thy cursed deeds, I would trust so much in our Lord that he would give to thee his mercy.
He was much piteous unto the poor people. It is read in the said Dialogue that the blessed S. Martin went on a time to the church, and a poor man followed him, and S. Martin commanded his archdeacon that he should go clothe this poor man. And when he saw he tarried over long to clothe him, he entered into the sacristy and did off his own coat, and gave it to the poor man, and commanded that he should go his way anon. And when the archdeacon warned him to go to do the service, Martin said that he might not go till the poor man were clothed, and meant himself, but he understood him not. For he saw him clothed and covered with his cope, and wist not that he was naked under, and therefore he rought not of the poor man. And then he said to him: Why bring ye nothing for the poor man? Bring ye me then a vesture and let me be clothed for the poor man. And then he being constrained went to the market and bought a vile coat and a short for five pence, which was worth nought, and came and angrily threw it down at his feet. And S. Martin took it up, and clad him withal secretly, and the sleeves came to his elbows and the length was but to his knees, and so went to sing the mass. And as he sang mass a great light of fire descended upon his head, and was seen of many that were there, and therefore he is said like and equal to the apostles. And to this miracle addeth Master John Beleth that, when he lifted up his hands at the mass, as it is of custom, the sleeves of the alb slid down unto his elbows. For his arms were not great ne fleshly, and the sleeves of his coat came but to his elbows, so that his arms abode all naked. Then were brought to him by miracle sleeves of gold and full of precious stones, of angels, which covered his arms convenably. He saw on a time a sheep shorn and said: This hath accomplished the commandment of the gospel, for he had two coats, and hath given to him that had none, and thus, said he, ye ought to do.
He was of great power to chase away the devils, for he put them out ofttimes from divers people. It is read in the same Dialogue that, a cow was tormented of the devil and was wood, and confounded much people. And as S. Martin and his fellowship should make a voyage this wood cow ran against them. And S. Martin lifted up his hand and commanded her to tarry, and she abode still without moving. Then S. Martin saw the devil which sat upon the back of the cow, and blamed him, and said to him: Depart thou from this mortal beast, and leave to torment this beast that noyeth nothing, and anon he departed. And the cow kneeled down to the feet of this holy man, and at his commandment she returned to her company full meekly. He was of much great subtlety for to know the devils, they could not be hid from him, for in what place they put themselves in, he saw them. For sometime they showed them to him in the form of Juplter or of Mercury, and otherwhile they transfigured them in likeness of Venus or of Minerva, whom every each he knew, and blamed them by name. It happed on a day that the devil appeared to him in the form of a king, in purple, and a crown on his head, with hosen and shoes gilt, with an amiable mouth and glad cheer and visage. And when they were both still a while, the devil said: Martin, know thou whom thou worshippest? I am Christ that am descended into earth, and will first show me to thee. And as S. Martin all admarvelled, said nothing, yet the devil said to him: Wherefore doubtest thou, Martin, to believe me when thou seest that I am Christ? And then Martin, blessed of the Holy Ghost, said: Our Lord Jesu Christ saith not that he shall come in purple ne with a crown resplendent. I shall never believe that Jesu Christ shall come but if it be in habit and form such as he suffered death in, and that the sign of the cross be borne tofore him. And with that word he vanished away, and all the hall was filled with stench.
S. Martin knew his death long time tofore his departing, the which he showed to his brethren. And whiles he visited the diocese of Toul for cause to appease discord that was there. And as he went he saw in a water birds that plunged in the water, which awaited and espied fishes and ate them, and then he said: In this manner devils espy fools, they espy them that be not ware, they take them that know not, but be ignorant, and devour them that be taken, and they may not be fulfilled ne satiate with them that they devour. And then he commanded them to leave the water, and that they should go into desert countries, and they assembled them and went into the woods and mountains. And then he abode a little in that diocese, and began to wax feeble in his body and said to his disciples that he should depart and be dissolved. Then they all weeping said: Father, wherefore leavest thou us, or to whom shalt thou leave us all desolate and discomforted? The ravishing wolves shall assail thy flock, and beasts. And he then, moved with their weepings, wept also, and prayed, saying: Lord if I be yet necessary to thy people I refuse nothing the labour, thy will be fulfilled. He doubted what he might best do, for he would not gladly leave them, ne he would not long be departed from Jesu Christ. And when he had a little while been tormented with the fevers and his disciples prayed him, whereas he lay in the ashes, dust and hair, that they might lay some straw in his couch where he lay, he said: It appertaineth not but that a christian man should die in hair and in ashes, and if I should give to you another ensample I myself should sin. And he had his hands and his eyes towards the heaven, and his spirit was not loosed from prayer. And as he lay towards his brethren, he prayed that they would remove a little his body, and he said: Brethren, let me behold more the heaven than the earth, so that the spirit may address him to our Lord. And this saying he saw the devil that was there, and S. Martin said to him: Wherefore standest thou here, thou cruel beast? Thou shalt find in me nothing sinful ne mortal, the bosom of Abraham shall receive me. And with this word he rendered and gave up unto our Lord his spirit, in the year of our Lord three hundred four score and eighteen, and the year of his life eighty-one. And his cheer shone as it had been glorified, and the voice of angels was heard singing of many that were there. And they of Poictiers assembled at his death as well as they of Tours and there was great altercation. For the Poictevins said: He is our monk, we require to have him, and the others said: He was taken from you and given to us. And at midnight all the Poictevins slept, and they of Tours put him out of the window, and was borne with great joy and had over the water of Loire by a boat unto the city of Tours. And as Severus, bishop of Cologne, on a Sunday after Matins, visited and went about the holy places, the same hour that S. Martin departed out of this world, he heard the angels singing in heaven. Then he called his archdeacon and demanded him if he heard anything, and he said: Nay. And the bishop bade him to hearken diligently, and he began to stretch forth his neck and address his ears and leaned upon his staff. Then the bishop put himself to prayer for him. Then he said that he heard voices in heaven, to whom the bishop said: It is my Lord, S. Martin, which is departed out of the world, and the angels bear him now into heaven. And the devils were at his passing, but they found nothing in him and went away all confused. And the archdeacon marked the day and the hour, and knew verily after, that S. Martin passed out of this world that same time. And Severus, the monk which wrote his life, as he slept a little after Matins, like as he witnesseth in his epistle, S. Martin appeared to him clad in an alb, his cheer clear, the eyes sparkling, his hair purple, holding a book in his right hand, which the said Severus had written of his life, and when he had given him his blessing, he saw him mount up into heaven. And as he coveted for to have gone with him, he awoke, and anon the messengers came, which said that that same time S. Martin departed out of this world.
And in the same day S. Ambrose, bishop of Milan, sang mass, and slept upon the altar between the lesson of the prophecy and the epistle, and none durst wake him, and the subdeacon durst not read the epistle without his leave. And when he had slept the space of three hours they awoke him, and said: Sire, the hour is passed and the people be weary for to abide, wherefore command that the clerk read the epistle. And he said to them: Be not angry. Martin my brother is passed unto God, and I have done the oflice of his departing and burying, and I could no sooner accomplish ne make an end of the last orison because ye hasted me so sore. Then they marked the day and the hour, and they found that S. Martin was then passed out of this world and gone to heaven.
Master John Beleth saith that kings of France were wont to bear his cope in battle, and because they kept this cope they were called chaplains. And after his death three score and four years, when S. Perpetua had enlarged his church, and would transport the body of S. Martin therein, they were in fastings and vigils once, twice, thrice, and they might not move the sepulchre. And as they would have lifted it, a right fair old man appeared to them and said: Wherefore tarry ye, see ye not that S. Martin is all ready to help you if ye set to your hands with him? And then anon they lifted up the sepulchre and brought it to the place whereas he is now worshipped, and then anon this old man vanished away. This translation was made in the month of July. And it is said that there were then two fellows, one lame and that other was blind, the lame taught the blind man the way, and the blind bare the lame man, and thus gat they much money by truandise, and they heard say that many sick men were healed when the body of S. Martin was borne out of the church on procession. And they were afraid lest the body should be brought tofore their house, and that peradventure they might be healed, which in no wise they would not be, for if they were healed, they should not get so much money by truandise as they did. And therefore they fled from that place and went to another church whereas they supposed that the body should not come. And as they fled they encountered and met the holy body suddenly, unpurveyed. And because God giveth many benefits to men not desired, and that would not have them, they were both healed against their will, and were right sorry therefor. And S. Ambrose saith thus of S. Martin: He destroyed the temple of the cursed error, he raised the banners of pity, he raised dead men, he cast devils out of bodies in which they were, and alleged by remedy of health them that travailed in divers maladies and sicknesses. And he was found so perfect that he clad Jesu Christ instead of a poor man, and the vesture that the poor man had taken, the Lord of all the world clad him withal. That was a good largess that divinity covered. O glorious vesture and inestimable gift, that clothed and covered both the knight and the king. This was a gift that no man may praise, of which he deserved to clothe the deity. Lord, thou gavest to him worthily the the reward of thy confession, thou puttedst under him worthily the cruelty of the Arians, and he worthily for the love of martyrdom never dreaded the torments of the persecutors. What shall he receive for the oblation of his body, that for the quantity of a little vesture, which was but half a mantle, deserved to clothe and cover God and also to see him? And he gave such great medicine to them that trusted in God that some he healed by his prayers and others by his commandments. Then let us pray to S. Martin, et cetera.
Brice is said of breos, that is to say in Greek as measure, and of scio, scis, that is, to know. And thus the exposition of this name Brictius or Brice is as much to say as knowing measure. For at the beginning of his infancy when he was young he was full of many sottises and follies, but he could well after the measure of himself demand and counsel and govern well other, and to excuse him self by measure.
Brice was Archdeacon of S. Martin, and was much grievous to him, and said of him many things unreasonable. And on a time a poor man came to Brice and demanded of him where the bishop was, and how he should know him. And he bade him go into the church, and him that thou shalt see there looking upward to heaven as a mad man or one from himself, that same is Martin. And the poor man went and found S. Martin, and when he had received that he asked, S. Martin called S. Brice, and said to him: Brice, seemeth it to thee that I am a fool or frantic? And he forsook it and denied it for shame, and said he had not said so. And S. Martin said: I have heard it, for mine ears were at thy mouth when thou saidst it to the poor man openly. I tell and say to thee forsooth that I have obtained and have grant of God that thou shalt succeed me in this bishopric, but know thou for certain that thou shalt suffer therein many adversities. And when Brice heard him say so, he scorned him, saying: Said I not true when I said he was a fool? And after the death of S. Martin, Brice was elected and made bishop of Tours, which from thence forthon he entended all to prayer, and howbeit that he had been proud, yet he was always chaste. And in the thirtieth year of his bishopric, a woman which was religiously clad, which was his lavender and had washen his clothes, had conceived and borne a child which all the people said that the bishop had gotten, and they assembled at his gates with stones, and said: We have long suffered thy lechery for the love of S. Martin and for his pity, but now we will no more kiss thy hands which be accursed. But he denied the fait and deed manly, and said: Bring to me the child. And when he was brought he was but thirty days old. And S. Brice said to him: I conjure thee by the Son of God that thou say to me tofore all this people if I have engendered thee. And the child said: Thou art not my father. And the people, yet not content, bade him to demand the child who was his father. And he said: That appertaineth not to me to do. I have done that which appertaineth to me for mine excuse. And the people said that this was done by the art of enchantment, and said plainly: He should not seigniory over us thus falsely under the shadow of a pastor. And then yet for to purge him he bare, in his lap or his vestment, coals all burning unto the tomb of S. Martin, and his vestments never burned, ne had none harm, and then he said: Like as my vestment is unhurt and not burnt of these coals, but is whole and not corrupt of the fire, in like wise is my body clean of touching any woman. And yet the people believed him not, but beat him and did to him many injuries, and put him out of the bishopric, because the word of S. Martin should be accomplished. And then S Brice went his way weeping, and came to the pope, and abode there seven years, and purged him of that he had trespassed to S. Martin. And the people made a new bishop named Justinian and sent him to Rome for to defend the cause against Brice. And as he went thitherward he died is the city of Vercellence. Then the people made one Armenius bishop in his stead, and in the seventh year Brice returned with authority of the pope, and took his lodging six miles without the city. And that same night Armenius the bishop died. And Brice knew it by divine revelation, and said to his people that they should arise an haste them for to go and bury the bishop of Tour which was dead. And as Brice entered at on gate, the dead bishop was brought in at another gate; and when he was buried S. Brice took his see or siege, and was bishop after that seven year and led a holy and laudable life. And in the seven and fortieth year of his bishopric he passe unto our Lord, to whom be given laud and glory. Amen.
There was a marvellous holy woman in the city of Assisi, which was named Clare. First ye shall understand that her nativity was much worthy and noble. It is read that as touching the world she was of right noble lineage, and as touching the spirit to the regard of the estate of virtues and noble manners towards God, she was of right noble reputation. Then for to show that after her nativity she was a devout espouse of God, she is worthy to be of great recommendation. It is read that when her mother was enceinted or great with child of her, on a time as she was before the crucifix, weeping and praying that of his grace he would grant to her the deliverance of her fruit with joy and gladness, she heard a voice suddenly saying to her: Woman, have thou no doubt, for without peril thou shalt be delivered of a daughter which shall by her doctrine enlumine all the world. And therefore, as soon as she was born, she did do name her at the font, Clare. Secondly, is found in her life and known, great plenty of virtues. It is read that this holy virgin, after the time of her infancy, was so composed in all good manners, in port, in maintenance, and in continuance, that all others might take of her fair and good ensample for to nsaintain and govern them. And in especial she had so great pity of the poor people, that ofttimes she spared her own mouth and sent by secret messengers such as she should herself have been sustained by. Also in making devout prayer she had so great pleasure that ofttimes it seemed to her, being in orisons, that her spirit was refreshed with the sweetness of heaven. She was in her array like others, but by penance she chastised her body, for how well that for the honour of her friends she was nobly apparelled, yet nevertheless she ware always the hair on her bare body, and from her infancy her heart had determined that for to die she would never have other espouse than Jesu Christ. And many other and plenty of virtues shone in her, the which were overlong to recount. Thirdly, how S. Francis showed to her the way of truth; it is read that as soon as S. Clare heard the renomee of S. Francis, it was spread over all the world as it were a new man sent into the world, showing how we ought to follow the new way of Jesu Christ, she never might have rest in her heart till she was come to him, and that to him she had opened her heart. Then after she had sweetly understood him, and had received of him many a holy, sweet, and angelic word, S. Francis exhorted her above all other things to flee the world both with heart and her body. And to this he enjoined her that on Palm Sunday she should hallow the feast with the other people, but the night following, in remembrance of the passion of Jesu Christ, she should turn her joy into weeping and afflictions, for in such wise to weep the passion of Jesu Christ, finally she might come to heaven as virgin and espouse of God, well eurous and happy. Fourthly, how she had no quietness in her heart till she had accomplished her thought and purpose; it is read that S. Clare, thus informed of S. Francis, could have no rest in her heart till that, the night assigned and the hour, she issued out of the city of Assisi, in which she dwelled, and came to the church of our Lady of Portiuncula. And then the friars received her, which awoke in the said church, and abode for her tofore the altar of the Blessed Virgin Mary. And there her hair was cut off, and after, they led her into an abbey of nuns and there left her. Fifthly, how her friends despised this work ordained by our Lord; it is read when this lady was thus ordained, she laboured and did so much that she drew her sister named Agnes into her company, wherefore as well for that one as for that other, the carnal friends of S. Clare had her in indignation out of measure, wherefore S. Francis translated them into the church of S. Damian, which church by the commandment of the crucifix he had repaired. And there this lady began the religion that was called of poor sisters, and there she was inclosed in a little cell which S. Francis had edified. Sixthly, how she had humility in her heart; it is read that S. Clare glorified herself sovereignly in humility, like as the wise man saith: Of so much that a creature is promoted, of so much ought he to be the more humble. Therefore, after that she had assembled a great convent of holy virgins, unnethe and with great pain, if it had not been for the obedience of S. Francis, she had never received the sovereignty of them. And after that she had received the domination over them and governance, she was tofore all other ready to serve them that were sick, as she had been a handmaid or servant, and was so humble that she would wash the feet of her hand-maidens and servants when they came from without from their work, and dried them and kissed them. Seventhly, how S. Clare kept poverty; it is read that for to keep and to follow poverty after the gospel of Jesu Christ, S. Clare put thereto all her entent, wherefore sith the beginning of her holy life, all that ever that came to her of father and mother, she sold and gave it for God’s sake, insomuch that for her ne for her sisters she had but simple feeding and clothing, ne would have none other. And notwithstanding that she was assoiled of the pope of the vow of poverty, and thereupon had received letters of the pope, much suddenly weeping, she wrote again saying. I will well be assoiled of my sins, but the vow of poverty I shall keep unto the death. The eighth, how in necessity Jesu Christ visited her; it is read that, on a time that at the hour of dinner in the college of S. Clare was but one loaf of bread, ne there might no more be had. Then S. Clare took this loaf of the hand of the dispenser, and made then her prayer, and after, of that loaf made as many loaves and parts as there were sisters. And as soon as every each had received her part, how well it was but little, the divine grace multiplied it so much that every each left some and had enough. Item semblably it is read that that God did for her when in her college the pots were failed. Ninthly, how in straitness S. Clare was ruled; this holy lady was content with one poor coat lined with a mantlet; she used never pendants ne furs of skins, but dispensed all her time in keeping her body in servage of the spirit. And herewith thrice in the week she fasted in this manner that she never tasted thing that was sodden. Item, every year she fasted two lentens to bread and water only, save the Sunday she took a little wine. And shortly, she lived so straitly that she became so feeble that S. Francis commanded her by virtue of obedience that she should fail no day but that she should take for her refection an ounce and a half of bread. She was never without hair next her flesh, and for a pillow, she took a block or a great stone; she lay always on the bare ground, or for to take the better her rest she lay otherwhile upon the cuttings of vines, unto the time that S. Francis had commanded her, because that it was over foul, that she should use to lie on a sack full of straw. Tenthly, how she hath despised the iniquity of the fiend our enemy; it is read that in especial she had a custom that from midday she was in prayers and remembering the passion and sufferance of Jesu Christ, two hours during, and after the eventide she was always a long while in orisons. And it is read that ofttimes the fiend appeared to her by night saying: If so be that ye abstain you not from waking and weeping, ye shall for certain be blind. And she answered: He shall not be blind that shall see our Lord in his glory. And when the fiend heard this answer, anon he departed all confused, ne durst never after tempt her ne let her of her prayers. Eleventhly, God of his grace had pierced her heart, it is read that S. Clare for to dispend amorously the time that God had lent her, in especial she was determined that from the hour of mid-day unto evensong time, she would dispend all that time in thinking and beweeping the passion of Jesu Christ, and say prayers and orisons according thereto, after unto the five wounds of the precious body of Jesu Christ, as smitten and pierced to the heart with the dart of the love divine. It is read that from the time on a shere thursday, the hour of the maundy, unto Easter even the Saturday, she was remembering and thinking on the sufferance of our Lord Jesu Christ so burningly, that she was ravished as all drunken in the love of God, that she knew not what was said ne done about her, but as unmovable or as all insensible, in standing she held her eyes fixed in one place. Twelfthly, how in her disease and pain she was of God comforted; it is said that she was by the space of eight and twenty days in continual languor and sickness, nevertheless was never seen in her sign of impatience, but always sweet words and amiable in praising and thanking God of all. And in especial it is read that, in the sickness in which she passed toward the end of her life she was seventeen days without meat or drink. And nevertheless she was so sweetly visited of God that it seemed unto all them that saw her that she had no pain ne disease, but yet more every creature that came to her was comforted in God. And in especial it is read that, when the hour of death approached, she, which long time had lost her speech, began to speak and say: Go out surely, thou hast a good safeconduct. And when one of her sisters, being there present, heard that, she demanded her to whom she spake. And she answered: To my soul, whom I see abashed to depart from my body, for he ought not for to doubt, for I see the holy Virgin Mary which abideth for me. And this said, our Blessed Lady entered into the chamber where S. Clare lay. And she was crowned with a crown right clear shining, that the obscurity of the night was changed into clearness of mid-day. And she brought with her a right great multitude of other virgins all nobly crowned, among whom there was one that bare a rich mantle, to whom she said: Give hither the mantle. And when she had sweetly embraced her she clad her with the mantle. And at that same time was weeping about her the college of sisters, and in especial Agnes the sister of S. Clare, making great moan and sorrow. Then S. Clare said sweetly: My sisters, discomfort you not, for ye shall have unto God of me a good and a true advocate. And thou Agnes shalt soon after follow me into glory. Now it is well reason and right that we say and show of the great marvels that God showed for S. Clare by her holy prayers, for she was veritable, true, and worthy of all honour. That great tempest that was in the time of Frederick the emperor, whereof holy church had so much to suffer, that in divers parts of the world was much war, so that by the commandment of the emperor were battles established of knights, and with that so many archers of Saracens as they had been hills of ‘dies for to destroy the people, castles and cities. The Saracens ran as wood men till they came to the gates of Assisi. And the felon Saracens, that be full of all cruelty and falsehood, and seek nothing but for to slay and destroy christian men’s blood, and they came unto the cloister of the poor ladies of S. Damian, and the holy ladies had so great fear that their hearts melted in their bodies, and ran weeping to their mother S. Clare. And she that was sick, without fear of heart, made her to be led tofore her enemies unto the door, and did do bear tofore the body of our Lord, the which was in a pix much richly garnished and devoutly. And this holy lady was on her knees, saying with weeping tears unto our Lord: Ah! fair Lord God, please it you then that they that serve you, and be disarmed, whom I nourish for your love, be brought into the hands and power of the paynims? Fair sweet Lord, I beseech thee that thou keep thy handmaidens and servants, for I may not keep them in this point. And our Lord anon sent of his special grace a voice as it had been a child, which said to her: I shall keep you always. O sweet fair Lord, keep this city if it please you, which hath given to us such things as hath been needful to us, for the love of you. And he answered: The city shall have some grievance, but nevertheless I shall keep and defend it. Then this holy virgin S. Clare arose from her prayer, which had yet her visage all bewept, and comforted much sweetly her sisters that wept, and said to them: I command you fair daughters that ye comfort you in good faith, and trust ye only in our Lord, for the Saracens shall never do you harm. Anon then the Saracens had so great dread and fear, that over the walls, and by those places that they had entered, they fled hastily, and were in this wise by the orison and prayer of S. Clare destroubled and put from their emprise. Then commanded she to all them that heard the voice that in no manner they should discover ne tell it to any that lived.
