GREGORY: What I narrate I have learned by the report of Fortunatus, a venerable man, abbot of the monastery which is called the Bath of Cicero, and also of other venerable men. A most holy man named Equitius, in the parts of the province of Valeria, was, on account of the merit of his life, held by all there in great admiration; to whom this same Fortunatus was intimately known. This Equitius, indeed, on account of the greatness of his holiness, became the father of many monasteries in that same province. When, in the time of his youth, the incitements of the flesh wearied him with fierce struggle, the very straits of his temptation made him more diligent in the pursuit of prayer.
And when in this matter he sought a remedy from Almighty God with continual prayers, on a certain night, with an angel standing by, he saw himself made a eunuch, and it appeared in his vision that the angel cut away all motion from his generative members; and from that time he remained so alien from temptation, as though he had no sex in his body. Relying on this virtue from the help of Almighty God, as he had before presided over men, so afterward he began to preside also over women; nor yet did he cease to admonish his disciples not to trust themselves easily in this matter by his example, and, being about to fall, to tempt a gift which they had not received.
Now at that time when the sorcerers were seized in this city of Rome, Basil, who was foremost in magical arts, fleeing in a monk's habit, made for Valeria. Going to the most reverend man Castorius, bishop of the city of Amiternum, he begged of him that he would commit him to the abbot Equitius, and commend him to that man's monastery to be healed. Then the bishop came to the monastery, and brought with him Basil the monk, and asked Equitius the servant of God that he would receive this same monk into the congregation. But the holy man, at once looking upon him, said: «This man whom you commend to me, Father, I do not see to be a monk, but a devil.» To whom the other replied: «You seek an occasion, that you may not have to grant what I ask.»
To whom straightway the servant of God said: «I indeed declare him to be that which I see; yet lest you should suppose that I am unwilling to obey you, I do what you command.» And so he was received into the monastery. Not many days after, this same servant of God, for the exhorting of the faithful unto heavenly desires, withdrew a little further from his cell. As he departed, it happened that in a monastery of virgins, over which the care of this same Father kept watch, one of them, who according to the corruption of this flesh appeared comely, began to be feverish and to be vehemently distressed, and now to cry out not with loud voices but with shrieks: «I am about to die at once, unless the monk Basil come, and himself restore health to me by the diligence of his healing.»
But in the absence of so great a Father, no one of the monks dared to enter into the congregation of virgins; much less he who had newly arrived, and whose life the community of brethren as yet knew not. A message was suddenly sent, and it was announced to Equitius the servant of God, that that nun was burning with immense fevers, and anxiously sought the visitation of the monk Basil. When he had heard this, the holy man, smiling disdainfully, said: «Did I not say that this man was a devil, not a monk? Go and expel him from the cell. But concerning the handmaid of God who is pressed by the anxiety of fevers, be not solicitous, for from this hour she shall neither labour with fevers nor seek Basil.»
Now the monk returned, and recognized that the virgin of God had been restored to health at that very hour at which Equitius the servant of God, placed far off, had spoken of that same restoration to health of hers; holding, that is, in the power of the miracle, the example of the Master, who, invited to the son of the ruler (John 4:46), restored him to health by his word alone, so that the returning father recognized his son restored to life at that hour at which he had heard of his life from the mouth of Truth. But all the monks, fulfilling the command of their Father, thereupon drove out Basil from the dwelling of the monastery. Being driven out, he said that he had frequently suspended the little cell of Equitius in the air by magical arts, and yet had been able to harm none of them.
Not long after, in this city of Rome, when the zeal of the Christian people blazed up, he was burned by fire. But on a certain day, one handmaid of God from that same monastery of virgins entered the garden; and beholding a lettuce, she coveted it, and, forgetting to bless it with the sign of the cross, greedily bit into it; but seized by the devil, she at once fell down. And when she was tormented, it was announced with speed to Equitius the same Father, that he should come in haste, and by prayer bring succour. And as soon as the same Father entered the garden, the very devil who had seized her began to cry out from her mouth, as though making excuse for himself, saying: «What did I do? What did I do? I was sitting there upon the lettuce; she came, and bit me.»
