'When,' he said, 'the matins hymns being ended, I had laid my limbs upon my pallet, and a light slumber had stolen over me, there appeared my former master and most loving foster-father Boisil, and asked me whether I could recognize him. I said: "Yes; for you are Boisil." But he said: "I have come for this, that I may bring to Ecgberht the answer of the Lord and Saviour, which nevertheless he must hear by your telling. Tell him, therefore, that he is not able to fulfil the journey which he has purposed; for it is of God's will that he go rather to teach the monasteries of Columba."'
Now Columba was the first teacher of the Christian faith to the Picts beyond the mountains to the north, and the first founder of the monastery which long remained venerable to many peoples of the Scots and Picts in the island of Iona. This Columba is now called by some, from the name compounded of 'cella' and 'Columba,' Columcille. But Ecgberht, on hearing the words of the vision, charged the brother who had related it not to relate these things to any other, lest perchance the vision should be illusory. He himself, however, silently considering the matter, feared that it was true; nor yet would he cease from preparing the journey by which he might go to teach the nations.
But after a few days the aforesaid brother again came to him, saying that that night also, after matins were ended, Boisil had appeared to him in a vision, saying: 'Why have you told Ecgberht so negligently and lukewarmly the things which I charged you to tell him? But now go and tell him that, willing or unwilling, he must come to the monasteries of Columba, because their ploughs do not run straight; and he ought to recall these to the right track.' On hearing this, he again charged the brother not to disclose these things to anyone. He himself, however, although he was made certain of the vision, nevertheless attempted to begin the appointed journey with the aforesaid brothers.
And when they had now put on board the ship the things which the necessity of so great a journey demanded, and were awaiting for some days favourable winds, there arose on a certain night so fierce a tempest that, having destroyed in some part the things which were in the ship, it left the very ship lying on its side among the waves; yet all the things that belonged to Ecgberht and his companions were saved. Then he himself, as it were uttering that prophetic word, that 'this tempest is on my account,' withdrew himself from that voyage, and suffered himself to remain at home.
But indeed one of his companions, Wihtberht by name, since he too was distinguished by contempt of the world and by the knowledge of doctrine (for he had for many years as a pilgrim in Ireland led an anchorite's life in great perfection), went aboard a ship, and coming to Frisia, for two continuous years preached the word of salvation to that people and to their king Radbod, nor found among his barbarian hearers any fruit of so great a labour. Then returning to the place of his beloved pilgrimage, he began after his wont to be at leisure for the Lord in silence; and since he could not profit outsiders unto the faith, he took care to profit his own the more by examples of his virtues.
[10] But when the man of the Lord, Ecgberht, saw that he himself was not permitted to come to preach to the nations, being kept back for another usefulness of the holy church, of which he had been forewarned by an oracle; nor that Wihtberht, coming into those parts, profited anything; he attempted still to send into the work of the word holy and industrious men, among whom the eminent Wilbrord shone forth in the rank and merit of a priest. When these had come thither—and they were twelve in number—turning aside to Pippin, duke of the Franks, they were graciously received by him; and because he had lately taken hither Frisia, the king Radbod having been driven thence, he sent them thither to preach; aiding them also by his imperial authority, that none might bring any trouble upon the preachers;
and exalting with many benefits those who were willing to receive the faith; whence it came about, by the help of divine grace, that in a short time they converted many from idolatry to the faith of Christ. Following the examples of these, two certain priests of the nation of the Angles, who had long sojourned in Ireland for the sake of the eternal homeland, came to the province of the Old Saxons, if perchance they might be able to win some there by preaching Christ. Now both were of one devotion, as also of one name; for each of them was called Hewald; with this distinction, however, that on account of the different colour of their hair, one was called Black Hewald, the other White Hewald;
both of whom were imbued with the piety of religion, but Black Hewald was the more instructed in the knowledge of the sacred letters. These, coming into the province, entered the lodging of a certain steward, and asked of him that they might be sent on to the chief who was over him, because they had a certain embassy and useful cause which they ought to convey to him. For these same Old Saxons have no king, but very many chiefs set over their nation, who, when the crisis of war presses, cast lots equally, and whomsoever the lot shows, him all follow as leader for the time of war, and to him they submit; but the war being ended, all the chiefs again become of equal power.
