The Confessions of St. Augustine
What answer I made her unto these things, I remember not. For scarce
five days after, or not much more, she fell sick of a fever; and in that
sickness one day she fell into a swoon, and was for a while withdrawn
from these visible things. We hastened round her; but she was soon
brought back to her senses; and looking on me and my brother standing by
her, said to us enquiringly, "Where was I?" And then looking fixedly on
us, with grief amazed: "Here," saith she, "shall you bury your mother."
I held my peace and refrained weeping; but my brother spake something,
wishing for her, as the happier lot, that she might die, not in a
strange place, but in her own land. Whereat, she with anxious look,
checking him with her eyes, for that he still savoured such things, and
then looking upon me: "Behold," saith she, "what he saith": and soon
after to us both, "Lay," she saith, "this body any where; let not the
care for that any way disquiet you: this only I request, that you would
remember me at the Lord's altar, wherever you be." And having delivered
this sentiment in what words she could, she held her peace, being
exercised by her growing sickness.
But I, considering Thy gifts, Thou unseen God, which Thou instillest
into the hearts of Thy faithful ones, whence wondrous fruits do spring,
did rejoice and give thanks to Thee, recalling what I before knew, how
careful and anxious she had ever been as to her place of burial, which
she had provided and prepared for herself by the body of her husband.
For because they had lived in great harmony together, she also wished
(so little can the human mind embrace things divine) to have this
addition to that happiness, and to have it remembered among men, that
after her pilgrimage beyond the seas, what was earthly of this united
pair had been permitted to be united beneath the same earth. But when
this emptiness had through the fulness of Thy goodness begun to cease in
her heart, I knew not, and rejoiced admiring what she had so disclosed
to me; though indeed in that our discourse also in the window, when she
said, "What do I here any longer?" there appeared no desire of dying
in her own country. I heard afterwards also, that when we were now
at Ostia, she with a mother's confidence, when I was absent, one day
discoursed with certain of my friends about the contempt of this life,
and the blessing of death: and when they were amazed at such courage
which Thou hadst given to a woman, and asked, "Whether she were not
afraid to leave her body so far from her own city?" she replied,
"Nothing is far to God; nor was it to be feared lest at the end of the
world, He should not recognise whence He were to raise me up." On the
ninth day then of her sickness, and the fifty-sixth year of her age, and
the three-and-thirtieth of mine, was that religious and holy soul freed
from the body.
I closed her eyes; and there flowed withal a mighty sorrow into my
heart, which was overflowing into tears; mine eyes at the same time, by
the violent command of my mind, drank up their fountain wholly dry; and
woe was me in such a strife! But when she breathed her last, the boy
Adeodatus burst out into a loud lament; then, checked by us all, held
his peace. In like manner also a childish feeling in me, which was,
through my heart's youthful voice, finding its vent in weeping, was
checked and silenced. For we thought it not fitting to solemnise that
funeral with tearful lament, and groanings; for thereby do they for
the most part express grief for the departed, as though unhappy, or
altogether dead; whereas she was neither unhappy in her death, nor
altogether dead. Of this we were assured on good grounds, the testimony
of her good conversation and her faith unfeigned.
What then was it which did grievously pain me within, but a fresh wound
wrought through the sudden wrench of that most sweet and dear custom of
living together? I joyed indeed in her testimony, when, in that her last
sickness, mingling her endearments with my acts of duty, she called me
"dutiful," and mentioned, with great affection of love, that she never
had heard any harsh or reproachful sound uttered by my mouth against
her. But yet, O my God, Who madest us, what comparison is there betwixt
that honour that I paid to her, and her slavery for me? Being then
forsaken of so great comfort in her, my soul was wounded, and that life
rent asunder as it were, which, of hers and mine together, had been made
but one.
The boy then being stilled from weeping, Euodius took up the Psalter,
and began to sing, our whole house answering him, the Psalm, I will sing
of mercy and judgments to Thee, O Lord. But hearing what we were doing,
many brethren and religious women came together; and whilst they (whose
office it was) made ready for the burial, as the manner is, I, in a part
of the house, where I might properly, together with those who thought
not fit to leave me, discoursed upon something fitting the time; and by
this balm of truth assuaged that torment, known to Thee, they unknowing
and listening intently, and conceiving me to be without all sense of
sorrow. But in Thy ears, where none of them heard, I blamed the weakness
of my feelings, and refrained my flood of grief, which gave way a little
unto me; but again came, as with a tide, yet not so as to burst out into
tears, nor to change of countenance; still I knew what I was keeping
down in my heart. And being very much displeased that these human things
had such power over me, which in the due order and appointment of our
natural condition must needs come to pass, with a new grief I grieved
for my grief, and was thus worn by a double sorrow.
