書信與聖徒傳 第 2 章

(1) It has often been a matter of doubt among many by whom the desert was first inhabited by monks. For some, going back further, took their beginnings from blessed Elijah and John. Of these, Elijah seems to us to have been more than a monk, and John to have begun to prophesy before he was born. Others, an opinion to which all the common people consent, assert that Antony was the head of this way of life—which is in part true. For he was not so much himself the first before all others, as the one by whom the zeal of all was kindled. But Amatas and Macarius, disciples of Antony, of whom the former buried his master's body, even now affirm that a certain Paul of Thebes was the founder of this practice, though not of the name—an opinion which we too approve.

(2) Some boast of these and other tales as their fancy leads them: of a man covered with hair down to the heels in an underground cave, and they invent many incredible things which it would be a waste of time to pursue. Since their falsehood was shameless, their opinion does not even seem worth refuting. Therefore, because the story of Antony has been carefully handed down to memory in both Greek and Roman style, I have resolved to write a few words about the beginning and the end of Paul—rather because the matter had been omitted than because I rely on my own talent. But how he lived in his middle years, or what snares of Satan he endured, is known to no man.

(2) Under the persecutors Decius and Valerian—at the time when Cornelius at Rome and Cyprian at Carthage were condemned by a blessed shedding of blood—a savage storm laid waste many churches throughout Egypt and the Thebaid. It was then the Christians' wish to be smitten with the sword for that Name. But the cunning enemy, devising slow tortures unto death, desired to slaughter souls, not bodies. And as Cyprian himself, who suffered under that same persecutor, says: 'Those who wished to die were not permitted to be slain.' That his cruelty may become better known, we have appended two examples for the sake of remembrance.

(3) A martyr who persevered in the faith and was victorious amid the rack and the burning plates, he ordered to be smeared with honey and, with his hands bound behind his back, to be laid out beneath a most scorching sun—namely, so that he who had already overcome the fiery frying-pans should yield to the stings of flies. Another, flourishing in youthful age, he commanded to be led into the most delightful little gardens, and there, amid gleaming lilies and blushing roses, while a brook crept by with gentle murmur and the wind brushed the leaves of the trees with a soft whisper, to be laid on his back upon a couch heaped with down, and—that he might not be able to shake himself free—to be left entangled in soft garlands of flowers.

When everyone had withdrawn and a beautiful harlot had come to him, she began to entwine his neck with delicate embraces and—a crime even to tell—to handle his manhood with her hands, so that, his body being roused to lust, the shameless woman might cast herself upon him as victor. What was the soldier of Christ to do, whither was he to turn? He whom torments had not conquered, pleasure was overcoming. At last, inspired from heaven, he bit off his own tongue and spat it into the face of the woman who was kissing him. And thus the magnitude of the pain that succeeded trampled down the sensation of lust.

(4) During the same time, then, when such things were being done in the lower Thebaid, Paul was left, his sister already given over to a husband, by the death of both their parents, with a rich inheritance—being about sixteen years old, exceedingly well educated in both Greek and Egyptian letters, of a gentle spirit, and loving God greatly. And when the storm of persecution thundered, he withdrew, more secluded, to a remote country house. But what dost thou not drive human hearts to, accursed hunger for gold? His sister's husband began to wish to betray the one whom he ought to have concealed. Not his wife's tears, not the bond of blood, not God who beholds all things from on high recalled him from the crime. He was at hand, he pressed on, he practised cruelty as though it were piety.

(5) When the most prudent youth perceived this, fleeing to the deserts of the mountains, while he awaited the end of the persecution, he turned necessity into choice; and advancing little by little, then again halting, and doing this same thing repeatedly, he at last found a rocky mountain, at whose foot a small cave was closed by a stone. When this was removed (such is the eagerness of men to learn hidden things), he observed within a great vestibule, which an ancient palm, spreading with broad branches, had covered over to the open sky above, revealing a most clear spring; the stream of which the same earth that had given it birth swallowed up at once just outside.

There were besides, throughout the hollowed-out mountain, not a few dwelling-chambers, in which were seen anvils already rusty and hammers with which money is struck. The Egyptian writings record that this place was a secret mint, in the time when Antony was joined to Cleopatra. (6) Therefore, having grown to love this dwelling as though it were offered to him by God, he passed his whole life there in prayers and solitude. The palm provided food and clothing. And lest this seem impossible to anyone, I call to witness Jesus and his holy angels that in that part of the desert which borders on Syria by the Saracens I have both seen monks and do see them, one of whom, already shut up for thirty years, lives on barley bread and muddy water.