The steward therefore received them, and promising to send them to the chief who was over him, as they asked, kept them with him for some days. But when they were recognized by the barbarians to be of another religion (for they were always at leisure for psalms and prayers, and daily offered to God the sacrifice of the saving victim, having with them sacred vessels and a board dedicated in place of an altar), they were held suspect, because, if they should reach the chief and speak with him, they might turn him away from his gods, and bring him over to the new religion of the Christian faith, and thus little by little their whole province would be compelled to change its old worship for the new. And so they suddenly seized them, and put them to death;
White Hewald indeed by the swift slaying of the sword, but Black Hewald by a long torment of tortures and a horrible tearing apart of all his limbs; whom, having slain, they cast into the Rhine. When that chief whom they wished to see heard of this, he was greatly enraged that the foreigners desiring to come to him had not been permitted; and sending, he killed all those villagers, and consumed the village with fire. Now the aforesaid priests and servants of Christ suffered on the fifth day before the Nones of October. Nor were heavenly miracles wanting to their martyrdom.
For when their slain bodies had been thrown into the river by the pagans, as we have said, it came to pass that these were carried against the current of the down-rushing stream, for nearly forty miles, even to those places where their companions were. Moreover a most great beam of light, reaching up even to heaven, shone every night above the spot wherever it chanced that they had come, and this even while the pagans who had killed them looked on. Furthermore one of them appeared in a vision of the night to a certain one of his companions, whose name was Tilmon, an illustrious man and noble also in the world's account, who from a soldier had become a monk; showing him that he could find their bodies in that place where he should behold a light shining from heaven upon the earth.
And so it was fulfilled. For their bodies, having been found, were laid to rest with honour worthy of martyrs, and the day of their passion or of their finding was celebrated with fitting veneration in those places. At length the most glorious duke of the Franks, Pippin, when he learned of these things, sent and had their bodies brought to him, and laid them with much glory in the church of the city of Cologne beside the Rhine. It is also reported that in the place where they were slain a fountain gushed forth, which to this very day in that same place pours out the abundant gifts of its stream.
[11] In the earliest days of their coming into Frisia, as soon as Wilbrord learned that licence to preach there had been granted him by the prince, he hastened to come to Rome, over whose apostolic see Pope Sergius then presided, so that with his licence and blessing he might enter upon the longed-for work of evangelizing the nations; hoping also at the same time to receive from him relics of the blessed apostles and martyrs of Christ, so that, when among the people to whom he should preach he should establish churches after the idols had been destroyed, he might have ready at hand relics of the saints to bring in there; and that these being deposited there, he might consequently dedicate each several place in honour of those whose relics they were.
But he also desired to learn there, or to receive thence, many other things which the business of so great a work required. And when in all these matters he had been made master of his wish, he returned to his preaching. At which time the brethren who were in Frisia, devoted to the ministry of the word, chose out of their own number a man modest in manners and gentle of heart, Swidberht, that he might be ordained bishop for them; and being sent to Britain at their request, he was ordained by the most reverend bishop Wilfrid, who then by chance, having been driven from his own country, was an exile in the regions of the Mercians. For at that time Kent had no bishop, Theodore being indeed dead, but his successor Berhtwald not yet returned to the see of his bishopric, having gone beyond the sea to be ordained.
This same Swidberht, having received the bishopric and returned from Britain, not long after withdrew to the people of the Boructuari, and by preaching led many of them to the way of truth. But when the Boructuari were not long after subdued by the people of the Old Saxons, those who had received the word were scattered wherever they could; the bishop himself with certain others sought out Pippin, who, at the intercession of his wife Bliththryth, gave him a place of dwelling on a certain island of the Rhine, which in their tongue is called In litore (On the shore); in which, having built a monastery, which his heirs possess to this day, he led for some time a most continent life, and there he closed his last day.
But after they who had come had taught in Frisia for some years, Pippin, with the favour and consent of all, sent the venerable man Wilbrord to Rome, whose pontificate Sergius still held, requesting that he might be ordained archbishop for that same Frisian people. And this, as he had asked, was fulfilled, in the year of the Lord's incarnation 696. He was ordained, moreover, in the church of the holy martyr Cecilia, on the day of her birth (into heaven), the name Clement being imposed upon him by the aforesaid Pope; and he was soon sent back to the see of his bishopric, that is, fourteen days after he had come to the city.
