HOW ST. MONICA BROUGHT UP HER CHILDREN, AND HOW THE LITTLE AUGUSTINE
FELL SICK AND DESIRED BAPTISM
As soon as the little Augustine was born, his mother had him taken to
the Christian Church, that the sign of the Cross might be made on his
forehead, and that he might be entered amongst the catechumens. It
was a custom of the time--never approved of by the Church--to put off
Baptism until the catechumen had shown himself able to withstand the
temptations of the half-pagan society in the midst of which he had to
live. Through this mistaken idea of reverence for the Sacrament the
young soldier of Christ, lest he should tarnish his weapons in the
fight, was sent unarmed into a conflict in which he needed all the
strength which the Sacraments alone can give.
The outlook for Monica, with her pagan husband and her pagan
household, was darker than for most Christian mothers. Her heart grew
heavy within her as she held her young son in her arms and thought of
the future. For the present indeed he was hers; but later, when she
could no longer keep him at her side and surround him with a mother's
love and protection, what dangers would beset him? The influence of
an unbelieving father, during the years when his boyish ideas of life
would be forming; a household that knew not Christ--how could he pass
untouched through the dangers that would assail his young soul? With
prayers and tears, Monica bent over the unconscious little head that
lay so peacefully upon her breast, commending her babe to the
Heavenly Father to Whom all things are possible.
Augustine drank in the love of Christ with his mother's milk, he
tells us. As soon as he could speak, she taught him to lisp a prayer.
As soon as he could understand, she taught him, in language suited to
his childish sense, the great truths of the Christian Faith. He would
listen eagerly, and, standing at his mother's knee, or nestling in
her arms, follow the sweet voice that could make the highest things
so simple to his childish understanding.
It was the seed-time that was later to bear such glorious fruit,
though the long days of winter lay between. The boy was thoughtful
and intelligent; he loved all that was great and good and noble. The
loathing of what was mean and base and unlovely, breathed into him by
his mother in those days of early childhood, haunted him even during
his worst moments in later life. The cry that burst from his soul in
manhood, when he had drunk deeply of the cup of earthly joys and
found it bitter and unsatisfying, had its origin in those early
teachings. "Thou hast made us for Thyself, O God, and our hearts can
find no rest until they rest in Thee."
One day, when the child was about seven years old, he was suddenly
seized with sickness. He was in great pain, and soon became so ill
that his life was in danger. His parents were in anguish, but
Augustine's one thought was for his soul; he begged and prayed that
he might receive Baptism. Monica added her entreaties to his.
Patricius yielded. All was prepared, when the child suddenly got
better. Then someone intervened, probably his father, for Augustine
tells us that the Baptism was put off again--indefinitely.
But it was time to think of the boy's education, and it was proposed
to send him to school in Tagaste. It was a pagan school to which the
child must go, pagan authors that he must study, and, worse than all,
pagan conversation that he must hear and pagan playmates with whom he
must associate.
Patricius was proud of the beauty and the intelligence of his little
son, and hoped great things for the future; but Augustine's early
school-days were far from brilliant. Eager as the boy was to learn
what interested him, he had an insurmountable dislike to anything
that caused him trouble. It bored him to learn to read and write, and
the uninspiring truth that two and two make four was a weariness of
the flesh to him. Though the stories of Virgil enchanted him, Homer
he never thoroughly enjoyed nor quite forgave, for had he not for his
sake been forced to wade through the chilly waters of the Greek
grammar?
Unfortunately for Augustine, such dismal truths as two and two make
four have to be mastered before higher flights can be attempted. The
Tagaste schoolmasters had but one way of sharpening their scholars'
zeal for learning--the liberal use of the rod.
Now, Augustine disliked beatings as much as he disliked all other
unpleasant things, but he also disliked work. The only way of evading
both disagreeables was to follow the example of the greater number of
his fellow-scholars--to play when he should have been working, and to
tell clever lies to his schoolmasters and his parents in order to
escape punishment. Such tricks, however, are bound to be found out
sooner or later, and Monica, realizing that much could be got out of
her son by love, but little by fear, took him for a course of
instruction to the Christian priests, that he might learn to overcome
himself for the love of God.