When the man of God with grave indignation commanded it to depart, and to have no place in the handmaid of Almighty God, it at once withdrew, and was no longer able to touch her. But a certain man named Felix, a nobleman of the province of Nursia, the father of that Castorius who now dwells with us in the city of Rome, when he saw that this same venerable man Equitius held no sacred order, yet ran about through every place and diligently preached, approached him one day with the boldness of familiarity, saying: 'You who hold no sacred order, and have not received license to preach from the Roman pontiff under whom you live, how do you presume to preach?'
Compelled by this inquiry, the holy man declared how he had received license to preach, saying: 'The things you say to me, I too turn over within myself. But one night a comely young man stood by me in a vision, and placed upon my tongue a surgeon's instrument, that is, a lancet, saying: Behold, I have put my words in your mouth; go forth to preach. And from that day, even when I wish to, I cannot be silent about God.' PETER: I should like also to know the work of this Father, who is said to have received such gifts. GREGORY: The work, Peter, springs from the gift, not the gift from the work; otherwise grace would no longer be grace. For gifts always precede every work, although by the work that follows, those very gifts themselves increase;
yet lest you be deprived of knowledge of his life: the most reverend man Albinus, bishop of the Church of Rieti, knew him well, and there still survive many who could have known him. But what more do you seek of his works, when the purity of his life agreed with his zeal for preaching? For so great a fervor had kindled him to gather souls to God, that he so presided over monasteries as still to run about everywhere through the churches, through the fortified towns, through the villages, and through the houses of individual faithful, and to rouse the hearts of his hearers to the love of the heavenly homeland.
He was very shabby in his garments, and so despised that if anyone happened not to know him, though greeted he would disdain to return the greeting; and whenever he set out for other places, he was accustomed to ride a beast which could be found in the monastery more contemptible than all the beasts; on it he used a halter for a bridle, and sheepskins for a saddle. Upon himself he carried the sacred books, placed in leather bags, hung on his right and left side, and wherever he arrived, he would open the fountain of the Scriptures and water the meadows of men's minds. The renown of his preaching reached even to the notice of the city of Rome;
and then (as the tongue of flatterers is wont to slay the soul of its hearer by embracing it) at that time certain clerics of this Apostolic See complained to the pontiff by way of flattery, saying: 'Who is this rustic fellow, who has seized to himself the authority of preaching, and untaught presumes to usurp the office of our apostolic Lord? Let there be sent therefore, if it please you, someone to bring him here, that he may learn what is the vigor of the Church.' And as it is the custom that flattery greatly creeps up on a mind occupied with many things, unless it be swiftly repelled from the very door of the heart, the pontiff, at the persuasion of the clerics, gave his consent, that he should be brought to the city of Rome and learn what his own measure was.
Yet he sent Julian, then a defensor, who afterwards presided as bishop over the Church of Sabina, and gave this charge: that he should conduct the man of God with honor, so that the servant of God should feel nothing of injury from that summons. Julian, eager and willing to satisfy the wishes of the clerics concerning him, ran in haste to his monastery, and there, in the abbot's absence, found the copyists writing, and asked where the abbot was. They said: 'In this valley which lies below the monastery, he is cutting hay.' Now this same Julian had a very proud and insolent boy, over whom he himself could scarcely rule. So now he sent him to bring him quickly to himself.
The boy went, and with an insolent spirit swiftly entered the meadow, and looking at all those cutting hay there, asked which one was Equitius. And as soon as he heard who he was, while still standing far off he beheld him, and seized with immense fear, he began to tremble, to grow faint, and scarcely able to carry himself with a staggering step. Trembling, he came to the man of God, and humbly kissing his knees in his arms, embraced them, and announced that his master had come to meet him. When he had returned the greeting, the servant of God commanded, saying: 'Lift up the green hay, carry fodder for the beasts on which you came; behold, since little remains, when the work is finished I will follow you.'
But he who had been sent, Julian the defensor, greatly wondered what could be the reason that the boy delayed to return; when behold, he saw the boy coming back, carrying hay from the meadow on his neck; and greatly angered he began to cry out, saying: 'What is this? I sent you to bring a man, not to carry hay.' The boy answered him: 'The one you seek, behold, follows.' Then behold, the man of God came, his legs shod with hobnailed boots, carrying a hay-scythe on his neck; the boy, while he was still far off, pointed him out to his master as being the very one he sought. But this same Julian, as soon as he saw the servant of God, despised him for his very appearance, and with an insolent mind prepared how he ought to address him.
