The first dawn of monkish influence and power in the western world, was ushered in by St. Jerome, who, though represented as a very pious and good man, but having some passions the world had not yet gratified, grew wroth with and retired into the east, where he turned monk; and, as if to be revenged of the ungrateful world, he openly professed, that it were hardly possible to receive salvation in it without adopting the same course as he had done, that was, to become a monk. And although thus far monkery had its way paved in the west by the resolutions of Jerome, it was many years after his death, before any order of monkhood was instituted in that quarter.
Benedict, who lived about an hundred years after St. Jerome, being reckoned the father of the order in the western parts, and although it does not appear that he formed any order of monks, with the three vows, yet since the oldest monkish order in the Roman church is called by his name, we shall give first a short sketch of him and his order; leaving the reader to take, as well in this instance as in those that follow, as much for granted as he can well swallow, without danger of being choked.
Of the birth, parentage, and education of the Blessed Benedict, all we can state is, that his holiness drew his first pious and miraculous breath in Rome, about the year 480; and that having, whilst a boy, become weary of a wicked world, he retired to the Desert of Sabulea in Italy, where he was kindly received and hospitably entertained by a monk, whose name was Roman, who lived retired from man, in the cleft of an immense high rock, of difficult and hazardous access. The generous and christianlike Roman supplied his young guest with a portion of all he begged, borrowed, or stole, or could possibly spare out of his own all devouring paunch. But it would appear, that getting tired of his protegé, whose appetite, perhaps, might be too great a drawback upon his fortuitous resources, or whether in the midst of an accidental and unexpected blow out that he met with, somewhere or other, on an Easter-eve, he forgot to supply his guest in the cranny with his usual fare; be this as it may, all protecting Providence, that “feeds the young ravens,” and who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” was not on this occasion unmindful of young Benedict; for it turned out that a certain priest, whose name we are not favoured with, and who it appears had been on a similar foraging expedition as Roman, against Eastertide, was hailed by a voice from heaven, and bid “not to take so much care of his own gut, but to carry that he had provided to the place where Benedict was.” The priest obeyed; gave Benedict the contents of his market basket, and also told him that it was Easter-day, an event that was unknown to him previous to this unexpected visit. Having, however, been subsequently forced out of his den to procure food, for it does not appear that either Roman or the priest ever returned, some shepherds discovered him crawling among the bushes covered with “beasts’ hair;” at which they became so terrified, that taking him for some savage monster, they were about to depart, when they had a glimpse of his physog, which certainly formed an encouraging contrast when compared with the preter human developement of his body; the result was, the shepherds took courage and approached him; and having, as the story goes, been much edified with his discourse, they informed the neighbourhood of the affair, which was the means of young Benedict being well supplied with every thing he stood in need of; in return for which, they were as well repaid with godly exhortations. But the devil, who, no doubt, is always on the que vive when any of his opponents are getting a-head of him, was resolved to put young ’Dict’s chastity to the test, appeared to him in the shape of a blackbird, and approached so near to his mouth that ’dict might, had he thought proper, have grabbed him; but, instead of availing himself of this opportunity to crush old Beelzebub, he heroically suffered him to escape, although he, the devil, left behind him “so terrible a dishonest carnal temptation,” that Benedict never before nor after this time, felt such queer and indescribable sensations; in short, he was in such a quandary, that he hesitated and doubted whether it would not be better for him to return once more to the world, the flesh, sin and the devil; yet, having recovered himself a little from the paroxysm with which the devil had contrived to possess him, he threw off his clothes and rolled among thorns. But whereas Benedict, for sundry causes and reasons moving him thereunto, did keep a raven, which said raven the aforesaid Benedict did constantly every day feed with his own hand, which raven, Benedict, whether from similarity of appetite or other latent and peculiar passion, always addressed by the familiar and consanguineous appellation of brother; on this occasion, having offered him a part of the poisoned loaf, the sagacious raven rejected it with indignation, and commenced flying and croaking about his master, pointing out to him, in the most ravenous manner, the evil intended him. Alarmed at such conduct, Benedict said, Brother, I did not offer you this loaf that you should eat it, but that you might carry it and hide it somewhere, that it may never do any hurt. This was done, the raven disposed of the poisoned loaf, returned, and had his dinner as usual[[80]].
Notwithstanding this disappointment, Florentino did not cease to persecute Benedict. He got together, for this purpose, a number of common strumpets, whom he sent to dance naked before the holy Friar; this ordinance, to the great joy of Florentino, they correctly performed to the letter, which compelled Benedict to leave the place, lest peradventure he might be tempted di novo to sin against the flesh, as he was in the wilderness, by the Devil in the shape of a blackbird. But that joy was not of long duration, for soon after Florentino’s house fell down upon him and killed him. When Benedict heard of his death, he was exceedingly troubled, not because he died during his wicked courses, but because he had, he said, lost an enemy, who, if he had lived, would have increased his merits much. After this great loss, Benedict was informed, that Apollo still had a temple on the mountain of Callino, and was worshipped in it with sacrifices; he accordingly mustered together some of his brethren, and went and pulled it down to the ground, set fire to all the groves that surrounded it, and having built a monastery on the same spot, he converted the whole country round to christianity.