Now Pippin gave him the place of his episcopal see in his own illustrious fortress, which in the ancient speech of those peoples is called Wiltaburg, that is, the Town of the Wilti, but in the Gallic tongue is called Traiectum (Utrecht); in which, having built a church, the most reverend bishop, preaching the word of faith far and wide, and recalling many from their error, built many churches throughout those regions, and also several monasteries. For not long after he himself appointed in those regions other bishops as well, out of the number of those brethren who had come thither to preach either with him or after him; of whom several have already fallen asleep in the Lord.
But Wilbrord himself, surnamed Clement, is still alive, now venerable in his long age, being indeed in the thirty-sixth year of his episcopate, and, after manifold contests of the heavenly warfare, sighing with his whole mind for the rewards of the recompense on high. [12] In these times a memorable miracle, like to those of old, was wrought in Britain. For, to rouse the living from the death of the soul, a certain man who had for some time been dead rose again to the life of the body, and related many things worthy of remembrance which he had seen; of which I have thought that some few should here be briefly touched upon. There was, then, a householder in the region of the Northumbrians which is called Cunningham, leading a religious life with his household;
who, being touched by an infirmity of body, and this growing day by day, was brought to the last extremity, and at the first part of the night died; but at daybreak coming to life again, and suddenly sitting up, he turned to flight all who were sitting and weeping by the body, struck with an immense fear; only his wife, who loved him more, although greatly trembling and fearful, remained. Whom he comforted, saying: 'Do not fear, for I have now truly risen from the death by which I was held, and am permitted again to live among men; yet I must not henceforth live in the manner to which I was before accustomed, but in one far different.'
And immediately rising, he went off to the oratory of the little farmstead, and continuing in prayer until daybreak, he soon divided all the substance he had possessed into three portions, of which he handed over one to his wife, another to his sons, and retaining the third for himself, distributed it at once to the poor. And not long after, freed from the cares of the world, he came to the monastery of Melrose, which is for the most part enclosed by a bend of the river Tweed; and having received the tonsure, he entered the place of secret dwelling which the abbot had provided; and there until the day of his death he endured in such contrition of mind and body that, even if his tongue had been silent, his life would have declared that he had seen many things, either dreadful or to be desired, which lay hidden from others.
Now he related what he had seen in this manner: 'Bright of aspect and shining of garment,' he said, 'was he who led me. We walked in silence, as it seemed to me, toward the rising of the solstitial sun; and as we walked, we came to a valley of great breadth and depth, but of infinite length; which, lying on our left, presented on one side, exceedingly terrible with boiling flames, the other no less intolerable with raging hail and the cold of snows blowing through and sweeping over everything. And both sides were full of the souls of men, which by turns seemed to be tossed hither and thither as if by the violence of a storm. For when they could not bear the force of the immense heat, the wretched souls leaped into the midst of the deadly cold;
and when there too they could find no rest, they sprang back again to be burned into the midst of the inextinguishable flames. And while by this wretched alternation, far and wide as far as I could see, without any respite of quiet, an innumerable multitude of deformed spirits was being tormented, I began to think that perhaps this was hell, of whose intolerable torments I had often heard tell. The guide who went before me answered my thought: 'Do not,' he said, 'suppose this; for this is not that hell which you think.' But when he had led me on little by little, terrified by so dreadful a spectacle, into the parts beyond, I saw the places before us suddenly begin to grow dark, and all to be filled with shadows.
And when we entered into them, they grew so dense in a little while that I could see nothing except them, save only the form and garment of him who was leading me. And as we went forward alone beneath the night through the shadows, behold, suddenly there appear before us frequent globes of foul flames, ascending as if from a great pit, and falling back again into the same. And when I had been led to it, suddenly my guide vanished, and left me alone in the midst of the darkness and of that horrid vision.