On another time it happed that an old squire, full of vain glory, the which was much hardy in battle and was captain of a great host, which Frederick had delivered to him, and came with all his host for to take the city of Assisi, he did do hew down the trees, and destroy the country all about, and besieged the city, and sware that he would not depart thence till he had taken the city, and thus was the city besieged for to have been taken. And when S. Clare, the handmaid of Jesu Christ, heard the tidings, she had great pity and did do call her sisters and said to them: Right sweet daughters, we receive daily many benefits of this city, and it should be a great unkindness in us if we succoured it not in this great need as much as we may. Then commanded she to bring ashes, and said to her sisters that they should discover their heads, and she herself first cast great plenty of ashes upon her head, and after, upon the heads of all the others, and said to them: Now go, fair daughters, and with all your hearts require and pray ye to our Lord that he will deliver this city. And then every each by themselves, in great weepings and tears, made their orisons and prayers devoutly to our Lord, in such wise that he kept and defended the city, that on the morn the host departed out of the country, and it was not long after that they all were dead and slain.
It should not be according that we should hele and keep secret the marvellous virtue of her prayer, by the which at the beginning of her conversion she converted a soul to God. For she had a sister younger than herself was, whose conversation she much desired, and in all her prayers that she made, she prayed at the beginning with all her heart to our Lord that like as she and her sister had been in the world of one heart and of one will, that it might please the Father of mercy that Agnes, her sister, whom she had left in the world, might despise the world, and savour the sweetness of God, so that she might have no will to marry her, save only to God her true friend, in such wise that between them both they might espouse their virginity to our Lord. These two sisters loved marvellously together, and were much sorrowful of their departing, and that one more than that other. But our Lord granted unto S. Clare the first gift that she demanded, for it was a thing that much pleased him. After the seventh day that S. Clare was converted, Agnes, her sister, came to her and discovered her secretness to her and will, and said utterly that she would serve God. And when S. Clare heard that, anon she embraced her, and said for joy that she had: My sister, ye be right welcome, I thank God that hath heard me for thee, for whom I was in great sorrow. Howbeit that this conversion was marvellous, and yet more to be wondered how Clare defended her sister by her prayers. At that time were the good blessed sisters at S. Michael of Pambo, which were joined to God, and they followed the life and works of Jesu Christ. And there was S. Clare, which felt more of God than the other, and she informed her sister, her nurse, how she should rule her. And the parents and kinsmen of S. Clare began a new battle and strife against the virgins. For when they heard say that Agnes was gone to dwell with her sister S. Clare, there came on the morn to the place where S. Clare dwelled, twelve of her kinsmen and friends all from themselves, all araged, and showed not withoutforth the malice that they had in their hearts, but gave them to understand that they came for good. And when they came within they made no force of S. Clare for to draw her out, for they knew well that they should nothing exploit of their intent, but they turned to Agnes and said to her: What makest thou here? Come out with us home to thy house. And she answered, that she would never depart from the company of S. Clare. And a tyrant, a knight, took and drew her by the hair, and the other took her by the arms, and carried her forth afar. And she, which seemed that she was among the hands of a lion, and taken from the hands of God, began to cry and said: Fair dear sister! help me, and suffer not that I be taken from the holy company of Jesu Christ. But the felons drew this virgin against her will over the mountain, and rent her clothes and drew and rased out her hair. And the holy sweet virgin S. Clare kneeled down, and put herself to prayer, and prayed our Lord to give her sister a strong heart and a stable, and that she might by the puissance of God overcome and surmount the puissance of the people. And anon the Holy Ghost made her so pesant and heavy, that it seemed that her body were fixed to the ground, in such wise that for all the force and power that they could do they might not bear her over a little brook. And the men that were in the fields and river came for to help them, but they might never remove her from the earth. And then one of them said in mocking: It is no wonder though she be heavy, for she hath eaten much lead. Then the lord Mouvalt, her uncle, lift up his arm for to beat her cruelly, but an ache and pain took him suddenly, and tormented him a long time right cruelly. After that this said S. Agnes had suffered this long wrestling of her kinsmen and friends, came S. Clare and prayed them for God’s sake they should leave this battle with her sister, and go their way and take heed of themselves. And she received the cure and charge of Agnes, her sister, which lay there on the ground in great disease, and finally her kinsmen departed in great anguish and sorrow of heart. And then anon after, she arose up much gladly, and had much great joy of that first battle that she had suffered for the love of Jesu Christ, and from this time forward she ordained herself to serve God perdurably. And S. Francis cut off her hair with his own hands, and induced and taught her to serve God, and so did S. Clare her sister. And because we may not shortly account with few words the great perfection of the life of Agnes, therefore we shall entend unto the life of S. Clare the virgin.
Was it not great marvel of the orisons and prayers of S. Clare, which were so strong, and so much availed against the malice of the people, when they fled and were puissant to burn the devils? It happed on a time that a much devout woman of the bishopric of Pisa, came to one of the ladies for to yield thankings to God and S. Clare which had delivered her from the hands of five devils. For they fled, and wailed that the orisons of S. Clare burnt them all, and therefore they might no longer dwell in that place. The pope Gregory had much great faith and great devotion in the prayers of that holy virgin, and not without cause, for he had proved and felt certain virtue thereof, which had holpen many and divers that had necessity and need. And when he was bishop of Hostence and after when he was pope, he sent his letters to her by which he required her to pray for him, and anon he felt eased and alleged by her prayers. Then certainly if he which was vicar of Jesu Christ, by his humility, as we may see, had so great devotion to S. Clare, of whom he required her aid, and recommended him to the virtue of her orisons, as well ought we then to ensue with all our power the devotion of such a man. For he knew well how much love is mighty and how the pure virgins have delivered entry into the door of the heart of our Lord. And if our sweet Lord give himself to them that love him firmly, who may he deny to them for whom they require him devoutly? Always seen that they require of him that is needful and behoveful. The holy work showeth well the great faith and the great devotion that she had in the holy sacrament of the altar. For in that great malady which had so vexed her that she lay in her bed, she arose and did her to be borne from one place to another, and did spin a fine small cloth of which she made more than fifty corporas, and sent them in fair towels of silk into divers churches in divers places of Assisi.
When she should receive the body of our Lord, it was marvel to see the tears that she wept, of which she was all wet. And she had so great fear when she approached nigh unto her Saviour, that she ne doubted him no less which is in semblance very God in the form of bread, the sacrament, than him that governeth heaven and earth, which is all one. Thus as she had always souvenance and mind of Jesu Christ in her malady, so God comforted her and visited her in her infirmity and languor. In the hour of the nativity of Jesu Christ at Christmas, when the angels and the world made feast and sung and enjoyed of little Jesus that was born, all the poor ladies went to matins into their monastery, and left alone their poor mother sore grieved in her malady. Then she began to think on little Jesus, and was sorrowful that she might not be at the service, and praise our Lord, and said in sighing: Fair Lord God, I wake here alone. And anon she began to hear the friars that sang, and S. Francis, and heard well the jubilation, the psalmody, and the great melody of the song, howbeit her bed was not so nigh that the voice of a man ne of a woman might not be heard, ne understood if God did it not by his courtesy, or if God had not given to her, above all nature of man, force and power to hear it, but this passed all, for she was worthy to see in her oratory the joy of our Lord. On the morning, when the ladies, her daughters, came to her, she said to them: Blessed be our Lord Jesu Christ, for when ye left me, he left me not truly, and I say to you that I have heard this night all the service and solemnity that hath been done in the church by S. Francis, through the grace of Jesu Christ.
At the pains of her death our Lord comforted her always. For she drew out of the holy wounds of Jesu Christ a bitterness, of which her heart, her will, and her thought were full of anguish, marvellously bitter, and often as she had been drunken of the sorrow and tears that she wept for the love of Jesu Christ. For ofttimes the love of God which she had imprinted in her heart withinforth she made to appear by signs outward. She informed and taught the novices, and admonished them that they have in their mind the sorrow and pain of the death of Jesu Christ. And that she said with her mouth, she did it in her heart, and gave ensample. When she was secretly alone, tofore she might say anything she was all bedewed with tears. She was most devout and had more fervour of devotion between undern and noon than any other time, because she would that in the hour that Jesu Christ was crucified in the altar of the cross, that her heart should be sacrificed to God our Lord.
On a time it happed at the hour of noon that she prayed to God in her cell, and the devil gave to her such a stroke under the ear, that her eyes and her visage were all covered with blood. She had learned an orison of the five wounds of Jesu Christ, which she oft recorded and remembered because her heart and thought were nourished therein, and might feel the delights that be in Jesu Christ. She learned the office of the Cross of S. Francis, which loved her truly, and she said it as gladly, to her power, as he did. She girded to her flesh a cord whereon were thirteen knots which were full of brochets of small needles, and thereon small rings, and this did she in remembrance of the wounds of our Lord.
It happed on a time on the holy Sherethursday, which is the day when our Lord made his maundy or supper, whereas is remembered how God loved unto the end his disciples, about the hour of even, when God began the wrestling of his passion, then S. Clare being heavy and sorrowful, enclosed her in the chamber of her cell. And it happed that she prayed God long, and was sorrowful unto the death, and in that sorrow and heaviness she drew a fervent love full of desire, for she remembered how Jesus in that hour was taken, estrained, haled forth and mocked, insomuch that of this remembrance she was all drunken, and sat in her bed. All that night she was so ravished and on the morn, that she wist not where her body was. The eyes of her head looked steadfastly in one place, without moving or looking aside, and the eye of her heart was so fixed in Jesu Christ that she felt nothing. One of her daughters, more familiar and secret with her than other, went oft to her for to see her, and always she found her in one point. The night of the Saturday, this good devout daughter brought a candle burning, and without speaking made a sign to her blessed mother Clare that she should remember the commandments of S. Francis, for he had commanded that every day she should eat somewhat. Then as she stood tofore her with a candle burning, S. Clare came again to her estate, and her seemed she was come from another world. And she said: Fair daughter, what need is of a candle, is it not yet day? And she answered: Right, dear fair mother, the night is passed and the day is gone, and that other night is come. Fair daughter, said S. Clare, this sleep that I have made be blessed, for I have much desired it, and God hath given it to me, but beware that thou say it never to creature as long as I live. When our Lord knew and apperceived how well and how much this holy Clare loved him, and the right great love that she had to the very cross for the love of him, he so illumined and privileged her in such manner that she had power to make tokens and miracles by the cross. For when she made the sign of the very cross upon them that were sick, anon the malady fled away. And so many miracles God showed for her of which I shall tell you some. First, of a friar that was out of his wit. On a time it happed that S. Francis sent to S. Clare a friar named Steven, and was all mad from himself, that she should make upon him the sign of the cross. For he knew well that she was a woman of great perfection, and he honoured her much for the virtue that was in her. And she, that was obeissant and good daughter of obedience, blessed the friar by the commandment of S. Francis, and made him to sleep a little, and after, she took him by the hand and he arose all whole, and went to S. Francis clean delivered of all his malady. This blessed S. Clare was a good mistress and true for to inform young people that knew but little of religion, and she was president and upperest of the maidens of our Lord, and informed them in good customs and taught them right well to do penance. She nourished them by so great love that unnethe any tongue may express, she taught them privily to flee all noise of the world, because they should join to our Lord, and also she exhorted them that they should put from them all carnal affection and fleshly love of their friends, and that they should not be over tender over them ne love them over much, ne houses, ne land, but make them strong to please and serve God. She counselled them and warned them that they should hate to do the will of the body, and that the delights and fleshly desires of the flesh they should with all their heart and good reason go thereagainst. She said to them the fiend of hell lieth in await and layeth his hooks and grinnes subtilly for to take and bind the holy souls, and yet they tempt more the good people than them of the world. She would that they should work and labour with their proper hands in such works as she had established to them. She would that when they had done their bodily travail they should go to prayer, for prayer is a thing that pleaseth much God. And she would that in praying they should rechaufe their bodies, and that they should leave and depress negligence and all coldness of heart, and be kindled and lighted in the holy love of God, so that instead of coldness they should be hot in devotion. In no place ne in no cloister was silence better kept ne holden, there was no lavas in their speech ne evil, but they were sober and so good that they showed well that in their hearts was none evil but all goodness. The good mistress S. Clare herself spake so little that she restrained them and thought marvellously on their words, howbeit that in her heart ne in her thought was but all holiness. This good lady purveyed to her daughters the Word of God by devout preachings, and had so much joy and gladness profoundly in her heart in hearing the words of the holy predication, that all her delight was in our Lord Jesu Christ her spouse.
For on a time as friar Philip Adrian preached, a right fair child was tofore S. Clare and abode there a great part of the sermon, and beheld marvellously and graciously S. Clare, whereof it happed that he was worthy to know and see so high things, of S. Clare received in that sight, and beholding so great a sweetness in his heart and so great comfort, that it might not be said ne expressed. And howbeit that she was not lettered, yet heard she more gladly the sermons in Latin than in her vulgar tongue. She knew well that within the shell was the kernel, she heard the sermons ententively and assavoured them more sweetly. She could much well draw to her that was most profitable for her soul. And well knew she that it was no less cunning to gather fair flowers among the sharp thorns, than to eat the fruit of a fair tree, that is to say that she loved better a rude sermon well edifying than a fair polished, little profiting.
On a time it happed that the pope Gregory defended that no friar should go to the house of the ladies without his leave. And when the holy mother S. Clare knew that, she had much sorrow in her heart, because she saw well she might not have that which was needful, which was the nurture of Holy Scripture, and said to her sisters with a sorrowful heart; Now forthon well may the pope Gregory take from us all the friars, when he hath taken from us them that nourished our souls with the Word of God. And anon she sent again all the friars of her house to the master or minister, for she said she had nothing to do to have friars to get them bodily bread, when they failed them that nourished her and her sisters with the Word of God. Anon as the pope Gregory heard this tiding he repealed that which he had defended, and set all at the will of God. This holy and good abbess loved not only the souls of her good daughters, but thought well in her heart oft-times how she might serve their bodies most charitably. For when it was right cold she covered by night them that were feeble, and visited them much sweetly. And if she saw any trouble by any temptation or any anger, which happeth sometimes, she would call them secretly and comforted them, all weeping. And other while she would fall down to the feet of her daughters that were mat and heavy, and kneeled tofore them, so that by the sweetness and debonairly that the ladies saw in their good mother, that she alleged and took away their sorrow, whereof the ladies, her daughters, couthe her much thanks. And thus learned they to do well by devotion and to love their good mother more sweetly, and followed by the right way the works of their good abbess. And they marvelled much of the great abundance of holiness that God had given to his spouse. When she had been forty years in the state of right holy poverty it pleased to our Lord to call her to be rewarded in heaven, and sent to her a great malady, and multiplied her languor and sickness. She had sometime done so sharp penance that her body ne her flesh had no strength. And at the last she was over sick and much more than she was wont to be, for as our Lord had given to her in her health, riches of merits, of good virtues and of good are works, right so would God enrich her in her sickness, to the end that she should suffer for him right great pain and torments, for in suffering of sickness is virtue perfect. How and in what wise she was virtuous in her malady and perfect, ye may hear. For howbeit that she had been eight and twenty years in languor and malady, yet never she grudged, ne murmured, ne plained, but always said holy words and rendered thankings to our Lord, howbeit that she was marvellously aggrieved and sick, so that it seemed that she hasted much to draw to her end.
