Chapter One: Here begins the letter of Reginald, monk of Durham, addressed to Lord Æthelred, Abbot of the church of Rievaulx #

¹ To the most devout Lord and Father Æthelred, royal steward of the house of the Lord, his son Reginald sends that which is greater than all things — that which is, beyond all essence, the Highest. To your goodness we owe the service of reverence; to our Lord, the duty of devotion; to your fatherhood, the constant intercourse of love and ready obedience. For love and obedience ought to be so bound to one another by the zeal of constant practice that obedient love and loving obedience may be regularly exchanged; the one must draw its increase from the other, so that what cannot hang upon the will of a single power may be brought about by their mutual commerce. We owe you our love, then, because we see you in all things suffering with us, counselling us and coming to our aid with a father’s heart; and we must gladly and honourably repay the duty of our devotion, because we have known you to provide for, preside over and attend to every concern of our souls. You suffer with us from the abundance of your inmost compassion; you counsel us with a mother’s foresight and discernment; you come to our aid by the urgency of your unceasing prayer. For provident prayer has pity on the afflicted by suffering with them; compassion that suffers with them heals the desolate by provident prayer; and by prayer that suffers with them in mercy the troubled in spirit are provided for and helped. Your providence renders its service with discernment; your authority holds its power without any lifting up of anger; your purpose guides the direction of your power under the scrutiny of compassion. Loving indeed is the rule of your fatherhood, and most loving the kindness of your fatherly rule. So we owe you more than we can ever strive to pay; we owe more debts of service than we can ever render in the duties of our servitude. For the claims of your sweetness exceed the bounds of our ability. The abundance of your sweetness is indeed the training-school of our refuge. How often we have tasted, from the comb of your measured eloquence, the honey of a heavenly and incomprehensible wisdom! How many times we have sucked the milk of refreshment and consolation from the breasts of your motherly compassion! From the three fingers of your lovingly ruling fatherhood hangs the bucket of discernment; in the senses of your discerning judgement, the scales of a watchful appraisal of all hearts; in the affections of your clearest contemplation abides the balance of a most practised scrutiny of each man’s merits. The bucket of discernment knows how to measure the fluid elements of hearts by gathering them into one; the scales of appraisal know how to look, with a sculptor’s art, the masses of men’s thoughts and the sparkling desires of their deeds; the balance of contemplative scrutiny knows how to test, with provident governance, the rewards or the hazards of every movement and every merit. Yet we do not shrink from being examined by such virtue as yours, for we choose rather the furnace that purges gold than approve the lead-devouring ashes of sand. In the flame-breathing furnace gold is most finely assayed and shines bright; whereas in the tiniest crannies of the sands a quantity of minute lead is often hidden and does not appear. Since, then, we know you to be marked by all these gifts, we would rather be instructed by your examination than softened by the deceitful favours of flattering deceivers. For if there is anything that exceeds the measure of due order, the providence of your dispensation will temper it; if anything superfluous that might trouble the judgement of your diligence, we would have all of it held under your notice. Devotion, then, by holy desire alone has made our purpose strong — to dare, in the longing of a burning zeal, what could not be set forth with the crafted eloquence of learned discipline. For the greatness of my ardour declared that the fulfilment of its purpose would be most easy, although the knowledge of my own ignorance knew it, by the measure of impossibility, to be most hard. And we began this work in the longing of such a purpose, though we hold no knowledge of the artful discipline of eloquence. Indeed, for the reverence of blessed Cuthbert the ardour of holy desire drove me on, and my soul chose rather to render him the lowly service of a debt owed than to keep silent the mystery of his well-known glory. The richness of the subject, then, gives confidence to the mind it instructs; but my untaught tongue blushes shyly as it shrinks from the hearing of all. Yet in blessed Cuthbert we have cast the anchor of our faith, and by the glory of his power we strengthen the confidence of our wavering hope. Already we have launched the boat of our unlearned zeal upon the sea of the holy Confessor’s wonders; but with him as pilot we shall reach the harbour of our longed-for desire. It is better that an untaught tongue should tell the glory of blessed Cuthbert with whatever want of skill it can, than that a learned eloquence should wait and keep utterly silent; since the strength of weakness, with his help, may sometimes stand instructed. Yet we ask that if this work should fall into the hands of some most learned man, he will not at once condemn it by gnawing at it, but, for the reverence of blessed Cuthbert, will remember to renew it by correcting it after his own manner and otherwise; yet let him not destroy our work by overturning it. We, indeed, have chosen rather to bring forth the mighty works of blessed Cuthbert with a stammering tongue than, in the sluggish torpor of the heart, to suppress with silent lips the things we know to be true. And we would rather serve him as a lowly slave than let all these good things pass by beneath the shelter of a finer covering. For to the unlearned and the rustic these untaught utterances may bring some help and give birth to remedies of some usefulness. Let the learned imbue their minds from the fount of perfect wisdom, and not trample the devices of our poverty beneath the feet of pride; and whoever reads these things, let him know that they were written not to please him, but for whoever might find in them the fruit of some profit. For we do not presume to teach the learned; we have chosen to instruct the poor and to form the weak for the profit of goodness. And so we seek to gain for ourselves a reward from the virtue of blessed Cuthbert, whose power and glory we gladly long to describe in this our pursuit.

Chapter Two: Here begins the proemium to the following little book on the powers and miracles of the glorious Bishop Cuthbert, which we have seen done and know to have been done in our own times #

¹ We have very often heard the miracles of the holy Fathers, we have magnified their works of power, and we have sung the glory of praise to the Lord in their honour. All their works are indeed worthy of renown, since every one of them was done in the power of God and in the glory of His name. Yet in none of the things we read of others do we find any work of miracle that exceeds the mighty works of blessed Cuthbert’s power. He, indeed, is the equal of them all in the glory of blessedness, he who in nothing is unlike the might of all their wondrous powers. And we see that to him alone was given by a special grace what we learn was never granted to any Saint of old. For the moth of decay has never yet dared to harm the flesh of his holiness; the rust of corruption does not infect the dwelling-place of that sacred guest; the locust of ash has not touched the deposit of his tomb; nor has the canker-worm of death stiffened the bending of his sacred limbs. Indeed, in the whole frame of his body the bond is most solid yet flexible — which to mortals is not the sign of a perishing death but the proof one who draws the breath of life. Other Saints, while they remain the flesh, grow stiff in all their members as the body cools and the pallor of corruption prevails; their veins and sinews pale and wither. And it is no easier to bend their bodies, though incorrupt, than to try to twist by moving the roughness of an ageing beam. For they feel the debt of death; and so, with the ravages of death embittering them, the limbs of their wasting bodies grow stiff. They bend no joint, because they harden with the harshness of rigour. But blessed Cuthbert alone is enriched with the privilege of this gift by heavenly bounty, and endowed, as a pledge of eternal reward, with the gift of such glory. For he presents, in a manner, the image of a living man, since, after the fashion of a returning movement, he folds together by bending, and makes firm by folding again, all the turnings of his limbs, by a kind of super-heavenly and mysterious kind of miracle. This is the special glory of blessed Cuthbert, which is beyond compare with the virtues of many Saints. Of how great a holiness, then, does he give proof to all, who before so many obtains the privilege of so great an honour! He therefore exceeds the merits of many Saints, who is mighty in so singular a glory of holiness. It belongs, then, to his power alone to work many and unaccustomed miracles, whose particular glory consists in a special excellence of honour, dignity and faculty: honour, in flesh that can be touched yet cannot rot; dignity, in the bending mobility of all his members, never to be loosed; faculty, in a virtue whose constancy, unchanging in all these things, endures forever in the glory of eternal felicity. But because we have seen and learned of many and inexplicable prodigies of power worked through him, we have thought it fitting, for the debt of his honour, to commend them in writing to the memory of posterity. In this work of zeal, moreover, the Lord Æthelred, Abbot of Rievaulx, strengthened the boldness of our fear — he who has often related to us certain miracles in praise of blessed Cuthbert, the frequent remembrance of which stirred the sloth of our torpor to undertake the work that follows. We do not doubt, then, that the miracles we learned from his mouth are true by his own authentic holiness. He could not be a speaker of falsehood, whose perfect work displays the pattern and form of piety, the glory of holiness, and the mercy of a religious life. These miracles we have placed first in their own order; yet some of them we have placed separately in fitting places. But since, besides these, we have learned of many others truly done by him, we have thought it right to annex or subjoin these same to those. Yet we have inserted each in fitting places just as we reckoned the yearly succession of events to have run their course. Certain things, too, the urgency of necessity urged us to insert as we were able to draw them out by learning from others. Yet in all these we call blessed Cuthbert to witness that we have presumed to describe nothing here except what we have proved was truly done by him, though at different times. For blessed Cuthbert needs no testimony of composed falsehood, he who shines forth to all by the example of the highest truth. So we have wished to commend nothing to writing except what we know was truly worked by him; nor would we condemn ourselves by testimony of falsehood, lest we should perish accordingly, with the avenger of truth presiding in judgement. Some things, then, we have ourselves seen and saw with our own eyes; others we have learned from others, in which we know these things were done; some we have gathered from truthful and approved men who saw them; but a few, for which we had no testimony of perfect truth from anyone, we judged should be rejected. Yet there were many things which could not all be described, since by their length they might breed weariness in the reader and produce little or no profit. Many of these we have omitted, and we have gathered into one those which were more pleasing and approved. At the end of each miracle, too, we have added by whom we learned it, and in what places these things were done, appending them either in the middle of the miracle or at its end. For we wished in each case to be supported by the strengthening testimony of others, lest under the livid mouth of a detractor we might justly be accused in anything for our carelessness. Whoever, therefore, presumes to sully these things with his censure, or conceives an unbelieving doubt about any of them — he, shrinking in distaste from professing the truth of blessed Cuthbert’s efficacious power, will be marked with the brand of presumptuous rashness, and, by the permission of the Lord Jesus Christ, will be proved to have introduced a doubting hesitation. But we have thought it profitable to publish all these things to the reverence of his honour before all others, knowing for certain that we cannot be deprived by him of the reward of holy desire. He, too, shall be judged unhappy by whomever the work of blessed Cuthbert’s power is trampled down for our humility’s sake or out of spite towards us. For with the mouth of truth we preach the glory of blessed Cuthbert, and seek no glory of our own praise or honour from these things — let the cautery cut it off with its purging. Whatever insufficient ignorance shall have left unripe or omitted, the dignity of your goodness will supply by completing it. For concerning blessed Cuthbert we have now completed, with his help, a new work — a sign, indeed, of no rare novelty — whose first fruits of first examination we have consecrated to you as our most holy Father. We have thought it worthy to send you the first beginnings of that first vision, by whose doctrines we were able to draw out the first-fruits and the first utterances of that earliest beginning and proem. For since we have often heard you weaving discourses about the wondrous holiness of blessed Cuthbert, we have heard certain things from the savoury eloquence and truthful authority of your mouth, strengthened by the testimony of truth, from which we have nourished a faithful certainty and a most firm fortitude of constancy. For the venerable Bishop Cuthbert, a magnificent worker of wonders, exercises the power of his might in the manifold privileges of wondrous works, and reveals the glory of his holiness by many signs of miracles. Of their innumerable multitude we know you have often related some which, on turning over the histories of the Church of Durham, we have proved were left unwritten only through the fault of negligence. From which we do not, through excessive rashness, accuse the earlier Fathers of careless indolence, since we judge that for them, from the miracles of his power, certain most approved things sufficed. It was wearisome for them to describe everything, since the human tongue can scarcely explain certain minute details of the greatest things. And they believed it sufficient, for the testimony of the truth they asserted, what they saw worked daily by him in ever-new increase. For daily he ceases not to work new things, whose infinite multitude admits no reckoning of number. And it was superfluous to wish to insert in writings what the insufficiency of the page could not contain. But we, who in modern times have seen his mighty works, cannot hold them in silence. From many we cull a few; for in crossing the field of a flowering meadow we have gathered into one a little sheaf of fragrant flowers. For no one can recount everything, nor express each single detail of many in sequence. Yet we drew out the material substance from our words at the beginning; so we have thought that what follows, which we have proved was truly done, should be added below. For the miracles which you judged should be shared with us, brought forth from your forebears, both gave us the first spark of fervour for undertaking this work and set us an example of undespairing belief from our devotion. For whatever flows from your mouth in truth pours into all its hearers the sweetness of hidden things alone. So, drawing the first tastes of the spiritual cup from the stream of the fount of wisdom, the more we have turned them over with ourselves by ruminating, the sweeter we have known them to taste upon the palate of the discerning heart. There has clung to the mind, then, settled in our desire, crept into our thought, some device of savour, some seasoning of sweetness, some support of warmth to compose from these things, and to include much within the compass of brevity. Nor has any more illustrious matter or more polished form shone forth than that which proceeded from the origin of truth and the seed of blessedness — the power of blessed Cuthbert’s virtue and the glory of his miracles. At last, for describing the miracles of blessed Cuthbert, we have cut the parchment, trimmed the pens, and fitted together the diligence of our tender zeal. And the miracles which we learned first from you we have taken care to describe at the beginning of the work itself, for the reverence of your honour. Those which were done first we have joined together in one series; but those worked afterwards we have collected separately, and thought to place them below in their order. Some which we know truly happened we have set in their place and order. From many, indeed, we have culled a few which we judged more worthy of being told; and from the copious multitude we have made the burden of a chosen sheaf somewhat lighter. Of all these we have made a compact little book, which we send to you to run through, and have reserved wholly for your examination. It will then be for your providence to polish by altering things less decently said, to supply by replacing what is deficient or omitted, to cut away by deleting what is superstitious or empty, and to weigh each thing with the measure of fair discernment. What pleases you, make more certain by bearing witness to the truth; what does not sit well in your good pleasure, correct by levelling it with the moderate balance of equity. For your testimony is the pattern of most approved authority; the correction of your counsel is the most constant winnowing of the highest truth. Yet such efficacy of work would properly belong to your holiness, and such a prerogative of virtue should not be owed to youthful presumption. For with a more mature pen you might bring forth works of sanctification, you who can already find in yourself the grey hairs of a mature holiness. But because many works of anxious care, as you have often said, stir you with disquiet, and manifold concern disquiets the peaceful leisure of study — do not be indignant, I beg, if your son relieves the shoulders of his father’s sweat, and the work of sweat and the burden of heat, transferred to your son’s support, gives rest to your old age. For this is why the hope offspring is sought, that the mercy of a father’s old age may be eased by the unbought devotion of a son’s glory.

Chapter Three: The writer’s apology, set before the following work in his own defence, lest the reader disparage the writer when he can find no polished words in it #

¹ A diligent preacher of the word of God must be a zealous examiner of much inquiry — diligent, that he may carefully seek out the things that are true; zealous, lest anything veiled under the appearance of truth should creep in. These two things we have thought necessary for ourselves, so that we might temper and smooth the providence of the one by the discipline of the other’s sagacity: namely, the duty of obedience and the zeal of investigating what things are true. It is fitting to serve dutifully through works, and to examine zealously by inquiry through the faculties of practice. The dutiful work, then, renders the ministry of devoted service; but the zealous faculty intends, by solicitous inquiry, to seek out the mystery of most proven truth. Let us therefore most dutifully show the work of our ministry to blessed Cuthbert, and labour with the faculty of our zeal for the most loving Confessor. For indeed we could accomplish nothing for love of him that could pass by without profit for us. We undertake, then, the duty of preaching; but, that our ministry to him may be dutiful, we inquire into that alone which is subject to truth. And we have resolved to exercise a laborious zeal, yet to labour for him with ready wit in the devoted homage of our ministry. And if foolishness denies the strength of ministry, yet the devotion of a loving breast supplies the material substance of skill. We are not, however, of the number of the skilled, who acquire disciplined eloquence by a multitude of teachings; but rather of the common herd of the witless, who usurp for themselves a boldness of speech by rashness of words without any perceptible knowledge of the sciences. So our glory cannot lie in skilled eloquence, since no knowledge of any discipline has ever come within our notice; but the intent of a more ardent affection so constrains the mind that the heat of excessive warmth makes the desire of a holy purpose boil over. So it is that the tongue cannot restrain itself by easing the bridle of silence when the flame-breathing spark longs to belch forth. The unbridled tongue, then, is led on when the heart’s intent is set aflame by the desire of inner ardour. And so the proposal of desire is sharpened by the magnanimity of devotion where the unskilled ignorance of a faint-hearted discipline is found. This we know has happened to us in particular, who have learned that no discipline or skill of any art has until then blossomed around us. For we cannot profess any skill of art whatever, since of none of those inquiries …

Chapter Four: Here begins a sermon on the different kinds of the tabernacles of the Saints #

¹ How beloved and how diverse are the tabernacles of the Lord of powers is shown by the wondrous works of the Saints, whose glory is preached by the heavens that declare the glory of God, and whose works are revealed by the heavens that announce them. The Lord’s tabernacles are the consecrated dwelling-places of holy hearts, in which, as in tabernacles made by hands, God dwells as beneath a veil of veils, while He delights to dwell under the manifold variety of the virtues. For we find in Holy Scripture that there are four tabernacles: the tabernacle of solitude, where is the affliction of spirit, of soul, and of flesh — of spirit, through the desire of a more vehement fervour; of soul, through the delight of wickedness and the assent to wavering suggestion; of flesh, through the impulse of ardour and the heat of incitement. These three draw the mind downward by pressing it, because those who live in solitude under temptation faint with toil. Balaam, wondering at these tabernacles and turning his eyes towards the desert, said, “How beautiful are your tabernacles, O Jacob.” Balaam is also interpreted “vain people”. For those who pursue vain things in heart and work strive to admire the spiritual disciplines and the arduous purposes of the heaven-dwellers, but shrink from imitating their desire. So they preach by extolling the beauty of another, and commend the tabernacles of the virtues with the boastfulness of speech, yet do not resolve to imitate them by following the spark of good desire. They give Jacob the second name of “supplanter of vices”, yet slay themselves daily by defiling themselves with their own filth. And so they stir up others towards heavenly things — in word only, by instructing them in the boastfulness of favour — while they reserve themselves, by the condemnation of their own gross wickedness and luxury, for the eternal fires. Yet the Lord loves the gates of Sion above all the tabernacles of Jacob, because those who in hymns and the confession of divine praise can with a pure heart gaze upon the face of His majesty in contemplation approach more closely and more nearly to the knowledge of God than those who daily sweat in the uncertain struggle of wrestling against vices. Of the second tabernacle David says, “the tabernacles of the Edomites and the Ishmaelites”. By Edomites are understood carnal men, who savour only the things that are of the flesh and serve the motions of luxury after the slippery incitements of the flesh. To them are joined the confederate Ishmaelites, who are interpreted as “those obedient to themselves”. So their slippery ruin, and the easy misery of their fall, as is openly indicated; for the wantonness of the flesh is bent down by a readier consent to sin and by the prop of obedience. For luxury, while it supplies the tinder of ardour, and the sloth of the mind yields obedience to lust, breaks forth at once from the snare of concupiscence into the crime of wickedness, so that a man falls into the scandal of sin and the snare offence. For the madness of pleasure unnerves the flesh, and first the obedience of desire complies; soon there follows, from the wantonness of the flesh, the manifest ruin of sin. And what has long festered inwardly in filth suddenly wastes away under the outward insult of its dominion. For the poison which contaminates by creeping within does not suffer itself to lie hid, unless it also breaks out into manifest baseness without. The flesh, then, is polluted by the filth of luxury; but the soul, suffocated by the desire of pleasure, is compelled to serve the captivity of consenting wickedness. They are therefore called tabernacles of the impious, because, as far as possible, their crimes are hidden from human sight. But once the wheel of wickedness is wrapped in filth, it is ever more readily thrust back into the stained defilements of what follows. So it is well said through Job of such men, “scale is joined to scale, and no breath passes between them”. Scale is joined to scale when the stain of wickedness is more and more defiled by the corruption or filth of vileness; but no breath passes between them, because the door of confession is so blocked by the adding of sin to sin that no voice acknowledging sin is suffered to issue from the sinner’s mouth. The third tabernacle is that of conflict, in which is the wrestling of vices and of virtue in the world. Of the third tabernacle it is also said in the psalm: “I will give rest to my temples until I find a place for the Lord, a tabernacle for the God of Jacob”. We give rest to our temples when, strengthened by the hope of mercy, we spare ourselves amid the laments of sinners. For we tear away our temples from ourselves by plucking them out when, afflicted by the desolation of excessive grief, we tear the hairs from our head in the exceeding pain and anxiety of the confusion of sin, and in the grief of death. For we are confounded by the foul remembrance of the sin we have committed; we are worn down by grief because we cannot escape the guilt of an accusing conscience — a conscience whose burden of sin, even unwilling, we ever carry upon the back of expiation after the manner of a camel’s hump. The spirit of grief is troubled within us by wrath, while it is suffered to be revived by no grace of consolation in any kind of respite. We are left desolate and worn down by the grief of death: while on this side we weigh the crime of sin; on that side we see we cannot escape the dread of the terrible Judge; here the end of death hastening swiftly to destruction; there the horrid chaos of hell gaping open beneath and opening its yawning jaws to swallow us; and on yet another side the goads of a boring conscience swallowing up the powers of the soul in its sharpened whirlpool. We are a tabernacle, then, when under the shadow of the Holy Spirit we cool with quiet peace the heats of the flesh and the incitements of our desires, and are overshadowed in the shelter of His protection. We build this tabernacle for the God of Jacob when, by His grace, we supplant the vices in ourselves by cutting them off. Rightly, then, we did not buy this tabernacle at a price but found it freely given; because we can obtain it not by our own merit but by the free gift of God, that we may deserve to be made His tabernacle. For the merit of man is of God’s gift alone, not of human skill, industry or labour. Man’s labour indeed is vanity; his industry idleness; his skill a deceitful beauty and a superstitious boasting. Boasting seduces the heart by the favour of empty glory; idleness deludes the mind by the smoke of a concupiscence that fails into nothing; vanity smokes with an empty vapour and pollutes the thoughts of the heart by infecting them with the fume of a failing air; deceitful beauty pierces the eyes through sight, and inflames the wheel of human birth with the shadow of seduction. The wheel is deluded the more quickly the sooner it is seduced, since by its unstable mutability it is changed from one thing into another through accidents. For a thing of uncertain quality never or scarcely retains its appearance, since for the unstable mutability of its state it cannot wear the image of a fixed consideration. So the wheel of the human mind, so often changed, must needs be deluded by appearance and transformed by uncertainty as often as it assumes, by putting on, a new dissimilarity to its former dissonance and the inequality of a changed form. The fourth tabernacle Moses erected in the desert before the greater tabernacle, where, withdrawing further from the people, he pitched his tent; where the Lord descended in a column of cloud and the splendour of fire at the door of the tent; and while Moses spoke and asked, the Lord answered. But each of the Hebrews stood in the door of his pavilion and looked from afar after Moses’ back. This tabernacle is taken as that of the renunciation of the world, where the soul is shipwrecked from the captivity of the world. For Moses, whose name is interpreted “drawn from the water”, signifies the soul which by renouncing the world is freed from the world’s concupiscence. The tabernacle which he erects outside the camp is the intention of heavenly zeal, by which the soul binds itself to the things that are spiritual. The column of fire which descends to the door is the flame of divine charity, which raises their souls by the gift of heavenly grace to spiritual things; the cloud which covers it is the mercy of God, which guards the soul by protecting it; the door to which it descends is the goodness of faith, by whose loving-kindness the confidence of hope is nourished. Moses speaks and the Lord is said to answer, because, according to the loving vow of desire, He is proved to stoop to the soul’s wounds with a compassionate remedy. The Hebrews meanwhile look from the door of their pavilions after Moses’ back, because the faithful souls who resolve to pass over from worldly desires strive, by their endeavour, to imitate the examples of spiritual men and the footsteps of the virtues.

Chapter Five: On the fourfold distinction and power of the tabernacles #

¹ The first tabernacle, then, is that of the solitude of the desert; the second, of bodily concupiscence; the third, of affliction and the wrestling with vices; the fourth, of the renunciation of earthly desire. In the first we are pressed by the stings of temptation, yet do not succumb; in the second we are worn down by the heats of the body, but are brought low, seduced by our own impulses; in the third, afflicted with griefs, we are brought back through adversities alone, restored to the desire of salvation; in the fourth we renounce the desires and concupiscences of the world and hold ourselves back from the allurements of the age. In the first we trample down the luxury of the world and the appetite of fleeting desire; in the second we experience the heat of the body and are pierced, wounded by the allurements of pleasure; in the third we rise again through bitter things and are instructed by tribulations; in the fourth we pass over from lower things and, lifted above man, transcend human things. In the first we find the contempt of the world; in the second, the desire of sinful lapse; in the third, a refuge of breathing again; and in the fourth, an escape from vices and the profit of bringing forth virtue. The first serves for the instruction of the informing mind; the second for the experience and knowledge of temptation; the third for the schooling of exercise; and the fourth for the formation of the inner man. By these four tabernacles, therefore, we are taught to apprehend the going-out and the coming-in of virtue.

Chapter Six: Likewise on four other tabernacles to be acquired spiritually #

¹ There are also other tabernacles, which stand next to these by the imitation of the virtues. The first is that of Solomon, which is covered with skins. The second, that of the Virgin’s womb, in which Christ is known to have rested. The third, that of this corruption, in which we are released by the debt of death. The fourth, that for which we sigh in heaven. Solomon’s tabernacle is in this earth beneath skins, because He dwells with us in this mortality, in the poverty of our corruption and fragility, in His acts of mercy. For He covers us with a skin while He guards us by protecting us under the misery of our mortality. The tabernacle of the Virgin’s womb is that of which the Wisdom of God spoke: “And He who created me rested in my tabernacle”. For He who created her from nothing deigned to rest in the tabernacle of her chastity. It was truly a tabernacle of the Lord, because the grace of the Holy Spirit overshadowed her childbearing without any contagion of sin. The tabernacle of corruption is that under whose weight we groan, because we faint, despairing, in the misery of death. Weighed down by this mortality we daily sigh in affliction, because we can in no way be plucked out except by the debt of death, when we are led across from life by the judgement of sin. The tabernacle of eternal rest awaits us there, and prepares joys of unbroken felicity, where the soul hopes to attain not by its own merit but through the bounty of mercy, and delights in it with joyful longing.

Chapter Seven: How the four preceding tabernacles are friendly to one another under a hidden distinction, sharing in a confederation #

¹ These four tabernacles correspond with the former ones by degrees of virtue, by which their more imperfect and their inward natures may be discerned. For the tabernacles of mortality and of solitude agree with one another, because at the time of death all things return to the solitude of barrenness. Death swallows up from life, where the waste of the desert and solitude reduce all things to dust and ashes. Solitude, too, grows vast there, where, amid the horror of ash and dust, no neighbour is left at hand. For no friend is so near that he will render the office of fellowship to the stinking corruption in the tomb, or will wish — or for the stench be able — to look upon the remains of the dead. Let all the sweetness of beauty become a dunghill for worm and decay. So it is well said through Isaiah, “All hands shall be dissolved”. Hands are scattered by dissolution when every act of work and every affection of thought are dissolved into nothing — and not the hands of one only, but of all, because the retribution of merits will be equal and not dissimilar. It continues: “And every man shall be amazed at his neighbour”. Our neighbours are the affections of our heart, the acts of each vice, and the power of each crime of wickedness: the affection of delight, the act of impiety, the crime of iniquity, and the shameful deed of impure action. The affection of delight ensnares and casts down by darkening. The act of impiety condemns the man it has bound and adjudges him, enslaved, to the chains of the infernal prison. The crime of iniquity brings reproach and the insult of scorn. The shameful deed of impure work bears witness of perpetual condemnation. Every man at the going-out of death will be amazed at his neighbour, because the filth of luxury which delighted him in life proclaims that it must be joined to him at life’s going-out. Wrath, which now casts down the raging man, then summons him as a partner of indignation to the torments of fury and madness. Avarice, which now ensnares him with the cords of wretched cupidity, then attempts by the snares of sin to drag him down to the sewer of hell. That amazement, then, ceases not to tear the soul this way and that until, shaking it out in misery, it can hurl it, seized along with itself, into the pit. In like manner the other vices also meet it and compel it to hasten to the conventicles of their own damnation. Nor do they permit the wretched soul any way of escape, but block every approach utterly until, wrapped in the cords of sin, they lead it with them torments. We omit to pursue the rest singly and in detail, lest we breed weariness in the reader; yet he will be able, if he wishes, to weigh from these how he ought to discover the particulars of each by way of instruction.

Chapter Eight: Of the tabernacle of carnal concupiscence, and how by the subtlety of its nature it stands as adversary to the virginal dwelling of chastity #

¹ The tabernacle of carnal concupiscence and that of virginal chastity are so opposed to one another that they contradict each other in every kind of hostility. For in the tabernacle of carnal concupiscence is all the foulness of a life of filth and uncleanness, the pollution of every incontinence. In the tabernacle of virginal continence are the chastity of holiness, the modesty of purity, the righteousness of discipline. Carnal concupiscence rests delighted in the stench of luxury and the pollution of filth, and ever lurks under the covering of malice and wickedness in the shadow of despair. It seeks nothing else but, with the whorish concupiscences of the soul, to dissipate the substance of virtue and the wisdom of nature through the stench of luxury, that it may taste the sweetness of a little delight with a momentary itch of flavour. Nor does it delight to grasp anything else than to procure vicissitude by defilements of filth. Thus daily the goodness of nature is turned to loss, though it is never wholly brought down to nothing. For this is proper to lust, that the more it has grown accustomed to delights, the more it lusts after forbidden things. And, to include all things briefly in few words, through this corruption of death and rottenness of delight we incur that by which we all descend into the despair of death. Virginal chastity prepares a sanctuary for God; it lights up the dwelling of the mind with the fatness of virtue; it makes a man equal to the citizenship of angels; it imitates the form and image of the heavenly life; it passes beyond man as it advances; though it is in the flesh, it does not feel the vices of the flesh by any passion of desire; it joins itself to the fellowship of God; it wins for itself the grace of the Holy Spirit by frequent meditation in prayer. Of her was born the lily of the valleys, the well of living waters, the fount of gardens, the bundle of the living, the fulness of the virtues, the path of life for those who seek the ways — the flower and consummation of all perfections. So whatever the itch of corruption and delight brought in, the chastity of holy virginity has wiped away.

Chapter Nine: How the spirit and the appetite of the flesh contend; and where Scripture proves them by the rule of judgement and distinguishes between them #

¹ There is also another tabernacle in which the conflict of the spirit and the corruption of the carnal appetite decide their suit and clash with the animosity of contention. For the spirit strives towards its own higher things; it endeavours to overcome itself in the contest of conflict; it attempts more than properly belongs to its power or possibility. Yet there is nothing for which it suffices unless, with grace going before, it rise again. The appetite of the flesh ever presses down towards inward things; it wraps the soul in the bonds of desolation; it sets it afire by goading the desires of concupiscence. And unless the power of the divine mercy came to meet it in succour, it would most easily perish through the devious paths of the vices. The spirit, then, and the appetite ever fall to contrary sides, and conflict after the manner of adversaries. But the grace of God works in this alone, that neither should be overcome — lest in the combat of the duel Jacob should be overcome by Esau. For Esau is carnal pleasure; Jacob is the will of spiritual desire. These are adversaries one to the other, and are bound together by no confederation of mutual friendship.

Chapter Ten: Of the renunciation of the world and the eternal reward, and how they contend with one another and prevail #

¹ In the tabernacle of the renunciation of the world and of eternal rest such agreement is found, that whatever is done in the renunciation of the world is directed towards the reward of eternal life. For every struggle of this life ought to have as its aim eternal retribution alone. We must contend with the world by renouncing its desires, so that we may fully enjoy eternal joys by triumphing over the stings of our own concupiscences. For there is no faculty of virtue which does not seek the glory of heavenly reward. Renouncing the world, then, we renounce it so that after the transitory things of temporal life we may be grafted into the everlasting joys of eternal life. The renunciation of the world is when we resolve to abjure abusive things. We call those things abusive which we find do not agree with our uses by right. So it comes that we abstain from the motions of the body, abjure hidden shameful things, renounce our own desires of pleasures, resolve to trample down the affections of the heart, despise the mockeries of thoughts by treading them underfoot, and long to root out the secrets of our intentions by searching them. Freed, then, by these first-fruits of the virtues, we hasten to the tabernacle of eternal rest, that we may receive the reward of our labour from the Lord. We seek the tabernacle of eternal rest when, with unbroken zeal of meditation, we pant after spiritual things, give ourselves to tears and prayers, attend to spiritual things with devotion, and gaze admiringly upon the mysteries and ministries of the spirits while contemplating heavenly things. In these tabernacles, then, we advance by dwelling in them; or, slipping through the slipperiness of the vices, we stray from the right path. These are the tabernacles of the just, and the first rungs of the ascending of the virtues. Of these we omit to say more at present, lest by length we breed weariness.

Chapter Eleven: How the tabernacles of the Lord are beloved and diverse, and revealed to the Saints of God — a brief recapitulation #

¹ How beloved tabernacles of this kind are, no utterance of words can express. For they are beloved by reason of a wonder beyond wonder; they are diverse by the institution of diverse ways of life, and varied by a distinct mode of working. No measure of admiration suffices, because the degree of their beauty and sweetness can in no way be weighed — of their beauty, in the variety of the virtues; of their sweetness, in the sweetness of the Holy Spirit. For they are distinguished by as great a diversity as is found among the different workings of deeds and the different intentions of hearts. Indeed, they effect as many progressions of diversity as they depart from one another by dissimilarities of works. Yet they are tabernacles of virtues because they serve the administration of good work. Virtues are those powers by which, recovering the strength of grace, we are restored; but the affections of grace are the tabernacles under whose shade we perform the acts of virtue. These things are shown by the wondrous works of the Saints, because the miracles of God are more illustriously declared by the doing of works than by the noise of words. The heavens — which are celibate by the imitation of virtue and the indwelling of souls, and are likewise sharers by participation in the heaven of blessedness — declare this height of virtue and commend it by the solicitous administration of preaching. They are rightly called the vault of the heavens, because the faith and works of those below, who are more fragile, are founded as if rooted in them. The wonders of God, then, announced by them are revealed, while they are declared not only by works but also by the marvels of miracles. We have spoken of these tabernacles the more briefly for this reason, that by descending in a fitting order we might arrive at the tabernacle of blessed Cuthbert.

Here begins the Little Book of the admirable virtues of blessed Cuthbert, which have been worked in new times #

Chapter Twelve: How the fulness of the sea gave way before the coming of his most sacred Body, and gave back dry sands to the people passing over; and to which of the Saints he is likened, while he is honourably declared by such praises #

¹ The venerable Confessor Cuthbert, not overcome by the grief of death but suffused with a kind of gentle warmth of the living, just as he could in no way be corrupted by the decay of the flesh, so what he had foretold while living in the flesh could in no way be made void after his life’s laying-down. For when the end of his life drew near and the company of the Brethren asked of him a word of final edification, he began to weave a discourse of the last times, and in a prophetic spirit to foretell to them the evils of the age to come. “Know,” he said, “and hold in memory, that if necessity shall compel you to choose one of two adversities, I greatly prefer that, digging up my bones from the tomb and taking them with you, you should depart from these places and dwell as inhabitants wherever God shall provide, than that you should in any way, consenting to iniquity, bow your necks beneath the yoke of schismatics.” When, therefore, the year of our Lord’s Incarnation 875 had passed, it came to pass that the bounds of England were laid waste with wide slaughter; and, with the sword of Pirates and Robbers raging, the people round about perished and failed by massacre. For they consumed the cities by burning them with fire; they profaned churches and cemeteries with pollutions of every kind of sacrilege; they cut new-born children from the bosom of the mother’s womb; they pierced infants through with darts, javelins and spears; and they had regard neither to age, nor to sex, nor to order. It happened, therefore, that the citizens of the Island of Lindisfarne, terrified by such things, took counsel with the Bishop and the Clergy, and anxiously debated among themselves what counsel was needed. For they dared not leave his holy Body behind them in the Island, lest it should become a prey to the enemy, and the savage and cruel pirate should carry off with him the help and treasure of all their hope; nor dared they hide it in any place or store it covered in a secret spot, lest the indignation of God should rage violently against them; nor carry it with them beyond the Island, lest perhaps blessed Cuthbert should rebuke them in his anger or reprove them in his fury; and, above all, lest a place held until then in such veneration and dignity should come to the solitude of a desert and the desolation of an extermination. What they should prudently do, therefore, or where they should turn in fleeing, they could in no way discover. And if they wove longer delays in the Island, all would perish, the sword consuming them. And yet they could neither endure nor even see the plundering of his sanctuary, the burning of the holy buildings, the slaughter of their own pledges before their own eyes, and the holy things given over to pollution before them. At length, therefore, remembering the words of blessed Cuthbert, and seeing that necessity of two adversities pressing upon them just as he had foretold, they chose rather, according to his command, to dig up his bones from the tomb and carry them with them into exile than by any device to bow their necks beneath the yoke of schismatics. Having taken this most wholesome counsel, they reveal the deposit of their secret to all, and by decree of a public edict command them to follow after with all the multitude of their substance. For they knew — and before the assembly of the whole council they bore witness with clear voices — that as long as they had him in their company they would in no way fall into the hands of the hostile sword, nor could they suffer loss or want of anything. Instructed by these counsels, they seize the wooden coffin of blessed Cuthbert in which he had until then rested, and carrying it with them together with the other treasures of the church, they come down as far as the sea’s shore. It chanced, then, that at that same moment the bosom of the sea had filled its channel more abundantly than usual, and had even passed the bounds of its former shore. The bearers of the sacred Body, then, when they had come to the limits of the shore, could proceed no further, compelled by fear; then they resolved to halt their steps there and await the retreat of the sea’s reflux and its windings. For the Island of Lindisfarne is named by the people Liudis, because near the bounds of the island it flows down, rising after the manner of a watering spring, and in the manner of a brook compels travellers to wade over a short space. This island, when the tide comes in, is twice daily washed by the foaming waves of the sea; and as often, when the sea’s bosom flows back, it is left joined to the land shown passable and accessible to travellers — though the space of sand is reckoned to be three miles. Suddenly, then, the sea, though already swelling with its fulness, turned back its fullest waves upon itself with wondrous striving, and by the drying of the sands offered a passable path of way to all. For the waters were to them as a wall on the right hand on the left, and stretched themselves in a straight line through the air after the manner of a lateral wall. And when the sacred bearers of the Body resolved to go forward, ever before their footsteps appeared the dried thresholds of sand a ground made way for the traveller. And in wondrous fashion, when all the men and women, the little ones and the maidens, the herds and flocks, the sheep and oxen had already enclosed themselves, proceeding within the compass of the sea, at once the wave of the sea following their steps filled the inflowing bosom, and at once behind their backs the water of the sea reached to the height of its fulness. And so before them it ever offered a way that could be dried into the forward parts, and behind the footsteps of those who walked the sea turned itself back into the bosom of its former fount. Thus at last they arrived at the further shore with foot unharmed; and while they turned back their eyes towards the Island, they saw the whole compass of the sea flooding with an abundant multitude of waters. The sea, therefore, openly showed by the sign of a glorious miracle that the incorrupt flesh of blessed Cuthbert was the ark of the Lord’s testament, because, after the manner of Jordan at the entrance of the priests bearing the ark of the Lord upon their shoulders, it turned itself back; and in like manner shut itself behind the backs of those who walked. Nor is this to be wondered at; for the ark of the eternal testament was the body and flesh of blessed Cuthbert, in which ark was a golden urn — the conscience of blessed Cuthbert’s soul, pure to God and free from the contagion of sin — having hidden within it manna, the heavenly desire of eternal hope, and the rod of Aaron which blossomed and flourished: that is, the righteousness of spiritual discipline, which blossomed from grace and flourished from the fruits and abundance of copious virtue. It holds also a censer of purest gold — that is, the dwelling-place of a most pure heart, in which the incense of devotion smells sweet with the sweetest smoke of prayer and the nectareous odour of compunction, and the coals of the heart, like affections of exceeding devotion, are kindled — which daily and continually are set afire with wondrous sweetness by the fire of the Holy Spirit on the altar of his consecrated breast. And that Moses with his rod divided the sea into divisions shone forth as a figure of Saint Cuthbert, who ordered the people subject to him pass over the waves of the sea with dry foot in the grace of God’s power. Blessed Cuthbert shone forth, then, not so much like Joshua and Moses as incomparable beyond them; because what they obtained while living by their prayers, winning them by merits for the needs of others, this the merits of blessed Cuthbert alone, already dead, won for his own, propitiating by his own merits at the mercy of God.

Chapter Thirteen: Of the Clerk who fled for refuge to the tomb of Saint Cuthbert, and who saw and heard all that the Pirates said or threatened to do, yet could himself neither be seen nor perceived by them #

¹ As they fled, then, they had left behind a certain Clerk as keeper of the church, from whom they trusted to hear more certainly what had happened to the church’s lands when the madness of the robbers came upon it, and from whom they resolved to learn and hear when they ought to hope for a return. It chanced, then, that when the pirates drew near to the Island were entering the thresholds of the church, that clerk, compelled by fear, had fled for refuge to the tomb of blessed Cuthbert, under whose protection he begged the preservation of his life. They, with drawn swords, brandished their flashing darts, and going round the church sought anxiously whether they could find anyone to be the prey of their sword. By an incredible kind of working, that clerk sat watchful and unharmed before the tomb of blessed Cuthbert, and marked most attentively all their comings and goings, their deeds, their clamour and their threats. He saw those who could neither hear nor see him; he kept close company with them as they strode and raged, yet they could in no way discern or perceive him. For blessed Cuthbert had poured over them a blindness of seeing yet not discerning — which in the Greek tongue is called aorosia — and suffered them in no way to see what it was not expedient they should see. There that ancient miracle is now dedicated with a new beauty, when the Angels, while Lot was already to be pressed by violence, struck all those outside, from the least to the greatest, with a horrible blindness, the door being shut behind them; and all night, circling round in madness, they could in no way find the entrance of the door they sought. And the two Disciples going to Emmaus had been struck with the same kind of blindness, because their eyes were held that they should not know Jesus speaking with them, of whose knowledge they were as yet unworthy. Nor can any miracle of illustrious power be found in the whole course of sacred Scripture which may not be shown to be fulfilled in the wondrous works of blessed Cuthbert by a like order of measure. They, therefore, wandered through the whole Island, and carried off everything with them in plunder. Yet they complained much among themselves that everything seemed thus to have been withdrawn from their plunder and the greed of their rapacity before they could come upon it. The very few whom they found they tore to pieces with the devouring sword. Others they stripped and afflicted with blows and insults. And whatever they could find, though little, they carried off in plunder, all of it. They threatened, moreover, that if ever they could discover their return, they would hasten with all speed to consume them with the devouring sword; and they would rage against them the more fiercely the more fearfully they had been deluded by them. “They would in no way have taken to flight,” they said, “had they not trembled anxiously at the brandishing of our sword, and carried off with them the deposit of a more precious treasure. From this we can clearly perceive how easily we may conquer and subdue them, and what profit of gain we ought to hope for from their destruction. Let us therefore apply a more diligent solicitude to our design, that we may be able to forestall them with the sword whenever they return.” These and like things sounded in the ears of that clerk, and raging with the spirit of fury they added many more. But when they had at last gone out, the clerk arose and went to the Bishop and his companions, and related all things to them in order, and wholly directed them to return to the Island. “But when,” he said, “blessed Cuthbert shall have disposed to restore peace, your dignity will be able to obtain an entrance into your country with all speed.” And having admonished them with many words, he went with them into the inner desert; and after lingering with them for some time, he returned home to tell them the rest.

Chapter Fourteen: How the body of blessed Cuthbert dwelt in tabernacles for seven years, and was carried on the shoulders of servants; and how happy those bearers were who were counted worthy to be the porters of so sacred a guest #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert, then, the Father of mercies and of all consolation amid every tribulation of his people, was carried round about for the space of seven whole years through pathless and waterless deserts upon the shoulders of the devout; and, since the roofs of houses denied him the hospitality of a covering, he stayed under the shades of tabernacles. How happy were those dwellings of tabernacles which shone beneath so great a guest; how happy the shoulders which were counted worthy to bear the yoke of so sweet a burden! Truly they had already been perfectly initiated into the sweetness of heavenly hope who could be made subject beneath the weight of such a load. Already they were made partakers with him of heavenly glory, who were counted worthy to be conformed to so great a condescension of heavenly mercy. The lowing cows, then, as we read in the book of Kings, might be spoken of them — who, bearing the ark of God in the wagon, went down without error by a straight path from the land of the Philistines to the field of Bethshemesh, where they were reaping wheat in the valley. Might they not rightly be called cows with young, who had left the laws of wedlock, leaving behind sons and wives for the love of blessed Cuthbert, and had bowed their proud and lofteny necks beneath the carrying of his sacred body? They lowed, indeed, for love of the pledges they had left at home, while daily and continually with sighs and prayers they begged blessed Cuthbert for their safety and salvation. To the house of the sun, which is called Bethshemesh, they went down, nowhere straying, when they bore the coffin of his incorrupt body, where he had admonished them by suggestion, according to the decrees of the Bishop and their brethren. For the house of the sun of righteousness is the congregation of the present holy church, which in the valley of humility receives the presence of blessed Cuthbert while it keeps the precepts of his meekness. And in the valley of humble conversation it reaps the grains of the seed of the virtues of righteousness while it imitates the examples of his doctrine. How lovely were the tabernacles of his watchings, which the balsam of his odour had perfumed, which the fragrance of wondrous sweetness had sprinkled, which the whole flame of inmost sweetness had filled — truly happy garments, which had wrapped the flesh of Jesus Christ in the tomb! Nor are the tabernacles of blessed Cuthbert unworthy of the commendation of glory, which were counted worthy to cover his members, which remained incorrupt for many years. For the flesh of blessed Cuthbert may be specially understood of Christ the Lord, whose most holy flesh, according to the testimony of David, was not given to see corruption — he who accordingly is the flesh of Christ, in that he is not suffered to be corrupted for ever by the decay of frailty. The flesh of Cuthbert, then, is the flesh of Christ; for what is peculiarly foretold by prophecy concerning Christ, the magnificence of Christ’s glory, is specially fulfilled in blessed Cuthbert by the familiar benefit of virtue and the privilege of holiness. It is therefore flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone and body, member of his head, limb of his joint and frame of his solidity. And they might rightly be called tabernacles of virtue on account of the frequency of the powers and miracles which were accustomed to be worked more often and more frequently around those tabernacles in the desert. Of these we shall tell one miracle of illustrious wonder, that from the greatness of this miracle, and of the rest, we may readily weigh by inquiry their measure and the efficacy of his power.

Chapter Fifteen: Of a certain companion of the same bearers, who stole a cheese by stealth; how, at the prayers of the brethren, he was transformed into a little fox, and was afterwards restored by the mercy of blessed Cuthbert; and how they found the cart for carrying his body, and by what names they were called #

¹ The wickedness of the unrighteous is ever accustomed to pursue and attack the innocence of the devout by testing it, and to carve out for itself wickedly a matter of occasion from the justice of piety. Nor could the companies of the faithful ever persist in such unanimity of goodness but that the more devouring envy of the faithless could bring upon them the reproach of insult. For the envy of the sons of Jacob sold the innocent Joseph; and unbelief thereafter shook the foundations of apostolic faith by testing them. And not seldom do the snares of unbelief strike even the faithful, and deceive them by the momentary illusion of temptation. So Saul, in the beginning of his life, sustained the reproaches of temptation and, weighed down by the burden of temptation, burned into the madness of persecution. Yet at last he was counted worthy of the rank of the Apostolic summit, and labouring more than all, deserved to be more equitably exalted than the rest in the kingdom. Nor ought we, therefore, to reject anyone by judging him as it were reprobate, because we may have seen someone succumb for a moment of time to the illusion of temptations. Concerning the brethren, then, who bore the body of blessed Cuthbert through the courses of seven years, we could not judge differently; because if anything of sudden temptation crept upon them for a moment, it was not for a testimony of their condemnation, but on account of their conscious frailty, and a hindrance or misfortune of sudden assault. All these things we have set down beforehand because we are uncertain of the merit or judgement of the Brother who sinned. For it might come to pass that neither he nor his parents sinned in such a way that he should become a little fox by the merit of his own sin; just as it might be a special proclamation of blessed Cuthbert’s power, that he might teach the efficacy of his virtue in the proving of him. But of these things we have now said enough; now let us come to the order of the miracle. When, therefore, the body of blessed Cuthbert was being carried round about under the shades of tabernacles, it came to pass that a solemn service of devotion was rendered to it by faithful peoples, and even by all strangers, in rivalry. For some offered it coins with bended knee; certain ones brought precious garments or silks for the increase of his honour and the testimony of his holiness; some also linen or webs of yarn, wool or fleeces; but those to whom there was a faculty of smaller offering brought forth bread or cheese. And although the offering of those who brought was diverse, yet equal could be the merit of their intention’s affection. On a certain occasion, among other things, a numerous crowd had brought a fresh cheese, which the hands of the Clerks had laid up in a chamber for the common use of all. Nor let anyone despise a gift of smaller price or reckon it to be ascribed to negligence, since the two mites of the Widow earned the heavenly kingdom, and the cup of cold water deservedly obtained the rewards of an eternal recompense. In the tabernacle of the Lord, too, some offering brought gold, brass and silver; but also, by the Lord’s command, they did not cast away the reddened skins of rams and goats’ hair. For it is agreed that the merit of those who offer consists in the affection of hearts and the desire of intentions, not in the greatness or quantity of the gifts. But because the frail condition of mortals is slippery and wavering, it happened that a certain one of the Brethren was grievously goaded by desire for the same cheese, and pressed hard by the heats and the goad of an untamable concupiscence. For it seemed lighter to him to perish by the darts of death than to be able to assuage the ignominy of his own passion. So, coming secretly, he took away the cheese by theft, and laid it up for himself by hiding it in the most secret place he could. Going forth, then, with the rest, he wished to appear as though ignorant, because none of the brethren could believe anything of the kind of him. At that time, too, famine had prevailed over the whole land of the entire English region. From this you might see some men suddenly dying of the pestilence of sickness, others swelling with swelling cheeks in a foul manner, the skin bursting from the frame of the flesh. For the swelling of inward sickness had so stretched the skin of the outer man as a reed administering the breath of bellows stretches the wind-bags by drawing them out. Pallor had settled upon their faces, leanness had consumed the whole body, and an under-skin swelling, from the famine’s midst, thinned the hide from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head as in a tent. For indeed, with the Barbarians raging through England at that time, the whole region lay uncultivated for seven years, nor did anyone presume to stir the turf of the lands with ploughshare or hoe save in hiding. For Inguar and Ubba had consumed the whole land in despoiling it with wide slaughter, and their armies ran to and fro in troops through all the nations of England, destroying. They had also made the blessed Ædmund a Martyr of the King; and, binding him to a stake, they had given him over to death with the darts of arrows, like a hedgehog bristling all over with spikes. They had also cut off his head with the devouring sword, and hidden it in the woods planted with denser thorns, in secret places. But while the people sought it round about through the darker parts of the groves, a voice sounded in the native tongue in the head, and by repeating “here, here” again and again, showed itself openly to all the people. The people took it up, lifting it while a wolf of boundless size clasped it between its paws; and set against the rest of the body it appeared as if joined with the joints of the neck entire. Only, in the manner of a thread of red silk lying round about the neck, did the mark of the cutting appear; but his flesh could in no way feel the stain of corruption. The invaders, indeed, had burned cities and churches with fire, had everywhere slain the peoples, and were carrying off all things whatever they could to destruction and plunder. So to the poor, who had hidden themselves lurking in caves and dens, they left nothing at all from which they might procure food. Very few provisions, then, which could be found but most rarely, remained from which they could rightly be bought by trade. Those who had anything of this kind wished rather to keep it hidden for themselves and prolong the poor man’s life by sustaining him from these, than to give it out by selling to others. So each man kept back what he could to preserve for himself in secret. The servants, then, of blessed Cuthbert, who had until then borne his body on neck, shoulders and arms, had nearly failed from the length of time and the weariness of the journey; nor were more than four bearers, who always clung to him most familiarly, surviving for the work of the burden. They began therefore to murmur and mutter, and most often to grieve one to another in complaint at the weariness of the infinite labour. Meanwhile blessed Cuthbert showed himself in a vision to one of them, and exhorted him with these seeds of words: “Tomorrow let each one of you four go forth through the inner parts of the wood, and let him bring and lay upon the burden of my body whatever he shall chance to find there. For I no longer need you to labour by toiling any further; I commit to you only the keeping of my body and the care of the onward journey.” They, hearing such things, rose at once beneath the dawn of morning, and went forth eagerly searching through the wood. The first, then, saw a bridle hanging from a tree, and when it was brought to his companions it struck each one of them with great amazement. From this he deserved to be surnamed Stithard Rap, because he was found worthy first to find the rope of the bridle. The second, going further into the groves, seized a red horse that met him, shaking the bridle beforehand with a sound, and gave it, bound fast with the leathers of the bridle, to a third companion. For the work of which finding he was ever called by the byname Coite, which means a horse. The third, too, while he proceeded a little with the horse, it happened that he suddenly found a most beautiful cart, cut from wood in a fitting kind of beauty, and fitly laden with all other things necessary for the uses of such a business — into which he at once put the horse by way of draught, and with exceeding great eagerness led it out to his companions. He was called Unred, Cretel — which in English means a cart — by them in after times. The most sacred body of blessed Cuthbert, then, they afterwards laid in the same cart, and so carried it round about without the weariness of their own burden. Nor could it be told in words with how great a joy of exultation the crowd that followed was cheered and strengthened. Yet they feared above all that the famine of hunger would rush upon them, because they saw that no seed of grain remained in the land, nor could any fruits of the fields be found. By chance, then, they had come into the most vast deserts of the regions of the Picts; and they possessed nothing anywhere of food under their sway save only the head of the horse and the same cheese. The head of that horse, too, in the time of destitution and loss could scarce be bought for five silver shillings. And for many days no bread had come for refreshment, but the hungering crowd sustained the poverty of life on the flesh of horses and cheeses. Yet in these they lacked abundance, because the want of a like cause had nearly consumed by devouring all kinds of living creatures in all the neighbouring regions. Yet all alleged in words and hearts that they could put off the loss of death by means of life’s sustenance from the horse’s head which they had salted, and from the cheese, on which they trusted to be more secretly sustained. He, then, who had been conscious of theft rejoiced inwardly, his mind exulting, that by such eating his life might be prolonged beyond the others. So the more he could perceive them rejoicing over their portion of the cheese, the more he himself lusted to eat it in secret; yet he could find no fitting time when he might devour it by feeding upon it. For he wished, and by the purpose of his mind resolved, to eat it in secret by himself, and to sate the madness of his insatiable gluttony by the commerce of such a morsel. For he saw that the tenderness of the cheese sharpened the burning of his throat, the fat of its richness kindled the gluttony of cupidity by animating it, the sweetness of that sweetness nourished the lust of voracity and the heat of burning by fostering and raising it, and the touch of mildness and the draught of flavour would breed the bile of his stomach, the madness of his mind, the swelling of his belly and the gulf of his yawning bowels. And he thought that nothing could be lacking to him if he could satiate the insatiable heat of his desire with a ravenous taste. He sought, then, by devising a fitting time; but he could find no silence of the Brethren’s ignorance that was in any way suitable. And the madness of his ardour kindled the more the fury of his cupidity, the less the importunity of the time smiled upon him. For the deferred desires of sin and the hindered crimes excite the soul’s cupidity more than they delight it by hindering, because forbidden things please more than those granted or at hand, and things that freely fight for the desire can prevail to calm the mind by appeasing it. It came to pass, therefore, that as the delay of a long deferring ran on, the regular hour of the daily refreshment was at hand, and the company of the Brethren, though very small in quantity of number, sat down at a lowly table upon the bosom of the ground, the rush-mat running beneath their knees. For no store of tables came to hand in the desert, nor did the pride of any ambition seek the height of tripods. When, then, the poverty of a narrower provision could less suffice for the sufficiency of a richer feast, the memory of the fresh cheese began to kindle the minds of certain of them by recollection, and at last to shape the vent-holes of their hearts into a plaint of words. “Ho,” they said, “who, pray, has taken away the fresh cheese which we saw at the shrine of Saint Cuthbert; or who has laid it up in that more secret chamber for the use of the common business?” Meanwhile that one of the clerks who had first taken it away from their midst, before the eyes of the others, ran hastily to the place where he had laid it up; and finding it nowhere, ran about muttering on every side. At last, indeed, suffused with pallid redness, he returned to his companions, and made many pleas for his own excuse; and told how it had been taken away by theft without his knowledge, with a manifest account and the attestation of a manifold oath. And although perhaps some one of them had given credence to his attestation, yet there was none the less one among them who judged he should by some reason not be believed. So the misery of grief had for a little while worn away the secrets of his heart, and the shame of redness suffused his serene face, perhaps by the scorn of those who flattered. Sitting, then, and complaining by mutual telling of the cheese’s theft, they began to speak in turn by mutual exchange, and to implore the aid of Saint Cuthbert with such addresses. “May Saint Cuthbert,” they said, “grant us that the thief of his cheese and ours become a little fox, and be transformed from a man into the likeness of a fox, that he may be made a laughing-stock to others who has brought the shame of insult upon his companions and fellow-servants. For he lurks in the den of dissimulation, whoever he is who craftily hides our cheese from us under the appearance of simplicity. Nor does he share in the communion of our brotherhood in Christ or in blessed Cuthbert, who thus by a hidden crime defrauds us by deceiving us of the little substance of the common good.” Such things, then, they repeated with mutual and alternate voices, and begged of blessed Cuthbert that the thief of the cheese should become a little fox. Nor did they utter these things only in the strident words of voices, but rather demanded that such things be done by the desire of a vow and the instant suffrage of prayers. So blessed Cuthbert both took thought for these things in the compassion of his pity, and at once showed the mighty works of his power in the thief. For suddenly, while they still sat at the table, it came to pass that, as they turned their eyes towards the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert, looking with the accustomed ardour of devotion and the frequent desire of solicitude — wondrous to tell, but more wondrous in the effect of the wonder! — look, they saw a little fox running to and fro around the shrine of Saint Cuthbert, and holding a fresh cheese pressed between its jaws; and by the amazement of wondrous novelty, with hesitating mind, they took counsel one with another as to what this miracle might be. They inquired, therefore, whether any of the companions was absent from the partaking of the table, or who it might be that chanced to be absent from the common company. And muttering long in their questioning, they said that all their colleagues had sat down again at the table, and that by the knowledge of names and the reckoning of quantity and number no one was absent at the time of refreshment. At last, however, they proved that one, Eilaf by name, was not present among the rest, whom they conjectured to have suddenly disappeared; and him they proclaimed and steadfastly asserted to wear the form of the little fox and to betray the sign of his theft. Meanwhile that little fox coursed to and fro about the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert, and with yawning mouth held out the prey of fresh cheese in its hanging jaws; by its unstable leap and the agile motion of its running it stirred not a few to laughter. But the prey of its theft and the snare of the trap composed by its own deceit it could neither devour as it had intended, nor conceal as it had proposed in mind, nor hide, because the fleece of the unaccustomed body revealed the work of the crime, and the prey of theft shone forth as a token to their mutual knowledge. So the infamy of hunger and the open shame of sin betrayed themselves by the reciprocal snare of scandal, while the infamy of theft convicted the guilt and the insult of the reproach shone forth from the novelty of the unaccustomed miracle. Moved at length by the bowels of piety, they began in turn to admonish their fellows, and to bend them to the zeal of pity by an exhortation of compassion. “Now look,” they said, “blessed Cuthbert has brought enough insult upon our thief for the merit of his iniquity; he has sufficiently shown us the power of his virtue, has checked the shame of that crime, and has repaired and consolidated the wavering losses of our faith under uncertain variety by the amazement of an unheard-of miracle. Let us therefore all in common implore the clemency of Saint Cuthbert, that we may receive back our former man from this little fox, since we may rejoice to have received not so much the judgement of his wrathful anger as the benefit of his mercy.” Then all together implored the clemency of Saint Cuthbert with devout supplications; and because they asked in faith and love, they at once deserved to obtain the fruit of their desire. For suddenly, turned back into a man, Eilaf stood before them, and openly showed both the crime of his own wickedness and the gift of blessed Cuthbert’s condescension. And so what he had taken before them and in secret, he openly restored in the sight of all; by the proof blessed Cuthbert preaching his anger to the unfaithful and telling forth his clemency of mercy to all. It came to pass also that on account of his guilt of the crime, and in memory of so great a power, all his progeny even to this day is called by his byname, and is marked out by the working of the prodigy — both by the virtue of blessed Cuthbert and by the deceit of the father’s crime. For in the reproach of the English tongue and the speech of their mother-tongue, all that family of the stock are called by the name Tod, which means a little fox.

Chapter Sixteen: How in ancient times the Church of blessed Cuthbert was established; and of the fulfilment of the Clerk’s prophecy; and how wondrously fire fell from heaven and consumed the house of the Rich Man with all his possessions, yet presumed not to harm the part of the barn in which his body rested that night #

¹ “Blessed is the man who has not walked in the counsel of the ungodly” — in the consenting to the suggestion of wickedness. The blessed father Cuthbert was such a man, the whole holiness of whose life shone forth without the spot of corruption. For he is proclaimed a man by the perfect virtues of his powers; he is shown blessed by the most splendid pursuits of good works’ footsteps. In the counsel of the inciters of depravity he did not walk by consent of sin; into the way of sin and the delight of filth, by the fragility of worldly corruption, in the contagion of wicked thought, he did not bring the step of deliberate delay; nor in the seat of the malignity of works — which are the pestilences of the affections of iniquities — did he settle himself in the rest of despairing men. And therefore, as the blessedness of his virtue shone inwardly before God, so the brightness of his magnificence prevailed, advancing more wonderfully before men. So it deservedly happened that as lofteny as were the inner buildings of his heart’s virtues, so highly, though without comparison, did the foundations of his churches’ fabrics rise in like degree. For the greatness of his virtues is displayed in the more pre-eminent structure of the walls of his churches, and those walls are conformed to his works by the very artful carving of hands — beautiful, wonderful, and distinguished by an indescribable variety of virtues. So it is that many prudent men, while they see the lofteny buildings of his churches stretching aloften with a loftenier pinnacle of walls, at once turn the eyes of their minds, by the faculty of a more sagacious spirit, to the merits of his greatness and to the consideration of the rewards of those blessednesses. This was more of a miracle in ancient times, because then the simplicity of innocence flourished more than in modern days, in which only the craftiness of cunning has erected the citadels of proud lofteniness. For in those days when blessed Cuthbert first found for himself a seat of quiet at Durham, he retained the token of his apostolic dignity in his progeny. Even to the present day the kindred of that same man abides in that place — the man whom the neighbouring and surrounding people call by the common name Tod. Among them, however, there was a certain man advanced in years and of honest life, who held the singular keeping of the body of blessed Cuthbert. Of this man it is believed that he stood in such familiarity with him that he was accustomed to cut blessed Cuthbert’s hair, and sometimes his nails. Indeed, he held familiar converse with him at times, and Saint Cuthbert carefully informed and taught him where he might find the relics of Saint Bede the Doctor and of other Saints, and how he should carry them from there and lay them up beside himself. He was held in such esteem among the rest that whatever he asserted in truth was believed to be an oracle of prophecy. On a certain day, then, while the rest were sitting about, certain of them — both brethren and strangers — began vehemently to extol with the magnificence of a fortunate eloquence the situation of the place, the compass of the walls and the height of the church’s towers, and to commend the merit of blessed Cuthbert’s glory with the special praise of singular admiration. For in the White Church, in which he first rested, there were two towers of stone — as those who saw them have told us — rising higher into the air, one containing the choir and the other standing at the western end of the church; which, of wondrous size, bore brazen pinnacles erected on high; and they surpassed both the amazement and the measure of wonder of all men, so that they thought a work of like structure could nowhere be made, since in the bounds of the nearest neighbouring region all the necessaries could by no means be found together in one place. But he checked the voices of the admirers, and foretold that in after times buildings of a far more beautiful work should be erected in the same place in honour of blessed Cuthbert. Among the rest, however, one of the Nobles, very rich, from the bounds of the neighbouring regions, began in the manner of rustic simplicity — yet, as was thought, with the effect of inward devotion — to say with lifted voice, and often to repeat and weave the same things again before the brethren: “Ho! who can grant me that the great hero Cuthbert, the assessor of heavenly glory, may deign to approach the hospitality of my house and enter at some time the hovels of my shelter? By Christ and my faith I protest that, he coming, I would adorn my house with curtains; I would heap the thresholds of the floors with a flooring of rose-flowers and the sweet fragrance of lilies; I would light up the walls with shields radiant with gold. And above all these things a glad and eager butler would rise against his followers with copious bowls sparkling with wine, and would serve them with horns of curling mead, so that there should be an altogether innumerable multitude of cups. Within the hangings of my chamber and bed I would spread beneath him a mattress prepared, with my own hands I would lay him on the couch, and I would warm his feet in my bosom and lap.” Many things, then, and infinite things of this kind he wove together, so that he even brought a weariness of wonder upon his hearers. Meanwhile the Elder accosted him with these utterances of speech, and exhorting him thus addressed him: “See that you sufficiently prepare for blessed Cuthbert all the things you have said, and conform your words to works by carrying them out; because after no long interval of time you will have blessed Cuthbert as your guest, but you will be about to show him the humanity of nearly no honour.” These things, then, the man of God foretold in a prophetic spirit. But the other, indignant, asserted with the attestation of an oath that he would never fail his promises. It came to pass, therefore, that no long time had run out when a savage tempest of disquiet invaded the Church of blessed Cuthbert, pressing hard upon it, and the necessity of that importunity commanded them to take the safeguard of flight together with the body of blessed Cuthbert. They, permitted to make no delay, at once snatched up flight and entered upon it, and resolved by counsel that they would find the protection of safety at the Island of Lindisfarne. To that man’s house, then, of whom we have spoken above, they sent swift messengers, and begged for blessed Cuthbert the hindmost parts of his house for a covering of hospitality. But he at once declared that he could bestow no portion of his house or cottage on him or his, because the former guests, whom he had already invited and who were now raging with drunkenness, could not be driven out of his houses. Thus the hall and every cottage was filled either with the raging guest or with the stabling of horses. They, however, with night now pressing, doubled their suppliant prayers, and at last scarcely prevailed to obtain the empty hinder parts of his barn. There, as they could, they stretched and erected curtains and tabernacles within; and, with a cord running across the house and a stretched-out canopy of linen, they placed the body of blessed Cuthbert by laying it in the inner part. And there, passing the night in great penury of want, they could obtain nothing at all of the stores of that Rich Man’s affluence by pleas of every kind. He himself with his household was distended with insatiable drunkenness, and golden cups were scattered here and there upon the tables amid the splendour of jewels. But the ministers of blessed Cuthbert that night nearly perished with the wintry chill of the snows and the harshness of the frost, because it was not permitted them to warm again their freezing limbs before the eyes of the Rich Man in the hall resounding with copious fires. The want of food, too, and the straits of drink made the thinness of their ears ring, since they could scarce obtain a draught of the more troubled waters. When morning came, therefore, they went forth from that place with all speed and departed, and hastened to hasten to the Island as quickly as they could. Scarce had half the day flowed by when, look, with rumour as its runner, the new offspring of report dropped into their ears certaincredible things — that all the possessions of the same Rich Man, who had denied the promised hospitality to Saint Cuthbert and to them, had perished by devouring fire. For when they had gone not far from the village, the fire of God came down from heaven and consumed the sheep it touched, together with the houses and all the other things, the servants and the boys. For the anger of blessed Cuthbert had come down, and his indignation laid waste all things by raging against the promiser of false testimony. And deservedly: he who had denied to blessed Cuthbert the crumbs — that is, the minute things of outward abundance — from the table of his own mad superfluity, lost the store of bread and the untold boast of riches. Nor ought he to have the covering of any roof, who refused to receive the body of blessed Cuthbert beneath the shelter of his hospitality. From this the Rich Man found nowhere where he might lay his head, except where he had permitted blessed Cuthbert, though unwilling, to rest. For in a wondrous and unheard-of manner it came to pass that the fire consumed the same barn; but that space of interval which on the previous night they had set apart for the special ministry of blessed Cuthbert, marked off by the cord, the devouring burning of the consuming flame in no way touched, nor presumed to inflict upon it any injury of burning. On account of the novelty of this unaccustomed miracle, the little cord which had separated the house by dividing it appeared interrupted in nothing and unharmed by the burning, and so endured just as it had first been stretched out, and fixed sure limits for the flame-bearing heats. You might see the thatch of the house cut as if by a drawn line, the reeds and straw of hay divided as though severed by a sword’s edge; but the posts — which is more wonderful — were consumed from the midst. For so much of the posts as the cord had enclosed on the inner side the fire could in no way harm; but what it had halved on the outer side the whole burning feared not to devour. So that miracle of the three Children comes to mind, where, while the furnace raged, the flame presumed not to harm their garments nor the superfluity of their hair. From this we conjecture of how great merit blessed Cuthbert was, who ceased not to work the prodigy of so great a miracle even for the meanest things. Nor ought we to doubt the possibility of his greatness, who we see caused such illustrious signs of power to be worked even for the smallest things. For his lesser works exceed the more wonderful deeds of many Saints. They, then, coming with the body of blessed Cuthbert to the bank of the river, now full — at once the waters, divided from either side, opened a way of dry journey through the midst of their channel, and recognising the coming of blessed Cuthbert, suffered the whole people with all their belongings, closing the waters behind their backs a second time, to pass through freely; and so they came to the Island of Lindisfarne. For the time of winter together with the darkness of night had grown more bitterly rough, and therefore blessed Cuthbert hastened to open a passage for them with all speed. All these things which we have described, just as we heard them from our venerable father Æthelred, Abbot of Rievaulx, so we have inserted them in our pages by his testimony. And these things, as he asserted, had been handed down to him to bear witness by his forefathers, because they were truly done before their eyes.

Chapter Seventeen: How a Devil in the likeness of a black dog entered into a certain Walter, and how he was driven out of him at once by the water of blessed Cuthbert #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert is proved a son of light by his work, he by the glory of whose power the darkness of shadows is enlightened. The sons of light are men of power; the darknesses of shadows are the machinations and delusions of malignant spirits. But how far the fantastic shapes of devils can prevail against the miracles of blessed Cuthbert, the examples of miracles set forth below declare. This is the more lucidly made manifest if what we have heard done in our own times be declared by the office of our discourse. In the time, indeed, of Geoffrey, Bishop of Durham, there was a certain man named Walter, born at Kellaw, which is distant four miles from Durham, who came to the house of the Priest of the same village to drink with the household. When, therefore, a space of night had run out, it happened that he resolved to return home; and so, as he went alone through the darkness of night, an innumerable troop of dogs rushed to meet him. They raged at him, barking with gaping mouths, and by attacking him again and again with horrid-sounding barking threatened him with the snappings of bites. Sometimes, indeed, they had gnawed at him by attacking the hem of his garments; at other times they even attempted to leap into the midst of his face. They were all, as it seemed to him, dogs most black, and filled with a bristly tearing of black fleece. But he made for his own lodging with all speed, and shut the door of the house behind him, his hand ministering. But because he wished to know more fully what that company of dogs might be, he drew near to a window of the wall, opened it hastily, and lay there a long while, looking out from afar. And suddenly and unawares a most black dog of the very greatest size crept in by its forefeet above through the wall; and then, seizing the upper parts of the same little window, it leaped in through the mouth of that man. Yet so that he felt the dog’s head with the claws of its hind feet… For the devil, the deceiver of men, ever seeks to enter into us by a deceitful approach, that through the wickedness of stench he may make us a prey of his foulness and a ruin of the pit of sins. And his back he desires with all effort to insert into the sinner’s gullet, that he may thrust him, following the deceits of his wickedness by imitating the works of wickedness, into the despair of sin, and by his not confessing the guilt of injustice may delude him by thrusting him into the abyss of a straitened conscience. That wretched man, then, possessed by the invading devil, at once fell backwards, and casting forth foam through the mouth of the raging man, raged aloud with furious voices, and shaking his teeth by gnashing them, contended to tear with bites both himself and those whom he could touch by grasping. Meanwhile the household, awakened, rose with all speed, and bound him, scarce fettered with entangling bonds, stretched on the floor, and tied him the more straitly to seats of logs. They feared indeed — which was altogether like the truth — that if he could by any means burst and break his bonds, he would strive to cast them all headlong into the snare of destruction. Meanwhile certain of them, in whom was a mind of sounder counsel, ran with all speed to the house of the Priest and told him that the sudden events of so great a misfortune had happened; and, he accompanying them, they hastened back home. The Priest, suffused with tears and drawing deep sighs of groaning from his inmost breast, went on as far as the possessed man, and inquired of him more manifestly the whole order of his misfortune and the invasion of the devil. To him he also opened the guilt of his heart by confessing, as much as he could for the fury of his madness, and fortified his spirit with the communion of the Lord’s Body and Blood. After the receiving of it, however, he persisted in raging more and more, perhaps because he was unworthy of so great a guest. For whoever receives the Lord’s body and blood unworthily makes himself over as guilty to the fire of the eternal judgement, and He dwells not in the body of sin who is not in accord with the injustice of any iniquity and who calms the serenity of just hearts. Because, therefore, he had not worthily purged himself with the broom of penitence at the coming of so great a guest, he raged the more, rightly raving. Nor can there be any concord between Christ and Belial in one, for the light consumes the ignorance of darkness by burying it. And let no one wonder why the body and blood of Christ did not drive the malignant spirit out of the body subject to him, since Christ can without doubt do all things whatever He wills. For Christ must do all things by the measure of justice, and accomplish nothing by the unquiet vexation of plunder. So He ought not by violence to take away by the force of power alone, from the ancient serpent, the vessel of his uncleanness and the spoils of his long-held possession, unless He had first been able to discover, by receiving in the one possessed by the devil, the first-fruits of some devotion. Nor ought He to invade another’s court by despoiling it, unless He could mark out, by some discipline of goodness, the matter of some occasion by works of piety. Or rather, Christ willed the more surely to declare the glory of the power of his holy Confessor Cuthbert by a miracle of such power, since by His command He could deliver the man beset by the devil by a higher mystery of dispensation. Blessed Cuthbert indeed was a lamp shining and burning before the Lord, who prepared a way for the Lord in the hearts of sinners by driving out the darkness of crime. So, since no one doubts of Christ’s power, it specially accords with Christ’s glory that He should more clearly disclose and reveal the power of his Confessor blessed Cuthbert by such signs of miracles. For in him the magnificence of Christ is the more gloriously poured forth as the glory of blessed Cuthbert is the more widely preached. Therefore, to declare the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s merit, He inflicted nearly vengeance upon the sinner. Nor did Christ will to confer upon him, presuming unworthily upon His most sacred body, the remedy of salvation, but reserved him, bound fast infirmity, to the power of blessed Cuthbert for the glory of his honour. His brother, then, who had kept him in the schools of reading, having learned these things of his brother, had now returned home with all speed; and proving them more fully by experience, hastened as quickly as he could to Durham, where blessed Cuthbert rests in body. There he at once found Aldred the sacristan in the church, and consulted him concerning his brother’s infirmity and the vexation of diabolic vexation. The sacristan, in the spirit of simplicity, asserted that the uncertain devices of medicines could avail him little, and proved by a truthful word of speech that the deceitful eye-salves of herbal confection, invented by the skill of much art, could not avail for the expulsion of the devil. And in truth the leaves of herbs and the juices of roots and eye-salves sometimes relieve by diminishing the humours of the body, and are a remedy of health; but the assaults of a devilish invasion they do not crush to nothing, nor can they be a help of escape. “So, " said the Sacristan, “no medicine can be more wholesome for him than that the sincerity of your faith should implore the clemency and aid of blessed Cuthbert.” Then with the tears of the weeping sacristan running down his cheeks in streams, with wondrous sweetness of devotion, he gave him in a little flask the water in which the members of that church’s Saints had been washed, and commending it to blessed Cuthbert ordered him pour it into the mouth of the madman. As soon, then, as he entered to go home, the possessed man began to cry out with loud voices, “Are you now made a physician, you who are known to be a bearer of little flasks? Well! Have you now brought Cuthbert’s waters from Durham? Yet you have spent your labours on these things wholly in vain. For neither the waters of Cuthbert from the flask, nor the medicines of your art, shall ever penetrate the jaws of my gullet, nor pass beneath the lips of my mouth.” And shaking his teeth together and wrapping his lips by compressing them, he roared with contorted mouth, and again and again repeated the same words with groaning. Yet the devil uttered these words by the voice of the raging man, because he feared the power of blessed Cuthbert’s presence, which he foreknew by fearing to be at hand. For devils conjecture many things by the subtlety of their nature, yet know the future only with the fear of doubt. Yet none of the men standing within had seen the flask, because the clerk kept it hidden within the concealment of his cope. That foreknowledge, therefore, the devil had not from prophetic providence, but from the subtlety of a nimble nature, by which he conjectured these things in doubt. And perhaps he had already felt beforehand the power of some hidden virtue of blessed Cuthbert, who now threatened him by bringing upon him the pains of a future departure. Having, then, taken counsel with his friends as quickly as they could, they sharpened a piece of wood by hewing it after the manner of a stake, and lifting up his clenched teeth by forcing them open with the point, they thrust it into the mouth of the raging and resisting man. He, though he seemed to struggle much in resisting, yet by the force applied it came to pass that his unwilling mouth was opened by the constriction of his cheek-jaws. But they at once poured the water of blessed Cuthbert into the mouth of the yawning man with a spoon, and holding him more strongly, took away from him all the powers of his body’s tossing. But he, as soon as he felt the water running down within him, at once opened his mouth wide, letting down his lower cheeks in the manner of one expiring. And suddenly leaping up and hurling away those who held him more strongly, he uttered loud cries, and addressed the rest with such a speech: “Look, that savage devourer has gone out! He has now gone forth cast out of me; and now that black dog, shaggy with the bristles of wickedness, has gone running through the floor of the house and has already entered the threshold of the house with the forefeet of his body, and has bent back his head turning it to the inner parts of his neck; and now with gaping mouth yawning, breaking the grins of laughter, turning towards me he laments a little by threatening.” Yet in the first utterance with which the sick man first grieved at the infused water, he uttered holy Mary with a groan. “Now therefore sprinkle the water of blessed Cuthbert over the threshold of the house with all speed, and cast the devil out of the house and drive him away.” But they, with no delay, sprinkled the water of blessed Cuthbert by spreading it over the thresholds of the house, and by going round all the corners of the sides and the roofs of the walls, and by pouring it in with sprinkling waters. Soon he, raising himself by little and little, composed his face and mouth, which he had held gaping, by contracting them. Yet always, even to his living and surviving day, the breadth of his mouth is stretched wider than is customary to be seen in another man. Nor is it to be wondered at if the devil, indignant at going out, opened the mouth by which he was compelled to depart the wider by choking it, and seeking the openings of his exit round about and striving to leap out in haste, broke some part, so far as was permitted him, in tearing. For often, when one hastens to go out too quickly, the door is broken while it is handled too immodestly in opening. Yet the devil would have brought upon him a greater loss of disgrace in going out, if blessed Cuthbert had permitted him a greater power of harming in him. He composed his mouth, therefore, refreshed the lights of his eyes by brightening them, and gathered his limbs one by one, bending them moderately and fitting them to himself. And he sat down again, by the merits of blessed Cuthbert, sound, cheerful and unhurt, who a little before had appeared mad, frenzied, bitter and incurable: sound in the spirit of sobriety and the body of health; cheerful in the whole devotion of faith and the glad serenity of face; unhurt, with the powers of his body regained and the beauty of his former strength restored. This man, moreover, in the year of our Lord’s incarnation 1165, still companioned with life, had endured even to our times; and to all his fellow-provincials he had until then been the better known for the virtue of this miracle. This illustrious miracle of power we learned not from any uncertain teller, but from that man’s own brother, and from the Priest of the village itself, and from Thorold, now a monk of the church of Durham, a priest of honest life and conversation, and from very many others who were present and saw and heard these things, by a narration not once but often repeated. On the third night following, however, the same devil stood under the same window of the wall, and, the rest in the house hearing, addressed him with such words of speech: “My Walter! Have you cast me, the friend of your hospitality, out of you by the waters of that Cuthbert, and, rejecting me, have you now called him in to be your companion? Surely it had been better for you to have kept me as your friend than to have brought into the fellowship of confederation Cuthbert, the enemy of our lot; for your Cuthbert was never a doer of good work, but ever stood the adversary and enemy of our inheritance and lot. Is it not now still better for you to repent of this your folly, and to cast off and repel that man of Durham, the persecutor and rival of our right? For so you can be joined to us by domestic familiarity, and re-formed into the friendship of our former covenant.” He, hearing these things, at once replied and said, the rest hearing: “To you, both now and for ever, and to your pomps, I renounce; and blessed Mary and Saint Cuthbert I interpose as mediator between me and you, as mediator and advocate, for all times.” He, hearing this from without, roared with strident voices and gnashed some barbarous thing, and never afterwards came near him.

