Dositheus was page to an officer in the army, who was warmly attached to him, and regarded him almost as a son. He grew up among soldiers, without the least knowledge of the truths of religion. One day he heard a conversation turn on Jerusalem, which was called the Holy City, and he was filled with curiosity to see it, and know why it was regarded as sacred. As a friend of his master's was about to visit Jerusalem, he asked permission to accompany him, and his request was readily granted. On his arrival at Jerusalem, Dositheus went to Gethsemane, and saw there a painting which represented the lost in the flames of hell. This picture produced a most powerful impression upon him, and he stood long before it, wondering what it meant. A lady who was present, seeing the astonishment of the boy, explained to him about the judgment and hell, truths he had not heard before. When he asked her how the terrible place could be escaped, she replied, by fasting and prayer. The instruction of the lady made upon the youth so deep an impression that he at once began to abstain from meat, and pray as best he could. His companions, astonished at the change, said, laughing, that he was going to become a monk. But he had not heard of monks before, and when he ascertained what monks were, he resolved to seek the nearest monastery. He accordingly went to that governed by S. Serides, who was at first disposed to reject him, on account of his rich dress, youth, and delicate complexion; but, at last, overcome by the boy's earnestness, he committed him to S. Dorotheus, as a disciple. Dorotheus saw that the youth was not of sufficiently robust temperament to stand austerities, he, therefore, laboured to correct his self-will, and discipline his hitherto ungoverned tongue. "Well, Dositheus," said the master to him, soon after his admission, "How much hast thou eaten to-day?" "A loaf and a half," answered the boy;—this was equivalent to about five pounds. "That is pretty well," said Dorotheus, smiling. "Try, my son, to be a little more moderate tomorrow." And then, when the lad had taken somewhat less, "How farest thou to-day?" asked the master. "Well, my father." "Then learn to eat sufficient to satisfy thy need, but never devour food in excess of what is necessary." He made the youth serve the hospital. Dositheus was so cheerful, that the sick therein loved his presence. Sometimes he lost patience, and when a sick man provoked him he gave way to temper and bad words. Then, filled with compunction, he ran to his cell, and fell, crying, on the floor, and would not be comforted till his master came to assure him that God would on his repentance pardon the little outbreak. One day, Dorotheus heard the lad talking noisily in the infirmary, so he called him, and said, "Go, my son, and bring a bottle of wine." Thereupon the lad obeyed, and presented the flask to his master. "Oh, Dositheus," said his superior, "the bottle is for thee, not for me. It is the way of the rollicking Goths to drink and shout. I heard thy clamouring, and I thought the bottle of wine was all that was wanted to make a complete Goth of thee." Dorotheus was watchful to check every feeling of vanity and self-will in his young pupil, and for this purpose he sometimes assumed a harshness of manner, which ill-accorded with his natural gentleness. "There, father," said Dositheus one day, "See how neatly I have made the infirmary beds." "Humph!" answered Dorotheus; "thou art an excellent bed-maker, no doubt, but not much of a monk." The steward one day gave Dositheus a knife, which he showed with much elation to his master. "Let me see it," said Dorotheus. And when the youth had put it into his hand, the old monk turned it and studied it. "It will serve me admirably for cutting up my cakes," said Dositheus. "Art thou very much delighted with it, my son?" asked the master. "Indeed, I am, father," was the reply. "Then, my son," said Dorotheus, "give the knife to the other brethren; let them use it, and do thou never touch it again." Dositheus obeyed without a murmur. Dorotheus obliged him diligently to study the Holy Scriptures. Sometimes the youth came to a passage he could not understand, and he sought his master to have it explained. One day, to prove his humility, he said, roughly, "I cannot attend to thee, go to the abbot." Now, he had before advised the Abbot Serides what he should do. So the novice came to him with the book, and said, "My father, explain to me this passage." Then the abbot boxed his ears, and sent him away, saying, "I have other matters to attend to than to teach an ignorant fellow like thee." Then Dositheus went patiently back to his cell, and God illumined his understanding in the reading of the Scriptures. Now, after five years, the lay brother began to spit blood, and exhibit marks of consumption. He had heard it reported that raw eggs would cure this complaint, and the idea haunted him. However, he schooled himself till he was quite able to feel that if they were denied him he would cheerfully submit without a contrary wish. Then he said to Dorotheus, "Dear master, I have heard that raw eggs will stop the blood, but, I pray thee, forbid me to try this remedy." "Well, my son," answered Dorotheus, "thou shalt not prove the efficacy of eggs, but of every other remedy." Accordingly, everything was done for the young novice that could be devised, but he became rapidly worse. Now, when he was ill, Dorotheus said to him, "Dositheus, be instant in prayer, lose not hold of that." He replied, "Master, it is well, pray for me." And when he became greatly exhausted, Dorotheus asked him, "Well, Dositheus, how farest thou in prayer?" "Oh, pardon me, master, I cannot continue." "Then," said the monk, "give it up, my son, but keep God in thy mind as though He were present beside thee." And, after some days, he said to the old man, "Send me away, I care no more." Then Dorotheus answered, "Patience a while, my son. The mercy of God is not far off." And again, after some days, he said, "I can bear no more." Then the old man said to him, "Go in peace, and stand before the Holy Trinity, and pray for us."