It pleased nevertheless to our Lord that he respited her from the death unto the time that her end might be honoured, and enhanced her by the presence of the pope and of the cardinals, to whom she was especial daughter. For when the pope and the cardinals had abode a great while at Lyons, S. Clare was then marvellously destrained by sickness, so that her daughters had great sorrow at their hearts that them seemed that a glaive had pierced them, or that they had been riven with a sword. But our Lord showed anon a vision to one, his handmaid, which dwelled at S. Paul’s, for it seemed to her that she and her sisters were at S. Damian’s tofore S. Clare, which was right sick. And her seemed that this Clare lay in a much fair bed and much precious, and her seemed that her daughters wept when the soul should pass out of the body. And anon she saw a right fair lady at the head of the bed, and said to them that wept: Fair daughters, weep no more, for this lady shall overcome all. And know ye that she shall not die till that our Lord and his disciples shall come. And she shall not abide long after that the pope and the court of Rome shall come to Perugia. And anon as the Bishop of Hostence heard say that this holy woman was sick, anon in great haste he went to see and visit the spouse of Jesu Christ, for he was her ghostly father, and had the cure of her soul, and nourished her with pure heart and will, for he had always devoutly loved the holy virgin. And then he gave to her in her malady the body of our Lord, for that is the very feeding of the soul, and he comforted the other daughters by his sermons and holy words. Then the holy good mother, weeping, prayed him much sweetly that he would take heed of her daughters there being, and of all the others, and that for the love of our Lord he would remember her. And above all other things she prayed him that he would do so much that her privilege of poverty might be confirmed of the pope and of the cardinals. And he that loved verily her and the religion, and that had always truly aided her, promised that he should do, and did it. In the year after came the pope and the cardinals to Assisi for to see the departing of the holy virgin, and to put to effect the vision that had been seen and signified of her. For the pope is the highest man in earth under God, and that best representeth the person of Jesu Christ, for like as our Lord had his disciples which were joined to him in earth, in like wise the pope hath his cardinals, the which be joined to him in the holy church. Our Lord God hasted him as he that knew the firm purpose of his spouse S. Clare, and hasted for to honour her, and to set in the palace of the king of paradise his poor pilgrim, and the good lady also coveted and wished with all her heart that she might be delivered of her mortal body, and that she might see in heaven Jesu Christ as she that had ensued him in the earth with all her heart in very poverty. Her members were bruised and troubled by great sickness that the body might not endure, for it was over much enfeebled, so that our Lord called her from this world, and ordained for her health perdurable. Then pope Innocent the fourth and the cardinals came with him for to visit the handmaid of God, of whom he had better proved the holy life than of any woman that was in his time. And therefore he knew certainly that it was reason that he should come and honour her with his presence. And when he came into the house of the ladies, he went thither whereas this holy saint lay, and took to her his hand for to kiss. And the pope, which was courteous, stood upon a tree and took to her his foot to kiss by great humility. And she took it and kissed it much sweetly, and after inclined herself to the pope much humbly, and required him with a sweet cheer that he would assoil her of all her sins. To whom he said: Would God that we had no more need of absolution of sins that we have done than ye have. And then he assoiled her of all her sins and gave to her largely his benediction. And when they were all departed, forasmuch as she had received that day, by the hands of the minister provincial, the very body of our Lord, she lift up her eyes to our Lord to heaven, and joined her hands together and said then: Ah! my right sweet and fair daughters, our Lord Jesu Christ by his debonairly hath done to me so great good, and given to me so great a gift that heaven ne earth may not know, for I have received this day a much high Lord and also have seen his vicar. The good daughters were about the bed, which wept and abode for the orphans whereof they had great sorrow in their hearts, for the death of their mother pierced their hearts like as it were a sword. Which daughters departed not from her ne for hunger, ne for thirst, ne for no sleep, ne they thought neither of bed ne of table. All the delights that they had was for to cry, to weep and to make sorrow. And among all the others her sister, which was a much devout virgin, wept many tears and said to S. Clare her sister: Fair and right sweet sister, depart not away from me and leave me not here alone. And S. Clare answered to her much sweetly: Fair sweet sister, it pleaseth to God that I depart from this world, but weep no more, fair sister, for ye shall come hastily to our Lord after me. And also I say unto you that our Lord shall do to you great comfort and consolation tofore or ye die. After, this holy and good Clare drew fast to her end. And the folk and people had to her great devotion and the prelates and cardinals came oft to see her, and honoured her as a very saint. But there was a marvellous thing to hear, for she was by the space of twelve days that never entered into her body no corporal meat, and she was so strong by the suffrance and grace of God that she comforted in the service of God all them that came tofore her, and desired and charged them to do well. And when Friar Reynald, which was debonair, came for to see her and beheld the great sickness that she had long time suffered, he preached to her, and prayed her much to have patience. And anon she answered to him freely and debonairly: Sith that the holy man S. Francis, the servant of Jesu Christ hath showed to me the way of truth, and that I have felt and known the will and grace of Jesu Christ by the advertisement of S. Francis, know ye, right dear brother, that no pains displease me, ne no penance grieveth me, ne no sicknesses be to me hard ne displeasing. And then answered she to the friar, when she felt our Lord knock at her gate for to take her soul out of this world, and required that good folk and spiritual should be with her, that she might hear of them the holy words of God, and specially the words of the death and passion of Jesu Christ. And among all others came a friar named Vinberes, which was one of the noblest preachers that was in earth, and that ofttimes spake and said noble and holy words, ardent and good. Of whose coming she was much glad, and prayed him that if he had made ready any new thing that he should say it. And then the friar opened his mouth and began to say so sweet words that they were like sparkles of fire and of ardent fervour, or heat, whereof the holy virgin had much great consolation. Then she turned her and said to her daughters: Sweet daughters, I recommend to you the holy poverty of our Lord, and give ye to him thankings for that he hath done to you. Then she blessed all them that had devotion to her and to her order, and gave largely and wisely her blessing to all the poor ladies of her order that were tofore her there. The two fellows of S. Francis that were there, of whom that one was named Angel, comforted them that were full of sorrow, and that other friar kissed devoutly and holily the bed of her that should pass to our Lord. The holy ladies sorrowed much the loss of their mother, and as much more as they cried and wept withoutforth, so much more were they ardently grieved within forth. Then S. Clare began to speak to her soul all softly: Go, said she, go surely, for thou hast a good guide and conductor in the way whereas thou shalt go, which shall lead thee well the right way. Go, said she hardily, for he that made thee and sanctified thee shall keep thee, for he loveth thee also tenderly as the mother doth her child. Lord God, said she, blessed be thou that madest me. And then one of her sisters demanded her to whom she spake. I have, said she, spoken to my blessed soul, and without fail her glorious conductor is not far from her. Then she called one of her daughters and said to her: Fair daughter, seest thou the king of glory whom I see? But the daughter saw him not, for the will of God was that one should see that another saw not, for there was a happy widow and comfortable, which saw him with the eyes of her head among the tears that she wept, and yet nevertheless she was wounded to the heart with a dart full of sweetness and of sorrow. Then she turned her sight toward the door of the house and saw a great company of virgins enter into the house all clad with white clothes, and each of them bare a crown of gold on her head. And among all other, there was one much more clear and fairer than the others which bare a crown of gold windowed, out whereof issued a right great clearness, that all the house was so clearly light, that it seemed the night to be clear day. And this lady that was so clear, approached to the bed whereas the spouse of her son lay, and she inclined upon her and embraced her much sweetly. Then the virgins brought a mantle of right great beauty, and the virgins enforced them to serve and to cover the body of S. Clare and well to make ready the house. And on the morn was the feast of S. Laurence, and then died and departed out of this mortal life the holy lady and friend of our Lord, and anon the soul of her was crowned in everlasting joy. The spirit of her was much benignly and joyously loosed and delivered from the flesh, and when the body abode in the earth the soul went with God which was her life. And blessed be the holy company of God that from the valley of this world conducted the holy soul of this lady into the mountain of heaven where the blessed life is. Now is the blessed virgin in the company of them that be in the court of heaven, now hath she changed her poor little life, which hath brought her for to sit at the table where the great delights be. Now hath she, for the little life of humility and of sharpness, the blessed reign of heaven, whereas she is clad and arrayed with the robe of perdurable glory. Anon the tidings were spread abroad that the blessed virgin was departed, and when the people of Assisi heard thereof, they came to the place, both men and women, by so great companies, that it seemed that in the city abode neither man ne woman. And all crying: O, dear lady, and friend of God, and therewith they praised her, and wept much tenderly. The potestate and the provost of the city ran much hastily thither, and with them many companies of knights and of people armed, which all that day and all night kept the body of the holy virgin much honourably. For they would in no wise that the town should not have, by any adventure, damage or hurt in taking away the treasure that lay there. On the morn came the vicar of Jesu Christ and all the cardinals with him, with all the city of Assisi, unto the church of S. Damian. And when it came there to that they should begin the mass for the blessed S. Clare, it happed that he that began would have begun the office of them that were dead. And anon the pope said that they ought better do the office of virgins than the office of dead folk, so that it seemed that he would canonise her tofore ere she was buried. Then answered the wise man, the bishop of Hostence, and said it was more accustomed to say of them that be dead in this case, and then they said the mass of requiem, and all the prelates and the bishop of Hostence began to preach, and took their matter how all the world is vanity, and began to praise much greatly this sweet saint, S. Clare, and how she had despised the world and all that was therein. Then the cardinals that were there went first and did holily the service about the holy body, and the office, like as it is accustomed. And because that them seemed neither right ne reason that the precious body should not be far from the city, they bare it to S. George’s with so right great feast, singing and praising God in hymns and lauds, and in so great melody, that there was honour enough. And in the same place was first buried the body of S. Francis. And from this time forthon came much people every day to the tomb of S. Clare, and giving praisings and laud to our Lord God. And veritably this is a right very saint and glorious virgin, reigning with the company of angels to whom God hath given so much honour in earth. Ah! sweet virgin, pray thou to Jesu Christ for us, for thou wert the first flower of the holy poor ladies which hast drawn to penance without number, and that thou mayst conduct us to the life permanable. Amen.
It was not long after greatly, that Agnes, sister of S. Clare, was summoned and called to wedding of the very lamb Jesu Christ, and also S. Clare led her sister unto the joy perdurable, full of delices. There be now the two daughters of Sion which were sisters germane of grace and of nature and be now heritors of the joy of heaven, there where they feel the sweetness of God and enjoy with him. Now is Agnes in the joy and in the consolation that Clare, her sister, had promised to her tofore that she died, for like as Clare brought her out of the world, so brought she herself in the cross of penance by which she is shining in heaven. Thus went Agnes after her sister right soon out of this mortal life full of weeping and of sorrow unto our Lord, which is lite of the soul in heaven, which reigneth with the Father and the Holy Ghost. Amen.
The tokens and miracles of saints ought to be showed, praised, and honoured and also witnessed, when the works in the life were holy and full of perfection. We find not many signs ne miracles that S. John the Baptist did, nevertheless he is a much holy saint, and greater than such ones as have been showed for many miracles. And therefore I say that the right holy life and the great perfection of S. Clare, which she used and demened here in earth, ought well to suffice and witness that she is a very saint, if it were not for the people, which have the more great devotion and more greater faith unto the saints when they see the signs and miracles that God showeth for them. I know well that S. Clare was in the way full of merits, and that she was ravished in the profoundness of the great clearness and light of heaven, nevertheless though she were resplendissant, well savorous, and right full of great miracles as is well declared by the cardinals of Rome, mine oath of truth that I have made and my conscience, constraineth me that I write to my power the life truly and the miracles of her, how well I pass over many fair things.
There was a child named Jaquemin of Perugia, which had in his body the devil, in such wise that this Jaquemin fell in the fire as he that could not keep him. Sometime he hurtled strongly against the ground, sometime he bit the stones so that he brake his teeth, and otherwhile brake his head, that all his body was bloody, and fouled his mouth and put out his tongue. And sometimes he lay and wallowed, and was round, so that oft he laid his thigh in his neck. And every day twice this malady came to him, and two persons might not keep him ne hold him but that he would despoil and unclothe him maugre them both. There could no physician ne wise man that was in all the country find any remedy ne give counsel to ease him. But the father, which was named Quindelor, when he saw that he could find no counsel nor remedy for this malady, began to cry and call on S. Clare the holy virgin, and said: To thee that art worthy of all honours, I avow my child which is meschant and caitiff, and pray thee, right sweet saint, that thou wilt send to my child health. And forthwith went to her tomb full of belief to have his request, and laid the child upon the tomb of the virgin and made his prayers. And anon he was delivered of the malady, ne never was sick after of that sickness, ne never hurt him after by reason of that malady.
Alexandrine of Perugia had in her body a right felonous devil, which had so utterly power over her that he made her descend from a rock that stood upon a river of water, and made her to flee over the water as she had been a bird, and made her to light upon a little bough of a tree which hung over the river, and ceased not to play there. AIso for her sin it happed that she lost her left side, and was lame of that one hand. And she assayed much if she might be healed by any medicine, but alI the medicines that she took availed her not. And then she came to the tomb of S. Clare with great repentance of heart, and began to require S. Clare that she would help her, and anon she was healed and redressed in all health. And her side was whole, and hand also, and delivered of the possession of the devil which was in her, and of many other sicknesses and maladies tofore the sepulchre of S. Clare.
A man born in France came on a time from the court and fell in a malady, that he was out of his wit and might not speak, and so demeaned his body that he might have no rest, and was much over strange and hideous to look on. No man might so hold him but that he brake from them maugre them that held him, and broke asunder cords or any thing that they bound him with, and they of his country brought him to S. Clare and anon he was healed and well delivered of his malady.
There was a man named Valentine Despole, which had a horrible malady, that he fell of the foul evil well six times in a day. And therewith he was lame of one thigh so that he might not go, but was set upon an ass, which brought him whereas S. Clare lieth, and he was set tofore her tomb three nights and two days, and on the third day, without touching of anybody, his thigh began rumble, and made so great a noise that it seemed that the bone brake, and forthwith he was whole of both diseases
Jacob, the son of Spoletine, had been two years blind, so that he must be led, for when he had no leader he went here and there. And on a time the child that led him let him go alone, and he fell so that he brake his arm, and a great wound in his head. And it happed on a night as he slept by the bridge of Margue, there appeared to him in his sleep a lady, and said to him: Jacobel, wherefore comest thou not to me for to be whole? And on the morn he recounted his dream unto two other blind men, all trembling. And the blind men told to him that there was newly dead a lady, in the city of Assisi, for whom God showed many miracles to them that came to her tomb sick and diseased, and when they should depart were all whole. And anon as he heard that he was not slow, but hasted him and came first to Spoleto, and that night he saw the same vision that he had first seen that other night tofore. On a time he went and ran by the way, and for the desire to have his sight he went that night to Assisi. And when he came thither he found so much people in the monastery, and lying tofore the tomb of the holy virgin, that he might not enter ne come into the monastery ne to the tomb where the virgin lay. And then he laid a stone under his head, and abode there with great devotion, sorrowing and angry that he might not enter. And the same night, as he slept, he heard a voice that said to him: Jacobel, if thou mayst come and enter herein, God shall do well to thee. And on the morn, when he was awaked, he began to pray with great tears that the people would give and make to him way for the love of God, and besought the people, crying them mercy, that they would bring him in. And the people began to make him way. And anon he did off his hosen and shoon and despoiled him by great devotion, and he put his girdle about his neck, and so went to the tomb, and there being in great devotion, fell asleep a little. And S. Clare appeared to him and said to him: Arise up, for thou art all whole, and anon he arose and saw clearly. And when he saw that he was enlumined, and saw the clearness of the day by the merit of S. Clare, he praised and glorified our Lord that had done to him so much bounty, and prayed the good people to give praisings and thankings to God.
There was a man of Perugia which was named Good John. the son of Martin. and went for to fight against them of Foligno, and that one part and that other began the strife, and began to cast stones so great and fast that this John had his one hand all to-frushed and broken of a stone. And because he had great desire to be healed, he dispensed much money on masters and surgeons, but he could find none that could heal him, but that he abode always lame on his hand, ne might do nothing ne work therewith, whereof he had so great sorrow that he hasted him for to have it smitten off many times. But when he heard the great marvels that our Lord had done for S. Clare, he avowed that he should visit her. And then came to the sepulchre of S. Clare, the holy virgin, and bare thither an image of wax in his hand, and laid him down upon the tomb, and anon he was perfectly healed of his hand.
There was a man named Petrius of the castle of Byconne which had been three years sick, and was so enfeebled that by the strength of his malady that he was all dried up, and had so much pain in his reins that he was become so crooked that he went like a beast. For which cause his father led him to the best masters and medicines that he might find and know, and also to such as entremeted of broken bones, and the father would well have spent all his goods on the condition to have his son whole. And when he heard say of the masters that no physic nor no man might heal him of his malady, then he thought to go to S. Clare, and led his son thither. And so he did, and laid him tofore the sepulchre of the holy virgin. And he had not been long there, but by the grace of God, and by the merits of the holy virgin he was all whole, and arose up guerished of all his malady, and gave laud, thankings, and praisings to our Lord God, and to S. Clare, and prayed the people to do in like wise because of his health.
There was also a child of the age of two years in the town of S. Quirito in the bishopric of Assisi, which was born crooked in the back and lame, which his thighs and feet turned athwart, and went in such wise that it was all out of order, and when he was fallen he could not arise. His mother had ofttimes vowed him to S. Francis, and was not thereby holpen, and when she heard that God showed new miracles for S. Clare, she bare her child to her sepulchre and abode there certain days. But within a few days his legs began to grow, and his thighs within the skin were redressed naturally, and he went upright and was all guerished and made whole. And thus he that had been divers times at S. Francis was healed by the merits of his good disciple S. Clare, by the virtue of our Lord Jesu.
A burgess of Augulum named Jacques de Franque had a child of five years of age which had no feet for to bear him, ne had never gone ne might go. Wherefore his father oft wept and sorrowed much at his heart for his deformity, and thought it a reproach to him to have such one disfigured born of his blood. For he lay on the earth and in the ashes, wallowing and addressing him against the wall, desiring by nature to help him, but might and power failed him. Then his father and mother vowed him to S Clare that he should be her servant if by her prayers and merits he might be healed. And as soon as the father and mother had made their vow, the holy virgin healed her servant, so that he had his right limbs and went upright. And anon the father and mother led him to S. Clare, which went leaping and running, praising our Lord and thanking him, and then the father and mother offered him to our Lord.
There was a woman of the castle of Bruane named Pleniere which had been long sick in her reins, in such wise that she might not go without help, ne address her but with great pain, and was all crooked. It happed that on a Friday she did her to be borne to the tomb of S. Clare and prayed her right devoutly that she would help her. And it happed as she prayed she was suddenly made all whole. And on the morn that was Saturday, she went upright all whole on her feet home to her house, whereas the day tofore she was borne for feebleness.
There was a maid of the land of Perugia which had her throat greatly swollen of a malady called escroceles, which she had long, and had about her neck and throat a twenty botches called glanders, so that her neck seemed greater than her head. And oft she had been led to S. Clare, and the father and mother of the maid had prayed her devoutly to heal their daughter. And it happed on a night as the maid lay tofore the tomb she began to sweat, and the escroceles and the malady began to mollify, and to remove, and anon after, the malady vanished away all clean, and so net that, by the merits of S. Clare there nas seen sign ne token thereof.
One of the sisters of the order of S. Clare, in the time that she lived, had such a malady in her throat, which sister was named Andrea, but it was of one thing marvel, how that among the sisters which were as precious stones, all full of the fervent love of the Holy Ghost, that such one that was so cold might dwell among them as was this Andrea, so foolish, that dishonoureth the other virgins. Then it happed on a night that she distrained herself by the throat that she was almost estrangled, which thing S. Clare saw and knew by the Holy Ghost, and said to one of her sisters: Now go hastily and take a soft egg and bear it to sister Andrea of Ferrara for to rume her throat, and come again and bring her with thee hither to me. And then she hasted her and found the same Andrea, that she might not speak, for she had almost strangled her with her own hands. And she relieved her as well as she might, and brought her to her good mother. Then S. Clare said to her: Thou caitiff, go and confess thee of thine evil thoughts, and I wot well that our Lord will heal thee, but amend thy life that thou mayest die of some other malady than this which thou hast suffered so long. And anon as S. Clare had said these words she began to repent her with good heart, and amended her life marvellously, and was all healed of the escroceles, by the grace of God, but she died anon after of another malady.