Chapter Eighteen: How the Devil, through the mouth of the madman, declared what the sleeping youth had dreamt; and what manner of confederacy exists between them #

¹ That madman, however, had done something wonderful which, committed to memory, instructs others in an example of understanding and discernment. A certain youth, now wearied by the want of sleep, had fallen asleep in the house; and whatever he had seen imaged in a vision of sleep the madman openly expounded before them all. For while he slept, the madman assailed him before them all, and brought it in with such a beginning: “Ha! you, though you are of the male sex, why do you suffer seed to be poured forth from your male organ by the softening touch of a woman’s hand?” These things he repeated again and again; and the youth, awakening, said that all had happened just as he had said. So it is to be gathered how the devil betrayed the machinations of a devil, and the malicious one disclosed the contrivances of the malignant. For such is the confederacy of society between them, that there is between them a rivalry of ambition in mutual wickedness.

Chapter Nineteen: Of a certain noble but leprous man; how he made a vow to Saint Edmund and Saint Æthelthryth, but by the divine will was warned to come to blessed Cuthbert; and how the venerable Confessor appeared to him and drew off the hood from his head, and the leprosy with it, from his whole body #

¹ Sanctification, righteousness and zeal are found in blessed Cuthbert; so his memory is extolled by all everywhere with veneration in glory and honour: sanctification, because by his prevailing merits he raises the undeserving to the grace of holiness; righteousness, because he corrects the straying by calling them back; zeal, because with wondrous solicitude of compassion he watches over his devotees day and night. All which blessed Cuthbert is known to possess more excellently than the rest of the Saints, since the benefit of his condescension is found the more readily by those who ask it with devotion. This we can prove better from the miracles of his power than by the ornaments of polished eloquence. Let us therefore set down one thing by way of example, that from the effect of one miracle we may prove the rest like it. There was a certain man in a far-off region of the South Angles, who was endowed with the grace of great nobility among his fellow-provincials. He rejoiced both in the strength of a sound body and in every abundance of prosperity; and in the glory of riches he exceeded the rest. Nor was anything lacking to him in worldly glory which the appetite of his mind might need to renew with the seasoning of delight. By the guidance, then, of the divine dispensation it happened that he contracted the disease of leprosy, it nourishing his flesh everywhere, so that after a short interval of time the whole surface of his face appeared horrible to those who saw him. Sometimes, too, he became an object of avoidance even to his own people, the matter of his ulcers flowing down, and to not a few he was made intolerable in the communion of their company. Unable, then, to bear it longer, he made a vow to those Saints especially whom he believed to be the more excellent before God in the heavenly places of the kingdom of the Angles. To blessed Cuthbert, therefore, and to Saint King Edmund and to the glorious Queen Æthelthryth he vowed the purpose of his vow; and having lit three candles of the same measure and length in their honour, he so appointed that to the sepulchre of that Saint whose candle the fire should first have devoured he should go without any delay of hesitation, for the obtaining of the remedy of his health. Thereby the Saints of God, showing what place of merit blessed Cuthbert held among them, made it plain, while by the token of a more secret mystery they set forth with manifest signs of how great a power and might he was among them. For the flame had first wholly consumed the candle dedicated to the name of blessed Cuthbert before the devouring fire could prevail to diminish or halve any part in the candles of the other Saints. And perhaps the Saints of God, though most dear to God, knew that the merit of blessed Cuthbert could more readily confer a remedy on the sick man than the suffrage of their own intercession could obtain by pleading. For blessed Cuthbert had received the first-fruits and the stoles of blessedness and everlasting felicity, and therefore perhaps possessed powers of greater glory in the Lord before God. And if they had deserved to obtain from the Lord the crown of incorruption above this mortality’s decay, yet they could in no way have the grace of flexibleness and mobility of limbs after the laying down of the body; but with the chill of death their members, though incorrupt, grow stiff with a certain hardness of rigidity, from where they bend no foldings of limbs or joints at all. The holier and more powerful, then, among the rest is he who before God is the more honourable in the glory of the virtues. Saint Cuthbert indeed bends the joints of his members with a frame solid yet softened; all his limbs he entwines by enfolding them, after the manner of the living, with a wondrous lightness. Which is proved to belong not to those slumbering in the death of powerlessness, but rather to those still possessing by the power of life the breath of living air: for the bending of the body and the easy folding of the sinews is in the blood, and the humour of moistening blood is only in the flesh of a man still breathing. Blessed Cuthbert, therefore, is believed in some inexplicable way to possess the breath of life, since his flesh is found flexible only by an infusion of blood in an incredible manner. The seat of the soul, indeed, is in the softenness of the blood; and blood exists only when infused with the breath of life. The mobility of the members, then, and the flexibleness of the joints and articulations flows only from the germ of blood irrigating the flesh, nor is it infused with the dew of blood which is not believed to be quickened by the living breath. Nor can we prove blessed Cuthbert dead, because we see him bending and flexible from the softenness of his flesh and the infusion of blood, and by nodding ease mobile in every region of his body; nor do we presume to declare him living, since we do not see him leading among us the accustomed and breathable life of men. Nor is it wonderful, then, if among the Saints of the English he is endowed with a pre-potent power, eminent in holiness, who neither grew stiff in death nor put off the breath, nor extinguished the lamp of life nor sent forth the vapour of dew; from where neither living is he dead, nor dead is he now not living and breathing in the world. For of no other Saint can we say such things, because in none do we find the wages of so great a power. To many, then, he is incomparable, he who alone is the more honourable by the singular privilege of virtue above the rest. We have made our digression too long; now let us return to our purpose. That man, then, perceiving that God had called him by a most wondrous sign to the thresholds of blessed Cuthbert to beg for his health, at once, thronged by the troops of noble youths, servants, friends and kinsmen, hastened flying to Durham; and all together, the companions of his fellowship, earnestly begged the clemency of the blessed Bishop Cuthbert, and prayed that the power of his goodness might be shown in the leper. The servants, then, poured forth prayers for their lord, the ministers for their patron, the heroes and soldiers bedewed their faces with moaning tears for their faithful companion and fellow-servant. Yet blessed Cuthbert that night deferred the prayers of those who begged, because he chose to prove the desires of their constant faith by delay; and for this reason perhaps, that it was a work of greater glory, to declare the power of his virtue in the sight of many rather than to exercise the efficacy of so great a condescension in the knowledge of few. When, therefore, the mysteries of the mass began to be celebrated with the more festal office before the most sacred body of blessed Cuthbert, it happened that the man and his people, supplicating the Lord more intently, begged with every kind of desire of their vow. A solemn festival was then being celebrated the more famously on the deposition of the Saints, and therefore the pavement of the church and every step were strewn with a copious throng of people. When, then, the Clergy had performed all things up to the canon of the mass, that man, wearied by the length of the vigils, was seized by sleep, a torpor rushing upon him; and, he perceiving it not at all, the office of the mass was already being completed at the kiss of peace. There all the faithful bind themselves by the sacrament of sacred peace, and commune with one another by the instrument of faith with a sweet kiss of love. Sleep, then, had withdrawn the light of his bodily eyes by covering it, but in an ineffable manner blessed Cuthbert enlightened the eyes of his understanding by opening them; for he could no longer contain the bowels of his accustomed pity, nor fail to come to the aid of the sick man’s miseries by compassionating them. So, as it seemed to the ailing man, the venerable Hero, vested in pontifical vestments of surpassing beauty, came forth from the summit of the altar, and turning aside a little, bent towards him the steps of a traveller. All his garments shone with glittering gold; his face flashed more brightly than the sun’s beam. Nor was it possible to tell the form of such great beauty, since it even exceeded by passing beyond every measure of understanding. Coming to him, then, and composing his steps with a gentle gait, with the soften touch of his right hand he shook off the hood from the sleeper’s head, and as though rebuking him gently with a sharper address, said: “See how all this people communicate by sharing in the kiss of sacred peace, and quicken themselves by partaking of the divine sacraments of the mysteries; blessed Cuthbert, then, bids you do this same, because in bestowing it he has granted you the peace of health.” But he, astonished by the violence of his confusion, rushed with a more violent onset into the crowds, and kissing each in turn, afterwards covered his head with the hood, because he did not believe himself cleansed of the leprosy. The servants, then, who had communicated with him in the kiss, told him more fully what had been done, and rendered innumerable praises and thanks to blessed Cuthbert. For Saint Cuthbert signified by the veil of the hood which he drew off that he had drawn away with it the scab of leprosy which had covered him by wrapping him round. It was fitting, indeed, for blessed Cuthbert to work somewhat spiritually, whose spirit we know possesses with God in heaven the hereditary glory of eternal peace. That leper, but now healed, related to them all the things we have said, and declared how blessed Cuthbert drew off the leprosy together with his hood. Here the venerable Confessor of the Lord Jesus played upon a miracle, where the Lord Jesus stretched out His hand to lay it on the leper, yet showed that He had touched not leprosy but sound flesh. He returned home healed, therefore, who had come a leper to the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert; nor did he ever afterwards feel from there the spark of any blemish. This miracle we have heard not once from our Brother Thurold, who asserted that he had heard these things from the aged Canons, in whose presence and sight this was done.

Chapter Twenty: Of a certain man miserably imprisoned by King Malcolm and fettered in all his limbs with iron bonds; how Saint Cuthbert led him out, the doors being shut, with all his fetters upon him, and brought him to his church on this side the river Tweed #

¹ An argute bee is the faithful soul which faithfully serves God in the love of righteousness, that it may obtain the reward of perpetual quiet and grace. The bee, which composes the sweetness of the comb, is the soul of blessed Cuthbert, which opens to us the brightness of heavenly life. Above honey and the comb, the token of his protection ought to savour sweet to us, since in him we find the succours of every kind of misery and calamity. For he is known to be not only the physician of souls, but the remedy and relief of all the languors of despairing men. For he is the hope of the wretched; the life of the dying; the consolation of tribulations; the salvation of despair; the aid of the afflicted. Nor does the tyrannical cruelty of earthly power oppress those whom the munificence of his faith protects. Which will be declared from the work of the miracle set beneath, if the efficacy of his power be searched through and through. Malcolm, King of the Scots, had confined a certain man in the darkness of a dungeon in the Castle of Berwick, and had commanded a care of more anxious custody to be bestowed upon him in no small measure. A guard of gaolers surrounded him with all vigilance, and suffered nothing good to creep upon him by any tenure. For they dreaded the command of the royal edict, and therefore took care lest they should incur his offence. The King, too, had raged against him with much fury of indignation, from where he had caused him to be bound with various bonds of iron. For he had thrust him down into a dungeon darker than dungeons, and bound him chained with copious weights of iron. For the prison was called Cole from its darksome and palpable obscurity, because nothing was left there save turpitude and the horror of blackest night. He had bound his arms in iron manacles, inserted his feet fastened in stocks, bolted his shins with ends. His neck, moreover, an iron collar of immense weight and wondrous size had compassed about, and binding the middle of his body, the same had extended its bounds by widening them round about, and so, running through and measuring the upper and lower parts of his neck everywhere by winding about, had taken captive all possibility of escape by withdrawing it. It had also nearly stopped up the motions of his arteries and the vents of his voice, because the rigour of the iron bond had diminished the whole surface of the tender little skin by eating it away. The misery of his seat was the same for him both for the feasting of the table and for the purgation of the privy, because in the frost of his own dung and the fouler filings of his own urine were accustomed to be the traffickings of his seat. The stench of the place, moreover, afforded increase of disgrace; and for the increment of horror there was the rottenness of his own flesh. What the collar’s portion had wrapped about his body sat more straitly in the fat of his belly; what had parted his thighs by making them gape corroded his buttocks and anus by twisting them. What it had bound upon his feet had changed the tracks of his steps into a twistedness. And to all these evils a domestic hunger and the want of thirst had added an increment of grief, because there is nothing of miseries that works so much desolation and languor. He had also sharpened most sharpened spikes with the point of iron, and had set them round about, both in the posts and in the walls round about, so that wherever he turned himself by leaning, ever a spike settled into his moving body and inflicted a wound of grief by piercing. Nothing of remedy or counsel, then, remained unless God alone should confer upon him some remedy of consolation. But because he knew no Saint more prompt to succour the wretched than blessed Cuthbert, he implored his aid of clemency more intently day and night. What he could not express with the cries of his voice, he poured forth before blessed Cuthbert in the tabernacle of his heart with the sighs of groanings and the laments of wailings. For he dreaded the keepers of the prison, who ever stood watchfully around, from where, compelled by fear, he at times doubted and trembled to utter louder cries, and intermitted them hesitating. And yet they had shut all the doors of the prison with iron bolts, and strengthened them more strictly with stronger bars. Nor had he drawn out the delay of prayer by prolonging it; and look, blessed Cuthbert stood in the midst of the prison, and light shone forth in his dwelling. He brought forth the consolations of words with such addresses of speech, and said with the sweet measure of consolation: “Why do you so often assail me with the importunate cries of words, and so often seek me by wearying me? See Cuthbert, whom you have invoked, shows you his presence, and turns his ears to your voices and the petitions of your faith.” Then with much urgency of prayers and a resplendent wonder of sweet contemplation, he poured forth the supplications of his petitions with much devotion, and asked that He would release him, unrolled, from such entanglements of miseries. Then blessed Cuthbert: “Arise with all speed and follow me; and cleaving to my footsteps, fear not any man by doubting.” But he, striving, wished to arise, yet the multitude of chains drove him back by holding him. Blessed Cuthbert admonished him with a repeated voice, and he, making a second attempt, could not draw breath. Saint Cuthbert, finally, assailed him again with a sweet measure, and rebuked him, as it were more sharply, asking why he did not follow him. Soon, therefore, following blessed Cuthbert, he could not perceive where he went; and what way he proceeded he knew not at all. Coming, then, to a certain church, the venerable Bishop Cuthbert halted on the threshold of the church; and he, following after his footsteps, lay down as he arrived there. Blessed Cuthbert, then, ordered him there loose his bonds, and lay them up in that his church to the glory of God. Then he vanished from the eyes of the wondering man; and he, with joyful voices, glorified the clemency of blessed Cuthbert by praising it with wondrous exultation. With dawn breaking, then, the clerks and all the people wondering for amazement and rejoicing for the unaccustomed and unheard-of novelty of the miracle, he at last perceived that he had come to the church of Saint Cuthbert in Norham, and disclosed to all the mighty works of blessed Cuthbert and the consolations of his pity by rehearsing them. Nor did he confess to have felt any weight in all that journey, because in what manner he had passed through the closed doors of the prison, had walked through ditches or the circuits of walls without a step of a footstep, had escaped the river Tweed without the solace of a boat, or by what path of ways he had come to Norham, was wholly unknown to him. With smithying instruments, then, they loosed the bonds of so many fetters, and hung the collar with all the rest in the beams of the church to the honour and glory of blessed Cuthbert. That collar alone nearly exceeds the weight of one man, because it consumes the strength of those who lift it by surpassing it. The keepers of the prison, opening the barred doors and finding no one, nor discovering the collar anywhere, were astonished beyond measure; and seeking everywhere, found all the monuments of the Castle, the enclosures and the locks. Here blessed Cuthbert imitated in work and power that miracle worked by an Angel in blessed Peter the Apostle, where He delivered blessed Peter, bound in the prison, the doors of the prison being shut, and restored him, loosed, to the consolation of holy church.

Chapter Twenty-One: How, when they brought help of stones to the church of blessed Cuthbert, one emina of ale sufficed for a whole day, and could suffer no lack while men drank and drew continually #

¹ The helmsman who presides at the prow of the ship and governs all things by the nod of his rule is blessed Cuthbert, who triumphs reigning in the heavens, yet nevertheless preordains all the ministries of his church by dispensing them with a secret governance. For by the nod of his rule all the offices of power are disposed. Nor does anyone hold the throne of tyranny in his church which blessed Cuthbert does not suffer by the mystery of a more secret judgement out of a wondrous long-suffering of patience. Nor has anyone ever possessed the bolts of power in his church, he disposing, who by his governance has not, for the merits of his faith, acquired the lot of eternal blessedness. And he is ever accustomed to confer the succours of miracles where the merits of the faith of the devout, or the desolations of necessity in his subjects, or the due rights of his honour, have been accustomed to require it. Indeed for simpler folk he has more often put forth miracles to his honour, of whose multitude this which we shall subjoin was the sign of illustrious power. In the Island of Lindisfarne there was a certain official Brother, Ædward by name, appointed by the precept of the Prelates of the Church of Durham, who for the grace of religion, the execution of his order and the strenuous courtesy of his life obtained the favour of all, because he conducted himself prudently in all things beyond measure. So the grace of all men’s goodwill had so increased that he was both venerable and dear to all. To the monks, indeed, he was a companion by the grace of honesty and a sensible discipline of manners; conformed to the soldiers by a copious eloquence of sweetness and a larger munificence of gifts; to the clerks an equal in every sufficiency of temperate doctrine and the sweetness and moderation of a pleasant continence; and conformable to the rustics in every patience of long-suffering and a compassion and mercy for humility, poverty and abjection. For he so temperately conducted himself in all things that, in a manner, what we read of blessed Paul might be conformed to him by the grace of his own merit: “I am made all things to all men, in that I am found like to all men’s manners and needs in the compassions of pity.” He had also, beyond all others, a devotion of inexplicable zeal for the honour of blessed Cuthbert, because in all things he strove to enlarge and extend both the lands of the fields and the buildings of his church. From this he also erected from the foundations a new Church in honour of blessed Cuthbert within the same Island, which he finished with tabular stones in a wondrous order of arrangement, by the labours of his industry and the alms of the faithful people, with a beautiful work of craftsmen. But because a sufficiency of stones could less readily be found in the same Island, he had acquired wagons and yokes of oxen with carts from the neighbouring villages, and by such long distances and various labour’s expenses had heaped together a multitude of stones by carrying them. The neighbours, too, for devotion to Cuthbert, had sometimes been accustomed to lend him the aid of their strength, and crowding together into one company, would sometimes bear the burthen of a wonted and welcome load across the seashore sands. The stones which are in the Island grow ashen at the smoke of the foaming sea, and crumble down into the likeness of sandy pebbles. From this they sufficed not for the business of so great a work, yet could afford some help towards the smaller fragments of the inner material. On a certain day, then, that venerable man had gone forth within the thresholds of the church of blessed Cuthbert, and looking upon the sands round about saw as it were infinite troops of people in wonder. He perceived also that there were multitudes bearing wagons and carts to the honour of blessed Cuthbert, and that they had borne such desolations of labours for love of him. At once he ran to the tomb of blessed Cuthbert which is within the church to render thanks, and then hastening as quickly as he could to Edred his steward, laid all things bare before him by telling them. “Look,” he said, “our neighbour men, devoted to blessed Cuthbert, of their own will bring heaps of stones at their own charges, and today they are to feast with us for the honour of blessed Cuthbert. See to it, therefore, that you prepare all things necessary for the feast in sufficiency, and minister all things to them the more copiously with a more cheerful spirit.” He was indeed so bountiful and beneficent that no hand of those who came could escape him unless it had first been sufficiently fed with food and drink. And blessed Cuthbert had so made him abound in all things that sometimes from the smallest things he was accustomed to find infinitudes of multitude. For the benefits of blessed Cuthbert are found to redound with the more copious increase the more liberally they are distributed. And the more readily a man contracts his hand with tenacity in distributing his goods for charity, the less will he possess of things sufficient, scarcely the necessaries of life. The steward, then, astonished, asserted that he would find all things sufficient for them which pertained to the eating of food; but what pertained to restraining thirst, he answered that he had in less abundance by flowing. “For,” he said, “there is to us neither poverty of want nor any faculty of abundance of ale, save as much smallness of measure as is in the capacity of your emina.” He had always indeed, as was customary of monks, the measure of an emina on his table, whose modest quantity he never exceeded by licence in drinking. Yet to guests no censure of such measure applied, but ever as much as thirst or the inclemency of will demanded. Confounded, then, with anxiety and the vehemence of shame troubling him, he ran back in haste to the tomb of blessed Cuthbert, and rebuked him with bitter reproach, as though he were a living man, asking why he had suffered him to see the day of losing the honour of blessed Cuthbert. “Come now, Cuthbert,” he said, “do you wish to confound those devoted to you, and to let those who render you the ministry of devoted service perish failing of thirst on the way? Now we can no longer preach the abundance of your plenty, nor can we glory any further in your storehouses, until then filled with every good.” When he had said many things like these, he returned and sat down at the table, and ordered all who had come sit down. And to his steward he said: “Bring out as quickly as you can my emina, which you monks call the justice, and serve drink with speed to the thirsty ministers and guests of blessed Cuthbert. For indeed it will be no hard thing for blessed Cuthbert to refresh and satisfy whom he will from what is not great and very small. In his bounteous goodness we trust, and until we have a firm hope of our confidence in him…” Nor did the hope confided in blessed Cuthbert deceive him, nor the faith founded on his power. Wondrous thing! From noon even to evening, all that day, they drew drink sufficient for the innumerable multitude from that one emina, and always nevertheless they possessed the full justice. For that emina, with the blessing of blessed Cuthbert poured into it, knew both to suffice for the drinkers to satiety and never to diminish its own fulness by changing. It is full when it pours out; it is not diminished when it has filled. It is drained and does not fail; all day it is drunk and flows out; filling the bellies of the topers it makes them drunk and sates them; and ever overflowing the breadths of its own smallness, it abounds and superabounds by increasing. It is reclined and retains its former fulness; it is poured out but not emptied; labouring it makes the butler sweat, but by ministering more abundantly it is not perturbed — the fullness of the fuller emina’s overflowing; it is drunk and is not diminished; it is exhausted and is not consumed; for what is ministered is the blessing of blessed Cuthbert, and what is full is the sign of his bounty. When evening came on, a certain man, mad with drunkenness, ran up and cried out madly before them all: “How is it that this measure of small quantity is for us all a ruin of drunkenness all day? For shame! that all day we are so deluded and are made drunk and sated from nothing.” And without delay that emina was wholly drained, and so that congregation was dissolved. The venerable man, then, conferred the blessing of blessed Cuthbert upon them all, and suffered each one, glorifying blessed Cuthbert, to return to his own home. Here the goodness of blessed Cuthbert fulfilled that presage of Elisha, where the widow’s pot with the fulness of meal failed not, and the cruse of oil could in no way be diminished.

Chapter Twenty-Two: How, when bread failed on the feast of Saint Cuthbert, the monk Ædward ran to the tomb of the holy Bishop, and by the grace of the holy Confessor produced sufficient bread all that day from no underlying matter #

¹ We can sing to blessed Cuthbert a new epithalamium of song, because we can daily see a prodigy of new amazement from the wondrous novelty of blessed Cuthbert’s wonders. We can speak, but we cannot suffice; we sing together in bringing forth a canticle, but we cannot unfold worthy praises with worthy praises. A miracle of illustrious power is as it were an epithalamium of song, because it is the melody of inward sweetness and the organ of eternal delight. For the harmony of virtue resounds within, because unless it shine forth by coming into notice in the secret of a devout breast, it cannot be. Which the glory of the miracles of blessed Cuthbert expresses by declaring, and the magnificence of his virtue teaches and confirms by perfect instruction. Of whose especial multitude this shone forth in a manner, which by a description set beneath will avail to lie open in the effect of knowledge. Ædward, that same venerable man, on the approach of a certain feast of blessed Cuthbert, resolved to prepare all things for sufficiency, and composed many offerings by command for the increase of his honour. Neighbours and far-dwellers had flocked together from every side, and a congregation of innumerable multitude wore away the thresholds of the church for the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s honour. For not only clerks but laymen ran together; and it had not only filled the inner parts of the church by crowding them, but even all the courts of the outer cemetery. When at last the sacred solemnities of the mysteries had been performed for the honour of the venerable Bishop, they rejoiced at the hour of refreshment, sitting down to the tables set round about; and having rendered thanksgivings to God, they venerated blessed Cuthbert, preaching how greatly in the Lord. But because an innumerable multitude of diverse rank and age had come together, they could not all sit at the tables at once, and therefore a change of succession was necessary, because with others succeeding and those first admitted yielding place, a vehemence of lesser importunity was necessary. Nor had the delay of long deferring run out, when the bread of the eaters failed at the tables. The steward, Gospatric by name, who still survives, ran to the storehouses and all the other places more secret to him; but searching long and turning over all things round about, could find nothing at all which he could set before the guests. For already he had quite drained all that was food of bread, and had scattered it by dividing it among the victuals of the guests. And yet the crowd grew greater and greater none the less, and now, the bread failing, demanded the sustenance of corn. You might see the tumultuous crowds stretch forth their hands, summon the stewards with nods, demand Lord Ædward the Monk by attacking him with clamours and shrill voices. But he, anxious with grief, groaning with the mourning and desolation of his heart, and above all with the exceeding shame of modesty, once and again ordered his steward go in with speed and bring out all things that were necessary for eating. The sorrowful steward ascended with all speed upon the tile-shelf which was set upon the beams in the storehouse, and searching long and turning everything over, found nothing at all. Hard indeed it was to spend much from nothing, and to find all things from something. For nothing could bring forth anything, and to draw something out of nothing was not the work of human business. From this the steward soon came to the Monk and asserted with the sacrament of protestation, the others bearing witness who had seen and searched with him, that nothing at all remained. Then, all other aids of counsel failing, he went at once to the tomb of blessed Cuthbert, and with the urgency of devotion implored the aid and clemency of blessed Cuthbert with the brief sweetness of a prayer: “Saint Cuthbert,” he said, “do you not love the cheerful giver, and do you not suffer those whom you have approved to serve you devotedly to perish utterly of hunger? This is the work of your gift alone, to bestow all things the more abundantly from nothing. For it is proper to you to distribute all things sufficiently from no underlying matter, just as accidents come forth from the substance beneath. For by matter sufficient and underlying, the efficacy of your condescension and power is proved to exist. For you can not only, when you will, give the abundance of increase to the smallest things, but even from nothing provide the sufficiency of all good things. Now then is the time to give your name the honour and glory of power, and to provide the abundance of bread from nothing by the increase of your blessing. Stretch forth, then, the right hand of your wonted blessing, and all things will come to us, you giving, beyond the measure of our want, quicker than speech and abundantly.” The venerable man, then, feeling in spirit that he had obtained what he asked, ordered the steward a third time ascend in the name of blessed Cuthbert upon the tile-shelf with speed, and bring forth bread by ministering it abundantly to the guests of blessed Cuthbert. The tile-shelf, indeed, was set upon the beams of the cellar, which had long been accustomed to sustain the bread; because such a keeping for bread held in the integrity of cleanliness, and enlarged by widening the straitness of the rest of the house. The steward, knowing that nothing had been there before, by reason of the more violent urgency of his Lord and his own incredulity or sloth of faith, complained by muttering within himself in the more burning anguish of hesitation, because he suspected he would find nothing there. Yet, compelled, he mounted the shelf and found it full with an innumerable quantity of breads. And coming down he cast forth infinite breads, and set them before the tables of the eaters, and showed sufficient bread all that day to those who came and succeeded one another; and yet he never found less upon the shelf. All that day, then, he brought forth the breads of blessed Cuthbert from the shelf, and ever found it full when he returned. They afforded sufficiency to satiety to all, yet never diminished the number of their perfection. For they had not only covered the floor of the shelf, but grew up also in the manner of a heaped pyramid. You might see the heaps stretch upward in the fashion of little hills, and come together with a regular measure as though all had been composed by human hand. Nor had the breadth of one bread exceeded another by going further, nor had any overgrown another in breadth, weight or quantity. Yet some were rather thin, and spread abroad in their flatness, and as it were covered with the likeness of a species of oats; and yet to the palates of the eaters they savoured of every diversity of delights. At last, when all had been refreshed with wondrous cheerfulness, as evening drew on each returned to his own home with joy, and extolled blessed Cuthbert with the manifold praise of thanksgivings. The witness of this miracle is that same Gospatric, who still discharges the office of steward in the Island of Lindisfarne, and very many monks of the Church of blessed Cuthbert, who have many times heard the order of the present and the preceding miracle from the same Ædward, his brother and monk, and from Gospatric his servant. Here the venerable Confessor Cuthbert imitated the work of the Lord Jesus’ miracle, where He satisfied five thousand men from barley loaves, and brought forth a copious quantity of breads by the power of His blessing, which the matter of bread has not in its natural condition. From these two miracles we may perceive of how great liberality a man, of how cheerful a dispenser a friend, of how great a frugality and expenditure a lord, we ought to profess and believe blessed Cuthbert to be. Nor can the abundance of all good be lacking to those who serve him, unless perhaps the avarice of a worthless steward has withdrawn his hand with tenacity from the riches of blessed Cuthbert.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Of certain sailors who, having lost all the equipment of their ship, invoked blessed Cuthbert; how the holy Confessor came to them visibly in the ship and, exhorting them kindly, sat down in the steersman’s place and with the pastoral staff steered the ship while the waves raged, and when he had brought them to harbour ordered them go out and carry all their goods with them, and bind the shattered ship with ropes and draw it to them #

¹ The counsellor of tribulations and the reliever of griefs, blessed Cuthbert, is known to be present to all who invoke him, in whatever tribulation of griefs or desolation of tribulations he be sought by faithful petition. His name, indeed, is known to be not so much renowned among the shipwrecked as it is found wholesome to all, since he not only frees souls from the destruction of sins but saves bodies from the gulf of the raging sea. And above wonder it is believed marvellous that his spirit is sometimes saw by some under the likeness of bodily form. For to see bodily what is spiritual is not the gift of nature but of virtue and grace alone. And yet we know that super-heavenly spirits assume bodies of air, that, clothed in the spoils of the bodily, they may appear visibly to men. Blessed Cuthbert, too, can in like manner effect the same, because all that he wills is possible to him by the power of God. There is no number, indeed, of the works of his wondrous miracles, because there is no defined boundary of certainty to his possibility. For a thing which is believed to exceed the measure of amazement is known to be the novelty of the following miracle and the solidity of an unfamiliar work, which is now described in pursuit of the reverence of his honour. Certain sailors, while they furrowed the quiet waters with winged oarage, had all things prosperous beyond what they could have wished for the appointed desire of their purpose. No difficulty had happened to them; nothing that could breed the hindrance of any stumbling-block. They would sometimes let loose their nets in sport for a catch, and fishing, draw together a copious multitude of prey. They knew the work of trading, and yet exercised the skill of the fisher’s art at will. For while the clemency of serene air gave them room for roaming or for the profit of some gain, they practised both in turn, and sought the necessaries of life by the temperate dispensation of weathers and seasons. At that time, then, they had brought both with them; for the ship abounded laden with nets and merchandise. For whatever they had acquired by the labours of fishing they could carry with them both for the food of their own eating and for the commerce of selling. To neighbouring or distant regions they sometimes sailed for the selling of their merchandise or for the procuring of goods; but sometimes, as now, lingering on the waves of the sea, they pressed on for the sake of fishing. Suddenly, then, the sea was driven with whirlwinds, troubled with unquiet waves, and more violently tossed with the furies of storms. The waves struck the ship sideways and cast it back; now they raised the prow erect into the air; now they dragged it down into the depths of the sea in a precipice; now they washed over the stern’s upper parts by swallowing them; now they poured in the cups of foaming waters. The harshness of the cold, moreover, had grown so rough that they could in no way warm their freezing limbs by any art. At last the sails had burst apart in the excessive blasts of temptation; the mast, broken in the midst, had cracked; and the joints of the planks, scattered by the whirlwinds, now lay nearly dissolved and gaping. Their hands, too, had now failed in holding the oars, and as the waves fell upon them with an excessive force of weight they had dragged the oars themselves partly away from the strength of those who flagged, and part of what remained they had broken by grinding it as they struggled. The sailor, moreover, lost the tackle of the rudder by which the ship ought to be steered; and the ship, destitute of the solace of a helm, leaped wherever the onset of the waves had tossed it. Then all hope of life had been taken away, and none could in any way hope anything of them save the end of death alone. Yet they who had already nearly lost the breath of life for the fear of death lay pale and half-dead, nor could they compose either words or even voices by conforming them. But those in whom was the breath of a stronger spirit implored the clemency of blessed Cuthbert from their inmost marrow, because certain of them were his foster-sons; some had been reared in his land, and all had heard very often of his holiness and the miracles of his power. All, therefore, with one consent of mouth and a devout heart lifted up their palms to the stars, watered their cheeks more copiously with tears, and beating their breasts with guilt awaited, bearing up, the aid and succour of blessed Cuthbert’s clemency. What more? There was no delay — the venerable Bishop Cuthbert appeared, as it were in bodily form, visible and palpable to all, and sat down in the prow of the ship after the manner of a steersman. He was crowned with all manner of pontifical vestments and laurelled with a mitre on the summit of his head. And such beauty of splendour appeared in him as had never been seen by the eyes of men. But blessed Cuthbert, with the pastoral staff after the manner of a helm, divided the raging sea by cutting it, and made the ship run over the foaming and raging waters with a winged flight. And the waves were to them sometimes rising like mountains on the right and on the left; yet the ship never deviated from its path, nor could be hindered from pursuing the haste of its journey once begun. Sometimes also a swelling of waters like a wall stretched into the air seemed to them to stand against them by resisting in the forward parts, and to deny all access of proceeding; which, being cast down and crushed, in like manner rose up behind with a great crashing roar. For the masses of waters and the whirlwinds of marine inclemency seemed indignant that they could not swallow up the little vessels of avarice by draining them, nor plunge the sinning souls. Meanwhile blessed Cuthbert ordered them be of more even mind and fear nothing at all by hesitating: “Cuthbert,” he said, “who is with you, can be troubled by no disquiet; nor will the presence of Cuthbert whom you have invoked desert you until first, by the ministry of him as your sailor, you reach unharmed the harbour of safety.” The venerable Confessor, then, with the same ease with which he is accustomed to crush and abolish the bitternesses of our hearts’ thoughts, divided the entanglements of the waves by cutting them with the pastoral staff. Nor is it wonderful if the disquiets of the sea are broken by the governance of his staff, under whose sway and virtue of power the depths of hell and the heights of the earth are subdued and brought low. All, then, who sat in the ship had seen blessed Cuthbert steering the ship after the manner of a steersman as it were in bodily form, and therefore whoever had previously nearly failed by expiring now stood of more even mind with cheerful spirit, and speaking one to another by nods and tokens, and sometimes by words, warned the companions on either side to look upon blessed Cuthbert. Yet no one of those who saw the face of his sweetness and rejoiced for its exceeding sweetness asked him, “Who are you?”, knowing most certainly, as he himself had foretold them, that it is blessed Cuthbert. Nor had they drawn out a longer space of time, when see they had now drawn near to the Island of Farne, and seeing the church of Lindisfarne, soon afterwards saw themselves standing upon the shore. Blessed Cuthbert, then, striving with the governance of his staff for a pole, ordered each one to go forth to land with the merchandise and burdens, together with the nets and the fish and the rest of the tackle. Nor was it needful for them to wet their footsteps by wading on the surface of the overflowing bank from the depth of waters, because blessed Cuthbert had so driven the ship’s stern forward upon the drying sands that all could now go forth with dry foot. And so with the support of his staff he forced the prow to the higher ground until he saw that all things had been drawn out. Nor did these things suffice his goodness; indeed, he ordered them bind the ship, shattered and nearly halved by the former waves, with ropes, lest it might slip away by the inflowings of the gliding waves. When they had brought all things to completion, he said, “It is finished”; and vanished from their eyes, and withdrew himself into the bosom of the quiet of blessedness. They returned at once to the Isle of Farne, and related all these things to Brother Bartholomew, a monk of Durham dwelling as a hermit in the same island; and what sweet floods of tears they poured forth before blessed Cuthbert with devout oblations! These things also our monk John, already hoary, told us, and asserted that he had often heard and learned all these things both from the living voice of the men themselves and by the attestation of an oath, and moreover by the narration of Brother Bartholomew. Here blessed Cuthbert accords with that miracle of the Lord Jesus, where He came to His Disciples labouring in the ship after His death, and brought them back to land in safety.

Chapter Twenty-Four: How a certain trader, when he swore falsely by the name of blessed Cuthbert, suddenly lost his sight, and on coming a third time as a suppliant into the church, and promising that he would nevermore swear by that name, received his sight again #

¹ The venerable life of blessed Cuthbert is amiable to all and to be imitated. And how great is the power of his name is proved by his most illustrious acts of miracles. Whoever shall have offended the name of blessed Cuthbert by swearing falsely incurs the wrath of God and the offence of His indignation. For God shows well enough how great the honour of his name is with Him, when He at once punishes those who swear falsely by his name with avenging pain. From this we may clearly perceive of how great power — if I may so say — and of how great a force we ought to believe the attestation of his name to be. Which we have chosen rather to prove by opening it with examples of miracles than, by drawing out offices of words, to season it by clothing it obscurely under the testimonies of Scripture and various figures of doctrines. For the novelty of the following miracle will declare yet more evidently of how great power the attestation of his name is in the presence of the Lord. In modern times, namely, there was a certain noble householder in the neighbouring parts of the northern regions of the English, who shone forth abundantly in many things with the glory of illustrious power. To him a certain servant adhered from the servitude of bondage, who did all things under the dominion of his rule at the nod of him who commanded. When, therefore, the yearly feast of blessed Cuthbert’s translation drew near, various men were hastening — some with the desire of a varied intention, some with the zeal of a different comparison, and some for the gain of trading, not to the observances of the feast but to the profits of the fair. That young man had often sought licence from his Lord to go to the fair, but though the feast had already run on for nearly three days he could not obtain it by begging. Meanwhile, however, he had committed a certain horn, suitable for the business of hunting, to one of his companions and fellow-servants for the sake of selling, but the number of the price, or the price of a definite number, he had first prescribed for him by defining it. Who, coming to Durham, could effect nothing in selling, because scarcely anyone chose to employ the work of such merchandise or the shrewd prudence of a like mind. But at last the young man who had remained at home obtained licence from his lord by the prayer and restlessness of importunity. He had now come to Durham, the feast being at its midst; but asking of his companion what he had done with what was committed to him, he grieved that he had effected nothing. To whom he gave such counsel: that the bearer of the sale should walk through the fair by a certain path, while he himself, by a certain less-known way, as though ignorant and a stranger, should come to meet him. So that if any should perhaps come to meet him who, in buying the horns, offered too little a price, he should detain him until he came with pleasant speech. “I, meanwhile,” he said, “shall meet you and, while he is buying and offering less than we have determined, I shall endeavour to assert by the word of faith that I have heard that more was offered for these horns. So shall I draw him on by provoking him, and win for us greater profits of gain.” O how blind is the ever-gripping avarice of covetousness, which chose rather to lose faith from treachery than not to acquire by deceiving the gain of a single obol; and chose to keep for itself neither the oath of fidelity for its neighbour, nor for God the vow of faith or of the betrothal of baptism, nor for itself the fellowship of truth to hold; and resolved rather to lose all these than not to increase the weight of its purse with the gain of half an obol: he held himself wholly venal for an obol who strove to defraud faith from himself, love from his neighbour, and truth from God by demolishing them for so little a price. Nor did he delay: he met his companion as he had appointed, and as one was buying the horn and inquiring the burden of the price, set upon it such a price as he would; but the other answered that he would not give so much, because it was not worth so much. To whom he who came to meet him, and whose the horn was, put in: “I heard another offer so much before, and therefore you are not reckoning the exchange of a worthy price.” To whom the would-be buyer of the horn replied: “You,” he said, “have a share in this business, and you are taking pains to share with him in the gain.” Then he whose the horn properly was, as we said before, asserted by contesting with an oath: “By Him,” he said, “Saint Cuthbert, namely, who rests within there, I heard with mine own ears that another offered him more, and promised to give a gift of greater price for each horn; and I have no part with him, nor do I purpose to share with him in any way.” But as soon as he had uttered these things with a false-speaking mouth, and polluted the name of blessed Cuthbert’s holiness by bringing forth perjury of falsehood, he lost the light of his eyes, the lamp that radiates: yet the lids of his pupils had not changed the former habit of their beauty, but they could see nothing at all, because when the tabernacle was emptied the inner guest had departed, and the light of truth abhorred the dwelling of falsehood. But he who was to buy offered something of price, though small, and rebuked the man swearing ever more urgently, and warned him to cease from perjury. “Hold your peace,” he said, “and swear falsely no more, for there is no man who will bestow so great a price for them by largess.” But he who had lost the sight of his eyes secretly warned his companion to lead him into the church of blessed Cuthbert, because he had lost the light of his eyes for the perjury he had committed against Saint Cuthbert. Who, marvelling beyond measure and exceedingly anxious in mind, led him with all speed into the church, and conducting him into a corner, prayed long by supplicating with assiduous devotion. Both, then, fell prostrate with bended knees, and praying long were in no way worthy to be heard. They had no merit of hearing, and carried away the price of a baffled prayer. And again they did the same, nor even so did they obtain what they had sought. Then, perceiving that their sins had hindered the benefit of blessed Cuthbert, they vowed to God and blessed Cuthbert that they would never again presume to swear at all by his name, and that they would keep the memory of his name more renowned than the commemorations of all Saints. At last they fell down a third time in prayer, and implored the clemency of blessed Cuthbert with an exceeding urgency of devotion. Blessed Cuthbert, then, not forgetful of his accustomed goodness, did not delay to confer the benefits of his goodness upon him on whom he had brought the wrath of his indignation, but in mercy loosed the bonds which in a right judgement of equity he had bound. And soon He gave him sight, and repaired the blind luminaries with the grace of brightness. At last he rose up from prayer, and rendered innumerable thanks to blessed Cuthbert with inexplicable devotion. And what had happened to him he explained by a faithful relation to all who would hear. This miracle the venerable Robert, Prior of Nostell, afterwards Prior of Saint Andrew’s, related to our brethren in the cloister of Durham, and, as he himself asserted, learned by proof that it was true in very truth, because he himself was for some time that man’s servant, and he narrated these things as having been in true faith.

Chapter Twenty-Five: How a young man was freed from a flux of blood by the virtue and power of one prayer of blessed Cuthbert #

¹ Assuredly, the following miracle will declare of how great virtue the name of blessed Cuthbert was. A certain Brother at some time, journeying on the church’s business, came to Lincoln to lodge. He entered the roof his accustomed lodging, but found innumerable throngs of both sexes mourning with grievous desolation over the son of the mistress of the house. For that young man laboured under so great a flux of blood that he lay half-alive in the open court. No medicine could avail him; but all that they could add by way of remedy had rather prolonged the flux of blood by nourishing it. But he, trusting in blessed Cuthbert, ordered all go out of the house; and coming to the young man, in the name of the Holy Trinity he impressed upon his forehead the seal of the holy cross, and a third time added that collect of blessed Cuthbert — “May the venerable intercession of blessed Cuthbert help us all, O Lord, and cause us, absolved from all our guilt, to rejoice in your peace.” In a wondrous and ineffable way he soon rose up healed, and lay that whole night rejoicing with him, and never afterwards felt the misery of infirmity of this kind. Such are the miracles of blessed Cuthbert, which at the mere clemency of his invocation fulfil new and ineffable ministries.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Of the glorious head of blessed Cuthbert and the power of his hair, and of the weasel which secretly entered his sepulchre and nested in it; and how the holy Confessor commanded it to be removed, yet suffered it not to be hurt #

¹ It is fitting for us to confess and praise blessed Cuthbert, if our memory will rightly consider the tokens of his justice and his wondrous miracles. For confession of him belongs to his sanctity and virtue, praise of him to his glory and honour. Confession belongs to his sanctity, which gives the health of safety to the sick; to his virtue, which shows the fulness of abundance to the poor; to his glory, which leads the wretched to the blessedness of the kingdom; to his honour, which confers on his merits, not for their merits, the crown of eternal reward. Whoever has not shown the reverence of obedience to his sanctity has very often incurred the deserved vengeance of due penalty. For no crime could be committed against him which could be covered in secret and not the sooner made manifest. This work of negligence turns to a crime; which by the virtue of his grace is not the sooner revealed. For if he detects the offences of beasts and the reptiles of the earth, how does he not reveal the acts of wicked men by revealing them? For neither reptiles nor beasts could presume to transgress against him in anything which they do not at once pay for either by avenging pain or by the search of human observation. Which we most easily prove by examples if we revolve his wondrous acts. In ancient times there was a certain Ælfred Westoue, who shone with a special prerogative of wondrous love in the eyes of blessed Cuthbert. For it was lawful for him to open the lock of his sepulchre freely and unpunished as often as he pleased, to arrange about him what he would, and he prevailed to obtain from him the sooner what he desired. So it is handed down that he had so grown into the grace of such sweetness with him from the acquaintance of familiarity that he was sometimes accustomed to cut the flowing hair of his venerable head by clipping it, to divide and smooth his locks with an ivory comb, and to round the nails of his fingers into beauty by cutting them. So, no doubt, it came about that he was sometimes accustomed to show certain of his friends the clippings of those hairs, and, to make trial, would set them with a silver pair of tongs which he had made for the work of this ministry upon glowing coals kindled in a censer, before the eyes of all. But the hairs soon shone red like gold in the midst of the fires, nor contracted any hurt or diminution. Then, after some small space of time had passed, when the portion of hair drawn back with the tongs began little by little to put off the sheen of gold everywhere, at last, to the amazement of all, it returned to the figure of its proper state. So, as it is believed, those tongs with the great ivory comb pierced in the midst of its central region are still found in the sepulchre of the blessed Bishop retaining the grace of their former newness, and are laid with the reverence of honour beside his body upon the board. It happened at last, at a certain time, that as he closed the place of the sepulchre which rises above, and looked round less heedfully upon all that was open on the face of the lid, he unknowingly left unstoppered a certain hole, small and very little, and passed it over, forgetful in negligence. Nor is it strange if he could not notice that hole, since it opened no further than the passage of a single gimlet. And it was not the bored passage of a hole but the opening of a yawning gap where the lid and the lower tomb were not perfectly and solidly closed. It happened, then, that the venerable man Ælfred, a necessary business demanding, went away somewhat far and, the discomfort of necessity occupying him in another region, did not come home the sooner, business delaying him. Meanwhile a certain subterranean beast, which is known to be not a beast of cattle but a certain earthly reptile of living soul, crept forth secretly from the subterranean hole; but when that case prevented her return she was deprived of all hope of going back. For it was a certain reptile of the kind of mice which had conceived offspring of now mature birth, but, the native hole of her dwelling obstructed, had no convenient place for bearing. She wished indeed, and sought, to seek out a place of quiet for this work, that she might give birth more freely under a quiet peace; where she might lay her offspring under the protection of a safer shelter and fear no snares of any predator’s plunder; and seeking the pastures of food might leave her offspring in security and find them safe in their integrity on returning; and might neither suffer a stumbling-block from the dust ever naturally diminishing, nor the heavy difficulty of stone or mortar create a hindrance for her tender offspring. Running out then and running about, at last she approached the sepulchre of the venerable Bishop, and entering beneath by creeping and clinging under the coverings of the vestments, passed in through the entrance of the same hole. And because that hole stood out at the part of the feet, she chose to bring forth and rear her offspring of mature time in the lower corner within the sepulchre. For she dared not advance by going to the upper parts, nor defile the holy pontifical garments with unclean contacts, nor touch the pall and silken coverings or the purple cloths by wrapping herself in them, or clinging to them, or even approaching them. Sense indeed did not fail her, in that she presumed not to offend further the presence of the holy Bishop. For she remembered that she had sinned enough in him by presuming to enter the dwelling of such honour. So, as often as she wished to go forth from within to seek victuals, she was found to scratch by creeping with her nails over the ashen timber, and by scratching to creep with steps, and so begging the footsteps of the journey to arrive below and above in going out and in. For the walls of the corners which had joined themselves together stood out more conveniently for a business of this kind and afforded the facility for such affairs. Not indeed, as we have said, had she presumed to touch the garments by demolishing them in the manner of a moth, nor to seek broader bounds by entering from the straits of the corner. From this the venerable Bishop, indignant, wished to correct the negligence of his keepers by rebuking them, and to punish the insolence and presumption of the beast by revealing it, and to make them more solicitous concerning their negligence and the caution of a less diligent guard. He approached, then, the Clerk, the keeper of his most sacred body, and ordered him command Ælfred his master to come home with all haste. “Tell him,” he said to him, “to drive out with all speed that weasel which pollutes my house with her young, and never again to neglect to lock the enclosures of my dwelling. For she has violated the house of my rest and troubled the repose of my quiet, and by exploring she has found out the vigilance of your negligence and his.” When Ælfred had heard these things, he returned to Durham with troubled haste; and with the anxious mind of one weeping, groaned as often as he sighed. “Alas, Cuthbert,” he said, “it were better for me to put off my soul with my life than that by the merit of my carelessness the dwelling of your house has been violated by the entrance of a weasel.” Therefore running over everything the longer and with more anxious care, and sifting all things, he found nothing through all the bounds of the church; nor could he perceive or understand what he ought to understand under the name of a weasel. At last, inquiring of the clerks and extorting it from them by solemn charge in the divine name, he learned that neither weasel nor any dog had entered the church while he was not at home, nor had any of the servants or clerks polluted himself with the uncleanness of fornication or the contagion of lust. Then, Cuthbert inspiring him, he opened the sepulchre, and looking upon all things arranged in their former order, at last in the lower corner of the end he found that beast with her young, and drew her out, presuming not to move. In furious anger he would have cut them all in pieces, had not the holy Confessor ordered the finder to spare by abstaining from hurting them. From this with gentleness he smoothed the back of the little skin with a caressing hand, and holding her reclined within the palms of his hands showed her forth to his companions with the mildest sweetness of delight. In wondrous fashion the mother of her offspring had already put off the rage of savage nature, and conformed herself to the hands of those who touched her with the tameness of domestic familiarity and a certain grace of courtesy. She had lost the savagery of biting; she sought not the hiding-places of flight from men; she sported with the hands of those who stroked her and the touches of those who caressed her together with all her little ones. All who had seen marvelled and were amazed, and praised together blessed Cuthbert as wondrously great in the glory of his name. By this kind of goodness the venerable Bishop both stirred up the negligence of his servants to the vigilance of greater solicitude, and punished the insolence of the beast’s presumption by revealing it; and neglected to leave the crime of neither unpunished. For he avenged the negligence of his servant by the grief of a contrite mind; he subdued the audacity of the beast’s presumption by the sudden invasion and fear of capture; he gave to his name the glory of power by the grace of revelation and a wondrous patience of long-suffering. The Lord Abbot Ælred heard this miracle from his father, and that same Ælfred who was the abbot’s grandfather very often told it to his son; and the report of many elders has handed it down to us, and proved it true by the proof of wisdom. Here blessed Cuthbert followed the acts of many fathers, because they were accustomed not only not to spare untamed animals but very often to nourish them more tamely when subdued.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: How a certain servant of the hermit dwelling in the Isle of Farne slew by stealth a certain bird of blessed Cuthbert’s; and how blessed Cuthbert revealed the wicked deed of the servant to his master, and cast upon him the bones collected with the feathers in one place #

¹ All things which the Lord has made in heaven and in earth He has subjected to the nods of the ministries of His Saints, and has cast down beneath the feet of obedience. Which we see shining clearly enough in blessed Cuthbert, when we see the birds of the water and the field, for his merit, become domestic and palpable to the hands and desire of his servants. In the Isle of Farne, indeed, there are animals of various kinds which, from the times of blessed Cuthbert, are domestic and touchable to the hands of all husbandmen and comers. For they nest tamely in the houses, sit upon the eggs they conceive, come together when summoned, expose to the hands of those who wish to consider them the eggs they are sitting on; and suffer themselves to be taken, handled and held by those who stroke them, yet without any fleeing or fearing. They also show you their young as touchable; they sit playing in your bosom, and offer themselves ready to be composed and fit beneath your garments or in your lap if you permit. And, what is of greater miracle, they come to your table if you are an inhabitant; they make their nest beneath your bed-chamber or even your couch; or, if you know by a nod and wish it, they proceed walking beside your footsteps. They fly also to the hands of one who entices them, with fluttering wings; they applaud with croaking calls, and in all ways serve you by obeying. Yet at last they leap forth swimming more tamely to the gulfs of the sea, because they live by nature on the prey of fish. That island, indeed, is not for them by nature but by grace, not to be ascribed to the origin of procreation but only to the goodness and mercy of blessed Cuthbert. For in the time of his life, while he dwelt solitary with himself in the rock, he so tamed the same flying and swimming creatures that their kind should render him the services of servitude, and he appointed for them a place of nesting in the Island, and fixed for them appointed bounds of coming and going. So, up to the appointed times, they come; and in every tempest of necessity or importunity of adversity they fly there, and have recourse to the known protections of blessed Cuthbert. For what their kind received freely in their fathers, this the posterity of his offspring possesses and demands by the privilege of hereditary dignity. For blessed Cuthbert afforded them such quietness of peace that no man until then has presumed to violate it unpunished. Which many examples of miracles also attest, which our times also visit with the frequent mysteries of miracles. Lately, indeed, a certain man in those times presided over the same Island who was called Æilric by name; he had come there for the sake of living as a hermit, and yet wore the habit of a monk. He was the uncle of Bernard the sacrist of Durham; who deemed the solitude of a hermit to be of greater merit than the humility and patience of a cloistered monk. At a certain time, then, it happened that, necessity negotiating, he went away from the Island for some reason and, weaving delays longer, protracted his return. His servant meanwhile, who had remained alone in the Island, was burning with the desire of eating the birds of blessed Cuthbert. Seeing therefore no obstacle of hindrance, he had with all speed consummated the profit of the pleasure he had conceived. For he judged it better to serve his own lust than to obey the command will of blessed Cuthbert. Of those birds, then, he had picked out for himself which he would the better, and was hastening to sate his own hunger. But because he wished to hide the guilt which he had committed against the holy Confessor of God, when the flesh of the bird was consumed by eating he collected all the feathers with the bones more diligently, scattered them across the various shores of the sea, and endured awaiting the coming of the hermit more securely at home and dwelling alone. After much time had flowed between, the hermit had returned to the island; and about to enter the thresholds of the church of blessed Cuthbert first for the sake of prayer, he saw within the door of the church the feathers of the bird that had been eaten with all the bones wrapped together in one, with wonder and amazement. Handling them with his hands, and considering that they had been of the birds of blessed Cuthbert, he ran at once to Leving his servant, who had remained alone in the Island, and inquired whether any of the pilgrim guests had come there while he was abroad. But he asserted that none had entered there through the whole space of that time; and with oaths affirmed that he had seen no other of men there. But the other said: “Have you not then eaten of the birds of blessed Cuthbert, and presumed to violate his precepts by profaning them?” For blessed Cuthbert, while yet living, had given a firm peace and quiet to those birds in his lands, and suffered none touch, destroy, slay or hurt them by the instigation of evil. For what he had given of old to the fathers of the birds, this he granted to be preserved perpetually for all times concerning the young to be procreated of their kind and their sons, in the glory of peace and the custody of mercy. And therefore he spoke thus to Leving his servant, who was so named. But he blushed in denying, and found not the boldness to confess. At once the hermit led him into the church, and showed him the feathers and bones with the beaks and claws; whereupon, trembling, he soon fell at the feet of his questioner, and whatever he had committed by offending against Saint Cuthbert he declared to him more fully in order. Above all things, he said that he marvelled and was amazed how those feathers and bones had come together collected in one, and, scattered in various places, had now returned gathered; and why the sea-waves had left them unswallowed through fifteen days. And, in very truth, the sea presumed not to devour and hide the relics of the bird of blessed Cuthbert, whose flesh a rash man feared not to swallow by eating. Nor is it to be doubted that the hand of blessed Cuthbert’s power collected all these in one and cast them into his church to declare the presumption of that servant’s rashness and reveal his offence. The hermit rendered innumerable thanks to the blessed Confessor, and caused his servant, beaten with stripes, to make satisfaction to blessed Cuthbert for many days in abstinence and penitence. The sea, then, refused to participate in the guilt committed against blessed Cuthbert, which a senseless man blushed not to consummate by perpetrating. Here blessed Cuthbert followed that wondrous prodigy of blessed Nicholas, where he brought back into his church the young man drowned in the sea; and what the sea had not presumed to swallow, Saint Cuthbert, after the type of blessed Nicholas, ceased not to restore by calling it back to the thresholds of his church. Those birds are specially named of blessed Cuthbert; by the English they are called “Lomes”; by the Saxons and those who inhabit Frisia they are called “Eires.” This same miracle that Leving, the servant of the same Æilric who had done this deed, told not once to us and to those who told us; who also still lives: and Æilric, as long as he lived, was accustomed to narrate it to very many brethren of the church; and this also the miracle which follows he added.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: How a certain thief, one of the sailors, stole a whetstone in the Isle of Farne, and though the other ships departed prosperously, the sea suffered not the ship in which the thief was to go away #

¹ The Lord made known the virtue and power of blessed Cuthbert among the peoples, showing the benefits of his aid and his clemency to strangers and the far-dwellers, to footmen and sailors. For the creatures that creep on the earth declare the mercy of blessed Cuthbert by knowing it; the fowls of the air reveal it by reverently obeying; the swimmers of the sea by compliance of tameness compose and commend it by their obedience. For the sea does not suffer those disobedient to blessed Cuthbert to pass freely, nor do the waves of the sea suffer those who defile the places of his sanctity by profaning them with any rashness to pass unpunished. Which will appear clearly enough to those who with the piety of God search out these wonders and contemplate the glory of blessed Cuthbert lucidly and clearly from the sweetness of his miracles. In the time of Æilric of whom we spoke before, the tides of the sea had troubled very many men from the ends of various nations, and many losses threatened them by pounding in loss. The blasts of the winds also, which had stood against them by opposing from the front, had driven them to the shore of blessed Cuthbert which is set in the Isle of Farne. There were there very many ships, and men of many a region and diverse. Who, staying on the island, could not obtain serenity of air, nor did they see the breathings of the winds turn prosperous for them. From this daily and continually they implored the clemency of blessed Cuthbert, and very often brought to Æilric that islander hermit their voices of complaint and sighs of groaning. From this he, pitying their miseries and striving, though he could not, yet to succour them, together with them demanded the aid of blessed Cuthbert and the memorial of his accustomed blessing and succour. Meanwhile that hermit held all of them familiarly and served all more earnestly with the offering of servitude. Nor did he hide from them the riches of his poverty, but set before them all things in common for their need or any bodily inconvenience. And nearly all of it was as nothing to them, because it was neither pleasing to all nor useful or necessary to some. For little or very little could that confer on them which the hermit dwelling in the solitary rock had acquired for them. When, then, they had seen all his goods set forth to all, a friendship of more fervent acquaintance and an abundance of devotion had grown up among them. But because the same liberty of will and benevolence is rarely in all men, it happened that a certain one of them was more grievously tempted by the insolence of avaricious lust. So, perceiving the quietness of the place and the faculty of stealing freely to be at hand for him, he had changed the removed faces of men into a liberty of vices. And a whetstone, not precious indeed for beauty or usefulness, yet very necessary to that man, he took away by stealth, and sacrilegiously despoiling the sanctuary of blessed Cuthbert, hid it for himself in his ship. At last blessed Cuthbert was present at the prayers of those who asked, and granted them the serenity of a prosperous journey. Who, proving the vows of their hearts by commending them with oblations of gifts, rejoiced that blessed Cuthbert had given them his benefit out of merit unexpectedly. And commending themselves more attentively to the prayers of that Brother, they spread their sails to the winds, committed their ships to Neptune, bound and entangled the yards, and pressed on to level their oars. All therefore proceeded with an eager course and glided prosperously where they would. Yet that ship alone, in which the sacrilegious thief of blessed Cuthbert was, though it had already proceeded nearly three miles from the Island with the other ships, could not proceed further at all. For the ship stood immovable in the manner of a rock; it would not be tossed by the waves, nor could be bent by the floods; indeed, the hand of the helmsman was benumbed with shame, and the strength of the rowers, conquered and mocked, withered away. At last, knowing this to be a proof divine vengeance, and perceiving that this had come to them not through the debt of the sea’s nature but for the offence of some trespass, they at once cast lots, and knew that they were so held and mocked for the fault of the same man. Who brought forth that whetstone before them and, confessing all things, laid them open to them; for his guilt he was bound with ropes and, plunged thrice into the waves, was lifted up again. By such a vengeance he had to pay the penalties of fault, whoever the nature of the lot could have detected guilty of having sinned in anything. Because, then, they thought satisfaction had been made to blessed Cuthbert by such vengeance, they began a second and a third time to urge the ship forward by pressing with all their strength and with machinations of instruments; yet could they in no way move it from the place. Then it pleased them all in common to return to the Island, Saint Cuthbert pitying and permitting it, and to restore to the Saint what had been his. Soon they returned with wondrous swiftness and restored to the Island what that most wicked man had stolen. For it was not difficult for blessed Cuthbert to make ships in the sea movable or immovable with swiftness when it pleased him. For, as is proved in these things, He commands the winds and ships, and the sea, and they obey him. To the Brother, therefore, the thief restored openly what he had secretly taken away, and in all ways that he could satisfied his offence by confessing it, lamenting it, beating his breast and bringing forth the sin of a conscious heart. But the hermit rendered infinite praises to blessed Cuthbert, and ordered them now depart, increased with the blessing of God in the name of blessed Cuthbert. But the sailors swore that they would no longer have the robber as their companion, and so setting him down before the feet of the hermit in the Island they hastened to depart the sooner. And to that Brother they said: “See this guilty and sacrilegious man who has been the truculent robber of blessed Cuthbert: now therefore let him himself punish him, and bury him by stabbing him with a worthy death, and erase the memory of him from the company of the living, whose treacherous deceits the sea suffers not to conceal nor grants a sepulchre for the pit of perdition.” But that Brother ceased not to supplicate for the love of Saint Cuthbert until he had set the man in the ship and obtained that he should be carried with them even to the shores of the nearest harbour. To whom also he said: “Rightly has Saint Cuthbert restored this stone to me, because he saw that, led by a necessity of this kind, I have no neighbour to whom I may have recourse in such need.” But they all, departing together with all prosperity, withdrew, and blessed Cuthbert disposing their journeys, they came most easily, no obstacle at all hindering, to the shores of the desired harbour. Here blessed Cuthbert put forth that miracle of Jonah the Prophet, where the lot fell upon him and the chance of the lot revealed the guilt of his conscience.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: How, when the king of the Norwegians came and plundered the same Island, the water in blessed Cuthbert’s spring suddenly failed, and none could be found while they remained there; but when the robbers departed it flowed again at once after the accustomed manner #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert executes judgement and justice, who has mercy on all in mercy and compassion. Judgement he executes on those who persecute him and the reprobate; justice on the pious and devout; mercy on those who ask and the deserving; compassion on the needy, the strangers and the wretched. Which the following miracle can declare, if any will worthily consider it. For in those days, King Stephen reigning, Eystein king of the Norwegians had come with a great fleet and an innumerable armed soldiery to the shores of the English to take plunder, and wasted whatever he could by ravaging round about. Yet he dared not pass beyond the lapping waters of the sea, but in places near the sea, where his strength availed him, was accustomed to practise robbery. For he would not spare even the churches set upon the shores of the sea, from where he wasted the abbeys by depopulating them, tore away their ornaments, stripped the shrines of the holy relics, yet never presumed to do such things openly save by a stolen assault. From this he removed his ships far from the shore night and day, and sometimes rested in islands surrounded on every side by the ebbing sea, or consumed all things by staying with his fleet drawn up. It happened, then, that he came to the Isle of Farne, and having first given peace to the brethren dwelling there as hermits, soon afterwards broke it. For they devoured their sheep, skinned and fixed upon spits or boiled in heated waters, by eating them; they tore out the ashen timbers of the walls to repair the damages of their ships; they drew away the victuals from their poor storehouses; and though very often asked for the honour of blessed Cuthbert, they would not spare. But because they could not allay their thirst with salt and marine waters, very often they drew from blessed Cuthbert’s spring in the island carried water to their companions. In the beginning, then, as long as they had kept peace to the dwelling of blessed Cuthbert, they abounded most copiously in drawing the flowing waters from his spring. There is indeed in the same Island a spring once drawn forth from the stony rock by the prayers of blessed Cuthbert, which neither overflows the measure, necessity or will of the inhabitants or of all comers, nor is accustomed to withdraw itself from the sufficiency of those who will it or need it. It happened at last that on the same day on which they had hurt the peace of the holy Confessor, they came eagerly to draw water, and when the king’s bucket had first been filled, they struck one another, hurting and lividing each other with mutual envy. For one wished to take it for himself first, another to draw it out the more hastily. Wondrous thing! Soon the water failed in the spring which had been fullest before, nor could even one drop be found in it, nor did it presume to flow from the hardness of the rock the whole time they lay there. Blessed Cuthbert had suffered the king’s bucket to be filled for a double reason: because He had first given him peace, and because He afterwards failed him; the want of which water, of which they had before seen abundance in the spring, was a token of his unworthiness and an example of admiration for the glory of blessed Cuthbert. So He wished to reward what he had done ill after peace had first been given him, and punished his guilt by showing it through the want of water, and exercised the strength of his power both in the waters and in them. But when they had gone out of the Island, the water sprang forth from the spring at once, and to this day ceases not to flow after the accustomed manner. The witnesses of this miracle are no less than all the people of that region who saw it, and the brethren monks of Durham, Bartholomew and Ælwin, who at that time lived within the island in hermit life and were present at all these things. Here blessed Cuthbert followed the acts of Saint Nicholas, where the spring which springs from the feet of his sepulchre presumed not to flow while his Bishop was driven from his see. Nor did Saint Nicholas use this miracle until his Bishop was recalled from exile.

Chapter Thirty: How blessed Cuthbert delivered certain sailors of the English, endangered by the onset of the Frisians, both from the fire of death and from the peril of the sea; and held the right hand of a sailor weak with despair, and brought them with wondrous swiftness to the Isle of Farne #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert rescues the souls of those who call upon him from the sword of perdition, and their sole confidence of hope trusting in his mercy from the hand of canine persecution. The perdition of the sword is the treachery of an alien and infesting race. The canine persecution is the invasion of a pagan people’s inroad. For after the manner of dogs the pagans rage against the Christians, if by chance, the ship being driven, they come to their nations by compelling necessity. For to Christians the magnitude of money is no succour of life; nor to those driven by storms is faith for a price, nor does a promise of ransom avail them for the succour of deliverance. But from all these ills blessed Cuthbert knows how to rescue sailors devoted to him, and to bring them unexpectedly to the harbour of his quiet from the likeness of certain perdition. Which we shall prove by such an example, as we suffice also to declare from the following miracle. Certain men born of the English nation had given their mind to the zeal of trading and burned more greedily with the desire of gain. So, preparing a ship and putting in various merchandise, at a given opportunity of time they set forth from the harbours of the English, and are carried through the bounds of a diverse nation with often-changed alternation. For sometimes the commodities of serene air succeeded opportunely for them; but sometimes the vehemence of winds and the inclemency of rivers bore in heavy losses of desolation. At last, consumed with a heavier affliction and wearied with the sweat of their strength, in a certain tempest they rushed suddenly with a raging whirlwind upon the pagan nations of the Frisians, and nearly headlong dashed the sides of their ship upon the rocks of an unhoped-for harbour. Those pagans, who had long watched the coming of ships by sustaining a thirsty desire, ran up with all speed, with keys and mallets, with tongs, swords and clubs and bows. Some hissed with their voices; others roared with the grins of laughter; some brandished darts; some stamped with leaps; and those in whom was the majesty of greater power made ready vessels to capture them. Which the sailors seeing, and considering that the region of the pagan Frisians was one that spared no man, fled at once to the succour of the sole protection and implored the aid of blessed Cuthbert with groans and cries. Beating, no doubt, their guilty breasts, they lifted their voices to the stars, tore their hair for the anguish of grief, watered their faces with tears, and cried out to blessed Cuthbert with all the breath of their spirit. It was a misery to look. For the rising waves of the sea swelling had nearly drowned the ship; the raging winds of the tempest, bending the out-poured sails, had now threatened the turning ship to drink in the waters; but the whirlwinds of the storms had lulled by vexing the strength of the voyagers, and the swords, threatening death to their necks, had long since buried the robust manners of their spirits. Yet they had fixed the ship with more robust anchors in the bottom of the mother earth, from where they could neither yield to the breathing airs of the winds nor knew how to sustain the precipices of ruin from the swelling foams of the waves. For on that side the ropes of the anchors held the stays of the ship more tightly on every part, while on this side, taking away all hope of moving away or even of thrusting or turning aside, the solidities of the ropes more tightly strengthened and more robustly bound the alternate declensions of the ship’s onslaught. And so, blessed Cuthbert dispensing with this kind of pity, the Frisian sailors could not come near them, because both had the offences of a diverse obstacle. For the blasts of the winds drove the Frisians to reach the sailors, and the more robust stays of the ropes suffered the sailors least of all to withdraw from the place or to yield to the impulses of the rivers. So, Saint Cuthbert providing, the anchor ropes holding fast, the ship could not be dashed aside upon the neighbouring rocks below, nor could the audacity of the Frisians, the rivers casting them and the winds retarding them, be admitted to the injury of the sailors. At last the sleep of grief oppressed all in the ship, and none kept watch at all save only he who presided in the steersman’s place. He was called William son of Malger, who was the brother of Thor Archdeacon of Laudoc and of Thurold the most prudent man of the Island of Lindisfarne, men most known to all at that time, while he himself shone as an inhabitant of the town of Berwick. For he was of most robust strength, pleasant with serene face and eloquent affability, preserving an entire faith by his native stock, offering the violence of fraud to no man for his wondrous strength or birth. To him blessed Cuthbert came watching at the top of the ship’s government, and with a shining face and clothed in pontifical habit, caught him by the shoulder of his right hand, and began to rebuke him for the diffidence of his mind. “Look,” he said, “the hand of Cuthbert lifts you up, and who is he that shall cast you down, capture you by stabbing, or dash you down by slaughtering? Now therefore be anxious for the succour of my protection; and secure with all fear cast off and the dread of trembling wiped away. For I, ministering the leadership to you and preparing your safe steps by a preceding journey, shall bring you with all speed to my harbour, and you shall be able to feel no lesion of loss from these persecutors. But this young man also, of whose death you doubt, shall come there alive with us, and, fortified beforehand with the Lord’s body and blood, shall receive burial in the Island of Wedume.” Hearing which things he awakened them all as quickly as possible; and asserted, exhorting, swearing and inviting, that Saint Cuthbert visibly dwelt with them in the ship itself, mercifully protected them, and faithfully directed their journey; and related to them all things whatever Saint Cuthbert had enjoined him by foretelling. But they, as though their spirit revived, rose with all speed; loosed the fixed anchors; spread the sails to the winds; and ran through the high seas with wondrous sweetness and swift haste. Yet in wondrous fashion the wind which had blown upon them with prosperity drove them to the high seas and resisted the nations of the Frisians from the front, driving them back as they strove to return. From this the elements so serve blessed Cuthbert by obeying that they are even made contrary to themselves in some things by opposing. For what is it that the same wind gives these the power of departing, but to those the repulse of confusion, unless to contradict itself from the front and to produce various breathings from the mouth of one blast? At last the sailors reached the harbour of the Isle of Farne, and with the devotion of an oblation and a great flood of tears set forth all these things in order to Brother Bartholomew and Ælwin; who also commended these things to us with faithful attestation. William himself also said that he had seen blessed Cuthbert at the prow and helm of the ship even to the shores of the harbour, and that his hand guiding his right shoulder had afforded him much comfort. But the young man who had long been sick in the ship, as blessed Cuthbert had foretold, received the communion from those brethren, and breathing out his last spirit obtained a place of burial in Wedume. From this all, seeing that the attestation of blessed Cuthbert had been fulfilled in truth, gave honour and glory to his name; commending God in His works and glorifying Saint Cuthbert in the benefits of his virtues and mercies. Here blessed Cuthbert accords with that miracle of Saint Nicholas, where he kindly bestowed his presence and mercy on sailors in peril on the sea.

