FULGENTIUS,

THE SAINTLY BISHOP OF RUSPÆ.

How many of the fashionable folks who betake themselves at the approach of winter to Algeria, or Tunis, and stray among the broken columns and ruined dwelling places of Carthaginian luxury, ever ponder on the moral desolation which has accompanied this decay of ancient splendour? Comparatively few are saddened at the view of mosques that raise their unconsecrated fronts in honour of the false prophet, where in days of yore many a noble church and peaceful convent towered heavenwards in testimony of our risen LORD; and yet time was when the Church in North Africa was a fruitful branch of the Church Catholic, fair to see, and rich with the blooms of every virtue. There, instead of ignorance and barbarism, were genius and learning, and that too of the enlightened kind which found its highest glory in its self-consecration to the service of Almighty GOD.

The Primitive Church in North Africa has passed away, but it is not lost. The glory of its saints and martyrs is translated to heaven, while the influence of its school of theologians still discovers itself in the ascendancy yet retained by the writings of Tertullian, S. Cyprian, S. Augustine, and Fulgentius. It is to the latter, that attention is here directed. He was the last of that illustrious band who made the name of Africa famous in Western Christendom. In him, we discern lingering shadows of Tertullian's eloquence, some burning rays of S. Cyprian's fire and discreet energy, and the expiring beams of the light and learning that illumine the writings of the encyclopædic Augustine. His lot was cast in hard times. It did not fall within the charmed circle of the first three centuries. His name is not entwined with a wreath of Apostolic marvels,—for such as are ascribed to him are not sufficiently attested to win the assent of the critical historian. The most notable wonder about him, is his life of light in a country and in an age when the darkness of barbarism was extinguishing the glory of Roman civilization, and the meteors of heresy were beguiling men into the marshes and quagmires of despondency and destruction. He was a champion of the faith, when the Catholic Church needed defenders bold to do and dare all for their Master's sake; for though Christianity had become the creed of the Roman empire under Constantine, the Roman empire was nevertheless returning to chaos at

the time of his birth. Arianism had spread itself over the land of his nativity like a mighty flood threatening all that opposed it with overthrow. It came with the host of invading Vandals, whom Genseric led triumphantly into Africa. His power confirmed its reign through all the kingdom that he had set up in Numidia, Mauritania, Carthage, Corsica, Sardinia, and the Balearic Isles; his rule was for the oppression of the people.

A quarter of a century before Fulgentius was born, this king took Carthage, seven years after his first descent on the country. His accession to dominion was hailed not by acclamations, but by the tears of orphans, cries of captives, and anguish of all to whom religion was something more than a name. Burning villages marked his progress, and the sword and the spear carved the fierce monuments of his reign. Such was the patron of Arian doctrine; such for the most part were his successors. Circumstances like these were not favourable to the developement of talent, yet they served to call forth into fuller activity the eminent abilities of Fulgentius, whose character will be best described in the words of his ancient biographer and disciple:

"This excellent man declined the renown of performing miracles, but daily he wrought greater marvels, for he led many unbelievers to embrace the truth, won many heretics over from their false doctrines, TE and prevailed on numbers to forsake their evil courses and pursue a life regulated by the laws of temperance, insomuch that he taught the drunkard sobriety, the adulterer chastity, the avaricious and spoiler to give all to the poor; through him humility became sweet to pride, peace well-pleasing to the contentious, and obedience agreeable to those that delighted in disorder and rebellion. Such were the wonderful works that Fulgentius was ever zealous to achieve."

Hadrumetum, Clupea, and Leptes, or Lepte, lay towards the Syrtis Minor. The latter was one of the most noted towns in the days of Pomponius Mela. In the fifth century its transient repute had departed. Then its latest and best honour came to it; and that was the birth of Fulgentius. Here he was born about the year A.D. 468. At that time the feeble Vortigern in Britain was vainly striving to maintain himself against the unruly spirit of his subjects and the incursions of the Saxons; Gaul was perturbed by the troubles that distracted the years of Childeric I.; the last of the Roman legions was abandoning Spain to the tender mercies of Gothic hordes; Italy was sighing for the heroes of the past to return and take the place of the

latter

phantoms of Imperialism that were hovering around the seven hills, ready to depart for ever at the mandate of the barbarian Odoacer; while North Africa was mourning the increasing miseries of the latter part of Genseric's reign; nor was Lepte exempt from the unjust rule of this tyrant. He struck a blow at its waning prosperity, which it never fully recovered.