In the land of Assisi there was a wolf over sore cruel, which tormented the country and the people and ran upon them and slew and ate them. So there was a woman named Gallane of the Mount of Gallum which had children, and the wolf had ravished and borne away one of them, and had eaten him, wherefore she wept oft. And on a time the wolf came for his prey as he had done tofore for to devour some child. And it happed that this woman was busy in her work which she had in hand, and one of her sons went out, and anon, the wolf caught him by the head and ran with him towards the wood. And a man that was among the vines labouring, heard the child bray otherwise than he had heard any, and came running to the mother of the child, and bade her see if she had all her children, for he said that he had heard the cry of a child otherwise than they be woned to cry. And anon the mother looked and saw that the wolf had ravished her child, and went towards the wood with him like as he did with that other, and cried also high as she might cry: Ah! glorious virgin S. Clare, save my child and keep him, and if thou do not I shall go drown myself. And therewith the neighbours came out and ran after the wolf, and found the child, whom the wolf had left, and a hound beside him licking his wounds. For the wolf had first taken him by the head, and after took him by the reins, for the more easilier to bear him. and the biting of his teeth appeared both in the head and reins. And then the mother went with him to S. Clare that had so well holpen her, and brought with her her neighbours, and showed the wounds of the child to all them that would see them, and thanked God and S. Clare that she had her child again rendered to her.
There was a maid of the castle Convary which sat on a time in a field, and another woman had laid her head in her lap. And in the mean while there came a wolf which was accustomed to run on the people, and came to this maid and swallowed the visage and all the mouth and so ran with her toward the wood. And the good woman that rested in her lap when she saw it, was much abashed and began to call on S. Clare and said: Help! help! S. Clare, and succour us, I recommend to thee at this time this maid. And she whom the wolf bare, said unto the wolf: Art not thou afeard to bear me any farther that am recommended to so great and worthy lady? And with that word that the maid said, the wolf, all confused and shamed, set softly the maid down, and fled away like a thief, and so she was delivered. Then let us pray unto this glorious virgin S. Clare to be our advocate in all our needs; and by the merits of her we may so amend our life in this world that we may come unto everlasting life and bliss in heaven. Amen
In the time that Maximian reigned there was a rich man, a paynim, which adored and worshipped the idols, which man was named Dioscorus. This Dioscorus had a young daughter which was named Barbara, for whom he did do make a high and strong tower in which he did do keep and close this Barbara, to the end that no man should see her because of her great beauty. Then came many princes unto the said Dioscorus for to treat with him for the marriage of his daughter, which went anon unto her and said: My daughter, certain princes be come to me which require me for to have thee in marriage, wherefore tell to me thine entent and what will ye have to do. Then S. Barbara returned all angry towards her father and said: My father, I pray you that ye will not constrain me to marry, for thereto I have no will ne thought. After this he departed from her and went into the town where there was one making a cistern or a piscine, for he had many workmen to perform this work, and also he had tofore ordained how he should pay unto each of them their salary, and after this he departed thence and went into a far country where he long sojourned.
Then S. Barbara, the ancille of our Lord Jesu Christ, descended from the tower for to come see the work of her father, and anon she perceived that there were but two windows only, that one against the south, and that other against the north, whereof she was much abashed and amarvelled, and demanded of the workmen why they had not made no more windows, and they answered that her father had so commanded and ordained. Then S. Barbara said to them: Make me here another window; they answered: Dame, we fear and dread to anger your father, which commanded us to make no more ne we dare not therefore make no more. The blessed maid said: Do and make that I command you, and I shall content my father, and shall excuse you against him.
Then did they that she commanded to them, by of the manner that she enseigned and showed them. When the holy S. Barbara walked and came unto the cistern, she made with her finger toward the orient, a cross with her thumb in the stone of marble, the which cross is there yet unto this day, which every man may see that cometh thither by devotion. And when she came unto the side whereas the water descended into the said cistern, she blessed it, and made the sign of the cross, and incontinent the water was hallowed, in which all they that were sick received health, if they had perfect belief in God and in the blessed maid. In this same cistern was this holy maid baptized of a holy man, and lived there a certain space of time, in taking only for her refection honeysuckles and locusts, following the holy precursor of our Lord, S. John Baptist.
This cistern or piscine is semblable to the fountain of Siloe in which he that was born blind recovered there his sight. It is also like to the piscine named Robatyoa, in which the impotent by the word of God was made whole. These piscines or pecines be fountains perpetual in which all manner sick men, in whatsomever malady they were grieved or tormented, that went therein received fully their health. In this fountain is living water, and it is the water that the Samaritan required of our Lord to have of the holy piscine.
On a time this blessed maid went upon the tower, and there she beheld the idols to which her father sacrificed and worshipped, and suddenly she received the Holy Ghost and became marvellously subtle and clear in the love of Jesu Christ, for she was environed with the grace of God Almighty, of sovereign glory and pure chastity. This holy maid Barbara, adorned with faith, surmounted the devil, for when she beheld the idols she scratched them in their visages in despising them all, and saying: All they be made like unto you which have made you to err, and all them that have affiance in you, and then she went into the tower and worshipped our Lord. And when the work was full performed, her father returned from his voyage, and when he saw there three windows, he demanded of the workmen: Wherefore have ye made three windows? And they answered: Your daughter hath commanded so. Then he made his daughter to come afore him, and demanded her why she had do make three windows, and she answered to him, and said: I have done them to be made because three windows lighten all the world and all creatures, but two make darkness. Then her father took her and went down into the piscine, demanding her how three windows give more light than two. And S. Barbara answered: These three fenestres or windows betoken clearly the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the which be three persons and one very God, on whom we ought to believe and worship. Then he being replenished with furor, incontinent drew his sword to have slain her, but the holy virgin made her prayer and then marvellously she was taken in a stone and borne into a mountain on which two shepherds kept their sheep, the which saw her fly. And then her father, which pursued after her, went unto the shepherds and demanded after her. And that one, which would have preserved her, said that he had not seen her, but that other, which was an evil man, showed and pointed her with his finger, whom the holy S. Barbara cursed, and anon his sheep became locusts, and he consumed into a stone. And then her father took her by the hair and drew her down from the mountain and shut her fast in prison, and made her to be kept there by his servants unto the time that he had sent to the judge for to deliver her to the torments. And when the judge was advertised of the faith and belief of the maid he did her to be brought tofore him. Her father went with her, accompanied with his servants threatening her with his sword, and delivered her unto the judge, and conjured him, by the puissance of his gods that, he should torment her with horrible torments. Then sat the judge in judgment, and when he saw the great beauty of S. Barbara, he said to her: Now choose whether ye will spare yourself and offer to the gods, or else die by cruel torments. S. Barbara answered to him: I offer myself to my God, Jesu Christ, the which hath created heaven and earth and all other things, and fie on your devils, which have mouths and cannot speak, they have eyes, and cannot see, they have ears, and hear not, they have noses, and smell not, they have hands, and may not feel, and they have feet, and may not go, they that make them, be they made semblable to them, and all they that have fiance and belief in them. Then became the judge all wood and angry, and commanded to unclothe her and beat her with sinews of bulls, and frot her flesh with salt, and when she had long endured this, that her body was all bloody, the judge did do close her in a prison unto the time that he had deliberated of what torments he might make her die. And then at midnight descended a great light and clearness into the prison in which our Lord showed him to her, saying: Barbara, have confidence. and be firm and steadfast. for in heaven and in the earth thou shalt have great joy for thy passion, therefore, doubt not the judge, for I shall be with thee, and I shall deliver thee from all thy pains that any shall make thee suffer, and incontinent she was all whole. And then, when our Lord had said thus, he blessed her and remounted into heaven. Then S. Barbara was greatly rejoiced by the great comfort of our Lord. And on the morn, the judge commanded that she should be brought tofore him, and when she was come he saw that her wounds appeared not but she was all whole, and he said to her: Behold, Barbara, the bounty of our gods, and how much they love thee, for they have healed thy wounds. Then the blessed Barbara, martyr of Jesu Christ, answered to the judge: Thy gods be semblable to thee, without entendment how may they heal my wounds. They may not help themselves. He that healed me is Jesu Christ, the Son of God, the which will not have thee because thy heart is so indurate and hard with the devils. Then the judge, replenished of ire, commanded that she should be hanged between two forked trees, and that they should break her reins with staves, and burn her sides with burning lamps, and after he made her strongly to be beaten, and hurted her head with a mallet. Then S. Barbara beheld and looked upward to heaven, saying: Jesu Christ, that knowest the hearts of men, and knowest my thought, I beseech thee to Ieave me not. Then commanded the judge to the hangman that he should cut off with his sword her paps, and when they were cut off, the holy saint looked again towards heaven, saying: Jesu Christ, turn not thy visage from me. And when she had long endured this pain, the judge comnnanded that she should be led with beating through the streets, and the holy virgin the third time beheld the heaven, and said: Lord God, that coverest heaven with clouds, I pray thee to cover my body, to the end that it be not seen of the evil people.
And when she had made her prayer, our Lord came over her, and sent to her an angel which clad her with a white vestment, and the knights led her unto a town called Dallasion, and there the judge commanded to slay her with the sword. And then her father all araged took her out of the hands of the judge and led her up on a mountain, and S. Barbara rejoiced her in hasting to receive the salary of her victory. And then when she was drawn thither she made her orison, saying: Lord Jesu Christ, which hast formed heaven and earth, I beseech thee to grant me thy grace and hear my prayer, that all they that have memory of thy name and my passion, I pray thee that thou wilt not remember their sins, for thou knowest our fragility. Then came there a voice down from heaven saying unto her: Come, my spouse Barbara, and rest in the chamber of God my Father, which is in heaven, and I grant to thee that thou hast required of me. And when this was said, she came to her father and received the end of her martyrdom with S. Julian. But when her father descended from the mountain, a fire from heaven descended on him, and consumed him in such wise ehat there could not be found only ashes of all his body. This blessed virgin S. Barbara received martyrdom with S. Julian the second nones of December. A noble man called Valentine buried the bodies of these two martyrs, and laid them in a little town in which many miracles were showed in the louing and glory of God Almighty. And S. Barbara, the holy martyr suffered passion in the time of Maximian, emperor of Rome, and Marcian the judge. Whom we pray and beseech to be our advocatrix unto Almighty God, that by her merits he bring us after this short and transitory life into his glory perdurable. Amen.
Alexis is as much to say as going out of the law of marriage for to keep virginity for God’s sake, and to renounce all the pomp and riches of the world for to live in poverty.
In the time that Arcadius and Honorius were emperors of Rome, there was in Rome a right noble lord named Euphemius which was chief and above all other lords about the emperors, and had under his power a thousand knights. He was a much just man unto all men, and also he was piteous and merciful unto the poor, for he had daily three tables set and covered for to feed the orphans, poor widows, and pilgrims, and he ate at the hour of noon with good and religious persons. His wife, that was named Aglaia, led a religious life, but because they had no child, they prayed unto God to send them a son that might be their heir after them of their havoir and goods. It was so that God heard their prayers and beheld their bounty and good living, and gave unto them a son, which was named Alexis, whom they did to be taught and enformed in all sciences and honours. After this they married him unto a fair damoisel which was of the lineage of the emperor of Rome. When the day of the espousals was come to even, Alexis, being in the chamber with his wife alone, began to inform and induce her to dread God and serve him, and were all that night together in right good doctrine. And finally, he gave to his wife his ring and the buckle of gold of his girdle, both bound in a little cloth of purple, and said to her: Fair sister, take this and keep it as long as it shall please our Lord God, and it shall be a token between us, and he give you grace to keep truly your virginity.
After this he took of gold and silver a great sum and departed alone from Rome, and found a ship in which he sailed into Greece, and from thence went into Syria, and came to a city called Edessa, and gave there all his money for the love of God, and clad him in a coat, and demanded alms for God’s sake, like a poor man, tofore the church of our Lady, and what he had left of the alms above his necessity, he gave it unto others for God’s sake. And every Sunday he was houseled and received the sacrament; such a life he led long. Some of the messengers that his father had sent to seek him through all the parts of the world, came to seek him in the said city of Edessa, and gave unto him their alms, he sitting tofore the church with other poor people, but they knew not him. And he knew well them and thanked our Lord saying: I thank thee, fair Lord Jesu Christ, that vouchest safe to call me and to take alms in thy name of my servants, I pray thee to perform in me that which thou hast begun. When the messengers were returned to Rome, and Euphemius, his father, saw that they had not found his son, he laid him down upon a mattress, stretching on the earth, wailing, and said thus: I shall hold me here and abide till that I have tidings of my son. And the wife of his son Alexis said, weeping, to Euphemius: I shall not depart out of your house, but shall make me semblable and like to the turtle, which after that she hath lost her fellow will take none other but all her life after liveth chaste. In like wise I shall refuse all fellowship unto the time that I shall know where my right sweet friend is become.
After that Alexis had done his penance by right great poverty in the said city and led a right holy life by the space of seventeen years, there was a voice heard that came from God unto the church of our Lady, and said to the porter: Make the man of God to enter in, for he is worthy to have the kingdom of heaven, and the spirit of God resteth on him. When the clerk could not find ne know him among other poor men, he prayed to God to show to him who it was, and a voice came from God and said: He sitteth without, tofore the entry of the church; and so the clerk found him, and prayed him humbly that he would come in to the church.
When this miracle came to the knowledge of the people, and Alexis saw that man did to him honour and worship, anon for to eschew vain glory, he departed from thence and came into Greece, where he took ship and entered for to go into Sicily. But, as God would, there arose a great wind which made the ship to arrive at the port of Rome. When Alexis saw this, anon he said to himself: By the grace of God I will charge no man of Rome, I shall go to my father’s house in such wise as I shall not be known of any person. And when he was within Rome he met Euphemius, his father, which came from the palace of the emperor with a great meiny following him. And Alexis, his son, like a poor man ran crying and said: Sergeant of of God, have pity on me that am a poor pilgrim, and receive me into thine house for to have my sustenance of the reliefs that shall come from thy board, that God bless thee and have pity on thy son, which is also a pilgrim. When Euphemius heard speak of his son, anon his heart began to melt, and said to his servants: Which of you will have pity of this man and take the cure and charge of him, I shall deliver him from his servage and make him free, and shall give him of mine heritage. And anon he committed him unto one of his servants, and commanded that his bed should be made in a corner of the hall whereas comers and goers might see him. And the servant to whom Alexis was commanded to keep, made anon his bed under the stair and steps of the hall, and there he lay right like a poor wretch, and suffered many villainies and despises of the servants of his father, which oft-times cast and threw on him the washing of dishes and other filth, and did to him many evil turns and mocked him, but he never complained, but suffered all patiently for the love of God. Finally, when he had led this right holy life within his father’s house, in fasting, in praying and in doing penance, by the space of seventeen years and knew that he should soon die, he prayed the servant that kept him to give him a piece of parchment and ink, and therein he wrote by order all his life, and how he was married by the commandment of his father, and what he had said to his wife, and of the tokens of his ring and buckle of his girdle that he had given to her at his departing, and what he had suffered for God’s sake, and all this did he for to make his father to understand that he was his son.
After this, when it pleased God for to show and manifest the victory of our Lord Jesu Christ in his servant Alexis, on a time on a Sunday after mass, hearing all the people in the church, there was a voice heard from God crying and saying as is said, Matthew, eleventh chap.: Come unto me ye that labour and be travailed, I shall comfort you. Of which voice all the people were abashed, which anon fell down unto the earth. And the voice said again: Seek ye the servant of God, for he prayeth for all Rome. And they sought him, but he was not found.
Alexis in a morning, on a Good Friday, gave his soul unto God, and departed out this world, and that same day all the people assembled at S. Peter’s church and prayed God that he would show to them where the man of God might be found that prayed for Rome. And a voice was heard that came from God that said: Ye shall find him in the house of Euphemius. And the people said unto Euphemius: Why hast thou hid from us that thou hast such grace in thine house? And Euphemius answered: God knoweth that I know no thing thereof. Arcadius and Honorius that then were emperors of Rome, and also the pope Innocent, commanded that men should go unto Euphemius’s house for to enquire diligently tidings of the man of God. Euphemius went tofore with his servants for to make ready his house against the coming of the pope and emperors, and when Alexis’ wife had understood the cause and how a voice was heard that came from God saying: Seek the man of God in Euphemius’s house, anon she said to Euphemius: Sire, see if this poor man that ye have so long kept and harboured be the same man of God. I have well marked that he hath lived a right fair and holy life. He hath every Sunday received the sacrament of the altar, he hath been right religious, in fasting, in waking, and in prayer, and hath suffered patiently and debonairly of our servants many villainies. And when Euphemius had heard all this, he ran towards Alexis and found him dead. He discovered his visage, which shone and was bright as the face of an angel. And anon he returned toward the emperors and said: We have found the man of God that we sought, and told unto them how he had harboured him, and how the holy man had lived, and also how he was dead, and that he held a bill or letter in his hand which they might not draw out. Anon the emperor with the pope went to Euphemius’s house and came tofore the bed where Alexis lay dead, and said: How well the we be sinners, yet nevertheless we govern the world, and lo here is the pope the general father of all the church, give us the letter that thou holdest in thine hand for to know what is the writing of it. And the pope went tofore and took the letter and took it to his notary for to read, and the notary read it tofore the pope, the emperors and all the people, and when he came to the point that made mention of his father, and of his mother, and also of his wife, and that by the ensigns that he had given to his wife at his departing, his ring and buckle of his girdle wrapped in a little purple cloth, anon Euphemius fell down aswoon, and when he came again to himself he began to draw his hair and beat his breast, and fell down on the corpse of Alexis his son, and kissed it, weeping and crying in right great sorrow of heart, saying: Alas! right sweet son, wherefore hast thou made me to suffer such sorrow? Thou sawest what sorrow and heaviness we had for thee; alas! why hadst thou no pity on us in so long time? How mightest thou suffer thy mother and thy father to weep so much for thee and thou sawest it well without taking pity on us? I supposed to have heard some time tidings of thee, and now I see thee lie dead in thy bed, which shouldst be my solace in mine age; alas! what solace may I have that see my right dear son dead? Me were better die than live. When the mother of Alexis saw and heard this, she came running like a lioness and cried: Alas! alas! drawing her hair in great sorrow, scratching her paps with her nails, saying: These paps have given thee suck. And when she might not come to the corpse for the foison of people that was come thither, she cried and said: Make room and way to me, sorrowful mother, that I may see my desire and my dear son that I have engendered and nourished. And as soon as she came to the body of her son she fell down on it piteously and kissed it, saying thus: Alas for sorrow! my dear son, the light of mine age, why hast thou made us suffer so much sorrow? Thou sawest thy father, and me thy sorrowful mother so oft weep for thee, and wouldst never make to us semblance of son. O all ye that have the heart of a mother, weep ye with me upon my dear son, whom I have had in my house seventeen years as a poor man. To whom my servants have done much villainy. Ah! fair son, thou hast suffered them right sweetly and debonairly. Alas! thou that wert my trust, my comfort and solace in mine old age how mightest thou hide thee from me that am thy sorrowful mother? who shall give to mine eyes from henceforth a fountain of tears for to make pain unto the sorrow of mine heart? And after this came the wife of Alexis in weeping, throwing herself upon the body, and with great sighs and heaviness said: Right sweet friend and spouse, whom long I have desired to see, and chastely I have to thee kept myself like a turtle that alone, without make, waileth and weepeth. And lo! here is my right sweet husband whom I have desired to see alive, and now I see him dead; from henceforth I wot not in whom I shall have fiance ne hope. Certes my solace is dead, and in sorrow I shall be unto the death, for now forthon I am the most unhappy among all women, and reckoned among the sorrowful widows. And after these piteous complaints the people wept for the death of Alexis. The pope made the body to be taken up and to be put into a fere-tree and borne into the church. And when it was borne through the city, right great foison of people came against it, and said: The man of God is found that the city sought. Whatsomever sick body might touch the fere-tree he was anon healed of his malady. There was a blind man that recovered his sight, and lame men and others were healed. The emperor made great foison of gold and silver to be thrown among the people, for to make way that the fere-tree might pass, and thus by great labour and reverence was borne the body of S. Alexis unto the church of S. Boniface the glorious martyr. And there was the body put into a shrine much honourably, made of gold and silver, the seventeenth day of July, and all the people rendered thankings and laud to our Lord God for his great miracles, unto whom be given honour, laud, and glory in secula secuIorum. Amen.