And behold, the corpse was carried to the burial; we went and returned
without tears. For neither in those prayers which we poured forth unto
Thee, when the Sacrifice of our ransom was offered for her, when now the
corpse was by the grave's side, as the manner there is, previous to its
being laid therein, did I weep even during those prayers; yet was I the
whole day in secret heavily sad, and with troubled mind prayed Thee, as
I could, to heal my sorrow, yet Thou didst not; impressing, I believe,
upon my memory by this one instance, how strong is the bond of all
habit, even upon a soul, which now feeds upon no deceiving Word. It
seemed also good to me to go and bathe, having heard that the bath had
its name (balneum) from the Greek Balaneion for that it drives sadness
from the mind. And this also I confess unto Thy mercy, Father of the
fatherless, that I bathed, and was the same as before I bathed. For the
bitterness of sorrow could not exude out of my heart. Then I slept, and
woke up again, and found my grief not a little softened; and as I was
alone in my bed, I remembered those true verses of Thy Ambrose. For Thou
art the
"Maker of all, the Lord,
And Ruler of the height,
Who, robing day in light, hast poured
Soft slumbers o'er the night,
That to our limbs the power
Of toil may be renew'd,
And hearts be rais'd that sink and cower,
And sorrows be subdu'd."
And then by little and little I recovered my former thoughts of Thy
handmaid, her holy conversation towards Thee, her holy tenderness and
observance towards us, whereof I was suddenly deprived: and I was minded
to weep in Thy sight, for her and for myself, in her behalf and in my
own. And I gave way to the tears which I before restrained, to overflow
as much as they desired; reposing my heart upon them; and it found rest
in them, for it was in Thy ears, not in those of man, who would have
scornfully interpreted my weeping. And now, Lord, in writing I confess
it unto Thee. Read it, who will, and interpret it, how he will: and if
he finds sin therein, that I wept my mother for a small portion of an
hour (the mother who for the time was dead to mine eyes, who had for
many years wept for me that I might live in Thine eyes), let him not
deride me; but rather, if he be one of large charity, let him weep
himself for my sins unto Thee, the Father of all the brethren of Thy
Christ.
But now, with a heart cured of that wound, wherein it might seem
blameworthy for an earthly feeling, I pour out unto Thee, our God, in
behalf of that Thy handmaid, a far different kind of tears, flowing from
a spirit shaken by the thoughts of the dangers of every soul that dieth
in Adam. And although she having been quickened in Christ, even before
her release from the flesh, had lived to the praise of Thy name for
her faith and conversation; yet dare I not say that from what time Thou
regeneratedst her by baptism, no word issued from her mouth against Thy
Commandment. Thy Son, the Truth, hath said, Whosoever shall say unto
his brother, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire. And woe be even
unto the commendable life of men, if, laying aside mercy, Thou shouldest
examine it. But because Thou art not extreme in enquiring after sins, we
confidently hope to find some place with Thee. But whosoever reckons up
his real merits to Thee, what reckons he up to Thee but Thine own gifts?
O that men would know themselves to be men; and that he that glorieth
would glory in the Lord.
I therefore, O my Praise and my Life, God of my heart, laying aside for
a while her good deeds, for which I give thanks to Thee with joy, do now
beseech Thee for the sins of my mother. Hearken unto me, I entreat Thee,
by the Medicine of our wounds, Who hung upon the tree, and now sitting
at Thy right hand maketh intercession to Thee for us. I know that she
dealt mercifully, and from her heart forgave her debtors their debts; do
Thou also forgive her debts, whatever she may have contracted in so
many years, since the water of salvation. Forgive her, Lord, forgive, I
beseech Thee; enter not into judgment with her. Let Thy mercy be exalted
above Thy justice, since Thy words are true, and Thou hast promised
mercy unto the merciful; which Thou gavest them to be, who wilt have
mercy on whom Thou wilt have mercy; and wilt have compassion on whom
Thou hast had compassion.
And, I believe, Thou hast already done what I ask; but accept, O Lord,
the free-will offerings of my mouth. For she, the day of her dissolution
now at hand, took no thought to have her body sumptuously wound up, or
embalmed with spices; nor desired she a choice monument, or to be buried
in her own land. These things she enjoined us not; but desired only to
have her name commemorated at Thy Altar, which she had served without
intermission of one day: whence she knew the holy Sacrifice to be
dispensed, by which the hand-writing that was against us is blotted out;
through which the enemy was triumphed over, who summing up our offences,
and seeking what to lay to our charge, found nothing in Him, in Whom we
conquer. Who shall restore to Him the innocent blood? Who repay Him
the price wherewith He bought us, and so take us from Him? Unto the
Sacrament of which our ransom, Thy handmaid bound her soul by the bond
of faith. Let none sever her from Thy protection: let neither the lion
nor the dragon interpose himself by force or fraud. For she will not
answer that she owes nothing, lest she be convicted and seized by the
crafty accuser: but she will answer that her sins are forgiven her by
Him, to Whom none can repay that price which He, Who owed nothing, paid
for us.
May she rest then in peace with the husband before and after whom she
had never any; whom she obeyed, with patience bringing forth fruit unto
Thee, that she might win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord my God,
inspire Thy servants my brethren, Thy sons my masters, whom with
voice, and heart, and pen I serve, that so many as shall read these
Confessions, may at Thy Altar remember Monnica Thy handmaid, with