Chapter Thirty-One: How, when they had been detained many days in the Island by a tempest of the sea, Saint Cuthbert appeared visibly by night, and could not be seen by certain of the women; and the next day granted them serenity #

¹ A sacrifice and an offering we bring to the Lord our God if we serve blessed Cuthbert in true devotion. For whatever we bestow on blessed Cuthbert we effect for God Himself, whose member of the Head he is. For that is not divided in number which is not discerned from the union of integrity. Since, therefore, Saint Cuthbert is a member in the body of Christ, it follows that whatever honour is bestowed on him is shown to God. For He does not despise a sacrifice with a contrite heart, nor repel the offering of a benign soul. Who ever asked the clemency of blessed Cuthbert and did not obtain a swift medicine for the calamity of his misery? Who set his faith in his aid and obtained not the desire of his vow? For we have seen some rescued from the snare of death, whom, drowned in the sea, we perceived the fury of the deep could not devour. For lately certain sailors, a tempest pressing, had come to the same Island, and tossed by the whirlwinds of the sea there obtained a seat of quiet. Who, lingering there long, found that the raging sea would not be pacified by resting, nor the perturbations of the boiling winds composed. Nor could anything be of succour to them unless blessed Cuthbert alone would have mercy in succouring with his accustomed pity. With daily sobs, therefore, and the cries of wailing they invoked blessed Cuthbert, and knew not how to cease by tempering their prayers. Nor would Cuthbert stand against them further, but relieved their tears by mitigating them with wondrous consolation. On a certain night, then, the brighter moon overcoming by illumining the darkness of the shadows, it happened that one of them went forth outside the house of the guests for the sake of some necessity, and looking round on every side saw all things shining more clearly than with the light of the sun. And directing his gaze to the keeping of their ships, he saw by chance a certain man of illustrious dignity who shone arrayed with all the glory of a Bishop. Nor could he utter the form of his beauty, because he had the glory of an ineffable aspect exceeding all sweetnesses of beauty. Who, at once falling down from afar, adored; and while the Bishop lingered long going to and fro, he ran to rouse his companions with an exceeding cheerfulness of readier spirit: “Rise,” he said, “as quickly as may be: look, blessed Cuthbert is here, in visible form, standing before the doors. Nor will he deign to be wanting to the prayers of the poor if he be adored more faithfully by us.” Soon all, both men and women, ran out with haste, and adored with much sweetness on bended knees. Wondrous the goodness of blessed Cuthbert and the sweetness of his compassion! Goodness, in that he showed the visible form of himself to all; sweetness, in that he displayed the beauty of his glory to them all. There were, then, in the company certain women who saw him, and certain who could not see him. For perhaps they were not of the same merit, nor alike in the conscience of the secret of chastity. From this those who could not see him mocked the others of the same sex with the darts of envy: “Where is he,” they said, “whom you call upon and before whom you fix the knee?” But the others, as though pointing with the finger, showed him to those who saw not, and told how he often varied by changing the place of his standing. Yet they could not so fix the sight of their eyes upon him or penetrate the glory of his face. He, moreover, walked about the heaped masses of fish, and very often directed his eyes to the pile of fish which had been the Brothers of the Island’s. For the fishermen in former days had collected much prey of fish and laid it up higher, under the protection of the solid rock, from the inundations of the sea to come. But the Brothers of the Island had done the same, and had also set apart a small portion of their own separately in another place. At last the holy Bishop, when He had heard the vows of those who lay prostrate, proceeded surveying all step by step to the head of the church. Though, then, the hearts of very many burned with the fervour of devotion touch the blessed Bishop, yet none was present who presumed to approach him closely. Seeing, however, that he had now come near to the limits of the church, they pressed forward to the door as quickly as they could and aroused the same Brothers from sleep; and related to them without delay all that they had seen. And: “Make haste,” they said, “that you may see his face in the church; for if you come quickly you can see him there.” But the Brothers, not delaying at all, came into the church with haste, yet saw not the holy face of the Bishop. Blessing, therefore, blessed Cuthbert, they rendered their night praises to the Lord; but all remained watching in praises, the elders together with the younger, until day. There were there who had seen these things both men of London and of Berwick, and sailor-fishermen of the Island of Lindisfarne, and the best known and the kin of Bebbanburg; and some from remote parts, allied as companions in the fellowship of a voyage. When morning came, therefore, an air of the gentlest sweetness appeared to them, and blessing blessed Cuthbert, he restored each to his own home. In which blessed Cuthbert showed two works of goodness: in the first that he showed them the face of his glory; in the second that he granted an air of serene mildness. In the first he followed the example of the Lord Jesus, where appearing to His disciples He conferred the gift of faith on some, and suffered others to doubt. In the second, that of blessed Nicholas, where he afforded comfort to those waiting on the shore and granted them the sight of his face with the mildest serenity. From this blessed Cuthbert is unlike to no Saint, who is comparable to all in the glory of virtues.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Of a certain companion of sailors who ascended the mast of the ship and suddenly fell into the sea — how Saint Cuthbert rescued him and restored him to his companions; and how, when all now despaired, he protected him under his shadow and delivered him #

¹ Health is in the wings of blessed Cuthbert, because to all who flee to him the salvation and protection of his compassion is most ready. His compassion, indeed, recreates the miseries of the poor by alleviating them; his salvation restores the infirm by repairing them with the gift of power. By the grace of protection, with the defence of benefits, he preserves by refreshing the minds of the more faint-hearted from despair. Under his wing, therefore, we are protected by fleeing to him, as often as we are troubled by the approaching misfortune of any peril. For his wing gives the support of a most gentle compassion for obtaining salvation, and ministers the protection of aid, counsel and deliverance. For he gives aid in necessity, comfort in tribulation, heals by delivering in the oppression of affliction. For he not only succours the oppressed on land, but also meets those troubled in the whirlwinds of the sea. For in those days certain sailors of the English nation had furrowed the seas, and laboured much time spent for the gains of diverse merchandise. For going also to Norway with merchandise, they exchanged other goods for it; and among the English, procuring others for it, tried to gain. For those things which are of another region are mostly dear, because by their rarity they are made precious, though they are useless for human uses, although only superfluous and superstitious; from where sometimes they fetch a price of greater gain, though they fulfil no profit of any commodity for the buyers. Nor yet does the boasting of vanity so suffice them, or the insolence of a new thing, or the abundance of satiety or the nourishment of delight feed the souls of the avaricious. From foreign regions, then, and the more remote, returning by ship to England hastening to reach the harbour of the Isle of Farne, they suddenly and unexpectedly sustained heavier assaults and feared the sudden drowning of all. For the waves of the gulf rose raging and reared masses of water; while the whirlwinds of the winds shook by nearly tearing away the strength of the rowers and the ropes of the sails. Then all the wretched, with unanimous voice and tearful heart, lifted up the name of Saint Cuthbert to the stars, and sought the unhoped succours of prompt salvation of his protection. At last, because they saw the sail ill handled by the winds, they directed a certain man upward through the summit of the mast to raise the yard and give liberty to the ropes; but soon they groaned seeing him, directed to the heights, suddenly cast headlong into the midst of the sea. For he, while less heedfully correcting the ropes by loosening them on high, chanced to fall more carelessly below. So, now despairing with double grief, and ever begging the clemency of blessed Cuthbert, they are afflicted on this side because they see peril hanging over them, and on that side are crucified with anxieties because they saw their companion already sinking to death, nor could afford him comfort. But both the rage of the tempest and the greed of the sea threatened on this side the drowning of the ship, on that side the loss of scattering of all their gains, and what was dearer and more precious than all these, they saw the perdition of their soul hanging over them. So it is given to perceive well enough with how heavy a loss money is acquired where life is lost, and how little the commerce of gain is worth where the detriment of life itself is incurred. For who will rejoice in your acquisition when your life is already buried by suffocating death? Surely it is better to sustain a poor life by enduring all the want of straitness, than to put off the breath of a wretched life by losing it with many riches. For the misery of poverty sometimes acquires the merit of glory after the laying down of life; but the pomp of nobility of riches has purchased for very many the detriment of eternal torment. That man who had been drowned in the sea was called Æilbrict, who had also drawn the origin of his genealogy from Durham and could not exceed the notice of many. Who now tossed by the waves appeared not for nearly the space of one hour; now, dragged apart by the leaps of the whirlwinds, leapt away nearly half a mile’s space from the ship’s bounds; now sometimes sat beneath the ship’s very keel; yet it always seemed to him that he had lain hid under the shadow of blessed Cuthbert. He had now spent many hours of the day in such misery, and neither did the strength of swimming remain to him, nor did the dragging apart of the waves permit the faculty of voluntary motion, because now he had descended to the bottom of the sea, now with swift impulse rose higher above its crests. And on this side the harshness of the cold had consumed all the solaces of his limbs, while on that side the inconstancy of the ship had devoured every confidence of hope by denying it. At last he had come near beneath the edge of the ship and was now making haste to breathe out his soul. For even thrice, after the manner of the little diver-bird, he had now gone down headlong by plunging even to the bottom, and the third time he was now due to breathe forth the spirit of life. For this is the sure token of the dying and the drowned, and, as they say, the inevitable farewell of death. Yet never under so many perils had he removed the name of blessed Cuthbert from the meditation of his heart, or prolonged it from the invocation of his voice while he could. Blessed Cuthbert, then, disposing, when he rose a third time from drowning and all the clamour of the people lifted up the name of the most holy Cuthbert, he was suddenly taken up by the sailors and brought into the ship to be freed. And the sea soon quieted from its fervour and brought them, blessed Cuthbert pitying, to the Island. But he who had been rescued from the sea, hastening as quickly as he could to the church, still drenched and as though raised from a judgement-pit, unfolded all things in order to the Brothers. And the sailors set forth all things to the Brothers, and with much devotion of sweetness offered oblations to blessed Cuthbert, blessing the Lord. So does Saint Cuthbert know how to rescue his own from the peril of death and to allay the fires of torments with swift motion. In this blessed Cuthbert showed by renewing that miracle of blessed Nicholas, where he brought safe to the shores the young man drowned in the sea with his bucket. These things our Brothers, who had seen and heard them, told us, and bore witness that they had heard them from the same man and from the sailors themselves.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Of two ships bound with anchors on the shore and long torn away by tempests: how the mercy of blessed Cuthbert suddenly brought them back to harbour and restored them to dry land with the goods and tackle which they had lost #

¹ The works of mercy which blessed Cuthbert is known to show to the shipwrecked seem impossible to be uttered by the eloquence of any voice. For he not only succours those in peril, but even imparts the grace of consolation to the ill-secure. Nor does he only liberate souls from the peril of the sea and save bodies, but sometimes also preserves their money and confirms it by recalling it from the trouble of scattering. Which we see obtains its effect not only in words but is rather approved by the works themselves. For in modern times certain merchant sailors had come to the same Island, the tempest compelling them, and having obtained security, rejoiced that all things now came freely to them. So, fixing their anchors in the shore, they awaited the air of prosperous blasts of wind, and gazing at the sky, intent upon the moments of various hours, watched attentively. Yet they had drawn out certain days by staying on the Island, but could not find by exploring a convenient journey of setting forth. It happened to meanwhile that a most savage tempest invaded the bounds of the sea and more violently perturbed all the serene places, even the safest, by raging. Which prevailed by raging with such obstinate rigour that it dissolved with violent tearing even the two ships which had stood in harbour with anchors fixed. For with a headlong whirlwind it had crushed by tearing the ropes of the anchors and compelled the ships to proceed into the deep. Which, swerving and wavering this way and that more frequently, violence leading, ran abroad, and had already drawn themselves further away from the bounds of the Island. And those ships were abundantly laden with copious merchandise, and burdened with many goods of riches for the gain of accumulating profit. Nor did any helmsman preside within them, because in each of the ships there was only one single man. To each of whom the solicitude of those ships had been committed, and the custody of faithful care delegated. For all the multitude stood more certain upon their fidelity, nor could they doubt with wavering hesitation of their faith. Yet they themselves could not govern the ships by steering, because the impulses of the sea prevailed over even the strength of many. All the sailors, going out from the house of the guests and running about through the shores on every side, strove more attentively to help with skiffs or ropes; but availed nothing at all in these things. They could indeed drown themselves by the swallowing sea, but could confer no succours of any remedy on those being wrecked. When, therefore, they groaned weeping on the shore, it suddenly happened that the ships themselves, by the impulse and repulse of the winds, drove themselves by attacking one another in rivalry, and strove to tear one another as though by emulous alternation. For very often, the violence of the winds compelling, they met by coming against one another; sometimes they strove to suffocate one another by heaving up sideways; now they hastened to dash upon the rocks, now to sink by pressing down into the depths. And there is on the western region of the Island a rocky cliff which encompasses the circuit of the Island on a double side, and stretches itself into the crests of infinite depth and breadth. Whose edge is hollowed by the wave of the sea lapping it very often; and whatever comes beneath it in stormy time is swallowed as though beneath the gulfs of the abyss. And by the hollowing of the waters the surface of the rock is sharpened in wondrous fashion, so that nothing solid is dashed against it which is not at once pierced as though by the point of a sword. Beneath the height of whose edge the ships had now come, the impulse leading, and were essaying the drowning of the sudden gulf. Therefore all the men and sailors fled to the church of blessed Cuthbert, and together with the Brother monks importunately demanded the aid of blessed Cuthbert. The Brothers also singing together a Mass of the Holy Spirit for the reverence of Cuthbert, and after the solemnities of the Mass praying long, knew not how ever to cease invoking the name of blessed Cuthbert: from where also they soon merited to receive the desire of their vow. For coming forth from the church, look, they saw the ships standing in the quietest peace on the dry shore of their former harbour; which had felt no fracture of any lesion, nor suffered any diminution of the money of merchandise once scattered. For the surge of the sea seemed to have consumed both of the ships’ tackle and of the substances of riches by drawing them away, but now all the sailors rejoiced that all things contained within the ships had been restored to them with the integrity of all. For the ships, as they themselves who had been in the ships declared, at the invocation of blessed Cuthbert’s name leapt forth from the midst of the waves with such strength that neither the impulses of the winds nor the turnings of the sea-surge could hinder them until they stood in the safest harbour. The anchors themselves also adhered to the ships with their ropes entire, nor showed the injury of any lesion contracted from their former integrity or even their first solidity. The sea, moreover, for many days afterwards had not ceased to be troubled with the same whirlwinds, nor yet presumed to proceed further by attacking those ships; indeed, when the surge came to the harbour it had begun to be cleft by being broken. Then none could utter the vows of those praising the holy Confessor, nor could the desires of their praises be made manifest by voices. This miracle those Brothers told us who had then stood present and seen these things.

Chapter Thirty-Four: How, when flour was given to the Brothers for the love of blessed Cuthbert, it daily redounded the more, and though often distributed could be increased but not diminished #

¹ The redemption of a man’s soul is his own riches, because all the gifts of graces are founded in charity. So it very often befalls that the more largely and profusely a man distributes of the gifts of blessed Cuthbert, the more abundantly he fails not from his former integrity. Which we have learned also happened in the same Island by the merits of blessed Cuthbert, as we shall declare under a brief account. At some time fishermen of the neighbouring regions had entered the sea’s deeps for the sake of fishing; but the crash of an exceeding tempest compelling them, having now been driven to the Island there, they were long sustained, bread failing them. Who, hunger pressing, had come to the same Brothers and more sharply demanded that of the small store of flour which they knew them to have, some be given them for the love of Saint Cuthbert, or lent at triple usury. Who wished to succour the necessities of their neighbours; yet practising the gain of usury feared it would not suffice for their own charges. At last, sharpening the confidence of faith in blessed Cuthbert, they approached more confidently, and meting out flour to those fishermen gave double portions of halves to those who asked, but reserved a third for their own uses. But the tempest ever opposing for many days, they had more often effected the same work of piety daily with those fishermen; and yet could never fail from the multitude of the first quantity. They themselves ate; the strangers also spent; and nevertheless it could never be diminished. Daily the fishermen received of the Brothers’ flour, and the Brothers took their portion from there; but in the morning, returning, they found the same of weight and magnitude. Where the cruse of flour of blessed Cuthbert could not fail, nor in any way fail to the day of a fitting breeze. Until then we have described what we heard from those Brothers, whom we know to have been present in truth at these deeds; and many others also of that region bear witness the same.

Chapter Thirty-Five: How a certain preacher wished to steal a penny offered to the shrine of the relics of blessed Cuthbert; but though he laboured long he never prevailed to carry it off #

¹ Perfect virtue chastens the unwise, and the emulation of a depraved heart possesses the ambiguous questionings of covetous desires. For while the heart is made empty by avarice, the hand is at once stretched out to pursue works of iniquity. So, in modern days, while the Bishop of the Church of Durham was zealous to extend the bounds of blessed Cuthbert by enlarging them, he began, for the collecting of the alms of the faithful, to send certain preachers round about in his diocese with a most select portion of holy relics. At a certain time, while a solemn day had come, the people flocking there, the keeper of them together with the clergy serving with him in this ministry came to the mother church in Durham. The ivory shrine, then, with the sacred relics being set upon the outer altar in the northern bounds, the chief keepers of them returned home at the time of refreshment to dine, because they saw the companies of people had departed to their own affairs. At that time there was in that shrine the chasuble of blessed Cuthbert, laid for eleven years with his incorrupt body in the sepulchre, which is even now splendid and wondrous to be seen with the beauty of its former newness. With which were also other most venerable relics of the same glorious Bishop, which had shone illustrious enough with the grace of much virtue. Leaving there other keepers of inferior name and office, they went almost every one, wherever it pleased them, to take their rest. Only that priest the preacher remained there, who was the best known companion of the others. At that same hour by chance a certain man had come, who offered a penny there for a gift of devotion to those sacred relics. Which seeing, he, more emulously covetous than religiously devout, conceived in mind rather to commit the sacrilege of theft than to sustain the small loss of a single penny. At last approaching the great sanctuaries, he stretched forth his hand rashly, and with impudent audacity feared not to perpetrate the wicked deed of an impudent theft. But by a wondrous kind of astounding power, as often as he stretched forth his right hand touch the shining metal of the coin, at once that penny fled further off and would not adhere to the hands of the thief. He stretched out his right hand seized it by anticipating; but often, though he detained it beneath his hand, he could not contract it to himself, his fingers failing his attempt. He drew it, seized it, sometimes held it; but with fingers covering it and turning it this way and that, fleeing those who held it and ever again overturning those who touched it, he could never lift it. He strove to carry it out, but it seemed to have adhered to the silken cloth set beneath the relics; he strove to raise it, but it soon slipped beneath his compressing fingers. Long persisting in such efforts he blushed vehemently, because he saw such things had never happened to anyone. He was also dismayed in mind, because those remaining keepers who stood nearer to him saw that he had lingered there long. He feared, indeed, that a divine judgement hung over him, because Saint Cuthbert had shown him well enough that he did not so much lead the price of theft as take ill the execrable mark of an evil desire. Pricked, therefore, at heart, he returned to himself, and afterwards, purely confessing, sufficiently lamented what a crime of disgrace he had purposed. At last, when his companions returned, he related all that had happened to him; and terrified by such a miracle, afterwards utterly abjured the office of a preacher. Then all rendered thanks long to God and Saint Cuthbert alike: those, because they had found him so faithful a keeper of their gift; and both, in that they had received their companion back free from avenging pain. For when they had first departed from the relics themselves, so, according to their most wonted custom, they had said: “Saint Cuthbert, we leave you here the keeper of these your sacred pledges, and commit all things to be brought here to your honour.” Whose prayers and vows he failed not, but refused not faithfully to guard his own and what was offered him. That priest, so chastened by Saint Cuthbert, left the world and was made a monk soon after; terrified in that his unwise folly had been changed by the power of so perfect a miracle into the emulation of a good purpose by so modest a sweetness of doctrine.

Chapter Thirty-Six: How Saint Cuthbert appeared to a certain sacrist of his in a vision, and ordered the candle be put out, lest his vestments should be burned #

¹ Every action which is founded on pious desire is ever renewed by some defence of power. For then the mind girds itself the more robustly to a good work when it has perceived that the aid of divine protection has been more familiarly present to it. As happened to a certain Sacrist in the Church of Durham, who glowed with much piety of devotion towards the holy Confessor of God. He had all the sacred vessels and linen cloths with the sacerdotal garments under the protection of his custody, to whose conservation and increase he often gave much care. At last on a certain night, a lamp being lighted, he came to the chests in which all these things were kept; and about to accomplish some business there, fixed a candle kindled with fire beside him in a piece of adjoining timber. And the business done, he hastily locked the little doors, and intent on other things afterwards went round various places of the church praying. At last, about to rest, he composed himself in the place of his accustomed quiet, and there, drowsed for some hours, fell asleep. Meanwhile the candle, forgotten within, poured its burning brands more broadly over the drying flats of the timbers; and coming to its last bounds, having nothing longer to which it might cling extended, slipped down and fell among those sacred vestments and ornaments of various price. Which that Brother could not discover, because the ignorance of forgetfulness prevented the perspicacious eyeballs of his memory by darkening them. And look, in dreams there stood by him one arrayed in pontificals, who thus addressed him and said: “Rise as quickly as may be, and suffer not my vestments to be consumed by fire, for they are of much beauty and also of price. For indeed the fire of devouring flame would already have devoured the greatest part of them, had not the shadow of my protection preserved them from the savagery of the heat. For the fire would have poured the hair of its flames more broadly had my overshadowing not been there.” Awaking at once, he flew in haste to the locked chests, and opening them found the candle burning among the vestments. Which he took out and extinguished, and with hastening hand unfolding and refolding the sacred garments, turning them over by unrolling and searching them by feeling, found nothing at all of them burned. O wondrous sign and prodigious example of power! The devouring flame feared to devour the thin thread of linen, nor presumed to inflict any burning hurt upon the vestments of the church of blessed Cuthbert. Truly there was there the protection of the holy Confessor, which suffered not the mind of a servant devoted to him to sustain a stumbling-block. And a wondrous succour of compassion, which was made a provident refreshment for the misery of his servant. So does blessed Cuthbert cherish again the hearts of those devoted to him, and, by disposing providently, preserves the things that are his.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: How Saint Cuthbert awakened the sacrist and warned him lest the lamp should seize his ornaments by negligence #

¹ Nor is it to be wondered at if they serve him devotedly, since those who trust in him are never left destitute of his continual aid. For at another time the same Sacrist, wearied with nocturnal labour, wished to sleep, and now wearied of the length of psalmody, had been drowsed by stealing sleep upon the very couch of his little bed where he had sat down. To him at night-time it was the custom to kindle a light before him, and so, sitting upon the bed, to serve for a while the pleasant delights of the psalms. That candle, therefore, he had fixed on the other side above the bed-posts of his little bed; and sleeping, knew not that it stood thus kindled there. The bed within was filled with straw, a material all too friendly to flames; and on every side round about stood a copious wooden fabric of chests and timbers. Above its height, moreover, a certain planking of boards stood out longer and broader, upon which the whole collection of all the curtains, dorsals and other ornaments of the church lay gathered. Which from the height of his little bed had grown up not more than the measure of one cubit. From this the inopportune fortune of a fire was the more dreadful as the loss was the greater and the ruin the more destructive hanging over them. While he slept, the flame shone more brightly, and from the neighbouring abundance of such material sought very many solaces of increase. The holy Confessor of the Lord, then, seeing that a heavy loss of detriment was striking his ornaments, resolved with wonted piety to succour them by providing for them. He stood by the sleeper in a vision, and as though exhorting him to vigil by a gentler impulse said: “Rise up and arise again, for I will not that the ornaments of my church perish by a flame devastating utterly. For they are the oblations and gifts of many faithful, and the labours of very many, and rewards are to be rendered for them. And the flame would have seized even you had not now the hand of me, your Lord Cuthbert, succoured you.” Saying such things he disappeared; and that Brother awaking feared the many things kindled with fire round about him. He was indeed alone there and it was neart, and the more vehemently astonished therefore. Yet imploring very often the patronage of blessed Cuthbert, he cast himself into the midst of the flames and in a moment of time repressed them all by extinguishing them. When morning came, he found nothing burned that could be harmful, but rather blessed God, glorifying Him in Saint Cuthbert. So did the holy Confessor of the Lord rescue unharmed a minister faithful to him from the pressure of the imminent flame, and showed clearly to all of how great solicitude a care he bore for his own things. By such a glory of virtues the power of the holy Bishop Cuthbert is declared, and how much is to be trusted in his succours is more perfectly intimated to his faithful.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Of a certain Brother keeping vigil in the church of blessed Cuthbert, who heard the celebrated choirs in it, and perceived three Bishops descending from behind the altar and returning #

¹ At another time a certain devout Brother was in the same church, who shone with a wondrous beauty of the fulness of much grace. He, most rarely about to indulge in slumbers, lay down upon some couch of a bed; but rather, stretched upon the hard pavement of the church, when by chance a sudden heaviness rushed upon him, there rested by sleeping; and waking again, none the less pressed on with his accustomed prayer, and thus very often celebrated devout vigils to the Lord as he knew how. Such had been his custom of life for a long time, composed and instructed with other modesties of manners religiously enough. When therefore the nocturnal solemnities had been completed, that man prayed for a while to fulfil his accustomed vows; and oppressed by his wearied strength rested in sleep. And waking from the midst of the choir in which he had slept, he pondered heavenly things alone with himself on the seats at the right side. Lifting up his eyes, then, towards the upper pavements of the church, among the darker clouds he saw three persons descending to the lower parts, and gradually with measured steps reach the lower steps of the choir. Each of whom came forth most adorned with pontifical infulae; and standing at the steps of the middle choir, with a sweet-flowing kind of melody began to sing “alleluia” with the verse following. Who of mature face, handsome form, heavy with the age of senility, were clear enough to see, pleasant with the sweetness of song, glorious in personal bearing. Then, with ears erect, there seemed to him towards the region of the southern part, where we see the image of the Holy Cross raised, a choir of many singing together, under-singing or even descanting, imitating by following the order of some prose. Then he reckoned within himself that the Bishop of Durham was celebrating Masses there after the accustomed order, and that a clergy ministering so honourably in his services was discharging its office. For there bright lamps shone on high, and from there incense of much odour flowed redolent sweetly enough. The verse being ended, when the alleluia was afterwards begun again turn, those bishops passing through the steps went up to the same altar, and there, with the others singing, stood as though at the solemnities of the Mass. For when the Bishops, singing their parts, made an end, that choir at once supplied what remained with a melic modulation. But he who celebrated the solemnities of the Mass completed all things which befitted the episcopal bearing. Then, all things being fulfilled with a celebrated ministry, he saw again those same Bishops proceed through the pavements of the church from beyond the altar; and pursuing their procession, suddenly perceived their images disappear. Who those holy Bishops were we do not doubt, whose most sacred pledges we honourably preserve in the Church of Durham: Aidan namely, Cuthbert, Eadbert and Æthelwold. But which of them consecrated the Lord’s sacraments, the Lord of all alone, the inward judge, knows. O with how glorious virtues is the church adorned, which, possessing the pledges of such great Fathers, is so sublimely honoured by Christ Jesus the Lord! For it is not hard for them to perpetrate very many workings of heavenly powers, who are known to be co-equal with the Angels in the glory of the city on high and everlasting fellow-citizens. And that Brother, inquiring of a certain companion of theirs who seemed to pass before him under this time of vision, learned from him that those same holy Bishops whom we have named were they. He dared not, however, ask him more, because he now perceived within himself that what he had seen was spiritual. Yet, as he asserted to us, he was in no way in ecstasy or excess of mind, because these things he saw with a watchful corporeal eye and under no enigma; the voices of the holy Bishops sounded with a somewhat grosser breath of spirit, and all that they sang together they modulated with a more moderate spirit of song.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Of that banner of Saint Cuthbert which the fires could not resist, nor presume to hurt by burning #

¹ Among other savage hazards of various fortune, it happened that the city of Durham very often sustained intolerable fires of perils. In which times of misfortune the Brothers of the church ever flee to the arms of their accustomed protection, and frequently set the relics of blessed Cuthbert against the burning torches of the raging fires. Where we have very often seen voracious globes of fire halt their step at their approach, give place to those approaching, and not touch further the places, roofs or dwellings which they had surveyed. So, on one occasion, the flame devouring the walls of the city, it happened that the Brothers flew there the sooner to break their assaults, and carried with them the shrine with the sanctuaries of the church to many places. For though others checked the devouring assaults with lances, shields and axes, yet these with the defence of prayers, the poured blessing of a sacerdotal hand the shadowing of the holy pledges, restrained their madness more quickly and more lightly. Now, therefore, the flame had consumed all the buildings of the lower city, and the raging force of the fire had compelled its extinguishers to flee within the bounds of the Castle. And so they mounted the walls and strove to interpose also certain wooden things among the stone bulwarks for their defence. For a violent wind rushed upon them from the north, and the flame grew higher above all their heads than the length of a lance. Sparks with torches, glowing coals with verdant ardours, flew over the highest walls from beyond; and now, kindling the houses of the inner court, had broken the strength of those who had appointed them beforehand by overcoming it. At last, in the discovered solicitude of a new counsel, they hung the banner of blessed Cuthbert with the sacred Corporals upon a lance; and saw its bearer suddenly cast himself into the midst of the flames. At first the flames surrounding it as though to burn it, afterwards dispersed by restraining themselves little by little, yet sometimes leapt forth higher than the lance could reach and lifted themselves up. Sometimes for a whole hour, now for nearly half, the dread fires had covered it by surrounding it on every side; and the more savage blasts of the winds very often drove its fringes in burning brands far longer. At last no man who stood round seeing these things thought that anything of it now remained entire. They said indeed one to another, all complaining mutually: “A great loss of waste has been made here today, because truly the banner of Saint Cuthbert is now burned by the fires.” Moreover they cried out very often to its bearer to withdraw, but with these utterly importunate voices they could not recall him. So at last the devouring flame surrounded him as he held it, so that no passable way of flight lay open for him to escape. But after all these things the fire relapsed into itself and perished, nor could the fire invade or pass by any bounds which it had surveyed with that banner. The wind also, falling, was turned into a most peaceful air, and all the misery of the first despair was now, by the coming of blessed Cuthbert, changed into the clemency of God’s glory. For that banner appeared unharmed from every hurt of fire, smoky vapour or foul soot; which remains wondrous enough to all who see and handle it even now. A certain man also, who held the pyx with the Eucharist beside it, saw a small bird fly out from above the pyx. Which with a light oarage of wings ever subdued the fires by casting them down and repressed them with a dewy shower. After a little while, however, the ardours being shaken, it returned from where it had gone out, and sitting upon the pinnacle of the pyx, was seen no more where it had gone.

Chapter Forty: Which of the Brothers lifted or handled the body of Saint Cuthbert, and how the pledges laid up with him bore witness how great was the holiness in Saint Cuthbert #

¹ It is easily discerned where the force of the heart is fixed. It ever delights the mind either to perceive things desired, or investigating them to seek out newer and more recent things. And so, if we delight in the affections of joy concerning the glory of blessed Cuthbert, yet we are never sated to loathing, nor do we succumb in wondering; nor do we ever, by reciting or writing, reach the end of his wonders. For those who wish to know of the blessedness of blessed Cuthbert we shall set forth in few words what we have been able to inquire from the elder men of the church. These had seen them, heard them, and learned whatever more secret things of him, who both handled with their hands, explored with sight and gaze, and lifted with their forearms and sustained with encircling arms the incorruptible body of blessed Cuthbert. These are their names: Turgot the Prior, Aldwin the Sub-prior, Leofwin, Wiking, Godwin and Osbern the Sacrists, Henry, and William surnamed Havegrim, both Archdeacons, and Algar afterwards Prior, and Symeon. Osbern, seizing the holy body with his hands at the part of Saint Cuthbert’s head, lifted it aloften from the place of its repose. But Aldwin, clasping the same body at the part of the feet, raised the sacred footsteps by lifting them. Algar also, while the body bent itself in the midst of him after the manner of one living, comprehended the middle of the flexible body by clasping it in his forearms. He also, with the Abbot of Sées, unfolded the vestments about the venerable head, and was his helper. The holy body being laid upon carpets and palls, Symeon, who held the wax candle with the candlestick, ever imprinted kisses sweet enough upon those holy feet with flowing tears. Who told the mighty works of God to their hearers, and also revealed certain secrets more plainly to them; all which things, however, they were unwilling to insert in writing. But we have deemed it worthy to describe them, holding it sweet to know more perfectly the things we saw not, and to make them known to posterity which we know to have been uncertain to some. The sacred body being lifted from the place of its repose, the little place in which it had lain until then on its right side as though sleeping overflowed round about with a wondrous sweetness of suave odour. The place also in which that most sacred body had lain resplendent with all the former newness of its wood appeared dry in every part. And the support of the more noble silken pall which had been laid beneath it shone the more brightly, as though more recently woven, for whatever part of it they had under their ministries. But that part of the support or silken cloth which appeared to have been laid beneath the relics of other Saints beside him was all devoured by moths and dissolved into cinders of ashes. Yet none of all the bones of any other withering Saint, which had adhered closely and compactly sideways to the incorrupt body, had brought any hurt of its own dust or decay, or of ashes or moisture, upon his more sacred garments. Nevertheless, where those pledges of Saints had lain, the part of the sepulchre permitted to them below had grown blackened by the dust of their decay and taken a contagion from the long contact of their cinder, not the trial of corruption. Therefore the cinder, which after a natural manner had rotted from itself, brought forth the filth of a like dust; and thus while the moth of decay had dissolved those bones with natural corruption, the resolution growing ashen, itself being somewhat warm, had procreated a somewhat inferior moisture for itself. From this that part of the sepulchre where any portion of the pledges of Saints had rested appeared cindery, muddy and somewhat moist. And so they cleansed the shrine of blessed Cuthbert from these lesions, collecting all the dust into one, and laid up those holy ashes themselves by gathering them in certain wooden little vessels carved for this work. Which are honourably preserved elsewhere in the church, in a larger casket made for this business; and certain of the coverings which had been set around those relics are laid up with them still half-incorrupt. But because they could not wholly scrape off or efface the soot and infusion of moisture sitting deeper in that part, they took care to obviate it by another device discovered. They wished indeed to make that darker part somewhat like to the other more splendid part if they could; but these things they dared not serve longer. Therefore, a new cunning being found, they composed a wooden board which they made fitting to the bottom of the sepulchre on every part and on every collateral region; which, heated beside hot fires from morning till evening, they stained with molten waxes, and infused it, as far as was possible, with the sweetness of such liquor. To the lower region of which they affixed feet, after the manner of tripods, from the four corners, whose height with the breadth of the board itself made the fulness of three fingers. Which was set beneath in the lowest place of the sepulchre’s foundation; and so every particle of the sepulchre which had before grown old with the dust of the Saints’ pledges was covered over by the roof this board. So, therefore, it adhered to the lower foundation of the shrine by resting upon it, so that to those who saw, something new appeared as a foundation lately polished; which the wooden feet sustained beneath upon the old foundation, and covered all the obsolete stains of the lower part by occupying them beforehand. Upon the upper part of this board the incorruptible body of the glorious Bishop was laid in the place of its rest; and all the collected relics were placed separately elsewhere. So it comes that most holy body stands out nearly in the midst of the sepulchre’s height, because it lies not on the foundation of its shrine but rather upon this board.

Chapter Forty-One: With what vestments that most holy body is wrapped, or what handling or disposition of the members there was #

¹ And because he who knows in part strives rather to obtain the knowledge of the fulness, let us now pursue the things which are still lacking, and begin subsequently from his holy body. That body, wondrous for so many merits of virtues, appears to be of tall and manly stature. Which tallness is neither stretched out too much by extension, nor restrained too much by contraction. All the members solid, flexible and entire, such as beseem a perfect man; sinuous with sinews, pliable with dewy veins, suave with the softenness of flesh, such as they show one living in the flesh rather than dead in the body. His flesh within is wrapped on every side with a most subtle linen sindon, under whose covering there is no covering of any other kind within. This sindon indeed the Abbess Verca gave him while living, which he ever kept for himself for this business. After these, he is clothed with a sacerdotal alb, and the amice appears to be on his neck and shoulders. A most subtle cloth, by covering, conceals his cheeks and face and all the surface round about of the whole venerable head, which coheres with such a most strict art of solicitude to all the members beneath that it is as though glued to the hair, the skin, the temples and the beard. Which could not be raised, torn or lifted from the skin or flesh in any part by any art the least higher. Nor could it even be drawn out, prised out or pulled apart, even by any sensible perception, with the sharpest extremity of nails in any place. From this the nostrils and the lids of the eyes lay open within clearly enough; but the inner skin or the tenderer flesh beneath could not be seen for the coverings laid openly over. So, even to the joints of the neck, all the offices of the head and the workshops of a man’s senses were covered in the same manner, nor was any access open to their perceptible sight by any endeavour. His nose appeared somewhat curved at the upper hinge, and his chin, as though with a lower bone, was seen to be hollowed into a valley with a double division. In which little valley, thus doubled on either side, nearly the measure of a finger’s breadth could be poured; because the last summit of his chin is so hollowed. Above all these things was a purple sudarium, which hides and covers the whole mitre within on his head. Of what kind of thread it is woven is not easily apparent, because such a weave is not of this time. Upon the forehead of the holy Bishop stands out a lamina of gold, not a woven fabric but only outwardly gilded, which shines, scattered round about with precious stones of various kinds, though very small. Yet the devout rather than the curious, who had seen his holy inner parts, wishing to see his naked flesh, raised the sudarium which we mentioned higher, and so seeing the softenness of the flesh between the posts of the neck and the bounds of the shoulders, handled it with their hands. They saw, they palpated with finger and hands, and so found that it subsisted in the bounds of the whole body. He is crowned with the stole over the alb and the fanon, whose further bounds appear somewhat at the part of the feet, yet show to no one the kind of their texture. For their inner parts are covered by the upper tunic and dalmatic, but the last bounds of the fringes are seen to be of most precious work.

Chapter Forty-Two: Of his pontifical insignia, and of what price, colour, grace and beauty they are, and how wondrous a texture #

¹ After the manner of Christian bishops, he is clothed after these with a tunic and dalmatic, the kind of each of which is lovely and wondrous enough with a precious purple colour and a variety of weaving. For the dalmatic, which above appears the more clearly, presents to all men of more experienced knowledge a purple of reddish colour, little known at this time. Which still preserves in all things the grace of its former newness and beauty, and beneath the touching fingers of those who handle it, for the work of its solid beauty and the fulness of its woven excellence, resounds with a certain crackling. In which fabric is woven a most subtle and minute effigy, inserted with the smallest work and distinction, of both flowers and little beasts. Whose appearance another colour changes for the beauty of its adornment with a frequent sprinkling of variety, which is believed and proved to be citrine. Which grace of variety shines forth most beautifully in the purple cloth, and forms certain new dispositions of diversity by the sprinkling spots intermingled. This sprinkled infusion of citrine colour is known to settle as it were in drops, by whose power or beauty the reddish appearance of the purple is compelled to shine more vehemently and more gloriously. The last bounds of that dalmatic a gilded border, in the likeness of some orphrey, flows round about by encircling, which for the abundance of gold inserted in its woven fabric is not easily bent back, and even then with some crackling. So is it flexible and capable of being folded back, yet for its thickness returns of itself to its former rigidity without any help. Which extends to the measure of a man’s palm in breadth, whose work seems to have been of a skilful industry enough. In like manner at the last bounds of each sleeve, from which come forth the hands or arms of the glorious Bishop. But about the neck where the head is put forth there is a golden border broader than the former, which appears to be yet more incomparable in work and price. Which covers the greatest part of each shoulder, both hindward and forward, because from either region it is broader by the fulness of a palm and nearly a half. But his hands lying beside the upper parts of the belly seem to extend their fingers erect to heaven, and ever to ask the Lord’s mercy for the people devoted to him. For he who lifted them on high at the hour of his death to prayer for himself knows not how to lay them down after the passing of the flesh for the expiation of our crimes. Yet they can be bent by those who touch them into any part, and the single joints, after the manner of one living in the flesh, folded by moving, bent back by curving, and promoted by directing anywhither. The arms likewise can be raised on high and let down, and so all his other members drawn apart and released at the will of him who handles them. The chasuble which was taken off him after the eleven years of his burial has never since been restored to him. On his feet he wears pontifical shoes which the common folk are accustomed to call sandals. Which from the upper region appear open with many small holes, whose coverings are proved to have been so made artificially of industry. For the rest, whether he had within a softener inner tunic or any monastic hood, no one knows; because no one has presumed touch or explore the things which adhere more nearly to his flesh. Of his other vestments, therefore, linen or perhaps woollen, all are in doubt, because it has been permitted to none to search that out more plainly. Above the clothing of the dalmatic the holy body is covered with other precious and silken palls, whose kind is not so perfectly discerned. Over which was set a lodex of nearly nine cubits’ measure in length, extending three and a half in its breadth, by whose covering the whole company of the sacred relics had been most decently wrapped. Which had hairs of linen thread on the other side as long as the measure of one finger; for that same lodex was without doubt linen. In all the quadrangular circuit of that lodex the weaver’s artificial prudence set borders in the margin, which are proved to have the breadth of one thumb. In which texture a certain most subtle sculpture of its own thread seems to stand out somewhat higher, which is proved to bear the forms of birds and beasts as inserted in the margin. Yet ever in pairs of birds or beasts a certain shapable weave emerges after the likeness of a leafy tree, which divides their images by separating them this way and that, and disjoins them by distinguishing. The figure also of the tree so shapably figured seems from either side to pour forth its leaves, however minute. Beneath which at once in the same collateral form there are given to arise the woven sculptures of animals; both of which in like manner are seen to stand out higher in the last bounds of that cloth. That cloth was taken off from the sacred body at the time of his translation; which is still preserved whole in the church for the gifts of relics which are daily afforded to the faithful. Above which lodex another cloth, coarser still, which is said to be of triple texture, was placed, with which the whole surface of the lodex itself and all the collection of relics laid beneath was veiled. To which a third cloth, all infused with wax on every side, stood over, which had encompassed the inner shrine of the holy body together with all the sacred relics without. Which was proved not to have reached to the inner sanctuaries, but is conjectured rather to have been added as though for receiving the inopportune foulness of dust. These three cloths, then, were taken from the body of the holy Bishop, for which others, much more lovely and far more precious, were set beneath. Of which the first, which is laid beneath the former garments, is silken, subtle and most delicate. The second is precious with the purple of an incomparable pall. The third of the most subtle sindon, which is the outermost and last of all the coverings of the most sacred body. He has besides with him in the sepulchre a silver altar and corporals, a golden chalice with the paten, and tongs still retaining the grace of their former newness, of which the more famous report is that his hairs were once shorn with it. Which are placed at his head upon a board set across the sepulchre, where they are still preserved with his ivory comb; which is pierced in the midst so that nearly three fingers can be lightly poured into it, whose magnitude seems to be decently extended with a like breadth. For the length is nearly equal to the breadth, save that for ornament the one is in some way made unlike the other. Which for the grace of its age is suffused with a ruddy colour, and the habit of the white bone which nature ordaining bestowed is changed with a ruddiness infused from the length of age. So is the shrine of blessed Cuthbert the Bishop established with vestments of this kind; in which, of the holy relics, only the head of the glorious King and Martyr of Christ Oswald is honourably placed.

Chapter Forty-Three: Of his shrine, of how wondrous a diversity of kind it is composed and carved #

¹ We have until then discoursed how the glorious Bishop of Christ Cuthbert is laid in his sepulchre; now we will explain what his inner shrine is like. In the inner shrine at the Island of Lindisfarne, raised from the mound of the sepulchre, he was first placed; in which his incorruptible body has always until then been preserved. This, like a chest, is quadrangular, having no little doors standing out higher at the sides. But by the walls of its sides it is in all ways level at the uppermost top, bearing its own covering broad and flattest above like a chest. The covering of whose roof is a board, which is made wholly unlockable for it above as for an open door. In which two circles like rings are inserted, of which one at the part of the feet, the other at the part of the head, are closed in its midst. By which that board is raised or let down, because no other lockable fastening is had in that shrine. Which is all compacted of black oak, over which it is doubted whether its colour of blackness is contracted from long age, or by some other artifice, or nature so bestowing. It is all outwardly sculptured with wondrous carving, which is of so minute and subtle a work that it is believed to suit the amazement more than the knowledge or capability of the sculptor. The single lines indeed are very thin and very small, by which various things of beasts, flowers or images are seen to be inserted, carved through or traced in the wood itself. Which chest is enclosed in another outer one, which, covered over in every part with leather, is more strongly encompassed and bound with iron nails and fastenings of the same kind. A third, moreover, which is crowned with gold and gems, is placed upon these added; which is sewn and united by the toothed little valleys of beams proceeding one from the other and advancing from this to that with iron nails drawn out. Which can be separated from the rest by no art, because those nails cannot be torn away from there by any exercise without fracture.

Chapter Forty-Four: How a certain young man filled with a bitter spirit was at once freed, many seeing, by the drink of the lavation of the relics of Saint Cuthbert in the same church #

¹ In the church of blessed Cuthbert there was a certain youth most devoted to the Lord, who, learned in the psalms, ever sang night and day the prayers he knew. But because there is no son whom the father does not chasten, it happened that his innocence was proved by certain ignominious sufferings of infirmities. For sometimes so great an assault of grief suddenly invaded his heart that, his eyelids being hideously torn up, he was accustomed to roar, turn pale and cry out with the shrillest voices, and direly to clamour. Some therefore thought that he was driven by the Lord with an evil spirit, because they saw him roar so horribly, hiss and shake his distorted eyes. On one day, then, he lay down to pray before the crucifix in the church, and his infirmity seizing him, he poured forth dire voices too bitterly. The Brothers and servants ran up to afford him some solace. Scarcely could five or six strongest men hold him; yet with so furious an effort did they feel themselves violently dragged after him. So intempestive a breath vomited from his mouth that none could sustain it. Meanwhile one of the Sacrists ran up, having snatched a glass vessel in which he drew out somewhat of that most sacred water in which he knew the most holy things of blessed Cuthbert had once been washed. Which when he applied to his mouth, at once he that was infirm grew all stiff. Yet as they poured somewhat of the liquor into his mouth, so great a blast of violent spirit sprang from the mouth of the drinker that vessel, which was held further off, was shattered into minute particles. For that evil spirit was indignant that by so holy a draught of lavation the unclean spirit was compelled to go out from the vessel of the body in which it had sat. From this he who had lost the vessel he possessed feared not to break the vessel that was brought. All therefore marvelled how by his breath the vessel set further off was dissolved into fragments, when it seemed that the effort of a man could not have effected such things by an outpoured breathing. The wretch cried out, from whose mouth that spirit had gone forth, and said: “Look, he flees and goes forth, by whom this miserable breast has long been vexed. See him and seize him, for he hastens and strives to depart.” And stretching forth the finger of his index straight out, he showed us who stood round where the cunning of the ancient serpent was proceeding. From this all of us who stood round were deeply dismayed and shuddered. He, released from the hands of those who held him, at once quiet and most peaceful, went away alone of himself, whom but an hour before the strongest hands of six men could not hold. These things we many Brothers of his church saw, and knew that the lavation of Saint Cuthbert has the efficacy of great power.

Chapter Forty-Five: How a copious flame, made at the feet of the sepulchre, neither touched the cloths to which it clung, nor prevailed to hurt anything #

¹ But because we can ever speak of the glorious magnitude of blessed Cuthbert, we will now subjoin another miracle which we ourselves perceived. A certain devout man had come to pray at the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert, bearing with him a light kindled with fire, offering a gift which he had before vowed. Who, wrapped in the greatest straits of miseries, had vowed a vow that if Saint Cuthbert would rescue him from such misfortunes, he would afterwards bring him gifts in rendering thanks. Whose prayers and vows the holy Confessor of the Lord heard from on high; for which benefits, not ungrateful, he now rendered his vows before him. At last he set that light upon a stone at the feet of the holy Bishop at the end of the sepulchre, and his prayer being fulfilled, withdrew. None of the monks then being in the church, the fire, which had first clung to it, spread abroad its winged flames the more widely. So, in a brief moment of time, the manifold foldings of the candle had kindled and the flame of heat was consuming. The flame, therefore, lifted itself up higher into the air above the sepulchre, and making brightness together with smoke, at last became known to the laity praying. One of whom running up found all the foldings of that candle burning together; from where he learned that nothing which could have been extinguished of the wood remained. In wondrous wise, therefore, that flame had poured over all the cloths which had surrounded the sepulchre, and had presumed to inflict no hurt at all upon the silver, the gold and the gems and the inner wooden cell on which it had longest sat. There the stone upon which the sepulchre sat had no more than one palm of breadth. Nor could the flame turn aside elsewhere than to cling only to the sepulchre which it touched sideways. You might see, therefore, molten waxes flowing out by running this way and that over the stone; and also, the steps being poured over on every side, to have descended more broadly to the lower pavement. So does blessed Cuthbert admit fires and check them; and suffers the flames of fires to rage for a miracle, but not to burn out for a loss.

Chapter Forty-Six: How wondrously Saint Brendan yielded to blessed Cuthbert, and how He led forth the fettered man from prison and went before him #

¹ In those days a certain man, rich indeed in faith but poor in riches, dwelt in the confines of the territory of Durham, who had a small portion of fields nearly free from all servitude. For the cultivation of whose business he had procured himself a small substance of cattle. Certain rivals of his, casting false complaints against him, strove to snatch away his land together with his cattle and unjustly to divert them by injuries to the rights of their own sway. But because they could not conveniently perpetrate it as they had deliberated in mind, accusing him of certain things they obtained that he be unjustly fettered and at last thrust into prison at Brancepeth. Whom, however, they had first obtained to be most tightly bound with iron fetters, which, the aid of the Saints Brendan and Cuthbert being invoked, they were quite astonished to find had twice been worn through. But because Saint Brendan had a church dedicated to his name in the same village, therefore the memory of that Saint adhered more familiarly to his breast. Yet, dissembling as best they could what they knew had truly happened, they at last made iron fetters of much weight and wondrous magnitude, and binding him with them buried him under the squalor of the prison. Those fetters, as it still appears, were of iron, broader than a palm and thicker than a whole finger. Among which there was no saw which could in any way open them; but the iron chaining of the fetters themselves had been fastened shut more strongly beforehand with iron nails by a smith’s hammer. Which nails, headed with a grosser knot on either side without, could never be torn away or drawn out unless first, liquefied by fires, they could be driven back with a violent hammer and so perhaps broken down. In the midst of those fetters great sounding rings were inserted, so that wherever he tried to move, at once his footsteps with their strivings were betrayed. He was thrust into the lowest of all the prisons, to which another upper one is joined. Sometimes twice or once, and rarely more, in the week he had received barley bread with water, and in such miseries had now passed eighteen weeks. Turning at last to his glorious Patrons, he now called upon Saint Brendan, and sometimes invoked Saint Cuthbert. Yet Saint Brendan the more often, because he was a citizen and parishioner of his church. At last on a certain night, while he wept wailing and stood devoted in prayer, suddenly there stood by him in a vision as he slept a certain venerable man, who being asked who he was, answered with such words, saying he was Saint Brendan: “I am Brendan whom you have called, to help you as you have asked.” Who, waking, rendered him thanks; but the Saint, disappearing, soon departed. Who so appeared to him through three nights, and ever warned him by words to go forth. They asked of him, therefore, who were in the upper prison, what those voices had been which they had heard conversing with him. To whom he unfolded what he had seen, and kindled their minds the more to vows of devout piety. On the third night, indeed, the same man stood by him and thus protesting, said: “Come and follow me.” And taking him by the hand leading him to the doors of the prison, he said: “Now have I obtained of Saint Cuthbert that he shall receive you, and opening these doors to you, lead you forth with him out of this prison. He indeed is more renowned and more powerful than I, and in the effect of miracles far more illustrious and efficacious than I.” He saw meanwhile a certain one clothed in episcopal vestments standing within the now unlocked doors of the prison, and, his right hand stretched forth, receive him from the hands of Saint Brendan. Who disappearing, the holy Bishop was made his guide; and great stones being torn apart before him from the compass of the walls of the town, he was led without the bounds of the walls well-near to the planted woods. Then the Bishop, going forth from him, said: “Because your rivals will seek you for two days, seek hiding-places for yourself within, and on the third day, at the rising of the dawn, flee in haste to my church in Durham. For there you shall be saved, and your soul shall be rescued from the hands of those who seek it. For I am Cuthbert, Bishop of Durham.” He departing, the man sat down; and then at last perceived that he was still fettered. As soon as he had begun again to invoke Saint Cuthbert, the nails sprang apart from the iron fetters. Which being drawn from his feet, he lay hid for two days in a cave; in which time he heard those seeking him very often cry aloud about him and beside him, and name him. And although he heard and saw them, he could neither be seen nor heard by them at all. On the third day, at the rising of the dawn, he stood before the doors of the Church of Durham, and narrating the wonders of blessed Cuthbert, offered his fetters at his sepulchre.

Chapter Forty-Seven: How the cloth with which the body of Saint Cuthbert had been wrapped, cast into the fire, remained unhurt, nor did the heat of the burning presume to defile it #

¹ The miracles of the most reverend Bishop Cuthbert insinuate themselves into the world with continual wondrous tokens of signs; and his daily magnificent gifts of virtues commend in how great a glory of felicity he lives, exempt from the world after the laying down of the flesh. For as the palm flourishes from the victorious glory of virtues, because living he walked in the right path of justice, and as the incorruptible cedar flowers from the grace of incorruption in the Lebanon of wondrous holiness, which he shows forth by displaying the ornaments of miracles. Yet that incorruptible cedar knows not how to fructify in the house of solitude, so that as his works are singular so also they are solitary; but as in life he grew up in virtues, so in the house of the church of Christ he daily becomes known with the manifold glory of miracles. Which we who have seen and known believe must be held a crime not to betray to others by intimating them, and we have experienced it. For this reason the works of blessed Cuthbert are not to be kept silent, because they make themselves known by new things of virtues. These following things also proclaim, which miracles lately done by him, though not sufficiently, are explained by us. There was a certain man, secular indeed in his way of life, yet faithful by a devout conversion of mind, who showed by setting forth what he had conferred with himself in mind by certain simpler tokens of the effects of his acts. For he had also acquired for himself certain writings, though not authentic yet not exceeding the canon of faith, after the manner of simple men, in which he had studiously collected with him very many names of the Saviour and some beginnings of the Gospel text, in which he had the hope of salvation. He believed indeed that it was not difficult for God to be able by this to impart to him, for the merit of his faith, the gift of grace and the beauty of glory; so that against the storms of this miserable and intempestive life, and against the adverse powers of heavenly iniquity and perfidy, he could have succour from solace of this kind of life, and nevertheless a support for the protection of his soul. And though it were greater than these if he should exercise what he believed with faith and operation, so that the solicitude of labour might be the comparison of a devout mind, yet he did not err in these things, while he doubted not that a salutary remedy subsisted in the name of the Saviour. For all things which are sought of us in the name of Jesus are granted for a remedy of salvation, the Father’s voice attesting, and many cast out demons in the name of Jesus, and very many work powers, who attain not to the glory of the kingdom’s blessedness. Nor could it have happened to him otherwise, perhaps, when he gave faith to writings and not the work of faith to the ornaments of works. Yet that faith can in no way be believed to have been perfidy, though it was not the discipline of perfect faith, because it was a devotion of faith, not the ambition of superstition; the simplicity of a believer, not the infidelity of one despairing. And, according to the voice of Scripture, all things are possible to him that believes, because the goodness of Christ mercifully bestows that for merit which a simpler faith demands for the benefit of salvation. But since the same man was skilful in work and a prudent architect in all the outer skill of building, he began to change the sharp prudence of his wit into the providence of fostering virtue. Nor did he deem faith to be so wholly to be afforded to uncertain things as to proved ones, because the former mostly liberate by a fortuitous chance, but the latter ever afford the aid of continual compassion. From this he joined himself to a certain Brother of the church of blessed Cuthbert, both for acquaintance and for the grace of domestic familiarity, so that at least, while he adhered to him the more benignly, he might commit his secrets to him the more securely, and if he sought any help or counsel from him, might obtain it the more confidently. That Brother, then, when he had discovered the same writings and had very often commended with praise the office of devout faith, began very often in conversing to interweave much of the power of blessed Cuthbert and the frequent proof his miracles, and to show him the cloth which had wrapped Saint Cuthbert’s body. Who pressed with so much prayer and devout familiarity until He gave him by largess some small particle of a portion. Which pledges of blessed Cuthbert he laid up more secretly within his writings, because he believed he had nowhere a more amiable or more honourable recess of a little shrine. Nor did he believe there was any dwelling of a worthier receptacle than that repository under which he had placed the primal secret of all his former hope. And though he had now conceived from the pledges of blessed Cuthbert the certainty of a greater hope, he was not so rash that he did not also place his writings under the shelter of an honest lodging. He hoped, indeed, because the merits of blessed Cuthbert were holding, that all prosperous things would smile upon him more than usual, that whatever adverse intempestive things would not rise up after the uncomposed manner as before, that evils would fail little by little, goods would grow up abundantly at his wish, and God’s propitious majesty would relieve his poverty by raising him and weaken the enemy’s cunning by annulling it. Nor could his faith deceive him, because blessed Cuthbert is more powerful even for the merits of that faith. So it soon happened that Hugh the Bishop of Durham set him over the works which he had newly begun, and ordered him ordain and consummate whatever he had disposed at the nod of his commands. Who consummated what he had instituted much the more decently; because he knew both to repair the ruined, correct the excavated, promote things begun well into better, and terminate things to be consummated closed in a fitting end. Yet for the greatest devotion which he bore towards the holy Confessor Cuthbert, where at Norham he had the care of works over the episcopal offices, he procured himself a best little case of precious silk, in which he had decently enclosed the same pledges, and ever carried them with him in devout ministry. While he enclosed them most reverently in his bosom after his daily custom, and very often reviewed them by handling, now with the hand, now gazing with the sight, and sometimes with bowed head bound them more straitly to himself by drawing them together, he very often turned those sitting by or looking on into the breath of amazement as well as the doubt of wonder. Yet among those who were more familiar with him he was accustomed very often to glory of the pledges of blessed Cuthbert, to be cherished with protection, to be soothed by the accompanying portion of relics. For what he held in the most precious veneration above all things, the multitude of love could not keep silence and conceal under silence of mouth. So it happened that it kindled the torches of envy in the hearts of some, the spite of emulation stirred others, and the ardour of devout piety fired not a few. When, therefore, on a certain day it happened that the importunity of some business compelled him to go out to neighbouring places, and delay threatened loss and protracted deferment the hindrance of difficulty, it happened that the same little case, together with his girdle and other more secret things, fell from him, he knowing it not at all. He seized the earlier journey appointed by necessity, but the urgency of an exceeding necessity preventing, he did not bring back to memory the little substances of the things he had lost. Meanwhile a clerk, of French birth, coming upon the lodging of the man now departed, found what had fallen from him and disposed to keep it long for himself into the habit of his own possession. Which he deemed not to be concealed until he first discerned what deposits of secrets had been so decently enclosed within. For that silken case, woven with such beauty and adorned with various loveliness, which stood out composed with such manifold wrapping, both gave the confidence of a greater hope and commended the audacity of some great deposit. At last, dissolving the wrappings and drawing out the things enclosed, when he opened those writings with pictures and various figures of letters, he found the same cloth of the relics of Saint Cuthbert decently wrapped within. Who, comparing them with what he had before heard and revolving in his soul what he had heard before of the same man, deemed them worthy to be examined as boldly as irreverently, and began to doubt of the sanctity of blessed Cuthbert. For he was angry that a more precious case should preserve a cloth of such cheapness, as he deemed, and that the worthier should minister in the office of service to the viler. So, led by diffidence as much as forestallled by the audacity of rashness, he soon went into the house and thrust himself among the crowds of drinkers sitting around the fires. He wished, however, that what he disposed to perpetrate in deed should be hid; from where he secretly cast that cloth into the midst of the fires where he saw the more voracious flames raging. But, wondrous to tell, soon the blazing fire began to twist back its flames, not to lose the fervours of heat in the gulf of burning, to burn not to consumption, to glow not to the exustion of burning. For the globe of fire containing the cloth consumed it not; it could devour itself, and presumed not to hurt it by raging; and that to which nothing material resists, an entire cloth subdued. To which all material yields for fuel, all dry affords obedience, all cold grows incandescent with heat, all hard melts by springing apart — to this neither did the fabric of one cloth give its burning, nor did dryness grant refreshment to burning, nor could the delicate tenderness of thread feel dissolution, nor its texture contract any hurt. When, therefore, for nearly two hours the cloth lay in the fire and contracted no hurt of itself at all, that clerk, dissolved in fear and confounded with exceeding trembling, drew back the cloth to himself in haste and laid it under the covering of its former case. Those sitting by, therefore, while they inquired what was being done and doubted what had been put in the burning of the fire — while others who had seen it said it was a cloth, and some contended it had been a bone or a stone — he, conscious of his guilt, suddenly disappeared and hid himself until the coming of the man whose lost things he had found. To whom, returning, he both restored his own before him and openly narrated to all the new miracles of blessed Cuthbert. Nor is it to be wondered at if the cloth with which the body of blessed Cuthbert had been wrapped could neither receive the moisture of water nor feel the hurt of fire, since the living flesh itself suffered not the water of concupiscence or any heats of lusts to grow strong within it. This cloth of which we have spoken we ourselves also saw and surveyed with our eyes; to whose vision and unhurtness we brought very many handlers and witnesses, both spiritual and secular. Nor should it be passed over in silence, I deem, that the cloth itself appeared the whiter from the exustion of fire, and afterwards shone the brighter as though the more purified. So that you would believe it, for the exceeding beauty of itself, to have put on the aspect of some new loveliness, and to have changed by acquiring the newness of a more brilliant whiteness.

Chapter Forty-Eight: How a certain man, contracted from his mother’s womb, was restored to health on the day of blessed Cuthbert before all the people, and returned home in safety, repaired with his father #

¹ Cuthbert, the form and image of a true bishop, is dissonant neither in life nor in example from the imitation of Christ. For the form is proved by the fulness of virtues, the image by the consolation of multiform grace. Because as the cleanness of his heart never departed from the Lord, so the magnificence of his virtues grows up with everlasting praise. Great, then, is his glory in Christ the Saviour, in the heavenly fatherland, having yet on earth the glory of human praise, the beauty of magnitude, in wondrous and new prodigies of signs. Which his works declare magnificently by tokens of prodigies, and bring forth miracles to be wondered at, which are daily renewed with new ensigns of works. For at the time of the yearly translation of blessed Cuthbert drawing near, a diverse intention of mind provoked many round about, but kindled some only for the sake of buying or the gain of trading and the desire of avarice. For those were carried away by the zeal of business to the fruit of merchandise, but these were kindled with no dissimilar mind of devotion to the obtaining of a medicinal desire of soul or body. So it happened according to the saying of the prophets, that while the rich man grew proud for the solicitude of an impious gaining, the poor man in the smallness of his substance burned for the obtaining of the health of his body alone. While, therefore, they approached Durham, each having the mind of a diverse intention, it happened that a certain sick man, sprung from the neighbouring countryside, came with them, that by the patronising merits of blessed Cuthbert he might obtain the remedy of health. Who, in the nocturnal and diurnal vigil, invoking Saint Cuthbert with frequent sobs, implored both the omnipotence of God and the clemency of the holy Confessor with querulous voices. For he had been crushed from his mother’s womb with an ineffable kind of languor, being both contracted in body and yet dissipated in all his bowels with a troublesome sickness of the inner parts. His heel, indeed, sat in his buttocks; each foot was bent inward from twisting; the joint of the foot was not solid or flexible with the juncture of bones, but rigid with the sole constriction of flesh and yet inconvertible. From the sole even to the beginning of the nail, what ought to have lain open beneath stood out above, because if you explored by touch you could feel no solidity of bones; if you observed by sight you would deem it a shell as though bent and composed back on the lathe. The whole shin was curved from the beginning of the knees even to the exit of the outer heel, which was so distorted from the hinder part that where it ought to be solid and rigid, there it was flexuous and contracted. The knee lacked a ham; because, after the manner of an elephant, it could not be reclined at all when bent. The thigh had hardened into the manner of a callus, because the buttocks had not the natural office of sitting. From the loins, therefore, even to the flanks they were more the fictions of a beast than the figure of a human body; because those natural things had been so confused by contraction that, for miserable confusion, they bore the appearance of no certainty. As though on a round ball he was drawn about trembling on every side, if he tried in any way the quiet of sitting, because nothing solid of bones or sinews was found below which could sustain the rest of the body’s upper part, which was sound. When, therefore, he went out to seek the victuals of sustenance, he proceeded not with steps, but drew himself after himself, a miserable spectacle, by creeping with his hands. You would have believed him a worm rather than a man had you seen him on the way not near but further off, because he could in no way walk, but crept surface-wise beneath the bosom of the earth after a bestial manner. He used, indeed, two little stools for the stepping and gait of his feet, which were to him for hands and feet; because they afforded him the solaces of hands, save only the office of proceeding for him creeping. It was miserable to the sight to have seen him with the gaze as he plied the way, because he adhered palpitating in the mire, rolled over in the mud he fell headlong on his back, pressed down under the clay could scarcely revive to breathe sometimes. But if the abundance of rains caught the wayfarer, the crossing of a small rivulet would threaten him with the destruction of death, because the deeps of the ways threatened him with the perils of drowning; or if the increases of a torrent invaded, the hiding-places of no escape seemed to be at hand. But when the harshness of stones had fallen upon sudden drags, you would soon see the gapings of wounds or the flesh torn apart piecemeal by bites; or if he had set his steps on the dried dust of dirty clay with a milder breeze, you would perceive the sight of his eyes at once darkened, which the infused dust had fouled. To avoid this destruction he had sewn himself little cushions, which he had assiduously gathered of old patches or skins; but the accustomed use of moving consumed them all the more quickly by devouring and wearing them out. Wearied, then, with these miseries, under the offices of diurnal and nocturnal vigils, he very often implored the clemency of blessed Cuthbert with querulous voices, and watered his face little by little with groans of sobbing and mingled showers of tears. Who, very often approaching the tomb of the holy Confessor and departing, seemed to suffer a certain repulse, because he seemed not to be heard as quickly as he wished. But the holy Confessor deferred to confer health upon him because perhaps He wished to bring more handlers and witnesses of his miserable languor and contraction, that when He had conferred on him the benefit of sudden help before the gaze of many, He might the more highly and eagerly stir up their minds to declare the glory of God and to preach the power of the works of blessed Cuthbert. When, therefore, at the time of the procession, the Brothers, the clergy and the people were making their exit, he, rolling himself at the feet of a certain secretary, said: “Ah, in how great glory and praise you extol God in blessed Cuthbert, and will not succour me, a wretch, because unworthy, before the holy Confessor.” Who, led by compassion for his miseries, said: “Make haste while the crowd leaves room for you, and fall more devoutly around the tomb which is within the cloister, because from that place his sacred body had been borne today, and there his clemency had been accustomed to relieve very many kinds of diseases.” Who, according to the difficulty with which he could, went round it by creeping, and crept back again to the pavement of the church, because he strove to come before the sepulchre amid the compressed multitudes of the crowds. While, therefore, at the introit of the Mass the choir was resounding the office with tuneful voices, the sick man began suddenly to be rolled about by wallowing in the midst of the crowds, to be shaken with querulous gnashings of teeth; now cast out you might see him collapse upon the pavement of the church, now headlong, now resisting and unwilling, struck from the opposite side. For sometimes his shrill clamours so repressed the modulations of those singing that you would have thought the tumult of the crowd, not the harmony of the clergy, was being stirred beneath the alternating choirs. Soon the servants of the church set certain limits of wandering for the sick man, and drove back the approaches of the crowds pressing and repressing one another with beams and various fortifications of wood. The sounds, therefore, of his wailing could be heard round about; the crackings of his springing bones resounded more broadly; the contractions of his sinews stretched themselves little by little by turns further; and the inflexions of his veins strengthened themselves more solidly through the powers of diversities. The heels began to spring from the buttocks, the bent feet to accord with straightness, the twisted shins, which seemed after the manner of a turned cord, to direct themselves into a regular line, before all seeing and marvelling. Meanwhile the flesh, which before was wandering on every side and flowing back, breathed into the flatness of maturity; the tuberous deformity, failing in itself, flowed together; the shapelessness of disgrace, changing, renewed the appearance of a new nature, the beauty of a lovely quality. The defects of bones began to found by establishing the health of steps, the limbs to receive their own solidity, and the joints of the feet to adorn their prominences by constricting with light bend and bend back. The single members put on the debt of their natural office; the flatness of the soles and the inconvenient surface of the knees ripened to return; the unfortunate deformity of the thighs, the horrendous vision of the buttocks and loins and the confusion of turpitude composed themselves in the scheme of natural right. When, therefore, the Gospel lesson having been pronounced, each of His faithful had laid their vows with oblations of gifts, as was customary, into the hands of the Bishop, he, last of all, laid down what he held dearest in his possession, his little stools namely, with his own hand into the hands of William the Bishop, then celebrating the Mass, by offering them votively. For than these little stools he had nothing dearer, because by them he had drawn the footsteps of his goings from his mother’s womb, and by leaning on them had begged the succours of life. He who had lain bent and contracted before, now proceeded sound and suddenly erect to the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert, all seeing and preaching God wondrous in blessed Cuthbert. He was born in the village of Steintune beside the river Tyne, whom the servants who served in the court of blessed Cuthbert’s almonry of the Brothers, and had been born and reared with him in the same village, and his father also who was present, and very many others, before clergy and people, asserted by protesting with faith, word and sacrament that he was born thus contracted from his mother’s womb. Who, according to the testimony of Scripture, was born contracted neither for his own sin nor for the offence of his parents, but that the glory of the works of blessed Cuthbert might be declared in him and the power of his virtue and clemency be shown the more efficaciously and illustriously. He, when morning came, came into the cloister of the Brothers to render thanks to blessed Cuthbert, related the manner of his former infirmity, and explained by narrating to all the course of the holiness conferred. Nor were the witnesses of the same miracle fewer than all who had come together at that same time to the feast of blessed Cuthbert.

Chapter Forty-Nine: In what manner the Sheriff Osbern long held a certain man bound in iron chains; and how the clemency of blessed Cuthbert twice loosed him from the iron on the feast of his deposition, the Sheriff himself seeing it #

¹ The Truth which came forth from the earth of the virginal womb, looking down from heaven upon the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s powers, heaped it up by enriching it with the grace of multiform miracle. Nor do the things once conferred on him suffice, but daily multiplied they grow up more and greater. For iron bonds neither crush nor constrain those devoted to blessed Cuthbert, because the cords of the sin of crimes could never bind the liberty of blessed Cuthbert’s spirit. From this as the bonds of the sin of crimes could not overcome him by torturing, so the iron bonds dissolved at his memory could no longer hold the guilty whom the fetter had held. For in the times of Bishop William there was at Durham the Sheriff Osbern, who, relying on the power of his office, bound very many infamous for crime in chains by judiciary power. For he executed the judgement prescribed by the elders of all the people, and bound and held the transgressors of misdeeds under fetters until the time of the ordinary law. Those who ill-treated the care of the common good he bound with fetters, and was accustomed sometimes to imprison in iron manacles both the noble of lineage and the contemptible of penury. By which terror the ill-disposed were bridled, the malignant feigned gentleness, repressed the savagery of plunder, and buried in the hiding-places of a blind heart the audacity of stealing. For to those doing injury, the complaint of judgement, to wards and strangers lamentation, justice strove to minister, seeking equity, examining suspected things, executing right for understandings, exercising vengeance according to strength. So it sometimes happened that he involved the blameless in the mark of infamy, grievously attacked the innocent with a false charge, while blind opinion did not deem the guilty, nor any suspicion stain the deceitful. A great abyss, indeed, are the judgements of God, from where sometimes, by the nod of God, even the just are suffered to be crushed in this life without the consciousness of crime, that through the torments of an undeserved penalty they may merit to be absolved from the deserved chain of sin. Which the more secretly it lies hid, the sooner and more purely it cleanses, and increases the merit of retribution for those whom the infamy of an unmerited persecution tortures outwardly by accusing. Of whose number, as we believe, he bound in chains a certain aforenamed man, and cast the hands of judgement upon him innocent of the crime brought against him. Who, long bound in iron chains, because he was poor in riches, therefore lacked an end of prosecution for his charge a convenient time. For, the occupations of various chances pressing, the rich man heedless prolonged the examination of his cause from day to day; and because he judged that something must be extorted from him in this order according to the reputation of fame. That wretch had long perished with winter colds, had contracted leanness and pallor with long fasts, and the earth had consumed his garments where he had long lain on the ground, and he had already spent in buying food the few riches of his poverty which he had acquired with his own sweat. Now no one would give him anything, nor could he go out to seek by begging. For he had his feet fettered with iron bonds, which from the length of time had corroded nearly all the flesh about his shins, and devoured the softenness of his flesh with dire devouring bites. Above all he also feared the destruction of dire death, because he had neither the riches with which to redeem the time of his life, nor could he find a defender of his cause who would set equity alone before him. When, therefore, he trembled in body, anxious in heart he failed for anguish, the solemn feast of blessed Cuthbert’s Deposition came, which brought help to him that distrusted, and brought forth faith to him that hoped not. On the vigil of it approaching, he began with great voices of heart to implore the patronage of blessed Cuthbert, that he would rescue him from so many calamities, and not cease to confer remedies of life upon him; and that according to the multitude of his miseries he would confer on him with his goodness the solace of the accustomed consolation of the mercy of his compassions. Nor did the holy one cease to be present at devout prayers, who affords the medicine of salvation to all who invoke him. Soon, then, those iron chains, of wondrous magnitude and weight, sprang apart as though a spider’s web; and the strength of their hardness cracked, and the hardness of iron liquefied could not retain the strength of a single thread. Which the servants of the house perceiving, and reporting to their lord when he had returned home from the evening hours, could in no way mitigate his savage mind; indeed, the more often they preached the power of the miracle, the more they stirred up the furious envies of his spirit. So, goaded by the zeal of fury, he caused him to be bound before him with new and stronger instruments of chains, and applied to him more keepers and closer solicitudes of custody. Yet the poor man began the more attentively to implore the aid of blessed Cuthbert, and the more anxiously to ask by demanding the reliefs of his benefit. When, therefore, on the very day of blessed Cuthbert’s Deposition, the solemnities being finished, he entered the house to refresh himself, the crowds pressing round, and had begun to wash his hands, the hands of the servants ministering, he began to insult the poor chained man sitting before him by laughing, and to mock with the others at his former deceits and the newness of miracles. “If Saint Cuthbert,” he said, “burst the former chains by breaking them, it is a wonder why he could not at all break the second by your prayers.” While he persisted in words of this kind, soon he himself seeing, and the crowd of the copious people marvelling exceedingly, those chains, burst apart about both his shins, sprang far away, and the horror of such a crack of creaking brought upon those who saw and heard a tumult of fear. For perhaps the power of the holy Confessor was indignant, which had so long patiently sustained them blaspheming with so audacious an insanity of despair. The Sheriff, trembling and nearly dissolved in the joints of his body between the hands of his servants for the magnitude of his fear, as soon as he could resume the breath of breathing, said: “Arise quickly, not moved against me, and not only bear these iron fetters to Saint Cuthbert, but also the former ones, worn through by his power.” Who, carrying both upon his shoulders, pressed with a great company, proceeded to the sepulchre of the holy Confessor, protesting the mighty works of Saint Cuthbert, and offered them there with much exultation of devotion in testimony of this miracle.

Chapter Fifty: How blessed Cuthbert appeared to two fettered men in prison, in the form of human habit, by unlocking the locks of the prison, and how, going before them after the manner of a man conversing, he led them to his church #

¹ Of so great glory and power is the memory of blessed Cuthbert that no skilled fecundity of the human tongue can suffice to unfold the mighty works of his deeds. All created things, no doubt, are subject beneath the footsteps of his dominion. The sheep are the simplicity of men; the oxen, the strength of those advancing; moreover also the cattle of the field, that is, of those discerning with capacity or intellect; the fowls of heaven, of those proceeding above the heavenly things by contemplation; and the fishes of the sea, of those lying hid in the drunken delight of the bitternesses of this world. So, indeed, all various qualities of men of every time find in his blessedness the goodnesses of medicines for various miseries. For he pities the devout in the misery of affliction, rescues the sorrowful in the strait of desolation, kindles the spiritual in the audacity of advancing, recreates the poor by relieving their want, succours the worldly by affording them peace and the sustenance of a quiet time. All which things the proofs of miracles teach more than the declarations of words avail to set forth by uttering in the praises of commendation. With which new things of miracles he deigns to visit our times, and to declare the glory of his name before all with the benefits of virtues! Of whose chief this is one, which we have both seen with our eyes and found out with our hands, by the clearness of the work, so to speak. When Bishop William lately died, Roger de Conyers, by the command of the King, had the solicitude of providence over the episcopal domains and territories of right; who both restrained the powerful by commanding, oppressed the weak by subjugating, and bent many by subjecting them to the will of his dominion. In that season, indeed, robbers had depopulated England with broad slaughter, and each envious man could easily be found the persecutor, oppressor and rival of another. For nothing stood of right; the law obeyed the will of the more powerful; it was judgement to submit for him who had no aid of succour; to stretch the gentle neck to the knife of slaughter for him whom the advocacy of a stronger tyranny could not succour by defending. He, therefore, the more freely exercised a voluntary power in that he knew utterly no argument of a reprover. When, then, he sought hunting among the dense pathless woods and the dark thickets, it happened that he found two wanderers coming to meet him through the glades of the woods, whom he believed either sought the slaughter of beasts there or even practised some plunder there more secretly. Of whom the one was called William Waleis, the second was named Orm by an English name. Whom seizing, he held bound in chains, and with their hands bound behind compelled them to go before him to Durham. And because he believed them unworthy of excuse, he not only caused them to be fettered with iron bonds, but also delivered them to the squalors of a foul prison. Who, subjected to the dungeon of such misery, were thrust into that prison which stands out on the highest top of the tower; where above the miseries of a prison they should suffer the heavier penalties of darkness, and so perish with a more miserable kind of death. There was there a dungeon of blindness, a feasting of poverty, a want of all good, and a table of all misery copious of fulness. Night continual there, because a darksome cave; a horrible little bed, because full of worms; never a quiet resting save a muddy and slimy marsh. There with the water of tribulation and the bread of grief they sustained a miserable life; who desired rather to pour out their soul by exhaling it than to prolong the exit of their end with such a kind of death. Yet necessity with injuries had enjoined them to sustain want, and to allay the intemperances of an intolerable penury with medicating patience. Yet the sentence of death, which was ever suspected by them, heaped up more the desolations of their griefs. And though a sound conscience feared not an unmerited death from the sentence of judgement, yet the liberty of nature ever trembled turbulently for the unproved languor of the outcome. At last, when no hope of deliverance lay open to them, it was inspired into their minds to implore the patronage of blessed Cuthbert with all their affections, and to commend to his clemency the peril of the present life and the destruction of the now imminent end. Therefore they most devoutly asked the mercy and medicine of the holy Bishop, nor would they be free by night or day from continual prayers. They asked indeed that He would most quickly rescue them from the present destruction, or, exempted from the present life, insert them to reign with Him in the joys of eternal life. Then, under the silence of the intempestive night, suddenly a sound, as though of some man walking, resounded in their ears and shook the doors of the prison with a tearing hand. Who, believing them to be their keepers, grew quiet a little for the magnitude of fear; and again crying out, feared the more frequent sounds the more terribly. Meanwhile a certain one, whose voice they heard though they could not see his form clearly, broke the iron bolts and opened the darksome doors. To whom he said: “You have called Saint Cuthbert, and though you dare not confess it for fear of the keepers, yet following me you shall come to him.” Night was to them a cloud giving light, so that they saw the form of a man going before them among the shadows, and very often warning them by voice or nod to follow him; yet that light was so dim that the eye of man could not have seen the bright face or appearance of the preceding form. Led by such a guide they were brought out of the prison, but in wondrous fashion were borne to the highest summits of the lofteniest tower. The steps indeed seemed to be laid under the walkers and to be raised on high as well as to be laid beneath the lower parts. So brought to the heights, they were led through the midst of a very narrow window, and as though step by step down the steep of the sheer mount on which that tower is founded, they were brought to the lower parts. They see themselves at last standing in the street which leads to the church; and following their guide, came to the very thresholds of the church of blessed Cuthbert. Meanwhile that guide shook strongly and often the brazen rings which hang on the outer doors, and forced the ministers watching within to come, the sound exhorting, to unbar the doors. Which being opened, that man said: “Look, now go in safety to the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert, and pay him thanks who has deigned thus wondrously to rescue you from present death.” Who entered the more eagerly, but saw not their guide further, disappearing at the entrance. Meanwhile, as the Brothers were paying their nocturnal office, and certain of them were inquiring of them the issue of the matter, they brought forth great poles, with which, as by the support of staves, they said they had been sustained, Saint Cuthbert commanding it. With which the doors of the prison had been barred outwardly with iron bonds, and could scarcely have been torn away by anyone beforehand with hammers and axes. The work of which miracle accords with the work of our Lord Jesus Christ, who held the eyes of the disciples going to Emmaus, and, as it pleased Him, revealed Himself to them.