The Devil, as may easily be supposed, got very angry with Benedict for having deprived him of that mountain, called out Benedict, Benedict, for the purpose of speaking to him, but Benedict, it appears, did not vouchsafe to answer him; in consequence of which, the Devil left him, ejaculating, as he fled away, Maledict, Maledict, what hast thou to do with me? Why do you persecute me so much? And, in the height of his diabolical passion and despair, threw down a wall that was building, which unfortunately fell upon a boy and killed him; but Benedict, to be revenged of the Devil, soon brought him to life again. Brother Plaudo had been drowned, if brother Mauro had not been sent by Benedict to draw him out of the water. There was a great fuss made to know who was the author of that miracle; Benedict conferring the merit on Mauro, and Mauro, equally courteous and condescending, attributing it to Benedict.
The order styled the Benedictine, was not only the oldest but the richest in the Roman church. The costume was black, in compliment, no doubt, to the Raven, who had the honour of being Benedict’s first brother; and the leather belt which they wore, was believed to possess so much virtue, that it was kissed kneeling by all who visited them, if they wished to be well received.
The second order of monks, and which, similar to the others, arose out of the relaxations of the Benedictines, was that of Cluny in France, instituted about the year 900, by Abbot Odo.
This order differed very little from the Benedictine. When Odo was a boy he was much delighted with Virgil: “he was cured of that dangerous appetite by a vessel, which was very curious, being shewn to him, but which was within full of deadly serpents; and lest Odo should, by his great fondness for Virgil, have been hindered from applying that vision right, the application was made by a voice from Heaven; and which Odo having heard, he flung away his Virgil and all his serpents with it. And having been after that much devoted to St. Martin, though he met with no serpents in his way, as he went by night to St. Martin’s church to pray to him, he met with herds of foxes, which so pestered him, that he scarcely knew what to do; this plague continued until a kind wolf came, and did offer Odo his assistance, and of which Odo having accepted, that wolf, when he travelled, was such a guard to him, and when he was within doors such a porter, that the foxes never molested him any more.”
The third order of monks in the Roman church was the Camalduman in Italy, instituted by Romualdus about the year 970. He was born at Ravenna, and had been sentenced to live 40 days in a monastery, for having been concerned in a duel, in which his father, who was a duke, had killed his adversary; and it was from this circumstance that he was miraculously converted into a monk, an honour which he had previously frequently refused, at the solicitation of a brother of the order with whom he had contracted an acquaintance. The monk at length asked whether he would consent to be one of them, if St. Apolonar appeared to him, to which he replied he would. It was therefore contrived that St. Apolonar, or his representative, should actually appear; and in order to receive this visit, his friend, the monk and himself, spent the night in prayer before an altar. Just as the cock crowed, St. Apolonar emerged from under the identical altar, where, no doubt, his proxy had previously been concealed, “clothed with light and having a golden censor in his hand: he went about in his pontificalibus, and incensed all the altars in the church, and after he had done that, went back by the same way that he came. And though it is not said that Apolonar did speak a word to Romualdus of turning monk, he did nevertheless, upon that vision, take the habit upon him; and not having learnt to read and sing his psalter, he was taught it by a monk whose name was Marinus, and who switched him so severely on the left-side of his head, that his left ear lost its hearing; and which was borne with that cheerfulness, that he spoke to Marinus to switch him on the other side of the head, when he deserved to be corrected.”
Never was monk so kicked and cuffed about, persecuted and tormented by the Devil, as poor Romualdus. At first the Devil knocked such a dust at the door of his cell whenever he went to bed, that he could not get a wink of sleep for the noise. Being at length so much exhausted for want of a nap, he began, notwithstanding the horrid noise, to snooze a little, when the Devil turned himself into some heavy body and laid so heavy upon his thighs and legs, that he severely bruised them, and broke some of the bones. And though monk Romualdus often made his tormentor slink out of his cell, ashamed of his evil doings, he would, nevertheless, not cease to molest him. So frequently, in fact, was he visited by Armadeus, and so numerous were their conflicts, that a brother monk could not approach the cell of Romualdus without being mistaken for the Devil by him: and believing this to be the case, he would cry out as loud as his lungs would permit—“Accursed, what would’st thou have? Bold dog, I forbid thee to come here; thou poisonous serpent, that was thrown down from Heaven, I do forbid thee!” These were the weapons with which this miraculously converted monk had always ready to meet the Devil whenever he made his appearance. One evening, however, as he was muttering over his Completus, a whole squadron of Devils rushed in upon him, knocked him down, kicked him for falling, and inflicted several very severe wounds upon his precious body; and although he was weary and faint with loss of blood, he continued saying all the while his Completus till he completed, when by a short prayer he dispersed the whole battalion.