Life of Saint Monica

to cool. He had been studying their doctrines, and had found that they wer

And Augustine questioned very closely indeed. He was on the track of truth, and it was not easy to put him off with hazy general statements. He was still only an "auditor," and before he took any further step he wanted to be certain of his ground. The men whom he

explained his doubts to him, the result was not what he had hoped for. He gave the same vague answers that Augustine had so often heard already. Pressed closer, he frankly replie

ot answer him, which o

o lose fai

he asked. This was a question which they could all a

fairly or truthfully: but he accepted their facts, and decided that truth was not to be found there either. Was there such a thing at all?

loved in his boyhood, but Who had grown so dim to him since the Manicheans had taught him that His Sacred Humanity was

e order in the schools. Classes were constantly interrupted by gangs of "smas

quieter and better-mannered; no rioting was allowed; scholars might enter no school but that of their own master. This sounded hopeful;

ylon. She had poured out the blood of the saints like water; she was the home of every abomination. What w

be able to make him give up the project, and wrote strongly against it; but Augustine had a

I lied to my mother," he says, "and such a mother!" He assured her that he was not going, that she might set her

o. They went down to the harbour together, where they found Augustine's friend. No ship could put out that night, the sailors said, the wind was dead against them.

re difficult for Augustine. What was he to do? Monica was weary and worn out with grief. An idea suggested itself to him suddenl

o rest; but Augustine k

pel on the seashore, d

go there and take she

that he would not leav

for her soul was

g Him that He would not let Augustine leave her. The answer seemed a strange one. As she prayed the wind suddenl

f St. Cyprian lying like a speck in the distance, But they did not see a lonely figure that stood on t

burst of grief, she bent herself in faith and love to endure the heartbreak-silent and uncomplaining. And it was only God Who knew tha

e," says Augustine, "and went about her a

ttacked by a violent fever and lay at death's door. He was lodging in the house of a Manichean, for, although he no longer

ould not, for her sake, let him be cut off thus in all his sins, unbaptized and unrepentant, lest

g whom they lived, although they gave out that their creed was the only one likely to reform human nature. In Rome his suspicions were

and in this great city, even more than in Carthage, one could learn how low a man might fall; but

had been carried away in his youth by the downward tide, but had retrieved himself by a glorious penance. The descendants of the oldest Roman families were to be found in the hospitals tending the sick or working amongst the poor in the great city. The first monasteries were growing up,

e in Rome to go to the Catholics and find out what they really taught. But he dismissed it. The Manicheans had already told him, he reflected, t

ool of philosophers who professed to believe in nothi