Chapter Fifty-One: How Saint Cuthbert kindly rebuked the Sub-prior of the church of Durham, and by reproving ordered him unbar the door of the dormitory to his Sacrist #

¹ The glory of blessed Cuthbert is spread more broadly, which is declared daily by new wonders. There was a certain devout Brother who was accustomed to frequent assiduously the solemn vigils of his devotion about the remains of the incorrupt holy Confessor. He discharged the office of Sacrist in the same church, and the more often as the more freely serving, devoted to the divine ministries, he pursued ever the things that are spiritual. For he was day and night continually in the church, and scarcely at any time left the presence of that most sacred body. For he himself received the oblations; he arranged the linens about the altar; and when the other brothers withdrew to rest after the diurnal labours, he alone assiduously paid the prayer of holiest devotion about the most sacred body. At a certain time, then, after the morning solemnities, the brothers returning to their beds, he alone remained after his custom in the church; and wakeful, prolonged the nocturnal vigils longer than usual. Then, a longer prayer being made, he was constrained to go forth to the necessities of nature. Coming to the brothers’ dormitory, but lingering longer there, Henry the Sub-prior of the church, a German by nation, ignorantly yet regularly shut the doors of the dormitory within with a locking key, and shut that brother in. Afterwards he composed himself in bed and indulged in the sleep of quiet, wearied with nocturnal labour. But that Sacrist, relieved of the natural burden, hastened quickly to the holy custody of the holy Confessor; but finding the doors fastened within could not go out. Compelled, therefore, whether unwilling or resisting, to sit there within upon the steps; and because the rigour of the order suffered it not, he dared not wake him. There, then, he had sat unwilling; but because he had utterly the solace of no other refuge, he invoked the patronage of blessed Cuthbert very often and from the inmost heart. He was saying, perhaps, thus: “O blessed Cuthbert, you know that I would rather now assist devoted at your vigils than lie as a nightly dreamer upon these hardest stone steps.” For his aged limbs bore up his frame upon the hardest stone of the steps; and there reclining he placed beneath him dire supports for a pillow. But the holy Confessor of the Lord Cuthbert ceased not to succour his servant, but standing in dreams by that brother who had ignorantly shut him the doors, said thus: “Rise as quickly as may be, and open for the Roman brother the door which you have shut against him; because alone in the church without a guardian minister I can no longer abide. My servant, indeed, with limbs freezing for cold, reclines there within the doors upon the harder steps and sighs, groaning for solicitude of me. But you lie here about to rest on a glorious couch; yet him, who ought to serve in my ministries, you heedlessly shut in as a keeper under the keys entrusted to you. Arise, therefore, as quickly as may be, and with the door of the dormitory unbarred, send him to my custody with all speed. Look, he lies there on the steps, because he could not find one to open to him.” At which words he, awaking, pondered silently with himself what the vision of that oracle had signified. And reckoning it to be a vain thing and the delusion of a dream alone, he turned himself to the consolation of the interrupted sleep. But the venerable Confessor repeated the same things a second time; but he, again reckoning it for a vain thing, indulged in the sleep of quiet. A third time, however, the bounteous Bishop chastened him by rebuking him most sharply, threatening that unless he soon rose and suffered him to go out, he would sustain the heavier penalties of vengeance, being to be borne. Then he arose with haste, and coming to the lower parts by the descent of the steps, found that brother and suffered him to go out. Wondrous enough, therefore, did the goodness of the blessed Confessor Cuthbert shine forth in this work, which ceased not to succour his minister even for the inconvenience of such a business.

Chapter Fifty-Two: How he rescued the legate of the Roman See from a heavy peril of the sea, and brought him with all his companions unharmed to the bounds of Britain #

¹ From the remote parts of Rome a certain legate of the lord Pope had come to the bounds of Britain, who was to convert or correct the barbarism of the people of Norway by preaching. To whom the same Pope Alexander had granted the mantle and mitre in that legation, and that the cross be borne before him, and blessings after the episcopal manner, both among the clergy and among the people to whom he was to preach. He, however, had been a cardinal subdeacon in the Roman Church, whom the apostolic providence had advisedly exalted with the honours of so many dignities for the reverence of the people. He was called Stephen, and prudently went forth at the command of his lord. He went therefore to Norway, and discharged the offices of the dispensation magnificently entrusted to him by teaching, instructing, admonishing and preaching. About to return to Britain, he had mounted a ship with his companions, and, the Lord assenting, was disposing to visit and see the churches of the English. But as they furrowed the high seas, soon they began to be shaken by so many blasts of winds and tides of the sea that, every vital hope being utterly lost, they began with failing spirit to await the loss of death alone. For the tempestuous wind raged, and the heavier wave of the sea went higher and swelled boiling. And the waves of the sea were to them as a wall most high on the right and on the left, sometimes drowning the prow, the steersman despairing, into the depths of the gulf, now lifting the stern headlong, nearly all the joints of the planks being loosened. At last they had lost all the tackle of their ship to the snatching waves, and the mast being worn through, the force of the winds had scattered the coverings of their sail by cutting them through the watery waves. Then each one began to implore the clemency of the Lord and to ask the aids of the Saints of God with tears and voices in a pitiable kind of spectacle. One asked that the clemency of blessed Peter be present, another the presence of Saint Paul, and each to have him of the Saints whom he would chiefly have as a patron. But none of the Saints would be present for the succour of those about to perish, that it might more manifestly become known to all how great was the piety of virtue in blessed Cuthbert. Then a certain Abbot of Grimsby, of the English nation, who was present, set forth to that Cardinal and the other voyagers how pious and most prompt to succour was the holy Confessor of Christ Cuthbert, who rested incorrupt in body in the church of Durham in the land of the English. “And truly,” he said, “as his flesh is held incorruptible, so is his clemency the more quickly shown helpful to those who invoke him by pitying all.” At which instructions that Cardinal enjoined all, omitting the names of the other Saints, to invoke the patronage of blessed Cuthbert, vowing that he would especially serve him with a singular devotion for ever. “And if,” he said, “Saint Cuthbert, by your merits I can be rescued from present death, to you and yours I shall appear a perpetual servant for my strength. And all together we shall approach your thresholds and honour the sepulchres of your sacred body with such gifts of presents as we can.” Then all invoked the clemency of Saint Cuthbert, their hands lifted to heaven, and vowed each that if He would impart them aid they would come together to adore at his sacred walls. When these things were done, soon the wondrous power of blessed Cuthbert appeared, and all the disquiet of the sea, dashed within itself, grew quiet. At last they came to the shore which they had desired with a more serene air, and without any tackle of the sea with which they had been accustomed to steer their ship, on the next day they rejoiced and were astonished to find themselves carried to Britain. And at once that Cardinal, when he had touched the bounds of the land, hastened with that Abbot and his companions to the thresholds of Saint Cuthbert, leaving aside all other things whatever, and rendering worthy vows of thanks to his pious deliverer. Where, for a memorial of this miracle, he offered a pall upon the altar of the holy Confessor, and himself set forth in the Chapter before all the brethren all things which had happened.

Chapter Fifty-Three: How the cloth of Saint Cuthbert could be submerged in water yet not wetted, and how by a draught of its lavation a certain man was healed of a flux of blood and a woman of blindness #

¹ There was with a certain brother, a Preacher of the church of Durham, a servant, aged in years, yet boiled down with a heavy infirmity of long languor. He had been that brother’s dispenser and purveyor of necessary things; who, for the grace of maturity and the age of long senectitude, had been made the bearer and carrier of the holy relics. Who had laboured for a whole decade with a grievous disease of dysentery, and had continually poured a flux of blood through the hinder parts of nature. That disease had so grown from day to day that even in riding, the wave of blood flowing from him had sprinkled by pouring the whole saddle-cloth on which he sat. When, therefore, on a certain day he was passing through the village which is called Midford, it happened that brother the preacher, who had been deputed keeper of the holy relics, heard a young man crying after him. Then that aged servant of his, moved with pity, compelled his master to halt with importunate prayers, and asked him to commiserate the miseries of that young man. Assenting, he stood still a while, inquiring of him what cause of importunity he had. Who said that the mother of the family in that village had now for six whole months lost the sight of her eyes, and most devoutly asked the clemency of blessed Cuthbert with a constant confidence of mind; for she believed she could recover her former health if she received from them something salutary which some portion of Saint Cuthbert’s relics had touched by being dipped. Then, taking a shell, he drew out of a spring which was then by chance at hand the waves of clearest water. And the relics of blessed Cuthbert being drawn from their cases, he brought forth before him the cloth which had wrapped his most sacred body for four hundred and eighteen years, and began to wet it by diluting it in those waters. But, wondrous to tell, that cloth could be pressed down beneath the covering waters, but could in no way be wetted by often-repeated infusion. From this that servant, marvelling, drank of those waters with a faithful devotion of mind, and soon perceived the flux of blood under which he had longest laboured repressed, restrained and perfectly healed. Which, reporting to his master, he lifted all into admiration and amazement, and from then on remained most sound of that infirmity all his days. But he who had first sought something of blessed Cuthbert, kindled by the novelty of so great a miracle, was zealous with a more desirous zeal to receive those waters. Which being received, he washed the blind eyes of the mother of the family by anointing them with those waters; who at once at their contact recovered the sight she had before lost. These three miracles we have most certainly proved to have come to pass in one day at once, because the hand of him who pressed it could not wet that cloth submerged in the waters, of which the salutary draught both drove away the dysentery by curing it and the contact of the anointer restored the lost light to the blinded eyes. These things our Brother Silvanus, who at that time discharged the office of preacher, saw come to pass, and bore witness, and knew the miracles were true and perceived them done in his presence. That servant of his also, in whom this work of miracle was worked, was most known to all as a faithful man. He was called Udard, and had been brought up in the court of blessed Cuthbert; the misery of whose longer languor had been well known before to many dwelling in Durham. So did the glory of blessed Cuthbert become known to neighbours and those far off; and by the virtue of one cloth of his showed more miracles.

Chapter Fifty-Four: Of the particle of that cloth which, cast into fires, could not be burned; which, as gold tried in the fire, ever afterwards shone whiter than snow #

¹ A certain venerable man had come to the notice of a brother of the church of Durham, who had been familiar to that brother in many things. That brother, for the exceeding devotion which he bore towards blessed Cuthbert, was accustomed assiduously to carry round about his neck a little book of the Life of blessed Cuthbert hanging. Within whose inner timbers he had enclosed certain venerable pledges of some portion of the same cloth. Of which he gave to his asking friend a very small particle, which he also, as a simple and lay man, laid up within the pictures of characters which he had most beautiful, as under a more diligent custody of himself. Which he likewise seldom laid down from himself, but with a more fervent zeal carried about him as a devout bearer. Then, Bishop Hugh commanding, he went up to build the castle-works at Norham, and conducting himself prudently in all things, accomplished effectually the works committed to him. Sitting meanwhile very often among his companions and interweaving words of the more precious habit of his affairs, he began to exalt himself more gloriously than the rest concerning the relics which he had. The loftenier colloquies of words of this kind had stimulated the minds of the hearers with importunate envy. It happened then that man, about to journey to Berwick, went out, and forgetting his girdle with the silken purse, lost the same relics. Which when a certain clerk, of French race, found, he took them up rejoicing greatly, because for a long time before he had been an envious and wavering emulator of them. The rest of his companions sitting at the fire, he sat among them as though to warm himself, and secretly cast the extracted particle of that cloth into the midst of the fires. Which, wondrous to tell, soon grew incandescent against the ardours of the fire, and shone forth within the fireplace of the fire purer than glass and whiter than milk. That clerk sustained this, awaiting it longest, because he believed the issue of the matter must be the more diligently investigated. But it glowed ever, always more and more above all whiteness of snow, nor had it felt from the crackling globes of fire any lesion of its former colour. At which things trembling and astonished beyond what could be believed, he deemed it admirable that the tenderest linen threads of the cloth could not be touched by so great a fire, to whose power nothing earthly had availed not to yield. Therefore, taking tongs, he drew it forth from the fires to himself, which appeared as gold tried, brighter and more sparkling than usual. To that man afterwards returning, he restored his relics much trembling; and how great mighty works of God had been done in these things he opened openly to all, following with tears. Which gifts the devout man received gratefully; and afterwards applied a care of more diligent custody for preserving them. Whose particle of cloth we saw; which we proved to have glowed and shone red far more illustriously than the rest of the cloth itself. For it was tried as gold in the furnace; and therefore it is more brilliant than any other little portion of that cloth. From this we have learned that the miracles heard have come to pass through this cloth of blessed Cuthbert; because neither can the liquor of waters pour into its clefts by wetting, nor can the element of fire, devouring all things with voracious burning, take away the colours of its whiteness. There consist, therefore, the powers of admirable virtue in the sacred body of the venerable Father, whose touch alone can confer wondrous gifts of graces upon so many of his vestments. That man was surnamed Richard the Engineer, who, made a citizen of Durham, is best known to all the inhabitants of this region by art and name. In which little portion neither the odour of fire appeared, nor did the smoke of burning approach it, nor did it burn the last ends of the fringes of a single thread.

Chapter Fifty-Five: Of the Abbot of Furness: how blessed Cuthbert heard his vows and suddenly bent to his prayers the hearts of many rivals who opposed him #

¹ In the modern time of King Henry a certain man of venerable life, John by name, presided over the monastery of Furness; who enlarged the wealth of his church and the bounds of its lands by extending them as much as he could. Meanwhile a certain man, the founder of the same church, began to appear as a familiar of the most powerful King for a certain grace of familiarity. From this he violently took away a certain very opulent land of the same church, extending thirty-four miles in length but spread four in breadth, and added it, about to set it to his own dominion. Which the Abbot with the brethren, not enduring, very often laid the complaints of their claim before the secular Judges of the King. But they did this in vain, because in these they never prevailed to come to their own. At last he went to Rome, bearing with him letters to the lord Pope, and demanding the judiciary decrees of the royal right. Who on the appointed day drew out the rights of the plea through some years; and, all the Bishops and Nobles resisting, the King withheld his rights from the Abbot. At last, wearied, he saw that only the succours of God remained, and that the judgements of human justice prevailed. On a certain night, therefore, he conferred with himself of all these things in his heart, and finding a salutary counsel, when morning came said in the assembly of the brethren: “Because human power yields to divine commands, let us approach the patronage of such a protector, to whose power no violent robbery of a plunderer shall be able to resist; and let us delegate the complaint of our cause to the blessed Confessor Cuthbert; because if we set every confidence of our hope in him, we shall surely obtain, he holding, the justice of our cause. He is indeed, for certain, above all the Saints we know the meekest and most pious, both readier to compassion, and more cheerful in receiving, and a most prompt helper in succour. For we have never known anyone to fall away from the desires of a hoped hope, whoever would ask the aids or counsels of his protection with a devout mind. Therefore let us dedicate to so pious a Confessor some altar in this our church for his singular reverence, where we may appoint that no day of his celebrated memory be intermitted as long as this monastery endures.” Which was confirmed by all with a common decree, and is defined to be observed there under perpetual times until then. After some days, at last, that Abbot came before the King about to contend for the justice of his plea; but, the clemency of blessed Cuthbert providing, he found all his favourers whomever he had been accustomed before to have as the prosecutors of his exacting. And the royal attack was made to him a pious reconciliation of relief; so that he himself marvelled that he was so bent to the rightness of mercy, which for the obstacle of no private love could have been turned from the fulness of justice. That Abbot, therefore, blessed Cuthbert protecting, possessed all the same bounds of the lands by receiving them with all integrity; but that richest man departed confounded with all his supporters; and the mercies of blessed Cuthbert bent the hearts of the King. Truly this is, the merits of blessed Cuthbert obtaining, the change of the right hand of the Most High, and the readiest proof a pious patron in the inopportune time and the day of most miserable affliction. Returning home, he narrated before all the brethren the mighty works of God, and vowed that he would visit the thresholds of blessed Cuthbert. At last, coming to Durham, he related these mighty works of God done in himself, and ceased not to preach God wondrous in Saint Cuthbert.

Chapter Fifty-Six: Of the horse on which he was to journey to Saint Cuthbert; how, that same night, a thief seized it yet could not lead it outside the bounds of the hedge #

¹ But for this benefit of God done in himself he stood the more devout about the worship and memory of blessed Cuthbert, and vowed by deliberating that he would come at length to see the sepulchre of his sacred body. On the night, then, on whose next day he was to journey there, he had set apart in a more secret stable the choicest horses for this work, which he judged could more lightly sustain the labour of so great a journey. While, therefore, he awaited in mind of deliberation the setting out of the journey alone, in the silence of that intempestive night a thief coming broke into the house of the stable and seized the horse, about to lead it forth. And because that house was defended by hedges surrounding it on every side, the way for him, hindered by the fortification of them, had denied him nearly all the short way of going out. And so he persisted in tearing down that hedge with bloody hands, and prepared for himself by cutting through and scattering a place of sufficiently open space. But when nothing at all of the hedge had remained even to the ground where the thief purposed to go out with the horse, he drove that horse with the reins to the exit which he had prepared for himself. But, wondrous to tell, from the beginning of the night even to the dawning of the arising dawn that thief compelled the horse to go out, yet striking and beating, and dragging and dragging back again and again, could never prevail to lead the horse beyond the former bounds of that hedge. He was astonished and trembled, but could by no device at all let go the reins of that horse from his hands. At last in the morning, with the rising dawn, that Abbot, about to set out on his purposed journey, hastens to the stable; but coming there saw the thief holding the horse. So, marvelling, he learned the cause by searching it out, and thus beginning, said: “O truly the power of blessed Cuthbert! O wondrous might! O infinite clemency! Yesterday indeed I dedicated this horse specially to the ministries of blessed Cuthbert, and departing from there at evening-time commended it to his keeping. For when I went forth from there, turning in heart, voice and mind, I said to blessed Cuthbert: ‘Saint Cuthbert, to you I commit the keeping of this animal, and do preserve it for me, because carried by it I purpose to journey the next day to your sacred walls to render you thanks.’ And look, he himself has preserved this horse and in wondrous fashion restrained the wicked wishes of the thief.” But he suffered that thief to go away free, nor believed him worthy to be punished with any other pain than that with which Saint Cuthbert had afflicted him that night. Coming therefore to Durham he told us all these things, and glorified Saint Cuthbert the wondrous Confessor by praising him. He had come on that horse to adore Saint Cuthbert, which the thief, holding it in his hands, nothing hindering, could not lead out. So did the holy Confessor restrain the wicked wishes of the thief, and furthered the pious desires of him about to adore him by a following miracle.

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Of him who swore falsely upon the cross of blessed Cuthbert, how he was suddenly punished #

¹ A secular judgement preordaining, it was appointed that a certain man in the region of Norham should, as though about to expiate himself of the crime charged, engage in a dire combat. Who, as was customary until then used with others, about to purge his innocence by an oath, came to the altar of blessed Cuthbert; and, the cross being placed beneath his hand, he, guilty in conscience, perjured himself. That cross had been cut from the table of Saint Cuthbert which he, living in the body, was accustomed to have before him at the time of refreshment; from where all the provincial people, about to make oath, were accustomed to make those sacraments upon it. When, therefore, touching the cross with lifted hand he feared not to pollute himself with the sacrilege of perjury before so great a sanctuary, at once his right eye, torn out by divine judgement, fell to the earth, and he grew stiff, halting in the knee. Yet led out into the place which is called Midhope, that the strife of the duel might be ended under a fitting measure, he could not see his adversary engaging him, because the divine vengeance had already foreshown that he had forsworn himself. Whom his rival pierced through with the sharpest point of a lance; nor did a second wound add anything.

Chapter Fifty-Eight: How, on the night of the Lord’s Nativity, Saint Cuthbert celebrated the mysteries of the Masses in the Isle of Farne; and of the Brother who perceived all these things #

¹ After the laying down of blessed Cuthbert the place of Farne is held in the honour of greatest reverence, because that same holy Confessor of the Lord works there very many ensigns of miracles the more often. There were, then, at a certain time in the same Island two monks of Durham, there paying to the holy Confessor the continual sacrifice of their ministry. It happened from there that the solemn day of the Lord’s Nativity came on, and on that night each of them the more eagerly paid his vows to the Lord. About the middle of that night, according to the most wonted custom of the universal church, they had sung the solemnities of the first Mass, and after a little interval made, proceeded each to have leisure for himself more secretly. Of whom the one, who was a layman, already wearied for the nocturnal labour, lay down to rest a little; but the other of them remained wakeful in prayer in the choir of the church. And look, suddenly he sees lights shining clearly enough about the entrance of the church, and the closed doors within open of themselves, each hinge moving; then two tonsured men come in with radiant tapers, and afterwards a man of honourable maturity clothed in pontificals proceeded to the very sanctuaries of the altar. And confession being said and the remission of absolution subjoined, they began the Mass with the whole office pertaining to the day of the Lord’s Nativity, and rejoicing to the Lord sang “Puer natus est nobis” with a most clear modulation. Meanwhile the candlesticks with the tapers shone bright from either region of the altar, and while the Bishop began “gloriam in excelsis Domino,” as it were a very great multitude of Angels sang together in the highest. Which that brother hearing and seeing, though often about to rise up higher, was pressed down with so great a weight that amid those sacred mysteries he was suffered to raise himself least of all from the ground. He had deliberated within himself to cling to the footsteps of the holy Bishop if he could in any way have proceeded from the seat where he lay. But they accomplishing the sacred solemnities fulfilled all things with an officious rite whatever are accustomed to accord with the mysteries of the Mass. The Saint also, about the offering of the ministry, poured upon all the people as well as the clergy a pontifical blessing; and all things being fulfilled, returned in the order of dignity from where he had come. Meanwhile that brother himself often invoked the clemency of Saint Cuthbert from his inmost marrow, and poured forth vows from the depth of his breast. For he knew in spirit that it was blessed Cuthbert who there had celebrated from heaven such mighty works of power by showing them. All these things he could hear and see; but the faces of the countenances he could not discern for the splendour of the light. Yet he distinguished the difference of the single persons, knowing for certain the form or figure of each one’s face. But who the single ones of them were he could not know; yet the image of the Bishop alone he most easily recognised to hold the likeness of blessed Cuthbert. They having gone forth, he was soon so light in body and cheerful in mind that the measure of human nature seemed to him to have been exceeded by that very agility. At last that other brother, aroused from sleep, awakes, and diligently demands that Masses be sung for him, because he was a layman. Which that Priest asserted he would not dare that day, because it was not lawful for a priest to celebrate Masses at the same altar after the Bishop. And he unfolded to him the wondrous vision, how Saint Cuthbert consecrating the sacraments had there shown him his presence. Then both for joy are dissolved in tears, the one exulting that he had seen such things, the other grieving for himself that he had not merited to be present at them. These things we received from that brother of ours, whose testimony we know to have been true.

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Of the Deacon who saw the heavenly choirs proceeding with Saint Cuthbert to the altar in the church of Lindisfarne; and of the linens spread out and the tapers consumed #

¹ Among other solemn places of churches the church of Lindisfarne extols and cherishes the memory of blessed Cuthbert more highly by merit. For in this he was raised to the pontifical dignity, where he was also once found incorrupt even in body. Which he illumines by his merits and adorns with very many wondrous gifts of heavenly virtues. For in these latest days Hugh, Bishop of Durham, was to come there for the sake of hospitality, or for the celebrating there of the divine mysteries; against whose coming the Procurator of that house was preparing all necessaries. Among other things he had most carefully prepared two tapers of the greatest height, which for the ensign of adornment and the due right of dignity were to be borne before his presence. Which were honourably placed on a board in the church of blessed Cuthbert; whose makers awaited the Bishop about to arrive on the appointed day. On the night, then, the triduum preceding, the Deacon of the same church, a clerk, had indulged in sleep to rest with his colleagues in the northern part of the church, and the night had now made the middle of its course. From this awaking, he perceived the sounds of a great tumult arising about the greater doors of the western church, and heard celebrated harmonies resounding there with sweet-flowing melody. At last he perceived that the doors had been opened, and two, clothed in albs, standing before his little bed and speaking to him; he heard them saying: “Where are those tapers which have been prepared for the coming of the Bishop? Bear them forth with the candlesticks, that we may minister to the Bishop, and the whitest linens, that we may decently cover the altar with them. For the great Bishop of this church, Cuthbert, comes here to celebrate Masses, and has sent us before to prepare all things before his face.” He, fearing, beckoned to them with his finger, and showing them the tapers, gave over the keys of the chests by drawing them from his girdle. For he dared not rise from his bed or weave longer words of any questioning with them. Who, opening the chests, brought forth the more honourable linens with which they covered the greater altar. And the tapers being set upon the candlesticks, they went forth to meet the singing choirs, and singing, met the others following as they entered the church. The choir of those singing seemed to consist of very many persons of whiterobed men of the more honourable, whom the bounteous Bishop, crowned with pontifical insignia, followed with a most beautiful spectacle. Who, proceeding to the altar, began the mysteries of the Mass the more solemnly; which the company of singers afterwards discharged in the order of mellifluous modulation. The Gradual and whatever else they sang before him in some number. The choir, repeating them afterwards, sounded them the more decently after the ecclesiastical manner. The Levites ministered about the Bishop in their order, and paid the rights due to them with canonical rite. Meanwhile that Deacon, here and there and sometimes, as he dared, directed the lights of his eyes through the church, and perceived it all gleaming everywhere with glittering light. The Mass, as it seemed to him, was of the Holy Spirit; which being fully celebrated, all that company with hymn-singing melodies returned proceeding by the journey by which they had first come, the former taper-bearers preceding. And he heard the distinctions of their voices for some while after their going forth as they withdrew further, whom he also perceived to have made an inner station at the church of Saint Mary. From that place he believed they had first come, because he perceived the sweet modulations to have sounded from there longest. At last, after some small space of time, all the sounding voice had departed, and that deacon rendered thanks to God within himself very often. Meanwhile the taper-bearers returning brought back those tapers and set them in their former place. Then going forth they appeared not, yet left the doors of that church open. At the rising of the dawn the brothers came together to the church, but seeing the open doors and finding the linens still spread upon the altar marvelled greatly. And inquiring, they learned all these things of the Deacon; but rendering thanks to God they sought that some little sign of token be shown them. Coming at last to the tapers, they found that more than the measure of one palm of their former length had been consumed by the fires, and by sure ensigns of proofs shut out all the ambiguity of uncertainty. So does blessed Cuthbert daily work new wonders where he will, and show himself ever truly living in Christ. These things we learned of those brothers who were then there; and we knew that Deacon himself to have been brought up in that church from youth.

Chapter Sixty: Of a certain sacrilegious man who broke the peace of the church: how he was mortally wounded by him, healed suddenly, and that other condemned to perpetual extermination #

¹ But among other things we believe this most wondrous which we have perceived lately to have come to pass in the Church of blessed Cuthbert. A certain young minister of the bishop having been slain near Durham, he who was guilty of the homicide fled to the patronage of blessed Cuthbert, where he prevailed to have the remedy of peace. From this his friends and companions, who had loved the dead man before, purposed to avenge the injuries of his death. But they could in no way perpetrate it, because they dared not interrupt the peace of the church. Yet they surrounded all the outlets of the ways round about night and day with a military guard, and, by diabolic instinct, secretly went round him sitting within the church little by little by lying in wait. The monks being absent, they thrust themselves more often into the monastery, and attacking the guilty man with a livid eye but festering mind within, adhered to him nearly side by side. The keepers being sometimes secretly composed, they compelled him to flee to the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert, and, ambushes being laid on every side, suffered him not to go out to the necessities of nature. At last they had not permitted food to be brought to him; but the brothers themselves ministering him aliments sufficiently, they could not prohibit it. At last he had a bed-chamber of quiet beneath the very sepulchre of Saint Cuthbert, and standing higher beside the sacred incorrupt Body for the anxiety of his spirit, compressing the joints of his fingers as it were with a fist, he thus very often said by beating his shrine: “Saint and pious Cuthbert, succour, help and protect, because for the death injuriously brought I, guilty, see the torments of my own death alone hanging over me. And such as I have deserved shall I sustain unless, you protecting, I can escape from the hands of my persecutors, you working wonders.” To which vows of prayers the venerable Bishop refused not to be present, but in wondrous fashion, the life of the guilty man being preserved from the deadly crime which he had committed, left him to be expiated by corporal vengeance. For of those lying in wait, for the grace of the Bishop’s familiarity, there was none who appeared openly to gainsay by resisting. For the bishop, making covenant concerning the peril of the future matter, said: “I assure you that no scandal shall come to you or to my church from my side.” He deemed indeed that no one of so sacrilegious a mind existed who would presume by any rash audacity to profane God’s sanctuaries by breaking in. Then coming together in one, most foolish men, girt with swords beneath their coverings, while the brothers supped late, explored a more secret time when they reckoned they could fulfil the desires of their unspeakable purpose. For they bore in mind either to drag him violently from the church and, their heads covered, to cut off his head as a fugitive without, or, if it were not otherwise lawful, to slay him pierced with the sword in the church. O poisonous cunning of a wicked breast! O pestiferous unhallowed ensnaring of the devil! which, while it casts others headlong into death, condemns itself by slaying with its own sword. Of whom six, entering the church — the rest being left without under a guard of ambushes — sent two to search for him about the sepulchre; while the four remaining sustained awaiting their return in the parts of the northern church. Going round the sepulchre of the Sacred Body, bending their knees they found him not, but found him apart in the southern parts of it adoring before the altar of the holy Cross. O wondrous patience of blessed Cuthbert! which peacefully sustained the wickedness of those whom He could have ordered the living hells to swallow. But because each perceived the time infitting, one of them, seized by a demon, rushed headlong with a snatched dart upon him praying, and struck the shell of his head most violently with the sharpest point. Upon whose shell of the head, dashed even to the inner parts of the brain, he inflicted eleven most grievous wounds, each one of which would have been mortal to any living man. From there he cut through the venal arteries, the modulators of the human voice, in his throat, so that the hand of the stabber could most easily break through the midst of his wound. Meanwhile, God preordaining, the brothers, having supped, came up to the church, and running up rescued the wretched bloodless man, the dart snatched from the hands of the sacrilegious. Which being cast outside the church, the clamour of the people is raised; every age and sex complains of the long-suffering of blessed Cuthbert; the taper is extinguished before the Saint; the covering of the altar is trodden under the feet of the mourners; and the effusion of blood is horribly bewailed by all. The half-dead wounded man was being carried forth in the hands of the mourners, but while rivals still lay in wait in secret, the peril of his death was caught at. Which the more astute conjectured in mind, and brought him back into the church. But food or drink poured into his mouth soon slipped out through the wound of his throat; because it was prohibited that he could swallow anything, the throat being cut. The most miserable deed is announced to the Bishop, and the next day, the church being reconciled, the guilty man is absolved, and all indignation of bitterness is pardoned him by the Bishop and his men. Against the hope of all, therefore, he recovered in a short time, and his strength being received back with its former power, he merited to be perfectly repaired, blessed Cuthbert healing. Now, therefore, the moribund is given life, the desperate is rescued, the slain is animated; the gaping of the open wounds was healed, Saint Cuthbert medicating. And that from where a heavy scandal could have arisen, the clemency of Christ converted into a celebrated miracle for the merits of blessed Cuthbert. For unless he had so suffered wounds, living he would never have escaped from the hands of those who lay in wait. So, to those who piously look, blessed Cuthbert powerfully exercised mercy and judgement in this one work, because through the pains of the wounds which he sustained he wiped away before the Lord the guilt of the crime of homicide which he had committed. But that he escaped the destruction of death, all despairing, was the clemency alone of the blessed Confessor together with his power, which repressed the infamy of a homicide perpetrated in his church by giving life for death. So did blessed Cuthbert wash away the sin of the guilty man through the present pain, and suspended his due death by mercifully restoring unmerited life. And wondrously worked good from evil, while the scandal of reproach was most mercifully converted into a prodigious miracle.

Chapter Sixty-One: How the sacrilegious man wished to go out secretly from the City, but, thrice hindered, was at last captured #

¹ But the deadly sacrilegious man presumed not such things unpunished, because, blessed Cuthbert avenging, he sustained the detriments of everlasting death. For going out of the church he had joined his companions awaiting him without, and made an applause of garulous derision for the consciousness of the deadly crime. But not unpunished. His tribulation was at hand in the next place; nor did any of the companions of the deadly counsel survive who could rescue him from the snare of deserved death. For on the eve of the sabbath, mounting a horse with his companions, he hastens to go out of the walls of the city in haste. But, blessed Cuthbert avenging, he was made blind with eyes that saw, and, none opposing, thrice about to go out but ever returning, was never suffered to go out through the most broadly open ways. For he rode round, many watching on every side, and could not go out; nor could any who was in his company see or find how to direct the public paths on which he rode, though seen. At last, having gone out by some means, he fled to a village removed not three miles from the city, where, descending from his horse, he could neither go further nor ride, because, pressed down by a deadly weight, he could neither raise his head nor urge the horse further with rod or spurs; and though all exhorted him to flee and preserve his execrable life, he could not proceed, because the wrath of the fury of blessed Cuthbert had already raged in him. So, morning being made, he was captured, and, to be crucified by devising a horrible kind of death, laden with much iron was thrust into a subterranean prison.

Chapter Sixty-Two: How a noble Matron, contracted, came to the Isle of Farne to pray, and was there healed, Saint Cuthbert bestowing it #

¹ To one having the desire of piety the benefit of heavenly consolation is often afforded. It happened, therefore, God disposing, that a certain noble matron was vexed with the disquiet of a heavier disease, and the misery of the infirmity prevailing, was at last more sharply wearied by a worsening. She dwelt in the territory which is called Emeldune, and became well known enough to many dwelling in that region. She was indeed the mother of the knight to whom the same village was due by hereditary right; from where her fame was held the more renowned among the nobler of the province. The pain, then, growing heavier each day, all the flexuousness of her sinews was withdrawn from her, and the softenness of her veins as well as her bones was cut off from being flexible to her. At last the pain so increased that every power of walking was cut off and perished utterly for her. Bent inward, therefore, and nearly prone to the earth, she was carried; and the more solicitous industry of physicians very often applied to her was all spent in vain. Afflicted for some years with such discomforts, she chose rather to depart the present life than to serve the dangers of so many infirmities longer. At last, conceiving a most useful counsel in mind, she fled to the patronage of blessed Cuthbert, whom she had very often known to have been propitious to all who invoked him. And because she had learned that very many miracles are often worked in the Isle of Farne, where that same venerable Confessor died, she hastened there to supplicate the Lord, and most devoutly asked the clemency of the holy Bishop for her health. Wishing, therefore, to pay her vows to the holy Confessor, she set out for the aforenamed island with a manifold oblation such as she could find with affluent riches. Coming there, she passed the night in the house of the guests set beside the sea-shore, because it was not lawful at all for a woman to pass the threshold of the church. On the next day, indeed, sustained in some manner by a staff or lifted by the assiduous hand of ministers, as far as it was lawful for a woman to proceed, she set about to join herself near to the courts of the church itself. Who, when the brothers were called from the church to her, began to lay before them the griefs of her miseries, and to beg with most copious tears that they would deign to intercede for her with the clemency of blessed Cuthbert. Who, pitying her misery, together with her asked the clemency of the holy Confessor. She was borne bent in her whole body, nor was any bending of sinews or joints lent her flexible from the neck even to the bonds of the knees. From this she was led about by the hands of those sustaining her on every side, leaning on staves, ever cohering to her with the help of a side. Yet the distant mercy of blessed Cuthbert was not wanting to them, but the holy consolation of the most pious Father succoured her with the swift grace of help. Soon, therefore, when she moved her foot from the place in which she had stood, she felt herself most sound, and found the nerves long more contracted and the joints of bones long stiffer pliable to herself with utmost softenness and voluble facility. And casting the staff from her hand throwing off the ministers holding her round on every side, she went forth alone with utmost speed, and there offered the supports of the staves which she had been accustomed to use in the time of infirmity. In wondrous wise, therefore, she returned home most sound who had before scarce availed to be carried there by the hands of others. So did the blessed Confessor of the Lord Cuthbert show himself to live with Christ in the world, and ceased not to betray and exercise the powers of his might everywhere by illustrious works. For she who had come all bent, safe and joyful, returned to her own home, all marvelling and running to meet her for joy. These things our brother Bartholomew told us, who was present at them and perceived them to be true with his own eyes.

Chapter Sixty-Three: How Saint Cuthbert rescued from death the Sacrist of the church of Norwich, already departing, and obtained for him by his pious intercession a space of longer life from the Lord #

¹ We have until then explained how broadly the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s miracles has shone in his own bounds; now let us pursue how he showed himself wondrous to those afar. There was in the church of Norwich a certain brother, by office indeed a Sacrist, but also adorned and gracious for a most abundant probity of virtues. Who extolled the memory of blessed Cuthbert more honourably than all others, because he proved him to surpass all other Saints of God in every virtue. For when he had learned that he had been a Bishop and a Solitary, a Hermit and also a Monk, a plebeian Preacher and yet a Prior in the company of monks, he deemed none comparable to him of whose records he had learned. For if he sought the apex of honour among the first-fruits of dignity, he held by a truthful account that he had presided over the brethren by the right of an Abbot, who yet conformed himself to his own in all things like with modesties of manners and humility of spirit. Or if he set forth the chair of lofteniness, he could prove him venerable by the praise of clergy and most worthy of the power of rule in all things. When, therefore, he had learned blessed Cuthbert, by these and very many like things, to be perfectly filled with every virtue of the just, the hope of a greater confidence grew in him whereby he ought to consolidate or fix the prow of faith and the anchor of devotion more peculiarly in the intervention of his help. From this with the accustomed sweetness of prayers he was accustomed to preach the memory of the veneration of blessed Cuthbert by extolling it to the praises of commendation. For by his prayers he hoped to escape unhurt the fires of earthly desire, to transact by despising in mind transitory things and the incentives of the flesh, to find in temporal goods the favour of men and an abundance of things, as happened to him in all things. For he so obtained the favour of all that the elders showed him the fear of reverence, the younger the service of obedience, equals exhibited compliance, and every timid servant paid without murmur the servitude of bondage. When, therefore, he grew daily in all good things according to his wish and had advanced the office of the ecclesiastical care committed to him in very many properties or ornaments, he fell into the languor of a most grievous sickness; and so, boiled down with continual griefs, came to the last extremity. For neither could the industry of physicians confer any remedy save an increase, nor did the bed of rest afford any refreshment, but rather the peril of an incentive heat. The more careful indulgence of foods brought in no help, because it brought forth nausea; the food swallowed by chewing belched forth gulfs of vomiting; the garments could not cover him lying on the bed, because the disquiet of pain, springing joint by joint through his members, cast them far off; nor could sleep steal upon him, because he laboured with a restless lethargy. And so failing through the days even to the last, he fortified the hour of his hanging departure with the viaticum of the Lord’s body, and as much as the strength of the palpitating clamour of tongue-words availed, though this was very little, laid open by accusing the guilt of a conscious mind to the fathers. These things being thus lukewarmly performed, nor the interval of the hour delaying a little, his soul began to be urged on by the breathings of its departure, and at the imminent moment of death to be prepared for passing away. Meanwhile the convent of the church was present as was customary, the board being struck, and pressed on to protect the hour of his departure with the suffrages of prayers as much as it availed, with psalmody and other prayers suited to the office of the dead. Meanwhile the dead body grew pale, the limbs trembled, stiffened; the brow reddened and the brows contracted into a wrinkle. The countenances of the pale face withered; the rigid hands grew cold; because on this side the breath of life had departed, on that the dominion of death raged. All the rest of the body had stiffened into death, because it had utterly lost all movement and flexibility. When, therefore, at last the nose with arched point pricked the surface of the summit, the lid horribly revolved the pupil, and beneath the gaping openings of the eyes the whites alone stood out. The chin had long since fallen, nor could the vital spirit be discerned in any way either from the breathing or the beating of breath, or sensible perception, or even the softenness of a pillow which he had very often applied. Meanwhile the brothers prepared the due funeral rites; but because these things had happened so unexpectedly, they had not at hand in abundance what they should decently have. Then in turn those whose office it was went round, and hastened the warm water and whatever else, for their strength, the servants being convoked who for ignorance of the deed were not at hand. Yet the delay of waiting had drawn out a somewhat longer space; and nearly two hours, other cares hindering, their torpor and disquiet had consumed on affairs of this kind, since they had not performed the due funeral rites for so great a funeral, because they had deemed the office of all his honour to be paid above the strength of power. For they had purposed to serve due love with due honour by office, but, God’s prejudice ordaining, they could not perceive why it then happened. And so that spirit, which was believed to have long since departed from this world to another, meanwhile spoke with his enemies in the gate of God’s justice, but merited not to be confounded for sin, because he found blessed Cuthbert, whom he had until then loved, as patron of piety as quickly as will appear in what follows. Then the brothers, when they were zealous to lift the dead body from the hair-cloth, ashes being cast upon it, and attempted with a raising hand to carry it to be washed after the manner of the dead, suddenly he who had already died came back to life, blessed Cuthbert going before as guide. Who, living, sat among the hands of the people who had lifted him dead, now saying: “Cease to carry me, for blessed Cuthbert, patronising, has merited to obtain for me a respite of life from the Lord.” Some clung wasting for fear, others trembling for astonishment knew not at all where they were; some, rapt in ecstasy, fell prone bent upon the earth; some entered upon the short way of flight, while others, in whom was a state of firmer mind, came nearer to see the novelty of the unfamiliar miracle. To whom he said: “Now, as you have seen, I was due to conclude the last day of life and to have received a sad sentence for my deserts; but the blessed Bishop Cuthbert powerfully rescued me from the hands of enemies rising up against my soul, and obtained for me the gift of penitence with a space of life; and I am to enjoy this light of life with you, and when the respites of life are accomplished, the merits of Saint Cuthbert helping, to receive the rewards of life with death.” Who also rose up strong to proceed from the hair-cloth, and survived some years in the same church. The novelty of whose miracle he himself more fully told to two brothers of the church of Durham coming there, and brought forward as witnesses the convent of the church who had seen these things. For the sake of which thing the cellarer of that church, bound by devotion to blessed Cuthbert, came to Durham at the same time for the contemplation of prayer, and laid upon his altar with much piety of devotion the golden talents which the same sacrist had delegated to Saint Cuthbert. Who related this miracle in the full assembly of the brethren, and showed more fully by the unexpected goodness of so great a work of how great worth the memory of that holy Confessor was. O how great mercy is found in blessed Cuthbert! how great a compassion of piety is declared! how great an excellence of power is shown! how great a glory of his merit is commended! while on this side he restores the wretch to life, exempted from perpetual miseries; while He powerfully rescues him about to perish from the very jaws of the devil; while the judgement of God serves at the will of his choice; while the debt of death and the commerce of sin is annulled at his nod. O tortuous serpent, who cast headlong the wretched by deceiving through a thousand windings! who triumph by ravaging and rioting over all the guilt of sins! see how nothing are your machinations against the merits of blessed Cuthbert: it is not uttered in words but declared in miracles. O tyrannical dominion of death, where now are your deadly empires, who tear all things and consume by swallowing, while blessed Cuthbert pierces the jaw of your wickedness with the ring of his clemency? He leads you down to the destruction of hell, injuries serving him; but by leading back his own devoted from your hells and the snares of your trammels, he not only gives them back to life, but even crowns them with supernal blessedness, you unwilling. Is not this, which is read in Isaiah, renewed and more highly heaped in the miracles of blessed Cuthbert, because there to the living Hezekiah thrice five years are added, but here to the dead and condemned to the sentence of a dire judgement not only is death taken away but respites of life are granted?

Chapter Sixty-Four: How, when they came to the feast of blessed Cuthbert, a small measure of bread grew in the oven and superabounded for an immense multitude #

¹ The blessing of the Lord is known to have descended upon the head of blessed Cuthbert, because the work of mercy is shown in all the largesses of his benefits. Nor was the fulness of goodness wanting to him, which the frequent abundance of signs ceases not to commend. Which is the more illustrious for the admiration of it, in that it is proved the quicker in the remedy of succouring for those placed more remotely in the situation of lands. For they are neighbours to blessed Cuthbert by the piety of faith who are set further apart by the affinity of places. For the intention of devotion is not frustrated without the benefit of reward, which the affection of a pious heart pursues with the continual solemnity of assiduous prayer. Frequent devotion flies across the intervals of places most quickly, which even surveys the inmost heavens by penetrating them in the momentary twinkling of an eye. For the mercy of blessed Cuthbert does not separate further those whom the medicine of one and the same devotion joins by consolidating. Which is gathered from the novelty of the present time, if the new exhibition of his miracles be recalled to memory. At that present time a certain priest existed who served the mother church which is seated in Arden with much zeal of devotion. For there was the daily memory of blessed Cuthbert there pre-eminently, because this church itself had been solemnly dedicated to the reverence of his honour. By that same instinct of occasion, therefore, both the devotion of the same priest grew stronger and the intention of material desire advanced to daily increases. For both the benefits conferred instigated the soul of devotion, and the continual institution of the more frequent memory urged the purpose to flourish. When, therefore, at a certain time the feast of blessed Cuthbert urged on the appointed day in its yearly course, the devout intention of the same priest’s pious heart began to animate his affection to prepare for those coming from every side the benefit of a fitting banquet for the honour of blessed Cuthbert. For this was ever his custom, namely to refresh the poor with food on the day of the solemnity of blessed Cuthbert, to relieve the straits of the needy by succouring them, to minister covering to the naked for his strength, and to relieve the wretched by fostering as far as possibility permitted; but to receive the more honourable persons, both of clergy and people, in hospitality, and to show them every service of humanity more solicitously. Yet this year he could effect nothing like, because the wasting of pestilence had consumed all his substance, and the want of famine had much diminished and lessened the moneys of his poverty. And besides, the savage barbarism of robbers had depopulated England round about, and each was zealous well-near to make the losses of another his gain. For by the innate benignity and wonted compassion of piety of King Stephen all the ill-disposed had loosed the reins of malignity, and practised plunder and the plunders of furies with the frauds of griefs everywhere. For a savage kind of men had then grown up through the parts of England, which could be tamed by no gentleness of humanity. For they were zealous to machinate a funeral of impiety for the royal piety; they strove to extinguish the innocence of his purity with the cunning of deceits and the malignity of ambushes; to change truth with lying, to subvert the judgement of right with the poison of blandishing words. For he was the mildest of men upon the earth, most patient in gentleness, because most prompt to forgive; most joyful in word and deed, because most serene of speech to the needy and poor; most excellent in the largess of alms and compassion of soul. For he reckoned the miseries of all to be the charges of his own sins, because for those whom he could not succour with his wealth he tempered their wants by relieving them sometimes with inmost sobs of tears. He strove also that counsel should be taken as easily as possible from the soul for rivals; he overcame those hating him with the sweetness of piety; the savage with patience, the untameable with the modesty of tranquillity; he prepared clemency and the indulgence of lenity for enemies and transgressors. From this those unhappy men, the more they were provoked by greater zeal of virtues to the spirit of correction, the more they renewed their mind in ferocity of mad heart to obstinacy and fury. So they were accustomed to provoke their neighbours with furies, to plunder the possessions and houses of neighbours by pillaging, to burn up the bounds of another’s country with torches of fire, to brandish the darts of swords, to afflict all the innocent with wounds, and even to tear some in the squalors of prison with the famine of hunger, and so to exact from them the taxes of iniquity. And so that whole province had perished, because both men and cattle had failed not so much by pestilence as by the misery of this kind of disease. But the priest, of whom we began the course of the relation above, though he could be deprived of the abundance of outward things by such tempests, could in no way be deprived of the riches of a good mind. From this that testimony of Scripture had fulfilment in him which says: “A great revenue flows to him who excels abundantly in the virtue of a good mind.” So it happened that the same priest in no way intermitted the works of his accustomed piety on the feast of blessed Cuthbert. For neither did the want of things straiten his mind, nor did the penury of all things hinder the increase of the succour of blessed Cuthbert, in whose patronage he trusted. The serene emulation of a devout breast burned, and the merit of blessed Cuthbert kindled his purpose, from whose goodness he presumed aid. He had, therefore, nothing save a small quantity of a single bushel of wheat; for he had not even the portion of a fourth part of it. Yet that little he gladly showed, and resolved to expend it for the glory of blessed Cuthbert with a cheerful mind. Which, ground by the mill and sprinkled with bedewing water, was laid after the accustomed manner in the heated oven. Where the number of a few loaves scarce sufficed to fill the recesses of a single corner in the floor of that oven, because the spacious smallness of the oven and the none the less small and rare number of the loaves. For there were scarce twice six loaves in number, which yet were so much smaller in quantity that it seemed unworthy to reckon them by the name of loaves. It seemed, therefore, a greater loss to have found for so great a capacity of oven a copious and sufficient matter for the voracious flames than to have acquired a small substance of so many crumbs of loaves. For the whole floor lay empty, which had superabundantly drained the fuel of the fires. Yet the baker pressed on the more solicitously, and when the loaves were now nearly baked, as was thought, passed on to other ministries of household cares, such solicitude laid aside. For it was the same day of the feast of the glorious Bishop on which he laid the loaves, as we said, in the oven. From this because the solemnities of the Mass had now been finished in the same church of blessed Cuthbert, meanwhile the single servants each prepared houses and tables and the other things fitting for refreshment the sooner. For a copious crowd had run together from every side, and an utterly innumerable throng filled the streets and houses. You would believe it an army who saw it; because you would not have judged that so many men could be found at that time within twenty miles. Meanwhile the priest, the mysteries being fulfilled, proceeded amid the innumerable throng of clergy and people crowding round, and entered the house to refresh himself. He warned, therefore, each one to sit down with him, and commanded that the benefit which he had be brought in as cheerfully as possible. “Saint Cuthbert,” he said, “who never forsake those who trust in you, now succour our want and bestow the help of wonted piety on those zealous for your honour. For you know that we seek not the glory of our own name in this obtaining of help, but await the mercy of the glory of your honour alone.” When, therefore, the servants came to the oven to draw out the loaves, they found it all entirely full, and of such great loaves that any one of them could suffice for the eating of very many. Who could scarce lift any one of them with two efforts of their hands, and, all wondering, laid them down bringing them in round about above the table. The priest began to marvel for joy, to be amazed beyond measure for the miracle of unfamiliar novelty, so that he could neither utter it in words nor scarce revolve it by touching it in the secret of his mind. All that day, therefore, the tables set for the crowds succeeding one another in turn endured continually; and diverse guests came together in throngs. Nor could the number of the crowds be discerned, because each preceded the other by following. The arms of those drawing out the loaves were astounded, ever seeing the fulness though diminishing it by scattering it in their hands. They marvelled at the quantity of the infinite multitude which from about the third hour of the day even to evening knew no occasion of finishing. When, therefore, the day of so great a celebration had been spent in services, while the twilight of night now threatened a cause of dispersion, all being sufficiently refreshed and each departed to his own, yet that oven could feel no diminution of its fulness, or the multitude of loaves any consumption from their scattering. But it all flourished in its integrity in the evening, and failed not from the fulness of its integrity. The number of whose loaves failed not the priest and his family for many days, but showed sufficient provision to whomever it was due. Here, therefore, blessed Cuthbert renewed that miracle of Elisha the prophet, where the small proportion of a single small vessel superabundantly filled the capacities of many; and when all were filled still flowed over abundantly. In the admiration of whose new power two things shone the more illustriously. First, that bread appeared of wonderful and most lucid whiteness, which before had no industry of purgation at all in the grinding of the grain or the most purified softenness of the flour. Second, that to those tasting it was of every kind of savour, and savoured to the palate for whatever desire of diversity of the tasters. In which three ancient miracles of Scripture are recorded as renewed, which are compared as equalled to three like things. First, the manna rained down divinely from the heavens, which in savour was as that of honeyed oil agreed with the fulness of all desires. Second, that which is equalled like to whiteness, by whose grace it accords from its own purity. Third, when blessed Cuthbert received an angel of God in hospitality, who showed him such loaves as the earth cannot bear; for they exceeded lilies in whiteness, honeys in savour, and all kinds of spices in odour.

Chapter Sixty-Five: How robbers invaded the cemetery of a certain Church of blessed Cuthbert, the priest forbidding; and brought out all things with them into a neighbouring island, where all alike, oppressed by sleep and trembling at the assault and terror of fifteen rustics, slew one another with their own swords #

¹ From the sacred testimonies of Scripture we have learnt how great a virtue we ought to profess the blessed man Cuthbert to have been. For he is not only crowned with the precious stone of justice in the heavenly country, but his merit of life is daily declared by offices of virtues, by prodigies of miracles, and by new proclamations of signs. Because he not only shows himself commendable to the foster-children of his own territory, but even presents himself wondrous in all things to any whatever placed farther off. He denies the benefits of his piety to none whoever faithfully seeks the help of his intervention. But he has become all things to all, most quickly meeting the affections of each according to the necessities of whatever occasions. Which will be evidently proved from the novelty of the lately accomplished miracle which is written below. At the same time, indeed, when the above-written miracle happened, in the same place, namely in Arden, which village is set in the borders of Nottingham, blessed Cuthbert added another no less wonderful. For lately, the solemn day of blessed Cuthbert’s feast being past, the same priest, after the manner of the church, disposed to continue the memory of blessed Cuthbert for eight days by canonical rite, that he might represent the glory of his everlasting felicity. Within the same days, therefore, robbers raging with rabid ferocity and depopulating the land round about with swords, fires and plunders, worked plunder everywhere of sheep and animals with the spoils and moneys even of the poor. So, when they had invaded the land round about and gathered an innumerable multitude of infinite plunder of every kind of animals, it happened that they made a passage through the same village and sought more abundant plunders of plunder; for after the manner of dropsy, the more they plundered by wasting, the more avidly they desired to drain the blood of sin. For the sinner adds to sinning; because the mouth of hell never says “it suffices.” So it is that the furious knew no measure in raging, because they had put on the soul of fury from long custom of doing evil. When, therefore, each of the poor had already with pendulous tremor foreknown their coming, they began, singly and all, to seek either the glades of woods or the dark openings of hiding-places; some to hide concealed under caves and dens; some indeed, fleeing to the thresholds of the church, to lurk in any corner. Each took care for himself, and studied rather to preserve life than substance by turning aside. But they knew how to spare neither sex nor age; because they mangled everywhere with swords and pierced with darts those resisting them. It was as nothing to them to destroy the life of a poor man; because it was no care to them even to employ any negligence for their own soul. And so when they ran round through the hamlets of the village on every side and found nothing which they might plunder at will, they began to add the furies of new madness to their old insanity and to burn with more devouring fires of malice. They gnashed their teeth for the too great savagery of rabid heart; they roared in mind for the inclemency of diabolic malignity; they resounded with voices intermixed in speech, contesting the machinations of perverse intention. At last finding nothing at all which they might care for, save what the enclosures of blessed Cuthbert’s church had contained or what the spaces of the cemetery had bounded, they judged that neither blessed Cuthbert nor his church was to be spared; but entrusted to their mind that all things whatever, both hidden in the monastery and laid up in the cemetery, were to be plundered. Witless men, therefore, in zeal and youths in the office of the work, climbed over the walls of the cemetery; some beat upon the iron bolts of the locks, others leapt in with the doors torn away, while some hastened to drive out and cast forth the sheep and oxen and other animals. Meanwhile the priest, running up, earnestly begged that they would defer to God’s honour and his holy Confessor and show the reverence due to sacred things. And he protested to them that blessed Cuthbert was a most swift avenger of injury done to him; and that as he was prompt and benignant to the devout and subject to him for succour, so also he would be ungentle and rigid to those injuring him for vengeance. These and very many other things he interwove of blessed Cuthbert’s sanctity and virtue, but hurled his words into the ashes of vanity. And scarce with blandishing and deterring words did he obtain from them that they should abstain from the very doors of the church, when they had already cast out by force all the goods of the animals from the bosom of the cemetery.

² They, therefore, having led forth the sheep before them, made plunder of a wondrous multitude, since they gathered all things into one. But proceeding not far from the same village, so great a mass of slumber rushed upon each of them that scarce any of them prevailed to keep himself in riding. In a numerous multitude, therefore, and having confidence, a crowd armed with mail-coats and helmets, in a neighbouring island surrounded on every side with the refluent irrigation of waters, they placed all the animals and whatever perverse gains of their wickedness, and there wantoning with sports and drunkenness relaxed their languishing souls to the idleness of dreams. Yet they had hedged the whole island round about with armed soldiery, because, besides archers, armour-bearers and the rest of the ministers of various malice, they exceeded the number of eighty soldiers. There the fires burnt, they vapoured the steams of flesh; smoking with joints of flesh inclining to the winds, the serene airs darkened; the sounds of dancers and of those leading the choirs by singing resounded farther and more confusedly; while the beds of some gathered themselves together by mingling beneath the shade of the heat of the fires by turns. At last, all kinds of sport being fulfilled, a most heavy slumber rushed upon all; nor did one survive who indulged not in the torpor of somnolence. Meanwhile fame, a swift runner of rumour, resounded in the ears of the same priest, who soon propagated all by telling it to a few rustics and his own servants. “Arise,” he said, “as quickly as may be, and let us ourselves plunder our robbers, Saint Cuthbert helping, and leave them the funeral rites of life alone, who have left us no relics of substance or wealth. Nor does it lie beneath the power of blessed Cuthbert to deliver us in many or in few. For it is Saint Cuthbert, not us, into whom they have cast the insult of reproach, and therefore we go against them not seeking glory for ourselves, but pursue the glory of Saint Cuthbert’s honour, destining ourselves to death for him. And it is better for us to succumb by sustaining death for the love of blessed Cuthbert than to hear in the lands the derision and mockery of his dishonour, and longer to look, groaning together, the ills of the wretched begging people.” They, as is to be supposed, admonished by a divine instinct, soon following the priest going before, saw all sleeping; and now proceeding step by step, left not the space of a single acre between them. They were fifteen in number, the priest added, who deliberated to invade innumerable ranks and animals. Meanwhile, therefore, raging in rustic fashion, some utter strident voices mending their spades; some sharpen the blunted mattocks; they cut down clubs; others lay stakes composed upon their shoulders. For they roared resounding with various clamours; some refrained strident cachinnations between their teeth; they hooted; these beat the air with horrible-sounding tumults. From this the animals, confounded with unfamiliar horror and tremulous hesitation, howled alike and together, and clamoured against them with certain horrors of groaning and stridor from the same island. For you would have heard horses desert the pastures and neigh with all their efforts; sheep leap apart and rise up with bleatings; oxen bellow and assail the robbers with livid horns; swine grunt and rush in troops rising into the midst of the wedges. For blessed Cuthbert had made such tumults of voices to be heard in the camp as no enemy had heard before. For the sounds of thunders and the strokes of lightnings and so great a confusion of earthquakes had suddenly pervaded the ears of blessed Cuthbert’s enemies that they thought the earth wished to swallow them. From this soon aroused and confounded with excess of stupor, some leapt into the midst of the fires, some swam through the channels of the water; some rising against themselves and thinking them wedges of enemies perished pierced mutually with alternating swords. And so within the space of a single hour not even one survived; but the whole fleeing crowd left innumerable spoils of arms, horses, goods and garments. You would have seen, therefore, the spread sands of the footpaths round about radiant with precious furnishing, and shields of glittering kind of colour resplendent with a fairer spectacle to diverse aspects. The day, therefore, was nearly spent in gathering those spoils, and a most copious abundance still remained to be carried off. So, convoking their acquaintances and kin who were in the same region, they restored to them whatever they recognised as their own. But all the rest, from where they had been taken away, they brought into the cemetery of blessed Cuthbert; and dividing the arms and spoils, repaired the church of the holy Bishop honourably enough with the relics which still remained to them. Nor is that to be passed in silence, how rustic barbarism restrained on this occasion military assaults. For when the very small band of rustics rushed upon the same robbers, the military hand exercised no business against them. For one of the rustics with his priest fretted I know not what barbarous thing with a strident voice against those coming; another, rather breaking words than speaking, insulted as it were with yelping jaws. This one shook his chin stuttering with the embittered mind of bile; one shook the serene air with the horrible-sounding horn of a ram; some also beat the earth more strongly with rakes, clubs and stakes. But the priest himself ever raised his hands to the heights of heaven, and continually and from the marrow invoked the holy Confessor of God. From this that wondrous deed of Elisha the Prophet is here renewed, blessed Cuthbert working, where, four lepers striking hand-drums, the army of the Assyrians is put to flight, all things being dismissed. Nor did it become blessed Cuthbert to afford his own another victory than that the enemies, subdued by their own blade, no one should touch his own or could carry off for himself. These two miracles the same Priest, coming to Durham, related in the assembly of the Brethren, and paid his vows with the host of oblations to Saint Cuthbert, delivering his desire. Nor ever afterwards in that season did robbers or plunderers dare to snatch from that place the things which belonged to Saint Cuthbert’s right, or to retain things taken away against the testimony of conscience.

Chapter Sixty-Six: How a lighted candle, which had remained near the sepulchre, consumed nothing of the things placed there #

¹ There was a certain man devoted to that Saint who had watched through the night at blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre with a lighted candle. In the morning, indeed, about to return home, he placed beside the sacred sepulchre what remained of the candle; and, none surviving there, went out having premeditated nothing of these things. Then the candle, which was wrapped in very many folds of a winding, at once, the wax melting before the face of the fire, subjected the interior of the twisted tow to the ardour of the fire; and all that collected, so rolled together, prevailed raised higher with devouring flames. Meanwhile the flame well-near touched the utmost heights of the sepulchre, and nothing else was amid so many torches of flames but the outer silken cloth and another inner linen, with whose covering the sepulchre is accustomed to be covered. Wondrous to tell, the flame of the ardour could not devour those cloths themselves on which it adhered, nor even burned off the outer hairs of the threads or changed in anything the beauty of the colour from its former novelty. Meanwhile the brother who had been drowsed sitting in the choir, awaking and running up, thought the whole sepulchre had been burnt up. And coming nearer he saw, like Moses, a great vision, because the cloths which were burning in the whole fire bore no lesion at all. At last extinguishing the little which remained, he shook out those cloths still nearly flaming, and, his hand being applied, perceived, marvelling greatly, that no heat had remained in them. For a memorable testimony of this thing he collected into one the ends of the last candle, which he proved to have had sixty-six wrappable foldings in one body. That fire, therefore, could not burn off his cloths, whose devouring taint never presumed touch the most sacred joints of his virginal body. This we saw lately done, and praised God together as wondrous in Saint Cuthbert.

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Of a certain wicked Robber who had violently taken away certain herds from the land of blessed Cuthbert; how, blaspheming the Saint of God, he received what he deserved #

¹ The most pious King Stephen presiding over the kingdom of the English, nearly every soldier was endowed with the command of some castle. Nor had he any fame of name whoever at that season possessed not the garrisons of towns. From this each one of these was a little king of his own invasion, and whatever he had sought out by bloody tyranny subjected to himself by violent hands in truculent domination. And whatever ill-disposed men, therefore, sought for themselves ministers of unspeakable work and the name of iniquity, whom they rewarded from the mammon of their worse gain. Nor had it sufficed to choose such from the neighbouring region, but rather, for the opinion of severer wickedness and worst perversity of work, to have summoned such from the remote bounds of lands. Of whose number the Tribune of the Militia which was in Nottingham had hired to himself three men of pestiferous action, whom he had convoked there from Tutbury for the cruel wickedness of their heart. Who raged everywhere with equal inclemency of fury, and making plunder on every side, depressed all regions with heavy depopulation. Coming, therefore, to the village of Normanton, which was of the right of blessed Cuthbert, they carried off with them the greatest part of the herds from the fields; because they deferred neither to any Saint nor to Religion. There was at that time a certain Brother of the Church of Durham who, placed there, owed the custody of that village. Who, upright in work and industrious in the execution of much labour, soon as he returned home in the evening and heard such things, arose that day still fasting, and groaning with deeper grief of heart paid what thanks he could to Saint Cuthbert. “Blessed Cuthbert,” he said, “has conferred these things on us while it pleased him; nor is it doubtful that when it shall please him he can restore them with the same facility.” Sad, therefore, yet not overcome by sadness in despair, he took sops made in water, giving thanks to God; because he had nothing else which he might take in eating. Yet he followed the robbers with no repose at all, but learned by inquiry of them that they had fled to the town in Nottingham. That brother, not so much magnanimous as devout, though already wearied by the labour of a great journey, yet judged it more equal and just to wear away his failing body by tormenting it with lassitude than to intermit the business of Saint Cuthbert. For he made no great account if he were even to pour out his soul to be slain for the love of Saint Cuthbert; especially since he had already lost all things in which he had laboured for his honour. For in those animals or herds taken from him he had spent all the riches of his most slender acquisition gathered for a long while. From this he could more lightly bear to depart life with a happy death than to bring no profit to the advantage of the house of blessed Cuthbert from his long labours, from which he had been directed. And so, giving himself up by voluntarily addicting himself to the uncertain chances of suspected death, he set about to ascend with headlong speed the bridge which lay between; yet his effort was hindered by the keepers of the bridge. For because they knew his cause, with night coming on they suspended the hanging bridge before the gates of the town. For there was a bridge before the gates which was accustomed to be lowered or suspended by chains or ropes, whose wakeful guard admitted or repelled whom they wished. Perceiving, therefore, no help or counsel to remain, he turned aside that night to a Monastery which was hard by; and the next day brought with him a certain brother, a friend of the castellan. Who both pressed upon him with prayers and supplicated the prefect of the soldiers for the reverence of blessed Cuthbert. They asked, indeed, that he would compel the plunderers to restore those herds; since the mark of such infamy would redound chiefly upon himself who had received them under the shadow of hospitality. To whom he protested that the right of reason did not require this, nor did any secular laws propose such a thing by decree that he should expel those fleeing to him, or take from them any substance placed under his defence, or exercise the tyranny of power over any under his hospitality. “So, " he said, “reason requires that you yourselves more benignly meet them, that you may avail to inquire something of them in friendly speech.” And so it happened that in that man in whom he had had the confidence of better hope, by the right judgement of God, he incurred the stumbling-block of greater diffidence. He was, therefore, evidently taught how often he is deluded whose confidence of hope is propped on the arm of flesh. Then from his whole heart, turned to blessed Cuthbert, he groaned, because he perceived no help of any other to remain for him. At last he met the leader of all this wickedness, Julian by name; to whose speech he proceeded with a sufficiently friendly conversation. Who was borne puffed up on a foaming horse with twisted neck, and scarce deigned to turn the orbs of his eyes to the speaker. To whom that brother with measured voice: “O venerable man Julian, I beg you for the love of God and Saint Cuthbert that you restore to the holy Confessor his own, which you took away yesterday with violent robbery from the fields of his property. For it becomes not the probity of your soldiership to bring the detriments of any injury upon so great a Confessor for a very small gain. For he is able to confer better goods on his devout, and to inflict on those unjustly plundering his own the penalties of due vengeance most quickly.” To whom he said: “Your Cuthbert I never knew, nor will I spare you further in anything for him. For I have never heard Cuthbert named for a Saint, nor the glory of his virtue to shine in any miracle.” A little before he had been a dicer with a certain colleague of his, from where, moved by anger, he departed from him. From this at the same hour his companion was somewhat indignant at him, and premeditated to render him a requital for his power. At last he ceased not to provoke the Saint of God Cuthbert with the reproach of insults, and feared not to bring all reproachful and unworthy things upon his holy name with sacrilegious tongue; nor could that brother be mollified by admonitions or prayers, or recalled from the insanity of fury. But with blaspheming mouth he vomited words full of diabolic fury against the Saint of God, and spared in anything neither the reverence nor the honour of the holy Confessor. At last, spurring the raging horse and himself rushing on in madness, he rides out of the midst of the crowds, and is carried forth proceeding beyond the enclosures of that village. When, therefore, he poured forth words of blasphemy with insane mouth and defamed the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s name as much as he could, suddenly his rival, once indeed his companion at dice, leapt forth erupting from hiding, and pierced his heart transfixing it with the point of a most sharp lance. Who, when he paid the due penalty of guilt with the vengeance of the crime of sin, breathing out his last spirit to life and descending with the malign spirit of blasphemy to the gulf of hell — the brother of whom we spoke had not yet departed from the place, but had raised his querulous voices with tears to the stars with arms stretched out on high, very often invoking Saint Cuthbert. “Saint Cuthbert, ah!” he said, “with what protection of tutelage do you succour your devoted, who not only receive not yours own back from the injurious but art moreover blasphemed by the envenomed tongue of the devil. Now, therefore, put forth the forces of your wonted power, and giving glory not to us but to your name, show us the hands of heavenly consolation. For it better becomes us to perish suddenly by any anguish of punishment than in any way to bear to hear the blasphemy of your holy name among so many crowding throngs of men.” While he assailed his jaws with voices of this kind and an innumerable multitude of men who had been present at all these things stood round, suddenly the novelty of rumour became known to the ears of all, and the tongue of all ceased not to profess how great a virtue the right hand of blessed Cuthbert had been. All the youths and maidens, therefore, and with the younger the elders, extolling proclaimed the glory of blessed Cuthbert; and departing from and approaching the corpse of the blasphemer, announced to the same monk that he was already wallowing headless in his own blood. So does Saint Cuthbert know how to wear away the contumacy of the proud, and to proclaim the glory of his name by showing it to those placed afar. Here blessed Cuthbert renewed that miracle of illustrious virtue, where blessed Mary, assenting to the prayers of Saint Basil, sent the martyr Mercurius and destroyed Julian the apostate.

Here begin the miracles which blessed Cuthbert worked in Coupland #

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Of a certain youth who presumed to do injury to the ravens nesting above the church of blessed Cuthbert; how, with his fingers contracted into the palm, he received the punishment of his temerity, and was afterwards restored by the mercy of blessed Cuthbert #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert shines with the odour of most lucid frankincense, which glows outwardly but, when it is burnt with fires, is proved by the perfumes of sweetness. His brightness is resplendent justice; his odour shines forth to the mind of hearers from works of virtue. Of these, the first mitigates the fires of temptations, while the other kindles the strength of those profiting and lightens the exercises of sweat. Blessed Cuthbert indeed is frankincense to God, the sacrifice of a true holocaust; the purity of a most lucid garment of justice; the odour and prize of the everlasting reward; the fire of love and the highest form of delight; the fragrance of eternal sweetness; the sweetness of eternal and honeyed savour; the perfume and experiment of all religious exercise. Each of which we know better from his illustrious works than we can declare by the office of words. There is a village set in the utmost bounds of the country of Chester, placed on the very edge and shore of the sea, called Lixtune by the name of the natives. Which is seen to be the boundary of the English borders, in that it is separated to the southernmost shore of the sea, far more remotely secluded. In the confines of which village a little church is founded contiguously, entitled in honour of blessed Cuthbert. Which, though it is a country chapel, is none the less a baptismal church. This was anciently adorned with a mean scheme, but is endowed by the merits of blessed Cuthbert with the frequent power of heavenly signs. For, as will be declared in what follows, it is honoured by the frequent condescension of the holy Bishop’s piety. Which formerly had less notable worship from the people of the neighbouring country, because the place appeared contemptible and more deformed to some. So it happened that the same little church, built of shapeless wattle, was so despised and believed to have been of no account. So perhaps because blessed Cuthbert was unknown to the natives from the frequent prerogative of his virtues; and from there because the access and return of the woods was far removed from the neighbouring bounds; from where neither had the devotion of some kindled their souls to the reverence of the blessed Confessor, because they knew not the renown of his sanctity, and the faculty of attenuated impossibility denied the powers of a more excellent structure. But the venerable Confessor not much later made known to all of how great merit he was, who until then had seemed nearly unknown and unhonoured among the natives. It happened therefore by chance that a raven, by yearly use, nested on the roof the church, and there already cherished its young growing up from the riper brood. Whose strident voice resounded more widely, and wearied the neighbouring ears by assaulting them with raucous cries. So it came to pass that a certain youth, unstable in mind but agile in body, affected with curious cupidity, was inflamed, animated by these voices, and as impudently as irreverently ascended invading the roofs of blessed Cuthbert’s church to plunder the young birds. And because the wooden wall, decayed with the marrow of aged antiquity, wherever he fixed his creeping foot, soon bored through the walls by wearing away the softener wattle in many places. For as he raged with spirited heats, so also he wretchedly cut the languid walls, from the filth of age, with many openings by tearing them apart. But amid the business of his insane work, he ruminated within himself such speeches of blasphemy, as he afterwards confessed by lamenting: “Neither will Cuthbert’s roofs be a protection to you, nor will his church be able to be a suffrage to you against me.” When, therefore, with one hand he had nearly crept to the interior of the nest, and with the other seized a wooden nail of the destined wall by leaning, soon his feet, with the underlying twigs flying away, fell down, and he lay half-alive with nearly all the joints of his bones broken and dislocated. Yet the nail which he had caught hold of by leaning with his hand he could by no art tear away or remove until he had read the confession of his guilt. But, wondrous to tell, you would see the nails of all his fingers standing out through the palm of his left hand like most sharp goads, and leaping through the midst of the skin and flesh with piercing point. The hand, therefore, was seen so twisted inward to the palm, and the flat of that palm was tormented, pierced through by the very nails of the fingers with an inexplicable kind of torment. When, therefore, no hope of remedy remained and all the solicitude of medicine grew with the heap of pain and languor, at last, taught by the wholesome counsel of friends, he resolved to be carried to the aforenamed basilica, and there for three days implored the clemency of the reverend Confessor with such lamentations as he could, with such sighs of confessions as were available. For the pain of so great an anguish had invaded all the joints of his body from the contraction of the fingers and the point of the nails piercing the tenderness of the sinews and veins, that it nearly exceeded the intelligence of the senses. For the pain had drained the humour of the sinews; the livid torment had consumed the vigour of the veins; the leanness of pallor, covering over, had ground away the picture and frequency of the varied colour; the devouring disquiet of the soul had hardened the softenness of the flesh; the anxiety of trembling fear, confounding, wore away the solidity of the bones. When, therefore, the middle of the night of the third day was now at hand, in the silence of the intempestive night, he awakened, the disquiet of pain compelling, and suddenly a serene light shone through the spaces of the church, and after a little interval a Bishop of venerable beauty proceeded from the height of the altar to the lower parts. And he was of somewhat long face, mature in middle age and sprinkled with grey; robed in a golden chasuble, crowned, as it seemed, with a burning crystal mitre; his face brighter than the ruddy sun; gentler in clement regard with starry eyes; and the crash of the gems which, in the border of his dalmatic, adorned the right hand, resounded more widely by clashing from the contact of the pastoral staff which had been distinguished with a copious multitude of pearls and margarites. The wretched man, seeing such things, nearly wasted away, and shook his teeth with the stridor of trembling fear, and drew back his trembling limbs into himself as much as strength availed. The Bishop, therefore, proceeded even to him, and clasping the arm of his contracted hand with his right, addressed him thus with a more gently moderated voice: “You have received the punishment of a rash daring, and have sustained not the vengeance of Cuthbert’s wrath, to whom you did reproach and whose peace you did violate, but rather the deserts of yours own folly. But because mercy is more familiar to me than vengeance, you shall now feel in yourself the power of my virtue, and shall in no way lose some sign which shall be to you a mark of your transgression.” Having spoken such things, he ascended with him to the altar, and shook his infirm hand against the walls of the altar with a softener contact. O excellence of wondrous virtue! When at the first stroke he struck the contracted hand against the wall, he released the index finger from its former contraction …

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Of a certain Rich man whose twisted mouth had settled into the hinder part of his neck; how, when he passed the night in the church, he appeared to him and suddenly restored him to his former health #

¹ Now in the territory neighbouring the church described above a certain very powerful man abounded in riches, but, God ordaining, fell into a most grievous sickness. For, as all his neighbours knew, he was suddenly seized by a grave kind of languor, and with face contracted, in all turpitude of deformity and horrid pain of infirmity, was proved by all not only in sight but even in touch. For his mouth had settled into the place of his left ear; one ear stood out on the forehead, the other on the very back of the head. His lips were also distended with the swelling gore of putrefaction; his face and features, with the native beauty of colour withering, were changed into the likeness of wrinkles and masks; his breath moreover proceeded from his mouth with a horrid stench, which scarce permitted any to speak with or sit by him. His fallen cheeks gaped hideously at one another as though suffocated; and whenever he strove to form or utter words, contracting his chin violently upward, he shook it with horrible-sounding gnashing of teeth. From this nearly no man could sustain the fellowship of his misery; but both his wife and his sons avoided his speech or approach. When, therefore, many days had rolled by in the languors of this kind of infirmity, at length the thought of blessed Cuthbert crept into his mind, and conceiving faith in the hope of salvation, he ordered himself be carried to the aforenamed church. Who, continuing that day with the following night with such meditation of prayer as he could, saw beneath the silence of nearly the intempestive night a Bishop of wondrous beauty going round surveying the innermost parts of that basilica, and approaching him a little, began to prevent him by supplicating with such deprecating words: “Most holy Confessor of God Cuthbert, be present to me wretched, succour me about to perish, and give glory to your name by conferring the remedy of desired salvation on the languishing. For your suffrages of intercession avail more with God than the crimes of my guilt or the contagions of sins. For you who lately could contract the hand of an insolent youth, since it pleased you, can now also confer on me unworthy the help of salvation by gratuitous piety, if you will.” When, therefore, he pressed on with the sobs and prayers of such words more instantly than usual, the venerable priest, led by the mind of his accustomed piety, at once approached him, and addressing him said: “Look! because you do contest the power of Cuthbert, have declared the glory of his virtue, therefore what your sins obtain not with God by hastening, the works of my grace and clemency shall grant you by releasing.” Then seizing him by the hand, he led him to the altar dedicated in honour of blessed Cuthbert, and composing his mouth upon the stone, restored him to former health. Made whole, he proclaimed the admirable glory of blessed Cuthbert to all, and from that church, covered with osiers and thatched with hay, he himself tore it up from the foundations and most decently repaired it composed with a stone pavement. These things the son of the same man told us, the priest of the same church testifying; who himself also, with his most rich parents, exalted the same church with manifold properties of lands and enlarged it by extending.