Now, some of the monks murmured that Dorotheus should have thus promised heaven, and asked the intercession of one who had never done anything in the way of fasting, and had wrought no miracles. Then Dorotheus said, "He fasted not, but he never gave way to his self-will."
And after some days, there was an old monk taken into the hospital, who prayed to God to show him all the holy fathers of that house who had served Him, and had entered into their rest. And he saw in vision a goodly choir of aged saints, and amongst them was a young lay brother, with hair on which the snows of age had not fallen, and a hectic colour in his cheek. Now the old man told his vision to the brethren, and when he described the novice, the monks knew that it was Dositheus, touching whose sanctity they had doubted.
S. EARCONGOTHA, V. ABSS.
(END OF 7TH CENT.)
[Benedictine Martyrology. Authority:—Bede, lib. iii., c. 8.]
Earcongotha, great granddaughter of the first Christian king of the Anglo-Saxons, and daughter of Ercombert, King of Kent, was a nun in the French community of Faremoutier, where so many of the English princesses were trained. She was, says Bede, a virgin of great virtue, worthy in everything of her illustrious origin, and was elevated to become Abbess. Being warned of her approaching end, she went from cell to cell in the infirmary of the monastery, asking for the prayers of her sick nuns. She died during the following night, at the first glimpse of dawn. At the same hour the monks, who occupied another part of the double monastery, heard a sound like the noise of a multitude, who, to the sound of heavenly music, invaded the monastery. When they went out to see what it was, they found themselves in a flood of miraculous light, in the midst of which the soul of the foreign princess ascended to heaven.
S. MILBURGH, V. ABSS.
(7TH CENT.)
[Milburgh or Milburga is inscribed in the Roman Martyrology, and in that bearing the name of Bede. Authority:—William of Malmesbury and Capgrave.]
Perhaps no higher commendation can be passed upon Domneva, the saintly wife of Merewald, than this, that she was the mother of three eminent saints, Milburgh, Mildred, and Mildgytha. S. Milburgh was the eldest, if the names are mentioned according to the order of birth, and this being most probably the case, the date of her birth would be about the year of grace, 662. We are told that from her earliest years she dedicated herself to God with all the ardour of her soul. Whatever she did, she did it for the love of Christ alone, endeavouring always to please Him, and to grow up in His holy service. The world, which would have many attractions to a highborn maiden, she thoroughly despised, and even life itself she counted as nothing, unless it were spent in entire devotion to God. That she might live such a life with greater freedom, and in holy companionship with others, moved by the same heavenly desire, she founded a monastery for religious virgins at Wenlock, in Shropshire. Wenlock Magna it was afterwards called, and Much Wenlock at the present day. Her father, and her uncle Wulfhere, king of Mercia, assisted her in this pious undertaking, and the monastery was endowed with ample possessions, many precious relicts of saints, and great privileges. Milburgh was consecrated abbess by Archbishop Theodore, and under her gentle rule the monastery became like a paradise in which Our Lord had planted the fairest flowers, and the sweetest fruits; and among them all S. Milburgh was pre-eminent in every virtue, and more especialty did the grace of humility shine forth in her. But the more she humbled herself, so much the more did God manifest His power in her by many gifts, enabling her to restore sight to the blind, and life to the dead. Her exhortations, full of heavenly unction, and the teaching of her saintly life, had a marvellous effect in bringing many souls from the darkness of error to the light of truth; and from the death of sin to a life of righteousness. Among the many wonderful things related of her, we read, that one day she went on some good errand to a village called Stoke, (Stoke S. Milburgh), when she was seen by the son of some neighbouring king, who wished to carry her off by force, that he might marry her. He got together a few soldiers, and formed a plan for intercepting her; but she, divinely admonished of the wicked scheme, fled at once with a companion she had with her. On her way she crossed a shallow stream called the Corve. As soon as the rash man heard of her flight, he followed in great haste, but when he came to the stream, the water suddenly rose, and rendered further pursuit impossible; so Christ's lamb escaped, while he stood still, confounded and amazed.