St. Consortia, in her youth, was passionately courted by a young man of a very powerful family, though she had formed a design of taking the veil. Knowing that a refusal would expose her parents to many inconveniences, and perhaps to danger, she desired a week’s time to determine her choice. At the expiration of this time, which she had employed in devout exercises, her lover, accompanied by the most distinguished matrons of the city, came to know her answer. “I can neither accept of you nor refuse you,” said she, “every thing is in the hand of God: but if you will agree to it, let us go to the church, and have a mass said; afterwards, let us lay the holy gospel on the altar, and say a joint prayer; then we will open the book, to be certainly informed of the divine will in this affair.” This proposal could not with propriety be refused; and the first verse which met the eyes of both, was the following: “Whosoever loveth father or mother better than me, is not worthy of me.” Upon this, Consortia said, “You see God claims me as his own;” and the lover acquiesced.
But about the eighth century, this practice began to lose ground, as soon or late, reason and authority will get the better of that which is founded on neither. It was proscribed by several popes and councils, and in terms which rank it among Pagan superstitions. However, some traces of this custom are found for several ages after, both in the Greek and the Latin church. Upon the consecration of a bishop, after laying the bible upon his head, a ceremony still subsisted, that the first verse which offered itself, was accounted an omen of his future behaviour, and of the good or evil which was reserved for him in the course of his episcopacy. Thus, a Bishop of Rochester, at his consecration by Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, had a very happy presage in these words: “Bring hither the best robe, and put it on him.” But the answer of the Scripture, at the consecration of St. Lietbert, Bishop of Cambray, was still more grateful: “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.” The death of Albert, Bishop of Liege, is said to have been intimated to him by these words, which the Archbishop, who consecrated him, found at the opening of the New Testament, “And the king sent an executioner, and commanded his head to be brought; and he went and beheaded him in the prison.” Upon this the primate tenderly embracing the new bishop, said to him with tears, “My son, having given yourself up to the service of God, carry yourself righteously and devoutly, and prepare yourself for the trial of martyrdom.” The Bishop was afterwards murdered by the treacherous connivance of the Emperor Henry VI.
These prognostics were alleged upon the most important occasions. De Garlande, Bishop of Orleans, became so odious to his clergy, that they sent a complaint against him to Pope Alexander III. concluding in this manner: “Let your apostolical hands put on strength to strip naked the iniquity of this man; that the curse prognosticated on the day of his consecration, may overtake him; for the gospels being opened, according to custom, the first words were, And the young man, leaving his linen cloth, fled from them naked.”
William of Malmsbury relates, that Hugh de Montaigne, Bishop of Auxerre, was obliged to go to Rome, to answer different charges brought against the purity of his morals, by some of his chapter; but they who held with the bishop, as an irrefragable proof of his spotless chastity, insisted that the prognostic on the day of his consecration was, “Hail, Mary, full of grace.”
I proceed to the second manner of this consultation, which was to go into a church with the intention of receiving, as a declaration of the will of Heaven, any words of the Scripture which might chance to be sung or read, at the moment of the person’s entrance. Thus, it is said, St. Anthony, to put an end to his irresolution about retirement, went to a church, where immediately hearing the deacon pronounce these words, “Go sell all thou hast, and give it to the poor, then come and follow me;” he applied them to himself, as a direct injunction from God, and withdrew to that solitude for which he is so celebrated among the Catholics.
The following passage from Gregory of Tours, is too remarkable to be omitted. He relates that Clovis, the first Christian king of France, marching against Alaric, King of the Visgoths, and being near the city of Tours, where the body of St. Martin was deposited, he sent some of his nobles, with presents to be offered at the saint’s tomb, to see if they could not bring him a promising augury, while he himself uttered this prayer “Lord, if thou wouldest have me punish this impious people, the savage enemy of thy holy name, give me some signal token, by which I may be assured that such is thy will.” Accordingly, his messengers had no sooner set foot within the cathedral, than they heard the priest chaunt forth this verse of the eighteenth Psalm, “Thou hast girded me with strength for war, thou hast subdued under me those that rose up against me.” Transported at these words, after laying the presents at the tomb of the saint, they hastened to the King with this favourable prognostic; Clovis joyfully accepted it, and engaging Alaric, gained a complete victory.
Here also may be subjoined a passage in the history of St. Louis IX. In the first emotions of his clemency, he had granted a pardon to a criminal under sentence of death; but some minutes after, happening to alight upon this verse of the Psalms, “Blessed is he that doth righteousness at all times;” he recalled his pardon, saying, “The King who has power to punish a crime, and does not do it, is, in the sight of God, no less guilty than if he had committed it himself.”
The Sortes Sanctorum were fulminated against by various councils. The council of Varres “forbade all ecclesiastics, under pain of excommunication, to perform that kind of divination, or to pry into futurity, by looking into any book, or writing, whatsoever.” The council of Ayde, in 506, expressed itself to the same effect; as did those of Orleans, in 511; and Auxerre, in 595. It appears, however, to have continued very common, at least in England, so late as the twelfth century: the council of Aenham, which met there in 1110, condemned jointly, sorcerers, witches, diviners, such as occasioned death by magical operations, and who practised fortune-telling by the holy book-lots.
Peter de Blois, who wrote at the close of the twelfth century, places among the sorcerers, those who, under the veil of religion, promised, by certain superstitious practices, such as the lots of the Apostles and Prophets, to discover hidden and future events: yet this same Peter de Blois, one of the most learned and pious men of his age, in a letter to Reginald, whose election to the see of Bath had a long time been violently opposed, tells him, that he hopes he has overcome all difficulties; and further, that he believes he is, or soon will be, established in his diocese. “This belief,” says he, “I ground on a dream I lately had two nights successively, of being at your consecration; and also, that being desirous of knowing its certain meaning, by lots of human curiosity, and the Psalter, the first which occurred to me were, ‘Moses and Aaron among his priests.’”
Thus, though the ancient fathers, and, since them, others have in general agreed, that the Sortes Sanctorum cannot be cleared of superstition, though they assert that it was tempting God, to expect that he would inform us of futurity, and reveal to us the secrets of his will, whenever the sacred book is opened for such a purpose, though it contain nothing which looks like a promise of that kind from God; though so far from being warranted by any ecclesiastical law, it has been condemned by several, and, at last, in more enlightened times, has been altogether abolished, yet they do not deny, that there have been occasions, when discreet and pious persons have opened the sacred book, not to discover futurity, but to meet with some passage to support them in times of distress and persecution.