Chapter Seventy: Of a certain Youth half-dead brought in a bier to the church of blessed Cuthbert; how he raised him by the hand led him to the altar, and restored him sound to those preparing to bury him #

¹ Another old man, revered by many in that region and honoured, stood out among the rest as more excellent in birth and more opulent in the substance of possession. To whom was an only son, who, mature in age, had been his father’s coadjutor in all things. He indeed was for the support of life and for all the solace of future hope. Who, taught by a simple urbanity of manners and content with the moderation of household frugality, after his father’s manner bore himself to all not so much learnedly as providently, and procured for himself the favour of all from the affluence of his benignity. And he showed to parents the reverence of honour, to coevals temperance, to seniors obedience, in all things; from where he sought out for himself by his own industry both the experience of prudence and the discipline of manners. And because he refused not to imitate the pious zeal of his parents, he honoured the memories of the Saints of God with the worship of pious faith. From this he had very often learned the memory of blessed Cuthbert, taught by his father’s manner, because they resorted to his church especially as his parishioners by wonted use. The same church also stood near to them, and the renowned knowledge of the holy Bishop was the better known to them. For they had seen very many miracles of virtues which the holy Confessor of God had worked in the same church; and by the relation of foregoing fathers they had learned that he had worked more illustrious and wondrous works there in ancient times. The wondrous power which they had learned by hearing to shine in the holy Confessor of Christ kindled their souls, and the virtue which they had perceived to shine forth wondrously there almost daily without ceasing provoked them the more vehemently by animating. For they still saw some surviving on whom the piety of blessed Cuthbert had deigned to declare the illustrious ensigns of miracles. While, therefore, that youth grew up in flourishing beauty and adhered to pious voluntary studies, he was seized by a sudden infirmity, and worn away by a grave and most sharp torment of pain. Yet neither he sinned here nor his parents that he should perish by such a kind of languor; but that the clemency of Christ might the more manifestly teach in him the mighty works of his holy Confessor. From there contracting the infirmity into sickness, and lying down for the discomfort of the raging disease under the assault of death alone intempestive, he began to contract his cold limbs and more fearfully to await the funeral rites alone. The whole skin was bent to a wrinkle; whose flesh within was eaten away by the inclemency of long languor. So the insanity of painfested the bones of his cheeks; pallor had beset the beauty of his face; and raging misery had produced a nearly incredible leanness. At last his sunken eye had nearly removed the very eyelid by hiding it, and his nose stood out beneath a sharp pyramid, announcing the sign of neighbouring death. Nor was the interval small, and see a bloody sweat adhered to the jaws of the speaker as a stridulous, and speech semi-barbarous and confusedly cut off. At last all voice, scarcely palpitating on the tongue, was removed and fell silent, and the breath of life alone discharged its respirable gaspings through the windpipes of the throat. And all the members in the whole body being senseless, a certain very thin breath was seen to arise from the depth of the breast, and now to urge on hastily the exit of death alone. He was laid out on a hair-cloth at last as one about to die; and the funeral things were prepared with which he was to be wrapped, already dead. For the breathing of no breath at all was seen to go forth from his mouth, but rather he was thought by all to be taken away from human things. For the affliction of so great pain had then invaded the sick man’s heart that it had withdrawn from him all things which were in him in the presence of death. Then both parents with friends, prevented by an incredible anguish of grief, flocked to the accustomed patronage of blessed Cuthbert, whom they had often proved to be the mildest of God’s Saints in every peril. They pour forth prayers with tears flowing copiously; they tear their cheeks with lacerating nails and pull out their hair with their own hands. All the family, therefore, implored the clemency of blessed Cuthbert with querulous voices, and very often howled such things: “Saint Cuthbert, mildest and most clement of all God’s Saints, now show us by the experiment of your sacred virtue how great a faith we may have in you who are devoted to your name.” The father, therefore, speaking with a more fervent spirit, said: “Compose my son, already half-dead, the quicker in a bier, and carry him with me as quickly as may be to the church of my blessed Lord Cuthbert. For I believe and trust that he will confer on us there the help of his compassion where he very often affords the benefits of his piety to the desperate and the wretched. Nor will he regard our sins, which are infinite, but giving glory to his name will turn the bowels of his accustomed compassion to us. And this my only son, whether living I know not or dead, he will either restore to life or, breathing out his spirit in his presence, will insert him to enjoy eternal joys with himself. In his presence, therefore, let him die by whose compassion we received him, or let him receive the spirit breathing forth by whose clemency we shall obtain present and future goods.” His servants or friends hearing these things soon seized the expiring man and carried him to the church of blessed Cuthbert, and there fortified him with more diligent custody. While, night coming on, the nocturnal shade had buried the lamp of day, and the whole accompanying crowd resounded groaning, see the venerable holy and clement Bishop Cuthbert was present, and a light of too great splendour suffused all the interior of the church. In whose ruddy brightness the Bishop approached the bier and took the dead man lying there by the right hand. Whom he led with him, as though never before infirm, through the spaces of the church, all wondering; and made him proceed even to the lower pavement of the altar of the monastery. None save the youth could see the holy Bishop; but all the crowd watching round testified and saw how his right hand was raised from the bier. They could not indeed see the person of the Bishop, yet they saw the brightness of the lightning to have surrounded him. The Bishop indeed said thus to him: “The faith of your father has made you whole; and the piety of Cuthbert the Bishop, whose form you now see and whom you have ever worshipped and loved, has indulged you a space of longer life from this time. You, therefore, be perpetually devoted to me, and discourse to those standing by and to all venerating the power of Cuthbert by recounting the glory of his virtue.” For they who were present had seen only the light and the youth rising and proceeding, but could not fully recognise the face and voice of the Bishop. From this the youth, soon repaired to whole health, approached those standing round and related to them in order whatever he had seen or heard. And so blessed Cuthbert suddenly disappeared; but the youth with his parents and all the rest passed the whole night sleepless in the praises of blessed Cuthbert. In the morning, therefore, all the neighbours flocked together and hastened in rivalry, as though they had never seen him before, to his speech and regard close at hand. For as they all heard him recounting the mighty works of blessed Cuthbert they saw him as an angel of God, because no signs at all of his former infirmity appeared in him. And his face was serene, full of facial beauty and suffused with ruddiness. From this for the too great joy with which each exulted, all were stupefied in pondering the sign and miracle of so great a matter. And so it was done that he proceeded home sound and safe with those by whom he had a little before been carried to burial. We may, therefore, here admire and praise together in blessed Cuthbert the power of the virtue of blessed Peter the apostle, who once approached Tabitha, and while he took the dead woman’s right hand, assigned her living to those weeping and praying. Nor is it wonderful if blessed Cuthbert shines with apostolic virtues, whose renown of sanctity is derived from their comparison.

Chapter Seventy-One: Of a Man who wished to steal the spear of one praying in the church of blessed Cuthbert; how his hand adhered to the spear and the spear to his hand, and neither he nor the spear could remove itself from the place in which they had been fixed #

¹ Father of the world to come, prince of peace, is blessed Cuthbert deservedly called, in that his fatherhood in heaven and on earth is ever nurtured strengthened in the glory of peace. For under his patronage we perceive future goods in hope, and daily gather the desire of tranquil peace by carrying it off under the shelter of his protection. For how great a lover and maker of peace he is, is shown more by his admirable works than declared by the office of words. There was indeed at a certain time when a certain man of the same province made a passage through the often-named church of blessed Cuthbert, and led by the purposed desire of a vow entered it for the sake of praying or offering. Who had fixed the spear which he had held in his hand more firmly in the soil outside the cemetery. While he made a stay and thought nothing of his spear, it happened that a certain traveller had to make a passage thereby, and saw that spear standing without a guard. Who, stimulated by desire, soon approached intrepid and seized it with his hand, and anxiously began to tear it from the soil with his strength. But in wondrous and incredible wise, soon that spear so held his hand that neither could he let go the spear nor the spear him. And so solitary he adhered with the spear that he could move neither foot nor hand. And he marvelled at what had happened to him, because he in no way thought the temerity of his guilt to have been a crime. He wished, therefore, to let it go, but could not, because it adhered to the hand of him holding. He strove, therefore, to proceed and draw it with him and tear it from the soil; but that spear could not at all be removed from the place, because the power of blessed Cuthbert, to whose custody it had been commended, had fixed it in the soil with a stronger possibility. So the thief stiffened with his theft, and could lift neither himself nor it. For the indignation of blessed Cuthbert had so pervaded him because he had perhaps violated his peace and the custody of peace. For the devout man, before he entered the church to pray, fixing the spear in the earth, commended the care of its custody and the diligence of its protection to the holy Confessor: “Cuthbert,” he said, “receive the custody of this spear until, having adored you, I may receive back the charge of my deposit.” These things he had thus spoken at the outset, and, as though he had set many keepers there, now entered the church secure. When, therefore, a longer interval was finished, that man who had fixed his spear in the soil outside came forth with the priest and the rest from the church, and seeing the man adhering to his spear, was vehemently astonished, and with the priest approached him. Who took his spear, the priest commanding, from the hand of the sacrilegious man, and rendering thanks to blessed Cuthbert returned home with joy. But he who had done these things satisfied with much penitence before the priest and blessed Cuthbert; and sound, with his hand absolved from contraction, the competent time of his penitence being fulfilled, returned with joy to his own. So did blessed Cuthbert keep the deposit of his devout one, and giving reverence of honour to his name, showed the foolish man the punishment and guilt of his temerity and sacrilege, and mercifully indulged the penitent the refreshment of wonted piety: in the one openly showing of how great fear his place is to be held, and that the deposit committed to his custody is not to be touched impudently but is in all wise to be revered timidly and wisely; and in the other how safe a refuge it is for sinners to him who sometimes attempts the commination of wrath from the vengeance of sin, yet resolves the loosing of mercy through the vengeance of punishment, while he so solemnly gives a celebrated remedy from captivity. Here blessed Cuthbert is equalled in the merits of blessed Nicholas by the effect of such a miracle, who once suffered the things committed to his icon to be invaded by robbers, yet restored to his toll-keeper all the things attempted to be plundered. This miracle the priest, together with his companions, related that he had seen, and faithfully asserted by words and sacraments that it was so.

Chapter Seventy-Two: Of the steward of the same Priest, who caught a sparrow within the cemetery of blessed Cuthbert; how he wandered the whole day and recovered his senses at the priest’s prayer #

¹ The most frequent novelty of miracles gives the increments and documents of many words for recounting the glory of blessed Cuthbert. For the magnificent works of his virtues are greater than the suffrages of more tender literature can recount. Which will be much more easily pondered from those things which follow. For the same priest, on a certain day beneath the summer heat, when he had seen other animals pasturing by consuming the crops of the church, speedily sent his steward there to drive them off and consign them to the charge of a carceral custody. Who, about to make a passage through the middle of blessed Cuthbert’s cemetery, while he looked round more avidly, suddenly saw a sparrow, moderately able to fly, descend from the roof the church to the lower parts and flit through the pleasant green of the herbs with beating wings alternating. Who came forth again a little and little by little further, and proceeding a little sat down again. It was indeed a chick lately grown up issuing from the nest, not yet having attained perfect flight either from the fulness of strength or from nature. Who, at once intermitting all things and desiring only the capture of that sparrow, soon pursued the bird and tried to apprehend it. But the sparrow fled away as much as it could, and now sometimes wearied, as though about to seek peace, ran down well-near to the thresholds of the church; for perhaps the little bird knew whose refuge’s solace it sought. So it wished to flee under the protection of those wings under whose roofed shelter it had taken the breath of primal education and life. And so, the man, more robust with indignation of pride and swifter in running, caught it with his hand, as it were cachinnating in triumph, said: “What help has Cuthbert now conferred on you, to whose aid your inexperience disposed you to fly with brutish senses? Neither does he himself need the care of your salvation, nor can he now snatch you from my hands.” Blessed Cuthbert, therefore, wished to repress the audacity of so great pride and chose thus to exercise the power of his virtue in him. For that man, retaining the chick in his hand carrying it about, went round surveying through the streets of the cemetery from mid-day well-near to evening, yet could never find an exit or entrance. He indeed believed himself to be going round through the fields, and thought he was taking care of himself and accomplishing the command of his lord. For the indignation of Saint Cuthbert had so raged in him that he knew not at all what he did or where he wandered. The priest, therefore, impatiently bearing the delay of his servant and not remembering where he had gone, began to go out and anxiously inquire by searching what had become of him. Who at last, looking round, saw him going round and round like a madman the surveyed spaces of the cemetery, and, knowing nothing at all, going and returning again and again, wandering about the floor by walking. And approaching nearer, he said: “What is it that you hold in your hand?” To whom the man said: “I have caught this bird, but what or why it has so happened to me I could not perceive or know. Yet I knew only that I had fully put off all human senses. For from the time I took it in my hands, and because it had disposed to flee to blessed Cuthbert’s peace from me, I was convicted, suffered many griefs of insanity; but where I was or what I did I knew not at all.” The priest soon took the little bird from the hand of the sacrilegious robber and suffered it freely to fly away into the air where it wished. And seizing the man himself by the hand he led him into the church of blessed Cuthbert, and absolved him confessing the rash crime and misdeed of sin as much as he could, and taught him now recovering his lost senses by the mercy of the holy Confessor to render due thanks to blessed Cuthbert. Whom he punished with stripes before the altar for penitence, and led him back home with him sound. These five miracles, which we have written above in continuous order, we have so related as we learned them from the priest of the same place and the multitude of his companions who had come with him to Durham for the sake of prayer and the desire of paying his vow, they testifying. In the year of the Lord’s incarnation 1172 we heard these things before many, and commended them to memory for posterity for the honour of blessed Cuthbert.

Chapter Seventy-Three: Of the key of the church of blessed Cuthbert cast into the river; how the holy Confessor appeared to the priest, and how, according to his oracle, it was found in the mouth of a great salmon, as he had foretold #

¹ Blessed father Cuthbert penetrates by his virtue the secrets of the third heaven; who commends himself to reign above the stars not only by example and the office of speech, but also by the admirable ministry itself of virtues. For by daily revealing in miracles and virtues he manifests how great a glory he lives in above the ether after death. For he declares by manifest tokens that he holds the key of power for opening the heavens and closing them to whom and when he will, and that they are subservient to his will and command. For he is known to hold the key of the Davitic power, while he opens the gate of mercy to the deserving and devoted to himself when it pleases him; but repels the undevout and those not well-pleasing to him by forbidding, and hides from them as long as he will the keys of the knowledge of conversion and the intelligence of penitential satisfaction. Nor is it wonderful, since he is the heir and vicar of blessed Peter the Apostle, and none the less the chamberlain of the heavenly Bridegroom and the key-bearer of the heavenly kingdom. At a certain time, therefore, the temporal keys of his church were permitted to be lost for a time, in that he willed the miracles of his virtue and the proclamations of his power to be more magnificently revealed and preached in this. For he is known sometimes to exhibit heavenly mighty works of virtues while every faculty of earthly ingenuity seems to be supplied. Which the history of the following work betrays, which opens the eyes of the intellectual soul to the notice of spiritual intelligence. There is a village which is called Northam, which is also found in the neighbouring bounds of Lothian. This is seen to be seated in the utmost bounds of Northumbria above the river Tweed; which also is handed down by histories to have been founded before the times of blessed Cuthbert in the same place. To which is adjacent a certain fortified hill of immense height and great length called Munegedene, lying joined in the confines of the vicinity. Where once, by the wondrous indignation of Almighty God and the persecution and fury of blessed Cuthbert, the earth suddenly and unexpectedly opened its mouth, Saint Cuthbert commanding, and swallowed up many thousands of Scots then living by a sudden chasm, and sank them to hell with Dathan and Abiram. For they had first invaded the land of blessed Cuthbert, driven by a demoniac fury, and had purposed with diabolic mind to proceed further by plundering it. But the wrath of blessed Cuthbert restrained them there, as we said, and thrust them down living to hell. Now while we intend to describe the proper place, we have interrupted and put off by delaying the course of the miracle which we ought to pursue. Now, therefore, let us pursue the order of the proposed matter. There is, then, in the same village a church founded of old in honour of the name of blessed Cuthbert, in which, after a manner now sufficiently usual and known, boys once gave themselves to studies, both provoked by the love of learning knowledge and sometimes compelled by the fear of stripes, the master raging. From this a certain boy, Halden by name, pierced by the goad of fear, conceived how he might evade such blows and the pains of stripes by turning aside. At last, therefore, he conceived in mind that he would seize with foolish temerity the key of the church of blessed Cuthbert and cast it with celerity into the river Tweed, no man turning him aside. From this he soon approached a place of infinite depth which is believed to be the sea of immense profundity, and to the place which is called Padduwel, and soon cast the church key down into the very midst of its depth. And there he hid it where neither any curious nor officious person could reach it. And so he reckoned that he had deluded his master, and that he could from now on escape the servitude of learning with the desired liberty. For he thought the key could no longer be found by any art, and therefore walked congratulating himself with too great a joy of heart. At last the priest, at the approaching hour of evening time, began to require the church key from the boy; but he said he knew not at all where he had lost it. The priest, therefore, was astonished and anxiously sought what he should do, since, the people compelling, he wished to enter the church and could not. On this side fear impelled him to break through the bolt set upon the door, because it was of ancient and long-unseen work; on that side the work of iron and bolt appeared nearly uncuttable and unboreable for the great multitude of the weight of either metal of harder fortitude. The priest, therefore, desisted for some while from his office, and the church itself lacked the divine ministry. On the following night, therefore, blessed Cuthbert stood by the priest in a vision and rebuked him the more vehemently and sharply why his church had lacked the office of the divine ministry. The priest soon began to allege the loss of the church key, and confessed that he knew not at all where to seek it. To whom blessed Cuthbert said: “On the next day at morning dawn go to the fishers on the Tweed at Padduwel, and buy from them at whatever price you can the first draught of the net.” He indeed arose in the morning, and coming to the fishers now with nets stretched, at last, according to what he asked, obtained from them the first draught of fishes for a stated price. And it had been agreed between them that whatever of the firstfruits of the capture of fishes the priest should choose, he should have it for the love of blessed Cuthbert for whatever uses he wished. At the first effort, therefore, of their draught, while they drew the nets, one salmon of immense magnitude appeared, which, with the gaping opening of its mouth and the too great jaws of its throat raging as it were against its extractors, could neither be concealed nor hidden. Its belly also was more widely distended with grosser fat, and flowed out more copiously on every side with the tumour of grosser flanks. From this the priest, animated with the confidence of greater hope and remembering the words of blessed Cuthbert, looking with more solicitous curiosity, saw the key hanging from the circle of its upper part upon the lower jaw of the fish, and in wondrous wise it could neither fall nor be taken away save by a lifting hand. At last, therefore, he snatched that key with haste and loosed it adhering to the lower jaw with wondrous delight. For it adhered so strongly to the lower jaw of the fish that it could not have been torn or drawn out even if the salmon had not been killed. The priest, therefore, carried the fish home with him and set it aside for whatever uses he wished. Nor could he express the joy of heart in words or declare it by attestations of voice. Soon, therefore, convoking all the neighbours and preaching to them in order the wonders of blessed Cuthbert, he raised the souls of all to the praise of God and the honour of Saint Cuthbert, and approached the church rejoicing with no small crowd of the people. Who at once, nothing delaying, opened the door of the church and paid sweet-melodied praises in honour of blessed Cuthbert by chanting with solemn office of voice. That key also is held in the same church in great honour even to this day, and is very often kissed by many by a use everywhere accustomed, and is venerated and touched by pious hands most frequently. Nor could it ever after the same miracle be forgotten in any place, or hidden or even lost, lest the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s honour should seem in anything diminished or annulled. From this what is read in the Apocalypse is here proved by the attestation of the miracle itself, because the Angel who held the key of the abyss held in his hand is shown to be Saint Cuthbert; whose church key by his virtue is consumed in the mouth of the salmon at his bidding, and at his ordaining and beckoning is drawn out of the belly of the fish. And after the type of Jonah the prophet it is hidden in the belly of the sea-beast for three nights and days, that with the Son of Man, reserved in the heart of the earth for three days, it might be brought forth to men. And so on the third day the sea-beast vomited Jonah unhurt upon dry land, and the great salmon restored to light the church key of blessed Cuthbert which it had swallowed in secret, the space of so great a time being fulfilled.

Chapter Seventy-Four: Of Helisend the chambermaid of the Queen of the Scots; how she presumed to enter the church of blessed Cuthbert, and with what punishment she was punished, and how quickly Saint Cuthbert commanded that stinking woman to be cast out of his church #

¹ We ought to be kindled with the desire of eternal piety, that we may be able to communicate with Christ in the banquet of eternity. We ought therefore and can render to God the vows of our desire for the honour and glory of blessed Cuthbert. We owe him the payment of vows of praise, because it is the glory of sons to extol by preaching the grace of paternal virtue. It is our glory when we see new and unheard works of virtues daily renewed concerning blessed Cuthbert, because we trust in awaiting from the patronage of his paternal piety both the subsidies of the present life and the everlasting rewards of future felicity. From this we are reckoned his sons in the seed of faith; that we may be his heirs by participating in the administration of virtue for his merits in the kingdom of the everlasting reward. Let us, therefore, commend to memory by the office of speech the glory of that virtue and the frequent power of his miracles, and hand them down to posterity for an example of admonition. A certain work of illustrious virtue happened in modern times, which offended the entrance of women into the church of blessed Cuthbert with a wondrous obstacle of terror. So it will be not only a miracle to readers but an example of admonition to women fearing God. When David, king of the Scots, took to wife Mahald, wife of the elder earl Simon, he passed through Durham returning from the southern bounds of England, and there resting by passing the night, remained. It happened, therefore, that the same Mahald, who by the greatness of her name had now assumed to herself the name of queen, proceeded on the following day to the church and came as far as the limits prefixed for women in the bounds of the cemetery. Who soon learned from many telling her that she could not proceed further, in that it was lawful for women in no way to enter the church of blessed Cuthbert. For she had learned that this had long been the custom, and had heard from very many, not once, that none had escaped unpunished who had wished knowingly to pass such statutes or presumed violently to exceed them. There was present, however, a certain one, the future queen’s chambermaid, called by the name Helisend, who constantly declared before all that she wished to make trial whether the issue of the matter could so stand. “For I wish,” she said, “to prove by experiment whether this figment of fallacy ought to be believed to have been of any vengeance or power. For I have been a virgin from my mother’s womb even to the present, and have never contaminated my body or flesh with the contagion of any pollution. From this I know that blessed Cuthbert will not rage with the fury of his indignation against the innocence of my virginity, nor afflict the chastity of my purity by crushing it with the punishment of like sinners in persecuting.” O foolish presumption of the purity of chastity, and how blind is always the blinding of insatiable ambition! For whomever the breeze of boasting or the adulatory savagery of deceiving favour has once fettered by ensnaring, it ceases not to assail them by overthrowing until it has cast down every root of virtue utterly by blinding it with the smoke of vain glory. The same woman, therefore, was noble in the knowledge of the texture of purple work, and chiefly shone above all the women of England of that time in the most excellent skilful composition of gold-embroidery. Nor delay: the audacity of foolish temerity executes in works what it asserted in words; and proceeds entering into the church of blessed Cuthbert, and coming as far as into the outer corner, stood still there residing, and seized by the anxiety of fear could in no way or dared not proceed further. She was, indeed, covered outwardly with a black cape, a hood covering the surface of her face and hiding all things covered within. She believed she could in no way be detected, and thought she could never have been distinguished at all by the monks or by any others. There, therefore, she stood and learned in deed that testimony of Scripture which the prophet says of the like: “He opened a pit and digged it, and fell into the ditch which he made”; she opened and digged the pit of presumption while she involved herself in the noose of the snare of vain glory’s desire and boasting’s favour; she fell, therefore, into the ditch while she involved herself in the snare of her own scandal. Meanwhile blessed Cuthbert approached Bernard, then sacrist of the church, writing in the inner enclosures of the monastery, and rebuked him more sharply by addressing him with such words: “Go,” he said, “as quickly as may be, and cast out in haste that stinking woman who has defiled the thresholds of my church by proceeding; for the filth of her stench proceeds through the spaces of my church, and the hall of my quiet is polluted, injured with the smoke of her foulness. Nor can I have the rest of quiet in the place of my peace here as long as I smell the odour of that stinking woman’s uncleanness. From this proceed seeking her as quickly as possible, and expel that stinking woman, fetid with the contagion of all uncleanness, by casting her out of the bounds of my church. For the insidious rashness of her presumption could not lie hid from me, who, soon at her entrance, had sprinkled all the air of my inner church round about with the clouds of her stench.” Soon he, fearful and furious, ran round through the interior of the church, unrolled the more secret parts of all places by exploring, opened the doors by loosing them, raged by searching through the recesses of corners and opaque places. At last, looking round in searching, he saw a woman wearing a man’s cape in the outer spaces of the church, and proceeding with too great fury, seized her with the sharper voices of clamour and scourged her with heavy reviling insults. “Woe!” he said, “are you that stinking thing of foulness, the little dog of the putrefaction of filth, the cloud of iniquitous bearing, the mist of soot, the shade of stench, the snare of iniquity, the noose of filth, the sewer of corruption? Have you, furious one, profaned the sanctuary of God by presuming, polluted the holy and shining places, aroused blessed Cuthbert, lulled by the contemplation of God, by disquieting him, presumed to assail him, impeded in heavenly business, by wearying him? Truly it is you who have cast the putrefaction of stench into his sacred nostrils and defiled this hall of beatitude with the uncleannesses of filth.” And seizing her by the hand, he dragged her out of the church by casting her forth; and provoked with heavy injuries of words, secluded her by leading her outside the doors of the church. But she, confounded with much tremor and dead with the magnitude of fear as though about to expire the breath of soul, knew not for a long while in the ecstasy of stupor what she should do, or, from the anxious insanity of mind as though half-alive, doubted and utterly knew not where to turn aside. At last, however, conceiving the mind of saner counsel, she proceeded hastily to Elstow, and becoming a Nun, composed her life in honest conversation. Which place is set by Bedford and seated in its confines. She ever preferred the memory of blessed Cuthbert in mind, and without intermission greatly feared the indignation of his fear. At every moment, indeed, she wasted away with the inconstancy of tremor and the hesitation of mind, in that she dreaded the fury of blessed Cuthbert’s wrath. She feared indeed with unceasing accustomed lest she should sometimes incur the dementia of insanity and put off the sensible motions of the soul by utterly losing them, as she had deserved. For she never thought she could satisfy Saint Cuthbert sufficiently, or evade the experience of his indignation by fleeing in any way. Yet blessed Cuthbert, led by the sweetness of piety, sustained her penitent by sparing, and with holy longanimity of patience propitiated the offences of her tranquillity by indulging. From these things, therefore, we can ponder how severe an animadversion we ought to believe him to exercise on transgressors; and of how great purity he is a lover, who has been so rigid a persecutor even of the feminine sex. Yet he does not persecute that sex by detesting it, but strives to cut off the matter of occasion offending by pruning it.

Chapter Seventy-Five: Of the horse of a certain Knight, Harpin, sunk in the sea for two days; how blessed Cuthbert brought him out sound from the midst of the sea, and he came, all wondering, to the marble stone which he had brought from Rome and fixed in the sand #

¹ The root of Jesse, which arises in the midst of the peoples, is the sign of the justice of Christ, by whose clemency earth and heaven are pacified. It is a root from which the beginning of virtue rises up; it is set in the midst of the peoples, and under the shelter of its protection every good of initiation is propped. It is understood as the sign of justice in that every justification of holiness is sealed with the seal of his piety. Blessed Cuthbert is deservedly believed to have shone with the form of his imitation, whose sweetness of delight seems to overflow with all the affluence of piety. For he consults all devoted to himself from compassion, and meets all petitioners with the medicament of consolation. All which we can better learn from the works of his miracles than describe in pursuing them with the fillets of words, with erasures and not letters. Of the effect of whose works that is believed most wondrous which is now subjected in the following tenor. Roger, prior of Durham, a man of notable honourableness and work, had grown in much devotion about the glory of blessed Cuthbert; from where he disposed to compose the pavement of his church with a pavement of marble. For since he had heard that the pilgrim churches of the transmarine region of the further country shone with such a beauty of work, he decreed, for blessed Cuthbert’s glory, to adorn his church by refitting it with such a scheme of composition. From this he consulted by meeting each of the devout who approached the bounds of pilgrim regions by religious institution, and asked them by admonishing to bring together for him fragments of marble stones for this work. It happened, therefore, that Harpin, a knight of Thorlaue, wished to visit the thresholds of blessed Peter for the sake of prayer, and now, expedited in the girding of the journey, had sought licence of journeying from that venerable Prior himself. Who consigned not to oblivion his accustomed zeal of piety, but enjoined on the same man a labour and work of solicitude of this kind in honour of the name of blessed Cuthbert. And so, accomplishing the work of the disposed journey with all prosperity even to Rome, he took a marble stone, conspicuous for the quality of precious kind though of middle quantity, and resolved to carry it to blessed Cuthbert as he had received in the mandate. And though he could have made himself the more expedite in this office of carrying by the ministry of another bearer, yet he chose rather to acquire for himself blessed Cuthbert’s mercy in the labour of his own sweat than in the bondage of another’s servitude, by procuring it with domestic familiarity. From this he himself ever carried the same burden of stone in riding, and bore it in the bosom of his lap with sustaining arms. For the Knight was most strong, tall in stature, skilled in the sagacity of the duel, a man warlike in work, strenuous in all the equanimity of prudence. But he wished to commit it to none of the ministers at all, because he had disposed to retain the reward of all the hire for himself from blessed Cuthbert, as he very often asserted. When, therefore, in returning he disposed to cross the sea, he entered the interior of the ship with his horse and companions, and proceeded with alacrity as far as through the depths of the ocean. And suddenly the sea was shaken with savage whirlwinds; the ocean was agitated with raging wave-sounding floods. You would see lightnings running thick, the blasts of winds rising in revelry, sails and rowings leaping apart beneath the insulting blast. And now the ship would glide down even to the depths of the sea, then incline laterally to the waters. From this those sitting in the ship’s hold often leapt up moreover, and had lost every subsidy of hope or remedy of deliverance. Then, the shipmaster commanding and the fear of death compelling, they began in rivalry to cast forth the horses and victuals, that the ship, her burdens discharged, might more freely run forth proceeding with a lighter helm. The Knight’s horse also, of whom we spoke, they thrust from the seats of the ship, and, casting it forth, sank it in the midst of the sea. Yet propped by God’s mercy, after the savage losses of fatigues they at last entered the desired port, and, shaking off the fear of death, laid it aside after many perils. The Knight, therefore, the others proceeding and carrying out the burdens of varied furnishing, though he had lost his horse, yet took with him the stone which had until then lain the bottom of the ship, and set it down in the earth upon the safer foundation of the shore’s brink at the port’s mouth. Who, sighing anxiously and groaning, and exposing the deep windings of his heart in words, began to be perturbed in mournful mind for the loss of his horse, and anxiously to complain within himself, wearied by the burden of so great a stone. “Ah, Cuthbert,” he said, “are such the aids of your subjects, that while the offices of devoted ministry are paid to you, yet you repay to those obeying you the detriments of injuries and loss? Look, you have suffocated my horse, the bearer of the burden of your stone, with the sea swallowing it, and have rendered me, trusting in you alone as protector, a footman instead of a horseman. So may God do to me, and add worse evils coming on, if I carry your stone further, unless I receive back restored the horse which you have sunk. For I cannot proceed on foot through so many distant intervals of lands and bear on my shoulders the mass of so great a stone.” And weaving such things by repeating them often, he proceeded with the stone to the sands upon the shore in the littoral sandbanks, and fixed it there with too great an indignation of fury, saying such things: “Surely here shall your stone, Cuthbert, remain for ever, unless your power restore my horse to me. So that as the insanity of the sea, you consenting, devoured my horse by swallowing it, so its rising wave may be able to consume the stone of your honour by swallowing it. For this, under your guidance, the rabies of the tempest and the madness of the sea have presumed to effect; but the stone the usage of the marine outpouring will not only hide by attracting it beneath the ocean waves after the nature of concealment, but will even more secretly involve it.” While they intended longer to restrain his savagery by bridling it with these and like words, and could not at all recall him from his former laments of complaints, see from afar, as though in the midst of the sea, as it was believed to seem, they see a crow-like head, and looking more closely conjecture it little by little approaching the shores. At last, while they look more sharply, they see as it were the species of an equine form coming, and find it to be Harpin’s horse hastening more quickly. Which, swimming, came up even to Saint Cuthbert’s stone, and proceeding no further, was zealous to dry its wet limbs by shaking them. Harpin soon leapt forth from the midst of the crowds, very often invoking Saint Cuthbert, and, it being dried by rubbing it with the straws of the saddles, consigned it to a minister to be kept. He himself bore the marble stone by embracing it in his arms, and published to all by revealing the mighty works of Saint Cuthbert. “Look,” he said, “blessed Cuthbert, now and for ever, I am prepared to obey your services; nor will I ever believe further that any of the Saints can be like you in miracles of signs. Surely these are mighty works of God and of you especially, which restore beasts unhurt in the waves of the sea by repairing them for two days and nights.” The crowd of infinite multitude, which had stood by frequently, extolled the glory of blessed Cuthbert with singularly magnifying voices. For the crowds ran round in troops along the shores, and flowed off seeking the goods of the discharged substances. Harpin after all returned to Durham, and consigned his stone to blessed Cuthbert with a wondrous oblation of devotion. From this even to this day the brothers of the church diminish their colours by grinding them on the same stone; and show it to many as held the dearer for the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s honour. Nor was it a miracle of less power to keep a beast unhurt in the midst of the sea for the space of two days than to preserve blessed Paul living in the deep of the sea for a night and a day. And it seems the more of a prodigy in that the spirit of man is of more excellent virtue.

Chapter Seventy-Six: How blessed Cuthbert taught a certain lay idiot psalms and prayers without any teacher in the swiftness of a single moment #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert is known to have been a veteran soldier of the eternal King, because we believe him crowned by God with glory and honour in the heavens to shine in the heavenly kingdoms. But because, as Solomon teaches, the glory of the father is the wisdom of the son, we ought ever to extol God in blessed Cuthbert’s glory, and constantly to seek from him with the instant ardour of desire wisdom and goodness and discipline and knowledge: wisdom, that we may act providently; goodness, that we may have the sweetness of mutual love; discipline, whereby we may compose modesty of manners; knowledge, that we may inform others with pious steps and zeal of good acts. But if we sustain want in the midst of these, let us seek the gift of wisdom as sons from the father. For our father Cuthbert is a giver of wisdom; though not of that which is one in substance with the Father and of co-eternal glory, yet he is a distributor of intelligible Wisdom, by whose assecution every disciple of his is made an executor of the discipline of virtues. For we know many to have sought from blessed Cuthbert the gift of knowledge and to have overflowed with a gift of grace richer than they had sought. Of whose number Bede the magnificent Doctor stood out, who merited to be absolved of the impediment of an impeded tongue by his mind. A kind of miracle of this sort happened also in our times by the bounteous grace of blessed Cuthbert. Which, though it was not in the absolution of an impeded tongue, yet happened in that which is of greater grace, namely the gift of knowledge and intelligence. In the time of William lately Bishop of Durham, a certain Robert, a knight surnamed of Saint Martin, led by the love of religion entered the church of Durham and there assumed the habit of the monastic order. Who, the more he had been prepotent in riches and courteous in the world, the less wise and rude he now appeared about ecclesiastical manners being placed in the monastery. For the courtesy of secular skill is known to be the dissolution and intemperance of religious conversation. For the parsimony of continence and the frugality of affluence agree not, because the one is fed with the means of hunger, the other glories in the cheerful superfluity of dapsility. He was, therefore, the more to be taught in the form and discipline of the monastic rule as he was the more taught in the erudition and knowledge of the world. And indeed he could the more heavily learn or retain by receiving new documents, in that he had grown up by longer adhering to old customs more familiarly and peculiarly. For they had assigned him the seven penitential psalms with the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed to learn, by which his providers had resolved his study and merits ought to be exercised. Which he more gladly embracing, applied his mind for a long while and frequently to such devout studies as well as to the executions of works. But by God’s will, with which he burned more fervently, he began to revolve in mind more strictly where he could find the solace of some subsidy. Recollecting the things very often heard of the blessed man Cuthbert, and revolving within himself much of the doctrine and magistry of the Venerable priest Bede, he began to inquire more diligently of those brothers, yet not perceiving the cause, where blessed Cuthbert, namely in what chest or bier, he or the Venerable Bede especially reposed pausing. For he was rude and stupefied in all things; yet he learned and retained in what seats of sepulchres they had their resting-places. On a certain day, therefore, rising at the regular dawn and about to render by memory the lesson of the past day in the same book, looking back, he could perceive or recall nothing at all of all that he had learned the day before. For he resounded the whole as barbarism, whatever he revolved by recollecting, not understanding, with deviating speech. So, made furious, he at once arose in haste, and running cast his book with much indignation beneath blessed Cuthbert. “You, Cuthbert,” he said, “have you therefore called me from the world because you did wish to make a derision and mockery of me in your church? Look, now receive back your book, because the more I desire to press on meditating its lesson, the less I can retain of its discipline by recollecting. For I will never take it back again, nor apply myself to the study of it, lest I confound myself further. I know indeed and well understand that you, Cuthbert, with your Bede, withdraw from me the intelligence of knowledge which you do bestow on others even unasked. Now, therefore, in me alone either you have not the faculty or the will. And so I contest by God and swear to you that I will from now on in no way put faith in your sanctity or power.” And speaking forth many other things longer with the greatest insanity of indignation, he departed returning, and left the book there to be trodden underfoot. Sitting, therefore, longer in the cloister and revolving things past within himself, he stuck in mind what he should do or what he could answer, being required by the master about the book. “And surely,” he said within himself, “if these monks can find the book there, they will think me mad and rebuke me more sharply by mocking.” And rising up hastily he proceeded to blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre, and looking at the book with indignant eye, said: “Saint Cuthbert, now I will make trial what the compassion of your compassion is in me, or what consolation is to be applied to my desolation from your piety. Surely if in this molestation of importunity I receive not the mercy of your help, I will burn your book by giving it to the fires. And you, Bede, who manifest the knowledge of truth by relieving many, I beg that the clemency of your familiar doctrine succour me with blessed Cuthbert.” And taking back the book, and covering it secretly beneath his garments lest it should be seen by the rest, sitting in the cloister he opened the book and began to read the pages by revolving them most often. Wondrous to tell, what he had never known before he now read without the stumbling-block of impediment as though he had learned it, and now all was known to him whatever that book contained written. He himself was astonished while he read, since before he had never heard all those things. And there was to him in reading a wondrous and prompt faculty, and as great a facility of running through his book as before had been the difficulty in recollecting. Such are the mighty works of blessed Cuthbert’s gifts, that they season the unwise with the salt of wisdom, imbue the untaught with the intelligence of discipline, and make the rude and unskilled eloquent by the moderation of urbanity and the fluency of skill. That man, therefore, had grown in so great a grace of devotion about blessed Cuthbert that he could scarce be torn away from his book.

Chapter Seventy-Seven: How the same man supplicated blessed Cuthbert at his sepulchre for a coin, and suddenly obtained for the work of a poor man what he wished, though it had not been there before #

¹ We know blessed Cuthbert to be the son of the eternal King, to whom the sleep of eternal quiet is already conceded by the Lord, and whose lot’s cord is daily and ever renewed, dilated in the Lord. The inheritance of the Lord is the felicity of eternal life, the cord of the lot of beatitude, and the intelligence capable of reward; this is daily stretched forth dilated, and dilated is not changed but renewed. It is renewed while it grows, not changed while it never grows old by failing. It is dilated while daily something new is superadded to the glory of his honour; it is renewed while his condescension recurs by a recent work of virtue to the notice of our memory. The hire of the son is the hereditary possession of the heavens of the eternal kingdom; the fruit of the womb is the confidence of a good conscience, which proceeds advanced from the work of piety. For what is done with conscience witnessing is covered as it were under the covering of the womb’s shelter. So the sleep of blessed Cuthbert’s quiet is decorated and shown by the manifold work of virtue. We believe the work of virtues to be the continual benefits of miracles which we have seen done, him working. And the more to be admired in that the gift of his benefit is ever ready and continual to those asking in simplicity. Which will be declared from the miracle to be subjected, as will be set forth in what follows. This Robert, of whom we spoke above, we have known ever to have worshipped blessed Cuthbert with the sweetness of much devotion. From this he was accustomed to approach the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert most frequently, and to prolong continual prayers by staying there a very long time. For the ardour of love had begotten the use of custom by nourishing it. Yet he very often wished to approach alone to the work of his accustomed zeal; lest perhaps some inopportune person could in anything impede the grace of his devotion by offending. On a certain day, therefore, while he proceeded as was wonted to him, he was thought by a certain poor man, ignorant, to be the secretary. From this he soon approached him praying, and sought from him the aliment of some benefit for the love of blessed Cuthbert. He bore the name of Cuthbert, namely the fruit of his desire, not meanly, in that he had not at all with which to refresh the needy man. But he burned in mind and glowed with the pious desire of mind. Surveying, therefore, the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert assiduously, and shaking and removing the cloths hanging from the sepulchre, and going round the stone on which he lies most often, he could find nothing at all. He went round, therefore, searching through the pavement; but could find anything where there was nothing at all. From this he ordered the wretch depart, since he had nothing which he could impart to him. The wretch, therefore, approached again, and repeated the same prayers with all reverence of supplication. He, therefore, approached a second time; and by assiduously searching found nothing anywhere. So he ordered the poor man go away a third time, in that he could find nothing about blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre. Nor long delaying, the poor man assailed him a third time; and complained with heavy laments of his hardness and of his own misery. But he, not longer sustaining with patience, begged blessed Cuthbert with wondrous instantness of prayers. “Saint Cuthbert,” he said, “give the reverence of honour not to me but to yourself alone, and confer aliment most swiftly on this poor man. For you are the father of orphans and the store of the wretched, and give solace to the needy; confer, therefore, the subsidy of consolation quickly on the poor man. For you have never withdrawn your hand from the desolate, or been accustomed to deny the remedy of help to the saddened. Now receive this poor man’s vows, and succour him for your wonted piety. And snatch me freed from the weariness of this bond, and impart some alms which I may distribute to him, now bestowing on us both.” When, therefore, he would not restrain the confidence of prayer by pressing on with such prayers, soon looking beside blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre he saw a most excellent coin on the pavement, and granted it the more cheerfully to the begging poor man. “Look,” he said, “Cuthbert has conferred this coin on me and you, and what he had not before, now when it pleased him, he has gladly shown to us both. For it is not difficult for him to administer all things more abundantly even of nothing. For it lies in him, when he will, to be able to produce all things at will by bringing them forth of a substance not containing.” The poor man went away where he had need; but he, paying infinite thanks to blessed Cuthbert, returned departing to the interior of his cloister. This miracle we have very often heard from himself relating it; and learned from his truthful narration that it was true. For he was a son of truth as far as we knew; and in religious conversation imitated the work of continence and virtue as far as he knew.

Chapter Seventy-Eight: Of the raven which snatched the wax given for blessed Cuthbert’s name; how at the invocation of his name it at once restored the prey by returning, and suddenly replaced it in the place from where it had taken it #

¹ Whoever faithfully serves God acquires for himself a good degree. With the gift of which good blessed Cuthbert is copiously enriched, who now triumphing in heaven is crowned with the precious stone. Nor is the glory of beatitude attributed to him in heaven alone, but the glory of praise is also pronounced to him on earth. For he has obtained from God for his merits the degree of everlasting immutability, because he can in no way change his state by altering from eternal beatitude. From this as he is unchangeable with God in eternal beatitude, so also in the miracles of virtues which he exercised living he is constant and inconvertible even after the deposit of the flesh. We read indeed in his life that while he dwelt temporally as a hermit in the Isle of Farne, he drove away the ravens, rebuked for their offence, by his word alone. Which also we have known by experiment to have been done in like manner in our times in the same island, while under the name of his virtue such a deed was done and we learned it a miracle. There was, indeed, in modern days a certain hermit, Alric by name, who dwelt in the same island in the devotion of a religious purpose and composed his life in the conversation of piety. But many were accustomed to approach him most often for diverse occasion of necessity; in that they most often gratefully rendered the things asked. Meanwhile a certain man of the multitude of the poor, whose wife was bringing forth and awaiting according to custom the approach of the church, had approached him within the island begged of him for the love of blessed Cuthbert the suffrage of alms of this kind. “My wife,” he said, “freed from the burden of her child-bearing, cannot approach by entering the thresholds of the church, in that, poverty compelling, she can scarce find the gifts of oblation for the debt of custom in competent order. But for the charity of blessed Cuthbert, succour the common misery of us both, and bestow by imparting some little wax which may suffice us.” He indeed, inflamed in the bowels of mercy, entered the interior of the church in haste; and bore out to the exterior a quantity of wax, as much as the poor man needed, holding it in his hand. Departing, therefore, to the exterior, he found not the same man, because he had now proceeded to see the littoral sands. From this he laid down the portion of the same wax outside on a neighbouring rock and returned to the business of the interior works. A little delay having passed, therefore, the poor man returns; and the portion of wax is again asked for the love of Saint Cuthbert. The hermit, indignant, yet went out with him; and see suddenly a raven flying up, tearing the portion of wax laid on the rock partly with its beak, partly with its claws, departed suddenly flying away. Seeing the raven therefore with its prey from afar, he said: “Saint Cuthbert, where now are your merits of virtue and powers? Never again will I place the confidence of my hope under the patronage of your piety, unless I receive back, you commanding and pitying, the prey which the raven has plundered, you permitting. In the name, therefore, of blessed Cuthbert I command you, raven, that you proceed no further, but restore to us by bringing back the prey of your plundering for his honour.” Soon, therefore, the raven felt the power and command of blessed Cuthbert’s virtue, and returning as quickly as possible replaced the wax which it had taken in the same place of the rock, they seeing. A wondrous and stupendous thing! While brute animals feel the command of blessed Cuthbert’s virtue, men of rational intelligence least fear his power. The ravens, therefore, had felt the experience of blessed Cuthbert’s manifold virtue, and therefore brought back as quickly as possible the prey which they had taken.

Chapter Seventy-Nine: How blessed Cuthbert broke the iron sleeve from the penitent’s arm; and how, going round everywhere, he could nowhere find help; and how many anguishes of grievous pain he from there suffered for a long time #

¹ In every degree, sex, condition and order shines the power of blessed Cuthbert’s glory and the virtue of his mercy: in degree of ecclesiastical dignity; in sex of promiscuous discretion; in condition of discrete promotion; in order of dispensatory power. For he denies the benefits of his piety to none who demands them in faith and purity of heart. For he succours strangers as well as domestics, and sometimes more often the simpler and pilgrims than the wiser and inmates. Of whose number this pilgrim stood out, who in our days came from distant parts to the thresholds of blessed Cuthbert. He had once been bound with three iron bonds for the expiation of his sins; but, God pitying, had already merited to be loosed from two. For he was girt round with an iron bond, and was seen to be bound round with two iron sleeves on each arm. But Christ at his sepulchre in Jerusalem had absolved him from the iron girdle, and Saint Leonard at Limoges had freed him by snatching him from the sleeve of his right arm. He had gone round, therefore, all the regions of Christian profession, the septennate now fulfilled, to ask mercy, as he himself related; and had obtained to be freed of this sole ligament, no Saint of God succouring. The same sleeve, therefore, the skin being eaten with the flesh, had come by devouring well-near to the hardness of the bone, and the misery of pain ripened little by little to grow to greater things by increasing. When, therefore, the fame of blessed Cuthbert’s virtue became known to him, he came hastening to Durham as quickly as possible. Seeking, therefore, an approach to blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre from the northern part of the church as was customary, making a noise through the galleries of the interior basilica, he obtained entrance from the secretary when it was opened. He had not well entered the thresholds, and while he implored Saint Cuthbert with his voice, suddenly, the secretary seeing, that iron sleeve fell down upon the pavement at the sacrist’s feet. The sacrist, therefore, with much gladness led him to blessed Cuthbert and there made him offer the ligament of his sleeve. The sleeve, therefore, was in its midst as it were cut off by a striking sword, of the greatest thickness as well as breadth; and yet it had sat so deep in the flesh that scarce its more prominent surface alone could appear above. Brought, therefore, into the brothers’ locutory, he related all these things to us; and proclaimed Saint Cuthbert more excellent than all Saints in prodigies of virtues. We saw, therefore, the eaten flesh of the ulcer and wound; because we can be witnesses of this miracle which we perceived with our eyes. Blessed Cuthbert can also loose the bonds of bodies with that facility with which he is accustomed to expiate the ligaments of sins by obtaining.

Chapter Eighty: Of the thief who by night took the ivory casket from above the altar of blessed Cuthbert; how he thought himself hidden, and thinking he sat in a corner sat on the pavement of the church, and could neither move it from himself nor could it be taken from his bosom by another than his own sacrist #

¹ We believe the odour of well-smelling spikenard to be the likeness of blessed Cuthbert’s virtues and sanctity. For while Christ reclines in the glory of heaven, blessed Cuthbert keeps the watches of eternal contemplation. It is redolent with the odour of well-smelling spikes, while it shows whatever faithful, or us, presented to God united in the faith of justice. For the spike, while it profits by growing with its integrity, encloses the multitude of grains wrapped in a certain natural covering. The due of natural justice is the covenant of mutual and continual affection. In the covering of this virtue we are unitedly connected, while fostering and loving we embrace our neighbour’s good as our own. With this sweetness of delight, in the affection of a devout breast, blessed Father Cuthbert associates us after the type of nard spikes by uniting us, while he presents us, fervent with the zeal of charity, to God’s mercy. That nard also of his sanctity is redolent of aromatics in God’s nostrils of sweetness; for nothing is of such delight to God as the consummation of justice. We are also attracted feeling the odour of this spikenard’s virtue, as often as we ponder his wondrous acts of virtues with piety from the subtlety of discretion. Of which to admire and rejoice in thinking is the merit of justice; because to be consoled by these and delighted in joy is the refreshment of virtue. From this let us bring forth something memorable, that we may be glorified together with him. In the time lately past, Hugh being bishop, the Paschal solemnity also approaching, the church of blessed Cuthbert had been polished with ornaments of much beauty, and about the sepulchre of the blessed Father and around the altar many phylacteries of holy relics had been set out. Benedict, indeed, the secretary of that time and vicar of blessed Cuthbert with the solicitude of piety, pressed on in all wise to adorn the monastery’s bounds with what decent glory of honour he could, and to adorn with the sweetness of beauty. So, blessed Cuthbert disposing, it happened that he perceived the increase of blessing in all things, and ever profiting abounded in all the copiousness of ornaments. For that testimony of Jacob could be said of him, that blessed Cuthbert had taken away the things which had been Laban’s, and by increasing all had delivered them to his son-in-law. For we know the luxury of the world to be signified by the surname Laban; but the ornaments of riches are sought by seculars only for the transitory vanity of this world’s glory. But blessed Cuthbert had consigned secular ornaments to be kept for himself by the oblation of the faithful and his own assiduous solicitude to his devoted secretary in manifold wise, because in a short while he had enlarged him by extending him with the gifts of very many curtains. For the vow of that affluent man’s inmost devotion had seen the ornaments set out, and he began to be burned up in his interior with the heat of desire and the concupiscence of stealing. For on this side he thought he could by the sacrilege of such a theft assuage the avarice of his cupidity; on that, decline the want of so great poverty and misery by compensating. Late, therefore, the nocturnal shades covering the serene faces of the church, he approached the recesses of some corner in the monastery, and, the ministers of the church not knowing, composed himself there by hiding. Meanwhile all the outer doors of the church being closed and both ministers and monks sleeping, he, having obtained a time fitting for his proposed crime, hastens as quickly as possible, and by surveying solicitously examines by exploring diligently whether all things were safe for him. Feeling the motion of none and hearing no noise, he proceeds boldly to the upper parts, and finding the interior open, is soon carried with wicked mind to the altar of blessed Cuthbert. For it had happened by chance that none had bolted the doors of the interior basilica, as was the custom, because it occurred to none of them to premeditate such a thing in mind. But he, looking round and seeing all things delivered into his hand, was zealous to choose from all that which was more precious and to comprehend a weight of greater price by stealing. The ivory casket placed above on the table with the shrines of the Saints, but set apart and somewhat lower, he chose above all; but could not at all reach to its height, his arm falling short. He ascended, therefore, into the episcopal chair set beside the altar, and composed the casket in his bosom as he had destined. And returning aside in haste, while he wished to come forth lower, he could not at all, because the mist of so great darkness had already covered the edge of his eyes that he could not see where he was. Thinking himself, therefore, to be in the hiding-places of a lurking corner, he laid himself down there as though about to hide, but — what he knew not — sat in the midst of the pavement upon the subdeacon’s step, diffiding nothing. At last, the hour of the nocturnal synaxis approaching, the ministers kindle copious lamps, as in festive time, and compose the other necessaries after the manner. Aroused, therefore, by the sound of the ministers walking through the pavements’ edges, by chance one of them, Reginald by name, stumbling offended against him with his feet, and stupefied by the invasion of sudden fear, exacted of him what he was doing or how he had come there. He said he was a certain wretched man, and pretended the matter of occasion of his poverty for his excuse. The poor man wondered how he had found himself so hidden, since he himself, though he knew it not, had sat only on the pavement in sight of all, not hidden. For he had eyes; but, Saint Cuthbert covering them, saw not; feet, but where he disposed and where he thought to come forth he could not at all. The servant, therefore, raging for fury, thrust him, rebuked with heavy words, outside the inner doors leading to the altar of Saint Oswald in the part of the northern church, and running to the same secretary as quickly as possible revealed all to him by explaining. But he soon went forth without delay to the heights of the altar, and by long investigating and exploring could perceive that he had lost anything nowhere. At last, returning and departing, he learned that the casket was lost, and, the ministers accompanying, approached the thief. That wretch, therefore, could not be silent to those coming; but showed them all things by declaring them the more evidently. The secretary, therefore, asked where he had put the casket, and he at once professed that it had adhered to him in his bosom. “Very often,” he said, “I wished to draw it from my bosom, and resolved now to place it in my breeches, now in my hose; but I could in no way remove it from the bosom of my lap. Sometimes also I wished to cast it away from me; but could not remove it at all from my bosom, nor depart from those steps by any art, just as, sitting on the pavement, I reckoned myself to lie hid by sitting in a corner of the church.” The sacrist at once brought it forth from his bosom, and with much thanksgiving carried it back to the altar of blessed Cuthbert. So we can ponder how great a compassion we ought to believe blessed Cuthbert to have about those devoted to him. For he would not have his own sacrist saddened above his devoted servitude, and therefore conceded to no man to be able to take it from the thief save himself to whose care it had been delegated. Two wondrous signs of compassions, therefore, we can advert in blessed Cuthbert: the first of love, the other of solace and piety: of love, in that he gave to him alone the power of taking the casket from the thief who had set it out for the glory of his honour; for the ministers had very often attempted first to draw that casket from his bosom, but could in no way touch or handle it: of solace, since he wished nothing to perish by the neglect of his power which the devout solicitude of the brothers had committed to the providence of his custody. For he would not have his devoted servant saddened for the office of servitude brought him.

Chapter Eighty-One: Of the little bell of Saint Cuthbert; how the thief’s hand ever adhered above it, yet could never apprehend it; and what that sign mystically figured #

¹ The effect of blessed Cuthbert’s most sweet delight, both of virtues and miracles, can be called the harmony of spiritual melody and concord. For as the drum and choir resound with melodies and strings in the modulation of sweetness, so the magnificence of blessed Cuthbert’s virtue and work re-echoes by resounding to truly intelligent minds with a wondrous delectation of sweetness. For the harmonic sound which resounds in God’s ears with a sweet and nectared modulation is the work of blessed Cuthbert’s contemplation and the melody of the jubilation of his merits; who, by wondrously fragrancing, administers to all the savour of life with sweetness. The melody, which sings beneath from the marrow, is his affection and work, which more inwardly and subtly discords; the string which is touched is the virtue of grace, by whose sweetness of benevolence the work is produced by ministering outwardly; the finger which touches is the gift of the Holy Spirit, who mercifully pours himself into the hearts of the Saints; the plectrum brought forth is weighed, discussed with a certain skilful subtlety. The drum is blessed Cuthbert’s body, whose whole delectation of flesh is fixed on Christ’s cross, that with the Lord it may ever glory. The choir which jubilates in concord with the distinction of many voices is the manifold affection of his works of virtue, which ever concords by singing together in the Holy Spirit’s benediction. Nor dissimilarly does blessed Cuthbert’s work of miracles resound even at the present time, which daily shows itself to us seeing by exercising. Which can be pondered from the following miracle, if any delight to press on to the effect of his virtue to be contemplated. There was, indeed, at a certain time a certain minister who fulfilled the magistry of that office in the Brothers’ kitchen, and for the dominion of such power was served by some of his associates by obeying him in many things. He was called Wlmer, to whom also a certain son had grown up whose name was Robert. He, consigned longer to clerical study by his father’s precept, was more used to the accustomed wickedness of vices than he deliberated to serve the studies of doctrine. Who, ever worse and more robust in his perversity from custom, at last turned the zeal of his mind to the rapacity of robbery, and sharpened the appetite of his desire. For the love of his father he had some little grace of familiarity with the courtly servants of the Church; from where it was lawful for him licitly to go out and into the courts, houses and doors at his own will. Which potency of faculty was to the sinner for the easier matter of sinning, while he had twisted the good of liberty into crimes of disgrace and error. Considering, therefore, the solicitude of the more negligent care in the brothers’ refectory, and burning with the crime of robbery in the spirit of cupidity, he suddenly explored the times of opportunity when he could more conveniently, the lights of day darkening, approach the kitchen window, and secretly covered it by breaking it with a certain skilful effort. Soon entering, he plundered the cups, tore off the towels with copious pairs of tapestry, and wrapping up in one all things which he could collect for gathering. But because the multitude of the numerous weight was to him for a difficulty of impediment, he burned with the cupidity of anxiety, because his own powers could not bear the burden of his lust and concupiscence. For his bodily powers could not carry out the burden which the insanity of his mind commanded by dictating. For it sufficed him not to have the better of many things, the choicest, or the most, unless he tore all from each; the better in commerce, the choicest in price, the more in quantity or number. At last succumbing to his own effort, he collected in the heap of his pack what he preferred to the rest. But the cups, since he could not carry them all, he consumed by breaking with his teeth by gnawing whatever had been clothed by adorning with lamina of silver, and laid them up more secretly for himself. At last, all things being fulfilled for the pleasure of his lust, he approached the upper table above the rest; and delayed to comprehend with him for the negotiation of his theft the little bell which is believed to have been blessed Cuthbert’s. There is indeed in the refectory of the Brothers of Durham a little bell conspicuous for the moderate quantity of smallness, polished with a decent and well-turned modulation as is fitting, neither most great with superfluous excess nor very small with the shapelessness of exiguous quantity. This some call a schylla, which they assert by the tradition of the elders to have been blessed Cuthbert’s own while he lived. Which Turgot the Prior, for the reverence of his name, most nobly caused to be clothed with gold in ancient times. In whose surface the flame of golden liquor sparkles, and after the manner of a clearer mirror represents the faces of onlookers with the edge of beauty and the effigies of forms of pulchritude with a most subtle similitude of inquiry. For nothing is applied nearer to it which is not conformed in it radiating in like manner. For the gold dispersed in it ruddies with the grace of splendour so that it sparkles by shining through the eyes of those seeing. By this the Brothers are deservedly convoked, blessed Cuthbert preordaining, to the delights of refection, that their minds and bodies may be refreshed, fattened with the sweetness of his doctrine. It specially signifies the type of blessed Cuthbert with a certain spiritual prerogative, who instructs them by informing and eruditing inwardly and outwardly. For the little bell is the form of the just, which is rounded above, while the justice of conscience, which is equable to all from compassion, is demonstrated to God alone. The handle of the upper circle whereby it is bound is the love of contemplation when it is federated in heavenly things; the little cord whereby bound it is suspended is the virtue of faith, which, connected from the marrow with the manifold variety of the sacraments of the sacred Trinity, is wrapped in triplicity. The beam from which the fixed rope is let down through the lower devex is Christ, by whom the wall of either people is bound in the concordant devotion of one church’s society. For from him descends the fulness of all virtues, and to him it ascends by returning advanced. The nail which is fixed in the beam and to which the little cord is bound is the immutable word of God, which by the foreknowledge of predestination and the mercy of his election is ever found inconvertible. As the little cord, therefore, deserts not the nail, so the word of Christ recedes not in all wise from the hearts of the elect. The little pestle of the plectrum, which is of iron, is the effect of the ministry of their tongue, which is sonorous with the sweetness of preaching, iron by the perseverance of constancy, striking by the instantness of preaching and the abundance of God’s words. The little pestle, which proclaims the effect of the tongue, the inner semicircle associates with perforated leather; it stands out grosser below, because it appears more heavily and eminently by the rebuke of carnal and temporal things; but the more subtly we profit by adhering to spiritual things, the less we are known to the carnal wise. Yet the pestle’s plectrum ought to be bent back above, because it ought ever in all things to be equalled conformed to all from the mercy of compassion; and to be inserted in the perforated and reflexed leather, because it ought to be fortified from the sedulous premeditation of its own fragility of misery. The two holes of the leather pretend the horrid judgements of the twin death following. The leather which is drawn off signifies the loss of the detriment of human fragility and corruption. The leather is reflexed through double parts while the severity of death is feared by doubting lest it come; and teaches by the outward document of works by approving. But it is made of brass and tin, because its figuration is presented by a competent mystery. For brass, which perseveres in the same state perpetually and is not hurt, seems to signify the stability of the Saints’ mind. But tin, which softens the sweetness of the modulation by tempering, is the moderation of discretion which serenes the exercises of all labours with its piety. Discretion, therefore, is conjoined with the virtue of stability, that whatever is intended may be fulfilled by the word of preachers with the highest modulation of discretion. Deservedly, therefore, the figure and sound of such an example resounds to the ears of those to be refreshed, that each may be able to advert what was to be felt of blessed Cuthbert’s merits. For the labours of blessed Cuthbert’s hands feed, because by his merits obtaining they received those benefits of alms. At last the thief believed the same little bell to be all of most pure gold, because the brightness of the glittering metal offended the edge of his eyes. And indeed the ruddiness of the copper which shone within seduced him more, stupefied and ignorant. It is indeed of ancient work of the ancients, where less tin is added, more of brass. Nor yet does it bring forth strident voices with clashing sound, but emits the tinklings of modulations with a wondrous clarity of sweetness and illustrious delectation of melody. It indeed caresses the ears of hearers; fosters and allures the eyes of onlookers for its form and beauty. Yet between the little arms of the handles in the upper region it bears a not small hole, beginning from the first origin of the handle, and bending itself by rounding in a round similitude in either part, ending in the end of the other handle. Nor yet does it diminish anything of the sweetness of its sound, because it contracted this from the beginning not from the collision of any fracture but from the industry and solicitude of the caster’s magistry. The thief, therefore, seeing its beauty, stretched forth his arms and reached out his arms higher; he raised himself the more strongly on the utmost joints of his feet. Sometimes indeed by leaping he attempted to seize the cord. But it, as though some living or sensible thing, ever moving itself in turn higher, ever appeared farther and more remote. Yet his fingers could ever lick the margin of the lower edge with contact, but could never by anticipating reach its middle or upper parts. For the power of blessed Cuthbert had mocked the efforts of his wickedness, and indulged the virtues of moving to a senseless thing. It moves itself, therefore, which had nothing sensible; it felt the audacity of the thief which could never feel the notice of one touching by experiencing. Such are blessed Cuthbert’s miracles, which indulge the breathings of moving even to a senseless thing. At last the thief set benches and mats beneath his feet; and ascending again and stretching his arms more extended, yet could not touch it at all save after the former manner. Last of all he ascended the Prior’s table, nor could he so profit by any art. And adding benches with mats and all things which he could find, nor even thus effected anything by accomplishing. Now a great hour of the night had passed and he profited nothing at all; and fear seizing him, sweat now covered his face with trembling. But he, trembling, ran as quickly as possible to the pack prepared before, and went out of the court with it in all haste. After a very little interval of time, however, he was caught for other causes of stealing, and condemned is adjudged to the gibbet of the fork. Who, led forth to the place of death, asserted before all that all these things, as we have said, were so, yet being interrogated by none about them; and said that he had exercised many other robberies in the court, now not unpunished, of blessed Cuthbert for a long while. “Now indeed,” he said, “the indignation of blessed Cuthbert has fallen upon me; and for the expiations of so many offences has uncovered the rest of the sins of my iniquity.” From this he received the sad sentence of death who rashly presumed to violate the quiet of blessed Cuthbert’s peace. All these things all knew to have been so, whoever then dwelt in the suburbs of Durham.

Chapter Eighty-Two: Of the thief who, having stolen a book by night in the church of blessed Cuthbert, could nowhere depart; and how he was caught, and betrayed in every hiding-place to which he had fled #

¹ Let us exalt the praise of blessed Cuthbert, little and great, who have merited to converse under his patronage: the little in the humility of dejection, the great in the height of prelation. For in poverty of spirit we enter knocking at heaven’s door, blessed Cuthbert going before; by the ministry of prelation we are proved to draw others with us and compel them to enter. Christ therefore gladdens us in blessed Cuthbert as often as he glorifies his Saint in himself by manifesting the power of his virtue with the novelty of a recent miracle. What, therefore, we have seen and perceived, we ought to reveal by preaching for the reverence of his name and to God’s glory, not to cover by silence. Lately a certain man, poor in faith, needy in the intention of a good heart, and a stranger by nation, had come to Durham, who thought he could there exercise the studies of robbing more freely. He therefore ran through the church of blessed Cuthbert with much inquiry of solicitude, and by very often surveying it with most curiosity explored an approach fitting for the wickedness of theft. And running through many days by surveying, he now found the coveted occasion of wickedness, and entered the church of blessed Cuthbert at the beginning of night. For certain men, potent in nobility, their mother having died at Morleslau, had come, the twilight now mediating the dawn, for candlesticks and the other necessaries of the office of exequies; and aroused the resting servants of the church with noise and clamours. But they, rising hastily, open the doors and, perceiving nothing, admit the same thief inserting himself among the rest under the appearance of companions. Nor had they themselves pondered anything of his society who unknowingly introduced him as companion and comrade. For he had deceived both, both the companions and the ministers; because none of them thought he had adhered to himself. For the ministers reckoned him for a companion of the soldiers; but the soldiers sometimes addressed him by honouring him as a minister. And so deceiving both, the others departing, he hid himself by remaining in the church; but could not conceal himself from blessed Cuthbert. All the others therefore sleeping, he could not sleep; because he pressed on to consummate and not omit the conceived crime. At the conceived time, therefore, for fulfilling the wickedness, he went round the whole church step by step within; but could find nothing outwardly which could suffice his cupidity. He dared not break open the boxes or chests or cupboards; because he wished not to arouse the sleepers with resounding noise or clamour. At last he even approached the pulpit; and finding a lectionary there, departed to the lower parts of the church. Yet he could not go out before the day’s beginning, because he pondered that the church doors were not accustomed to lie open before, after the accustomed manner. But because now, the nocturnal vigil approaching, he knew the ministers of the church would go round the interior, he recognised that he could not keep that book beside him, but approaching the outer doors laid it down there hidden under a chest, stones, dust or straw being placed before. Soon, fleeing farther off, he went to another region of the church, and there had one part of mats for a bed, and retained another for a covering for himself, and so hid himself by covering himself wholly. Between the marble columns also standing on either side, he had so covered himself with the mat wrapping all things that he could in no way be distinguished or perceived unless by a hand exploring or a man stumbling upon him by offending. For he had so adhered in the lowest parts that nothing appeared above of the reclining body or heap of body. For he appeared not in the form of a mountainous heap of body, but had made a valley more humbly collapsed and not a mass of ascents, with a flattened surface, the columns running forth more eminently above. The brothers, rising as was customary to vigils, had come to the office of reading lessons; but sitting longer in the seats could not at all find the same book in which they might read. They overturn, therefore, all the more secret places of the monastery by exploring; with lanterns and lights kindled before their hands, they unroll the opacities of corners and the hidden places offices; cupboards and their recesses they search by subverting with sedulous revolution. And so muttering long, but finding nothing at all anywhere in which they could and which occurred to them, they paid the office of due right of book; and so proceeded from the church to rest. Blessed Cuthbert, therefore, who had seen the anxiety of heart of his devoted servants and the pusillanimity of their grief and the impediment of the daily office, disposed to confer on them continually after the accustomed manner of piety joy for sadness, subsidy for desolation, and refreshment for despair. For he is of so great piety and sweetness that he suffers not those serving him to incur any loss of mourning or sorrow. From this he had put it into the mind of a certain brother, Ambrose by name, that by going beneath the lower parts of the church he should inquire if perhaps he could in any way find the book. Who, going round more diligently with a lantern and searching all places by examining, by chance and not providently crept between the columns and stumbled by offending with his heel upon the same mat. But feeling something to lie beneath, he took up the folded half of the upper mat; and seeing the thief, yet with stupor and hesitation, asked what he sought there. But he asserted himself to be a poor man who could not otherwise find hospitality; from where, he said with a wretched sigh, he had entered the church in secret and sought blessed Cuthbert’s hospitality. He, withdrawing, led the secretary of the church there, waking him hastily; but could not learn from them how he had come there. The ministers, therefore, inquiring the more solicitously and sometimes asking about the book, related all things to them in order, as we have said; and showed them where he had laid the book. “Beside the door,” he said, “I hid it under the chest; because when I should find an opportune time I purposed to carry it off in secret. Nor did he wish the harm of my crime to lie hid; but now for this guilt of a single sin, in the very act, he converted all the disgraces of my iniquity to the pain of punishment for me.” They, therefore, finding the book received it with joy and rendered manifold thanks to blessed Cuthbert, who suffers no crime to lie hid long in his church, nor admitted the thief to proceed from the thresholds of his church with the plunder of his theft. This miracle proceeded by fourfold virtue; because blessed Cuthbert made the minister of iniquity, his thief, fall into the snare which he digged; visited his servants by recreating them, while he took away the thief’s powers of fleeing; would not have them offended, while he restored the prey with the robber to them; expiated the admitted crime, while he suffered the seal of robbery to be impressed on him. The thief also at earliest dawn, ascending again above by the spiral stair, hid himself in the vaults of the church covered above with tiles, beams and wood; and thought he could hide this from blessed Cuthbert. But soon, the Dawn shining through the solar rays, he put it into the mind of the ministers to seek him; and never once erring from the path, their hand brought him forth from there where he hid himself. Then it openly became known to all that blessed Cuthbert had revealed by uncovering the deceits of his cunning and the wickednesses of his fraud. For he had hidden himself wrapped in such a place of hiding-places and so secret as shady a place of darkness where he could never have been found save blessed Cuthbert revealing him. Such commerce does blessed Cuthbert pay to thieves.

Chapter Eighty-Three: How the Grey Abbots were detained many days, and when the prose in honour of blessed Cuthbert was finished by the Abbot of Rievaulx, they at once landed in England with their own, all the other ships being unable to depart #

¹ The Lord’s is the land of the faithful heart, and his glory’s alone is all their fulness of virtues. The merit of the just is established above the seas of wave-wandering concupiscence on the foundation of faith; and above the rivers of the incursion of temptations the solidity of his hope is prepared by the benefit of love for the reward of eternal life. The just man who lives in the land without crime is blessed Cuthbert; because he passed his temporal life without stain or the contagion of mortal sin. So it is no wonder if his command prevails above the foaming waves of the sea, whose virtue obtains with God the omnipotence of eternity by the intervening suffrages of his own merits. For at his nod the blasts of winds are restrained; at his word the disquiets of the sea are placated; at his command the whirlwinds of floods rest sedated; by his rule the ships furrowing the unquiet waters attain the gate of salvation. And if this be not of the merit of himself or of those navigating, yet the faith of those devoted to blessed Cuthbert obtains it. Which is more fully learned from the present miracle, if it is inquired more subtly with devotion. The lord Aelred, Abbot of the church of Rievaulx, as is known to be their custom, at a certain time is invited by the yearly disposition of their order to the Chapter of the Cistercian church. Who, set out for the virtue of obedience, would by no means pretend for his excuse either the powers of impotence or the mass of adverse infirmity. For he knew obedience would be more grateful to God than a victim; from where he offered himself whole to God for a holocaust, and consumed the desires of his own will to God in the odour of sweetness with the fire of the Holy Spirit, with the sweet cheerfulness of heart. In blessed Cuthbert also he placed the omnimodal confidence of his hope; because he held his peculiar memory more memorable than all Saints. So it happened that the name of blessed Cuthbert fell not from his mind; but journeying and at leisure, though even silent, he ruminated him the more often. And that he might not cease from the zeal of this kind, he resolved to compose a prose in rhythmic modulation in honour of blessed Cuthbert; and was sometimes zealous, as far as was lawful, in journeying and meditating. He had also made sometimes no small part of it; but coming to Citeaux omitted the work of his purpose for some while. At last, all things being fulfilled according to his vow, he sets forth with the blessing of the Father; and comes with a copious number of Abbots to the passage of the sea. For fifteen days, therefore, the tempest opposed them and utterly prohibited them the short way of crossing. All the Abbots of the Grey order, therefore, fatigued with too great molestation, complain mutually; but counsel one another what they should do. But it profited nothing at all; while God’s disposition effected this by commanding. For the virtue of blessed Cuthbert declared … [The said Abbot, when he had completed the same prose in honour of blessed Cuthbert, at once obtained a prosperous passage with his own, the other ships being unable to depart; and crossing to England told these things to many.]

Chapter Eighty-Four: Of the iron girdle broken in the land of the Picts in the church of blessed Cuthbert on the day of his feast, and the penitent freed from bonds #

¹ In all things which we can hear or desire to speak of blessed Cuthbert we can ever find the zeal of piety in his admirable works. And it is of greater glory that he exhibits the power of his virtue about the remote than if he worked miracles there where all hold the certain experience of his virtue. Blessed Cuthbert, therefore, is neither enclosed in the bounds of lands nor found far off to the remote, nor unquiet to neighbours, nor knows to be importunate or remiss in succouring to those serving or devoted to him. But he is prompt to all peoples of lands everywhere, merciful and compassionate: prompt to afford benefits; merciful to confer the subsidies of deliverance; compassionate through all the detriments of miseries. For wherever he is, or wherever the invocation of his name has been, there is found the swiftest compassion of his succour. Which is shown more illustriously by work than by a lengthy preaching of words. For in the year of the Lord’s Incarnation 1164 the lord of Rievaulx had approached the land of the Picts; and it had happened by chance that the feast of blessed Cuthbert occurred on this journey. Who approached the church of blessed Cuthbert which was near; and there performed the solemnities of the feast as he could by celebrating them with competent devotion of religion. That village is called Cuthbert’s Kirk; which seems to draw its name from the memory of blessed Cuthbert which is held in the same church. Which is seated in the land of the Picts and is adorned with the bland sweetness of a river running through its suburbs. A certain penitent, therefore, who had come by that chance, had entered the thresholds of that church for the sake of prayer the same day. Who was girt to the flesh of his naked skin with an iron girdle, which perhaps was of a sword or another kind of armour with which he had perpetrated the expiation of the sin for which he was bound. When, therefore, he had learned of blessed Cuthbert’s sanctity, he began to beg the clemency of blessed Cuthbert’s piety with wondrous sweetness, and to repeat the same words of prayer the more often by replicating them once poured forth to blessed Cuthbert. In wondrous wise, therefore, all hearing, a horrible-sounding noise resounded through the regions of the church and struck the tremor of perturbed fear into the hearts of many. For that iron circle so clashed by leaping apart and fell at the man’s feet in the floor of the church that it subverted the minds of all with the admiration of stupor. Nor had it cut the garments covering the flesh outwardly, nor had it a patent exit through which it could have come forth outwardly. Those standing by, therefore, approached near, and seeing the wound within, extolled God by praising him in blessed Cuthbert. It had so corrupted the eaten flesh within by corroding that it made the similitude of a gaping foss. So does blessed Cuthbert afford the efficacy of his compassion to the known as to the unknown, and is near to all invoking him through the confession of truth and justice.