Another, in an old cistern (which the Syrians in their native tongue call a 'gubba'), is sustained each day by five dried figs. These things will seem incredible to those who have not believed that all things are possible to those who believe. (7) But to return to that point from which I digressed: when now in the hundred and thirteenth year of his age blessed Paul was leading a heavenly life upon earth, and Antony at ninety was dwelling in another solitude, this thought, as he himself used to assert, came into his mind, that no monk beyond himself had settled in the desert. But as he rested through the night, it was revealed to him that there was another, far better than himself, deeper within, to visit whom he ought to hasten.

At once, as the light broke forth, the venerable old man, propping his feeble limbs with a guiding staff, began to wish to go he knew not whither. And already midday was glowing as the sun blazed overhead, yet he was not turned aside from the journey he had begun, saying: 'I trust in my God that he will show me his servant whom he once promised me.' And before he had said more, he caught sight of a man mingled with a horse, to whom the imagination of the poets has given the name Hippocentaur. At the sight of which, he armed his brow with the impress of the saving sign and said: 'Ho there! In what part does God's servant dwell hereabouts?' But the creature, gnashing out some barbarous sound and breaking rather than uttering its words, sought a tolerably friendly speech between its bristling jaws.

And as it pointed out the desired road with the extension of its right hand, and so, crossing the open plains in winged flight, it vanished from the eyes of the wondering man. But whether the devil feigned this to terrify him, or whether (as it is wont) the desert, fertile in monstrous animals, also breeds this beast, we hold uncertain. (8) Antony therefore, astonished and turning over within himself what he had seen, went on further. And without delay, in a rocky valley he sees a not very large little man, with a hooked nose, his forehead roughened with horns, the lower part of whose body ended in goat's feet. And dismayed at this spectacle, the good warrior seized the shield of faith and the breastplate of hope.

Nevertheless the aforesaid creature offered the fruits of palms as provision for the journey, as though pledges of peace. Recognizing this, Antony checked his step and, asking who he was, received this answer from him: 'I am a mortal, and one of the dwellers of the desert, whom the heathen, deluded by manifold error, worship as Fauns, Satyrs, and Incubi. I perform an embassy on behalf of my flock. We beseech you to entreat on our behalf the common Lord; we have learned that the Saviour of the world came long ago, and "his sound has gone out into all the earth."' As he spoke such things, the aged traveller plenteously bedewed his face with tears, which the greatness of his joy poured forth as tokens of his heart.

For he rejoiced over the glory of Christ and the destruction of Satan, and at the same time marvelling that he could understand its speech, he struck the ground with his staff and said: 'Woe to you, Alexandria, who worship monsters in the place of God! Woe to you, harlot city, in which the demons of the whole world have flowed together! What will you say now? Beasts speak of Christ, and you worship monsters in the place of God!' He had not yet finished his words when, as though in feathered flight, the frisky creature fled away. Lest this stir up any scruple of unbelief in anyone, it is defended under King Constantius, with the whole world as witness.

For such a creature was brought alive to Alexandria and furnished a great spectacle to the people, and afterwards its lifeless corpse, that it might not decay in the heat of summer, was sprinkled with salt and carried to Antioch, that it might be seen by the Emperor. (9) But to pursue my purpose: Antony was going on through the region he had begun, gazing only at the tracks of wild beasts and the wide vastness of the desert. What was he to do, whither was he to turn his step? Now a second day had flowed past. One thing remained, that he should trust he could not be forsaken by Christ. He spent a second night of darkness in prayer, and while the light was still doubtful, not far off he sees a she-wolf, panting with the burning of thirst, creep up to the foot of the mountain.

Following it with his eyes and approaching close to the cave when the beast had gone away, he began to peer in, his curiosity profiting nothing, the darkness shutting out sight. But as the Scripture says, 'perfect love casts out fear.' With suspended step and breath restrained, the cunning explorer entered, and advancing little by little and often halting, he caught a sound with his ear. At last, through the horror of the blind night, catching sight of a light far off, while he hastened too eagerly, he struck a stone with his foot and roused it into a clatter; at which sound blessed Paul, shutting the door which stood open, made it fast with a bolt. Then indeed Antony, falling down before the doors, kept begging entrance up to the sixth hour and beyond, saying: 'Who I am, whence, and why I have come, you know.