Elizabeth is expounded and as much to say as: My God knoweth her, or she is said the seventh of my God, or the filling of my God. First, God knoweth her, for he knew her good will and proved it, and he gave to her knowledge of himself. Secondly, she is said seventh of God, for she had seven things in her; she had the seven works of mercy, or because she is now in the seventh age of them that rest, and to come to the eighth of the general resurrection. Or for the seven estates that were in her. She was in the estate of virginity, in the estate of marriage, in estate of widowhood, in estate of action, in estate of contemplation, in estate of religion, and she is now in estate glorious. And these seven estates be appertly contained in her legend. So that it may be said of her like as it is said of Nebuchadnezzar, that is to wit seven times be changed in her. And also she is said the filling of my God, for God hath filled and replenished her with the resplendour of truth, of sweet savour, and of the vigour of the Trinity, whereof S. Austin saith: She woke in the perdurability of God, she shone in the verity of God, and she enjoyed in the bounty of God.
Elizabeth was daughter of the noble king of Hungary, and was of noble lineage, but she was more noble by her faith and religion than by her right noble lineage. She was right noble by example, she shone by miracle, and she was fair by grace of holiness, for the author of nature enhanced her in a manner above nature. When this holy maid was nourished in delices royal she renounced all childishness, and set herself all in the service of God. Then it appeared clearly as her tender infancy enforced in simpless, and began to use good customs from then forthon, and to despise the plays of the world, and of vanities, and flee the prosperities of the world, and always to profit in the honour of God. For when she was yet but five years old she abode so ententively in the church for to pray, that her fellows or her chamberers might unnethe bring her thence, and when she met any of her chamberers or fellows, she would follow them toward the chapel as it were for to play, for to have cause to enter into the church. And when she was entered, anon she kneeled down and lay down to the earth, howbeit that she knew not yet any letters; and she opened oft the psalter tofore her in the church for to feign that she read, because she should not be let, and that she should be seen occupied. And when she was with other maidens for to play, she considered well the manner of the game for to give always honour to God under occasion, and in play of rings and other games she set all her hope in God. And of all that she won and had of any part profit when she was a young maid, she gave the tenth to poor maidens, and led them ofttimes with her for to say paternoster or for to salute our Lady. And like as she grew in age by time so grew she by devotion, for she choose the blessed Virgin to be her lady and her advocate, and S. John the Evangelist to be warden of her virginity. And on a time there were schedules laid on the altar, and in every schedule was written the name of an apostle, and each of the other maidens took, at all adventure, such a schedule as happed to her. And she made her orison, and thrice she took the same that she desired, in which was written the name of S. Peter, to whom she had so great devotion that she never warned thing to them that demanded it in his name. And because that the good adventures of the world should not flatter her over much, she withdrew every day something of her prosperities, and when she took in any game any pleasure, anon she left it, and said she would play no more, but she would say: I leave you the remnant for God’s sake. She went not gladly to karols, but withdrew other maidens from them. She doubted always to wear jolly clothing, but she used always to have them honest. She had ordained to say every day a certain number of orisons and prayers, and if she were occupied in any manner that she might not perform them, but that she was constrained of her chamberers to go to her bed, she would there say them, waking. This holy virgin honoured all the solemn feasts of the year with so great reverence that she would not suffer her sleeves to be laced till the solemnity of the mass was accomplished, and she heard the office of the mass with so great reverence that when the gospel was read or the sacrament was lifted up, she would take off the brooches of gold and the adornments of her head, as circles or chaplets, and lay them down.
And when she had kept in innocence the degree of virginity, she was constrained to enter into the degree of marriage, for her father constrained her thereto, because she should bring forth fruit. And howbeit that she would not have been married, yet she durst not gainsay the commandment of her father. Then she avowed in the hands of Master Conrad, which was a good man and her confessor, and promised that if her husband died and she overlived him, that she would keep perpetual continence. Then was she married to the landgrave of Thuringia, like as the divine purveyance had ordained because she should bring much people to the love of our Lord, and teach the rude people. And howbeit she changed her estate, yet she changed not her will in her thought, and she was of great humility and of great devotion to God, and was towards herself of great abstinence and of great mercy. She was of so right ardent desire of prayer that she oft went sooner to the church than her meiny, to the end that by her prayers secret she might impetre and get grace of God. She arose oft by night for to make her prayers, and her husband would pray her that she would lie and rest her a little. She had ordained that one of her women, which was more familiar with her than another, that if peradventure she were overtaken with sleep, that she should take her by the foot, for to awake her, and on a time she supposed to have taken her lady by the foot, and took her husband’s foot, which suddenly awoke, and would know wherefore she did so, and then she told to him all the case, and when he knew it, he let it pass and suffered it peaceably. And because she would render good sacrifice to God of her prayers, she wetted oft her body with abundance of tears, and let them flow out of her eyes gladly without changing of semblance, so that oft she wept with great sorrow, and she yet enjoyed in God. She was of so great humility that, for the love of God, she laid in her lap a man horribly sick, which had his visage stinking like carrion, and she share off the ordure and filth of his head, and washed it, whereof her chamberers loathed and laughed her to scorn. And she would in rogation time follow the procession barefoot and without linen smock, and at the preaching she would sit among the poor people. She would not array her with precious stones, as others, on the day of Purification of our Lady, ne wear rich vesture of gold, but after the ensample of the Blessed Virgin Mary, she bare her son in her arms and a lamb and a candle, and offered it up humbly. And by that she showed that the pomp and bobance of the world should be eschewed, and that she conformed her unto the Virgin Mary; and when she came home she gave to some poor women the clothes in which she went to church. She was of so great humility that by the consenting of her husband she submitted herself in the obedience of Master Conrad, a poor man and a small, but he was of noble science and perfect religion, and she did with joy and reverence that which he commanded, for to have the merit of obedience, like as God was obedient unto the death. On a time it happed that she was called for to go to his preaching, and the marquis of Messence came upon her by whom she was let, and might not go thither. Wherefore he held him evil apaid, and would not release her obedience till that she was despoiled to her smock, with some of her chamberers which were culpable, and that he had strongly beaten them. She did so great abstinence, that at the table of her husband, among the divers meats that were there, she would not eat but bread. She took so great rigour on herself that she waxed lean. For Master Conrad defended her that she should not touch the meats of her husband of which she should not have a whole conscience. And she kept this commandment with so great diligence, that when others abounded in delices she ate with her chamberers gross meats. On a time when she had sore travelled in going, there were brought to her and to her husband divers meats, and were supposed not well gotten of good and just labour, wherefore she refused them and took her refection of a hard brown loaf tempered with water, and for this cause her husband assigned a pension to her, by which she and her chamberers consented for to live by, and her husband suffered all in patience, and said he would gladly do so if he doubted not to anger his meiny. And she, that was in sovereign glory, desired the estate of sovereign poverty, to the end that the world should have nothing in her, and that she should be poor like as Jesu Christ had been. And when she was alone with her chamberers, she would clothe her with poor vestments and vile, and set a poor veil upon her head and said: Thus shall I go when I shall come to the estate of poverty. And though she did abstinence, yet was she liberal to the poor, so that she might not suffer that any had misease, but gave to them all largely. She entended with all her power to the seven works of mercy.
She gave on a time to a poor woman a right good vesture, and when this poor woman saw that she had so noble a gift, she had so great joy that she fell down as dead, and when the blessed Elizabeth saw that, she was sorry that she had given to her so noble a gift, and doubted that she was the cause of her death, and prayed for her, and anon she arose all whole. And she span oft wool with her chamberers and made thereof cloth, so that of her proper labour that she gave to the church, she received glorious fruit, and gave good ensample unto others.
On a time when her husband the landgrave was gone to the court of the emperor, which was then at Cremona, she assembled in a garner all the wheat of the year, and administered part to every each that came from all parts, and that time was great dearth in the country, and oft when she lacked money she sold off her adornments for to give to the poor people, but for all that she gave, the garners minished not ne lessed. She did do make a great house under the castle, where she received and nourished great multitude of poor people, and visited them every day, and she left not to visit them for any sickness ne malady that they had, but she washed and wiped them with her own hands, howbeit that her chamberers would not suffer it. And yet moreover then she did do nourish in her house poor women’s children so sweetly, that they all called her mother. She did do make sepultures for poor people, and went devoutly unto the death of them, and would bury them with her own hands in the clothes that she had made, and ofttimes brought the sheet wherein she lay for to wind the dead bodies therein, and was at the death of them much devoutly.
And among these things the devotion of her husband was much to be praised, for how well he was occupied in his other things, nevertheless he was devout in the service of God, and because he might not himself entend personally unto his things, he gave full power to his wife in all that should be to the honour or to the health of their souls.
And the blessed S. Elizabeth had great desire that her husband should employ his puissance to defend the faith of God, and advised him, by debonair admonishments, that he should go visit the holy land and thither he went, and when he was there, this devout and noble prince, full of faith and of devotion rendered his spirit unto Almighty God, and so died, receiving the glorious fruit of his works, and then she received with devotion the state of widowhood. And when the death of her husband was published and known through all Thuringia, some of the vassals of her husband held her for a fool and wastrels of her goods, and threw her out of her heritage. And because her patience were more clear and that she had the poverty that she long desired, she went then by night into the house of a taverner in the place where the pots lay, and gave great thankings to God. And at the hour of matins she came into the house of the friars minor, and prayed them that they would give laud and thankings to God for her tribulation.
And the day following, she came with her little children to a place and into the house of one her enemy, and then was delivered to her a strait place for to dwell in. And when she saw that she was much grieved of the host and hostess, then she saluted the walls and said: I should gladly salute the men, but I find them not. And thus she being constrained by necessity, she sent her small children here and there for to be nourished in divers places, and returned herself into the first place. And as she went, there was a strait way upon stones and a deep mire under, and full of filth; and as she passed she met an old woman to whom she had done much good tofore, and this old woman would give her no way, so that she fell in the deep mire and filth, and then she arose and scraped her vesture and laughed.
And after this, one, her aunt, had great pity of her, and sent her wisely to her uncle, bishop of Bamberg, which received her much honestly, and retained her in entent to marry her again. And when her chamberers heard thereof; which had vowed continence with her, they were passing wrath and wept, and she comforted them and said: I trust in our Lord, for the love of whom I have vowed continence perdurable, that he shall keep me in my purpose and shall take away all violence and shall corrupt all counsel human; and if mine uncle would marry me to any man I shall withstand it to my power and shall gainsay it with words. And if I may not so escape I shall cut off my nose so that every man shall hate me for my loathliness. And then the bishop did do lead her in a castle against her will, for to abide there till that some man should demand to have her in marriage. And she commended to our Lord her chastity, all weeping. And then our Lord ordained that the bones of her husband should be brought from over sea, and then the bishop made her to come and go devoutly to meet the bones of her husband. And then the bones were received of the bishop with right great honour, and of her with great devotion, and weepings of tears. And then she said to our Lord: Sire, I render to thee graces and thankings of this, that I may receive the bones of my sweet husband, and that thou hast vouchsafed to comfort me, poor caitiff. Sire, I loved him much which loved thee, and Lord, for the love of thee I suffered well his presence. And I sent him unto the help of the holy land, and I call thee to witness that howbeit that it were a delectable thing to me to live yet with him, so that he were poor and I also a poor beggar through the world; but that against thy will I would not buy him again with a hair, and I would not return again to temporal life. Lord, I commend me and him into thy grace. And then she clad her with habit religious and kept perpetual continence after the death of her husband, and obedience performed. She took wilful poverty, and her clothing was coarse and vile. She wore a russet mantle, her gown of another foul colour, the sleeves of her coat were broken, and amended with pieces of other colour.
Her father, king of Hungary, when he heard that his daughter was come to the estate of poverty, he sent an earl to her for to bring her to her father, and when the earl saw her sit in such a habit and spinning, he cried for sorrow, and said there was never king’s daughter that ware such a habit ne seen spinning wool. And when he had done his message and desired to have brought her to her father, she in no wise would accord to it, but had liefer to be needy among the poor people than to abound in great riches with rich people, to the end that she should not be empeshed, but that her will and mind should be always in our Lord. And she prayed our Lord that he would give to her grace to despise all earthly things and take away from her heart the love of her children, and to be firm and constant against the persecutions. And when she had accomplished her prayer she heard our Lord saying: Thy prayer is heard. And said she to her chamberers: Our Lord hath heard my voice, for I repute all earthly things as dung and filth, and set no more by mine own children than I do by other men’s and my neighbours, ne I love none other thing but our Lord. Master Conrad did to her oft things contrary and grievous, and such things as he saw that she loved, that removed he and took away from her company. And took from her two maidens, her chamberers, beloved among all others, and had been nourished with her from her childhood. And this holy man did this for to break her will, so that she should set all love in our Lord, and to the end that she should not remember her first glory. In all these things she was hasty for to obey, and constant to suffer, that by patience she might possess her soul, and by obedience to be made fair and ennobled. She said: If I, only for God’s sake, dread so much a man mortal, how much more ought I to dread and doubt the heavenly judge. Therefore I make obedience to Master Conrad, a poor man and a beggar, and not to a rich bishop, because I would put away from me all occasion of temporal comfort. On a time because she went into a cloister of nuns, which prayed her diligently for to visit them, without licence of her master, he beat her so sore therefor that the strokes appeared in her three weeks after, by which she showed to our Lord that her obedience was more pleasing than the offering of a thousand hosties. Better is obedience than sacrifice. She was of so great humility that she would suffer in no wise that her chamberers should call her lady, but that they should speak and say to her as to the lowest and least of them. She washed otherwhile the dishes and the vessel of the kitchen, and she hid her otherwhile that the chamberers should not let her, and she would say: If I could find another life more despised I would have taken it; she chose the best. She had a special grace to weep abundantly tears, for to see celestial visions, and for to inflame the hearts of others to the love of God.
On a day of the holy Lent she was in the church and she beheld ententively the altar like as she had been in the presence divine, and there she was comforted by revelation divine. And then she returned to her house and prophesied of herself that she should see Jesu Christ in heaven: and anon as she lay down for feebleness in the lap of her chamberer, she began to look up into heaven, and she was so glad that she began debonairly to laugh, and when she had been long joyful she was suddenly turned into weeping, and then she looked up to heavenward again, and anon she returned into her first joy; and when she closed her eyes she began to weep, and in this manner she abode till compline, and had divine visions, and then she was still a while, and said thus after: Lord, wilt thou be with me, and I with thee, ne I will not depart from thee. After these things the chamberers desired her to tell to them why she had so laughed and wept, and she said: I have seen heaven open and Jesu Christ which inclined him debonairly to me, and I was glad of the vision and wept for to depart from it, and he said to me: If thou wilt be with me, I shall be with thee, and I answered like as ye heard. Her prayer was of so great ardour that she drew others to good living.
On a time she saw a young man, and she called him to her, and said to him: Thou livest dissoIutely, and thou oughtest to serve God, wilt thou that I pray for thee? He said: I will well and require it of you desirously. And then she prayed for him, and the young man also prayed for himself, and anon the young man began to cry: Cease ye, lady, and leave off, but she prayed always more ententively, and he began to cry: Cease! lady, cease! for I begin to fail and am all burnt, and he was esprised with so great heat that he sweat and fled, as he had been from himself, so that many ran, which despoiled him for his great heat, and they themselves might unnethe suffer the heat of him. And when she had accomplished her prayer the young man left his heat, and came again to himself, and by the grace that was given to him he entered into the order of the friars minor, and when he had taken the habit of religion she prayed for him so affectuously that by her fervent prayers she made him that so burned to be cold, and left his dissolute life and took upon him a ghostly and spiritual life. And then this blessed Elizabeth received the habit of religion and put herself diligently to the works of mercy, for she received for her dower two hundred marks, whereof she gave a part to poor people, and of that other part she made a hospital, and therefore she was called a wasteress and a fool, which all she suffered joyously. And when she had made this hospital she became herself as an humble chamberer in the service of the poor people, and she bare her so humbly in that service, that by night she bare the sick men between her arms for to let them do their necessities, and brought them again, and made clean their clothes and sheets that were foul. She brought the mesels abed, and washed their sores and did all that longed to a hospitaller. And when she had no poor man she would spin wool which was sent to her from an abbey, and such as she gat whereof she gave to the poor people, and when she had been in much poverty she received five hundred marks of her dowry, which she gave unto the poor much ordinately. And then she made an ordinance that whosomever removed his place in prejudice of another when she gave her alms, should have his hair cut off or shorn. Then came a maid named Radegonde, which shone by the beauty of her hair, and passed by, not for to have alms, but for to visit her sister which was sick, and she commanded anon that her hair should be cut off, and she wept and gainsaid it. And there was a man which said that she was innocent. Then S. Elizabeth said: Then at the least, said she, she shall swear that she shall no more, because of her hair, go to dances ne karols, ne haunt such vanities. And S. Elizabeth demanded of her if ever she was disposed or were in purpose to use the way of health, and she answered that if she had not had that fair hair, she had long since taken the habit of religion. And she said: I had liefer that thou shouldest lose thine hair than my son were made emperor. And then anon the maid took habit of religion with S. Elizabeth, and finished her life laudably.
When the time approached that God had ordained, that she which had despised the reign mortal should have the reign of angels, she lay sick of the fevers and turned her to the wall, and they that were there heard her put out a sweet melody; and when one of the chamberers had enquired of her what it was, she answered and said: A bird came between me and the wall and sang so sweetly that it provoked me to sing with it. She was always in her malady glad and jocund, and ne ceased of prayer. The last day tofore her departing, she said to her chamberers: What will ye do if the devil come to you? And after a little while she cried with a high voice: Flee! flee! flee! like as she had chased away the devil, and after, she said: The midnight approacheth in which Jesu Christ was born; it is now time that God call his friends to his heavenly weddings. And thus, the year of our Lord twelve hundred and thirty-one, she gave up her spirit and slept in our Lord, and though the body lay four days unburied, yet came there no stench from it, but a sweet odour aromatic came, which refreshed all them that were there. Then there was heard and seen a multitude of birds, so many that there hath not been seen the like tofore, over the church, and began a song of right great melody, like as it had been the obsequies of her, and their song was: Regnum mundi, which is sung in the praising of virgins. There was a great cry of poor people for her and much devotion of people, so that some took a hair of her head, and some a part of her clothes, which they kept for great relics. And then her body was put in a monument, which after was found to redound in oil, and many fair miracles were showed at her tomb after her death. It was well showed in the dying of S. Elizabeth of what holiness she was, as well in the modulation of the bird as in the expulsion of the devil. That bird that was between her and the wall, and provoked her to sing, is supposed to be her good angel, which was deputed to her, and brought her tidings that she should go to the everlasting joy, and in like wise is showed to cursed men otherwhile their everlasting damnation.
In the parts of Saxony there was a monk that hight Henry, which was fallen in so great a sickness that he cried and would suffer no creature to have rest about him in the house. On a night appeared to him an honourable lady clad in white, which advised him that he should vow him to S. Elizabeth if he would have his health, and the next night she appeared to him in like wise, and then by the counsel of his abbot he made the vow. The third night she appeared to him again and made the sign of the cross upon him, and he then received anon full health and was perfectly whole. And when the abbot and the prior came to him, they were greatly amarvelled and doubted much the accomplishment of the avow, and the prior said that, ofttimes under the likeness of good cometh illusion of the fiend, and counselled him to be confessed of his avow. And the night following the same person appeared unto him and said: Thou shalt be always sick till thou hast accomplished and fulfilled thine avow, and anon his infirmity took him again and would not leave him. And afterwards, by the licence given of his abbot, he accomplished his avow and was made all whole.
