Chapter 15

Reflecting often upon all these things, I determined to make provision for those sisters and to undertake their care in every way I could. Furthermore, in order that they might have the greater reverence for me, I arranged to watch over them in person. And since now the persecution carried on by my sons was greater and more incessant than that which I formerly suffered at the hands of my brethren, I returned frequently to the nuns, fleeing the rage of the tempest as to a haven of peace. There, indeed, could I draw breath for a little in quiet, and among them my labours were fruitful, as they never were among the monks. All this was of the utmost benefit to me in body and soul, and it was equally essential for them by reason of their weakness.

After often reflecting on all these things, I resolved to provide for the sisters and care for them however I could. To make them respect me more, I arranged to look after them in person. The persecution I now faced from my sons was worse and more relentless than what I had suffered from my brethren before. So I often returned to the nuns, fleeing the raging storm for a peaceful haven. There I could rest quietly for a little while. My work among the nuns was fruitful, as it had never been among the monks. All this greatly benefited me in body and soul, and it was equally essential for the sisters because of their weakness.

But now has Satan beset me to such an extent that I no longer know where I may find rest, or even so much as live. I am driven hither and yon, a fugitive and a vagabond, even as the accursed Cain (Gen. iv, 14). I have already said that "without were fightings, within were fears" (II Cor. vii, 5), and these torture me ceaselessly, the fears being indeed without as well as within, and the fightings wheresoever there are fears. Nay, the persecution carried on by my sons rages against me more perilously and continuously than that of my open enemies, for my sons I have always with me, and I am ever exposed to their treacheries. The violence of my enemies I see in the danger to my body if I leave the cloister; but within it I am compelled incessantly to endure the crafty machinations as well as the open violence of those monks who are called my sons, and who are entrusted to me as their abbot, which is to say their father.

But now Satan has beset me so badly that I no longer know where I can find rest, or even live. I am driven from place to place, a fugitive and a wanderer, like the cursed Cain (Gen. iv, 14). I have already said that "outside were battles, inside were fears" (II Cor. vii, 5). These torment me constantly. Indeed, fears are outside as well as inside, and battles are wherever there are fears. Worse still, the persecution by my sons is more dangerous and relentless than that of my open enemies. For my sons are always with me, and I am always exposed to their treachery. If I leave the cloister, I face the danger of physical violence from my enemies. But inside the cloister, I must constantly endure the cunning schemes and open violence of the monks called my sons. They have been entrusted to me as their abbot, which means their father.

Oh, how often have they tried to kill me with poison, even as the monks sought to slay St. Benedict! Methinks the same reason which led the saint to abandon his wicked sons might encourage me to follow the example of so great a father, lest, in thus exposing myself to certain peril, I might be deemed a rash tempter of God rather than a lover of Him, nay, lest it might even be judged that I had thereby taken my own life. When I had safeguarded myself to the best of my ability, so far as my food and drink were concerned, against their daily plottings, they sought to destroy me in the very ceremony of the altar by putting poison in the chalice. One day, when I had gone to Nantes to visit the count, who was then sick, and while I was sojourning awhile in the house of one of my brothers in the flesh, they arranged to poison me, with the connivance of one of my attendants, believing that I would take no precautions to escape such a plot. But divine providence so ordered matters that I had no desire for the food which was set before me; one of the monks whom I had brought with me ate thereof, not knowing that which had been done, and straightway fell dead. As for the attendant who had dared to undertake this crime, he fled in terror alike of his own conscience and of the clear evidence of his guilt.

Oh, how often they tried to kill me with poison, just as the monks tried to kill St. Benedict! The reason the saint abandoned his wicked sons might encourage me to follow so great a father’s example. By exposing myself to certain danger, I might be seen as recklessly tempting God rather than loving him. I might even be judged to have taken my own life. I protected my food and drink as best I could against their daily plots. Then they tried to kill me during the ceremony at the altar by putting poison in the chalice. One day I went to Nantes to visit the count, who was ill. While I was staying for a time at the house of one of my own brothers, the monks arranged to poison me. One of my attendants helped them, and they believed I would take no precautions against such a plot. But divine providence arranged matters so that I had no desire for the food set before me. One of the monks I had brought with me ate it, unaware of what had been done, and immediately fell dead. The attendant who had dared to undertake this crime fled. He was terrified both by his own conscience and by the clear evidence of his guilt.