But as soon as the servant of God stood close at hand, an intolerable dread invaded Julian's mind, so that he trembled, and his tongue could scarcely suffice to make known the very reason for which he had come. Presently, his spirit humbled, he ran to his knees, begged that a prayer be made for him, and made known that his father, the apostolic pontiff, wished to see him. But the venerable man Equitius began to give immense thanks to Almighty God, declaring that heavenly grace had visited him through the supreme pontiff. At once he called the brothers, ordered the beasts to be made ready that same hour, and began vehemently to urge his summoner that they should set out immediately. To him Julian said:
'This can by no means be done, for wearied from the journey I am not able to set out today.' Then he answered: 'You sadden me, my son, because if we do not go out this present day, we shall not go out tomorrow.' And so the servant of God, constrained by the weariness of his summoner, stayed that night in his own monastery. When behold, the following day, at the very break of light, a boy came to Julian with a letter, his horse mightily wearied in its running, in which it was commanded him that he should not dare to touch the servant of God or to move him from the monastery.
When Julian inquired of him why the decision had been changed, he learned that on that same night in which the summoner was sent thither, the pontiff had been mightily terrified through a vision, for having presumed to send to fetch the man of God. He at once arose, and commending himself to the prayers of the venerable man, said: 'Our Father asks that you should not be troubled to be wearied.' And when the servant of God heard this, saddened he said: 'Did I not tell you yesterday, that if we did not set out at once, it would no longer be permitted to go at all?' Then, for the showing of charity, he detained his summoner a little while in his cell, and gave to him, though compelled and reluctant, the profit of his own labor.
Learn therefore, Peter, in how great a guardianship of God are those who in this life have known how to despise themselves; who, despised outwardly by men, are not ashamed to be so, are numbered in honor among the citizens within; because, on the contrary, those lie low in the eyes of God who, in the eyes of their own and of their neighbors, swell up through the appetite for empty glory. Whence also the Truth says to certain ones: 'You are they who justify yourselves before men, but God knows your hearts; for that which is exalted among men is an abomination before God' (Luke 16:15). PETER: I greatly wonder that concerning such a man deception could steal upon so great a pontiff. GREGORY: Why do you wonder, Peter, that we, who are men, are deceived?
Or has it slipped your mind that David, who was accustomed to have the spirit of prophecy, gave sentence against the innocent son of Jonathan when he heard the words of a lying servant? Yet because this was done through David, we believe it just by the hidden judgment of God, and nevertheless by human reason we do not see how it was just. What wonder, then, if we, who are not prophets, are sometimes led into another course by the mouth of liars? It is a great thing indeed that the density of cares devastates the mind of every prelate. And when the mind is divided among many things, it becomes less for individual matters; and so much the more is it stolen from in any single matter, the more widely it is occupied in many. PETER: What you say is very true.
I ought not to be silent about what I learned concerning this man from the account of Valentinus, once my most reverend abbot. For he used to say that while his body was buried in the oratory of the blessed martyr Laurence, a certain peasant placed a chest with grain upon his tomb, and took no care to consider or to revere how great and of what sort was the man who lay there. Then suddenly a whirlwind arose from heaven, and while all other things there remained in their stability, it lifted up the chest which had been placed over his tomb, and cast it far off, so that all might openly know how great was the merit of him whose body lay there. Also the things which I add I learned from the account of the aforesaid venerable man Fortunatus, who greatly pleases me by his age, his work, and his simplicity.
When the Lombards were entering that same province of Valeria, monks from the monastery of the most reverend man Equitius fled to his tomb in the aforesaid oratory. And when the raging Lombards had entered the oratory, they began to drag those monks outside, in order either to torment them with tortures or to slay them with swords. One of them groaned, and moved with sharp grief cried out: 'Alas, alas, holy Equitius, does it please you that we are dragged off, and you do not defend us?' At his voice an unclean spirit at once invaded the raging Lombards. Falling to the ground, they were tormented so long, until all the Lombards, even those who were outside, recognized this, so that they no longer dared to profane the sacred place.