There was a maid demanded drink of a servant of her father’s, and she gave her drink and said: The devil mayst thou drink, and she drank, and her seemed that fire entered into her body. Then began she to cry and her belly to swell like to a barrel, so that each man saw that she was demoniac, and she was two years in that estate, and after was brought into the tomb of S. Elizabeth, and was made perfectly whole and was delivered of the fiend.
There was one Herman, a man of the diocese of Cologne, which was holden in prison, and he called with great devotion S. Elizabeth unto his help, and the night following she appeared to him and comforted him. And on the morn sentence was given against him that he should be hanged, and the judge gave licence to his friends to take him down off the gallows, and they bare him away all dead and began to pray S. Elizabeth for hirn, and anon he arose from death to life tofore them all.
A child of four years old was fallen into a pit and drowned, and a man came for to take water and espied the dead child, and he was drawn out, and then they vowed him to S. Elizabeth, and he was anon re-established to his first life and health.
There was one Frederick, a mariner, which was conning in swimming, and on a time baigned him in a water, and he mocked a poor man which S. Elizabeth had enlumined, and given again to him his sight. And the poor man said: This holy lady which hath healed me will avenge me on thee, so that thou shalt never come out of the water but dead, and anon the swimmer lost all his strength and might not help himself but sank down to the bottom like a stone, and was drowned, and then was drawn out of the water, and forthwith some of his friends avowed him to S. Elizabeth and she gave to him his life again.
There was a man named Dietrich which was grievously vexed in his knees and in his thighs, so that he might not go, and he avowed that he should go to the tomb of S. Elizabeth, and was eight days on going thither, and abode there a month, and had no remedy, and went again to his house, and then he saw in his sleep a woman spring water on him, and awoke withal and was angry, and said to her: Wherefore hast thou awaked me and cast water on me? And then she said: I have wet thee, and this wetting shall do to thee profit and ease, and then anon he arose all whole and gave thankings to God and to S. Elizabeth. Then let us pray to her that she pray for us, for such things as shall be for the most profit of our souls. Amen.
S. Edmund the confessor and bishop, which resteth at Pounteney in France, was born in England in the town of Abingdon. His mother was Mabel the rich, and she was right holy, both wife and widow. And this said S. Edmund, her son, was born on S. Edmund’s day, the king and martyr, and in his birth no cloth was fouled by him. And he was born in the first springing of the day, and lay all that day till night as he had been dead, so that the midwife would have had him buried. But his mother said: Nay; and soon after he revived and was borne to church and christened and named Edmund, because he was born on S Edmund’s day, and as he grew in age so increased he in virtues. He had a brother named Robert, and the mother set them both to school; also she had two daughters, that one was named Mary, and that other Alice, which were both made nuns at Catesby in Northamptonshire by the labour of their brother Edmund. And the mother gave to them gifts to fast the Friday, and drew them to virtuous and holy living by gifts and fair behests, so that when they came to more perfect age it grieved them not. Their mother ware hard hair for our Lady’s love, and led her life in great penance and daily laboured. And on a time as she put out wool for to spin, she delivered so much for the pound that the spinners might not live thereby, which complained thereof to her son Edmund, and he took the yarn that was spun for a pound and raked it in the fire, and a certain time after he took it out of the fire, and the just pound was not hurt ne lessed, but as much as was more than a pound was wasted and burnt by the fire. And when she saw this she repented her greatly and did so never more after. After this she sent her two sons to Paris to school, and delivered to them money for their costs and school hire, and also two shirts of hair, and prayed them for God’s love and hers that they would wear those shirts once or twice in the week, and they should lack nothing needful to them, and they granted gladly to do after their mother’s desire, insomuch that within a while, of custom they ware the hair every day, and lay therein every night. This was a blessed mother that so virtuously brought forth her children, and in short time S. Edmund increased so greatly in virtue that every man had joy of him, giving laud to God thereof. And on a day as his fellows and he went to play, he left their fellowships and went alone into a meadow, and under a hedge he said his devotions. And suddenly there appeared tofore him a fair child in white clothing which said: Hail! fellow, that goest alone. And S. Edmund, being abashed, marvelled from whence this child came, to whom the child said: Edmund, knowest thou not me? And he said: Nay, I am thy fellow in the school, and in all where thou goest I am ever on thy right side, and yet thou knowest me not, but look in my forehead and there thou shalt find my name written. And then Edmund looked in his forehead and saw written therein with letters of gold, Jesus Nazarenus rex Judeorum. And then the child said: Dread thee not, Edmund, for I am Jesu Christ thy Lord, and I shall be thy defender here whilst thou livest. And then Edmund fell down, meekly thanking God of his great mercy and goodness. And then our Lord taught him to say when he shall go to his bed, or arise, and bless him with this prayer: Jesus Nazarenus rex Judeorum, Filius Dei miserere mei, in remembrance of my passion, and the devil shall never have power to overcome thee. And then anon this child vanished away. And S. Edmund thanked humbly our Lord that it pleased to him to show him in this manner, and ever after both evening and morning, he used continually to bless him with that holy prayer to his life’s end, and did much penance ever after for God’s sake. And when he had continued at school a long time at Paris, he came home and went to Oxenford to school. And always in this time he was chaste in his living and a clean virgin, in will and deed, and never consented to the sin of the flesh. And on a day he made his prayers devoutly before an image of our Lady, and he put a ring upon her finger, and promised to her faithfully never to have other wife but only her during his life, and humbly greeted our Lady with these four words: Ave Maria gratia plena, which words were written on the said ring.
And his host had a daughter that laboured greatly to make S. Edmund to sin with her fleshly, and long time he put her off, and she laboured so sore that at the last he granted her to come to his bed, and then she was right glad, and she espied her time and came to his chamber, and anon made her ready to come to his bed, and she stood naked tofore him. And then he took a sharp rod and beat the maid, that the blood ran down on every side of her body, and said to her: Thus thou shalt learn to release thy soul from the foul lusts of thy flesh. And so with beating he put away all her foul lust, and ever after she lived a clean virgin unto her life’s end. And soon after, the good mother sent for Edmund and her other children, for she knew that she should shortly pass out of this world, and charged Edmund to see that his brother and sisters should be well guided, and after she gave to them her blessing and departed out of this world, and is buried at Abingdon in S. Nicholas’ Church in a tomb of marble before the rood, where is written: Here lieth Mabel, flower of widows. And after, S. Edmund did do make a chapel at Catesby, in which both his sisters were buried, and one of them was prioress of the place ere she died, and was a holy woman for whom God showed many miracles. And S. Edmund dwelled long after at Oxenford, living a holy life and ware a shirt of hair full of hard knots, and a breech of the same, and the knots stuck in the flesh that it made his body to bleed, and he bound the shirt to his body with a cord so strait that unnethe he might bow his body.
And on a time when his shirt of hair was right foul he took it to his servant for to burn in the fire, but the fire might not perish ne hurt it. Then his servant took it out of the fire, and bound a stone thereto and threw it into a pond, and told his master that he had burnt it. S. Edmund and his fellows, on a day as they came from Lewkenor to Abingdon, saw in a valley many black fowls like crows or ravens, among whorn was one which was all to-rent and torn with the other black birds, and threw him from one to another that it was a piteous sight to see, and they that accompanied S. Edmund were almost from themselves for fear of the sight. But then S. Edmund comforted them and said to them what it meant, he said that these be wicked fiends of hell that bear with them a man’s soul, which died right now at Chalgrove, which soul is damned for his wicked living, and then he and his fellows went to Chalgrove and found all things as he had said. S. Edmund was accustomed to say every day unto our Lady and S. John the Evangelist the prayer: O intemerata, and on day, for certain business that he had, he forgat it and said it not. Wherefore S. John appeared to him in a ghastful manner, blaming him greatly for that he had not said it, and after that he said it every day unto his life’s end.
And after this as he sat in a night in his study, labouring in divers of the seven sciences, the spirit of his mother appeared to him in a vision, and charged him to leave to study in particular sciences, but that he should from then forthon labour in divinity only, for that was the will of God, and he hath sent to thee word by me, and this said, she vanished away. And ever after he laboured in divinity so that he profited therein marvellously, so that men wondered of his conning; and when he read divinity in schools, his scholars and hearers profited more in one day than they did of other men’s teaching a whole week. And many of his scholars by his teaching and ensample of living, forsook the world and became religious men. And on a day he came to the school for to dispute of the blessed Trinity, and was there ere any of his scholars came, and fell in slumbering, sitting in his chair, and a white dove brought him the body of our Lord and put it into his mouth, and the dove ascended up into heaven again, and ever after S. Edmund thought that the sweet savour of our Lord’s flesh was in his mouth, by which he knew great privities of our Lord in heaven, for he passed all the doctors in Oxenford in conning, for he spake more like an angel than a man, and in all his lessons he remembered ever our Lord’s passion. And in a night as he studied long in his books, suddenly he fell asleep and forgat to bless him and to think on the passion of our Lord, and anon the devil lay so heavy on him that he might not bless him with neither hand, and wist not what to do, but through the grace of God he remembered his blessed passion, and then the fiend had no more power, but fell down from him anon. And S. Edmund then charged the fiend by the virtue of our Lord’s passion, to tell to him how he should best defend him, that he should have no power over him, and then the fiend answered and said: The remembrance of the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ, for when any man remembreth the passion of Jesu Christ, I have no power over them. And ever after S. Edmund had full great devotion to the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ, and was continually in holy prayers and meditations, for all the delights of the world were but heaviness to him. He was a man of great alms, and often preached and edified the people, and all the people had great devotion to hear him. In that time the pope sent out a crusade against the Turks and miscreants into England, and this holy man, Edmund, was chosen to publish it through the realm, and he stirred much people to receive the crusade, and to go to the Holy Land to fight agamst the enemies of God. And as a young man came with others for to receive the cross, a woman that loved him letted him of his purpose, and drew him away from thence with her hands, and anon her hands were made stiff and hard as a board, and also crooked. And then she made great sorrow, and cried God mercy full meekly, and prayed S. Edmund to pray for her to our Lord, and he said to her: Woman, wilt thou take the cross? And she said: Yea, sir, full fain, and then she received it and anon was made perfectly whole, and she thanked God and S. Edmund; and for this miracle much the more people took the cross.
In a time as this holy man preached at Oxenford in the churchyard of All Hallows, and much people being there to hear him, suddenly the weather changed, and waxed all dark in such wise that the people were aghast and afeard, and began fast to flee away from the sermon. And this holy man said to the people: Abide ye still here, for the power of God is stronger than the fiend’s power, for this he doeth for envy to distrouble God’s words. And then S. Edmund lift up his hands and his mind to Almighty God, and besought him of his mercy and grace; and when he had ended his orison and his prayer, the weather began to withdraw by that other side of the churchyard, and all they that abode still and moved not, but heard the preaching, had not one drop of rain, and they that went away from the preaching were through wet, for there fell so much rain in the high street that men might not go ne ride therein, wherefore the people thanked God and his holy saint for this miracle. And at Winchester another time, as he preached, there was showed a like miracle, for there he chased away such a dark weather by his holy prayer. After, for his blessed living he was chosen to be a high canon of Salisbury, and by the chapter was made common treasurer, where he lived full blessedly in giving alms largely unto the poor people, insomuch that unnethe he kept anything for himself, for which cause he went to the abbey of Stanley, and sojourned there till his rents came in. And the abbot, named Master Stephen Lexington, was sometime his scholar in Oxenford. He was a man of great abstinence, and ate so little meat that men wondered whereby he lived. He ate but seldom flesh. From Shrovetide till Easter he would eat nothing that suffered death, ne in Advent he ate never but Lent meat, and when the archbishop of Canterbury was dead, he was elected and chosen by all the convent to be their bishop, which election was sent to him by three messengers to Salisbury.
But then he was at Calne, which was a prebend of his, and was solitary in his chamber, alone in his prayers, and one of his chaplains came to him and told to him that he was chosen to be archbishop of Canterbury and that the messengers were come to him for the same cause. But S. Edmund was nothing glad of the tidings, and then the messengers came and did their message and delivered to him letters which he read and understood, and after, said to the messengers: I thank you of your labour and good will, but I am nothing glad of these tidings; notwithstanding I will go to Sahsbury and take counsel of my fellows in this matter. And anon as he was come he laid tofore the whole chapter this matter and showed to them; his letters, and all the chapter advised him to take it upon him. And he, always excusing him, refused it to his power; but at last the bishop of Salisbury, with the chapter, commanded him by virtue of obedience that he should take it on him, and then he humbly, sore weeping, agreed to receive it. And forthwith they led him to the high altar and sang devoutly: Te Deum laudamus, and all the while this holy man wept full bitterly and shed many a tear, and prayed devoutly to our Lord to have mercy on him, and besought our blessed Lady and S. John Evangelist to pray for him and to help him in his need. And then after he was brought to Canterbury and there in time and space was consecrated, and stalled into the see of the archbishop, and so ruled the church of England that all men spake good of him. And he did great penance and gave great alms to poor people.
And on a time a poor tenant of his died, and the bailiff took his best beast for a mortuary, and then the poor widow which had lost her husband, and also her best beast, came to this holy man, S. Edmund, and complained to him of her great poverty and prayed him for the love of God that he would give her again her beast. And he said: Ye know well that the chief lord must have the best beast, but if so be that I deliver to thee again this beast, wilt thou keep him well to my behoof till I ask him again another time? To whom she said: Yea, sir, with a good will to your pleasure, or else God defend, and pray for you also that ye vouchsafe to do so much grace to me a poor wretch. And then he commanded his bailiff to deliver it to her and she kept it after to her life’s end. This holy man was merciful to poor people and full truly to his power maintained all the right of holy church. And the devil, having ever envy on good works, set a debate between the king and him, which was Henry III. son of king John, which desired certain points against the liberties of holy church. But this good archbishop withstood him to his power, and prayed the king to spare holy church for the love of God, and maintain them as he was bounden and had promised. But the king would not hear him, but expressly did certain things against the right of the church and menaced greatly S. Edmund. And when S. Edmund saw the king so cruel against the church he spake sharply unto the king, and at the last executed the censures against them that vexed it, and cursed them that took away the liberties of it. And when the king heard of this cursing he was greatly moved against S. Edmund, howbeit this holy man was firm and constant in his holy purpose, which was ready to put his life in jeopardy for the right of the church. And S. Thomas of Canterbury appeared to him, and bade him to maintain and hold the right of the church to his power, and rather to suffer death than to lese any of the liberties and franchises of holy church, like as he did. And after that S. Edmund was more bold to abide and maintain the liberties of the church. And he taking ensample of S. Thomas, how he went into France to the end that the king should be better disposed, and in likewise did S. Edmund, and went over sea, trusting to God that the king would better be disposed and forsake his opinions; and was in the abbey of Pounteney in high France six years, praying for the good state of the church of England and lived there so holy and perfect a life that every man had joy of him. And in short time after, he became sick and feeble, and his friends counselled him to remove thence, and then he departed and went to a place called Soly, which is twenty miles thence, but the monks of Pounteney made great sorrow for his departing. But he comforted them and said: I promise you to be with you at S. Edmund’s day, king and martyr. And as he came into Soly he waxed so sick that he knew well that he should hastily depart out of this world, and then he desired to receive the sacraments of the church, which, when he had received with great reverence, he passed out of this life unto our Lord, full of virtues, in the year of our Lord twelve hundred and forty. And from the town of Soly he was brought again to Pounteney upon S. Edmund’s day, king and martyr, and where he might not keep his promise alive, he performed it when he was dead. And the monks of Pounteney received him worshipfully and buried him solemnly, and afterwards, for the great miracles that God showed for him there, his bones were taken up and laid in a worshipful shrine tofore the high altar in the said abbey, where our Lord hath showed many a fair miracle for his holy servant S. Edmund. Then let us devoutly pray to Almighty God that by the merits of this holy man S. Edmund he have mercy on us and pardon us our sins. Amen.
S. Hugh, of holy remembrance, was sometime bishop of Lincoln. He was born of the utterest parts of Burgundy, not far from the Alps, otherwise called the mountains, and was of noble parentage and lineage, for he came of the knights. And this holy man when he was young and tender of age he was set to school, and when he was ten years old he was put into a monastery for to learn the rules of discipline, and there was made and professed a canon-regular, wherein he lived so devoutly that when he was fifteen years old he was deputed for to be prior of a certain cell and he ruled it in such wise that all thing that was under his governance prospered as well in spiritual things as in temporal things. After this he thought adaunt and put his flesh to more penance, and by the disposition of our Lord he entered into the order of Charterhouse, where he was received, and was there so virtuous in his living, that among the strangers he was so friendly and so well beloved that after a little while he was made procurator of the house. In that time Henry, king of England, did do build and founded a house of Charterhouse in England, wherefore he sent into Burgundy to the Charterhouse for to have one of them to have the governance and rule of it, and at the great instance and the prayer of the king unnethe could he get this said S. Hugh, but at the last by the commandment of his overest, and request of the king, he was sent into the realm of England, and there made procurator of the same house, and there lived a holy and devout life as he did tofore. that he stood so in the king’s grace that the king named him to be bishop of Lincoln, and was elected by the chapter of the canons of Lincoln, which bishopric the king had holden long in his hands. And was called thereto by the said chapter, and the bishopric to him presented, which dignity he utterly refused and said plainly that in no wise that he would not receive any pontifical dignity without assent and also commandment of the prior of the Charterhouse, which was consented. And also, the whole election of the chapter of Lincoln to him declared, he took upon him the office and was sacred bishop of Lincoln. And the next night after, he heard a voice saying to him: Thou art gone out into the health of thy people. And after this he withstood mightily the power of wood people that entended to hurt the privilege of the church, and put his body in peril, like as he had despised it, for to bring the church from servitude, and recovered many droits and rights which had been taken away from the church. This holy man made many good statutes and ordinances in his diocese, and went and visited the churches and places of his cure and charge, and lived a holy life. And he would visit the houses of lepers and lazars, and was wont oft to enter into their houses, and by his commandment the women were departed from the men. And all the men that were foul and deformed in their visage, he would kiss of humility. And there was at that time in the church of Lincoln, an honourable man, a canon named William, which was chancellor of the church, a good man and well lettered, and he would prove and essay if there were any elation or pride in his courage, and said to this holy man: S. Martin by kissing of a man that was a foul lazar healed him, and ye heal not the lepers ne lazars that ye kiss. Who anon answered to the chancellor: S. Martin certainly healed a leprous man by kissing, and this kissing that I kiss the lepers healeth my soul. This was a humble and a meek answer. This holy man S. Hugh in all his life was much diligent in burying of dead men, and of his humanity would gladly do the office about their sepulture, wherefore our Lord gave and rendered to him by retribution condign, honourable sepulture; for what time he departed out of this world, and the same day that his body was brought to the church of Lincoln, it happed that the king of England, the king of Scotland, with three archbishops, barons, and great multitude of people were gathered at Lincoln, and were present at his honourable sepulture, where God hath showed for him divers miracles. Then let us pray unto this holy man S. Hugh of Lincoln to pray for us.