Chapter Eighty-Five: Of a certain rash Pictish scholar who on Saint Cuthbert’s day broke the peace of his cemetery, and bringing in a bull sported with it; what punishment of vengeance he received #

¹ The memory of blessed Cuthbert is in benediction; and therefore he who violates the quiet of his peace is severe and presumptuous: severe in the audacity of transgression; presumptuous by superadding sins to sins. Which yet is not effected unpunished even in the present life, while scarce anything is committed against blessed Cuthbert which is not struck with avenging punishment. Which we shall prove by way of example if we relate what was done the same day at Cuthbert’s Kirk. A certain bull of most ferocious strength was offered to blessed Cuthbert for the oblation of alms in the same church, and violently drawn out by strong men bound with the mighty ropes of the herd. Which those clerks who abide in that church, who are surnamed Scolloftenhes in the Picts’ tongue, had sought for the sport of levity; and deliberated to make a jest of the bull for the mockery of buffoonery. But on account of the level of the place and the fortification of the higher site on every side, they brought him into the cemetery of blessed Cuthbert and now hastened the sooner to loose him from the ropes. The more advanced, therefore, in mind and age prohibited such things to be done about the Sanctuary of blessed Cuthbert, in that his peace on the day of his feast would be more sharply violated in such sports of levities. “Until then,” they said, “we have never seen presumptions of this kind which we have not perceived punished the more heavily with avenging pain. For sports of vanity become not the sanctity of blessed Cuthbert; but you must rather pour forth the zeal of devout prayer to blessed Cuthbert for the people.” A certain one of them, therefore, cachinnating at them by chattering, at once loosing the bull said: “Neither is the presence of this Cuthbert at hand, nor is such a power proved to be in him for this place, though this little church of his be rocky and compact of stones.” This he said; and departed to make sport with the others of the bull. At last the bull after all roared with a rapid leap, and leaping apart among the compressed crowds, yet hurting no other, assailed the same scholar alone and pierced his mid-shins transfixing them with its striking horn. And there he received the vengeance of his folly where he had brought lesion on the quiet of blessed Cuthbert’s peace with rash presumption. All the people, therefore, as they saw blessed Cuthbert’s power, rendered to blessed Cuthbert with hymns and voices the reverence of due honour.

Chapter Eighty-Six: Of the Stag which Robert the Knight, wishing to catch it in hunting in the province of Laudon, fled to the Church of blessed Cuthbert with wearied powers; how the pursuing dogs could not pass the limits of the cemetery and dared not emit the barkings adhering in their throat #

¹ All the breadth of the earth is filled and suffused with the fulness of the Lord’s justice, and His law is perfected founded on the rectitude of His truth. Justice, which disposes all things by moderating equally; fulness, which flows not out by swelling. Justice, which equates judgement everywhere; fulness which gives the increment of the grace of virtue not for merit but by the condescension of virtue alone. So it follows that His law corroborates justice by conforming, and His truth distributes the fulness of grace by directing. For His justice is legitimate; and the justice of His distributed grace is equated in the balance of truth. We can, therefore, consider nothing of His works where we may not see these conveniently concur. And what is discerned to precede in the head is found not dissimilarly to be perfected by concentring in the discrete union of the members. Christ, therefore, is the head of all, from whose right hand of virtue the magnificence of blessed Cuthbert’s work is in Christ, as the motion of the most illustrious member. The member, therefore, is moved in Christ’s body while blessed Cuthbert executes the miracle of new work in imitation of His virtue. And the motion of His member reaches to us as often as the novelty of blessed Cuthbert’s miracles has happened to come to our ears from notice. From this we ought so to love and embrace blessed Cuthbert’s miracles as though we could hear the sound of the Lord moving walking in the midst of paradise. Let us hear, therefore, a new and stupendous miracle of blessed Cuthbert which we know to have been worked in our days, namely in the year of the Lord’s Incarnation 1165. In the region of the province of Laudon there was a certain noble man who obtained the name of nobility not for the courtesy of morality but for the abundance of riches. For the secular power has now assumed to itself this privilege of name from the glory of riches, not for the service of virtue or for an admirable abundance of alms. This man is called Robert son of Philip, who is proved most known to many in his region. With autumnal time approaching, therefore, and the day shining more illustriously than usual, he approached the glades of groves with companions for the zeal of hunting; and prepared for business of this kind, entered with a copious troop of dogs. The feast of blessed Cuthbert’s annual translation had lately then passed; and the nature of the stags had overflowed with the fulness of fatness and the dilated fat of pinguedity. From this the agility of the stags was less for the flight of the course, and the difficulty was not heavy for the capture of prey. For then is the fulness of strength in them for the increase of the snare, and the fat of plenitude for the detriment of slaying. For it were better for them to have leanness in the body with the subsidy of life than to suffer the lesion of hide and body for the fat of plenitude. There was, therefore, a stag pre-eminent for the magnitude of corpulency, numerous with the leafy sprigs of horns, terrible to see with the more sprawling menace of its horns, mature as though with age in the surface of face, and wrinkled with the hirsute villosity of cheeks. Its body was solid with strength and over-long with the distension of magnitude; its flesh round with plenitude; its hide the more perfectly refluent and the more fatly full with the extending fat of pinguedity. For it was full in that, the flesh growing up, no hiatus of bone appeared in it; refluent, in that at the vestige of its motion or the contact of a human hand the fat flowed back in the foldings of the body, and the surface of the skin subsided to the toucher for the too great tenderness of the fat of the flesh. And above all, the species of its beauty gave the gall of incentive cupidity to onlookers. From this they at once instruct the dogs to its capture with the hiss of a murmuring voice, and resounded the more alacriously in pursuing with clamours and the tumults of horns. The stag, winnowed by the long footpaths, perceiving nothing remained but the debts of death to be avoided, already wearied with the too great anguish of sweat, decreed to seek for itself the solaces of blessed Cuthbert with what efforts it knew. For with the headlong flight of its course it deserted the glades of groves and the opaque pathless places of woods, and came fleeing to the thresholds of blessed Cuthbert’s church. For the church of blessed Cuthbert is placed in the neighbourhood of that grove, nor is the space of nearly three miles between. The knights, therefore, rejoicing in the capture of the prey and seeing it from afar within the enclosures of the cemetery’s folds, hasten alacriously in rivalry, in that they judged the stag to have already fallen into the snare of their noose. At last all the dogs had come even to the edges of the bounding cemetery, and as though fixed in the bosom of the earth with their feet, could not move their step from the place, nor avail to bellow with barkings, nor even presumed to transgress the prefixed limits of Saint Cuthbert’s peace. But that stag, surveying the circuit of the church with moderate pace, went round as though adoring the sanctuaries of blessed Cuthbert, and laying itself down at the door of the church itself, received itself as though defending itself in the peace of blessed Cuthbert’s protection. At last reclining with the slumber of quiet, it composed its head upon its knees, and so rested with sweet delight, wearied with irruent lassitude. At last the knights, when they had come to the dogs adhering outside, perturbed anxiously, urged on the dogs to enter with menaces and terrors, and sometimes stimulated them with strokes of lashes. But they would neither proceed by impulse nor could be urged to the interior by any instinct of an admonisher, nor could the barks of terror be poured forth through their mouths. For they had already foreknown the virtue of blessed Cuthbert to be present, and dared not infringe his bounds by violating his peace. For shame! mute animals give the service of honour to blessed Cuthbert; but rational hearts exhibit to him nearly none of fear or the monument of due reverence. The dogs elsewhere infringe not the peace of his cemetery; but here men, enjoying the subtlety of human discretion, plunder the rights of his monastery by invading and tearing, or even by stealing. That knight whom we have premised above, soon struck with fear, is pierced in heart and mind; and recognising it to have been a work of divine ministry, leapt trembling from his horse and approached with his foot companions even to the thresholds of the church, stupefied above measure. Who knew these to be the mighty works of blessed Cuthbert; and restrained the rabies of his companions’ cupidity from the lesion of the cemetery with a harsher invective; saying: “None can infringe the rights of the peace of the venerable Cuthbert, Bishop of Durham, by hurting them, who can pass unpunished by declining the experience of his wrath; and therefore let us preserve our life innocent from his lesion, and show him the reverence of due obedience. For never would a brute animal have been drawn so long from afar unless he had disposed to prolong its life beneath the oarage of his protection. Nor do we presume to change the purpose of blessed Cuthbert, or bring the detriment of any lesion on the liberty of his most quiet peace.” All, therefore, who had seen the stag lying down with so great a familiarity of quiet and domestic security, preached the power of blessed Cuthbert above measure.

Chapter Eighty-Seven: How the same Stag slew his son before all, who had hurt it and broken blessed Cuthbert’s peace; and assailing him alone by distinguishing, hurt or touched none of the rest #

¹ The soldiers, zealous for blessed Cuthbert’s zeal, showed the observance of due reverence and discipline to the holy Confessor: they departed naked with reverential tremor; and proceeded about to walk through the flowery fields. And because this had happened on a certain festive day, the frequent people ran up from the neighbouring villages, both because they had suddenly and unexpectedly seen the soldiers come with dogs to the cemetery of solitude, and because they had conceived from the stag’s admiration the commerce of an unusual chance. For the ignoble vulgar is accustomed to wonder more at the events of an unusual chance; from where running up by wondering and wondering by running together, an innumerable multitude had convened, and seeing the wild beast lying down in domestic manner, were stupefied. That stag, indeed, showed no measure of fury and pretended no motion of sylvan insanity, nor the voracity of a leap to any other from the menace of rapacity. They, therefore, long sustaining, convoked the running people into one, and, many being united into one as quickly as possible, brought choirs of singers together. For sometimes the neighbours had been accustomed to exercise this work of ministry by sporting in the same cemetery for the opportunity of the season, as often as serene weather was accustomed to occur with a festal day. Some led choirs; some gave themselves to leaps or the bendings of members; certain strove in rivalry to cast stones farther with the effort of their arms; they pressed on with jests and songs; these attended to sports and spectacles. Very few wondered in stupefaction over the wild beast, and coming and going in turn succeeded the crowd one after another. Yet none of them brought the harm of lesion on the beast, in that none presumed to violate blessed Cuthbert’s peace by infringing it. The beast itself also appeared so mild and domestic to all as though it had never been wild or untamed in former days. For with head reclined on its knees, with mild regard of eyes and bland breath of warmth, it on this side mitigated the minds of onlookers, on that smoothed and temperately relieved the fatigues of sweat and toil of limbs refreshing themselves for the sake of quiet. Yet it would not in any way remove its place from the door above whose threshold it lay. Then a certain youth, younger in manners but more adolescent in the wisdom of youth, and vagrant in the works of vain buffoonery, chafed with a mind indignant more sharply; and vomiting very many things with the irony of words and the mockery of scoffs, repeated: “So does this beast mock us, and will it not feel the strength of so great a youth in trial? Ah! the dense places of woods and the spinets of thorns go round for the commerce of such a prey and the indication of its capture and virtue by labouring and running, and cannot obtain the gain of so great honour. But we acquire honour here without labour, and reckon it a labour to draw a hand from the bosom; here we take prey without fowling, lead home a stag without hunting, can ensnare a wild beast without the barking of dogs. Where, therefore, will the virtue of youth appear, where will the honour of our power perish into final ashes, where will the work of our hand of machination and the industry of new art and astute callidity pass into the superfluous? Never has so great a disgrace happened to any men, or can be brought by reproaching merit, as comes to us from the sound escape of this beast, if it shall escape us unhurt, and can now be in any way blotted out from our hands, its powers infected with labour.” These and very many like things he brought forth by vomiting, and, the fury of mind compelling, could not longer contain himself by refraining from hurting it. He, though he was more adolescent in levity of mind, yet had sons under the covenant of betrothal by marital bond, pubescent in younger age and discretion. At last he obtained by admonitory words a youth consodal to himself by the covenant of friendship; and approached the beast destined for slaughter with a club sharpened at the point of a stake. Who thrice assailed the beast lying couched upon the threshold of peace and blessed Cuthbert’s refuge and quiet with a lateral impulse, and sometimes compelled it unwilling to the hated distance of removing and separating from the church’s bosom. At last the stag is invited unwilling from the place of quiet to the defence of the contest, and provoked by the envious livid stroke, yet bore it not hardly, but, patience accompanying, went round the church’s purifications step by step with a tame progress. But he followed furiously, and ever federated strokes to the lashes of strokes. Yet the beast, departing here and there and measuring the itineraries of its steps more tamely, neither repelled those following with rigid face nor attempted with a torvous assault of horns, nor declined the lashings of strokes more hastily by fleeing. The consociates standing by exhorted him to cease, and asking him to spare for blessed Cuthbert’s honour, blasphemed the impetigo of that mockery. In wondrous wise, therefore, and inexplicable, that stag rushed precipitately with a most rapid leap among the compressed crowds of those leading choirs; and distributing men here and there, flew to his son who had hurt blessed Cuthbert’s peace and had assailed it the more violently. That boy was in the middle of youthful age, and had immersed himself among the choirs of singers for the zeal of sport by thrusting himself in with jocose plaudits. Whom, receiving with hooked horns, it lifted bearing aloften into the air, and received him falling beneath with the acute points of its horns; and so crushed him transfixed beneath the vestiges of its feet, and raging by striking again with its horns slew him before all the standing people by crushing him with many wounds of strokes. Yet when it had rushed among the compressing wedges of the crowds or the choirs of singers, it hurt none at all; and, what is more wonderful, those whom it touched it brought no lesion on, nor did its horns in any way adhere by passing through the garments of those whom it met. The wondrous and stupendous power and vengeance of blessed Cuthbert; for He afforded sense of notice and intelligence to an irrational animal, and placed in it not naturally enjoying reason the virtue of a certain discretion. It flourished with the sense of notice while it distinguished that boy by foreknowing him before all others; it perceived the powers of intelligence while, all being set aside, it recognised him by segregating him from all; it flourished with the acumen of reason while it exercised God’s and blessed Cuthbert’s prejudice from that vengeance on the innocent boy. Blessed Cuthbert, therefore, commanded death to be brought on his son for his desert who had intended to defraud his guest of his peace. He punished the fruit of his womb with death before him who had offended the fruit of evil work in him; the blood of the sacrilegious man which was in the son by natural efflux he suffered to be poured forth in the same cemetery for the blood of the guest to whom he had attempted death, where he had hastened to pour out the guest’s blood. Nor ought the holy Confessor to give the clemency of peace to his offspring who had violated the rights of his peace by profaning them with nefarious works. The stag, therefore, which was destined for the punishment of death, propitiated its lesion by avenging it through the destruction of its persecutor, and leaping forth from the bounds of the cemetery hastened back to the glades of the groves. The knights, therefore, who had seen from afar, saw the stag hastening through the fields at a distance; and set on by the dogs, slew it caught as quickly as possible, and the dogs sustained it standing round until the coming of their lords. Meanwhile the people’s clamour is raised through the air, and it is announced to the knight’s companions with fame publishing the boy’s death. Who left the stag’s body untouched there; nor did any man further presume to eat or touch of it for the guilt of homicide; for they thought themselves to communicate by participating in the guilt of homicide if the eating of such food should touch their bodies to be refreshed. O how high and inscrutable are the judgements of the divine secret! because perhaps blessed Cuthbert therefore suffered death to be brought on the stag, because it had defiled his cemetery by polluting it with the expiation of human blood.

Chapter Eighty-Eight: How, after half a year, a craftsman pressed on cutting the horn of the same stag with his knife; and the blood soon issuing struck the cutter on the forehead, and the shed blood showed the vestiges of him going on the way and suffused all the wall of the house #

¹ He is the image of much virtue who dispenses the miracles of the Saints by recounting them justly and pursuing them orderly. And I have divided the lengthyity of the present miracle by subdistinguishing it with dispensatory consideration; lest perhaps I should make the reader a fastidiousness of any impediment. But now what we know to remain we shall attempt to unfold for blessed Cuthbert’s honour. The body, therefore, of the sylvan stag lay in the fields untouched by men from the time we have said until the times of the summer spring, nor was it until then comestible or presumable to beasts or birds. It was believed by all to be dissolving in corruption, and thought to grow dust in the putrefaction of lesion. None wished to explore the truth of the thing, in that it was a horror to all for the guilt of homicide, and for the opined fetor of putrefaction, the deviation of flight and terror. Meanwhile a certain skilful minister of a village set in the confines came studiously at the diurnal time, for whom the work of negotiation shone in conforming combs, tablets and chessboards, dice, thorn-holders and other such things to be produced of the matter of horns or solider bones, and the zeal of intention. He rejoiced that the matter of copious gain had supplied him from the dried bones and indurated horns of that stag; and had brought with him with no mean zeal of premeditation his knives and other instruments of iron necessary for this work. Who the more hastily brought forth his knife, and seizing the stag’s horn, while he could not draw it from the head fixed in its roots, hastened to cut it through the middle with a more rapid work. A wondrous thing and until then unheard in all ages! soon as that man pressed on the more ardently and now thought he was to come to the third part, the knife rubbing and cutting, blood erupted from the hardness of the horn and sprinkled the cheeks and face and forehead of the improvident workman with a bloody and moist ruddiness. But he, perturbed with admiration for the novelty above what can be said, while he was bent kneeling by procumbent, was little by little and moderately and more amply changed into stupor. Who, wiping his face with hay and the gathered conspersions of the follicles and leaves of herbs, wiped the bloody horn, but it could the less be dried, or rather flowed the more avidly and copiously with blood. A wondrous thing and utterly stupendous! the rivulet of blood flowed from the drying horn, and a wave of gore emanated as though from a more recently wounded body. The more attentively he pressed on to wipe and dilute by drying, the more abundantly it began to flow out and redden by moistening. Now the waves of blood had nearly watered the place of broad amplitude by covering it; and had defiled with blood the artificer sweating with pain as though a homicide. He had, therefore, for the horn of the sylvan beast the conscience of timid confusion; for the dried bones the fear of drying up; and the unattempted distraction of limbs was the approbation of collected firmness. So, therefore, he hoped to procure the commerce of gain, from there he now feared the punishment of death to stand forth for himself. What he should do, where turn aside, he knew not at all: because he foreknew the peril of evil now to hang over him on every side. For he perceived God’s wrath through the inundation of blood, and thought it had procreated a timid conscience for his detriment and the penal life of death. Because if he had returned home without the stag’s body or met anyone sprinkled with staining blood, he would be led to the penal judge for homicide; if he left the stag weltering there in its blood, he would reckon this man to have taken it away by theft from the hunt; or surely if a traveller should see the stag’s body moist with crude blood, he would explore the vestiges of the slayer by following. And so indeed he would be snatched to a penal judgement and to the fatal torment of deserved death. By the shortness of counsel, therefore, and the decree of his own judgement, he lifted the body on his shoulders and entered his home approaching it as hastily as possible. All who sat in the house, wondering above measure, implored what sacrilege he had committed. But he uncovered all things to each in order, and inquired where he should lay that body hidden. At last he lifted the bloody body upon the hurdle which had been woven of twigs; and laid it there, wrapped it by hiding with a copious covering of straw. For so deeming he could hide the causes of his rash daring and the guilt of the hidden crime not be patent. But he involved himself unwitting in the pit which he opened by his machination by divine arbitration. For the neighbours, rising with dawn repairing the day, and journeying, making transit through the footpaths of his street, while they looked at the same man’s house, saw all the wall of the house emanating rivers of blood. For so great an inundation of blood, running down through the chinks, had stained all the surface of the wall. Who, seeing he could no longer be covered hidden, began to complain before others of the presumption of committed iniquity, and revealing all things to them, began to be published into the public from the hidden. The neighbours coming, therefore, and those removed flocking together, he converted all into the stupor of the work of so great a miracle, and to the preaching of blessed Cuthbert’s magnificence of glory and honour. Nor is it to be concealed that the vestiges from the place from where he had carried that body all appeared sprinkled with recent blood; and rivulets of blood were patent eminent even to the thresholds of his house. So he who wished to commit the blood of the sin of presumption against blessed Cuthbert betrayed himself with the crime of his own guilt. Here the venerable Confessor of the Lord, Cuthbert, so renewed the examples of the ancient miracles, from where he signifies himself to be their equal in the glory of the divine majesty, by whose imitation of works he can show equal power of his virtue. In the repression of the dogs and the impossibility of moving, while the bark adhered in their throat, he imitated the examples of the most holy Martin Bishop of Tours, who once made the attempts of dogs adhere with fixed vestige, and sometimes restrained them barking, while he tamed their steps and barks in themselves by bridling them with the potent virtue of words and the sign of the sacred cross. In the death of the boy or the stag, he follows that which is read in the Book of Kings by example, because the prophet, by the Lord’s command, is slain by a lion, a sylvan beast, and so his guilt is expiated before the Lord. And, in like manner, the lion dared not touch the body of the slain. So here the savagery of the dogs presumes not to mince blessed Cuthbert’s prey by tearing it. In the blood emanating from dry matter, he followed by imitating that most wondrous miracle of the Lord Jesus, where, blessed Athanasius Bishop of Alexandria relating, a wooden image composed to the similitude of the Lord Jesus’ passion, struck by an envious Jew wounding it the third time with a sword, at once emanated blood and published the most worthy by avenging pain. The Abbot of Melrose, when he learned of the novelty of so great a miracle, approached there, because he was near, to explore the truth of the matter; and, as we said, both saw and knew by experiment that all was true. All these things, with the three miracles continuously preceding, we learned from the lord our father Aelred, Abbot of Rievaulx; who, coming to Laudon at the same time and visiting the Melrosians, asserted that the same Abbot had told him these things: and from the same Robert son of Philip the Knight himself, who also has his niece in marriage, he heard more than once that the same things were true. Of these illustrious effects of miracles, therefore, which we heard from our blessed father Aelred, we can in no way hesitate, because we know him to be a doctor of truth, and we know that his testimony is true.

Chapter Eighty-Nine: Of a certain bell hanging above the wall in the choir of the church of blessed Cuthbert; how, a certain brother Alexander innocently pulling it, it fell upon an aged brother, and the bystanders crying out to blessed Cuthbert, it neither broke itself nor hurt the brother #

¹ According to the multitude of the griefs of desolation, so also are the compassions and consolations of blessed Cuthbert in our hearts. In desolation he relieves us, lest it should prevent us by supplanting us in despair; in compassions of relief he aids us, lest the misery of necessity should consume us by crushing. For while we despair in desolation, we are relieved by the wondrous grace of his succour; while we are depressed by things of necessity coming on, we abound the more affluently with his goods. And sometimes from where we incur the fear of death, we learn the honour of his glory to proceed from the peril of death. Which we more fittingly approve by examples than by the comments of eloquence and composed speeches. For in our times we have both seen with the notice of intelligence the things we shall relate, and proved them by the word of his effect of truth and the hands of the most certain experience of work. In the church of blessed Cuthbert there are very many bells, most necessary for the ministries of the divine work for the officious change of diversity. For by distinguishing for the change of diversities they discern the alternating times of vicissitudes. So it is known from the beating of the bell at what hour’s limit, both in nocturnal and diurnal moments, it is celebrated from their varied change. For the manner of each hour’s united and certain course of progression is known, while from the changed difference of the bells the temporal succession and ordinary vicissitude of change is weighed. For the propriety of the hours is variously signified from the change of the bells. For they are bells because they signify by representing the hour of certain determination, and designate the notice of them by the present sound of voice. But because they are set higher in the tower’s summit and for the mass of weights are most heavy in the motions of sounding and the protracts of powers to those standing below, the Monks of blessed Cuthbert therefore use in the office of ringing the bondage of servants’ servitude for the compensation of such a relief. So indeed they tolerate the day’s weight the more lightly, while they dispense their burdens by alleviating them through others. For they are not too much wearied with the heat of labour, while their fatigues are relieved into the subsidies of others. And because the pulsations of alternating bells are very often permuted under the change of a diverse office; which are also varied for the chants of psalms, the inexperience of laymen understands less of these; therefore the astuteness of the monks consults for their ignorance from such prudence. There is in the choir a small bell of tempered quantity, by the tinkling of whose pulsation they both incite the servants to ring tardily and invite them to finish with a sharper ringing. From this the servant rings not sooner than he hears the tinkling of that admonishing bell, nor presumes to cease before, it resounding, he ought to restrain himself by its ordinary moderation. But he who ought to have been moved by the accustomed touch of it had not a fitting minister at hand. For a certain brother, graver in age and less robust in facility of moving, had sat beneath the same bell in his order, but paid less attention at all to the hour competent for ringing. The hour, therefore, of tinkling had already passed, but he, prevented by his languor and too great torpor, had applied the zeal of works least. For he was called Ailric, who professed himself to be a true monk by the innocence of simplicity in act and habit. Who, weighed down by the tallness of stature and the aged maturity of senility, had contracted torpor from infirmity, and conceived the impossibility of moving from the more abundant mass of corpulency. From this he applied the diligence of lesser solicitude to such cares, and passed over the hour of the ordinary pulsation against the rule. To whom a certain brother, younger in age, stood by, and broke out with the course of indignant rebuke to the anticipation of the little cord. For the little cord hung down from the other brother’s side, and that brother could not reach the little cord unless reclined above that senior. That senior had reclined all the space of the night supine on his knees with bent shoulder, and so refreshed his wearied limbs by sustaining them more gently. It was indeed for a relief to him to recline somewhere, in that, the alternation being shared, the mass of bodily molestation could be sustained the more lightly by another’s solace. The younger stretched forth his hand above the senior sitting bent over in haste, and could not reach the little cord, by which the bell was to be rung, with a less protracted arm. He deliberated, therefore, to creep again with a reptant touch of hand, but though palpating the little cord with his fingers, could not freely draw it. At last, his hand held so long upon the summits of the feet in the joints, he attained the power of sounding. That bell had hung far higher above a small wooden board with gross and longer iron nails in the wall of the northern choir, and nearly stood out above the heads of those sitting below. And it approached the greatest column of the tower, and yet collaterated from the neighbourhood the very great windows which stand out in the inner vaults of the church; the small wooden board itself aged antiquity had already corrupted in the inner marrow, and therefore could be drawn apart the more easily by a gentler pull and dissolved by breaking. At first, therefore, he sounded that bell by ringing it more modestly, but the servant sleeping by chance outside perceived it not. Doing the same a second time, but contracting more strongly, he dissolved the small wooden board within worn down with age, and cast it down upon the boarding of the window beneath. That boarding spread itself out more widely more eminently after the manner of a border, and occupied a space of some little interval farther from the wall. From this the bell fell upon it, the worn board sustaining, and sat down by lying upon him, that monk not perceiving. But he, acted by headlong fury, leaning upon the same senior brother reclining on his knees by propping himself, compelled the old man languishing with senility to rise with the mass of himself, that he might the more lightly attain to seize the rope of the bell. Then that brother raised himself up, and he who before had sat all night reclined on his knees now sat with the lineament of his back straightened by the impulse of the younger brother. For leaning back on the back planks of the seats, he was both a solace to himself and gave the same brother an easier power of approaching to seize the rope. For this was done by the pious dispensation of blessed Cuthbert; because unless he had sat above with head erect, the same brother, the bell falling, would have had his brain dashed from his head by the detested collision of the bell upon him. On this side the senior had wished to vex himself with the molestation of his infirmity and give place to the brotherly will; on that side the pious devotion to blessed Cuthbert, in that he had chosen rather to fatigue himself and patiently raise his senile limbs than to impede the office of blessed Cuthbert’s due honour by protracting it longer, or to let the regular hour pass its due time longer. All these things blessed Cuthbert had prepended by examining more subtly, and therefore protected him from the wound of death. But that younger, rushing on with stronger impulse and less providently, the little cord wrapped in his fingers, struck the bell and precipitated it falling to the lower parts as though every obstacle were dissolved. The very many brothers who stood round, perceiving all these things the more illustriously, cried out to Saint Cuthbert with the most copious voices of prayers, in that they feared imminent death to someone standing beneath. Yet that bell fell with a very great crash of mass, and, stepping by sliding through the same senior’s breast and licking it by rolling, fell upon the sitting man’s knee, and with a great murmur, as though indignantly or sustaining repulse, rolled itself into the midst of the choir without any breaking. That assault resounded through all the bounds of the church with so great a murmur of noise as though it had effected the ruin of the wall by menacing it. Nor is it to be doubted that the ancient enemy devised such things by machinating, who is the inciter and inventor of all evils. And though he could not profit, yet he sowed the chance of malice by ensnaring. For he attempted on one of the monks the peril of unexpected death, on the other the guilt of sacrilege as well as homicide. Of sacrilege, the monastery being violated by the pollution of blood; of homicide, a brother and monk being innocently slain. But the most pious father Cuthbert on this side averted not the prayers of the brothers demanding the aids of his name, on that side the justice of the other brother, and on this side the innocence of the younger brother, imparted the gift not in vain by protecting him from death: he saw the innocence of the younger while he suffered him not to fall into the ruin of scandal or sin. For he would have incurred sin by the guilt of expiation; scandal by the reproach of a confounded conscience. And indeed his innocence is believed purer before God than the skilled providence of many. For simplicity accompanies his innocence in all things, and, wisdom being distributed the more copiously to others, the clemency of fear and the continence of faith is granted to him. So, for the inexperience of too great simplicity, he ever sits at home beside the sepulchre of blessed Cuthbert at the feet of the Lord Jesus hearing His word, and what another more prudent does not effect for his magnanimity, this man keeps for abject simplicity with the mildest piety. And sometimes he is compelled to keep the regular decrees for the abjection of his vileness, while another more prudent is nourished the more dissolutely. In wondrous wise, therefore, blessed Cuthbert on this side attended to the brothers’ prayers for the honour and glory of his name, on that indulged the brother the limit of correction and life; so guarded innocence innocent from the funeral of sin, and afforded the surer experience of merit to the innocent. For blessed Cuthbert showed evidently enough the merit of the innocent, because he would not have the hands of innocence polluted with the guilt of homicide; and betrayed not the conscience of a pure heart to contamination, because he received not his soul in vain who subjected all the days of his life from boyhood to senility to the Lord’s bondage and prostrated himself under the servitude of blessed Cuthbert’s command. The senior, led out of the choir, whose knee they thought they had found crushed, they found sound and solid, not without the greatest admiration. For they thought they would find all the bones broken by the huge mass of weight, with languor following to everlasting despair.

Chapter Ninety: How blessed Cuthbert, pitying a certain fettered pauper, for many days, under the appearance of a pilgrim, admonished his captor to rescue the man of Saint Cuthbert; and as it were stimulated the heart of the languishing man with many thorns, and, sending a white youth to him and consoling him, freed him the same night #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert is he who snatches the needy from the hands of the stronger; who delivers those hoping in him from every misery of tribulations. For he is the strongest who comes upon the world armed with riches and triumphs, and plunders all the camps of earthly power by overthrowing and destroys them by invading. For he raises the needy and impotent from the hand of those plundering him; and dissolves the fettered from the noose of bond and the snare of the envenomed gin. Which we shall declare from the following miracle, if we apply the ears of devotion to inquire into his virtue with the zeal of piety. In the time of the glorious King Stephen, the clemency of his benignity and the multitude of his patience was to very many in his kingdom a ruin of raging to the rich, and an admission of little faculty to the poor, for occasion and detriment. So it had happened that the whole English nation had perished by the plundering of those devastating. For the alternating regions had conspired against each other with deceitful fraud and envious subdolousness, and produced mutual plunders of plunders alternately from the bounds of the nations. It happened, therefore, that Roger Paveie, constable of the provosts in the castle of Thresc at that time, was making plunder about the river Tees; and came to take plunder in the parts of Haliweresfolc. Who had gathered the plunder of innumerable multitude from the neighbouring villages, and could not yet satiate the hunger of voracity and rapacity. Nor had it yet sufficed him; and he still went round like a roaring lion. The poor, therefore, who had sheep and herds in the fields, seeing the soldiers muttering through the country, hastened the more speedily to convoke the cattle of the sheepfolds and the beasts of the pastures to the bosom of the Cemetery. For the cemetery at that time stood for a protection of peace to those flocking together, because it abounded to each for refuge and to all for the subsidy of a storehouse. Of whose number a certain William, surnamed Sergant, stood out, who with forty oxen and a hundred sheep hastened from the fields to the cemetery which is in Sedberuie as quickly as he could. He himself, however, had his dwelling-house in Hertbune at that season; but disposed to flee for protection with his cattle to the cemetery which was nearer. Who, presiding over a horse of slower flight and very often beating its flanks with spurs but profiting less, fell as quickly as possible with the plunder of his own substance into the hands of the robber and the plunderer. For his plunder, aggregated to the other gains of the plunderers, was not only taken from him and not restored, but he himself, about to redeem himself with a price, had his feet bound at Thresc beneath a wooden stake with companions. Who is retained the more strictly with his comrades, the wood fixed to their feet. When he could in no way be, he fled to seek the patronage of blessed Cuthbert. For he well knew his memory, having formerly for a long time consumed the terms of very many days through the various buildings of his church. For he knew both blessed Cuthbert’s power and had fully learned the frequent experience of his virtues in others. From this he fled to the defences once known to himself, which he had proved accustomed to confer desired remedies on all. Night and day, therefore, he implored blessed Cuthbert’s clemency; and never suffered the memory of his name to recede from the sound of voice or the zeal of meditation. Blessed Cuthbert, therefore, unmindful not of his accustomed piety, at once struck that Constable, Roger Paveie, with grave infirmity, and he lay on his bed through very many days, the infirmity prevailing over his powers. But lest he should be ignorant for what cause this infirmity had happened to him, blessed Cuthbert, as though by some internuncio, very often commanded him to release the same servant of his, in that for his cause he deserved to lie under the perils of so many infirmities. “You,” said the messenger, “have bound the little servant of blessed Cuthbert, and therefore have deserved to be bound with his bonds. Nor can you ever recover from this infirmity unless you first strive to restore his servant to blessed Cuthbert.” These things blessed Cuthbert very often commanded him by intimating as though in pilgrim’s habit night and day, and threatened by commanding that he would attempt him with the peril of death unless he released him the sooner. Perhaps he had not merited to see blessed Cuthbert’s glory, and therefore appeared to him in pilgrim’s habit. Yet he could not absolve him, in that the care of such power belonged to his lord Robert Eivile, the Castle’s Master. For the gift of captives belonged to him. For the bound, the fettered or those consigned to prisons all soldiered under his command: to be relieved, freed or more sharply punished. It was also the own due of the soldiers and esquires to bring in captives; but to commit those brought under the Lord’s dispensing precept; further it was the Lord’s alone to punish by tormenting for his disposition or to dismiss for a pact and federated redemption. For which cause the same Roger Paveie very often asked by supplicating that lord for the little servant’s liberty; but by insisting longer with prayers availed to obtain nothing. For it was more to his lord to satiate the lust of his greedy avarice than to deserve by obtaining the salvation of his constable. For he had very many soldiers confederate of his malice, whom he could sufficiently depute to such a work of wickedness. But he believed he could not satiate the coffers of his avarice, and doubted when he would acquire the plunder of such fortune or the money of redemption by taking. At last the constable supplicated for the wretch’s deliverance for Saint Cuthbert’s love; and evidently showed what had happened to him, and wished to addict himself to captivity for him. But not even thus could he obtain. When, therefore, the sick man began to grow infirm by night and that wretch cried to blessed Cuthbert, the more often and frequently the voice of the pilgrim messenger admonished him to release Saint Cuthbert’s servant and to rescue him freed from captivity, saying these things: “You suffer for the sin committed against Saint Cuthbert, nor can have salvation unless you obtain liberty for him from your lord.” For as often as that wretch cried to blessed Cuthbert, so often he felt as it were many thousands of goads piercing his breast minutely round the penetralia of his heart, nor could he turn aside to any part where he did not feel the same vengeance of punishment. At last, on a certain night, the same angelic or messenger youth addressed him with whiter and gentler blandishment to refresh him. “Ho, William Sergant,” he said, “now your wife and sons and all your domestics and friends fail you; nor can any of them now be sureties for you, or will stand as pledges for your liberation. But Cuthbert, whom you have very often invoked and to whom you once paid the service of servitude in the works of his church, has now refused to fail you, but has deigned to come as your surety and pledge to the church which is outside for you. And believe me, because before the dawn’s twilight has yet emerged you shall be freed from that fetter and loosed, shall obtain voluntary liberty. These things Cuthbert mandates to you by the service of my legation; nor further put faith in the white youth who announces these things to you from blessed Cuthbert’s part unless you shall quickly have proved them true by experiment.” Who told him these and other like things, and asserted that blessed Cuthbert had come to the church for him to give surety and the sponsorship of a charge. And, these things said, he appeared no further, because perhaps he was some angel of administrative virtue who came to announce these things for blessed Cuthbert’s honour. All these things he told to his consodales, because none of them save he alone merited to see him. At the same hour of night it happened that Robert Eivile, his business in another region being completed, returning home made a transit through the Constable’s hospice, and inquired of the soldiers about his health with a querulous wailing. To whom when Walter Eivile had brought forth with the attestation of an oath that he could never have recovered at all unless blessed Cuthbert first received back the fettered man with all liberty, he commanded as quickly as possible that William Serjant, loosed, be restored committed to Roger Paveie, and for his will and pleasure.

Chapter Ninety-One: How a certain Brother, when he had presumed irreverently touch blessed Cuthbert’s book, was seized with a bitter fever, and by repenting and satisfying, merited to be restored by swift mercy #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert rules and directs his own, because he chastises by scourging every son whom he has received by the lot of election. And he would rather punish his own in the present than love them to perish for eternity. How grave the committed things of sin which we believe the more negligent are before God, we can daily learn from some castigations of our guilt. For if he scourges and rebukes the pious for the negligence of incircumspection, with how great a severity does he condemn and strike the nocences of the impious! For from there we conjecture whether we be truly blessed Cuthbert’s heirs and sons, if for that which we do the more negligently we have received the vengeance of punishment in the present. For such a castigation is of mercy, not of fury; of counsel, not of peril; with the benefit of aid, not the detriment of prodition; with the admonition of correction, not the desolation of desperate subsidy. With this dispensation of piety, as we believe, the holy Confessor coerced a certain Brother, John by name, in his church by chastising him, while he expiated with avenging pain the guilt of rash presumption and the committed negligence of incuriosity and the disgrace of irreverence and transgression. For he prevented him in the benedictions of sweetness while he punished his delict with the temporal pain of grief, not with the pain of the future fire and eternal desolation. Lately, Hugh being Bishop of Durham, William Archbishop of York had come for the sake of prayer to visit blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre; to whom the bishop showed all the honour of gentleness for the debt of reverence and the affection of kinship. For among other services of gifts and honours, he wished to show him the more holy sanctuaries of the relics of the church of Durham. Among which the book of blessed Cuthbert stood out of pre-eminent honour, which, brought honourably to the high altar by Benedict the sacrist clothed in albs, he set about the neck of the archbishop with its suspensory. The archbishop also showed it to whom he wished by opening and revolving it, and hung it about the necks of the domestics and those more familiar to him. Meanwhile a brother, John by name, stood afar about the edge of the sepulchre; and because he had never seen the same book unfolded close at hand, the malice of mind stimulated him the more sharply and anxiously to the inspection of touching it. Yet he had not presumed to approach those touching it, in that it less became a simple man to rush irreverently or precipitately upon men of so great a name. But because he then fulfilled the office of sacrist about blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre, it seemed to him of less unquiet perturbation, in that on festal days he could licitly approach and, none prohibiting, fulfil the desire of his vow with gaping zeal of curiosity. At a certain time of festivity, therefore, it happened that the same secretary, whose office it was, set out the casket in which the book described above was laid up, and adorned blessed Cuthbert’s altar and sepulchre with the more sacred sanctuaries of relics. Among other things he also composed that casket in a decent place of veneration, and honoured the church’s face with the solace of so precious a book. And he had committed all things to Brother John, in that he very often presided beside the altar. For the keeper both of altar and sepulchre ought always to stand by intrepid, and frequently assiduous and unceasingly not remote. For it pertained to his care, both the diligence of the sepulchre’s custody and the attractive collection of the oblation of alms, and none the less the consultive response of pilgrims. Whoever else, therefore, was present zealous about the altar, he himself ought never to be absent. From this he ought to be the more solicitous in that all care for its custody the more vigilantly lay upon him. When at last on a certain day the frequency of the people was not present and the assembly of the brothers rested at the meridian hour, he saw liberty subserve his will and the solitude of others open to him an approach of freedom. He had returned, therefore, from the refection of the poor of the servants, and, his hands not washed, proceeded to the sanctuaries of the sacrosanct altar, the servants hastening to their beds. Seeing, therefore, that casket very often and looking back the more solicitously, he turned aside the edge of his eyes as often as the zeal of his more ardent mind kindled him to the inspection of it. The heat of curious cupidity conquered, therefore, the judgement of reason, because the lust of curiosity had so tamed his mind with burning desire that the impulse of will had not the bridle of temperance. So, approaching the casket of the same book, he took it from its place and irreverently drew the book described above from the covering cases. For neither had the discrete thoughts of reason suppressed his heart with negligence, nor had torpor beset the way of virtue. The inconstancy of premeditation administered the steps of irreverence touching such sanctuaries. Where the ruin of rash error followed, and the curious exploration of touching broke out from the expiation of presumption. For the blinding of heart had hardened his soul by animating it, the negligence changing had prevented the edge of discretion. From the inconsideration of premeditation he proceeded to the irreverent touches of sanctity. Nor had these things precipitated his mind impurely, in that afterwards he deplored all these things with worthy vengeance. Drawing, therefore, the book from the three purses made of reddened leather, at last, each page being touched between unwashed fingers, he unfolded it with exploring hand, unloosed it with more curiously inquiring eye, ran through each single thing from end to end by scrutinising with reading mouth. He had done enough, therefore, for the thirst of conceived desire, and now all things being consummated at his pleasure, had placed that book in the same cases of former custom in as decent an order as he could. He had then sat down to the work of wonted study, and had withdrawn somewhat farther from the altar for the use of light, in that he frequented the zeal of writing. Nor did a delay intervene, and see he roared with clashing teeth and tremor nearly dissolved the joints of his limbs. His hand palpitated, the little membrane seeking the aid of sustentation; the finger of the writing pen had made erasures scattered on the page, finding no foundation of continence; he leapt upon the planking, his knees alternating with fear; the leanness of pallor had drained the vigour of all ruddiness in his body. The anguish of fear also had consumed the heedlessness of the curious heart by crushing it, the tremor of his hand rebuked him from the irreverence of touching, the edge of his eyes administered audacity confounded with the confusion of tears. Rising, therefore, and departing through the bounds of the choir, he hoped in the changed vicissitude of place to pass the vicissitude varying with the motions of infirmity. For the change of places is accustomed sometimes to be an alleviation of infirmity, and the quiet change of places is known very often to be the refreshment of relief. From this such a foment of medicine could not profit him, because it was not only sickness but the indignation of blessed Cuthbert. He wished, therefore, to rest by sitting down, but could not prevail to mitigate the strength of tremor by tempering it. The audacity of presumption returned, therefore, to memory, and what had before brought forth guilt now tormented him with the torment of pain. For he believed nothing else had brought him the pains of so great a torment save the audacity of temerity with which he had presumed touch such sanctuaries irreverently with polluted hands. At last, fleeing to the tried patronage of confession, he reckoned the briefest times of the meridian hour to have prolonged the lengths of many days. For the intemperance of sickness could be no sloth of quiet to him: for as much as he had before desired the brothers’ absence, that he might the more freely fulfil the vows of his desire, so much now did he anxiously desire the presence of their coming, that he might expiate the sins of his secret conscience with the baptism of confession. At last the Subprior Alan, rising from meridian quiet, that brother being brought in haste, fell at his feet in the brothers’ collocutory, and was zealous to blot out the rash presumption of his foolish daring with the pious tears of confession. Who, pondering that he could satisfy blessed Cuthbert from the magnitude of the sickness, presumed to add nothing by divine judgement; but enjoined him to sustain the examinations of his severity with the pious patience of longanimity. O pious consideration of discretion, which superadds not the presumption of human power to the divine vengeance! For it would have been an indication of potential virtue if he had attempted to bring another destruction on him justly punished by God from his own judgement. But because he was a man of moderate providence and discrete wisdom, he would not oppress the bruised reed of the heart’s conscience with the yoke of his animadversion by crushing it with the contrition of spirit and sorrow, but rather to soothe it with the admonition of pious sweetness. From this he commanded that sick brother to rest in the house of the infirm, and to sustain by awaiting blessed Cuthbert’s clemency with the gentleness of patience. “The near compassion of blessed Cuthbert,” he said, “will not be absent from you, if the multitude of your faith and patience can deserve it. For the castigation of this scourge will be to you for the refreshment of paternal counsel.” Animated by which he patiently sustained in hope of blessed Cuthbert’s compassion; and very often implored his help with querulous voices. And the night being passed in such misery, blessed Cuthbert pitying, the next day he recovered, much fatigued with grief; and at once receiving health he entered the choir to render thanks to the holy Confessor, and received himself to his office. From then on, therefore, he never presumed such things, but was a terror and example both to himself and others. All these things we have heard him relate not once, but we both saw and experienced them. From this we gather that blessed Cuthbert wills not only to punish sinners from justice, but also piously to remit the debt of sin to those whom he finds with the affection of piety.

Chapter Ninety-Two: Of a certain Youth who, the brain-pan of his head being worn down by the huge mass of a falling beam, was restored to former health, blessed Cuthbert aiding him, through the prayers of the Monks #

¹ The vicissitudes of human affairs are daily pregnant with dangers, and it is most rightly believed that all things are subject to blessed Cuthbert’s providence who fight for his name or fatigue for his honour. The travail of the work for him confers the gifts of a safer journey from the danger of malediction; and blessed Cuthbert grants the gifts of paternal provision to those labouring in some sort about the boundaries of the church, the angelic guardianship of protection affording them a confident hope of succour. Which we may educe from the precedent utility of this small miracle, if we recount the course of it in order. A certain Youth was refreshing himself again to the limits of blessed Cuthbert’s church from every quarter. For the joy of paschal quinquagesima being now lately fulfilled, the solemnity of the gift of the Holy Spirit ought there the more fitly to be celebrated, where, in blessed Cuthbert’s most sacred sanctity and the integrity of his body, the worthiness of greater virtue and the more excellent portion of divine grace dwelt. For there also the absolution of pontifical benediction, and the indulged remission of quadragesimal days of penance, and the auxiliary consolation of the most pious Confessor kindled the minds of many the more sharply: absolution from confessed guilt of sin; remission from the enjoined days of affliction and abstinence; consolation from the pious bishop’s intervention and his advocacy: all these diverse things were the consolations of many a diverse heart. The brothers, therefore, had polished the church’s walls with diverse beauty of ornaments, and adorned every honourable ministry offices with decent moderation. From this also the very great bells which were outside the church they caused to sound for the solemnities of so great a feast. Youths, therefore, and elders with the younger, ran together; and because the weight of them exceeded the strength of many, they aggregated a most copious multitude into one. Yet they who had been born in Durham had more acquaintance with the skill of ringing bells and the knowledge of the art. For the use of exercised work gave the knowledge of skill and the art of cognition. From this the ministers of the church preferred the few of them to the many of the rest, and set the youths of the City of Durham to the exercises of ringing. When, therefore, the first hour of the day was to be chanted in church, a copious multitude of Durham youths approached this work office to sound these bells. Ringing, therefore, and struggling much with their strength, they had already stood longer at such a ministry of sweat, and laboured the more briskly under so great a fervour of the work. But a certain youth, improvident of this case, had stood below with the rest for such business; but the others fleeing upon such a chance of assault, he had judged least to beware for himself. So it soon unexpectedly oppressed the same youth, and the brain-pan of his head being fractured, he fell supine to the ground. The broken brain-pan already gaped open to the ingress of one fist, and also exposed all the inner parts of the brain by denuding them. For the bell-clapper, as it rushed down from the precipice, chanced to expend the first forces of its blow upon the layer of planks which is set apart beneath for such events, and, bursting with impetuous fury, passed through the breadth of it. That layer, indeed, compacted of the greatest and most robust beams, is interposed midway between those upper bells and the lower colleges of men, nearly at an equal space from either; that every chance of misfortune may be avoided by such caution. That it may receive the blow of the precipitate fury of a falling and broken bell-clapper, and be for a protection and subsidy to those men ringing the bells themselves. Upon the beams of this interposing layer is set a copious heap of planks of the greatest magnitude and immense weight, fixed to the beams with wooden nails most solidly, and inserted with a far more solid effort, and more robustly driven. Each of the planks makes one man’s load, extending twelve feet in its length and compassing four or three feet in breadth; the thickness somewhat exceeds the dimension of half a foot. One man’s strength is proved insufficient to bear the load of one; but the weight seems sufficient enough for two. The precipice of one alone could have menaced the destruction of twenty men, and no part of its case could have resisted by opposing. Among whom, therefore, that same youth was found by the peril of such a case and oppressed by the headlong encounter of it. His familiars, therefore, composed that youth, as was believed dead, upon a bier for the dead and carried him home; and hesitating in hope of his life, prepared all things funereal. The brothers of the church hearing such things, at once all, counsel communicated, fled to Saint Cuthbert’s tomb, and sought with devout psalms and prayers the accustomed aids of blessed Cuthbert’s compassion: “Holy Cuthbert,” saying, “now attend our groans, and by giving glory to your name, indulge to this man, scourged for the service of your honour, spaces of longer life.” Soon, by the deserts of the holy Confessor, that youth seemed to draw the breath of life, and by the redivive breathing of his breath was proved to bring forth a novel spirit of grace. And deservedly at such a season did Saint Cuthbert restore the breath of spirit to the man, whose sign of virtue and grace he had foreshown by obtaining from the Lord the breathed consolations of the Holy Spirit for all those coming to him in these days. At length on the third day he uttered speech and said “Holy Cuthbert, how the wound of a heavier blow oppressed me.” Yet after a little space of time, the multitude of languor daily diminished and receded, and restored his former health, adorning the brain-pan of his head with skin and flesh and the beauty of hair. So it happened that, the wound of health being drawn over the ulcers, there ever until then appeared until this present day so great a depth of foss in the highest vertex of his head, that one man’s fist could most easily enter and be drawn out beneath the brink of its cavity, be replaced and hidden, and even a round ball be introduced and infused under the gap itself. And, what exceeds all miracles done in these more wondrous, yet his sense is not diminished, nor his reason weakened, nor the meditation of his memory dissipated in anything. He sustains the lesion of no infirmity either, nor could he once feel the burning of that wound sometimes alternately stimulating after health once received. For that cause, indeed, the gap of the wound so long stands prominent by gaping beneath, because the part of the little brain-pan worn from the bone does not lie higher, added to the remaining brain-pan. For the part once broken and worn could not be reconsolidated, nor could the dry matter of the desiccating bone’s nature avail to cohere. From this the skin being restored and filled with the softenness of flesh, the hair of his head, blessed Cuthbert pitying, grew green again, and coloured the brain-pan’s surface by adorning it with the grace of its former beauty. This youth is called Wictredus, who is proved most known to all the people of Durham: who still lives unharmed, and, feeling nothing of the same lesion, exists sound. So many veridical witnesses attend this miracle as came to the solemnities of Pentecost. They were compelled to see these things because they heard such things. Such are the wonder-working sacraments of blessed Cuthbert’s works, which exceed all the condiments of eloquence.

Chapter Ninety-Three: That the marvels of blessed Cuthbert are in heaven and on earth; and how he distinguished the innocence of the harmless from the boldness of the nocent, and freed a fettered innocent with a wondrous breaking of chains #

¹ As it is written, “How admirable is Your name in all the earth,” because it is multiplied to us in admiration of praise; and he truly merits to be called admirable whose estimation of due worth proceeds not from a feasible number. From this his prodigies are in heaven, in this that they are by us in the knowledge of science and the notice of estimation utterly inexplicable in every way. But on earth beneath, which we see done by him daily, we can scarce number by investigating. For if we comprehend the series of things done by him, yet we cannot attain to recount the subtlety of his virtue. On earth, therefore, they are, because they are open to earth-born men from the benefit of his mercy; beneath, in that they subserve the affairs of each at the judgement of every devout petitioner. And yet he more often attends the innocence of the harmless, in that the occasion of truth approaches nearer to the cause of their business. For he most often shows the innocence of the harmless by mercifully snatching them from miseries; and lays open the boldness of the nocent fury by bringing them the deserved bonds of sins. When William the second was bishop at Durham, a certain man had diminished the brother of Osbern the Sheriff, Robert by name, of the best portion of his head with a raging sword: but the guilty doer of the deed lay hid from many. The kinsfolk, therefore, because the name of the homicide, and because they fluctuated under uncertain opinion about the person who had brought him death, could neither temerariously define nor foolishly judge anything. So, even unwilling, they tempered their swords from blood, because the violence of vengeance could not oppress the innocent. At last the blind opinion of insecurity offended some of his kindred, and fleeting fame assailed a certain William by name, yet innocent of the crime, with delating fraud. For he merited not the mark of this infamy from the guilt of crime, but the zeal of fallacious envy coloured this fame with the cunning of wickedness. With the ardour of whose torch, a certain one of the Durham Nobles, Radulf the son of William by name, kindled, was carried beyond all human measure into the madness of fury. Who taking the innocent man at once precipitated him to the enclosures of his buildings of Durham, and fettered him with iron bonds for the burning of vengeance. And that he might sustain the more tractable occasion of vengeance, he shut him in the mill-house rather than his own palace, for this reason that in the mill was had a rare armour of defence. And that man was of the dominion of the same Radulf’s power, because he held under him land of hereditary servitude. From this he could freely effect of him whatever the motion of a voluntary mind chose or preordained to be done of him. A servile manciple always receives the deadly mandate of a raging lord. For many days, therefore, he burned raging upon him with the fury of cruelty, and would neither accommodate faith to his attestation nor the multitude of sacraments at any time. That wretch, chastised with the midst of foods, the want of drink and the calumny of fasts, stank from drying urine; putrefied from the corruption of his own egestion; the shin of either foot also putrefied, the flesh now nearly corroded from the midst by the maceration of the iron bond. For the diuturnity of long time daily brought forth groans of new calamity. Then, seeing the liberty of no industry subserve him, he fled to blessed Cuthbert’s aid, and with sedulous piety demanded the subsidy of his mercy and the protection of his rescue. Nor did the pious Confessor cease to compassionate such straits, and to medicate such dolours of torments with the swift aid of relief. The presence of his mercy was present therefore as quickly as possible, and broke the bonds and clemently released him. For, all the household seeing, suddenly the iron chains leapt apart from the fettered man’s feet, and crashed with a wondrous noise of crashing. From this a certain Radulf, who was the crier of the city, approaching that noble, declared whatever had happened; but he, believing this had happened by chance and not come to pass by the virtue of a miracle, again commanded him to be more strictly fettered with other bonds. Who obeyed his precepts by attending them, and now more strictly retained that man fettered with iterated newer bonds. For the chain once worn leapt farther apart by crashing. All had seen and heard this work of miracle, whoever then existed in that house or flocked together. Then that crier, to whom his custody had been delegated, sought of his lord Radulf what he should determine to do; and brought forth each chain broken, and, before those attesting who had seen, declared each thing by laying it open in order. Who, furious and anxious, caused new and robust and most solid chains to be composed with fabrile industry, and commanded the wretch to be bound in them a third time. They were new from the work; robust, from the magnitude of immense weight; most solid from the connexted strictness of the chains. For the breadth and fabric of a grosser origin could not be coequalled to the magnitude of either preceding chain. For so that rich man boiled over with the wrath of indignation that he ceased not to do upon that wretch whatever the multitude of new madness and savage fury enjoined. By chance, therefore, blessed Cuthbert’s festal day shone under the festal vigil, and that wretch could not cease from the invocation of blessed Cuthbert’s name. And with so much the more ardent desire did he lift up the voices of internal devotion, as he prepared for him the knotting of nooses of nearer death with a sharper kind of supplication. Nor yet had Cuthbert not seen these things, but preceded the attempted death with swifter aid. For the solemn day being now spent, the rich man had already deliberated in private counsel with his more secret domestics by what kind of supplication he ought to be propelled to the exit of death. When at last his keeper, many accompanying, stood before him, and a copious crowd attended his solicitude with more diligent industry, anxious he groaned by grieving to blessed Cuthbert and implored his aid with a mournful voice. Suddenly, therefore, blessed Cuthbert’s clemency was present, and as though with the wrath of indignation broke those chains by dissolving them. For so great a noise resounded in that house with the crashing of the chains as though it were about to demolish the house’s walls, and turned all to the tremor of stupor. The chains also themselves, broken leaping apart on either shin, lay prostrate with immense impetus into the area of the house’s midst, and openly preached by testifying the glory of blessed Cuthbert’s praise. That pauper then, who had long wasted in the chain, said to his keeper and the other satellites, “See that it is neither of my virtue or power, nor, as you thought, of the skill of magic art, but of blessed Cuthbert’s work of consolation and clemency alone. Now therefore accomplish what you will upon the innocent, because you can be witnesses of truth, who a little after were bound to punish my innocence by afflicting it with the miseries of pains and supplications.” But they soon flee to their lord, and laid open all things to him in order: and bring the broken chain for testimony, and attest all things in the presence even of Osbern the Sheriff. From this the same Osbern judged him deserving to be absolved, whom blessed Cuthbert’s mercy so potently snatched away. Radulf yielded, therefore, and composed all the chains with which he had been fettered upon his back and shoulders, and commanded him to consign them to blessed Cuthbert for the admirable testimony of his rescue. Who coming to blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre rendered him ineffable praises, and joyfully paid him magnificent thanks. And so he returned free to his own, whose innocence blessed Cuthbert freed with admirable potency. This work of miracle is most known to many of the Durham folk, whose undoubted asserter and keeper of it, Radulf, related all things.

Chapter Ninety-Four: How at paschal time a certain penitent was absolved at Saint Cuthbert’s Tomb from an iron band with which he had been long girt for sin #

¹ If we find in strangers and remote men the prompt aid of consolation, how much more shall we find in ourselves the refreshment of hastier aid. For by how much we are joined to him the more nearly from the affinity of the body, by so much are we connected to his grace’s benefit the more amply from neighbourhood. And if he pities strangers in succouring, how will he not compassionate the domestic sons with the affluence of his piety. For the rivulet of a fount sooner and more quickly laves the approaching sands by irrigating them than it reaches the remote bounds of distances. So also blessed Cuthbert’s mercy extends the hand of solace to us more quickly than it shows the knowledge of his virtue to the remote. Nor yet does anything else distinguish between the kin and the more remote save devotion of piety alone, which inflicts the wound of compassive compassion upon the bowels of his admirable compassion. From this he denies the mercy of his virtue to none asking, if vivifying faith confirms it from the most certain hope of dilection. Which a certain pilgrim lately learned by the experiment of work and virtue, who is to all a form of the faith of doctrine and an example of firm devotion. He, namely, had been girt with an iron girdle, because he had decreed to punish the deed of sin for the sake of fitting vengeance. For he had poured out cognate blood in the wrath of fury, and contracted guilt of consanguineous kindred facinorously. So, a certain overseas Pontiff enjoining, he had been bound to be circungirt from the sword with which in the fervent envy of wrath he had poured out his neighbour’s blood, by the dictation of the penitent soul’s devotion, for a memorial of penances. Who, girt with such a funicle, underwent the grave vengeance of pain for the delict. For the hardness of iron and the rugged matter of rust produced as quickly as possible from the antiquity of the time long protracted had corroded nearly all the softenness of his flesh. For it had long sat upon the fat of his belly, and had corrupted the tender sides of his reins by eating them; the consuming flame of rust had gnawed the mass of the belly’s lard, and had pierced through by devouring into the most arid muscles of the arms and limbs of all the body. For the massy weight of that girdle and the roughness of hoary antiquity could not suffer him to sustain himself. Nor could he move his hands to his sides, belly or loins, because the madness of grief had changed all these into intemperance. Nor could he turn his steps in advancing to the anterior parts, in that the dried contraction of the nerves and the macerated irrigation of the veins with blood exhausted was accustomed to exhaust all hope of going by swallowing it up. At last, all the bounds of the faithful people being wandered through, by God’s nod he arrived with a slow journey at the bounds of England, and having sought with miserable effort all England’s regions and the thresholds of the land’s Saints, learned of blessed Cuthbert’s sanctity from many relating it; and flew together to obtain the patronage of his benefit. Who coming to Durham, Bishop Hugh celebrating the solemnities of mass in the octaves of Easter before the presence of the most pious Confessor, approached blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre with the frequent crowds the more faithfully; and most devoutly demanded the mercy of his aid. Nor would blessed Cuthbert be inexorable, but, the Bishop beginning “I believe in one God,” suddenly that girdle so leapt apart by distorting that it also shook by terrifying the ears of all standing round. That girdle, therefore, is educed before all, and the ulcer of the wound ambient all his body is shown, and the virtue of the miracle is declared to all. The flesh also appeared so eaten round the circuit of his body that in that open wound the breadth of nearly three fingers could most lightly have been infused without any offence. Then all rendered most worthy thanks to blessed Cuthbert, because they saw his magnalia with their eyes, and handled with their own hands the bonds and wounds of the man now released. This miracle we and more of our brothers saw, and we have for witnesses many who saw this.

Chapter Ninety-Five: In what wondrous order, by blessed Cuthbert’s piety, a certain man imprisoned in Durham escaped by night, and bringing the fetters of his feet to blessed Cuthbert’s tomb, was liberated #

¹ We believe this likewise, most beloved brothers, because the more internal and domestic members are to us the more truly than the external, in that the communion of blood constrains the members of the parts with the closer viscera of charity. For the external is neither so easily corrupted in affection nor is so patently released by being loosened. So it is proved that an evil known to us from the usage of intuition is by far more tolerable than one unknown to us by unexpected chance. For the wish of good is more tolerable to us, because we believe the sincerity of their truth to have committed less of guilt than the nocences of the impious to have perpetrated. From this we also believe the nocences of those unknown to us to be more serious than the nocences of our own, in that the fury of delict is more savage against the pious who are known than against the good who are unknown. For we palliate the errors of the domestic in the excuse of conversation, and from them the intermediaries of things are not so near to us. But about the more remote, what we know not we suspect the worse of, nor can we mitigate our suspicion of them save by the attestation of experience. For which cause we more hastily attribute the prize of virtue to the external or more remote, and attribute the vengeance of delict to the domestic more tardily. For unless the magnitude of atrocity had made the assault, we would not so anxiously pursue domestic grievance with inculpation. In the course of these things, a certain Christian Moneyer existed in Durham, who formerly received the bishop’s mint under the debt of a condition. He fortuitously found a certain wretch, of whom fame had bruited that he had found some treasure and detained it hidden beside him. Whom he bound with bonds when seized, and because he could not extort from him what he wished, shut him in the prison of the Episcopal workhouse. For such a mancipation could not be concealed from tortures or lie hid longer; and his audacity being detected, availed to add him rather the expense of loss than the emolument of any lucre. For the royal dignity of power in that city was also the potentiary Episcopal possession of dominion. From this he could not hold hidden the lucre of so great an acquisition, which was bound to be both of royal and Episcopal dignity. To the Episcopal workhouse of the prison, therefore, he brought him, and by laying open the cause disclosed it to the sheriff and the bishop’s under-vicars. Who, hoping to obtain copious traffics of much lucre, shut him up more closely under the bonds of custody, and constrained him the more attentively, both with fetters and with the most dire burdens of heaviest weight and chains. At length, profligated long with inexplicable miseries of torments, he saw that he was no longer believed in his exculpation, and foresaw that the judicial examination which had been menaced him for his purgation hung under uncertaincertitude. From this day and night he ceased not from invoking blessed Cuthbert’s name, but delegated all the confidence of his hope to his dispositions. For he hoped blessed Cuthbert could snatch him from so many evils; and either conduct him, exempted from life, to the eternal, or as quickly as possible liberate him from such penuries of miseries. Nor did hope deceive him. For on a certain night, while anxiously and more eagerly than accustomed he demanded blessed Cuthbert’s aid, he suddenly felt the iron chains which were about the fettered man’s shins broken, and knew they could be gratuitously loosed from his feet. And at once rendering thanks to blessed Cuthbert, he loosed the iron fetters of wondrous weight from his feet, and ceased not to offer vows and prayers that he might proceed from the squalor of the prison. Coming, therefore, to the door, confidence taken from blessed Cuthbert, in wondrous and inestimable wise he found the plank of the midst door open, which before he had stumbled upon by chance in the unknowing impulse of blindness. Who, the plank extracted, came forth with immense exultation, and arriving at the castle’s doors found them closed and barred. Informing, therefore, certain confidence of hope from blessed Cuthbert’s virtue, he boldly approached the closed gates, and with the mobility of a light blow and the vibration of one finger, drew out the bars of wondrous fortitude with all the nails too, fixed before with great effort to the posts, from the beams of the gates and the posts of the doors. Then going out with wondrous exultation, he carried to Saint Cuthbert’s sepulchre by bearing on his shoulders the chains of the fetters, the nails in his hands, with the iron bars and bolts. The watchmen also who had held the night’s vigils under the dark obscurity at the prison’s door and above the guard of the gates and the circuit enclosure of the walls, perceived nothing of the act of his rescue or expedition. And it is a thing most worthy of stupor, that a door which could not be demolished or cut out with many swords or axes, he had halved by the impulse of a light blow and the assault of one finger, blessed Cuthbert commanding, to be cut through, and dispersed, dissipated with much colligation of iron. For it was circumvallated and circumsepted everywhere with many ligaments of iron, so that it could lightly feel the detriment of no lesion from striking hammers. And the bars of the gates were so terrible to view from magnitude of weight and solidity of strength, that they could suffice for the load of a besieging machine, sustain the heaviest blows of axes without lesion to themselves, and bring the stupor of horror to all seeing. The fetters also themselves could tame lions, and effect the burden of heaviest importunity from the magnitude of their weight. But all these things blessed Cuthbert’s power broke like spiders’ webs; and despised not the prayers of a pauper in the necessity of tribulations. That these things were so, we learned from that man’s relation, and proved by the assertion of the castle’s ministers then keeping the gates and prison, and of the servants of the church of Durham who saw and heard these things, and of certain of our monks also by veridical testimony.

Chapter Ninety-Six: How a cloth of blessed Cuthbert, put into waters, could not contract moisture; but the waters being drunk, cured a certain young man sick of a most grave infirmity #

¹ The friends of God are at hand to us in the present, and show the boundaries of their regions and times to very many by succouring; from where we both learn the greatness of their clemency from those recently done, and doubt not they were fulfilled in truth. For in modern time, a certain Richard had relinquished his Deanery in the church of Waltham with all secular pomp, and, the glory of the whole world being spurned, passed a poor life in the Durham monastery not in mind but in body. For the merit of whose life and the example of much sobriety, the sacrist’s office was delegated at a certain time, and the custody of all the church’s furniture and of the holy things was subjected to his disposition. Who possessing a cloth of the vestments of Saint Cuthbert under his dominion, with the other relics of the saints, cut off a most minute little portion of particle from that cloth, and transmitted the portion to his sisters, Nuns leading a life of religious honesty, for much devotion. Who received the pledges of so great sanctity with the reverence of the greatest devotion, and honourably laid them up with the other relics they had. But because blessed Cuthbert wished to glorify the beatitude of his magnificent name in the southern provinces, God ordaining and the most pious Confessor dispensing, it happened that a certain clerk, Robert, contracted languor by a most grave sickness; so that he could in no way profit himself with aid or any solace. For a certain transmeable gout had so invaded the sensible motions of his body that no industry of medicable moving had indulged him the liberties of his limbs. For in the knee truly and in the poples of the shin the pertinacity of that gout had so invaded him that he had now nearly lost all faculty of moving. For he could neither fix his foot to the earth, because the violence of the gout possessed the sinuosities of his nerves by contracting them; nor could he proceed, in that the stimulative invasion subdued the solidity of the shin-bone by beating it with sudden impetus. He could not exercise military exercises by riding, in that the motion of alleviation was to him for an augment of grief: nor accomplish pedestrial things by proceeding, for this reason that every gressile motion or of quiet generated the languor of sickness and the intemperance of desolation. Infirmity prohibited him from lying in bed, because he could not alternate his femoral and cubital limbs with mutual vicissitude. For the multitude of infirmity suffered not the little chamber of his leg to serve him with any solace of quiet; but rather with every increment of desolatory destitution. It was, therefore, as was thought, an incurable disease, in that all the madness of languor lay hid within the marrow of the inner bone. So it was called by some the gout inossate, because that kind of infirmity was not easily cured. All the condiments of physicians, at last, had procreated daily detriments to his alleviation. For by how much the care of medicine stood more solicitous, by so much did the infirmity rage augmented daily. For the intemperance of unnatural medicine being exasperated, the truculent wickedness of intemperable grief flourished and grew green the more amply. Destitute, therefore, of all aids, he deliberated to flee to the medicaments of celestial piety. From this he commanded himself, laid in a little boat, to be borne to those Nuns, by whose counsel or aid he believed and said he could be liberated from such incendiums of perils. Soon carried down by ship he arrived there, for that place stood removed some miles from Waltham. Who, those Nuns consulted upon his infirmity, perceived the sadness of desolation from his irrecoverable health with grave compassion of grief, and insisted in all the ways they could to alleviate the vehemence of his grief by mitigating it. For he had stood out kin to them from consanguinity, and for that reason his misery the more anxiously penetrated the viscera of their heart. Nor is it wondrous, because the union of blood is ever a redivive compassion, and the desolation of one torment is accustomed to be the desperation of each one’s destitution. But because they could not profit him by the deserts of prayers, they prepared what remedy they could for him. Taking, therefore, that moderate little particle of a portion from blessed Cuthbert’s relics, they destined to prepare for him an antidote of potion with diluted streams of waters. They brought, therefore, the cup of Saint Edith once queen, and, waters put in the cup, decreed to dilute the bared little particle of Saint Cuthbert’s cloth by immersing it in those liquors. Wondrous thing! that little particle could be immersed in the waters, but could in no way be made wet by dilution. The waters went round it by ambient, and by licking it and gently touching it could not make it wet; and laved it with gentle blandishment and touched it with the palpitating sweetness of sweetness. The watery nature, therefore, had lost its humour, and the humid wave had unclothed its moistening powers by ignoring them. The insensible element had sensed the sacrament of the more sacred cloth, and exhibited the visible homage of servitude and the condiment of a new mystery. For the water had now unclothed its nature of humour, while it least presumed to bring the lesion of moistening upon the sacred pledges. And it had sensed the virtue of blessed Cuthbert’s sanctity, which naturally had not the memory of discretion. Those women, stupefied with tremor, shook their limbs, and hesitated what the dignity of so great a sign portended: and impressed it with the finger as often as possible to the lower parts of the depth, though rubbing it between their fingers with the waters longer they could in no way bring it humour. At last wondering they drew out that little particle, and, the cup removed, effected it again somewhat moist, as it seemed to them, between rubbing fingers with the gentlest touch of blandishment. Soon indeed the little particle, extracted from the waters, appeared dry, and as though it had never been moistened before, no vestige of humour could appear in it. Which they extend those waters to be given to drink to the same youth; and preaching blessed Cuthbert’s potency to him, indicating the efficacy of this precedent miracle, told him in order all the things we have written. From this they wished to magnify and sharpen the penetralia of his devotion by the example of such a work. From the confidence of whose example, confirming the increments of conceived hope, he approached with much devotion, and drank those waters by exhausting them. Nor was there delay; he felt himself better, and within the space of a triduum declared himself repaired to former health by veridical attestation. From this he rendered infinite thanks to blessed Cuthbert, and coming to Durham, devoutly paid the thanks of a multitude. He was also sprung of noble progeny, and the nobility of blood taught this with elegant manners, which natural dignity constitutes by demanding ordinary right. For begotten of a father of illustrious providence, he degenerated not from the manners of paternal probity.

Chapter Ninety-Seven: Of a certain Merchant in Scotland, his head ever aching, how by blessed Cuthbert’s cloth laid upon his head he was healed, and restored whole to soundness #

¹ The string of the harp resounds with mellifluous sweetness, while the moderation of the fingers informs the prescience of art by playing. For the concord of sounds is effected where the string is directed by the discipline of ordered governance. The harp effecting the melody of sweetness is the potency of blessed Cuthbert’s virtue, fulfilling and perfecting every beatitude of health with the sweet-measured modulation of discipline. We also, as often as we open the ear of a devout breast to his wondrous virtues, drink in the concord of the sweet-measured and sonorous harp with modulations of devotion. For the harp is conformed to the fingers and sciences of all doctors or learners, and blessed Cuthbert’s potency and mercy is conformed by compassion to the necessities of all the infirm or the proficient. For as the sound of the harp is mellifluous and delectable even to the remote, so also is blessed Cuthbert’s compassive mercy most excellent even to all aliens. Which is proved by fitting works and miracles, as is explained from the history of the following miracle. Hugh, Bishop of Durham, exercised a wondrous instance of devotion toward the reverence of the holy Confessor, and had begun to enlarge the bounds of his church farther. From this he had directed a certain brother of the church, Alan by name, with clerks, into preaching, and commanded a not moderate particle of blessed Cuthbert’s cloth to be given them with the other portions of relics. For he wished many to participate by communicating blessed Cuthbert’s benefits, and to open to all the riches of the celestial treasure and the mercies of the holy Confessor; and to deny to no devout person the facility of approach: and to decorate with blessed Cuthbert’s relics the pledges of the other saints by crowning them with the glory of honesty, while the accustomed benignity of the most pious Confessor knew not or could not deny anything to any justly asking the gift of mercy, though all others should be unwilling to give to the needy petitioners. For wherever his most constant mercy is demanded, the consolation of aid is felt most quickly to be present. For the holy Confessor knows not to deny things sought, nor can he contain the viscera of his piety over the miseries of the afflicted. Who performing the Episcopal precepts in work, the sea being crossed, arrived for the sake of preaching at a certain city in Scotland which is called Perth. They raised, therefore, the minds of many to blessed Cuthbert’s devotion, while his presence was believed to be at hand in his relics. A certain man, therefore, languid with diuturnal infirmity, Robert by name, approached the same brother at vespertide, and showed him the kind of his infirmity. For he had so great a pain his head that the vehemence of languor sometimes seemed to him to commove all his brain by perturbing it: and so great a madness of wringing anguish followed that motion that he nearly knew not whether he had emitted the breathings of his panting breast. For it unclothed the discretion of human sense, as often as the exasperated asperity of such passion wrung him by detaining him. Which had received new augments of griefs with daily increments and misfortunes of evils, and no industry of medicinal art could profit him anything of remedy. Hearing, therefore, that the brother same had a cloth of blessed Cuthbert’s vestments, he said he held himself incontinent, whose virtue’s efficacy conferred the remedies of desperate salvation to all sick; and by whose touch, if he believed, he could most quickly obtain by impetrating the clemency of divine aid and prove it by sensing. He at once declared he had faith of obtaining his salvation by blessed Cuthbert’s deserts; but that brother, because he had not presumed to approach touch these things unless fasting, deferred the time of the proposal until the matutinal dawn. Morning being made, therefore, and the office of masses being fulfilled as was customary, that Brother, one of the clerks accompanying, approached the sacred relics, and brought forth that cloth of Saint Cuthbert’s vestments. Which he disposed about the languishing man’s head and consigned it with the type of the holy cross. Soon he felt himself lighter; and returning home, on the third day came again to the ministers of the same preaching. Before all the people, therefore, he ascended the higher steps, and declared himself, by blessed Cuthbert’s compassion, liberated before all from all the misery of his former languor. Nor did he assert any of the Saints to be like blessed Cuthbert in the mercy of piety, who by the sole contact of his pledge perfects virtue out of infirmity. That Merchant, therefore, vowed sixpence to blessed Cuthbert from his head by annual rite, and from then on committed all that he had, and from then on, under the patronage of so great an advocate. For, he pitying, both with joy of life his money was to him for a solace, and his head lightest was absolved from all misery of languor. Misery stood commuted into mercy, the misfortune of grief to the remedy of quiet health, the anxiety of infirmity was now effected grateful health, and the safety of liberty, the envelopes of the brain impatient, was ever to him the purer conscience of a discrete heart. Such a physician is Cuthbert, who infuses the modulations of everlasting joyfulity to all with the sweet sweetness of his virtue. All knew this miracle, whoever then was then living at Perth.