After this, as their wickedness was manifest to every one, I began openly in every way I could to avoid the danger with which their plots threatened me, even to the extent of leaving the abbey and dwelling with a few others apart in little cells. If the monks knew beforehand that I was going anywhere on a journey, they bribed bandits to waylay me on the road and kill me. And while I was struggling in the midst of these dangers, it chanced one day that the hand of the Lord smote me a heavy blow, for I fell from my horse, breaking a bone in my neck, the injury causing me greater pain and weakness than my former wound.

After this, everyone could see how wicked they were. So I began openly doing everything I could to avoid the danger their plots posed. I even left the abbey and lived apart in small cells with a few others. If the monks knew beforehand that I was going on a journey, they bribed bandits to ambush and kill me on the road. While I was struggling amid these dangers, the hand of the Lord dealt me a heavy blow. One day, I fell from my horse and broke a bone in my neck. The injury caused me more pain and weakness than my earlier wound.

Using excommunication as my weapon to coerce the untamed rebelliousness of the monks, I forced certain ones among them whom I particularly feared to promise me publicly, pledging their faith or swearing upon the sacrament, that they would thereafter depart from the abbey and no longer trouble me in any way. Shamelessly and openly did they violate the pledges they had given and their sacramental oaths, but finally they were compelled to give this and many other promises under oath, in the presence of the count and the bishops, by the authority of the Pontiff of Rome, Innocent, who sent his own legate for this special purpose. And yet even this did not bring me peace. For when I returned to the abbey after the expulsion of those whom I have just mentioned, and entrusted myself to the remaining brethren, of whom I felt less suspicion, I found them even worse than the others. I barely succeeded in escaping them, with the aid of a certain nobleman of the district, for they were planning, not to poison me indeed, but to cut my throat with a sword. Even to the present time I stand face to face with this danger, fearing the sword which threatens my neck so that I can scarcely draw a free breath between one meal and the next. Even so do we read of him who, reckoning the power and heaped-up wealth of the tyrant Dionysius as a great blessing, beheld the sword secretly hanging by a hair above his head, and so learned what kind of happiness comes as the result of worldly power (Cicer. 5, Tusc.) Thus did I too learn by constant experience, I who had been exalted from the condition of a poor monk to the dignity of an abbot, that my wretchedness increased with my wealth; and I would that the ambition of those who voluntarily seek such power might be curbed by my example.

I used excommunication as a weapon to control the monks’ fierce rebellion. I forced some of those I feared most to promise publicly that they would leave the abbey and stop troubling me. They gave their word or swore on the sacrament. Yet they shamelessly and openly broke their promises and sacred oaths. Finally, Pope Innocent sent his own legate for this purpose. By the Pope’s authority, the monks were compelled to swear to these and many other promises before the count and the bishops. Even this did not bring me peace. After those monks were expelled, I returned to the abbey and entrusted myself to the remaining brothers, whom I suspected less. But I found them even worse than the others. With the help of a local nobleman, I barely escaped them. They were planning, not to poison me, but to cut my throat with a sword. Even now I face this danger. I fear the sword hanging over my neck so much that I can hardly breathe freely between meals. We read of a man who thought the power and accumulated wealth of the tyrant Dionysius a great blessing. He saw a sword hanging secretly above his head by a hair. So he learned what kind of happiness worldly power brings (Cicer. 5, Tusc.). In the same way, constant experience taught me that my misery increased with my wealth. I had been raised from a poor monk to the rank of abbot. I wish my example would curb the ambition of those who willingly seek such power.

And now, most dear brother in Christ and comrade closest to me in the intimacy of speech, it should suffice for your sorrows and the hardships you have endured that I have written this story of my own misfortunes, amid which I have toiled almost from the cradle. For so, as I said in the beginning of this letter, shall you come to regard your tribulation as nought, or at any rate as little, in comparison with mine, and so shall you bear it more lightly in measure as you regard it as less. Take comfort ever in the saying of Our Lord, what he foretold for his followers at the hands of the followers of the devil: "If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you (John xv, 20). If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you. If ye were of the world, the world would love his own" (ib. 18-19). And the apostle says: "All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution" (II Tim. iii, 12). And elsewhere he says: "I do not seek to please men. For if I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ" (Galat. i, 10). And the Psalmist says: "They who have been pleasing to men have been confounded, for that God hath despised them."