In the province of England of old time were divers kings, for the land was departed; among whom there was S. Edmund, king of Norfolk and Suffolk, which took his birth of the noble and ancient lineage of the Saxons, and was from the beginning of his first age a blessed man, soft, virtuous, and full of meekness, and kept truly the very religion of christian faith, and governed his kingdom full well to the pleasure of Almighty God. In his time it happed that two wicked tyrants, that one named Hingvar, and that other Hubba, came out of Denmark and arrived in the country of Northumberland, and robbed and destroyed the country and slew the people without mercy in every place where they came. Then the one of them named Hingvar came into the country where this most christian S. Edmund reigned, and understood that he was in his flowering age, strong and mighty in battle, and demanded of the people where their king was resident and dwelled, which that was most abiding in a town named then Eglesdon, and now is called Bury. Now the Danes had always custom that they would never fight battle set ne appointed, but ever lie in wait how they might by sleight and deceit prevented, fall on good christian men, and so slay and destroy them, like as thieves lie in await to rob and slay good true men. Wherefore, when he knew where this holy king was, he addressed one of his knights to him for to espy what strength he had, and what people about him. And Hingvar himself followed with all his host to the end that suddenly he should fall upon this king unadvised, and that he might subdue him unto his laws and commandments. Then this said knight came to this holy king S. Edmund, and made his legation and message in this wise: Our most dread lord by land and by sea, Hingvar, which hath subdued divers countries and lands in this province unto his seigniory by strength of arms, and purposeth with all his ships and army to winter him in these marches, sendeth to thee his commandment that thou incontinent come and make alliance and friendship with him. And that thou depart to him thy paternal treasures and riches in such wise that thou mayst reign under him, or certainly thou shalt die by cruel death. And when the blessed king, S. Edmund, had heard this message, anon he sighed and called to him one of his bishops and demanded counsel of him, what and how he should answer upon this demand that was asked of him. Which bishop, sore dreading for the king’s life, exhorted him by many examples for to consent and agree to this tyrant Hingvar, and the king a while said nothing but remembered him well, and after many devout words at the last, he answered to the messenger in this wise and said: This shalt thou say to thy lord: know thou for truth, that for the love of temporal life, the christian king Edmund shall no subdue him to a paynim duke. Then unnethe was the messenger gone out, but Hingvar met him and bade him use short words and tell him his answer, which message told unto Hingvar, anon the cruel tyrant commanded to slay all the people that were with S. Edmund and destroy them, but they should hold and keep only the king, whom he knew rebel unto his wicked laws. Then this holy king was taken and bounden, his hands behind him, and is brought tofore the duke, and after many opprobrious words, at the last they led him forth unto a tree which was thereby. To which tree his adversaries bound him, and then shot arrows at him, so thick and many that he was through wounded, and that one arrow smote out another, and always this blessed king ceased not, for all his wounds, to give laud and praising unto Almighty God. Then this wicked tyrant commanded that they should smite off his head, which they so did, he always praying, and saying his orisons to our Lord God.
Then the Danes left the body there lying, and took the head and bare it into the thick of the wood, and hid it in the thickest place among thorns and briars, to the end that it should not be found of the christian men. But by the purveyance of Almighty God there came a wolf which diligently kept the holy head from devouring of beasts and fowls. And after, when the Danes were departed, the christian men found the body, but they could not find the head, wherefore they sought it in the wood. And as one of them spake to another: Where art thou? Which were in the thick of the wood, and cried: Where art thou? the head answered and said: Here! here! here! and anon then all they came thither and saw it and also a great wolf sitting and embracing the head between his forelegs, keeping it from all other beasts. And then anon they took the head and brought it unto the body and set it to the place where it was smitten off, and anon they joined together, and then they bare this holy body unto the place where it is now buried. And the wolf followed humbly the body till it was buried, and then he, hurting no body, returned again to the wood. And the blessed body and head be so joined together that there appeareth nothing that it had been smitten off, save as it were a red shining thread in the place of the departing where the head was smitten off. And in that place where he now lieth so buried is a noble monastery made, and therein monks of the order of S. Benet, which be richly endowed. In which place Almighty God hath showed many miracles for the holy king and martyr.
Cecilia is as much to say as the lily of heaven, or a way to blind men. Or she is said of celo and lie, or else cecilia, as lacking blindness. Or she is said of celo, that is heaven, and legs, that is people. She was a heavenly lily by cleanness of virginity, a way to blind men by information of example, heaven by devout contemplation, lia by busy operation, lacking blindness by shining of wisdom, and heaven of the people. For the people beheld in her as in following the spiritual heaven, the sun, the moon, and the stars, that is to say, shining of wisdom, magnanimity of faith, and diversity of virtues. Or she is said a lily, for she had the whiteness of cleanness, a good conscience, and odour of good fame. Or she is said heaven, for Isidore saith that the philosophers say that heaven is movable, round, and burning. In like wise was she moving by busy operation, round by perseverance, and burning by fiery charity.
S. Cecilia, the holy virgin, was come of the noble lineage of the Romans, and from the time that she lay in her cradle she was fostered and nourished in the faith of Christ, and always bare in her breast the gospel hid, and never ceased day ne night from holy prayers, but recommended to God always her virginity. And when this blessed virgin should be espoused to a young man named Valerian, and the day of the wedding was come, she was clad in royal clothes of gold, but under she ware the hair. And she hearing the organs making melody, she sang in her heart, only to God, saying: O Lord, I beseech thee that mine heart and body may be undefouled so that I be not confounded. And every second and third day she fasted, commending herself unto our Lord whom she dreaded. The night came that she should go to bed with her husband as the custom is, and when they were both in their chamber alone, she said to him in this manner: O, my best beloved and sweet husband, I have a counsel to tell thee, if so be that thou wilt keep it secret and swear that ye shall bewray it to no man. To whom Valerian said that he would gladly promise and swear never to bewray it, and then she said to him: I have an angel that loveth me, which ever keepeth my body whether I sleep or wake, and if he may find that ye touch my body by villainy, or foul and polluted love, certainly he shall anon slay you, and so should ye lose the flower of your youth. And if so be that thou love me in holy love and cleanness, he shall love thee as he loveth me and shall show to thee his grace. Then Valerian, corrected by the will of God, having dread, said to her: If thou wilt that I believe that thou sayest to me, show to me that angel that thou speakest of, and if I find veritable that he be the angel of God, I shall do that thou sayest, and if so be that thou love another man than me, I shall slay both him and thee with my sword. Cecilia answered to him: If thou wilt believe and baptize thee, thou shalt well now see him. Go then forth to Via Appia, which is three miles out of this town, and there thou shalt find Pope Urban with poor folks, and tell him these words that I have said, and when he hath purged you from sin by baptism, then when ye come again ye shall see the angel. And forth went Valerian and found this holy man Urban louting among the burials; to whom he reported the words that Cecilia had said, and S. Urban for joy gan hold up his hands and let the tears fall out of his eyes, and said: O Almighty God Jesu Christ, sower of chaste counsel and keeper of us all, receive the fruit of the seed that thou hast sown in Cecilia, for, like a busy bee she serveth thee; for the spouse whom she hath taken which was like a wood lion, she hath sent hither like as a meek lamb. And with that word appeared suddenly an old man clad in white clothes, holding a book written with letters of gold, whom Valerian seeing, for fear fell down to the ground as he had been dead. Whom the old man raised and took up, and read in this wise. One God, one faith, one baptism, one God and father of all, above all, and in us all, everywhere. And when this old man had read this, he said: Believest thou this or doubtest thou it? Say yea or nay. Then Valerian cried saying: There is nothing truer under heaven. Then vanished this old man away. Then Valerian received baptism of S. Urban and returned home to S. Cecilia, whom he found within her chamber speaking with an angel. And this angel had two crowns of roses and lilies which he held in his hands, of which he gave one to Cecilia, and that other to Valerian, saying: Keep ye these crowns with an undefouled and clean body, for I have brought them to you from Paradise, and they shall never fade, ne wither, ne lose their savour, ne they may not be seen but of them to whom chastity pleaseth. And thou Valerian because thou hast used profitable counsel, demand what thou wilt.
To whom Valerian said: There is nothing in this world to me liefer than my brother, whom I would fain that he might know this very truth with me.To whom the angel said: Thy petition pleaseth our Lord, and ye both shall come to him by the palm of martyrdom. And anon Tyburtius, his brother, came and entered into this chamber, and anon he felt the sweet odour of the roses and lilies, and marvelled from whence it came. Then Valerian said: We have crowns which thine eyes may not see, and like as by my prayers thou hast felt the odour of them, so if thou wilt believe thou shalt see the crowns of roses and lilies that we have. Then Cecilia and Valerian began to preach to Tyburtius of the joy of heaven and of the foul creance of paynims, the abuse of idols, and of the pains of hell which the damned suffer, and also they preached to him of the incarnation of our Lord, and of his passion, and did so much that Tyburtius was converted and baptized of S. Urban. And from then forthon he had so much grace of God that every day he saw angels, and all that ever he required of our Lord he obtained. After, Almachius, provost of Rome, which put to death many christian men, heard say that Tyburtius and Valerian buried christian men that were martyred, and gave all their goods to poor people. He called them tofore him, and after long disputation he commanded that they should go to the statue or image of Jupiter for to do sacrifice, or else they should be beheaded. And as they were led, they so preached the faith of our Lord to one called Maximus that they converted him to the christian faith, and they promised to him that if he had very repentance, and firm creance that he should see the glory of heaven which their souls should receive at the hour of their passions, and that he himself should have the same if he would believe. Then Maximus gat leave of the tormentors for to have them home to his house, and the said Maximus, with all his household and all the tormentors, were turned to the faith. Then came S. Cecilia thither with priests, and baptized them, and afterwards, when the morning came, S. Cecilia said to them: Now, ye knights of Christ, cast away from you the works of darkness and clothe you with the arms of light. And then they were led four miles out of the town, and brought tofore the image of Jupiter, but in no wise they would do sacrifice ne incense to the idol, but humbly with great devotion kneeled down and there were beheaded, and S. Cecilia took their bodies and buried them. Then Maximus, that saw this thing, said that he saw in the hour of their passion angels clear shining and their souls ascend into heaven, which the angels bare up, wherefore many were converted to the christian faith. And when Almachius heard that Maximus was christened, he did do beat him with plummets of lead so long till he gave up his spirit and died whose body S. Cecilia buried by Valerian and Tyburtius. And after, Almachius commanded that Cecilia should be brought into his presence for to do sacrifice to Jupiter, and she so preached to them that came for her that she converted them to the faith, which wept sore that so fair a maid and so noble should be put to death. Then she said to them: O ye good young men, it is nothing to lose the youth, but to change it, that is, to give clay, and take therefor gold, to give a foul habitation, and to take a precious, to give a little corner, and to take a right great place. God rewardeth for one simple, a hundredfold. Believe ye this that I have said? And they said: We believe Christ to be very God which hath such a servant. Then S. Urban was called, and four hundred and more were baptized. Then Almachius, calling tofore him S. Cecilia, said to her: Of what condition art thou? And she said that she was of a noble kindred. To whom Almachius said: I demand thee of what religion art thou? Then Cecilia said: Then begannest thou thy demand foolishly, that wouldst have two answers in one demand. To whom Almachius said: From whence cometh thy rude answer? And she said: Of good conscience and faith not feigned. To whom Almachius said: Knowest thou not of what power I am? And she said: Thy power is little to dread, for it is like a bladder full of wind, which with the pricking of a needle is anon gone away and come to nought. To whom Almachius said: In wrong begannest thou, and in wrong thou perseverest; knowest thou not how our princes hare given me power to give life and to slay? And she said: Now shall I prove thee a liar against the very truth. Thou mayst well take the life from them that live, but to them that be dead, thou mayst give no life, therefore thou art a minister not of life, but of death. To whom Almachius said: Now lay apart thy madness and do sacrifice to the gods. To whom Cecilia said: I wot never where thou hast lost thy sight, for them that thou sayest be gods we see them stones, put thine hand, and by touching thou shalt learn that which thou mayst not see with thine eyes. Then Almachius was wroth, and commanded her to be led into her house, and there to be burnt in a burning bain, which her seemed a place cold and well attempered. Then Almachius, hearing that, commanded that she should be beheaded in the same bath. Then the tormentor smote at her three strokes, and could not smite off her head, and the fourth stroke he might not by the law smite, and so left her there lying half alive and half dead, and she lived three days after in that manner, and gave all that she had to poor people, and continually preached the faith all that while; and all them that she converted she sent to Urban for to be baptized, and said: I have asked respite three days, that I might commend to you these souls, and that ye should hallow of mine house a church. And then at the end of three days she slept in our Lord, and S. Urban with his deacons buried her body among the bishops, and hallowed her house into a church, in which unto this day is said the service unto our Lord. She suffered her passion about the year of our Lord two hundred and twenty three, in the time of Alexander the emperor, and it is read in another place that she suffered in the time of Marcus Aurelius, which reigned about the year of our Lord one hundred and seventy. Then let us devoutly pray unto our Lord that by the merits of this holy virgin and martyr, S. Cecilia, we may come to his everlasting bliss in heaven. Amen.
Clement is said of cleos, that is, glory, and mens, that is, mind, as it were a glorious mind. He had a glorious mind purged from all filth, ornate with all virtue, and decorate with all felicity. Or he is said of clementia, which is merciful. It is said in the glossary that clement is said righteous, sweet, ripe, and meek, righteous in deed, sweet in speech, ripe in conversation, and meek in intention. His life he himself set in his book named Itinerary, specially unto that place which he succeeded to S. Peter in the papacy. The remnant of his acts that commonly be had, be taken in divers places.
Clement the bishop was born of the lineage of the Romans, and his father was named Faustinianus, and his mother Macidiana. He had two brethren, of whom that one was named Faustinus and that other Faustus, and Macidiana was of marvellous beauty. Her husband’s brother burned in the love of her by the disordinate concupiscence of luxury, and daily he vexed her in desiring her to accord to his foul lust, but she in no wise would consent to him. And she doubted to show it to her husband because there should no debate ne enmity fall between the brethren. Then she thought to absent her by some means from him so long that he should forget this disordinate love, for the sight of her presence set him afire. And because she might have licence of her husband, she feigned a dream subtly, which she told to her husband in this wise, saying: There is a vision come to me this night by which I am commanded to depart out of this city of Rome with my two sons Faustinus and Faustus, and that I should abide out so long till I were commanded to return, and if I did not I should die and my children also. And when her husband heard this he was sore abashed and afeared, and sent his wife and his two sons to Athens with much other meiny, and that she should abide there and set her sons to school, and the father held Clement at home with him, which was the least, and was but five years old, for his solace. And as the mother sailed on the sea with her sons, there rose a great tempest and brought the ship to wrack and was all to-broken, and the mother was thrown by the waves of the sea upon a rock and escaped, weeping that her two sons had been perished, and for sorrow and discomfort would have drowned herself in the sea if she had not had hope to find her sons. And when she saw that she could not find them alive ne dead, she cried and brayed strongly, and bit her hands, and would not be comforted of nobody, and then came to her many women, which told to her the fortunes that they had had, but she was comforted by none. And among the other there came one that said she had lost her husband, a young man, in the sea, and that she would never after be married for the love of him, and she comforted her how it was, and dwelled with her, and gat daily their living with their hands. But anon after, her hands that she had bitten, became so sore and broken out, that she might not work, and she that harboured her had the palsy and might not rise out of her bed. And thus was Macidiana constrained to beg and ask her living from door to door, and of such as she could get she fed herself and her hostess. And when the year was passed that she was departed with her children, her husband sent messengers to Athens for to know how they did, but them that he sent returned not, and he sent other messengers after, which returned and said that they had found none. And then he left Clement his son under the keeping of certain tutors, and went for to seek his wife and his children, and took his shipping, but he came not again. And thus Clement was twenty years orphan, and never had tidings of father ne mother, ne of his brothers, and he went to study and became a sovereign philosopher, and desired and enquired diligently in what manner he might know the immortality of the soul, and therefore haunted he oft the schools of philosophy; and when he heard that it was concluded in the disputation that the soul was immortal, he was glad and joyous; and when they said that it was mortal he went all heavy and confused. And at the last when Barnabas came to Rome preaching the faith of Jesu Christ, the philosophers mocked him as he had been mad or out of his wits, and, as some say, Clement was the first philosopher that mocked him and despised his predication, and in scorn put to him this question, saying: What is the cause that culex, which is a little beast, hath six feet and two wings, and an elephant which is a great beast hath but four feet and no wings? To whom Barnabas said: Fool, I might lightly answer to thy question if thou demandedst it to know the truth, but it should be a rude and a deaf thing to say to you anything of creatures, when ye know not the maker of the creatures, and because ye know not the creator of all, it is right that ye err in the creatures. This word went much to the heart of Clement the philosopher, in such wise that he was informed of Barnabas in the faith of Jesu Christ, and went anon into Judea to S. Peter, which taught him the faith, and showed to him the immortality of the soul all clearly.
And in that time Simon the enchanter had two disciples, that is to wit Aquila and Nicetas, and when they understood and knew his fallacies they forsook and left him and fled to S. Peter and were his disciples. Then S. Peter demanded of Clement of what lineage he was, and he told to him all by order what was happed to his father, and to his mother, and to his brethren, and said that he supposed that his mother with his brethren was drowned in the sea and that his father was dead for sorrow or drowned also in the sea. And when S. Peter heard this he might not keep him from weeping. On a time Peter came into the isle where Macidiana, the mother of Clement dwelled, in which isle were pillars of glass of marvellous length, and as S. Peter beheld these pillars he saw Macidiana begging, whom he blamed because she laboured not with her hands, and she answered and said: Sir, I have nothing but the form and likeness of my hands, for they be so feebled by my biting that I feel them not, and me repenteth that I drowned not myself in the sea that I should no longer have lived. Then Peter said: What sayst thou, woman? Knowest thou not that the the souls of them that slay themselves be most grievously punished? To whom she said: Would God that I were certain that souls should live after the death, for then would I slay myself to the end that I might but one hour see my sweet children. And when Peter had demanded of her the cause, and that she had told to him all the order of the things done, then Peter said: There is a young man with us named Clement which saith like as thou sayest, that it so happed to his father and mother and to his brethren. And when she heard that, she was smitten with so great wonder that she fell, and when she was come to herself, she said weeping to S. Peter: I am certainly mother of that young man, and kneeling down tofore S. Peter, she prayed him that he would hastily show to her her son, and Peter said to her: Abide a while till we be out of this isle, and when they were out of the isle, Peter took her by the hand and brought her to the ship where Clement was in. And when Clement saw Peter holding the woman by the hand he began to laugh; and anon as this woman was nigh by Clement she might abstain her no longer, but embraced him about the neck and kissed him. And he put her aback like as she had been frantic, and was much angry against Peter. And Peter said to him: Whatsomever thou doest, put thou not away thy mother. And when Clement heard that, anon he began to weep, and advised him, and took up his mother which was fallen down aswoon and began to know her. And the hostess that lay sick of the palsy was brought forth by the commandment of Peter, and he healed her anon. And then the mother demanded Clement of his father, and he said to her that he went to seek her, and that he sith never saw him, and when she heard that, she sighed and comforted her other sorrows by the great joy that she had of her son. In the meanwhile Nicetas and Aquila came, which were not there when she came, and when they saw this woman they enquired what she was. Then Clement said: She is my mother whom God hath given to me by my lord Peter. Then Peter told to them all by order, and when Nicetas and Aquila heard that, they arose and were all abashed and said: Lord, maker of all things, is this true that we have heard, or is it a dream? Then Peter said to them: If ye be not out of your mind these things be all true. Then said they: We be Faustus and Faustinian, whom our mother had supposed had been perished in the sea. And then the mother ran and embraced them about the neck and said: What may this be? And Peter said: These be thy sons, Faustus and Faustinian, whom thou supposedst had been perished in the sea. And when she heard that, she fell down aswoon for joy. And when she was come again to herself, she said to them: Say ye to me how ye escaped. And they said: When our ship was broken we were borne upon a table, and other mariners found us and took us into their ship, and changed our names, and sold us to a woman named Justine which hath holden us as her sons, and hath made us to learn the arts liberal, and after, we learned philosophy and sith we joined us unto Simon, an enchanter, which hath been nourished with us, and when we knew his fallacies, we left him all, and were made disciples of Peter.