Chapter Ninety-Eight: Likewise of a certainsane and furious man healed by the same relics at Dunfermline on Saint Margaret’s day: how Saint Cuthbert’s water was poured into his mouth, all the people seeing, and on the same day he ate, sound and cheerful, with the monk’s servants who had come there #

¹ The dwelling of blessed Cuthbert perseveres indeficient by hereditary right in God’s tabernacle. For never could he so easily put demons to flight from obsessed bodies unless his spirit remained in God’s tabernacle. He himself stood forth a living dwelling-place of God in the body, and, departing the present life, entered into God’s dwelling to live for ever. From this how easily can he cleanse hearts and bodies obsessed by malign spirits, who ceased not at every season to prepare himself a domicile of most pacate quiet for the Lord. With how great a facility, therefore, he expels demons by the imperium of his virtue, let the novelty of the following miracle show, the page recounting. The same brother had prefixed for himself places to be mutually visited in the bounds of Scotland, because he had long learned that the frequency of the people flocked together on the festal day for the Saints’ natal feast. The annual time, therefore, exacting, the festal natalician day of Saint Margaret the Queen was at hand, and all the abundance of the people and of the promiscuous sex hastened in troops to the Stellensian church, which in their tongue is called Dunfermline. For there the sacred body of the Queen rests, the virtue of whose sanctity all the region of Scotland venerates and cultivates. From this they meet there with blessed Cuthbert’s relics on the statute day of festivity, and, honourably received by the brothers of the monastery, passed the solemn day with them. The solemn procession, therefore, instant for the veneration of so great a Queen, the brothers of the church permitted blessed Cuthbert’s relics to precede for the reverence of the holy Pontiff, because they had read in the book of her life that Saint Margaret in her life had loved none of the Saints so much as blessed Cuthbert, and had sufficiently learned it by very many experiments. For she had decorated blessed Cuthbert’s church with much beauty of ornaments, and had transmitted to blessed Cuthbert a silver text, a precious cope of sindon, and a cross radiated with wondrous unions and margarites polishing it, which also dying she had held in her hand. From this the brothers of the church imparted them all reverence of honour, because they knew the foeders of so great dilection had preceded between Saint Cuthbert and the blessed Queen. The procession being finished, the Durham Brother with his relics and clerks, after the oblation of mass, came forth apart, about to preach the word of God to the people; and fortuitously found a certainsane wretch. Who, all his body exploded, lay upon the earth, and emitted dire voices and horrible exclamations. The neighbours, therefore, of that region had sufficient notice of his tribulating languor and immedicable grief; nor could his infirmity lie hid from them, because for a diuturnal time he had begged the alimony of his body through their doors. The neighbours, therefore, who had known his misery long before, supplicated that Brother the more eagerly for the compassion of that wretch. For they knew the praises of blessed Cuthbert’s virtues that he could and ought to do such things, and least doubted such a miracle could be done by him. From this they had pre-intincted a cloth of blessed Cuthbert’s vestment in waters, as they could, and now, all seeing, poured it into the rabid and insane man’s mouth. Soon he emitted insane voices with many clamours, and after a little, reclosing his mouth, was silent, and for some time received himself in so great a sweetness of quiet that he alternated nearly no various motion of his members. The solemnities of masses being at length fulfilled, he who before lay languid and insane exploded on the earth, now sound by blessed Cuthbert’s compassion, cheerful and unharmed, rose without any sustentation. Then it was evidently patent to all how great virtue and mercy existed in blessed Cuthbert. Who the same day reclined at table with the Durham monk’s servants, and, sound in heart and body, paid innumerable thanks to blessed Cuthbert. All the people, therefore, applauded at the spectacle of so great virtue; and the whole day the people, clergy, and arriving vulgar mutually succeeded each other in troops. On the next following day, therefore, he proceeded in pilgrim’s dress to Saint Andrew’s thresholds; and the praise of blessed Cuthbert is diffused far and wide everywhere in the land of the Scots. This miracle both that brother and the rest of his ministers and comrades related to us, who saw and heard these things, and who poured that water into the insane and furious man’s mouth.

Chapter Ninety-Nine: Of Countess Ada, how she was healed of hysterical languor, and merited blessed Cuthbert’s virtue before his messenger could complete the space of half a journey #

¹ The Lord judges the orb of the earth in equity and the peoples in truth. For He exalts and erects some with right judgement, but others He raises not but dashes. To those also He gives the potency of honour whom He knows sometimes to retain the constancy of greater faith. And the nobility of blood is sometimes the seminary of native virtue. From this also they degenerate not from the piety of good work, whose constancy of faith and munificence of largess confirm them to have descended from the stock of illustrious blood. Of whose number we have known Countess Ada to have been, of whose nobility of progeny we cannot doubt. For both by the nobility of her kind and the most approved administration of pious work, she pursues an illustrious genealogy with the most illustrious operose probity of her generosity. For she both prevails in the benefits of alms and superabounds by exuberating with the increments of all-mode charity. For she sometimes dispenses ecclesiastical affairs with the providence of secular wisdom, and glorifies celestial ministries by supplying them with the aid and counsel of her free-flowing goodness’s abundance. For she also congregates the hosts of Nuns in Christ’s service, and daily represents new things to Christ from their holy souls and purest prayers. She founds churches in her territory, and gives the lands of most large gift: adjoins and dilates the latitudes of lands; amplifies their churches with precious copia of books. From this also she proves the nobility of her kind by teaching with the example of operose virtue. It fortuitously happened, therefore, that the same brother came to the church in Haddington, the relics accompanying, and entering it, found her in the church. Blessed Cuthbert’s relics, therefore, entering the church’s thresholds, she lay upon a cubital of straw; but for the reverence of the relics either would not or could not rise. For if she would not, it was a mark of indignation or potential dominion: of indignation, which is a mark of arrogance from tumour; of power, for the majesty of her magnitude. But if she could not, it was an excusable infirmity or the importunity of necessity: infirmity of body, attenuating virtue; or debility, possibility of moving. The importunity of necessity, subtracting the faculty of strengths, or diminishing by tearing away the liberty of facile potency. But truly, as we learned, we found she did this, infirmity compelling. For, as she herself after a while showed the same brother by experiment, this she did from infirmity alone. “For lately,” she said, “I had fallen into grave sickness, my sins exacting, and, the magnitude of grief sharpening, despaired utterly of the remedy of my life. For both the interraneous and intercutaneous pain of the head had so subdued me by invading that it nearly rendered me senseless. The interraneous grief revolved the brain’s intestines by dimoving them from the supreme step to the lower parts; scourged the bounds and origins of the veins with inexplicable madness of languor; sometimes obscured the arteries of the eyes and pupils with infused darkness by scintillating languor: subdued the tinnitus of the ears by exciting it; transfixed the palate of the tongue with the stimulating acumen of grief; and captivated the breathings of smelling. The intercutaneous moreover procreated a clot of blood within the brain-pan of the head and the matrix of the skin, and the concreted blood, from the superfluous germ of inundation, disseminated the menacing terebra of gout round about in the body. From this the infirmity of another born and substance brought forth had then fallen to another kind of sickness, and generated the languor of jaundice. So the intestinal grief of the viscera erupted, and procreated the asperities of sections’ burnings about the inmost connections of the nerves and veins of the belly. And it attenuated all the substance of my exterior body by discolouring it through the novel audacities of infirmity. For as it were a saffron-hued colour had covered all the exterior surface of the skin by overlaying it, and, after the type of a nascent chick and the still novel beak’s saffron-hued gums, had clothed all the little skin of flesh by depicting it from vertex to sole. The lividness of saffron-hued pallor had also overdrawn the rounds of the pupils, and the macilent face bore a rugged asperity; the fingers of the hands, attenuated, and the shins the intemperance of the same colour profused. The divine mercy, therefore, dispensing, it happened that a certain knight, Taurinus de Baiols, hastened to Durham for the sake of prayer, and, soon to set forth, sought licence of me, his Lady, and disclosed to me in order his vow which he had fixed to blessed Cuthbert. From this I at once assented to the petitioner’s prayers, and laid open to him the calamities of my misery. Then, because I myself could not go out, I enjoined him the work of my business by commanding him my oblation. ‘Take,’ I said, ’this small gift, yet the indication of no small will. For in this particle of a smallest oblation, I offer this head to blessed Cuthbert, from this day and for the time remaining, for the homage of perpetual servitude.’ And I set four denarii beneath my vertex, and vowed them to blessed Cuthbert with annual recognition each year. That if he should rescue me by his compassion from so great a calamity, he should receive me his handmaid for ever. Not yet had he exacted the very moderate part of half a journey, and blessed Cuthbert’s virtue had restored me with the grace of former health, and the sicknesses of diuturnal languor moreover, which I had sustained until then, from that day on I felt to have adhered in me with no vestige further. By such an experiment I learned blessed Cuthbert’s magnalia; and, the infirmity of another kind iterating, I now approach his clemency the more boldly and faithfully. For the potency of his virtue diminishes not the longness of the diuturnal time of long life, and the distance of lands impedes not the potency of his dignation by offending it. But do also succour me in the present, and apply to me the aid of blessed Cuthbert’s relics’ potency and presence.” Here indeed we distinguish the speech of continuous discourse, and the miracles of distant efficacy completed once at another time, under the proemium of another we shall hold back.

Chapter One Hundred: How the same Countess was healed of intolerable languor of the knee by blessed Cuthbert’s virtue; his vestment being laid above, and the pious Confessor’s cloth impressed with the sign of the cross #

¹ Upon the rivers of Babylonian calamity the same Countess had long sat; who could not proceed with her own steps. For she had sustained the rivers of desolations, because she had lost her gait; and they were Babylonian to her, because the augments of so great desolation had procreated for her the worn brow of confusion. For we can better estimate by judging what a desolation of confused sadness it was for a matron of so great dignity to go a three-footed being from a two-footed. She was indeed a three-footed creature with a staff’s sustentacle, who could not prop herself with the adminicle of her own foot. The calamity of Babylon, therefore, had found her, which, the disquiet of grief oppressing, she could not fix her foot more solidly in the earth. And she sustained the rivers of desolations, which with fluid and unstable mind she sought the remedies of consolation everywhere by inquiring with the anguish of much heart. From this in the discourse which she had begun to interweave above, she bore such things to the same brother. “Because,” she said, “once I learned the clemency of blessed Cuthbert’s potency by the experience of the same virtue, I now flee with much devotion to the remedies of his relief. For it is easy for blessed Cuthbert to afford the solace of my misery, who most swiftly administers the aid of help and salvation to all to whom he wills. For I am vehemently afflicted with the fetter of this gravest languor, and am wrung, worn with the grave wound of grief in this knee. Nor can I fix my foot in the earth, nor suffice to contract my heel, nor sustain my hand by cubiting at all in the bosom of my knee or adhering. For an inextinguishable ardour sits in it; a most dire and insatiable torment; an immense grief, not moderate and inedicible. For the bone of the leg, in that dissolution of the fabric, leaps apart from its own foundation; the end of the shin disagrees from the nexus of its conjunction and from the strength or ligament of the nerves. The bone seated in the midst and perspicuous with all rotundity, while it inflects itself to either side with mobile obvolution, generates for me the madness and misery of inexplicable languor. For if I shall have deliberated to sit, the stimulus of a dire aculeus perforates the marrow of this mid bone; if I shall have had need to rise, the sharpest point of the gout recurves the intestines of all the veins and nerves by transmeating and constricting them. And so now succour the oppression of my calamity, which is greater than a skilled tongue could suffice to explain: but take not, I beg, indignantly that I could not rise for the sacred relics to be introduced from there. For the languor of this fetter had so worn me by detaining that it had taken from me all facility of moving or liberty of rising.” Then the same brother, moved with the viscera of piety, brought forth blessed Cuthbert’s cloth, and, one clerk sustaining her, led her into a certain more secret conclave of that church. For there is an appendicular little chapel of the altar collateral to that church; which underlies the church, in the parts of the wall of another region. Into this they induced her, though with labour and fatigue; and composed that cloth, another vestment being laid beneath, above the languid knee. This they did for this reason, that they wished to exhibit the honour of reverence to the sacred exuviae of the vestments. For it became not that the most holy vestments should touch flesh obedient to sins, which had once been accustomed to cover incontaminable the sacrosanct and incorruptible flesh of so great a Pontiff without the crime of sin. The sign of the cross, therefore, being impressed upon the languishing knee with that cloth, and it being first covered everywhere with such accuration, she at once recovered from her former infirmity, and the next day proceeded to church without any sustentation or gravamen of sickness. Nor could she ever afterwards feel the lesion of such infirmity; because blessed Cuthbert’s virtue had put all that infirmity to flight by abolishing it utterly from her. Sound, therefore, and unharmed she existed at all times from the same infirmity, and paid infinite thanks of benediction to blessed Cuthbert. These two miracles we learned from the same brother Alan and the rest of the clerks and many others, who had heard from the Countess herself the precedent of these miracles, many of her soldiers, foot-servants and clients attesting, and had once despaired of her life for the same infirmity; and most certainly learned these things to be true. The other miracle he himself and his clerks had seen before many others, and had seen her proceeding sound to church and wherever she willed, afterwards, on the same day and the following. With the same facility, therefore, blessed Cuthbert restored this languid knee by his virtue with which the Archangel Raphael once repaired his knee divinely to former health.

Chapter One Hundred and One: Of a certain poor man’s son who had suffered the “good evil” properly so called, which by others is called the wild apostume, about the intestines of the thigh and groin; how, blessed Cuthbert’s cloth being applied, it burst the same day, and in a moment he was restored to perfect health #

¹ Blessed Cuthbert sees the labour and grief of his poor, giving them the swift aid of his mercy and the consolation of the divine gift. He attends their labours, with how great calamity and want they are fatigued; inspects their griefs, with how great desolation and anguish they are tormented. He effects, therefore, and converts their labour into quiet, grief into sweetness, calamity into salvation, want into abundant inundation, the desolation of sorrow into the multitude of joyfulity, the anguish of affliction into the joy of perpetual beatitude. For he refuses not to succour the groans of the poor, because he regards not the person of man but rather attends the work of devotion. Which we say for this reason, because we have found it most often done by his works. For as we have premised in word above to declare his virtue’s glory, so let us now demonstrate beneath to show the munificence of his clemency by a subjected example. At the same time in which that brother stayed at Haddington with blessed Cuthbert’s relics, a certain poor husbandman with his progeny had approached the same brother. He had brought with him his only son together with the boy’s mother, and each parent implored blessed Cuthbert’s clemency for his misery. For he burned labouring with the gravest infirmity, because he sustained the “good evil” above the thighs beside the groin’s flanks. For in the plicable reflex of belly and thigh, as it were in the highest vertex of the leg and groin, this pestilent disease had possessed the youth, and nothing save the exit of death alone threatened him. For it had grown grosser than one man’s head, and had nearly contracted to itself all the skin’s surface by constricting it with immense tumour. It was also red like flame proceeding from fire, or like a coal burned with the burning ardour of fire. Yet in the lower matter it had palled with so great blackness from congested colluvies that the soot of muddy tabes, rather than the redness of flesh or ardour of fire, appeared to the onlookers. And stimulating aculei rose within as though perforating the penetralia of the heart, and boring all the inmost viscera of the intestines with inexplicable languor. His torment was inedicible, and his salvation and repair was desperate to all seeing. For he had laboured long with such sickness, and all medicine applied had stood to him for an augment of grief and desperation. The father, therefore, laboured in groans from the magnitude of grief, and, burning with the lamentation of labour, condoled. The mother indeed varied her palms alternating with her fist in mournful motion, bruised her exsanguious breasts by beating them with her fist in wondrous calamity, and bore forth by proclaiming the anguishes of much desolation with tearful eyes and reddened cheeks. The youth moreover, for the anguish of so great calamity and the want of lost salvation, chose rather to sustain the exits of death than to lie subject longer to so many insane perils. For without another’s aid he could succour himself in nothing, nor could he move himself anywhere save another drawing or sustaining him. So, fatigued with so many miseries, they implored blessed Cuthbert’s mercy, and demanded with lacrymable voice to be succoured by the same brother. That brother groaned from immense compassion, and, drawing blessed Cuthbert’s cloth from its case, extended it to them to look. “This,” he said, “cloth, taken from blessed Cuthbert’s vestments, can bring an end to this languor and most prompt salvation to desperate infirmity, if your faith doubts not of blessed Cuthbert’s virtue. For it has imposed an end to many graver furies of diseases, and has not delayed to confer the aid of salvation on every believer.” Then they said they confessed and believed blessed Cuthbert’s virtue could effect more than these things, and said this work belonged properly to his mercy’s deserts. Another cloth, therefore, of inferior vestment being superposed, applied above the ulcer of the “good evil,” he consigned it in blessed Cuthbert’s virtue, and at once all grief was quiet with the disquiet of stimulation, and the tumour’s madness had dreamed more gently beneath a tepor. Bearing him home, they exulted with infinite joy, because, no delay intervening, they already saw the sanies of putredine flow forth, the ulcer’s tumour falling. For at once, when he had come home, the “good evil” burst, and, the sanies of wondrous multitude flowing forth, it flowed by egesting the venoms. And all the tumour at length was quiet by residing, and the rugged skin levelled itself by pleasing itself to each member with lenient sweetness. Nor did he sustain further any sickness’s molestation from there, because blessed Cuthbert’s potency put to flight the labour of all destruction and the grief of all desperation, hearing the paupers’ prayers. The father of that youth, returned the same day to the clerks, rendered infinite thanks to blessed Cuthbert, and related more fully to all round about his son restored to health. Which things that brother hearing, he received them most gladly, and preached blessed Cuthbert admirable in all his works. What we have described until then we heard from the same brother, and from others who were present, that it was so.

Chapter One Hundred and Two: How blessed Cuthbert appeared in the island of Farne to a guest arriving with his head grieving with inexplicable languor in the guest-house: and commanded him to recline his head in the window in which he himself had once been accustomed, and so he was suddenly healed #

¹ The just shall flourish like the palm in the house of the church, because like the cedar of Lebanon he shall be multiplied in the consolation of eternal refreshment. Blessed Cuthbert, therefore, flourished from the justice of his sanctity in the house of the universal church, because he is seen to have received before his consorts the admirable crown of beatitude, endowed with the blessed reward. For he is co-equalled to the cedar’s altitude from the glory of manifold contemplation, and assimilated to that nature in right order from the incorruptible beatitude of the flesh. For the cedar naturally putrefies not, and blessed Cuthbert’s flesh refulges mercifully with a certain bland sweetness of flourishing incorruption. He had acquired all the beatitude of this glory in the angle of a certain most minute Island, which also until then has not lost the virtue of curing. For in that Island he frequently perfects miracles of virtues, where namely he once merited from Christ all the glory of virtue. Of whose innumerable multitude we introduce this one for example’s sake, that from the indication of this we may investigate how true are the rest which we cannot describe. In the town of the Laudonian region which is called Dunbar, a certain man, great in faith but poor in the imbecility of immense sickness, lately conversed in the days of modern time. To whom the copia of many riches could afford no joyfulity of sweetness or delectation of any sweetness, because an incurable disease had brought him the multitude of all grief and the importunity of all-mode desolation for many diuturnal times. For he had a head languid with diuturnal time, from whose inopportunity of grief all the refreshment of his acquired substance was commuted to the supplication of lamenting. For all the members consume by groaning, while they can neither be protected nor disposed by the sole sustaining head’s governance and consolation. From this that man, worn with many anguishes and griefs, esteemed all things as the aura of evanescent smoke. His house, therefore, was for a covering of hospice to all the needy and pilgrims, and his wealth for the consolation of subsidies to many paupers. His wools warmed the naked and cold sides; his lands relieved the lamentations of all the miserable. For according to his faculty he bought vestments for many indigent; and very often distributed victuals to the naked, orphans, and pilgrims. So Count Cospatric also associated him in many things, in that he had not tasted the mediocrities of a mediocre mind, but in the all-power of largess emulated the greatest by imitating. It happened that his sons had transmitted themselves to the island of Farne, and would not journey there without their comitatus. From this they had also substituted their father in their place, in that, occupied with other affairs, they could not go there. At last, a little ship being hired, compelled by tempest they put into the island of Farne; and, staying there longer, made querimony to the brothers dwelling within of the misfortune of their case most often. They indeed imparted them all benivolence of mansuetude, and sometimes afforded them necessary victuals. Meanwhile that man began to be gravely wrung with his former and wonted grief, and the vehemence of languor vexed him by assailing more sharply than accustomed. Then he consulted the brothers dwelling within upon the infirmity of so great anguish, and inquired of them more diligently what was to be done by him. They indeed preached to him the more instantly that blessed Cuthbert’s mercy was the highest medicine, and admonished him the more instantly to seek his aid. Who, his mind comforted with faith, sought blessed Cuthbert with all desire, and ceased not to ask the more cheerfully with much devotion. For he was debile and infirm in the head, anxious with griefs, and incurable by any prudence’s medicament. For his brain’s intestines had grieved him, and fatigued him with too anxious infestation. For as a pervolant arrow it transfixed the midst of his temples, and as a sharp sword sometimes divided those interiors of the brain by cutting. Nor had he sensed the ardour of lesser heat than a cauldron which fire wearies by boiling. Above all, however, the madness of vertigo had so captivated the brain’s senses by invading that it also varied the intellects of the senses more often by wrenching them. For sometimes two heads seemed to appear to him in one man, or two houses to consist under one roof. Yet this vertigo had effected by dominating, and by depopulating his native strengths, for so great a vertigo had subdued the acumen of his senses by overwhelming it that his health could not distinguish the condition of diverse things. For immense grief, which sometimes creeps in precipitately, transfixes the senses under that moment by changing them. So it happened that he is believed to have seen other things under an uncertain moment, while then the acumen and intelligence of sense is oppressed from the immense weight of grief. When, therefore, that man nearly failed with the anxious misfortune of such grief, it fortuitously happened after the accustomed manner that he could not now sustain his languid head erect. He could not apply his hands, because the vehemence of grief deputed the blandishments of touch for dire burdens. He felt the pillow’s softenness or the cushions, if he reclined, as bursting spicula. Nor could he himself hold his head erect for the anguish of wavering grief, nor could he recline or lie anywhere for sustentation, for the immense disquiet of impatience and the unquiet plunder of raging misery. Very often, therefore, those brothers being invoked, he laid open to them these desolations of his miseries; and most frequently sought to obtain blessed Cuthbert’s clemency for him. He indeed lay in the guest-house, the tempest detaining, with many comrades staying there; the lower walls of whose house blessed Cuthbert’s hands had once founded by fabricating. For stones of wondrous magnitude, exceeding the weight of many men’s lifting, were very often found to have been raised by Cuthbert alone and an angel from either end, and imposed upon the walls proficient to perfection by daily work. At length on a certain night, that man sighing more anxiously and groaning more vehemently, the venerable Confessor Cuthbert stood by him, and, refoving him by addressing him with pious compassion, said: “I have seen the misery of yours infinite affliction, and for that reason have come, that I may confer swift medicine upon your miseries. Strive, therefore, somewhat higher, and lay down your head, me sustaining, in the window which stands next above applied to your head’s vertex. For there I was accustomed, when I lived, as often as my head grieved, to repose it; for I excised that window with my own hands from the saxeose rock while living in the body, and I myself, Cuthbert, erected those stones with my fabricating hand without dolent iron.” In wondrous wise, therefore, and with the sacrament of inexplicable mercy, the venerable Confessor, sustaining the man, commanded him to lay his head in the window, and, consoling him with bland breath, said: “There I composed my head as often as it grieved me, because I found no other unguent of consolation or aid of sustentation. Do therefore, as quickly as you shall have composed your head there by reclining, be endowed by blessed Cuthbert’s virtue with former health.” As soon as that man, the most pious Cuthbert sustaining, had laid his head in the same window, the holy Confessor departing from him could be seen no further. But, as the man afterwards related, the reposal of his head on the hardest stone stood for so great softenness and sweetness that he could in no way narrate this to any man. From that hour, therefore, he never afterwards sensed the aculeus of any grief, nor had he sensed or sustained any impediment of desolation. And at once, morning being made, he went forth to the brothers, and related all these things to them, and knew himself made most sound, and paid infinite thanks. Then all in common preached blessed Cuthbert’s glory, and extolled his wondrous magnalia with worthy praises. This miracle our brothers, who then were in that island hearing saw these things, contest and preach; and declared to us in the word of truth. That man also afterwards cultivated that place with wondrous devotion, and conferred much on the brothers dwelling there. Nor could any man’s word or tongue express how much he was accustomed to preach blessed Cuthbert’s marvels with the devotion of joy.

Chapter One Hundred and Three: How blessed Cuthbert restored the crushed natural parts of a certain man, when before the skill of no medicament could aid him, and of how great confidence of hope we may avail to have even in the chances of dishonourable things #

¹ We are taught to be merciful, that we may imitate the steps of our celestial Father. For He is the highest mercy, who alone is the clemency and consolation of all compassions. By this example of mercy blessed Cuthbert is chiefly informed, who pities and heals the miseries of all fleeing to him. He pities, by dismissing guilt while relaxing pain; he heals, by restoring grace while conferring aid and salvation. For he suffers not even the more abject ministries of the members to be destitute of optate salvation by deputation for vileness; but what are shamefast before men we intend, in these also we find his benivolence’s aid most promptly. For he is not shaken by any griefs or desolations in which the antidote of his medicament is not applied to us. Which we can evidently show from this one example, which the subscribed miracle of virtue can sufficiently patently open by unravelling. A certain official minister of the church from among the brothers of the Church of Durham existed from without, who nevertheless was accustomed at that time to dwell in another more remote place by the precept of his superiors. And yet his mind ever adhered in mind to the monastery from the desire of piety, because like a bee he fixed his purpose there by continually establishing it. For he was accustomed to carry back with much devotion to the multiplying of the honeycomb of the church’s interior the sweetness of lucre exhausted from the flowers of secular affluence. At length, a certain business incumbent, he disposed to journey to the New Castle for the sake of procuring necessaries, and, the ministry being completed, intended to accelerate his journey’s return by riding. Chance, therefore, wringing, the youths who had adhered to him in the neighbouring county, a plain of fields being found, stimulated their horses with spurs for the sake of experiencing velocity. Who, as is the custom, preoccupied the longer interstices of spaces with swift discursion, and were now placed far more remote from that brother, his lord John. That horse, therefore, upon which John himself sat, felt the reins of the improvident rider laxating. From this rushing most swiftly by precipitating, he burst forth with festination, and hastened after the other riders with the vestige of panting feet. His rider indeed, the reins constricting with the bridle, attempted to retorque him, and to cohibit his volant steps by impeding them with the vibration of the rein twisted in his gums and the frequent changing of the alternating thong. He indeed, while he felt the impetus of his spirit cohibited, soon contracting his feet with perturbed strengths, precipitated by falling from the posterior parts of his back. Who collided the sitter prostrate for himself upon the earth, and, the anterior plank of the saddle illiding his natural parts to the stones, dissected him with a grave wound of grief. For while the horse fell precipitately upon him with the multitude of weight and the immensity of mass, and the anterior part of the saddle collided his natural instruments by impinging them the more closely to the earth, it happened that he utterly conquered one of his native stones by crushing it, and oppressed him with inexplicable molestation of languor. Who, carried home as it were half-alive, laboured long with grave sickness, and, many foments of pigments being applied, despaired of recovering health. Meanwhile the natural vesica swelled from day to day the more and more, and the anguish of grief procreated new increments of desolations daily. From this from the multitude of grief he had nearly exhausted the strengths of virtue, and could not complicate his legs or knees for the grossness of the tumour. His gait, therefore, had perished, because the multitude of tumour least permitted his feet, divaricating, to be confederated by conjoining. He could not lie save supine, because the grossness of tumour had taken away the faculty or possibility of reclining. For the pellicle of the vesica had extended itself to the bulk of one cooking-pot, and the stone detrited within flowed back everywhere after the type of the most minute pult. Many, therefore, counselled him, the fear of death imminent, to cut it off, because so at least they deputed the refuge of salvation to lie open to him. He indeed said he would rather more often sustain by receiving the perils of due death than sustain so many ignominious probra among men. “It is better,” he said, “for me to finish the last day by closing my exit naturally, than, evirated among men, to perish with the disgrace of reviling insults. For they cannot repudiate the dead departing with natural obit, but will be able to spit upon the living evirate by contemning him.” At length, therefore, all confidence of recovering health being lost, on a certain day the memory of blessed Cuthbert crept suddenly into the dolent heart. “He,” he said silently within himself, “alone can open me the port of salvation, who, pitying by compassionating all, ceases to succour no petitioner. He, like another physician, will neither upbraid me for pudibund grief, nor wound me by cutting the ulcered wound with ferrous culters or novacula, nor absorb me precipitately with the fovea of desperation. For it will hang under uncertainty, if any of the physicians shall have cut off this natural instrument by amputating, whether he shall have cut the extermination of my grief by wounding, or shall precipitate his own insults under the misfortune of wavering desperation.” Extracting, therefore, a denarius from his loculi, he vowed it to blessed Cuthbert to be worn with him into the island of Farne, and, it being recurvated that he might distinguish it, consigned it with such an indication. And he ascended a little ship as quickly as he could; and arrived there in festination. Who, laid in the church beside the altar, offered that incurved denarius as he had vowed; nor was there delay, rising he felt himself lighter: and returning home, within a triduum fully recovered, and knew the crushed stone perfectly reintegrated utterly. Wondrous, therefore, appeared blessed Cuthbert’s virtue in that work, for his potency restored the crushed stone whole by reconsolidating it, and drove away the tumour of foetid grief and the pallor of livid redness by his grace absterging: and subdued all the desperation of suspected death by his mercy annihilating it, the liberty of former life being given. From this he also showed three miracles in one work, because he repaired the desolations of triple languor with one medicament. That brother could afterwards distinguish no sign of pallor in that place of grief, nor felt any spark distilling from that languor further; nor could he until then feel any calculus of lesion or point of diminution in that rotundity of circle by palpating or handling. So we can most easily advert of how great hope of confidence we can have upon his absolution compassionating our shameful sins. In this work blessed Cuthbert is assimilated to Saint Benedict, where he restored the severed halter to former integrity, and consolidated it by recompaginating for the judgement of his will. These things that brother John himself, a veridical priest and monk, related to us, and we have as witnesses very many both monks and others.

Chapter One Hundred and Four: Of a certain watchman of the Castle who, by a chance of drunkenness, was suddenly crushed in all his members; how blessed Cuthbert visited him already awaiting the sole exit of death, and commanded him to temper himself from the fear of death, because at other times he had been accustomed to invite men to the work of his church for bearing stones #

¹ Holy and terrible is blessed Cuthbert’s name, in the manifold exhibition of a new miracle. For he draws forth sanctity from his admirable virtues; but shows terror from the efficacy of his miracles. For none could effect anything of good for the honour of his name which blessed Cuthbert permitted to pass unrewarded. For while he passes not the least things without a certain reward, how does he permit the greatest to pass in vain without the donative of perfect retribution? From the following miracle, namely, we can take an admirable example of how great hope of confidence we ought to have even of our least works exhibited for his honour. At that season a certain poor man existed, who in the humble vileness of dejection served blessed Cuthbert with the most frequent devotion he could. For he had long ministered in the monks’ curia as a watchful manciple, and on festal days, hired by the sacrist of blessed Cuthbert’s church as a mercenary for bearing the burdens of stones, invited very many with the crier’s office. For he had most often aggregated many stones by such industry of art, and this he did not so much for the commerce of gain as for the zeal of internal devotion. From this many, ascended by the word of his praeconial admonition, very studiously sometimes bore stones to the work of blessed Cuthbert’s church; and both men and women and youths sometimes insisted emulously in such zeals. For whoever could bear more than another believed he pleased the holy Confessor the more. Nor could they be seduced in these things, in that they daily usured to blessed Cuthbert under such a ministry. For they desired to receive everlasting goods through his intercession, whoever they knew had chanced to bear even some pebble or a little stone of moderate quantity most thin for the honour of his name. So, God disposing, it happened that he who stood forth the inciter of good work acquired for himself a gift of virtue from others’ deserts. At last fortune, as is her custom, changing by altering the state of things, he was made a watchman in the castle, and kept the nightly vigils with the other watchmen. When on a certain night he proceeded by departing multifariously through the propugnacula, crapulated with the sleep of much ebriety, it suddenly happened that, his foot impinging, he fell, and, dissipated in all his members and livid with many wounds, now languid long had utterly lost all hope of his life. For all the bones in him had been confounded, and all his bed had commuted the misery of grief and the anguish of desperation into the sickness of languor. Many also of his comrades, who had fallen equally with him, failing with like languor, now utterly despaired of life’s remedy. When, therefore, no hope of life or consolation remained, he ceased not to invoke blessed Cuthbert with a miserable voice as he could. By night, therefore, the venerable Confessor suddenly stood by him, and thus began with the blandishment of a lenient voice addressing him with such alloquies: “You art wrung,” he said, “with the grave misery of desolation and stand desperate nearly with insanable disease. But now lay down the sadness of dying and resume the confidence of living, because you can not die of this lapse of sickness, in that you have until then, more often than many, admonished by inviting both kin and strangers to bear stones to the work of my church. Now therefore you shall recover of such and so great sickness, and in a brief space of time cause stones to be borne to the work of my church from the zeal of that desolation; and be not tepid with gaping desire from inviting and admonishing others.” The venerable Confessor, therefore, after such hortaments of colloquies disappeared; and he himself disclosed by opening whatever he had seen to those sitting by. At length he recovered in a brief space of time, according to the venerable Pontiff’s words; and took the remedy of life, who expected the sole detriment of death and the expense of the noose of desperation. On another night also Saint Cuthbert appeared to a certain widowed old woman, who was called Holdiard, and committed such precepts to her. “Go,” he said, “tomorrow, and seek in the castle a certain Hereward, who is newly made a watchman within there. He will meet you seeking him, and you shall say to him, ‘Go to Asketin my sacrist, and take some little of my incense, and beware that you always bear it upon you, lest perhaps you incur some peril. For as long as you shall have carried it upon you, you can not incur any misfortune, me protecting. Saint Cuthbert commands these things to you, and beware lest you pass them by, lest perhaps prevented by some molestation you be oppressed. But if the incense once received fail you, a second time and again you shall assume of it, and shall always bear it with you.’ " Morning being made, therefore, the woman, ignorant of the man, while she sought Hereward of the porter sitting before the gates, it suddenly happened that, proceeding from within, he met her, and she commanded him by exposing all the things we have said. But he at once fulfilled the mandates to him; and ever afterwards bore of blessed Cuthbert’s incense with him. Nor did he ever afterwards feel any peril, so long as he kept the pious Confessor’s mandates. Wondrous, therefore, is the piety perceived in blessed Cuthbert, where nothing is passed by him unrewarded; and the grief of death is expelled from his mercenary, because the people is invited to the burdens of stones, he calling. And besides, it is consulted for him by mandate, how every occasion of misfortune may be avoided. So Saint Cuthbert agrees in harmony with that miracle of blessed Martin, where he repaired a languishing man from the wax of his church. In the man crushed in all his members he imitates the example of blessed Paul, who healed Eutychus falling from the window and dissolved in all his members. Very many witnesses in Durham attend this miracle, who saw these things.

Chapter One Hundred and Five: Of a certain afflicted pauper whom blessed Cuthbert commanded to flee to his peace in the island of Lindisfarne: how he entered before all his enemies, and though he himself recognised his foes, was neither recognised by them nor injured in anything #

¹ We can dig up the celestial treasure with daily sweat; but shall never prevail to attain the exit of its end. We can adjoin stupendous things to the admirable, and avail to superadjunge more wondrous to the stupendous, yet we can include blessed Cuthbert’s magnalia of virtues in no term of end. For daily he adjoins recent things to the new, and superfunds even novel things upon the more recent. For no place can be vacated of the manifold work of virtue, wherever the invocation of his name shall have been with devotion. How magnificently also in those places does he perfect the wondrous works of virtues which he once more tenderly loved in his life! For with the glory of miracles he magnificently honors those places which once he glorified by consigning to himself with the singular privilege of his sanctity. Which will be sufficiently intimated from the subsequent lucifluous work, as will be more abundantly explained from the present miracle. A certain pauper once dwelt in Middleton in Northumbria, who cultivated blessed Cuthbert’s memory the more frequently with a rich mind. Whom his lord had very often fatigued with the other paupers by a grave calumniating injury, and, besides the annual rents, extorted many other things from the poor coloni. For he had afflicted them with the exaction of dire cupidity, and daily raged upon them with the madness of new fury. This man, therefore, he insisted to afflict the more gravely and vehemently, in that he appeared somewhat more powerful than the rest. The anguish of necessity, therefore, compelled many of the many to seek the protection of flight, because so great an asperity of affliction impeded them the more gravely. And his land could be cultivated by a rare inhabitant, because scarce anyone could sustain the cruelty of so great a tyranny. At last that man disposed to enter upon flight, and began longer studiously to retract within himself where he could flee. Meanwhile blessed Cuthbert stood by him in a vision, and thus speaking said: “Never could I desert those presuming of me destitute, nor have I permitted those fleeing to me to fall into the hands of enemies. And so do also flee as quickly as possible to the island of Lindisfarne, with all that you possess, under my peace and protection; because I, Cuthbert, will procure to extend the hand of my protection over you and all yours in this journey of flight.” He from there collected all his goods by composing them, and gathered each thing by colligating it into bundles. And rising by night, with his wife and sons, he began his journey by leading his cattle of flocks and herds before him. And while they traversed the bounds of the fields, he encountered those hostile men sitting armed, awaiting his transit through the accustomed ways. For they had received certain notice of his flight, and expected his coming by hiding with silent ambush. He indeed, seeing them, and recognising each, feared lest they should bring him the perils of death, in that he could neither avoid them by flight nor yet stay by waiting, in that they awaited his transit for the destruction of his slaughter. Yet he perceived them sitting and himself and his things prepared for transit, and, remembering the vision, comforted his mind by silencing. For he neither saw himself recognised by them, nor yet by precipitate flight could he avoid their hands; from where he was compelled rather to approach them passing than to wait for them where he stood. That man, therefore, first passed by them, driving his cattle before him, and the rest of his company also passed in order through the midst of the enemies. They were sitting, therefore, moved, and the same men were suddenly wakened and commoved. And seeing the man, as it were they saw not, in that they could not recognise by seeing him whom they had before sufficiently known. The car, therefore, resounded through the strident sands, and the pebbles resounded the more broadly, impinging the animals’ feet, and the voices of the menacing herds crashed the more profusely. The oxen lowed, and the sheep bleated; the horses neighed, and the men vociferated by clamouring after the cattle; and made the air resound round about by resonating the more broadly. And in wondrous and inexplicable wise these things were done beside so many men, and they, passing through those adversaries and persecutors, could in no way be adverted by them. Meanwhile that man and his comrades confabulated to themselves by mutual relation, and spoke of their adversaries to each other, saying “This one is here; and that one, this is he; that one, once my friend, is now a persecutor and enemy.” Saying such things they believed all these things could be heard by them; because they were so near that mutual speeches could be heard by either side. And that man marvelled and was stupified, because he saw none of his persecutors mutter or move a foot. Passing, therefore, through the midst of them, he perfected this work of miracle in work, blessed Cuthbert’s clemency protecting, which the Lord Jesus once exhibited in His persecution. For they wished to precipitate Jesus from the brow of the mountain, but departing through the midst of their hands He went through the midst of them. So also blessed Cuthbert snatched the man trusting in him from the midst of his enemies, and protecting him with the dexter of his piety led him through the midst of his foes. That man, therefore, entered the island, and offered his ox to blessed Cuthbert his duke; and remained an inhabitant and citizen in the same island all his days. His persecutors indeed, as though depressed with a grave sopor, returned home with empty hand with their confusion; nor could they afterwards attempt anything of molestation against him.

Chapter One Hundred and Six: How on a certain day, the greater mass being begun, the accustomed annona of the Brothers in Durham utterly failed, and, the mass not yet completed, the Subcellarer found six fresh salmon in the kitchen; and while he ceased not from rebuking blessed Cuthbert, on that day they abounded with all goods more than accustomed #

¹ The mercy and benignity of blessed Cuthbert remains for ever and for ever and ever. For the diuturnal calamity of long-lived time could not deteriorate his mercy by entombing it; nor could the desolate liberty of anguishes ever prevail to abolish his benignity by undermining it. For he mercifully succours all placing faith in him; his benignity broadly succours all suffering penury in his servitude. His compassion excludes the anguishes of misery by propelling them; but his benignity undermines by preventing the fortunes of intempestive importunity. For the broad mandate of charity flourished in the heart of blessed Cuthbert living in the body, and for that reason he ceases not to accompany his own with the cheerful affluence of all things, in the time of necessity and the tempest of raging anguish. For as often as it is erogated the more largely by distributing of those goods, so often does the ubertas of all goods accompany their erogators. But while the improvident erogator contracts his hands from tenacity, at once the most abundant copia, diminished before the hands of the avaricious distributor, utterly fails. And sometimes the abundance of all goods is seen to grow up, while sole penury menaces all poverty of loss. For unawares he sometimes succours his servants, and imparts goods ubertim and the more cheerfully, from where the estimation of no hope could proceed, and of which was the confidence of no sufficiency. To a cheerful giver indeed he administers all things abundantly; but to the avaricious tenacious he informs insufficient penury even of the abundant. For while the heart of the minister largient is constricted with the contraction of an avaricious breast, the free-flowing grace of blessed Cuthbert is restrained for the iniquity of the largient. And deservedly; for he is unworthy to communicate by erogating his goods who industriously prepares tenacity by constricting from his largess. From this also in these times we prove all these things in us by an example which we can worthily pursue by describing eloquence. For lately the procurator of the Durham Brothers, who is accustomed to be called the cellarer, had retired about to negotiate the house’s necessaries, and had substituted a certain brother Uctred in his place for the provision of tables. This brother, namely, stood forth vicar of the church’s cellarer, and ought to find without delay or without the molestation of murmuring all the ministries of it commodious to his brothers’ necessities. For he had passed over the regular hour improvidently, and had once been a moderately long-lived procurator of the house’s families on other days. Who had very often pertransited many spaces of lands by dimeting the business of pilgrimage, and pertracted by discussing each of the mores of many diversities: and in the world had run through many juvenile years of mature honesty in the sacerdotal habit; from where he had fully learned both the notice of seculars and the dispensations of many works. Him the senile particles of hoary hair of a mature life’s head had now clothed by gregating; and the merry sweetness of joyful eloquence, and the gracious honour of lovely form, had adorned with decent moderamen. Whom the Prior had constituted vicar and sodalis of the cellarer for the industry of so great approved probity; and the care of major providence and the molestation of importune burden redounded to his zeal. It happened, therefore, at some time that all the matter of good perished, and no copia or sufficiency of anything could be found in the house. For the copia of victuals failed, and no sufficiency of all necessaries could anywhere be found for the indigent; and the poor negotiators of daily hope, who were accustomed to bear necessaries to blessed Cuthbert’s Curia with a hireling’s service, had all equally already set forth to the fair of Thresc for the sake of greater lucre. Very many hospites moreover had arrived from afar that day, and equally expected the hour of diurnal refection and the annona. The same brother’s breast, therefore, burned for the confusion of grief; he raged by discurring round about from the impatience of bitterness; the lividness of pallid desperation diserp his marcent face. For he found not meats to buy for the hospites, could nowhere find the victuals of fish or eggs or any such for the brothers’ necessities. And now the solemnities of mass were instant, and the hour of refection urged him by menacing. At last he transmitted servants through the city curiously, and ploughed each of the workshops by perlasting them with curious investigation. And finding utterly nothing, he entered the interior of the cloister with a dejected face of sorrow, and, proceeding with tottering steps, patently showed the mind and face of interior dejection with exterior gesture and habit of body. The Prior, pondering his affection from the frequent immutation of face, inquired with diligent moderation what cause had arisen. He indeed, unable to dissimulate with a reddening face, disclosed all that had happened, and querulously deplored that blessed Cuthbert had deserted his family that day. “Cuthbert,” he said, “despises us all by deserting, and has judged both all the hospites and the domestics now unworthy to feed with the mansuetude of wonted aid.” To whom the Prior, “Be,” he said, “of more mansuete mind, and distrust not the free-flowing grace of blessed Cuthbert, since you know him to have been a faithful friend in necessity by much experiment once. For he never deserted his own in tribulation, nor permitted his hospites or servants to be confounded with the penury of famine. Nor can he now be absent from us, in that his abundance never knew the penury of any defect.” The brother meanwhile casting down his face, the Prior led him out with himself by injecting his hand, and confabulating such things said, “Let us go out, and be least dejected with a desperate mind, because it is not difficult for blessed Cuthbert to find all things for us to sufficiency.” Who going out saw an onerary horse standing farther beneath a tree, and, inquiring more diligently what it portended, learned that fishes sufficient for the brothers’ work had arrived by blessed Cuthbert’s mercy. And the brother seeing in the kitchen returned to the Prior with festination, and led him there by compelling and drawing him, and showed him that blessed Cuthbert had sent them six most excellent and fresh salmon. And many other little fishes also, by whose reception they might sustain that day’s necessity, were found prepared. Which the Prior seeing, gave thanks to blessed Cuthbert, and the brother also, taught by such an experiment, from then on trusted the more firmly in blessed Cuthbert’s clemency.

Chapter One Hundred and Seven: Of the observance of charity to be kept in the erogation of blessed Cuthbert’s benefits, and how the most moderate quantity of one cask, touched and distributed for charity’s reverence and Saint Cuthbert’s honour’s diligence, endured many days in the Durham cellar; and ministered the inundation of all copia both to the brothers and to all others #

¹ The pontifical dignity of virtue and the honour of magnificent bearing are known to flourish specially in blessed Cuthbert; which is shown by the insignia of works rather than found by the multiplied congeries of words. For his dignity is shown from the abundance of all things; his honour, from the free-flowing generosity of gifts; his virtue is found, while the decor of honour is exhibited from matter not prejacent, which is administered with the affluence of copia, while the hilarity of the giver is required in the erogation of his gifts. For it agrees with virtue to effect much of few things; but it consents with honour to expend the more by exhibiting the more cheerfully from the less sufficient. For the gift of benefit is the more graciously received, while the pledge of the erogator is distributed the more cheerfully in expending with the benign intuition of mind. For the serene hilarity of the giver delights the mind of the perceiver more by affecting than the multitude of the gift, esteeming the weight of precious and incomparable opinion. For the opinion of a precious number is not worth so much as the free-flowing hilarity of the donor. With the grace of such sweetness are all blessed Cuthbert’s gifts found to be adorned, if each of his goods is intended to be distributed with the sweetness of hilarity. For the abundance of blessed Cuthbert’s goods can never suffer defect, unless the tenacity of a wicked giver first intends the cupidity of failing from the tenacity of mind. For the charity of God, which is broadly diffused in blessed Cuthbert’s heart, is ever copiously distended in giving: and for that reason the gift which is expended of his things for blessed Cuthbert’s honour, for charity’s love, is ever saw to be cumulated the more richly, the more diffusely it is disperted by distributing for charity’s love. For by how much the more familiarly he is perfruited in the celestials with the gift of charity, by so much is all his substance saw to be extended with the more foecund gift of ubertas. And as he participates the more nearly in the dilection of eternal charity with the gift of beatitude, so also all copia of good augments his substance perpetually in the augment of the indeficient and in all increment of free-flowing charity. That charity, namely, which dilates blessed Cuthbert’s mind with fervour in God, itself gives the augment of copious fructification to all his things. Which is sufficiently given to be understood from the present miracle; as can be declared by manifest indications. For in the Durham Monastery a certain brother existed who enjoyed the subcellarer’s office, and, a provost dwelling abroad, moderated all the ministry by his imperium. He anxiously provident went round the angles of the cellars and the lanes of the workshops, and, like a domestic or secondary bee, by rifting the little caverns of the intestinal honeycomb, dispensed all things by promoting them according to his measure. For whatever another was zealous to bring to the house, all that the other was zealous to dispense ordinarily. They abounded, therefore, meanwhile with great plenty of riches, in that both flourished with official zeal of piety. But because no house’s dispensation is so providently discerned that it is not sometimes deceived, the incertitude of sudden chance preventing, it happened in their days that a sudden chance deceived the providence of either’s premeditation, and now the measure of wonted potion denied sufficiency more abundantly. For beer failed in all the church’s house, and only a certain cask in the cellar was found remaining. And that cask was neither very great nor very moderate, but moderated with exiguous quantity. So that it promised the brothers a modestly sober sufficiency of one annona, and could administer further a moderate or greatest abundance of any aid, neither sufficient for sobriety nor convenient for necessity. Nor could anything of beer be found in the whole city for the sake of procuring or buying, nor could the grassy natural substance be found anywhere at hand from where it ought to be made. This moderate poverty also which remained scarce promised sufficiency of one day to the brothers alone. From this the same cellarer, profligated with immense desolation, had commanded the steward key-keeper that he ought to give utterly no drop from there to any save only the brothers alone. “We must,” he said, “to be providently zealous, and to prohibit the fortuitous poverty of blessed Cuthbert’s house from being contaminated for the brothers’ work; in that, not being elsewhere erogated, it can scarce suffice them for one day’s stipend.” That Swanus was so called, and with such immansuetude of words rebated by wrestling against his praeceptor. But he, proruent with a more vehement spirit, filled the vessel brought; and commanded it to be borne to the petitioning languid pauper for blessed Cuthbert’s honour and love; and, seizing a very great crater and delivering it into the same servant’s hands, said, “Largish the capacity of this plenitude to all asking for charity, and never meditate the scrupulosity of tenacious avarice in giving for blessed Cuthbert’s honour. For it is charity’s gift whereby we live; charity’s good with which we abound; charity’s benefit whereby we subsist. Far be it, therefore, that blessed Cuthbert’s gift be denied to any asking for charity, since all that we possess is erogated to us by the counsel of his dignation. Nor can blessed Cuthbert’s good ever fail from largess; but can be restricted from tenacity alone, and by denying not extend abundance. For by this occasion alone can we attenuate blessed Cuthbert’s dispensations by annihilating them, if, sparing tenaciously, we shall have decreed to contract them passim in erogating. From this see that you do not deny the plenitude of this greatest crater to any asking of the present cask for charity’s love and Saint Cuthbert’s honour; but ever remember to dispense the gifts of largess and the gratuitous stipends of the divine munus to all abundantly with hilarity, and hilariously with joyful devotion.” Which that servant hearing, poured out by exhausting the more abundantly from the same cask both to paupers and hospites, and administered copious gifts the more graciously to all petitioners. Wondrous thing! Through eighteen days it sufficed both the brothers sufficiently and the arriving hospites the more abundantly; and then it had also caused the fruits of one year to be multiplied by its benediction, and the old to suffice until the new fruits could collect the new-broken lands by compensating. This miracle the same Paulinus, afterwards made subprior, was accustomed most often to relate for charity’s monument and the example of blessed Cuthbert’s free-flowing abundance. And they also who had seen and known them, very many, bore testimony of these things.

Chapter One Hundred and Eight: How Saint Cuthbert healed a girl’s contracted hand, which the glorious Martyr of God, Laurence, the avenger of his injury, had caused to be contracted #

¹ All that devotion accomplishes by perfecting, celestial grace worthily rewards. For none faithfully sought the Lord’s clemency and obtained not his mercy, his prayers being made void. For what He himself by the secret judgement of His truth affords not more quickly or attributes, this He sometimes accelerates and imparts for the deserts of His elect. Which lately also in modern time we found to have proceeded from the works of God’s Saints themselves, the precious martyr Laurence and the glorious Pontiff the Lord Cuthbert. For there was a certain man, called Sproich in the English tongue; poor indeed and slender in fame or faculty; yet rich in faith and pious conversation. He, by the precept of the Durham Almoner, repaired the ruined pontes by restoring; patched the semi-ruined by relieving; and where necessity commanded, sometimes made new transits of pontes. Who conversed in the Northumbrian region which is called Tindale, in the vill which by the inhabitants of those peoples is named Bellingham. He, coupled in a marriage covenant, was endowed with an only daughter of a faithful wife. Who had now grown up through the uberior years to mature age, whom each parent loved with the fire of vehement fervour. From this they bought her the more honourable vestments from slender possibility of riches, because, her age advanced, they now saw her fit for espousals. The solemn vigil, therefore, of blessed Laurence, God’s precious martyr, instant, the girl sewed herself a vestment of fustic-dye with sagacious zeal; and now the first hour of day had passed. To whom the mother, instructing her daughter, said, “My daughter, accelerate the work you have in hand more quickly, that the work you have begun may be utterly consummated before the ninth hour of this day prevent us. For there stands to-day the vigil of Saint Laurence the glorious Martyr, venerable to the whole orb of lands, the memory of whose celebrity is to be feared well-near too much by all the faithful. For He is accustomed very often to infold those feriating beyond the term of the approaching ninth hour with grave vengeance, from where also all the world cultivates his solemnity with a vigil, prevents it with a fast, and reverently exalts and dreads it.” To whom the daughter answered by mocking, “Whosesoever Laurence’s solemnity be to-day, the work which I instituted I will not relinquish before perfected.” Having said this, the fire of indignation at once invaded her through and through, and so wrung all the lineaments of her palm and fingers by contracting them that she could neither move her finger to any region of directing nor reflect it. In the midst of the palm, therefore, and of the fingers a mid cloth was held, nor could it be drawn apart by any effort; in that the procurvature of the fingers was most closely constricted to the palm’s planity: nor could it be dismissed, for this reason that the girl was the more gravely tormented and pursued with the stimulus of such vengeance. So swift, therefore, was the pain of vengeance that followed the insult to blessed Laurence the holy martyr, that the sinner, caught in the works of her hands, was now compelled to hold his celebrated day unwilling. She cried out, therefore, and resounded horribly by wailing; because she could not sustain the strengths of grief raging too much. Then both parents ran together and were present to soothe her griefs with gemebund voices. But there human effort availed in vain, where the penal vengeance of God alone raged by preventing. They run together; they strive to extract the cloth from the holding hand with their strengths; but attempting it, could perfect it neither by virtue nor by genius. At last seeing that the subsidy of God alone remained, they deliberated to invoke the aid of prayer of God’s Saints. But the memory of none of God’s Saints was better known to them than of blessed Cuthbert the glorious Confessor, to whose solemn veneration a little church in that same village was dedicated. They brought the infirming girl, therefore, to the church, and demanded the pious Confessor’s clemency with lacrymose vows of desires. Now they drew waters from the fount which is called Saint Cuthbert’s, and poured them upon the languishing girl’s mouth or contracted hand; now approached the altar’s sublimities, sometimes prostrate to the earth with bending knee implored the Lord’s clemency. Night indeed supervening, they remained pervigil to the Lord in the same church, and sought Saint Cuthbert’s remedies by compassionating with the manner of desolation. Then after the exit of midnight, about to bring the aid of his accustomed piety, the most pious Pontiff and glorious Confessor Cuthbert stood by the sleeping girl in vision, and first commanded her to hold the contracted hand more steadfastly. Which she doing with the insanity of grief, sleep lying upon, he applied the digits of his hand to her palm, and at once by reflecting them loosed the curvature of the fingers protracted into the palm, and permitted the cloth to be torn freely from her. And the moment of the pontifical touch being loosed, the insane use of wailing tremor shook her, and she vociferated by ejulating “that some most precious youth had drawn the cloth forth by touching her.” Which her mother, improvident, led by a feminine mind, soon concluded her daughter’s fingers in her palm, and compressed the arch of that palm as though about to protect it from all sudden incursion. At once indeed the joyful vision disappeared from the girl’s eyes, but yet at the contact of the holy Pontiff the procurved contraction of the fingers, somewhat erected, permitted the cloth which she had until then held to be torn freely from her. From this the mother became the more gemebund for her precipitate velocity, because perhaps the salvation then to be given from heaven was somewhat longer protracted through her. For the work of the divine ministry ought not to be impeded by human effort, because while flesh strives to succour flesh, it strives in vain, unless directed by God’s Spirit disposing. Devoting themselves from then on to prayers the whole night, morning being made they refer all things to the priest, and implored sufficiently anxiously that he would confer the aid of counsel upon them. The gospel at Mass being read through, the same priest, compassionating the miseries of his neighbours, commanded the most known compendium of the dominical oration to be made nine times by all through the church for her sospitas. “Venerating God,” he said, “with these words of the dominical doctrine, demand Saint Cuthbert’s clemency for this languishing girl. For he is potent to impetrate Christ’s mercy for her, and to placate the offence of the most holy precious martyr Laurence by his pious intervention. For they are consorts in the kingdom of God’s glory, and for that reason each is sufficiently placable to the other for the completion of his vows and desires.” The faithful, kindled with such words, poured forth the more cheerful prayers, and all followed the priest with such affatim eloquies, and said, “Holy Cuthbert, now have mercy on this wretched girl, and, exorating the Lord, placate Saint Laurence of God for her.” Nine times such being fulfilled, see the venerable Confessor, indulgent to the deprecants with his accustomed clemency, brought forth the contracted hand, which he showed endowed to all with perfect health. For she had sensed, as she said, a certain one touching the procurved digits of her palm with his hand, and, by reflecting them, absolving the arid hand from all lesion of contraction. That hand, therefore, was utterly liberated from all grief and languor, and endowed with all liberty, flexibility and mollities of the nerves, with all plenitude of sospitas. The priest, therefore, gratefully received her offering it with the rest, and disclosed the miracle of so stupendous novelty, the hand being brought forth before all. All, therefore, collauding by admiring the aid of so prompt consolation of blessed Cuthbert, demorated longer in the church, conglorifying by blessing the Lord, who alone does miracles, in His Saint Cuthbert. Wondrous indeed did this operation of virtue become known to all in Saint Cuthbert, who dissolved with his more potent clemency the things bound by other Saints of God. And the greatest confoederation of dilection also shines clear between Laurence, God’s precious martyr, and Cuthbert, Christ’s glorious Pontiff; while in one miracle the hand of each one’s potency is so conveniently and wonderfully patent. For they are perhaps of equal potency in the celestial kingdom, who stand forth effectors of one virtue with so amicable an operation. Nor yet did one offend the other, while one dissolved the things bound by the other, because the same potency in both binds and looses; as the artificer’s hand, which, as it shall please, makes of the same stamen or the subtegmen of thread nodes involucres or flexuously laxable handles. Of this miracle so many witnesses exist as men or women, youths or maidens consist in the same vill. That priest, called Samuel, attests these things; and Sproich, her father, never prosecutes by narrating these things without tears.

Chapter One Hundred and Nine: How swift a vengeance of pain he merited, who impudently derided and contemned blessed Cuthbert’s name #

¹ Nor do I deem it to be passed over, how the holy Confessor of the Lord avenged that man’s injuries, because his piety never deserts those mindful of himself. After the same man learned the notice of Saint Cuthbert’s virtue from the same miracle, he was accustomed ever to commit all his goods to blessed Cuthbert. By how much the more vehemently he cultivated him with the desire of piety, by so much the more severely was God’s Saint accustomed to avenge his injuries. The Count’s Provost Eilavus, therefore, for the betrothal of his daughter, insisted to have some donative by extorting with violence; but, he rebating, could prevail to perquire nothing from him against the fas of due right. At length on a certain day that provost entered the man’s house furious, and, because the man had nothing else of riches, that truculent plunderer departed leading away his cow. To whom that man: “Because I am not able, may the holy Confessor of the Lord, Cuthbert, who succours and pities all invoking him, himself be made to-day the swift avenger of my injury. Nor may anything prosperously happen that place this day, wherever all the substance of my poverty, translated and torn from me, shall remain. You therefore, Saint Cuthbert, mildest of Saints, repress the contumacy of this my plunderer; and in the place where he shall have enclosed my cow, pour forth the swift vindication of your fury.” But the provost garrulous, and promising him worse things by comminating for his Cuthbert, propelled that cow before him to Were, and compelled it to be stabled in the house of a certain man Elsi, who existed under his right of dominion. Yet he ever said, and very often replicated, while he stood in the house; “That rustic could excellently delude me; but for his Cuthbert I know not of what potency I should have restored him his own.” Nor had he yet finished his words, and see fire, as though coming from lightning, kindled that house round about; and, leaving utterly nothing, reduced all things to cinders and ash by consuming. The cow alone, terrified by the flames, sprang forth unhurt, and, lowing long without, raised all to admiration. Yet nothing in the vill perished save that house alone; that blessed Cuthbert’s virtue might the more evidently become known to all, and the temerarious presumption of the facinorous pass not without avenging pain. The same day his cow was restored to that man his lord.

Chapter One Hundred and Ten: How he was punished who, against Saint Cuthbert’s prohibition, carried off an axe from another’s house #

¹ At another time a certain Walter the Fleming existed in the same little vill, who was keen in soul and sufficiently proterve in purpose, known to very many. He, led by the impetus of a blind heart, went to the same man’s house, and violently drew off an axe depending in it. Meanwhile the matron, to whom the common custody of the house had been delegated, repressed the violent surreptor, and prohibited him with grave intermination from presuming to tear away the axe of Saint Cuthbert’s servant. “That axe,” she said, “was lately transmitted here, procured by the Almoner from his money, for the materials of pontes to be cut. And so in Saint Cuthbert’s name I prohibit you, lest you carry forth my lord’s axe from this house, lest perhaps you incur the offence of so venerable a Saint by your temerity. For he is ever punished quickly and with too horrendous a kind of vengeance who contemns him, nor has anyone presumed anything temerariously who was not punished with swifter avenging pain.” But he, stomachating against her, deferred nothing to the holy Confessor’s venerable name, but rather vomited many reproaches against him with a blasphemous mouth; “Ill,” he said, “can Cuthbert vindicate in me or another, whom I have never found to succour anyone.” Saying such things within himself he departed, and, insane in heart but also profane in work, arrived at the place where he had stretched. The axe, therefore, being elevated on high, the iron at once sprang from the haft, and dashed out the brain of the nearest man standing opposite him, who had persuaded this work of wickedness. But while he lifted the haft higher, failing with an unattempted blow, he at once fell supine to the earth from behind. With the stump of the haft, moreover, he so struck himself between the temples that he could scarce respire half-alive. That axe, therefore, was at once restored to its lord, and the magnificent glory of blessed Cuthbert was borne the more manifestly to all. So is blessed Cuthbert prone to his suppliants for the aid of compassion; and a severe retributor of evils upon his contemners, according to the diverse operamina of deserts. Merciful in all tribulation by succouring the more quickly, and a severe vindicator, by retributing the due rewards of supplications to the impious.

Chapter One Hundred and Eleven: How a wild hawk devoured a bird in Farne, but could not go out until it was permitted #

¹ There is a certain island, called Farne, set in the midst of the sea; which from Saint Cuthbert’s ancient inhabitation is redundant with much virtue. This Bartholomew the Monk inhabits in these days, who keeps the exercise of solitary life by loving it. He had a certain moderate bird, which had inhabited the same island with him from much time. Which was so familiar and domestic to him and his that it was accustomed to take foods from their hand; and daily by custom ever at the meal-hour, now above, sometimes beside the table, was zealous to sit, jest and eat, the use being as it were converted into nature. This work it cultivated the whole time of the year without intermission, and was to some for a miracle, but to not a few for the spectacle of jocose alleviation. At last, on a certain day, it fortuitously happened that solitary, necessity urging, sailed to another island set near by with his men, and that bird remained alone at home as it were the house’s keeper and guest. From this a wild hawk swooping down seized it, and, torn with beak and claws, devoured it. But not with impunity; for it afterwards spent the whole day for nothing, because, flying out of the island circumflying round about, it could prevail nowhere to escape, hide, or go out. For because it had injured blessed Cuthbert’s peace, it could find nowhere the place of flight or the quiet of peace. At last, fatigued with immense sweat and sedulous circuit, it flew together to the subsidies and patronages of him whom it had injured. For it fled to the church, and in an angle beside the altar, with submitted head and demitted wings and hispid body, dreaded as though conscious of its guilt. The monk at last returning, found his bird devoured, because he found its plumes with the bones at the church’s door: and entering the church, while he saw his plunderer so confused and hispid, he began to pity and compassionate it. From this he absolved it, comprehending it in his hands, from the bond of its conscious guilt.

Chapter One Hundred and Twelve: How a certain Norwegian, for six years blind, deaf and insane, was restored by blessed Cuthbert’s clemency, the prayer of the brothers aiding #

¹ From progeny to progeny, the same Lord moderating the various vicissitudes of times without measure, the same potency and clemency of God ever existed in blessed Cuthbert; which also shone back upon kin and remote with sufficiently wondrous and varied virtue of graces and miracles. For we know so many examples of works of piety that we succumb more by multitude than by admiration. Among which, the novelty of that illustrious admiration stood stupendous, which the novel potency of grace innovated for us, seeing the ancient miracles of our blessed father Cuthbert. There was indeed in the land of the Norwegians a youth of most beautiful nature, sprung of the noble stock of the dwellers of that land; whose paternal dwelling in his native soil stood the more frequent in the city of Bergen, because it was accustomed to be the more cultivated and celebrated for the nobles of the land the resorting settlers of the foreign region. His father, named Thurolf, stood forth pre-eminent among the Norwegian prelates as a priest, because the generosity of blood and the abundance of fertile wealth conceded it to him by the right of natural law. From this he decreed his most beloved son to be instructed in the urbane manners of the great and the pleasantries of speeches; and, committed to King Ingo, deputed him to be informed in the royal ministries. Where, six years being fulfilled, he was informed with the examples of much doctrine; for there he both learned the prudence of ministries and exchanged the rude gravity of his maternal tongue for the facility and beauty of the Roman tongue. But because the now more adult age stood forth the more capacious of greater science, his father committed him, removed from the royal offices, to a certain master to be imbued with literal studies for five years. Who in brief learned the rudiments of very much discipline; for the subtlety of keen intellect and the agility of a refined mind exhibited itself to be polished and cultivated the more lightly and gently. Upraised from the breasts of whose doctrine for a moderate time, he was delivered to be informed in the monastery of Steingrave to the more mature institutes of monks. For the instruction of varied discipline is accustomed very often to be the sweetness of a more provident and more sapid doctrine. For while the morality of the mind imbues itself with many institutes, it the more easily accustoms itself to the choicest pledges of studies. In which rudiments, five years being evolved, he is again committed to another litteratus, a very great master, that the more advanced age might be held the more perfect in secular skill. Where because youthful age, friendly to jests and accustomed to drinks and foods, is accustomed to be the more prone to the deviations of levity, the youth himself, that the master’s grace might be the more courageous toward him, obeyed him the more solicitously in all things, and was accustomed to proceed with the master wherever it pleased him, to whatever business. On a certain day, therefore, he conducted his master with him to a wine-tavern, where each, the more freely or after the accustomed manner in the foolish contest of tipplers, indulged the longer in the more prolonged temerities of drink. At last, the more lasting spaces of the night’s darkness being exacted under such striving, his carnal brother, compassionating the errors of youth, began blandly to allure his brother with many admonitions, and to persuade him to return home with himself, now with the threats of parents, then with the words of manifold reproofs. And scarce obtained from him in the last that he would will to return to the paternal hearth with him; and because the drier potation of wine had utterly subjugated the enervated strengths of his body, the youth deplored, feeling rather the hunger of famine than the abyss of his own drunkenness. So, moderate foods being brought, namely bread and butter, he who had believed himself insatiable of many dainties scarce took three little sips. At length, the couches being spread as was customary, reclining to sleep, on that night with the following day and the night coming on, he lay oppressed with so deadly a coming-on of sleep that, many turning him this way and that ever and again, he could in no way be awakened. On the following day indeed, the slumber being shaken off, he settled; but ceased not ever toss his head here and there like the leaf of a wind-agitated tree, without any interval of the biting humour’s interflowing. All at length wondering, and exploring the cause of such a coming-on more studiously, he began to declare that a certain matron, blacker than soot, had appeared to him in his slumbers; who violently twisted the sleeping man’s head with furious hands, and bent back the anterior parts of his head to the posterior of his neck by twisting; and dashed the graver blows of her left hand’s strength in diverse regions of alternating time, and exercised the same work of wickedness, both on the surface of the crown and in the region of the brow or of the back of the head. And departing, commanded that for all the time of his life he should never desist from the agitation of such insanity. Nor should he ever restrain his head from restless motions, but rather precipitate with indefatigable tossings here and there. Which he, in telling, turned all hearing or seeing him to lamentations of tears; because for his inborn prudence and grace alike he was amiable to all: and the desolate sadness of all was the heavier by how much his love and the beauteous comeliness of his manners had before been the more elegant to each of his comrades. Meanwhile his parents, suffused with grief and confounded with sorrow, shut up the languishing youth that whole year in the recesses of their lodging, nor permitted him to proceed to public view at any time. At last, from the immense restlessness of his head and the frequent infelicity of tossing, after an entire month he lost the sweetness of hearing, and from there within the circle of a year lost all the keenness of seeing with the serenity of his eyes. For all the inmost parts of his neck were rotated with indefatigable motions, and the pestiferous insolence of sickness dashed together all the passages or approaches of the senses within by confounding them. From this at last, from the unseasonable motion of the neck’s frame, grief swimming upward in the brain’s cells gradually invaded the interior arteries and veins of the lower throat. And it began, that year being evolved, to make all the throat swell with horrid redness and grave grief, and to cut off from him utterly all facility of voice and speech. Deaf, therefore, blind and mute he stood forth, and ever whirled his head about by tossing from side to side indefatigably. All medicinal industries being at last sedulously applied, everything applied was more a burden of grievance than any remedy of cure. The lids of his eyes indeed seemed to be carried round continuously in his head like the wheeling of the swiftest chariot-wheels. After these things he could insert foods into his mouth for himself by no art, nor pour in the refreshments of drink by instilling them with tremulous lips. For his head could never yield to him, for the asperity of its vague and whirling inflection, any consolation of relief. So, a new art being invented, the keepers began, embracing his head with both hands, to hold it the more firmly with every endeavour of strength, and so to convey foods and victuals into the infirming man’s mouth. Which also they were accustomed to do the more often, until they perceived him to have swallowed the masticated morsels the more perfectly. But if he had a sole minister for his aid, he could by no cunning convey nourishment into him unless he first laid him prostrate or inclined sidelong with his body; and so, the head being let down to the very earth, he might cast into the gaping mouth the sustainment of victuals. And when he had tried to pour in the liquor of drink, at another time he had to dash him to the earth and compress the other foot or hand the more strictly, until whatever liquid should have passed through the passages of the throat. And this was sufficiently to be admired and a mournful spectacle, to see in one man so many kinds of miseries unspeakable and hostile. At last if you had composed a morsel in his hand, you could have seen him impress it now upon his nostrils, sometimes upon his eyes, now beneath his chin, and sometimes upon his face. For the door of his mouth could not be open in consonance with his will or endeavour, in that the turbid convulsion ever drew his mouth aside through the varied places of uncertainty. When therefore all hope of his salvation seemed to all extinct, in that not even in slumbers did the tossing of his head seem quiet, fugitive and refluent; his parents, a more wholesome counsel being conceived, direct the sick man to whatever places consecrated by the Saints’ merits, and commit him to the tutelage and custody of a certain clerk of his brother, called Scheleir. Who through six years led his brother round, labouring with a too sickly weakness, through innumerable places and sepulchres of God’s Saints; but could prevail to find the desired remedies of health nowhere in remote lands or distant bounds. He at last visited Denmark, Iceland, Frisia, and all the marine bays contiguous to Norway, with lands here too many to number; but none indeed of the native Saints chose to afford him any help, solace or relief. For all those Saints reserved so immense a work office for blessed Cuthbert’s potency, virtue and merits; by that chance tenor of dispensation, that they knew themselves unequal and unavailing for the clemency of his piety. At length, destitute of all the Saints’ aid, he was reduced to his paternal bounds. Whom his parents constituted before a certain Bishop, now made an anchorite in the year after Saint Thomas’s martyrdom, and received his counsel such: “I have circumnavigated,” he said, “many windings of lands, but never found more potent in virtue or more prestant in work than Saint Cuthbert the bishop of the English, and Saint Edmund.

² And because Saint Thomas is lately saw to shine among them a new lamp, let a threefold lot be appointed for each of these. Whosesoever lot, therefore, cast a third time shall have thrice ascended to the superior parts, by the deserts of that Saint the Lord has kept this sick man to be restored to health.” Wondrous to tell, the lot cast a third time ever brought forth Cuthbert, and marked out beforehand that the languid man should be restored to health by his patronage. The oracles of which lot his father, nothing doubting, diligently received; and, copious expenses given for the way, he directed him with haste to the bounds of the English with his same brother. Who, journeying through Scotland, fell among robbers, half-naked in their private parts, by whom, blows being laid on them and all things carried off, they scarce escaped half-dead. Coming at last to Durham, they turned aside to the Hospital which is situated without the city’s walls; and the next day, the day dawning higher, they arrived at blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre. Of whom the other brother, who had remained sound, exposed the whole tenor of the premised misery more plainly to the keeper of that sepulchre. Which being related in order to the assembly of brothers, prayers being instituted the more specially, each began the more ardently to insist on pious prayers, and anxiously to implore blessed Cuthbert’s often-experienced bowels of mercy over the same languid man. Who, not deferring the petitioners’ vows, was not wanting to the faith and necessity of others, nor refused to be absent from fraternal charity’s compassion. For on the following day, while it happened to him to go out within the bounds of the church for whatever work, suddenly, his eyes being wiped clean, he saw below the heaped banks of sand the quarters and spokes of the mill-wheels wheeling themselves round in the river’s very rush. Which he then at first reputed to have been men’s heads, for the novelty of his stupor had perhaps heaped up the images of fancy in the form of a vision. From there, while he began to discern the members of each thing by considering the more attentively, he perceived those indeed to be the banks of sand, and himself to have recovered by God’s grace the faculty of discerning sight. From there, affecting his bodily members with the more illustrious exultation of jubilation, he stifled the course of words with the immense stupor of admiration and the astounded vehemence of novel vision. For by how much the more novel the things effected, by so much did he persist the more fixedly to consider them by straining. From this he began to count the birds which flew swiftly around in the air, and frequently to reiterate the numbers of them by comparing them; afterwards, as the account drew out, to number by discretion the flying things of the heavens, the running things of the earth, the creeping things of the regions below and the cloven-hoofed things of the regions above. At last, after the repaired faculty of vision, the outward disfigurement of grief was also abolished; but as yet his voice’s speechlessness and the impediment of his failing hearing remained. Which things, how and when they were recovered, I think it meet to signify by a subsequent relation of him. For as yet he could hear nothing save only the jubilation of things, and with silent lips admire the novelty of vision. At last, he decreed to lead that whole night sleepless through the nocturnal spaces before the glorious Pontiff’s sacrosanct body; because, more cheerful in hope, he had now perceived blessed Cuthbert to be the more prone to him in the benefit’s gift. So, a mat spread beneath him, under the incorrupt body of the glorious Pontiff he composed all his limbs long in that place of his manifold desolation. With which labour fatigued, he went forth higher abroad to the sepulchre’s foot, to go beneath, embrace and kiss the traces, and, with tears flowing copiously, invoked blessed Cuthbert’s clemency, if not with voices, yet from the marrow of heart. And see that glorious Confessor of the Lord, Cuthbert, stood by, clothed all over in albs, solemnly crowned with a mitre, and leaning on a pastoral staff, and, inquiring, said such things in words composed with Roman charm: “Why,” said he, “do you err so long, and do not ask Saint Cuthbert’s mercy?” And with the staff’s point he perforated all the brain of his head through the midst, from the right ear even to the left; and so disappearing the Episcopal stature withdrew. Then, with horrible-sounding voices raised, the wretch uttered such words, and said with plaintive sobs: “Now, brother, men plunder me, and are striving to strip me of my goods.” And his brother running up repressed the voices of him direly whispering, and dashed the frame of his body the more sharply upon the steps of the pavement. For he feared lest his shrill sound should become troublesome to the sleeping brothers, or disturb any of the praying keepers of the sacred body. Where, soon seized with sleep, he saw the same Pontiff standing by him, and embracing all his head a third time with fourfold compass, to have said such things: “Will no more to have yourself so, but take care to invoke God and Saint Cuthbert the more instantly for your solaces. Twist your head no more thus by tossing it, but rather take care from now on to walk the more rightly with your head held erect.” Having said this, he soon disappeared, and the sick man awakening said: “Saint Cuthbert, have mercy on me.” Which the Brothers, the nocturnal synaxis being now nearly ended, hearing, ran up; and him whom the day before they had seen nearly insane, senseless, half-dead, blind and deaf, having neither comeliness nor beauty, they now saw most sound and ruddy, seeing, understanding, hearing, and holding and stretching forth his head in the right natural posture. How great their sighs then, what streams of sweet tears, what great a multitude of gladness poured forth, proclaiming again and again: “Saint Cuthbert, most pious father, to you praises, and to you we render thanks; have mercy on us, propitious have mercy.” Then the choir of those standing by resounded most loudly “Te Deum laudamus”; and they glorified God in blessed Cuthbert rather with the sweetness of tears than with the modulation of voices. And all the bells being struck, each resounded to the Lord long, and preached God’s mighty works. But when morning was made, the assembly of the people being collected, God’s marvels are preached, and, the youth being set before them, all things are retold in order. But because he could not yet speak forth, the inward grief, pervading the souls of each, saddened them for some while. On the following night, therefore, he proceeds again to blessed Cuthbert’s feet, and, going round him with devout kisses, is suddenly fallen asleep. And see blessed Cuthbert now a third time stood by, whom the infinite sweetness of delight, running before, stood by blandly consoling the youth. To whom the Bishop thus said: “Why do you stand so, and do not invoke the clemency of God and blessed Cuthbert by crying with voices and words?” To which the youth soon, thoroughly awaked, wakes, and, uttering such things, proclaimed with words and voices: “Saint Cuthbert, propitious have mercy on me.” And soon he perceived himself to have recovered a fluent tongue and most ready speech; and all these things he himself afterwards narrated to us with his own tongue. Truly, therefore, this was the change of the right hand of the Most High, which appointed blessed Cuthbert’s potency and clemency to be declared to us, set remote and before our eyes in our times. For He disposed the saddened hearts of His own to be gladdened with new joys, while He deferred perfect salvation; that faith, the more perfectly corroborated, ought not to have grown tepid. On the solemn day, therefore, of the Invention of the Holy Cross, the peoples flocking together, wearing a cope in the church choir with the cantor himself before the steps, he chanted “Kyrie eleison” the more solemnly; and afterwards, brought forth before the people, he himself, in the Roman tongue which he had once learned, set forth the whole series of his sickness and cure. For of the circuit of lands, or the places of Saints, or the lots, he himself remembered utterly nothing, because he could feel nothing save the grief of his inward sickness for six years. These things were done in the year from the Lord’s Incarnation 1175, on the dominical night, on the day before the Kalends of May, seven whole years having been accomplished in that infirmity.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen: Of a certain sick man, already made bent, how he came to Saint Cuthbert and received health #

¹ The way of human life has ever been accustomed to be the uncertainty of unsteady change. From this the sane more often fall into various sicknesses, and the infirm very often recover through the Saints’ suffrages by compassion. So it is that even unwilling we recognise our infirmities, and glorify Christ’s works for too great admiration. All which we set forth better by example than by word. There was indeed a certain youth, Ernald by name, in the vill which is called Newton, situate beside Durham, who had lived there from his earliest age. He, while he flourished in strength and was robust in the exercises of single works, suddenly fell into so great a sickness that the remedy of his life stood desperate to all seeing. For swollen in his whole body, he lay languid nearly half a year; from where, sick even to death, having been communicated and confessed, he was thrice watched by his neighbours who with vigils expected his exit. At last, the month of March arriving, three bursting pustules, after the manner of a spreading fistula, broke forth about the midst of his breast; from which, for some days, venomous sanies flowing forth, he held himself somewhat lighter; so that, leaning upon staffs, he could drag himself abroad under the open sky. The sickness, however, did not so diminished perish, but rather with continued languor began to menace him daily as about to make him heir of the extremity. For ever bent, and unless sustained by staffs he went nowhere, because the anguish of his breast and the vehemence of sickness permitted him to be free not a moment of time. At length to Saint Godric’s sepulchre, situate near at Finchale, he twice journeyed, as he could: but receiving no remedy there, on the day before the Ides of September, a Sunday, he came to Durham, to demand Saint Cuthbert’s clemency. Where amid the very solemnities of masses, praying he suddenly fell forward upon the church’s pavement; but, the brothers much compassionating him, and all prostrated and praying for him before the holy Confessor, he arose sound about the refection hour, and gave thanks to Saint Cuthbert. The convent indeed coming from the refectory, he, produced by the Subprior into the brothers’ regular oratory, related all before his comrades standing by; and declared himself restored to perfect health.

Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen: How Saint Cuthbert restored sense to a certain demoniac, and drove away from him the four demons pursuing him from beneath his sepulchre #

¹ How great are the wondrous praises of blessed Cuthbert, the continuous tokens cease not to declare from age to age. There was indeed a certain Youth, deputed from his early adolescence to military services, begotten in Cumberland of a knight father, placed with Robert de Bruis that he might thoroughly learn the military rudiments. He, when he attained the strength of greater age, on a journey was touched with the molestation of sickness, and on the Wednesday before Easter his infirmity so grew worse through single days that on the solemn day of Easter he could not enter the church unless carried by others’ hands. From there the infirmity began to grow heavier daily augmented; and at last prostrated in bed, his strengths exhausted, deprived him of nearly all motion of his own power. For he was accustomed to be reclined from one side to another by another’s aid, nor could he rise from bed or proceed unless, others bearing him up, he could have been lifted by their strength. At last, five weeks being thus passed, though he incurred a returning fever-sickness, he was healed of it; yet escaping its molestation he fell worse, because he lost his senses by utterly putting them off. So, not bringing forth human words in right fashion, but rather grinding something barbarous with a garrulous mouth, he began to utter many unheard things by explaining and to carry about all his body’s members by gesturing in the manner of a madman. To repute all speaking to him for madmen, to esteem their words or admonitions, as also all their works, for delirious or frivolous things; to tear the cheeks of one with the nails of the other hand’s fingers, and to rend or tear in pieces the one the other; and, if it were permitted him, to cast himself headlong into waters or a river; and after all, to assail those sitting by or speaking to him with whatever he could, darts or knives placed near him, and to inflict wounds very often unattempted with a furious hand, as it was permitted him. For because they knew the madness of an insane man, not a few had applied him the more diligent care; some indeed shunned him by avoiding; others, deputed to his service, bore themselves the more modestly and circumspectly. So long, therefore, had the sick man lain bed, and, unmoved in himself, had nearly worn away his skin and flesh, that, his flesh being eaten, even the bones of his shins stood out by being bared. Sometimes he rejoiced more to recognise the bleating of sheep or the song of birds than to know the speech or teaching of men, and persisted the more gladly acquiescing delighted in these. Sometimes indeed he had seen so many troops of demons surrounding him that he was confident their horrid vision and lurid and scorched face and stridulous and fire-vomiting voice, with confused and dissonant multitude, exceeded number. Three weeks indeed driven with such insanity, going here and there, forward and back, he carried himself about, being permitted everywhere; which being finished, as he related, by night by chance sleeping, he recognised God’s glorious Martyr Saint Thomas Archbishop of Canterbury standing by him as soon as he saw him. He was indeed a man of more elegant form, tall stature, of a somewhat long and oblong face, clothed with a black pallium set with white lamb-skins, adorned with a little cap on his head’s crown. Who, addressing him with such words, said; “Why does your lord not journey to Saint Cuthbert or to me, that he may deserve to obtain health from his infirmity?” The servant indeed, pretending that his lord could not proceed to Canterbury, on foot or riding, for the too great strengthlessness of his disease, he began to utter such things with a cheerful mouth; “And if your lord cannot approach Canterbury, where you sufficiently aspire in heart, mounted or on foot, at least carried the more lightly in a horse-drawn vehicle he could the more easily arrive at me or Saint Cuthbert. From this because you love him most, you shall obtain former health through him obtaining it, and this same thing the omnipotent Lord would have conferred on your lord, if he had fled to the Saint’s thresholds and aids.” As soon as he disappeared, the sick man awakening relapsed into the former insanity of infirmity, scarce could restrain his hands from blow or wound, or his mouth and tongue from superstitious ditties and superfluous or serious, sportive and foul words, yet running on with rhythmic tenor and texture. For raging and furious he had ever practised this manner while he laboured under insanity’s misery. Evening at last coming on, and the insanity of his mind’s sense subjugating him the more sharply, he was so furious that he had decreed to assail even his own servant, believing him a thief, with a sword very often sought, which was accustomed once to be laid beside his bed, and to prostrate him slain to the earth. Amid these attempts, contrary to all custom long unusual, oppressed with a dream’s vision he soon lay down, in which he saw such things to have appeared to him. It seemed indeed to him that, placed in Durham under the sepulchre of the blessed Father Cuthbert, which stands out higher from the church’s pavement, he lay prostrate in body with bent knees, and four most atrocious demons standing hard by to inflict cruel wounds upon him with sharpest and hooked lances, now trying to draw him forth strangled with the lances’ hooked points, to pursue him fleeing ever from a diverse region into another, and to perturb him driven, and to wish to stab him through. Of whom two stood out ever pursuing him at the corner paths of the Saint’s feet; the other two assailed him following the more keenly higher toward his head from either side of the sepulchre. That wretch tried ever to flee their assaults by leaping down round about under the sepulchre; but wherever he turned aside, he ever saw and felt them stand by prompt and ready for his prey, if he should flee from under the sepulchre. He asserted them indeed to bear as it were burning thongs in their hands, and saying to each other in turn “Let us try to cast him right out, because then we shall be able to possess him as ours for ever.” Who, from toil and heaviness, or the hardness of the stones, through which he had everywhere fled under the sepulchre in that vision, because he was strangled and nearly desperate of life, at last began to sigh heavily, and to implore the clemency of the most pious Confessor Cuthbert with a groaning voice, and to demand that he would deign to snatch him from the hands of those maligning spirits. He could not yet, however, dare to call them demons more openly, whom he saw stand by him near at hand as it were ravening robbers. To the querulous voices of whose heart a certain voice thus responding as though not afar said, “Not I have brought them here, but you rather have brought them here with you.” As soon as he heard these things, he at once perceived those wicked spirits standing stupified, tremulous, and immovable, and daring to bring him no evil. From this at the speaker’s voice he the more boldly put forth his head a little from under the sepulchre’s stone, and saw God’s holy Confessor Cuthbert in the higher window in the northern part, as it were reclining sideways with a sustaining arm. Who was clothed in white linen, as it seemed to him; in face somewhat elongated, suffused with redness; in the hair of head and beard of middle fineness, sprinkled with the gravity of hoariness: and as it were a golden stole enwrapped his neck orbicularly all round, which, stretched to the lower parts through the midst of his breast, hung down the longer: and sat with face uncovered, the white sudarium cast back a little from the summit of his neck to the back of his head. From this made the bolder and more tranquil in soul, he began with iterated voices anxiously to implore blessed Cuthbert’s clemency, and to say such things within himself complaining: “Holy, pious, Father Cuthbert, aid me and protect me, and snatch me from the snares of these devils.” Now indeed he had conceived a spirit the more fervent and secure, for the presence of blessed Cuthbert whom he saw; and for that reason now boldly named the demons, whom before he had scarce presumed to name trembling with spirit alone. For he had feared for himself, if he should name them with so confused a word, lest he should exasperate them the more sharply by moving them against him; and then most of all while he saw them before as it were robbers imminent for his prey. At length, his head erect, he saw him wholly sitting upright. Who sustained his face gently reclined by propping it with the other hand, and, as though to hear the voices of the supplicant, turned his starry eyes and radiant face upon the wretch. Which he perceiving, again began to insist with frequent prayers, and to say more often by adding such things: “Saint Cuthbert, now separate and expel these demons from me; because it is wondrous enough and horrid, that you, a Confessor of so great virtue, have permitted demons to approach the thresholds of your church, and to ascend even to the more sacred heights of your sepulchre, whom I had until then believed never to be able to proceed beyond the utmost bounds of your church’s atrium.” To whom blessed Cuthbert: “This you and your like do, who presume to enter the church’s thresholds with an ill-composed mind and proud and erect neck, with a distended, swollen, boastful and flowing throat; and there placed, who ought to have attended and devoted yourselves to prayers alone and celestial studies, fear not to serve irreverently with libidinous and superfluous meditations, before the Lord and the holy presence of His Saints. But from now on do procure, as by ordinary custom instituted to all Christians, as often as you shall come to the door about to enter the church, first with knees fixed in the earth most devoutly kiss the thresholds, and afterwards the posts and doors, and then, three fingers of your right hand extended, remember ever to defend your entrance with the banner of the sacrosanct cross.” And, his right hand erect, he showed him with the gentle bending of his holy fingers how he ought to arm himself with the cross’s sign. “And so long,” he said, “as you shall be within the septa of churches, intend ever to the Lord with continual meditation, mouth and voice, and cease not to interpellate that Saint in whose name that place was consecrated; and remove utterly all the defilements of unchaste meditations from your heart.” And again after a little he added; “Why do you act so?” To whom he; “Lord, see how these follow me, infest and drive me, and permit me not to be quiet.” At last the Saint; “Why do you speak so confusedly and foolishly and stupidly?” But he; “Lord, too great infirmity, as you see, compels me, and permits me not to speak sanely.” To whom the Saint; “I will not that you speak so any more from now on.” At whose words the demons soon, with backward steps retreating ever and but a little, and more often as it were sad and mournful, turning their scorched eyes’ orbs as it were downcast upon him; at last, their backs turned, fled through the midst of the church’s walls, nor appeared to him further. After which the youth at once waking felt himself most sound, and, his lord commanding, on the fourth day of the following sabbath, came rejoicing to Durham from the vill which is called Hert, with certain of his companions and his keepers in the time of his infirmity. All which he and his companions related in the assembly of the brothers, many witnesses of clerks and laymen being brought; and raised the minds of many to praise blessed Cuthbert’s marvels in Christ. And because he still stood somewhat weaker with empty forces and evacuated strengths, as he himself asserted, as soon as he entered the thresholds of blessed Cuthbert’s church, he felt himself to have most perfectly received all the strength of his former health. And approaching the sepulchre, he composed himself wholly under the glorious Pontiff’s body, and narrated to the bystanders how he had before borne himself, and had fled the pursuing demons, or where he had seen Saint Cuthbert. And he returned home most sound the same day, and, the bell being struck, dismissed the brothers chanting praises to the Lord, their fellowship being first received. These things were done in the next week after Pentecost, on the Wednesday, the fourteenth Kalends of July, on the feast of Basil the Great. He fell into his first sickness on the Wednesday before Easter, and after five weeks collapsed into insanity, after three weeks, as is written above, received health, and came to Durham the following Saturday.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen: Of a certain noble matron, liberated by blessed Cuthbert’s deserts from the iliac passion #

¹ There was a certain noble matron, Agnes, adorned with much morality of virtue. For the grace of an honest, provident and pious-mannered, fruitful and mature conversation adorned the nobility of her kind. It happened, therefore, that, as was customary accustomed to her, she observed the more solicitously the days of blood-letting of diminished blood, in that she had very often learned from many such observance of custody to be most necessary to all in weak health. And because adverse things then more frequently came upon her, when each of men more ardently desires prosperous things, it fortuitously happened that somewhat of sinister perturbation happened to her, with which, suddenly aggravated the more anxiously, she exchanged the quiet of diminution for the vehemence of the keenest tribulation, all her heart’s blood being troubled. Which commotion of blood, while it could not be attenuated the more quickly, gradually descending into worse, suddenly brought forth the sharpest passion of the iliac with frequent vertigo of the intestinal viscera. Among which, the gout, sufficiently accustomed to many kinds of diseases, ran too bloodily, and threw forward the confused motion of blood and the sickness of the iliac, with the immense passion of the inward parts, mixed in confused order. From this the grief which the aforenamed triple passion had effected ascended to the feminine heart which naturally lies hid in the left side; and for many days rendered her nearly senseless and lifeless. Despaired of, therefore, by many as to recovering health, she began to languish longer, and stood so vexed with immense griefs that she very often chose rather to lead a swift death than so funereal a life. At last, a wholesome counsel being conceived; three of her friends appointed lots to the three chief Saints of the English, namely Saint Cuthbert, Saint Edmund, and blessed Thomas Christ’s precious Martyr; vowing they would conduct her to him whosesoever Saint’s lot should come out uppermost a third time without another’s intervention. In wondrous wise, therefore, the three particles of those lots being wrapped in a cloth, while the woman herself put in her hand to seize one of them, a third time without any other’s intervention she seized the particle of lot which was dedicated to Saint Cuthbert. From this at once the more cheerful in hope and the stronger in faith, she vowed herself about to set forth to Saint Cuthbert, and, a candle being made measured by her whole body, began in the same hour to grow better. Who soon afterwards came to Durham by riding alone without another sustaining her, who before could scarce be sustained or moved by four servants for any bodily office. And there passing the night in Saint Mary’s church, the next day she came within the church’s threshold, and, certain brothers of the church being summoned, giving thanks to Saint Cuthbert, told all these things to them, and as soon as she had touched the church’s threshold declared herself, rejoicing with tears flowing broadly, restored entire to perfect health.

Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen: Of a Clerk who laboured with a double pest of sickness; how he came to Saint Thomas, and, sent by him to Saint Cuthbert, received health #

¹ A certain clerk, not mediocrely imbued with literal knowledge, in the first time of his consecration had been deputed for some while to the ministries of blessed Thomas Archbishop of Canterbury, afterwards indeed martyr, before the tempest of his exile. Who afterwards passed to the ministries of the Archbishop of York, and, staying long in his services, incurred the molestation of gravest sickness. For through some years he had been accustomed every day to disgorge by vomiting from his mouth whatever of alimony or food he had taken by natural debt or human custom. And after a like manner he daily discharged a flux of blood through the posterior passages of nature, which he would disclose to nearly no man for confusion and shame. From there he long suffered in the eyelids of his eyes, and though not blind, yet dim-sighted, could see more darkness than light with grieving pupils. At last he came to the sepulchre of Christ’s glorious Martyr Thomas at Canterbury, where he had more often learned very many miracles of healings to be done; and there for fifteen days praying, passing the night and watching, weeping and wailing, demanded God’s precious Martyr to have mercy on him propitiously. But that glorious one, though he could have restored him to health in a moment, yet deferred longer, with such a dispensation of piety, that he might be made the purer from all contagion of sin by the very longanimity of patience. At last, he being long fatigued and affected with a more tepid spirit from the deferring of health, on a certain day, after tears and prayers at the Reverend Martyr’s tomb, seized with sleep fell asleep; and recognised God’s holy Martyr appearing to him in a vision as soon as he saw him. Who prostrated himself rolled at his feet, as it seemed to him, and ceased not anxiously to pray that he would deign to have mercy on his misery. To whom the Saint: “I will not restore you the health you seek, but rather proceed to Saint Cuthbert, Christ’s Confessor, because by his deserts obtaining you can obtain mercy and the grace of health.” To whom the clerk said, suffused with tears; “O holy father Lord, my sweetest advocate, be unwilling to send me from you to another Saint, since you can restore me my lost health by your sole command. Art not you that glorious one who have mercy on all the lost, lapsed, sick, and all in peril?” To whom the Martyr: “I am indeed; but I will effect nothing against my fellow-soldier Saint Cuthbert, because he is most potent in the kingdom of the celestial soldiery. From this I will that those who would obtain health of mine from their infirmity by his deserts go and flee to him, and that his servants and ministers, languishing or despairing, come to me. I indeed will confer the desired aid upon his, and will from now on send mine to him to be healed. If, therefore, you shall have gone to Saint Cuthbert, you shall obtain the health you demand from him.” Which said God’s Saint soon disappeared; and that clerk coming to Durham with the Bishop on the Vigil of the Lord’s Ascension, the same day on which he approached blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre received the long-desired health. All which he himself related to a certain priest, Chaplain of the Bishop of Durham, and laid open the miseries of the sicknesses with which he had long been afflicted to a certain Religious, a secret confession being made, all shame being put off. And he returned sound to his own with joy, who had come there weighed down with so many molestations of sicknesses.

Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen: Of one suffering a flux of the belly, healed by dust scraped from a certain stone of Saint Cuthbert #

¹ A certain one of the company of brothers of the church of Durham, coming to the northern bounds, led by devotion to blessed Cuthbert, began to visit the island of Farne carried by ship. Where while he hastened to embark, after the admonitions and colloquies of the brothers residing there, a certain clerk his servant, admiring, approached a very great stone, which once the holy Confessor the Lord Cuthbert, assisted by angelic aid, alone imposed upon the wall of his building. From this he began to scrape for himself some dust from that stone’s hardness, by the ways he could, though with difficulty; believing it could by blessed Cuthbert’s deserts succour certain sick in time to come. On the following day, therefore, coming to the neighbouring vill in which that brother had certain friends, about to lodge, they find a certain one of the house’s servants sick rather gravely with a flux of the belly; for whose importunate querulous and groaning voices they, about to rest that night, suffered grave molestations of disquiet. The sick man indeed could not be quiet one hour, because, placed in bed, he could scarce contain himself one moment of time. The miseries of whose crying they who had beds in the same house about to rest bore the more gravely; but yet compassionating the wretch, conferred the alleviations of words which they could the more kindly upon him. Morning being made indeed, that clerk approached the brother, bringing forth the dust before him which he had, saying he believed Saint Cuthbert could through the use of that dust succour the wretch as quickly as possible. Which also the sick man confessed himself faithfully to believe, that brother, without delay, commanded water to be poured into a cup, and put part of the dust in with the sign of the holy Cross. Which draught as soon as the sick man tasted, he felt the flux of his belly cease in the same hour. From there, his strength gradually resumed, he so recovered that also at the refection hour, rising alone by himself, he went to eat with them and the house’s household, which for some days before he could not. And the same day he utterly put off all the stain of his former sickness, and, rejoicing, could sit with those feasting or talking without any molestation, and exercise whatever work. Yet he remained weaker than his former state, which yet after some days, his strength resumed, he felt utterly extirpated.

Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen: How the Sheriff of Northumbria fell sick, and, Saint Cuthbert medicating, was cured #

¹ A certain man, John the Sheriff, in the region of Northumbria, most wealthy in resource and power, incurred so great a sickness of interior misery that, his stomach loathing and the receptacle of his throat refusing, he lost nearly all the alimony of food or drink. To whom by how much the industry of physicians was applied with the more solicitous care, by so much was the molestation of his misery grown with continuous increments. At last, possessed of a more wholesome counsel, and a vow being made to venerate God’s holy Confessor Saint Cuthbert, carried by ship he approached the island of Farne, which was not far off. Where an oblation being made, and the pious devotion of tears offered to the Lord, he soon merited to receive the desired health, and, with the brothers who warred for the Lord as solitaries in the same island, took food and drink together before he should embark to return. And the viler and less dainty meats savoured the sweeter to his tasting palate, by that chance that they had for long disused his mouth to taste anything. Sound therefore and unharmed he returned home with joy, who had come there sick and weak with the greatest grief and labour.

Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen: Of that man’s wife, similarly sick; how she came to the island of Farne, and was healed there #

¹ Not much after, his wife fell into a grave sickness of desperation; which disease is also accustomed to be incurable to physicians. For she had laboured with the iliac passion a diuturnal time, which daily verged to the worse with continuous miseries. And because salvation is ever possessed in desire by the languishing, the human body is very often worn with various griefs and burnings, that the hoped health may at least be repaired with many miseries. From this she also, cauterised the more sharply about the very ilia, and, in the very cicatrices of the burnings, horse-hair bristles triply twisted and imposed within, was most gravely afflicted long. For she believed she could soothe miseries of diuturnal infirmity by these griefs of medicine, and stab out grief by diminishing it with grief’s sting. But to her all things fell out adversely, because the cauterised grief had grown up with augments, and the iliac grief, the more exasperated by the fire’s touch, wounded the gravity of infirmity the more sharply by stimulating it. Therefore, the gravity of the intestinal sickness raging, the more devouring flame of so great heat had kindled the intestines of the languishing ilia, that it could scarce ever be refreshed with any dew of refreshment or the mediating subtegmen of shadow. To so great a heat also the intemperance of ardour was accustomed to succeed, which even the patience of human body itself could not have sustained. From there so asperrimal a cold ceased not to burn up all things semi-ust with heat and ardour, that, with the great hearths kindled like a burning oven, it could be warmed by no ingenious art. Clothed with nothing more than a sole shift most often, she was applied denuded in her whole body to the more vehemently kindled globes of fire, nor yet was the asperity of the raging cold diminished in anything. From this also the shift with which she was clothed, because it could scarce or never be warmed when the body was exposed to fires, most often or even perished scorched, because, interposed as it were a mediatrix to the most fervent heats, it was even most often kindled by the very torches of the fires. It happened, therefore, that for the occasion of this grief she made herself three pairs of shifts in single weeks, in that the burning of fire was accustomed to devour with the most wonted burning a change of shifts every third week. At last, the counsel of all hope being frustrated, she attempted to approach the atria of the church’s exterior, licit to women’s ingress. A brother, therefore, being summoned who dwelt conversing within, offered her a towel for the altar’s covering. Which being imposed upon the altar, as soon as the solitary returned within, he found the woman, before procurved through a year, now erect by herself alone, and she who could scarce move quadrupedally through the whole year’s time from place to place, now, her staffs left at the church’s atrium door, diverted alone without any alleviation of sustaining to the hospice house which is in the island. Which that brother seeing, at once excited ran to her, and set such foods as he had. But asked of her former infirmity, she answered herself to be utterly sound and safe, and affirmed she felt no grief about her reins and ilia. And refreshed she ascended the ship with her comrades joyful and sound: and returning home and referring thanks to Saint Cuthbert, felt nothing afterwards utterly of her former sicknesses.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty: Of a certain brother who, from an obstruction of the breast, lost his voice; how he recovered it #

¹ That brother also, who was accustomed to live solitary in the island for very many years, had incurred by chance so great an obstruction of the breast, lungs, arteries and throat from diuturnal inhabitation that, his throat being intercluded, he had lost nearly all faculty of speaking or singing. For he scarce ruminate the due of psalmody with stridulous mouth, thin voice, and raucous jaws; indeed also he could scarce fully perceive the speech of one talking with another by addressing him with words. From this no moderate grief of heart had invaded him for this cause, and suffused him with redness, because all his acquaintances and friends had once known him to have been of clear voice, and now, for the too great feebleness of his voice, he himself could not solemnise masses and the other sacred solemnities. It happened, therefore, that he ought to be made hebdomadary of the divine service; and, the sabbath’s evening coming on, the next day the solemn dominical day was instant. That brother, therefore, who had been with him in the same island, the services of the preceding week being fulfilled, commending to him the following week to be entered, said, “What was mine I have now perfected by discharging; now do undertake the work of service and of the office pertaining to you.” He, going out, with a sad face now sat under the open sky alone at the eastern part of the church, complaining within himself the more gravely of himself, and pouring sobs with tears from his breast’s depth. At last conversed within himself, he began to conceive faith of blessed Cuthbert’s clemency, and, proceeding before the pious Confessor’s altar, to invoke mercy the more instantly than accustomed. Soon, therefore, the glorious Pontiff’s potency and clemency was present, and that savage obstruction of breast, lungs and throat wholly leapt apart. For, as he is accustomed to attest, he heard and within himself felt as it were the sharpest crepitations of crushed wooden strength to creak, and with immense crashing to effect the graver shrill sound. And he felt the heaps of tenacious and livid humour broken up with a sudden disruption. From this soon going out of the church, he vomited the whole mass of that constipation, infirmity and obstruction; but neither on that day or any time after did he feel whatever of such molestation hurt him. Recovering, therefore, he received a voice so clearest, and uttered the straits of lasting infirmity loosed through blessed Cuthbert’s clemency.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One: Of a certain woman bereft of either light of her eyes, how wondrously blessed Cuthbert appeared to her, and restored sight to her, as he had foretold #

¹ Among the hidden things which He nods to each more secretly, certain signs of miracles He also shows openly to all. For His clemency is accustomed to be absent from no sex, but He is accustomed to be present to all piously invoking Him by benignly succouring. There was indeed in Durham a certain matron, bereft of the sight of her eyes long, sufficiently most known to many citizens of Durham. Who could nowhere proceed without stumbling unless led by another; but because she was most poor, she most rarely had a prevenient guide of her nebulous journey. For if she had met any riders in the way, she could never avoid the steps of the treading horses with her sight’s edge unless another led her out; from where, palpitating her precipitate steps with a staff, she was accustomed very often ignorantly to dash her indignant head against the outward hanging ledges of windows, or the stumbling-blocks of great stones or truncs. While on a certain night she lay sleeping in bed, suddenly it seemed to her that a certain one had commanded her to flee to the stone cross which stands in blessed Cuthbert’s cemetery, to which soon fleeing she believed herself in that very vision to have been kissed and embraced by it. Which ran down from it excited into blessed Cuthbert’s church, from where coming to the bases of the great columns, it seemed to her she had seen all the church’s interior together with Saint Cuthbert’s sepulchre. To whom two men soon meet, of whom one seemed to have been all sprinkled with grey, but the other was believed to have been intermixedly sub-rufous. The senior of them, therefore, at once embracing her by constringing the valleys of her shins and knees with one arm, but complecting the midst of her body with the other, seemed to have raised her higher and carried her forth from the church. The other of the Saints astringed her pectorals and back’s posterior parts with his elbows, and so exported her outside the church’s thresholds. She being so carried forth, suddenly began thus to wail by complaining, and weeping to say; “Woe to me miserable! that I so impudent entered blessed Cuthbert’s church, because I know it was never presumed unpunished by any woman.” To whom weeping, that sub-rufous one, who was at her right, said, “I am Bishop Cuthbert, about to take no vindication for this excess, I shall be in anything troublesome to you.” Then she, “Saint Cuthbert,” she said — and groping by palpitating by chance found a hole in the wall, and because it was beside the couch of that litter, nearly next the strewings, she believed it could lie hid from all for ever. Then the same men, circling part of the church with her from the greater northern door to the door which stands out to the church’s west in the wall, there set her and thus said to her: “Raise your head and eyes on high, and eagerly inspect, adore and intend what you see there.” Then she lifted her head on high with her lights, and saw as it were a great cross standing out in the height of that western wall. Intending upon it, therefore, and infixing her gazes the more keenly, she suddenly saw the image of our Lord Jesus Christ affixed with nails, and, blood flowing from each wound, as it were a living man moved in that cross. Whose face seemed clemently to direct upon her, and to show her His hands with feet and head, mobile in that cross. Then, her palms stretched to heaven, she began more often to demand the Lord’s clemency, and to cry that He would have mercy on her. After these things Saint Cuthbert, turned to her, said; “You shall lately come here, and in this place, me largishing, shall receive health.” Having said this, soon either of the Saints entering that little western door, entered the church, and reclosing the door after them, appeared no further. She indeed, waking, at once related the aforewritten vision to her host and the consociates of the house, and, a small coin being taken from the wall’s hole, procured two moderate candles from it. Which, led to Finchale, she there offered, but though she there twice fell forward as though about to receive health, blind yet as she was before, she returned to Durham. Meanwhile on the solemn day of Saint Mary’s Assumption, remembering her former vision, led by chance to the church, she commanded herself to be conducted to the place where in the vision she had seemed to herself to lie before. Who soon made in excess of mind, fell forward there; and raising her face to the upper parts, merited to see the same cross and our Lord Jesus Christ living, as before, and moving Himself. From whose crucified right side she sees Saint Cuthbert standing in the form in which she had seen him before, regarding her, and as it were by nods hinting to the Lord, petitioning for her health. Then she, voices elated, and palms stretched to the sublime, began more often to exorate the standing troops of people, and to supplicate that they would interpellate the Lord’s and Saint Cuthbert’s clemency for her; saying, “See I see our Lord Jesus Christ on high in that wall affixed and alive in the sacrosanct Cross’s gibbet, and I see Saint Cuthbert standing at His right side there beside that great glass window. From this also I beg you each intercede for me, that, Saint Cuthbert pitying, as He has promised me, I may receive the light of my eyes.” Then all and each, bending knees and beating breasts, insisted on prayers the more attentively, as each willed the more devoutly to confer aid upon her for their power. At last she again falling to the earth, and there adhering somewhat longer, at last arose sound; and, her eyes’ light received, saw clearly all things set round. And that she might make faith to all that she had now perfectly received her eyes’ light, she at once rose without a guide; and alone, all seeing after her, descended to the river’s bank, and, a very great stone seized in her shoulders, exported it from there to the church’s anterior bounds. From this from that day until then she has ever availed to see clearly, and related the order of her vision and the languor of her diuturnal infirmity before the Subprior and many brothers of the church, many of Durham bearing her testimony. For from the time she was a girl of twelve years she ever stood dim-sighted and turbate in vision; but for two years before these things appeared to her, she was utterly blind.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two: Of a certain boy seized by a demon, and saved by Saint Cuthbert’s rescue #

¹ A certain youth in age, born this side the river Wear in the city of Durham, prevented on the Vigil of the Lord’s Nativity by a manifold troop of malign spirits, began to be so perturbed that he utterly lost his sensual intellects. For, as the same little boy now sane asserts, he was accustomed to be rotated or jactated amid their assaults like a ball among jocant hands. From this nevertheless, vexed so for some weeks, he recovered in some part; but after fifteen days again before Saint Mary’s Assumption he incurred the pest of the same insensibility and dementia. For days sometimes two or three, his father and mother seeking him, he could nowhere be found; because, as he himself related, he was accustomed to be led away, seduced, and deluded to alien kingdoms and places by his former malign spirits. He, when he heard the case and misery of the aforewritten woman, soon alone with a staff pertransited the torrid river’s waters, and coming there, fell forward nearly beside the same woman, and, recognising health, offered a candle illuminated within the church to be offered to Saint Cuthbert; whose light the wind raging twice extinguished, but, all the people seeing and testifying, twice illuminated by itself suddenly, respirated, resplended. Which when he had offered to Saint Cuthbert for thanksgiving at his sepulchre, he never afterwards felt anything of that infestation, delusion, or pervasion of demons.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three: Of a certain woman blind of one eye, illuminated by Saint Cuthbert’s medicating #

¹ Another certain woman, born of Foxdene, called Osanna by name, deprived five years of the light of her right eye, arrived there at the western church’s door. But soon she fell to the earth, and lay there some while like a half-dead. This woman’s eye’s eyelid had intumesced all that time with deforming redness, from where a certain flux continually after the manner of distilling phlegm flowed forth from the same eyelid. From this from superabounding phlegm the tumour ever grew to augments, and procreated the grosser matter of the redness. Monocular, therefore, and blind she lay there some while, but after some hours, by Saint Cuthbert’s deserts, seeing and sound she arose. And afterwards she availed to see so perspicuously with the before blind eye as she was accustomed to see with the other never infirmed. Of whose infirmity many witnesses attend both in Durham and of the same vill, who knew her deprived of one eye’s light the whole same five years.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four: Of a certain woman whom a wicked Spirit was accustomed frequently to cause to fall with buffetings; how she obtained health #

¹ There was also another, in the vill which is called Bruntun, who had lived there from earliest days, the kind of whose sickness can strike into infidels the horror of a certain tremulous terror. For through many years, while she was spinning or weaving or effecting anything else of work, most often suddenly and unawares a hostile hand was accustomed to assail her by buffeting, and to prostrate her rushing to the earth with magnitude of blow. But if she had sat above waters or at the fire to warm herself, and that hostile hand had struck her, she would have fallen into them with precipitate velocity, unless by chance the solace of another had the more quickly prevented the misfortune of such a fall by aiding. Labouring, therefore, with the pest of this misery, and nearly failing from desperation, she at last conceived in mind to flee to the suffrages of God’s Saints; that she might be liberated from the incommodity of such perturbation by their deserts and prayers. And because she heard frequent miracles were done at the sepulchre of the Man of God Godric, for the occasion of this sickness she had decreed to journey to Finchale, where his body rests. From this taking her journey, she diverted to the little vill which is called Thorp, to rest by night. Where by a nocturnal vision she was forewarned with such allocution: “Before you shall have arrived at Finchale, receiving health you shall be liberated from yours infirmity.” Morning being made, therefore, hastening to Finchale, but passing the city of Durham, she suddenly heard the bell sounding to blessed Cuthbert’s church; from where soon instructed in spirit, she diverted there to pray. For all the church’s signs were then beaten for the greater mass’s introit, because the solemnities of the Assumption of blessed Mary God’s Mother were then the more solemnly celebrated there. Who arrived at the western region’s wall, and there falling forward and arising again some while, merited by Saint Cuthbert’s deserts to be liberated from that infirmity. All these things that woman herself related to the church’s brothers.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five: How a certain little boy, long afflicted with dysentery, was healed by blessed Cuthbert’s deserts #

¹ A certain little boy in age, but mature perhaps in the pious devotion of his mind, born in the little vill of Berwick in the province of Lothian, was kindled in mind by the hearing of the miracles which were done by Saint Thomas Martyr of Canterbury: from where taking his journey he hastened to visit his sepulchre. Who, sound, reached Durham, where, oppressed with the disease of dysentery, he languished for nearly four weeks before all; and suffered the flux of his belly with digestion of blood so continuous and importunate that he could reside in utterly no place, or lie for a moment, where he left not the foul vestiges of his sickness behind him. Hearing at last that miracles were done at blessed Cuthbert’s church, producing himself there in the way he could, now sustained by another’s hand, now by a staff, he began to lean. Who as soon as he arrived there, in a certain lateral angle of the church before the altar which is there, suddenly fell forward after the manner of those to be healed. From this after a little arising, and now feeling himself sound by blessed Cuthbert’s deserts, he went forth to his sepulchre to render him thanks, and exposed the miracle of this benefit to the sacrist of the interior church. Who soon gave thanks to God, and, those who had lodged the sick man being called, proved all things of his sickness and health to have been true.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six: Of a languid man distended with tumour, healed by Saint Cuthbert’s liberation #

¹ A certain man living in Rudebi, from the sudden announced imminent death of his brother, was so perturbed with the horror of a certain sudden whispered report that he nearly put off all the sense of his heart, and at last, somewhat returned into himself, began most sharply to sicken nearly one year to Saint Mary’s Assumption, but on the day of that holy Mother of God’s assumption the year revolving, recovered health, as we shall say, by Saint Cuthbert’s patronage. For the grief bursting from the oppression of his obstructed breast, distended itself through the members of his whole body, from where also every part of his members appeared resolved into a most desperate tumour. At last he fled to the protection, aid and thresholds of Saint Thomas the precious Martyr, but for the slender credulity of his faith exported a moderate somewhat of remedy from there. The tumour at last grew and increased by raging, and about the times of the paschal feast, an abscess being formed between the compages of his shoulders, broke forth, the venom flowing through the openings of the eruption. Nor yet did he so recover, but rather, the pest of grief growing heavier, laboured under a dire bundle of sickness, the remedy of health being despaired of. At last, after the uses of all medicaments and counsels, he decreed to flee to Saint Godric’s sepulchre, where from recent rumour he learned new insignia of miracles to appear the more frequently. Who coming there, but not attaining the demands of his desire, about to return through Durham approached Saint Cuthbert’s thresholds, and suddenly entering fell forward in the midst of the church’s posterior part. Where, many seeing, he vomited all the venom which had long beset his breast, and afterwards arising, felt himself, Saint Cuthbert’s deserts aiding, to have been healed of all his sickness. All which he himself related before many witnesses, and, referring thanks to God in Saint Cuthbert, returned sound to his own.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven: How a knight, who had willed to descend to the cemetery on horseback, suddenly fell headlong with his horse #

¹ A dissension being made between the primates of the land the king of England, William king of Scotland, an army collected, began to devastate the bounds of Northumbria set round with the broad slaughter of devastation. For he favoured the parts of those adverse to king Henry, endeavouring to restore the king’s son to the throne of the realm, the king’s father being despoiled. From this the southern princes of England, mustered with a great force of armed men, began to prevent and to guard the irruptions of realm and people. So, the army of the English coming as far as Durham, many of them with devout oblation were zealous to commend themselves to blessed Cuthbert’s patronage. And about to enter his church, the sword ungirt, and descending from their horses, prone and suppliant they were clothed with humility’s ornament. Among whom a certain knight precious in praise, grandiloquent in mouth, elate with the pomp of action and heart, while he was carried on a foaming horse to the cemetery’s further bounds, after the manner of the rest disdained to proceed or enter to the holy Confessor’s church with feet and humble step. His comrades indeed and many others sedulously exhorted him to descend from his horse and proceed to the church with humble gait; but he, by how much the more devout he could be made from many’s admonition, exhibited himself the more rigid in heart, mouth and work. For he stimulated his wild and furious horse with spurs, and confirmed with multiplied oath that he would ride even to the church’s thresholds. He said indeed thus, “O how many Saints’ churches we know, and Saints’ names more excellent than Saint Cuthbert’s name, up to whose churches’ thresholds we have proceeded on horses.” Speaking such things within himself, and urging his horse by stimulating, while he had proceeded somewhat farther, suddenly that horse cast itself headlong in the midst, and trampled the rider beneath itself prostrate in a deep mire of muddy clay with its feet. And that horse appeared worn in nearly all its members, and the Knight, besmeared with the filth of foul mud, for some hours could scarce draw the breath of his breathing. At last sustained by others’ hands he is raised, and led suppliant and groaning to the sepulchre; and he who before, elate and tumid, scarce deigned to render an answer to any, now in turn began to beg each with suppliant voice.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight: How a certain knight, perforated through the midst of his belly with a lance, was healed in wondrous wise by Saint Cuthbert’s deserts #

¹ The Lord’s hand heals and strikes; leads down to the inferi of desperation, and brings back. For He who heals the wounds of souls, Himself also sometimes, through the deserts of His Saints, wondrously cures the wounds of bodies utterly despaired of by all. From this in these days a certain knight, John de Burdun by name, the mandate of his lord constringing, had been delegated to the custody of a certain castle, Dunnington by name, for the conservation of its tuition. At that time, certain of the magnates of England being inimical to each other, for capturing to themselves each other’s favour of the father or son, the Henry kings of the land, not a few began to plunder others’ lands, invade towns, and violently to will to subject lands or possessions to themselves. Issuing, therefore, from the castle of Leicester, soldiers plundering arrived into the country of the other castle near by, called Dunnington, which they within, taking it ill, with improvident impetus, because half-armed, began to encounter the armed. Whom nevertheless being compelled to flight, the same knight, bolder than the rest, more swiftly, vested with a simple lorica, flew toward without comrades, endeavouring so to acquire for himself the glory or favour of praise. Which they seeing who had before entered flight, soon returning hastened to assail him alone, more of them as quickly as possible. From this a certain one of them strove to pierce him through with the point of a most sharp lance which he bore in hand; but he declining the blow of him vibrating with reflexed body, yet inflicted him a grave wound, because it transfixed the midst of his shin-bone’s muscle, and pierced through the horse on which he sat through the midst of the heart. Yet the horse endeavoured to run out somewhat farther with its knight, but in vain, because suddenly from the lethal wound it began to fall occumbent, devolved to the earth. Then the knight desilient stood afoot, whom others of the adversaries following stabbed with three lances, and inflicted him so many mortiferous wounds. Of which the first, brought from the posterior part, through the midst of the viscera’s intestines, even through the midst of the belly, in which the digestions of foods are contained, afforded the exit of a lethal blow: the other two from either part of the flanks from the confine of the ilia and reins similarly passed through the midst of his belly. Whom half-dead left, he was carried home by the rest of his comrades in the deed, but despaired of by all the rest and also by the physicians utterly of recovering life. For all the digestion of foods and the purulent collection of digestions, which ought to have had natural exit through the posterior parts, broke forth through the openings of those three wounds. Similarly whatever of food or drink he received proceeded through those exits of the wounds. From this no necessary medicine existed for him, because death manifestly stood in his gates. He had also more wounds than these round about in his body, but those mortiferous ones he chiefly sustained. Now therefore because no hope of health survived, he converted himself wholly to demand the suffrages of blessed Cuthbert the pious father. For he had learned that he had rescued many despairing of death from the mouth of it by the potent virtue of signs, because he had once been educated from boyhood in Bishop Geoffrey’s household; and had perceived many insignia of miracles of so great a Confessor. From this in the spirit of a contrite and humbled heart he began sedulously to call upon Saint Cuthbert, and to say such things with frequent sobs: “I beg, most mild of holy Saints Cuthbert, that with your potent clemency you snatch me from imminent death, and will not permit me, once your servant, to perish of these torments of wounds. But give glory to your name, because I devote myself wholly to you. And if I shall have been rescued by your sacred prayers from imminent death, I will bear to you an effigy of a lance of wax like that with which I am wounded, to your most holy Body in honour of your holy name.” Having said this, in the same moment of time all grief departed, and the tumour gradually and minutely perishing, within a few days the long-desired health succeeded. Who contrary to the hope of all his friends, so recovered by Saint Cuthbert’s deserts; and so knew by experiment that life proceeded for death from the pious Confessor’s hand. So, wax being fashioned after the likeness of that lance, coming to Durham with certain knights both consanguineous and others, suffused with many tears, bearing that form on his shoulders, he offered it at the venerable Confessor’s sepulchre; and, conducted into the brothers’ parlour, narrated all these things to the Subprior and the rest of the brothers. Who willed to show them the cicatrices of the wounds now healed bared before them, but also, replicating the history to them asking, could never abstain from tears by tempering himself.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine: How a certain man stole a purse of denarii from Saint Cuthbert’s church, but could never go out of the cemetery with it; and how he was detected from the one denarius which he carried off #

¹ There is a certain church in the place called Plumbelund, set in the province called Airedale; it is so called from the grove surrounding it, because it is enclosed on every side by the densest abundance of woods. The site of the place is known to have taken the name of its own appellation from the proper English tongue, because in the English idiom a “lund” names a grove granted to peace. This church, dedicated in honour of the Reverend Confessor, the Lord Cuthbert, was beloved most devotedly by the inhabitants of that land for love of him, because it was most often honoured and glorified by him with the glory of miracles. At the time when William King of the Scots had come up to lay waste all the land of the countryfolk around Carlisle with threats, burnings and swords, the people, fleeing the fury of the Scots, took refuge with their furniture, money and substance at the peace of the churches. And because they had left only vacant houses to the enemy, they each built themselves certain little houses or tents in the cemeteries round the churches, covered with a cheap thatch of hay or straw, in which they might live and shelter their goods. The people, then, who belonged to blessed Cuthbert’s parish, fleeing to his protection, built themselves similar camps, driven by fear and necessity. Within the church they had laid their more precious things in their chests or coffers the more securely barred, and whatever they had in gold or silver with precious garments they had stored more secretly in these. Among their number a certain very wealthy knight, Cospatric son of Ulf by name, had done the same work, and had hidden away a collected mass of many marks in his chest in the same church, with many other things piled on top and it wrapped up the more secretly. He had strengthened it everywhere with iron locks most excellently closed, and committed it to blessed Cuthbert’s keeping, sure of him that what had been entrusted to him could not perish by violence or fraud. But because the world is set in wickedness, a certain false bearer of the Christian name conceived the iniquity of theft in his mind, and brought forth grief for himself from the gain of it. For at the beginning of a certain night he opened the same church with a false key; and entering it, with the wicked craft in which he had previously been instructed, searching about, he found the little purse of coins wrapped up there. He drew it out and carried it off, and, the chest being left closed and locked with all the things that had been within it arranged and left as before, going out of the church he likewise locked the door fast, because he had previously been trained as a fraudulent contriver in practising such wickedness by his evil art. From evening, then, until morning he laboured with much striving to get out of the cemetery that whole night, and ever going and returning this way and that, seeking exits often, he could not find one. Yet the cemetery’s forecourt had five very broad exits of ways, for the whole of the hedged enclosure was woven about everywhere of thicker and somewhat larger planks extended a little way upward. So he had passed the whole night wandering about in this fashion, and ever coming to the exits which he had previously seen open as he hurried there, he found as it were a wall of planks and beams standing against him. At last he could in no way get out with the purse of denarii, but when day broke, fearing lest the cunning thief should be caught with the spoil of his theft, he went to a certain one of the flattened tents set nearby, and, throwing back the straw, deposited the sack there and hid the mass of silver. Of this he could take and keep for himself only a single coin, although he tried it very much; but while he put his hand to it, he always found the little purse closed and as it were made firm with locks standing in the way. And by God’s wondrous judgement, he who had previously known how to open or shut iron locks without keys by his evil craft, could not open an open purse tied by nothing. And although he could handle or count the denarii with his searching hand, yet he could never, however much he tried, draw out or keep any except the one denarius which he had taken first. In the morning, therefore, utterly dismayed, fearful and terrified, he could not get out through the open ways with that money, nor did he ever find them open but always shut up against him, as it seemed to him. And what marvel adds to the miracle, out of that whole mass of coins he could never carry off for himself more than the first denarius. He could not change that one, and, often handling others from among the many, he always perceived that one cleaving to his own hand. Frustrated of all hope and labour, on a certain day, with hunger as his mistress compelling him, he went to the tavern in which the innkeepers, who are more usually called tapsters, are; and because he had no other price, he handed that coin over to the mistress of the house in exchange for his food or drink. When she found that the coin was of the King of Scots, she refused to accept it, because she recognised him as hostile to the illustrious King of the English, Henry, whose kingdom’s land she inhabited. Which those sitting there, when they saw it, asked that the coin be shown to them in turn. It was at last carried through the hands of many, but after all it fell into the hands of a certain youth of the same knight’s household, who, as soon as he saw it, recognised it as his lord’s denarius. For it chanced, by God’s disposing, that he had previously seen the same denarius in his lord’s hands, and for that reason he now recognised it very easily. And so the youth soon went secretly to his lord, asking where he had put his money, and protesting to many that he had seen a denarius shown to him in the tavern in such a fashion, “And so,” he said, “I advise you to look at the innermost dwelling of your chest, lest perhaps you have now lost those things which you trust you have laid up secure in place.” His lord resisting for some time, at last overcome by the counsel of others, went to the church, and finding all the irons of his locks sound, could not believe that the loss had been brought upon him. At last, his friends pressing, he opened his chest, and, all the rest being whole, found only the place where the little purse had been empty. And so the thief, who had previously denied with many oaths that he was the author of the deed, after all, with threats pressing, confessed everything; and the knight pledging him on his faith that he should suffer no harm if he confessed all openly, he recounted everything in order, by explanation, in the manner in which we have described it. And he led the knight with many others to the same place, and restored openly what he had secretly carried off. Who, the money being recovered, wished to hang him on gallows, but the parson of that church, Cospatric by name, his brother-in-law, freed the guilty man from this penalty’s hurt. “Far be it,” he said, “that he should die, in whom the holy Confessor of the Lord, Cuthbert, does not disdain to show us such a miracle in this time.” In such wise, then, he snatched the thief from the raging man’s hand, and Saint Cuthbert’s clemency freed the guilty man’s blood from the hurt committed, through that clerk. In these things the venerable Confessor of the Lord, Cuthbert, made known to the world a fourfold power of miracle, because he glorified his church by shining through it with the grace of such great virtue; and restored the stolen money to the man trusting in him, and rescued the thief from deserved death; and pierced all malefactors through with the sword of terror. For from that day and thereafter none of robbers dared to attack any church dedicated to his name in those parts, although they do not fear, but reverence, to exasperate and rage against the names of other Saints in committing theft most greatly. And so all bring their treasures to Saint Cuthbert’s churches in that province, because none of robbers presume to hurt or touch them at all. For blessed Cuthbert’s clemency, which does not cease from age to age to work the works of mercy, does not abandon those trusting in him. These things a certain youth, a companion of the knight, related to several of our brothers; and testified with an oath before many that they were true.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty: How a knight was cured of the pain of his teeth by the contact of blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre; and how half the tooth fell out, which he afterwards offered to him #

¹ The redemption of a just man’s soul, are, as Wisdom witnesses, his own riches, because, the Lord also promising us in the Gospel, whatever we shall ask in faith we shall be able to obtain from Him. A certain knight, Ranulf de Capella by surname, experienced this pious work in himself in this time. For he had suffered a most savage pain of the teeth for a long while, and from that pain a tumour with redness had arisen in one part of his cheeks, tormenting him incessantly in a manner beyond belief. Trying again and again to remove that pain’s punishment, he could never take it away, diminish it, or lessen it in anything by any kind of charm or medicament. Meanwhile it chanced one day that he had come to Durham for other business, but sitting in the outermost parts of blessed Cuthbert’s church he thought sadly within himself about his infirmity. For he could not forget it, because the continual pain did not permit him. At last, about to return home, he resolved in mind, and did it, to approach blessed Father Cuthbert’s sepulchre; and, his clemency being implored, afterwards to return the more securely to his own. And coming to the glorious bishop’s sepulchre, with knees bent he pressed his aching cheek against its further end, and adored the Holy One of the Lord at the corner of one of the angles of its shrine. Soon therefore, as he touched it, all that pain, before intolerable, departed, because the virtue which went out of the glorious Confessor wiped away the pain’s disquiet without any delay by chasing it off. And he returned home glad and cheerful, and all the tumour departed together with the redness. But within a few days, wondrously, the half part of the aching tooth fell out, as though it had been cut off with a jagged file; but the other half of it remained in its place in the natural manner, together with its root. Seeing this, and weighing the mercy worked in him by Saint Cuthbert, he soon mounted his horse, and offered the halved portion of that tooth at the holy Confessor’s tomb. And calling the keeper of that sacred Body, he could not refrain from tears for gladness, but yet narrated all these things in the same tenor in which we have described them. Truly wondrous and most worthy of all praise is blessed Cuthbert in this work, who, after the manner of a most skilful physician, saw what was putrid, cut it off and took it away; but what was healthy left untouched: who knows, no less than the griefs of our bodies, how to consult in healing for our souls’ languors, and to succour in aiding with ready benignity.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One: Of a boy whose inflamed hand was suddenly healed when wrapped in Saint Cuthbert’s cloth #

¹ Among other things, a certain toll-collector by office, Ranulf by name, a poor citizen of Durham, had a son oppressed by a grave infirmity. So great a tumour with inward pain had invaded one of his hands that infirmity rendered it almost immovable and utterly unapt for him for every necessary work. It was a chronic gout, for it had stuck in the marrow of his sinews and bones so immovably in that hand of his, as if it had been naturally grown together and knit into the bone with it. His father, because he had no other refuge of aid, brought him with him to the tomb of the reverend Father Cuthbert; and when he had wrapped the boy’s languid hand in the cloth which hangs there round his feretory for the reception of the dust, it came to pass that soon, by the holy Confessor’s pious compassion, all the tumour, together with the pain, departed from the languishing boy’s hand. Which the father seeing, carried his son home, ever rendering thanks to Saint Cuthbert that he had deserved to obtain so swift a grace of mercy. For some days, then, remaining at home he sustained him, fearing lest perhaps the former infirmity should sometime return and torture his son in the accustomed manner. But seeing at last the long-desired health wholly restored to him, again he brought him with him to the pious Confessor’s sepulchre, to render thanks for him to the pious Saviour, with a candle and such an offering as he had; and showed the healed hand to the keeper of that sacred Body, and declared in order, by revealing, whatever had happened to him. Who together with them rendered innumerable thanks to Saint Cuthbert, and in what manner he ought to repay him thanks for such great benefits received, he instructed them sufficiently as far as he could. In these and such-like things the Holy One of the Lord, Cuthbert, shows himself manifestly to the world to live in Christ, while in a moment of time, without any delay, he imparts the benefits of health to whomever it pleases him.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two: How Saint Cuthbert struck a youth, and appeared to him by night as he was being led into the church, and freed him suddenly from the punishment he had inflicted on him #

¹ The sudden operations of an unhoped-for miracle are accustomed to season and effect the temperament of faith. For while unhoped-for and unaccustomed things are done through the Saints’ deserts, the cold hearts of those torpid with tepidity of faith, despairing, distrusting or unbelieving, are suddenly inflamed the more vehemently. And so to the monuments of succeeding times we shall subjoin the things which we have found to have been lately done in modern times for blessed Cuthbert’s desert’s sake, to be declared to the world. There is a vill called Litthum, which is known to be situated in the region called Amundernesse. Its lord was a certain knight surnamed Richard son of Roger, who had a certain church founded in blessed Cuthbert’s honour by his forefathers in the same territory. In which, by God’s grace for blessed Cuthbert’s deserts, very many miracles were worked more frequently in number, to be wondered at by all mortals. For blessed Cuthbert often bestowed there speech to the mute, gait to the lame, sight to the blind; and repaired the deaf and the contracted with former soundness: and he who was absent in bodily presence does not cease to foreshow himself present there in the potency of virtue, to be vigorous, and to consist present. This knight had a servant who was named Vineth: who, as is the custom of human fragility, secretly perpetrated a certain grave crime committed, in which he provoked Saint Cuthbert, God’s Confessor, by grievously offending him against himself. But not with impunity. For what he had secretly committed, the holy Confessor of the Lord took care openly to pursue and punish. It happened therefore on a certain day while he was alone that he saw a certain man vested in pontificals meeting him. Who, bending grim countenances upon him, drew near, and, a heavy hand being swung, gave him a slap in the face. Afterwards he put his hand beneath his chin, and, raising the chin and so shaking the teeth against the teeth, withdrew with exceeding indignation. Soon the wretch’s whole face swelled together with his head, and the chin sank for the exceeding tumour, and his tongue began to grow so great from the pain of putridity and humour that it ever stood prominent outside, the jaws incessantly gaping and open, because the grossness and magnitude of so great a mass could not be confined within the mouth’s cavity. From this led home, he was there for some time the more diligently guarded, as one now about to die in proximate time. But because no medicinal care or industry availed him, nor any hope of life survived, they carried him half-dead into blessed Cuthbert’s church, which was in the same vill. For they hoped that the Confessor of the Lord would either the more swiftly restore him the desired health, or free him from such great perils by hastened piety. Nor did hope deceive them. For look, at midnight, the same Bishop, encircled with pontifical insignia, descended from the altar, and, proceeding through the choir, came to the lower parts of the church, where the sick man lay. Whom, as soon as the sick man saw him, he recognised. The Bishop meanwhile drawing near, with the gentle touch of his right hand smoothed by stroking the cheek and face which he had before struck; and afterwards holding for some time between the folds of his soften fingers the swollen tongue hanging horribly from the mouth, he suddenly returned from where he had come. But soon after the Bishop’s contact, all pain and redness had withdrawn with the tumour: which the sick man feeling, soon with freed tongue he was proclaiming in the loudest voice: “See here blessed Cuthbert was present, and advancing here came from his altar, and touching my tongue and face in such a way, absolved and freed me from all the former pain which he had before inflicted on me. See therefore how he now goes up to the choir, now proceeds to the altar, and now withdrawing himself from our sight, quickly departs. This truly is the same bishop who struck me before the hour of infirmity, and inflicted on me the punishment of his deserved exacerbation, such as I secretly deserved. But led by his accustomed piety he now absolves me from the punishment he brought on me.” And rising up healed he returned thanks to God before the same altar, and returning home in safety was thereafter all his days the more amended and devout. And so he deserved to experience in himself the mercy and judgement of blessed Cuthbert, but, mercy preventing judgement, escaped the avenging eternal punishments of deserved death.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three: How a squire was punished for a sparrow which he took in the cemetery; and going out a third time, was ever led back to the former place #

¹ I judge it worth the labour, and to add by subjoining it, that we know blessed Cuthbert perpetrated in the same vill, the same knight asserting it with others of his consorts. The same knight had a certain squire, sufficiently official and strenuous, erudite in the discipline of urbanity from earliest age, by name [blank]. He on a certain day, for the sake of walking, proceeded to the cemetery of the same church, which, perambulating in surveying, he chanced to espy a certain small sparrow fly out of a nest. It was indeed already of agile nature, and therefore volatile, as a tender chick newly gone forth from beneath its mother’s wings. Which flying down from the ridge of the church’s roof, sat upon certain still-prominent vestiges of a ruined old altar. For the same knight’s grandfather had once razed to the foundations the same church, formerly constructed of a cheaper fabric of planks; for which he had also made another of stone in the holy Confessor’s honour, though not wholly in the same place. From this also the altar, long since ruined, stood out a little farther from that time, outside the ambit of the new monastery. The youth therefore seeing the sparrow sitting upon the ruined remains of the altar, at once knowingly ran up, and, about to carry off his prey with him, went away glad with the tenderer chick of the sparrow which he had already seized. He rejoiced indeed in the gain of the prey he had taken, but he did not attend whose Saint’s peace he had infringed. Proceeding nevertheless, and going forth further, he came to the outer bounds of the cemetery, and, attempting to put his foot beyond the threshold of the hedge, soon found himself to be in the same place from which he had before carried off the sparrow’s chick. And so now a third time he began to go out with the sparrow, but, wondrous to tell, ever as he believed himself to be going out, in that place from which he had taken the harmless prey, he found himself set, stupefied. He was held, but knew not by whom; he walked, and seemed to himself to go out, but, constricted by an invisible thong to return, could not discover by what virtue or how; he wished to withdraw and could, but yet his will and power hung upon blessed Cuthbert’s arbitrament. At last returning into himself, and confounded about his rash presumption, the prey which he had voluntarily seized, in the same place from which he had torn it away, he restored, unwilling and compelled by necessity’s article. And afterwards he afterwards avenged him harshly enough with grave retributions of punishments.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four: How a knight brought to the last extremity and carried into blessed Cuthbert’s church was suddenly restored to life there #

¹ The same knight after these things, seized with a sudden sickness, fell upon his bed, and, the languor growing stronger through the days, was despaired of for life by acquaintances and friends alike. So, the sickness being drawn out for long, the languor began, as was believed, to urge him on to the exit of extremity. For that reason his friends and servants prepared each thing necessary for the funeral, and, he now losing speech and every motion of the body through the mid part of the day, they composed him upon a couch of sackcloth on the earth after the manner of the dying. But certain of his friends counselled that he should be carried into blessed Cuthbert’s church, which he had ever loved, and should rather pay the debt of death in His house than await the end of his finish in his own dwelling. For they said: “We believe that blessed Cuthbert’s mercy is potent either to restore him life if He wills, or, if He permits him to die in His presence, will make him pass over not to the punishments of wrath but rather to eternal joys with Himself. For whoever faithfully loves Him is accustomed to receive such recompense from Him. Nor will He be wanting to this wretch alone, who runs to meet all that hope in Him in the time of necessity.” And so they carried him, couched on sackcloth, into the church, and laid him on the pavement. Nor was there delay; and see the hoped-for clemency of Saint Cuthbert was present most swiftly, because as soon as he arrived in the church he perceived himself to be better. For he at once recovered speech, and then rising by himself alone, all being stupefied, he ordered food and drink to be brought him. Refreshed in spirit and body by which, he returned home safe without another’s sustainment. And so he returned from death to life, to whom no hope of medicine had before survived at all. And at last, his strength being repaired to the whole, he came to Durham as quickly as he could; and there prayed wakeful with a light, and paid thanks to his life’s restorer.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five: How he freed the same knight’s son from death and made him sound, restored to life #

¹ But it must not be kept silent either that he had brought his son with him, whom blessed Cuthbert snatched from the article of death in almost similar fashion. When his son was now two years old, a very powerful infirmity growing strong, he perceived himself to have fallen into the jaws of death. For he had lost both speech and all sense, and so lying half-dead through two days and nights, at last, as was thought, had lost the vital breath. Whom his parents seizing and carrying into the same church, commended to blessed Cuthbert with assiduous prayers, and so passed the sleepless night in grief and tears. But when morning was made, while they hoped they would deliver the boy to burial, see suddenly they saw him raising his eyes and smiling upon them. And then, perceiving all the vital motions of the body little by little, he was brought home sound in his parents’ hand, he who had before been brought there dead. In testimony of which miracle his father brought him with him to Durham, and, offering a golden ring with him to be fixed at blessed Cuthbert’s sepulchre, rendered thanks to God and His pious Confessor, and declared all these things to us by making them known.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six: How snow covered the whole region, but upon the people keeping vigil through the night in Saint Cuthbert’s chapel not one drop fell, though it was uncovered #

¹ After the pious father Cuthbert’s death, the devotion of the faithful kindled the minds of many to dedicate their territories to his honour, and to consecrate to God many churches founded in his name. Of whose infinite number a certain chapel was founded from antiquity by remote forefathers in the province called Teviotdale; which place took the name Slitrith from the vicinity of the fishy river which flows past it near by, a chapel of the mother church called Caveres. To this chapel very frequently, as the parson of the same church, Dolphinus, sufficiently well known in those parts, and very many natives, faithful ones known and devoted to God, bear witness, many both sound and sick come together, as much for that Saint’s honour as for the frequency and newness of the signs which are done there. At a certain time, then, for blessed Cuthbert’s day, many coming together there into one, many within the chapel’s walls were giving themselves to prayers with kindled lights brought with them for devotion; but the younger age with many others outside were giving attention to the frisking of limbs or to leading dances, as is the custom of youth. The nocturnal vigil had not yet perfectly arrived, although through momentary increments the day had already begun little by little to grow dark into evening. The same chapel also, the stone materials of the walls still standing, for the course of some years already, the old roof wholly perishing, was all uncovered above, and open and pervious from above both to the winds’ blasts and to the infusions of rains. Then, the twilight of night coming on, see suddenly a savage tempest both of winds and of rains, snow and hailstones came on, which compelled all set outside to flee for refuge within the septa of the chapel’s walls. All that congregation, therefore, made a gathering in the chapel, while the storm raged everywhere outside. For so tightly did they heap themselves upon one another that one upon another they were compelled to vindicate a seat to themselves, almost. Set within the chapel at last, they led that whole night in vigils and prayers, solemn to the holy Confessor Cuthbert, nor felt in anything any hurt of damage from the whirlwind raging and savaging so sharply through the whole night’s times outside. By which clemency He covered His devoted without the covering of a roof; clemency, because, willing to become known to the world by the newness of the miracle, He permitted none of His own to be wearied in anything. Look, here a certain new threshing-floor of Gideon shone out, this chapel of our blessed Father Cuthbert; which is found all dry within, while the whole region outside is found bedewed and covered with recent snows. Such is blessed Cuthbert’s virtue and magnificence, which is accustomed to be more magnificent and mighty to all having faith in Him in remote parts than in near regions.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven: How, when all the candles in the chapel were extinguished, Saint Cuthbert produced a new one upon the altar and exhibited it alight #

¹ At another time likewise, blessed Cuthbert’s festal day shone out, whose venerable memory, kindling many in those neighbouring regions, allured them to celebrate so great solemnities. From this each of the natives of that province, for the holy Confessor’s honour, came together to the same chapel’s solemn vigils, taking necessary foods with them. Those were indeed then days of fasts, and therefore they could not approach so great a journey without the sustenance of foods; and that place was the more secret and remote, as being set far apart by two miles from every cultivated land. Among whom two women devoted to the Saint had come from a certain vill called Hawich; who had set down the victuals brought with them beside the altar, as the rest also had. Then for the Saint’s reverence, one candle being kindled upon the altar, the people were gathered together from within, that, aided by the benefit of light, they might serve the Lord the more devotedly. But look, suddenly the candle previously kindled upon the altar appeared extinguished, all marvelling at such a chance; and that fire which they had brought with them or made, wholly failed. And because the night was already dark, horror and fear invaded the minds of many of those set there. For they were remote, farther off from every vill’s vicinity, in the bounds of the desert, but also prevented by nocturnal darkness; where they might flee, or where they might seek fire or light, they nowhere found. Or rather, neither could many of them, still fasting, see how they might take the foods brought; nor could the portion which ought to be distributed to the poor be discerned; and that could the less be distributed, because what should be given to whom could not be seen or separated at all. All therefore being set in anguish of mind, the tepor of desperation would now have crept over them, unless hope of blessed Cuthbert’s mercy had revived their anxious feelings. Meanwhile a certain one of the same women, called Seigiva, was repeatedly inflicting savage reproaches with insolent wearinesses of words upon her companion, called Rosfritha, because she had come there, about to make prayer with vigils, on her sedulous admonition. She was saying indeed such things thus: “See with what base mockery you have deceived me, who have made me seek this desert place with you. Could I not have adored other Saints of God elsewhere?” To whom the other, willing to render her the more even-souled, said: “Be unwilling, lady, be unwilling, companion, to say such things in despairing, because blessed Cuthbert, whom we have approached, is potent to succour us all in the proximate time, and to lead back each one safe to their own, defended by his defence. Nor have we ever heard that Saint Cuthbert permitted anyone to perish who, setting hope in him, came here for his love.” Amid these things, wondrous to tell, see suddenly a certain new candle, larger, taller and grosser than that previously mentioned, appeared alight in the midst of the altar; which, diffusing the flames of its ray abundantly everywhere, illuminated all the church’s bounds. Which truly was an inexplicable miracle, because a candle other than the one before was there erected, all seeing it, but utterly ignorant from where it had come; it emerged, kindled on the spot, there. It was of another scheme and form than all the other candles in the church. Which seeing, they were soon suffused with exceeding joy, and inexplicably gladdened at the newness of so great a miracle. Approaching therefore and kindling their own candles from it one by one, they passed the whole solemn night in vigils and prayers, and rendered thanks to the Lord in Saint Cuthbert for so great a benefit shown them. In sign of which miracle the blessed Father Cuthbert renewed that ancient miracle of the Law, where the Lord preceded the people going out of Egypt in a column of fire by night. Which work the holy Confessor of the Lord performed now under a like type, while he brought forth a new candle kindled with new light, and removed the nocturnal darknesses from those serving him by so evident a sign.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight: Of a woman swollen for seventeen years; how Saint Cuthbert struck her with the point of his staff and healed her #

¹ The same clerk Dolphinus relating and attesting it, a certain woman in the same province was swollen in her whole body for seventeen years. Who struck in horror, too great for sight or sense, upon herself and others seeing her; because that of infirmity which appeared in her was, as many believed, for an argument of the future contagion of leprosy. Through the space of so great a time, then, she could nowhere find the subsidy of any remedy, but rather led all that time in miseries of complaint, and grief. Who, a salubrious counsel being at last conceived, caused herself to be carried to the same chapel of Saint Cuthbert; staying there for some time, she at last saw such a vision, sleeping in one night. A certain man, veteran in age, but clothed in habit as a monk, appeared to her, and, thus beginning, spoke. Who, supported on a staff, came forth proceeding from the interior of the church, and, accosting her with friendly addresses, said: “Whom seeking have you come here, or whose aid have you asked to be present for you?” Then she: “Lord, I have fled for refuge here to these holy thresholds, and have come about to ask blessed Cuthbert’s suffrages for this my greatest infirmity.” Then he: “I am Cuthbert, whom you have approached, and whose solaces you have asked.” And, the staff which he bore in his hand being raised, with the very point of its tip he pierced her through beneath the very top of her navel through the midst of the intestines even to the exterior of the back; and, these things said and done, at once vanished. Soon therefore, that wound being laid open, putrid venom burst forth everywhere, and began to run down dripping through the lower regions of her body’s frame. Who, calling her bearers, caused herself to be carried outside the church’s threshold; where, lying for some time, the hands of those assisting and ministering to her long drew out venomous and minute little pouches, after the likeness of hairy and cleft little skins. And so, carried home at last, through days continually by fifteens, she did not cease to emit such clefts by flowing out through the wound brought by Saint Cuthbert: which the hands of those assisting ceased not the more attentively to extract with officious care. At last, health and spirit being somewhat resumed, she narrated to all the more manifestly how Saint Cuthbert appeared to her, and, a wound being inflicted by the cuspis of his staff, she recovered perfectly, and, the scars being covered over, afterwards showed to many the healed ulcer of the inflicted wound. This woman was the mother of the same clerk, the parson; who, still surviving and living, remains well known to many in that region. In sign of whose virtue blessed Cuthbert showed of how great virtue and potency he still is. This woman dwells sound and safe in the house of the Abbot of Jedworth, who serves him and his household more familiarly until now in making butter and cheeses from the fat of milk.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine: How wolves attacked a widow’s seven sheep committed to Saint Cuthbert, but could not hurt them #

¹ There was a certain widow set in the parish of the same territory, who was as bereft of secular riches as destitute of a husband’s solace. She had some sheep, though few in number; for whose custody she did not possess the wherewithal to hire a shepherd’s care for pay, the want of poverty pressing. For she had no richer revenues, but compensated herself a poor sustenance from the fruit of the same sheep, whatever quality she could. In the bounds of that province so great a multitude of raging wolves, gnashing for gluttony’s rapacity, is accustomed to dwell that scarce anyone, most wealthy in that land, could avail to protect his sheep or lambs, many shepherds with guardians being applied. But that widow, most wealthy in faith, because she had no other protector, daily in the most wonted manner, while she drove her sheep to pasture, was accustomed thus to beg Saint Cuthbert’s clemency with much devotion, saying: “Saint Cuthbert, because I have no other protector, I commit to you the custody of my sheep. You therefore, for your piety, guard them and protect them from every incursion of wolves; and send them back to me safe and sound at home.” Acting thus for some time, she ever received her sheep unharmed; and although the rabies of wolves often tore away others’ sheep, yet it presumed not to tear or hurt that widow’s sheep. On a certain day at last a herd of wolves indulged its rapacity savaging more than accustomed, and, going round the broad bounds of the fields, chanced to find the widow’s sheep, widowed of a guardian. Seven in number of which they soon began to invade them, but, long pursuing them through pathless and impassable places, they could never avail to catch any of them. At last those sheep all gathering together enter upon flight, and fled for refuge within the septa of Saint Cuthbert’s chapel’s cemetery, as to their shepherd. Whom the wolves, wondrous to tell, following in savagery, all gnashing with their mouths, stood still outside beyond the septa of the cemetery, and, bending grim glances back upon the prey slipped away from them, in no way presumed to proceed further. Then, marvellous to say, the sheep standing within the cemetery’s septa, in nature’s turn, turned back keenest countenances against the raging wolves, and after the manner of woodland bulls with horns and foreheads threatened them as it were to fight; indeed, the weak, armed against the robber, debility resists and struggles against fortitude, innocence waits to invade cruelty. Nor is it to be wondered at; for perhaps the brute beasts perceived the protection of blessed Cuthbert their shepherd to be present for them, and for that reason held cheap the fires of the wolves’ invasions. For he sufficiently exhibited himself present by his potency, who gave audacity to brute sheep to resist menacing wolves, and snatched them from their savaging rapacity. At last husbandmen, shepherds, ploughmen and many others set round about, seeing these things, ran up utterly stupefied, and, long seeing such things, returned thanks to God and Saint Cuthbert. The wolves then, confounded, returned to the woodlands’ glades, and those sheep were restored intact to the wretched widow with joy. In the miracle of which virtue blessed Cuthbert exercised the work of David, prophet and shepherd; while he so snatched the widow’s sheep from the mouth and teeth of wolves, as that one crushed the mouths and arms of the bear and lion, lest they should tear the sheep entrusted to him.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty: How a woman called Ama, contracted from her birth, had the ankle-bones of her feet within the last part of her buttocks and the joints of her fingers fastened in the strait of her palms, came there and was healed #

¹ Very many of that land’s natives relating and attesting it, there was a certain woman in the vill called Rapereslau; who was contracted from her mother’s womb with a wretched kind of languor. For the ankle-bones of her feet had stuck in each of her buttocks, nor could they ever be removed by anyone from the place in which they had sat down, by any virtue or ingenuity. Moreover all the nails and joints of her uppermost fingers were fastened in the midst of the palms of each hand; so that the extreme points of the ungues seemed almost to will to proceed outwards, nor could they ever be relieved by any medicament’s care. Who existed all her days so contracted and contorted, to whom life was for death, languor for desperation, but the body for a prison. In nothing indeed could she help herself, and for that reason she was as a burden and grief both to herself and to all her friends. At last by a certain divine instinct she is carried to the same chapel of blessed Cuthbert, and is set out in the bosom of its altar, miserable to all in sight. But the pious Confessor’s clemency was present for her the more quickly, which brought near the swift issue of heavenly grace by conferring it on the infirm. For this woman who had been so contracted, after the vigils performed there, with dawn appearing, went forth freed from all infirmity. All marvelling and lauding God’s glory in blessed Cuthbert’s virtue, that woman appeared wholly sound; and from that day and thereafter no spot of the ancient contraction or lesion could be found in her. But yet even to the present, little concave and deep hollows stand out in her buttocks, in which the extremities of her ankle-bones had sat down; and similarly in the palms of her hands certain deep vestiges shine out, with the closed marks of scars, in which the extremities of her fingers had anciently been fastened. Which, as I think, remained in her as a sign for this by the moderation of divine dispensation, that it may shine out more manifestly to all how magnificently blessed Cuthbert’s mighty clemency worked in her salvation. She, salvation obtained, offered one sheep in thanksgiving to God and the holy Confessor, which the same Dolphinus accepted gladly enough in testimony of so great a miracle.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-One: How Saint Cuthbert taught a man that, taking moss with him as he had instructed him, he escaped unharmed through the midst of his enemies #

¹ In that season in which William King of the Scots had pressed on to pursue the bounds of Northumbria with flames and funerals in depopulating, a certain man, called Hugh Flamang, leaving behind him his riches in Malton, which is set beside York, approached the bounds of Laudonia, because he chose rather to consult for his life than for his moneys. And so he stayed for some time in the region of Teviotdale, and in that land was made a foreign husbandman. But after a little while he began to remember within himself the riches left behind him, and took it the more heavily within himself, struck, to lose things acquired by so great and lasting labour. Nor yet did he in any way presume to approach those bounds in which he had deserted his own, because he had left behind there certain mortal adversaries, into whose hands to fall was most certain death for him. Accordingly he greatly feared and shuddered to go there, but yet took it the more heavily within himself to desert such great opes to his rivals for benefit’s inheritance. At last, about to demand blessed Cuthbert’s patronage and counsel over these things, he approached the same chapel founded in his honour, and, about to pass the night there, chose the more attentively to commend himself to his prayers. He willing to pass the night in prayers, a natural torpor chanced to rush upon him, and compelled him to indulge in quiet by sleep’s remedy. To whom resting, see a certain venerable hero, wearing a monk’s habit, stood by, and speaking forth said such things: “I am Cuthbert, whose aid you came here to demand; and I have now come to give you counsel and bring you subsidy. Now therefore, when morning is made, proceed to the hollowed stone basin set outside the threshold of this chapel of mine, and from the lower parts of its bottom take you a little portion of the moss which adheres to the stone. Which, superposed upon the vertex of your head, cover and surround it with the linen covering of a hood which you are accustomed to use: and so proceed where you have disposed, me your leader and protector. For I will snatch you from all the enemies whom you fear, and keep you under my defence. For that hollowed stone set outside the church’s threshold is ever replete with blessed water.” Having said this, the man of God disappeared, but the other, afterwards waking, impressed the mandates he had received the more aptly on tenacious memory. From this when morning succeeded, he did all things as the Saint instructed, and set moss upon his head beneath his hood, as it had grown, as the stony nature is accustomed to bring forth by natural course, infused more usually by waters. At last proceeding he reached Malton, and passing through the midst of his enemies, and seeing and recognising them, he could be seen or distinguished by none of them. For their eyes were so darkened that they saw him, yet did not recognise him; met him, yet knew not how to prevent or discern him; and, seen or greeted by him, did not at all advert who he was. These are your magnalia, blessed Father Cuthbert, who, wherever on earth you shall be invoked, ever make marvels. At last that man passed through the midst of his enemies, reached Malton prosperously, and securely carried off with him whatever opes he had or willed: and sound and alert returned to the bounds from which he had set out; and rendered such thanks as he knew to his pious guardian and protector Saint Cuthbert, and narrated all these things rather often to his priest and the same clerk Dolphinus before many others. In the miracle of which sign blessed Cuthbert now lately granted us another Elisha in the world’s extreme bounds; because he so led out a man devoted to him through the midst of his enemies, them seeing and not recognised, as that one led the enemies of the Israelite people, seeing but not adverting, into the midst of Samaria.