I know that I do not deserve to look upon you; yet unless I see you, I will not depart. You who receive wild beasts, why do you drive away a man? I have sought and found, I knock that it may be opened. But if I do not obtain this, here, here will I die before your doorposts. At least you will bury my corpse.' Such things he kept urging as he stood fast, and remained fixed. To whom the hero replied thus in few words: 'No one asks in such a way as to threaten, no one with tears does violence. And do you wonder if I do not receive you, when you have come ready to die?' So, smiling, he opened the entrance. When it was opened, while they mingled in mutual embraces, they greeted each other by their own names; thanks are rendered to the Lord in common. (10) And after a holy kiss, Paul, sitting down with Antony, began thus:

'Behold the man whom you have sought with such great toil: unkempt grey hairs cover limbs rotting with old age. Behold, you see a man soon to be dust. But because charity bears all things, tell me, I pray, how the human race fares. Whether new roofs are rising up in the ancient cities; by what empire the world is governed; whether there yet survive any who are carried off by the error of demons.' Amid these conversations they look up and see a raven settled upon a branch of a tree, which, gently flying down from there, set a whole loaf of bread before the faces of the wondering men. After its departure, 'Behold,' said Paul, 'the Lord has sent us a meal, truly kind, truly merciful.

It is now sixty years that I always receive a fragment of half a loaf, but at your coming Christ has doubled the ration for his soldiers.' (11) Therefore, when thanksgiving to God had been celebrated, both sat down upon the margin of the glassy spring. Here indeed, as to who should break the bread, a dispute arose which nearly drew the day into evening. Paul urged it by the custom of hospitality, Antony refused it by the right of age. At last it was agreed that, the bread being grasped from opposite sides, while each strove toward himself, his own portion should remain in his hands. Thereafter they sipped a little water with mouths bent to the spring, and offering to God the sacrifice of praise, they passed the night in vigils. And when day was now restored to the earth, blessed Paul spoke thus to Antony:

'Long ago, brother, I knew that you dwelt in these regions; long ago God had promised me my fellow-servant. But since now the time of my falling asleep has come, and since I have always desired to be dissolved and to be with Christ, my course being finished, there remains for me the crown of righteousness; you have been sent by the Lord to cover my little body with earth—nay rather, to render earth to earth.' (12) When Antony heard this, weeping and groaning, he begged that he would not forsake him, but would take him as a companion on such a journey. But he said: 'You ought not to seek the things that are your own, but the things that are another's. It is indeed expedient for you, casting off the burden of the flesh, to follow the Lamb. But it is expedient also for the other brethren, that they may still be instructed by your example.

Wherefore, go, I pray, if it be not troublesome, and bring back the cloak which Athanasius the bishop gave you, to wrap up my little body.' Now blessed Paul asked this not because he greatly cared whether his corpse should rot covered or naked (since indeed for so long a span of time he had been clothed with interwoven palm-leaves), but that the grief of his death might be lightened for him as he departed from him. Astonished therefore was Antony that he had heard about Athanasius and his cloak, and as though seeing Christ in Paul and venerating God in his breast, he dared to answer nothing further, but with silence weeping, having kissed his eyes and hands, he returned toward the monastery which was afterwards occupied by the Saracens.

Yet his steps did not keep pace with his soul, but although his body, drained by fastings, and even his aged years, were breaking him down, in spirit he conquered his age. (13) At last, wearied and out of breath, he reached his dwelling, the journey accomplished. When two disciples, who had begun to minister to him now that he was so aged, met him saying: 'Where have you tarried so long, father?', he answered: 'Woe to me a sinner, who bear the false name of monk! I have seen Elijah, I have seen John in the desert, and truly in paradise I have seen Paul.' And so, with mouth closed and beating his breast with his hand, he brought forth the cloak from his cell. And when his disciples begged that he would explain more fully what the matter was, he said:

'There is a time of keeping silence and a time of speaking.' (14) Then, having gone out of doors and not taking even a little food, he returned by the way he had come, thirsting for him, desiring to see him, embracing him with his eyes and his mind. For he feared—as indeed came to pass—that in his absence Paul might render up to Christ the spirit that was owed. And when another day had already shone forth and a journey of three hours' space remained, he saw, amid the throngs of angels, amid the choirs of prophets and apostles, Paul, shining with snowy brightness, ascending on high. And immediately, falling upon his face, he heaped sand upon his head, weeping and wailing: 'Why, Paul, do you abandon me? Why do you go away unsaluted?