The parents of Fulgentius were of senatorial rank. His father died while he was yet a child, so the direction of his young mind devolved to his mother, as that of S. Chrysostom had to the pious Anthusa. He received liberal instruction, for he was committed to tutors who not only taught him a grammatical acquaintance with his native Latin, but so familiarised him with the Greek that he could converse in that language with elegance and ease. His fervid southern imagination was soon kindled by the inimitable grandeur, variety, and beauty of Homer, which, it is said, he knew by heart. Among the dramatic writers of Greece, he seems to have found most pleasure in Menander, the brightest ornament of the new comedy, for he is reported to have been able to recite his leading pieces. This singular retentiveness of memory seems to have been more common in ancient than in modern times. This is probably owing to the circumstance that it was called into fuller and more continued exercise, when books were rare and harder to be obtained, than in these days of diffused cheap literature. Thus we may read of one, among other notable cases, named John, of whom Eusebius makes mention, a blind Egyptian and presbyter who had whole books of the Scripture by heart, and was accustomed to recite the Lessons in the Services of the Church in the third century. The blind Didymus, of Alexandria, about whom S. Jerome writes, was to all a marvel of memorial power, for his knowledge of the old philosophers and sacred writings. His master Origen too was distinguished for his rare capacity of retention of words and facts. Among the instances that have occurred during the last two centuries and a half, in proof that this gift did not altogether depart with the old world culture, it is enough to name among theologians the quaint Thomas Fuller, who after one walk could tell each sign that it was then the custom to put up at all tradesmen's shops in exact order, which he had passed from the Royal Exchange to Temple Bar; and John Biddle, who knew every word in the New Testament as far as Revelation iv.

With increasing years came responsibilities and graver studies.

The romance of epic and drama yielded place in his thoughts to the impressive verities of theology. He read with earnest interest the Fathers of the preceding ages, and especially the Bishop of Hippo. Of these S. Augustine seems to have left the deepest impress on his mind. In perusing the "De Civitate Dei," he was moved to adore the wisdom and providence of the GOD of the Christians in His rule over the empire of mankind; but in studying the "Confessions," he could not but be thrilled with an intenser and more living interest in the disclosures there made touching the relations between the Divine Spirit and the human soul, wherein the conflict between heavenly grace and one individual heart is unfolded so faithfully and with such dramatic power that we meditate on them still, with not less profit and undiminished sympathy. He knew from practical experience of Carthaginian life what must have been the subtle energy of the temptations that assailed S. Augustine's youth and early manhood; he felt surging up within him the same wild tide of unreasoning passion, the same burning blood bounding in his veins; he perceived in himself the same need for a strength beyond his own to succour him in his endeavours after self-conquest, and to keep him "unspotted from the world." Without grace, he could achieve nothing; and in this conviction, he set himself with redoubled earnestness to use the means of grace, and by prayer and frequent communion to cherish his aspirations after the love of CHRIST and joy of heaven. In the meanwhile he pursued the secular calling upon which he had entered with becoming diligence, though, as it was that of a tax-collector, he was sensible of an ever growing antipathy to the duties of his office, for he could not bear to extort from industrious poverty the little it had such need for to sustain the misapplied revenues and inconsiderate luxury of an unjust monarch and selfish court. So it came to pass that he at length, like S. Matthew, abandoned the money-tables for the service of the altar. Accordingly, we find him entering a monastery that had been established near his native place by a pious bishop named Faustus. Here he passed his time peacefully in the exercises of devotion and charity until the year 490. Gundamund, who in 484 had succeeded to the throne and fanatical policy of Hunneric, directed the malice of his Arian subjects against this community.

On its dispersion, Fulgentius took refuge in a brotherhood whose abbot was Felix. Here his sanctity soon acquired him the warm regard of his new friends, who honoured him by making him co-abbot. Per

secution followed him to this retreat. The Moors broke in upon his tranquillity, and Fulgentius and his brethren sought refuge in flight. He embarked for Syracuse, preferring the perils of the water to the perils of the land. Eulalius, Bishop of that city, gave him a kind welcome, and persuaded him to take up his abode there, and to abandon the project he had formed of proceeding to Egypt, to visit the birthplace of monasticism. To the eye of our wanderer, Syracuse was no longer strong as in the days of Hiero, no longer rich as when Plato gazed on its magnificent edifices. The tomb and palace of Dionysius were in ruins; the gushing fount of Arethusa was shorn of ornament; its stone-hewn amphitheatre still resisted the inroads of time; and Minerva's temple converted into a cathedral church was to him a sight of joy, for it was a symbol of heaven's mercy raised to relieve the sadness of surrounding material decay.

In the year 500, Fulgentius indulged his longing to see the dungeon which had imprisoned S. Paul, and the place of S. Peter's martyrdom. He went to Rome. While he mourned the desolation that Goth and Vandal had wrought, he was cheered by the memories of the saints and martyrs that had lived and died there for the faith in the past. We do not read that his visit here was accompanied by any of those fanciful details and unprimitive practices, with which the visits of some modern Christians to the holy city are too frequently characterized. When he arrived there, he found the inhabitants excited by the controversy then in progress, as to who was the rightful tenant of the Holy See. There were two claimants for the dignity, Symmachus and Laurence. They had been elected two years earlier on the same day, to succeed Anastasius. The latter was supported by the influence of the Emperor of the East and sympathiser with the Acephali, his favourite sect of heretics; while the former was ultimately acknowledged to have acquired the larger number of suffrages, and was sustained by the free spirit of the West. The last loved power; that was worthy of a modern pontiff; but the first cared less for himself than for the truth; and instead of claiming for himself the exclusive right to assemble a council, we find him acquiescing in the command of the Arian Prince Theodoric, to convene a gathering of bishops to compose the distractions that then perturbed the Roman Church. Symmachus knew nothing of the pretensions of a Gregory VII. He rejoiced to bless, and not to curse, to defend the truth with argument, not by the sword. Many were the captives he redeemed from bondage,