And while these same globes of fire without intermission now sought the heights, now sank back to the depths of the abyss, I perceive that all the tongues of flame which ascended were full of the spirits of men, who, after the manner of sparks ascending with smoke, were now flung up to the higher parts, now, when the vapours of the fires were drawn back, slipped down again into the depths. Moreover an incomparable stench, boiling up with those same vapours, filled all those places of darkness. And while I stood there for some while in fear, being uncertain what I should do, whither I should turn my step, what end awaited me, I hear behind my back a sudden sound of a most monstrous and most wretched weeping, and at the same time a crackling laughter as of an untaught rabble insulting captured foes.
And as that same sound, becoming clearer, reached even to me, I observe a throng of malign spirits, which, dragging into those shadows five souls of men lamenting and wailing, while it itself greatly exulted and cackled, drew them into the midst; of which men, namely, as far as I could discern, one was tonsured like a clerk, one was a layman, and one a woman. But the malign spirits dragging them descended into the midst of that burning abyss; and it came to pass that, as they went down further off, I could no longer clearly distinguish the weeping of the men from the laughter of the demons, yet I still had a confused sound in my ears.
Meanwhile certain of the dark spirits ascended from that flame-vomiting abyss, and running up surrounded me, and with flaming eyes, and breathing out a foul fire from mouth and nostrils, harassed me; with fiery tongs, too, which they held in their hands, they threatened to seize me, yet did not in any way touch me, though they presumed to terrify me.
When, being shut in on every side by foes and by the blindness of the darkness, I cast my eyes hither and thither, to see whether perchance from somewhere any help might come by which I should be saved, there appeared behind me, on the way by which I had come, as it were the brightness of a glittering star shining amid the shadows; which, growing little by little and hastening more swiftly toward me, when it drew near, all the hostile spirits who sought to snatch me with their tongs were scattered and fled away. But he who, coming, put them to flight, was that same one who before had led me; who, soon turning to the right-hand way, began to lead me as it were toward the rising of the winter sun. And without delay, drawing me out of the darkness, he brought me forth into the airs of serene light;
and when he led me into the open light, I saw before us a most great wall, of whose length on either side, nor of whose height, there seemed to be any limit. I began, moreover, to wonder why we approached the wall, since I could perceive in it no door, or window, or means of ascent anywhere. When therefore we had come to the wall, immediately, by I know not what means, we were on the top of it. And behold, there was a field most wide and most joyful, and so full of the fragrance of blossoming flowers that the sweetness of this wondrous odour soon put to flight all the stench of the gloomy furnace which had pervaded me. So great a light, moreover, had bathed all those places, that it seemed to be more glorious than all the splendour of day or the rays of the noonday sun.
And there were in this field innumerable assemblies of men robed in white, and very many seats of rejoicing companies. And while he led me through the midst of the choirs of the happy inhabitants, I began to think that this perhaps was the kingdom of heaven, of which I had often heard it preached. He answered my thought: 'No,' he said, 'this is not the kingdom of heaven which you suppose.' And when, proceeding, we had passed beyond even these dwellings of the blessed spirits, I behold before us a grace of light far greater than before; in which also I heard a most sweet voice of singers; and so great a fragrance of a wondrous odour was poured forth from the place, that the one which before, when I tasted it, I reckoned to be the greatest, now seemed to me a very slight odour;
just as even that surpassing light of the flowering field, in comparison with that light which now appeared, seemed altogether very faint and small. While I was hoping that we should enter into the loveliness of this place, the guide suddenly halted; and without delay, turning back his step, he led me back by that same way by which we had come. And when, having returned, we reached those joyful dwellings of the white-robed spirits, he said to me: 'Do you know what all these things are which you have seen?' I answered: 'No.' And he said:
'That valley which you beheld, dreadful with boiling flames and with rigid colds, that is the place in which are to be examined and chastised the souls of those who, putting off to confess and amend the crimes they have committed, at last in the very article of death flee to penitence, and so go out of the body; who nevertheless, because they had confession and penitence even in death, all on the day of judgement come to the kingdom of heaven. But many are helped by the prayers of the living, and alms, and fasts, and especially the celebration of Masses, so that they are delivered even before the day of judgement.