As a result Augustine took more earnestly to his prayers, asking,
above all, however, that he might not be beaten at school. His
mother, finding him one day praying in a quiet corner to this intent,
suggested that if he had learnt his lessons for the day he need have
no fear, but if he had not, punishment was to be expected. Patricius,
who was passing and overheard the conversation, laughed at his son's
fears and agreed with his wife. Augustine thought them both
exceedingly heartless.
As the boy grew older, however, his wonderful gifts began to show
themselves, and his masters, seeing of what he was really capable,
punished him yet more severely when he was idle. Augustine, too,
began to take pride in his own success, and to wish to be first
amongst his young companions. The latter cheated as a matter of
course, both in work and at play. Bad habits are catching, and
Augustine would sometimes cheat too. When found out he would fly into
a passion, although no one was so severe on the dishonesty of others
as he. And yet, though he would often yield to the temptations that
were the hardest for his pleasure-loving nature to resist, there was
much that was good in the boy. He had a faithful and loving heart, an
attraction for all that was great and noble. He was, in fact, his
mother's son as well as his father's; the tares and the wheat were
sprouting side by side.
But Augustine was rapidly growing out of childhood. Patricius,
prouder than ever of his clever son, resolved to spare no pains to
give him the best education that his means could procure. The boy had
a great gift of eloquence, said his masters, and much judgment; he
would be certain to succeed brilliantly at the Bar. It was decided to
send him to Madaura, a town about twenty miles distant, a good deal
larger than Tagaste, and well known for its culture and its schools.
It was one of the most pagan of the cities of Africa, but this was an
objection that had no weight with Patricius, although it meant much
to Monica. The only comfort for her in the thought of this first
separation was that there at least her son would not be far from
home. Not far away in truth, as distance goes, but how far away in
spirit! Madaura was a large and handsome city, with a circus and
theatre, and a fine forum, or market-place, set round with statues of
the gods. It was proud of its reputation for learning, but had little
else to be proud of. Its professors were men who were more ashamed of
being detected in a fault of style than in the grossest crimes, who
were ashamed indeed of nothing else. The pagan gods were held up to
their scholars as models for admiration and imitation.
It was a poor ideal at the best. The gods were represented by the
great pagan poets and authors as no better, if more powerful, than
ordinary mortals. They were subject to all the meannesses and all the
baseness of the least noble of their worshippers. That their
adventures, neither moral nor elevating, were told in the most
exquisite language by the greatest authors of antiquity rather added
to the danger than decreased it. True, the noblest of the classical
writers broke away continually from the bondage which held them, to
stretch out groping hands towards the eternal truth and beauty into
which real genius must always have some insight, but not all were
noble.
The students of Madaura were worthy of their masters. Nothing was too
shameful to be talked about, if only it were talked about in
well-turned phrases. The plays acted in the theatre were what might
be expected in Roman society of the fourth century--that society from
which St. Anthony and St. Jerome had been forced to flee to the
desert in order to save their souls.
Augustine won golden opinions from his masters for his quickness and
intelligence. They thought of nothing else but of cultivating the
minds of their scholars. Heart and soul were left untouched, or
touched in such a way that evil sprang to life and good was stifled.
He was a genius, they cried, a budding rhetorician, a poet.
Although masters and scholars alike applauded him, Augustine, while
he drank their praises greedily, was restless and unhappy. He had
gone down before the subtle temptations of Madaura like corn before
the scythe. First evil thoughts, but carelessly resisted; then evil
deeds. He had lost his childish innocence, and with it his childish
happiness. For he knew too much, and was too noble of nature to be
content with what was ignoble. The seeds of his mother's teaching
were yet alive within him.
And Monica? Only twenty miles away at Tagaste she was praying for her
son, beseeching the Heavenly Father to keep him from evil, to watch
over him now that she was no longer at his side, hoping and trusting
that all was well with her boy.