So lately made known, do you so soon depart?' (15) Blessed Antony related afterwards that he ran the remainder of the way with such speed that he flew along like a bird. Nor was it without cause, for entering the cave he sees the lifeless body with knees folded, neck erect, and hands stretched up on high. And at first he too, believing him to be alive, prayed together with him. But afterwards, when he heard no sighs of one praying as was his custom, falling into a tearful kiss he understood that even the corpse of the saint, by the gesture of its posture, was praying to God, to whom all things live.

(16) Therefore, having wrapped and carried the body out of doors, and psalms also having been sung according to Christian tradition, Antony was grieved that he had no mattock with which to dig the earth, wavering with the varied surging of his mind and reckoning many things within himself: 'If I return to the monastery, it is a four-days' journey; if I remain here, I shall accomplish nothing further. Let me die, then, as is fitting, and falling beside your warrior, O Christ, let me pour out my last breath.' As he turned over such things in his mind, behold, two lions came running from the inner part of the desert, their manes streaming about their necks. At the sight of these he was at first terrified. But again turning his mind to God, as though he saw doves, he remained undismayed.

And they indeed, in a straight course, halted at the corpse of the blessed old man, and with fawning tails lay down about his feet, roaring with a mighty murmur, so that you might plainly understand that they were lamenting in such a way as they could. Then not far off they began to scrape the ground with their feet, and eagerly throwing out the sand, they dug out a place capacious enough for one man. And immediately, as though to demand a reward for their work, with a movement of their ears and lowered neck, they made their way to Antony, licking his hands and feet, so that he perceived that they were begging a blessing from him. Without delay, bursting forth in the praise of Christ, that even dumb animals should perceive that there is a God, he said:

'Lord, without whose nod neither a leaf of the tree falls nor one of the sparrows falls to the ground, grant to these as you know how.' And nodding with his hand, he commanded them to depart. And when they had withdrawn, he bent his aged shoulders under the burden of the holy body, and laying it down, gathering the dug-up earth over it, he formed a mound in the customary way. But after another day had dawned, lest the pious heir should fail to possess anything from the goods of the intestate, he claimed for himself Paul's tunic, which he had himself woven for himself out of palm-leaves in the fashion of baskets. And so, returning to the monastery, he recounted everything in order to his disciples; and on the solemn days of Easter or Pentecost he was always clothed with Paul's tunic.

(17) It pleases me, at the end of this little work, to question those who do not know their own inheritances, who clothe their houses with marbles, who stitch the price of country estates into a single thread: what did this naked old man ever lack? You drink from gems, he satisfied nature with his cupped hands. You weave gold into your tunics, he did not have the garment of even the cheapest of your slaves. But on the contrary, paradise lies open to that poor little man, while gehenna will receive you in your gilded array. He kept the garment of Christ, though naked; you, clothed in silks, have lost the garment of Christ. Paul, covered with the cheapest dust, lies destined to rise again in glory; you, in your tombs laboriously wrought of stone, weigh down your riches that are destined to burn along with you. Spare yourselves, I pray, spare at least the riches that you love.

Why do you wrap even your dead in gilded garments? Why does ambition not cease amid mourning and tears? Or do the corpses of the rich not know how to rot except in silk? (18) I beseech you, whoever you are that read these things, that you remember Hieronymus the sinner; to whom, if the Lord were to give the choice, he would far rather choose the tunic of Paul with his merits than the purple of kings with their kingdoms. The Latin text is from: Hieronymus, Vita Pauli, edited, translated, and annotated by Vincent Hunink, Uitgeverij P., Leuven 2002; the Latin text with a Dutch translation may be found there. The Latin text is based on research into the manuscripts by Dr. Degorski, as published in his dissertation of 1987.

There are numerous differences (about 300) from the text of the Patrologia Latina.