Further, that flame-vomiting and foul pit which you saw is the very mouth of Gehenna, into which whosoever has once fallen will never be delivered thence for ever. But that flowering place, in which you behold this most beautiful youth rejoicing and shining, is that in which are received the souls of those who indeed go out of the body in good works; yet are not of such perfection that they deserve to be at once brought into the kingdom of heaven; who nevertheless all on the day of judgement will enter into the vision of Christ and the joys of the heavenly kingdom. For whosoever are perfect in every word, and work, and thought, as soon as they go out of the body come to the heavenly kingdom;
to whose neighbourhood belongs that place where you heard the sound of sweet song with the odour of sweetness and the splendour of light. But you, because you must now return to the body and live again among men, if you take care to examine your acts more diligently, and to keep your manners and discourse in uprightness and simplicity, you yourself also will receive after death a place of dwelling among these joyful companies of blessed spirits which you behold. For I, when for a time I had departed from you, did so to learn what ought to be done concerning you.' When he had said these things to me, I greatly loathed to return to the body, delighted as I was by the sweetness and beauty of that place which I beheld, and at the same time by the fellowship of those whom I saw in it.
Yet I did not dare to ask my guide anything; but in the meantime, by I know not what means, I suddenly perceive myself living among men.' These things and others which he had seen, this same man of the Lord was not willing to relate to all alike, to the slothful and to those careless of their own life, but only to those who, either terrified by fear of torments, or delighted by hope of perennial joys, were willing to draw from his words a profit of piety. At length there dwelt in the neighbourhood of that cell a certain monk named Haemgils, eminent in rank, being a priest, which dignity he matched by his good deeds, who still survives, and in the island of Ireland as a solitary sustains the last age of his life on coarse bread and cold water.
He, frequently going in to the same man, heard from him by repeated questioning what and what kind of things he had seen when out of the body; through whose narration these things, of which we have touched a few, came also to our knowledge. He related his visions, moreover, even to King Aldfrith, a man most learned in every respect; and he was heard by him so willingly and so eagerly that, at his request, he was admitted into the aforesaid monastery and crowned with the monastic tonsure, and very often, when he came into those parts, would go to hear him.
Over which monastery at that time there presided, as abbot and priest, Aethilwald, a man of religious and modest life, who now holds the episcopal chair of the church of Lindisfarne, serving it by deeds worthy of his rank. He received, moreover, in the same monastery a more secluded place of dwelling, where he might more freely be at leisure for the service of his Creator in continual prayers. And because the place itself was situated upon the bank of a river, he was wont often, out of a great desire of chastising the body, to enter it, and oftentimes to immerse himself in the waves passing over him; and thus there, as long as he seemed able to endure, to persist in psalms or prayers, and to remain fixed, the water of the river rising up to his loins, and sometimes even to his neck;
and coming out thence to land, he never took care to put off those same garments, wet and chilled, until they should be warmed and dried by his own body. And when in winter time, amid the crusts of half-broken ice floating around him, which he himself had sometimes broken to pieces in order to have a place for standing or immersing himself in the river, those who saw it would say: 'It is a marvel, brother Drythelm' (for this was the man's name), 'that you are able by any means to endure such severity of cold.' He would answer simply, for he was a man of simple disposition and moderate nature: 'I have seen colder things.' And when they said: 'It is a marvel that you are willing to keep so austere an abstinence,' he would answer: 'I have seen more austere things.'
And thus, until the day of his calling, with untiring desire of heavenly goods, he subdued his aged body amid daily fasts, and by both word and conversation was a means of salvation to many. [13] But in contrast there was a certain man in the province of the Mercians, whose visions and words, but not also his manner of life, profited very many, but not himself. Now he was, in the times of Coenred, who reigned after Aethelred, a man placed in lay habit and in military office; but as much as he was pleasing to the king by his outward diligence, so much was he displeasing by his inward negligence of himself.
He (the king) therefore admonished him diligently that he should confess, and amend, and forsake his crimes, before by the sudden coming of death he should lose all time of repenting and amending. But he, although frequently admonished, scorned the words of salvation, and promised that in the following time he would do penance. Amid these things, being touched by an infirmity, he fell into bed, and began to be tormented by sharp pain. The king, going in to him, for he loved him much, exhorted him that even then, before he died, he should do penance for the things he had committed. But he answered that he did not then wish to confess his sins, but when he should rise from his infirmity; lest his comrades should reproach him that out of fear of death he did the things which when whole he had been unwilling to do;