And the next day following, Peter, with his three disciples, Clement, Nicetas, and Aquila went into a more secret place for to pray, and a much ancient and honourable man, but right poor, was there, and began to reason and say to them: I have pity on you, brethren, for under the likeness of pity I consider you greatly to err. For there is no God ne none worshipping here, ne no providence in the world, but fortune only, of engendrure and hap, doth all, like as I have found expertly of myself, which was informed in the discipline of mathesis more than many others. Then pray ye no more, for whether ye pray or pray not, that which is ordained to you by destiny shall fall. And Clement beheld him, and his heart judged that he had seen him tofore time, and when Clement, Aquila, and Nicetas had long disputed with him by the commandment of Peter, and they had showed to him what providence was, by open reasons, and for reverence called him often father, Aquila said: What need have we to call him father when we have in commandment that we ought to call no man father upon earth? And he beheld this ancient man and said: Thou holdest thee injured father, because I blamed my brother that called thee father. We have in commandment that we should call no man by such name, and when he had said so, all they of the company laughed, and he asked them why they laughed, and Clement said: Thou dost that for which thou blamest others in calling this old man father. And when they had enough disputed of providence, the old man said: I had well believed providence, but mine own conscience denieth me it, that I may not believe it. I know my destiny and my wife’s, and that which fortune hath destined is ordained to each body. Now hearken ye what fortune happed to my wife. She had in her nativity, Mars with Venus upon the centre, and the moon waning in the house of Mars and ends of Saturn. And this adventure maketh the adulterers to break their wedlock, and to love their servants, and to go with them into strange countries, and to be drowned in waters, and so is it fallen by my wife. For she fell in the love of her servant and fled with him and perished in the sea, for as my brother hath recounted to me, she loved him first, and he would not consent to her, and then she turned her lecherous love in her servant, and it ought not to be laid any blame in her, for her destiny hath made her to do so. And then he told how she feigned a dream, and how in sailing towards Athens she perished. And then his sons would have run to him and have discovered the matter. But Peter defended them and said: Suffer ye till it please me; and then Peter said to him: If I show to thee this day thy wife, right chaste, with thy three sons, wilt thou believe that destiny is nothing? And he said: Like as it is a thing impossible to show that thou hast promised, so impossible is it to do anything above destiny. And then said Peter: This is Clement thy son, and these two be thy two sons, Faustus and Faustinian. Then the old man fell down for joy as he had been without soul. Then his sons came unto him and kissed him, and were afeard that he should not have come to himself again, and when his swooning was gone, he heard of them all by order, how all things had happened. Then his wife came suddenly and began to cry and weep strongly, saying; O my husband and my lord, where is he? And this said she as she had been all from herself, and the old man, that hearing, ran to her and embraced her straining with great weeping, and then as they thus were dwelling together, there came a messenger that told how Apion and Ambion, which were great friends unto this old man Faustinian, were lodged with Simon Magus, of whom this old man was much glad, and went to visit them. And forthwith came a messenger which said that there was come a minister of the emperor’s unto Antioch, and sought all the enchanters for to punish them to death. Then Simon Magus, because he hated the sons of Faustinian, because they forsook him, he imprinted his similitude and likeness in this old man Faustinian, in such wise that of every man he was supposed to be Simon Magus. And this did Simon Magus because he should be taken of the ministers of the emperor, and be slain instead of him, and Simon then departed from those parts. And when this old Faustinian came again to S. Peter and to his sons, the sons were abashed, which saw in him the similitude and likeness of Simon Magus, and understood the voice of their father, but S. Peter saw the natural likeness of him. And his wife and his sons blamed and reproved him, and he said: Wherefore blame ye me and flee from me that am your father? And they said: We flee from thee because the likeness of Simon Magus appeareth in thee. Now this Simon had composed an ointment and anointed him withal, and had imprinted the form of himself by art magic in this old man, which wept and said: What mishap, alas, is fallen to me! I have but one day been known of my wife and of my children, and may not be joyful with them. And his wife and his children wept sore, and tore their hair. And Simon Magus when he was in Antioch defamed strongly S. Peter, and said he was a cursed enchanter and a homicide, and had so moved the people against Peter that they purposed so slay him if they might once hold him. And then said S. Peter to this old Faustinian: Because thou art like and seemest Simon Magus, go forth into Antioch and excuse me tofore all the people of such things as Simon himself hath said of me, and after I shall come into Antioch and shall take from thee this strange likeness, and shall give to thee again thy proper and natural similitude tofore all the people. But it is not to suppose that S. Peter bade him to lie, for God hath no need of leasings. And then should the book of Clement, called Itinerarium, not be apocryphum, as who saith, of none authority, in which these things be written, and ought not to be taken in such things, but as it pleaseth to some men. Nevertheless it may be said, if these words be diligently considered, that he should not say that he were Simon Magus, but that he should show to the people the semblance of Simon Magus’ visage, showing S. Peter in the person of Simon, and should revoke the words that he had said, and if he said that he was Simon, that was not as touching the truth, but unto the appearance and likeness. Then Faustinian said: I am Simon, as who saith, I am like unto Simon, and was supposed to be Simon of the people.
Then this old man, Faustinian, went into Antioch, and assembled the people and said: I Simon show to you and confess that I have deccived you of all that I have said of Peter the apostle, for he is no traitor ne enchanter, but is sent for the health of the world. Wherefore if ever I hereafter shall say anything against him, that ye take me as a traitor and wicked, and put me away from you, for I do now penance for that I acknowledge me to have said falsely and evil of him. I warn you therefore that ye believe in him that ye ne your city perish not. And when he had said this that Peter had commanded him, and had stirred the people into love of Peter, S. Peter came to him and made his prayer, and after took away from him the likeness of Simon, and became in his natural likeness. Then all the people of Antioch received debonairly S. Peter, and with great honour enhanced him and set him in a chair as a bishop. And when Simon Magus heard this he came and gathered the people together and said: I marvel when I have enseigned and taught you the commandments of health, and have warned you that ye should keep you from the traitor Peter, and ye have not only heard him but ye have enhanced him, and have set him in the chair of a bishop. Then all the people arose in a great fury against him and said: Thou art nothing but a monster, thou saidest that other day that thou repentedst of that thou hadst said against S. Peter, and now thou wouldst overthrow us and thyself. And all at once they rose against him and cast him out of the town. All these things S. Clement telleth of himself in his book, and hath set it in this history. After this when S. Peter came to Rome and saw that his passion approached, he ordained Clement to be bishop after him. And when S. Peter, prince of the apostles, was dead, Clement, which was a man purveyed, and took heed of the time to come, so that lest by his ensample every bishop would choose a successor after him in the church of our Lord, and so possess the see of God by heritage, he gave it over to Linus and afterwards to Cletus, and after them Clement was chosen and compelled to take it upon him, wherein he shone by virtuous liviing and good manners that he pleased well unto the Jews, christian men and paynims. He had the poor people written by name of every each religion for to give to them according to their necessity, he loved much poor people, and them that he sanctified by baptism he suffered them not to beg commonly.
And when he had sacred a damoisel with a veil which was a virgin, and niece of Domitian the emperor, and had converted to the faith Theodora, wife of Sisinnius, friend of the emperor, and she had promised to be in purpose of chastity, Sisinnius had doubt of his wife, and entered after her into the church privily for to know what she used to do there; and when S. Clement had said the orison and the people had answered, Amen, Sisinnius was made deaf and blind and he said to his servants: Bring me hence and lead me out, and they led him round about the church and could not come to the doors ne gates. And when Theodora saw them erring so, she went to the first door, weening that her husband had known her, and after, she asked of the servants what they did, and they said to her: Our master would hear and see that was not lawful, and therefore he is made both blind and deaf. And then she gave herself to prayer, and prayed God that her husband might go out from thence, and after her prayers she said to the servants: Go ye hence and bring my lord home to his house, and they went and brought him thither. And Theodora went unto S. Clement and told to him what was happened, and then this holy man came to him and found his eyes open, but he saw ne heard nothing. Then S. Clement prayed for him, and anon he received his sight and his hearing, and when he saw Clement standing by his wife, he was wood, and supposed that he had been illuded by art magic, and commanded his servants to hold fast Clement, saying: He hath made me blind by art magic for to come to my wife; and he commanded to his ministers that they should bind Clement and so draw him, and they bound the pillars and stones, weening to Sisinnius, that they had bound S. Clement and his clerks and drawn them forth. Then Clement said to Sisinnius: Because thou worshippest stones for gods and trees, therefore hast thou deserved to draw stones and trees. And he which supposed him to be bound verily, said: I shall do slay thee. And then Clement departed, and he prayed Theodora that she should not cease to pray till that our Lord had visited her husband. Then S. Peter appeared to Theodora praying, and said to her: Thy husband shall be saved by thee for to accomplish that that Paul my brother saith: The man miscreant shall be saved by his true wife. And this saying, he vanished away; and anon Sisinnius called his wife to him and prayed her to pray for him, and that she should call to him S. Clement. And when he was come he was instructed in the faith, and was baptized with three hundred and thirteen of his meiny, and many noble men and friends of the emperor believed in our Lord by this Sisinnius.
Then the earl of the sacrifices gave much money, and moved great treason and discord against S. Clement. Then Mamertin, provost of the city of Rome might not suffer this discord, but made S. Clement to be brought tofore him, and as he reproved and essayed to draw him to his law, Clement said to him: I would well rather that thou wouldst come to reason. For if many dogs have barked against us and have bitten us, yet they may not take from us but that we be men reasonable, and they be hounds disreasonable. This dissension which is moved, it showeth that it hath no certainty ne truth. And then Mamertin wrote unto Trajan the emperor, of Clement, and he had answer that he should do sacrifice or to be exiled into the desert that was beyond the city over the sea. Then the provost said to him weeping: Thy God whom thou worshippest purely, may he help thee. Then the provost delivered to him a ship and all things necessary to him, and many clerks and lay people followed him in exile. And the provost found in that isle more than two thousand people christian, which had been long there condemned for to hew the marble in the rocks. And anon when they saw S. Clement they began to weep, and he comforted them and said: Our Lord hath not sent me hither by my merits, but he hath made me partner of your crown.
And when he understood of them that they fetched water six miles thence, and bare it upon their shoulders, he said to them: Let us all pray unto our Lord that he open to us, his confessors in this place here, the veins of a fountain or of a well, and that he that smote the stone in desert of Sinai and water flowed abundantly, he give to us running water so that we may be enjoyed of his benefits. And when he had made his prayer, he looked here and there, and saw a lamb standing which lifted up his right foot and showed a place to the bishop, and he understanding that it was our Lord Jesu Christ, whom he only saw, went to the place and said: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, smite in this place. And when he saw that no man would smite in the place where the lamb stood, he took a little pickaxe, and smote one stroke lightly in the place under the foot of the lamb, and anon a well or a fountain sprang up and grew into a great flood. Then, unto all them joying, S. Clement said: The coming of the flood gladdeth the city of God. And for the fame of this miracle much people came thither, and five hundred and more received baptism of him in one day, and they destroyed the temples of the idols through all that province, and within one year they edified seventy-five churches to the honour of our Lord
And three years after, Trajan the emperor, understanding this which was the year of our Lord one hundred and six, sent thither a duke, and when this duke saw that all they would gladly die for God’s love, he left the multitude and took only Clement, and bound an anchor round his neck and threw him into the sea, and said: Now they may not worship him for a god. And all that great multitude of the people went to the rivage of the sea and beheld the cruelty of the tyrant. And then Cornelius and Phoebus, disciples of S. Clement, commanded to all the others to pray to our Lord that he would show to them the body of his martyr; and anon the sea departed three miles away far, so that all they might go dry foot thither, and there they found a habitacle in a temple of marble which God had made and ordained, and found the body of S. Clement laid in an ark or a chest, and the anchor thereby, and it was showed to his disciples that they should not take away the body from thence. Every year, in the time of his passion, the sea departed by seven days during, four miles far, which gave dry way to them that came thither. In one of the solemnities there was a woman went thither with a little child, and when the solemnity of the feast was accomplished, the child slept, and the noise and sound of the water was heard which came and approached fast, and the woman was abashed and forgat her child, and fled unto the rivage with the great multitude of people, and afterwards she remembered her son and began strongly to cry and weep, and ran hither and thither braying by the rivage for to know if by adventure the body of her son might be cast up on the rivage; and when she saw no succour ne no hope, she returned home, and was all that year in weeping and in heaviness. And the year after following, when the sea was departed and the way open, she ran tofore all the others and came to the place for to know if by adventure she might have any knowledge or find anything of her son, and when she kneeled down tofore the tomb of S. Clement and had made her prayers, she arose up and saw her son in the place where she had left him sleeping. Then she supposed he had been dead, and went near for to have taken the body as it had been without life, but when she saw him sleeping, she awoke him and took him in her arms tofore all the people all whole and safe, and enquired of him where he had been all that year. And he said that he wist not, but that he had slept there but one night sweetly.
S. Ambrose saith in his preface in this wise: When the most wicked persecutor was constrained of the devil for to torment by pains the blessed Clement, he gave to him no pain, but victory. The martyr was cast into the flood for to be drowned, and therefore came he to a good reward by which Peter his master came into heaven. Christ approving the minds of them both in the floods, he called Clement from the bottom of the sea to the palm of victory, and he releved S. Peter in the same element, that he should not be drowned, unto the heavenly realm.
Leo, the bishop of Ostia, recounteth that in the time that Michael the emperor governed the Empire of Rome, a priest, named Philosophus, came to Tersona and demanded of them that dwelled in the country of the things that be rehearsed in the history of S. Clement, and because they had not been of that time, but were strange, they said that they knew nothing thereof. For, for the sin of them of the country that dwelled in that place, the water had long ceased for to withdraw as it was wont to do. In the time of Martin the emperor the church had been destroyed of the barbarians, and the ark with the body of the martyr was wrapped in the floods of the sea for the sin of them that dwelled there, and then the priest was all amarvelled of these things and came unto a little city named Georgia, and went with the bishop and the clerks with the people for to seek the holy relics in the isle whereas they supposed that the body of the holy martyr had been. And there they digged and sang hymns and canticles, and then by revelation divine they found the body of the holy saint and the anchor by it which was cast into the sea with him, and then they bare it to Tersona. And after, this same priest came to Rome with the body of S. Clement, and there showed God many miracles for this holy saint, and the body was laid in the church, which is now called S. Clement. And it is read in a chronicle that the sea waxed dry in that place, and that the blessed Cyril, bishop of Morianne, brought the holy body unto Rome. Then let us devoutly pray unto this blessed saint, S. Clement, that by his merits we may deserve to come to the bliss of heaven. Amen.
Grysogone may be said of gonos in Greek, which is as much to say as angel, for he was without angel of worldly malice. Or he is said of gonos, which is as much to say as a leader, for he led much people to the way of truth by his ensample.
Grysogone was taken and set in prison by the commandment of Diocletian, and S. Anastasia fed him and gave to him meat and drink to live by, wherefore by her husband she was put into a strait prison, and she sent to Grysogone, which had informed her in the faith of Jesu Christ, in writing this that followeth: To the holy confessor of Christ, Grysogone: I, Anastasia have taken the yoke of a wicked husband; by the mercy of God I have eschewed his bed by feigned and dissembled infirmity, and have night and day embraced the steps of our Lord Jesu Christ. And my husband hath taken away my patrimony, of which he is ennobled, and setteth it on foul idols, and hath put me in prison as a cursed enchantress for to make me to lose my life temporal. So there bleveth no more, but I that am servant to the spirit, may lie down and die. In which death I glorify myself, but I am greatly troubled in my mind, that my riches which I had ordained to God be wasted and spent in foul things. Farewell, servant of God, and remember me. To whom S. Grysogone answered again by writing: See that thou be not angered ne troubled for any thing that is done to thee feloniously in thy life, though it be contrary unto thee, thou mayst not be deceived if thou be proved. A time peaceable shall come to thee anon, for after this darkness thou shalt see anon the flourished light of God, and after this cold time of frost and ice there shall come to thee soft and sweet time. Farewell, be with God and pray for me. And as this blessed Anastasia was thus constrained in such wise that unnethe any bread was given to her in four days, and that she supposed she should have died, she wrote an epistle to him in this wise: To the confessor of Christ, Grysogone, Anastasia. The end of my time is come, remember me so that when the soul shall depart from me, that he receive it for whose love I suffer these things, which thou shalt hear by the mouth of this old woman. To whom he wrote again: It appertaineth always that darkness go tofore the light, in like wise after sickness and infirmity, health shall return, and life is promised after death. All adversities and prosperities of this world be enclosed by one end; because desperation should have no dominion on the sorrowful, ne elation ne pride should not dominate on them that be glad and joyful. There is but one sea in which the ship of our Lady saileth, and our souls use the office of mariners under the governance of the body, and the ships which be fastened and bounden with strong chains pass well without any breaking through the strong waves of the sea. And some ships there be that have brittle and feeble jointures of trees, and fall oft in peril to be drowned, but thou handmaid of Jesu Christ, have in thy mind the victory of the cross, and make thee ready to the work of God. And then Diocletian, which was in the parts of Aquila, and slew other christian men, commanded that Grysogone should be brought tofore him; to whom he said: Take the power of the provost, and the consulate of thy lineage, and do sacrifice to the gods. And he answered: I adore and worship one only God of heaven, and I despise thy dignities as filth or mire. And then sentence was given upon him, and he was brought into a place where he was beheaded, about the year of our Lord two hundred and eighty-seven, whose body S. Zelus, the priest buried, and the head also.
adaunt, v. tr., to subdue or tame. alleged, pp., Fr. alleger, comforted or eased. among, adv., now and again. ancille, n. (Fr. ), a handmaid. anker, n., an anchorite or hermit.
bleveth, n. v., remaineth. bobance, n., ostentatiom. brochets, n,. spikes.
celyers, n., secret abodes. cenacle, n., guest room. cene-thursday, comp. n., maundy Thursday. couthe, v. (kythen) gave. culex. n., a gnat.
defended, v., forbade. did do make=caused to be made. dizaines, n., divisions of ten each.
entremeted, v., dealt with. escroceles, n., scrofula. eurous, adj. Fr. heureux, happy.
facound, adj., fluent. feretre, n., a shrine.
governail, n., Fr.gouvernail tame, a rudder. grewe, n., Greek. grinnes n., snares or traps. guerished, pp., Fr. guerir, healed.
havoir, n., property or goods. hele, v., to hide.
impetre, v., beseech.
karols, n., ring dances accompanied by song.
lavas, n., lavishness or freedom. leasings, n., lies. louting, pr. p., bowing, here used for lurking.
make, n., mate or companion. maleurty, n., Fr. malheur, unhappiness. mat, adj., sad. mathesis, n., mathematical science. meiny, n., retinue. mesels, n., lepers. mortuary, n., an ecclesiastical heriot or death-fee. moyenne, adj., medium.
pens, n., wings.
rechauf, n. tr., kindle spiritually. reliefs, n., (Fr.), fragments of broken meat. rought, v., i., heeded. rume, v., to ease (?).
sacre, v., consecrate. sadder, adj., firmer. simulachres, n., Fr. simulacare, images. suffrance, n., help.
taillage, n., toll or impost. to-frushed, adj., much bruised.
trental, n., a series of thirty masses for the dead. truandise, n., imposture.
undern, n., from sunrise to noon. unnethe, adj., scarcely. unpurveyed, adv., unawares.
warned, v., refused. windowed, p.p., pierced or fretted. wood, adj., mad.