And now, my dear brother in Christ and my closest companion in conversation, I hope this account will ease your sorrows and hardships. I have written of my own misfortunes, which I have struggled with almost since birth. As I said at the beginning of this letter, I hope you will see your troubles as nothing, or at least as small, compared with mine. The less you think of them, the more lightly you will bear them. Always take comfort in what Our Lord foretold his followers would suffer at the hands of the devil’s followers: "If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you (John xv, 20). If the world hates you, you know that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would love its own" (ib. 18-19). And the apostle says: "All who wish to live godly lives in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution" (II Tim. iii, 12). Elsewhere he says: "I do not seek to please people. For if I still pleased people, I would not be the servant of Christ" (Galat. i, 10). And the Psalmist says: "Those who have pleased people have been put to shame, because God has despised them."

Commenting on this, St. Jerome, whose heir methinks I am in the endurance of foul slander, says in his letter to Nepotanius: "The apostle says: 'If I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ.' He no longer seeks to please men, and so is made Christ's servant" (Epist. 2). And again, in his letter to Asella regarding those whom he was falsely accused of loving: "I give thanks to my God that I am worthy to be one whom the world hates" (Epist. 99). And to the monk Heliodorus he writes: "You are wrong, brother, you are wrong if you think there is ever a time when the Christian does not suffer persecution. For our adversary goes about as a roaring lion seeking what he may devour, and do you still think of peace? Nay, he lieth in ambush among the rich."

Commenting on this, St. Jerome says in his letter to Nepotanius: "The apostle says: 'If I still pleased people, I would not be Christ's servant.' He no longer seeks to please people, so he becomes Christ's servant" (Epist. 2). I believe I am Jerome's heir in enduring vicious slander. Again, he writes to Asella about those he was falsely accused of loving: "I thank my God that I am worthy to be hated by the world" (Epist. 99). And he writes to the monk Heliodorus: "You are wrong, brother, you are wrong if you think Christians ever have a time without persecution. Our adversary prowls like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour. And do you still think of peace? No, he lies in ambush among the rich."

Inspired by those records and examples, we should endure our persecutions all the more steadfastly the more bitterly they harm us. We should not doubt that even if they are not according to our deserts, at least they serve for the purifying of our soul. And since all things are done in accordance with the divine ordering, let every one of true faith console himself amid all his afflictions with the thought that the great goodness of God permits nothing to be done without reason, and brings to a good end whatsoever may seem to happen wrongfully. Wherefore rightly do all men say: "Thy will be done." And great is the consolation to all lovers of God in the word of the Apostle when he says: "We know that all things work together for good to them that love God" (Rom. viii, 28). The wise man of old had this in mind when he said in his Proverbs: "There shall no evil happen to the just" (Prov. xii, 21). By this he clearly shows that whosoever grows wrathful for any reason against his sufferings has therein departed from the way of the just, because he may not doubt that these things have happened to him by divine dispensation. Even such are those who yield to their own rather than to the divine purpose, and with hidden desires resist the spirit which echoes in the words, "Thy will be done," thus placing their own will ahead of the will of God. Farewell.

Inspired by those accounts and examples, we should endure persecution more steadfastly the more bitterly it harms us. Even if we do not deserve such suffering, we should not doubt that it at least purifies our souls. All things happen according to God’s plan. So let every person of true faith find comfort in this thought amid all afflictions: God’s great goodness allows nothing to happen without reason. God brings to a good end whatever may seem to happen unjustly. That is why everyone rightly says: "Your will be done." The Apostle’s words bring great comfort to all who love God: "We know that all things work together for good to them that love God" (Rom. viii, 28). The wise man of old had this in mind when he said in his Proverbs: "There shall no evil happen to the just" (Prov. xii, 21). He makes it clear that anyone who grows angry about suffering, for any reason, has left the path of the just. For no one may doubt that such suffering has come about by God’s will. Such people follow their own purpose rather than God’s. With hidden desires, they resist the spirit expressed in the words, "Your will be done," and put their own will before God’s. Farewell.