Theodulf of Orleans (750–821) Pens a Praise-Hymn in Prison

Theodulf was imprisoned in a monastery near Angers (in modern France). This is the Tour des anglais, Angers, by Glabb (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

In Theodulf we see a political prisoner. Louis the Pious suspected this bishop of conspiring against him with Bernard of Italy. The charge was never proven. Nonetheless, the king treated him as guilty.

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Imprisoned in a walled monastery, Theodulf’s living conditions were not unlike those of a typical modern prisoner, from the size of his cell to the extent of his boundaries and restrictions on his daily movement. The food was considerably worse, and scantier, but so it was for everyone in the monastery. And there were no showers.

While incarcerated, he penned a praise hymn which the church still sings, especially at Easter. The original had 39 verses. Hymnals pare it down considerably. This is one of those reduced versions.

All Glory, Laud and Honor

Thou art the King of Israel,
Thou David’s royal Son,
Who in the Lord’s Name comest,
The King and Bless├Ęd One.

Refrain:
All glory, laud and honor,
To Thee, Redeemer, King,
To Whom the lips of children
Made sweet hosannas ring.

The company of angels
Are praising Thee on High,
And mortal men and all things
Created make reply.

The people of the Hebrews
With palms before Thee went;
Our prayer and praise and anthems
Before Thee we present.

To Thee, before Thy passion,
They sang their hymns of praise;
To Thee, now high exalted,
Our melody we raise.

Thou didst accept their praises;
Accept the prayers we bring,
Who in all good delightest,
Thou good and gracious King.

Boethius (c. 480–c. 525) Writes His Philisophical Masterpiece on Death Row

Boethius, from a Medieval miniature, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Boethius was a political prisoner. A philosopher and one of the most learned men of his day, he served as an advisor to Theodoric, the barbarian king who had conquered Italy. Theodoric became suspicious of Boethius, in part because Boethius’ father-in-law Symmachus fell afoul of the king, and possibly because Boethius defended the Trinity whereas Theodoric was an Arian who denied the divinity of Christ. At any rate, the king cast this genius into prison, where he eventually had him executed in a particularly cruel manner without a trial.

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At first Boethius was greatly downcast in prison, but then called upon the resources of his philosophic training and wrote a dialog between himself and Lady Philosophy which was a bestseller for over 1,000 years during the Middle ages.

The Consolation of Philosophy (Beginning of Book I)

To pleasant songs my work was erstwhile given, and bright were all my labors then; but now in tears to sad refrains am I compelled to turn. Thus my maimed Muses guide my pen, and gloomy songs make no feigned tears bedew my face. Then could no fear so overcome to leave me companionless upon my way. They were the pride of my earlier bright-lived days: in my later gloomy days they are the comfort of my fate; for hastened by unhappiness has age come upon me without warning, and grief has set within me the old age of her gloom. White hairs are scattered untimely on my head, and the skin hangs loosely from my worn-out limbs.

Happy is that death which thrusts not itself upon men in their pleasant years, yet comes to them at the oft-repeated cry of their sorrow. Sad is it how death turns away from the unhappy with so deaf an ear, and will not close, cruel, the eyes that weep. Ill is it to trust to Fortune’s fickle bounty, and while yet she smiled upon me, the hour of gloom had well-nigh overwhelmed my head. Now has the cloud put off its alluring face, wherefore without scruple my life drags out its wearying delays.

Why, O my friends, did ye so often puff me up, telling me that I was fortunate? For he that is fallen low did never firmly stand.

While I was pondering thus in silence, and using my pen to set down so tearful a complaint, there appeared standing over my head a woman’s form, whose countenance was full of majesty, whose eyes shone as with fire and in power of insight surpassed the eyes of men, whose color was full of life, whose strength was yet intact though she was so full of years that none would ever think that she was subject to such age as ours. One could but doubt her varying stature, for at one moment she repressed it to the common measure of a man, at another she seemed to touch with her crown the very heavens: and when she had raised higher her head, it pierced even the sky and baffled the sight of those who would look upon it. Her clothing was wrought of the finest thread by subtle workmanship brought to an indivisible piece. This had she woven with her own hands, as I afterwards did learn by her own showing. Their beauty was somewhat dimmed by the dulness of long neglect, as is seen in the smoke-grimed masks of our ancestors. On the border below was inwoven the symbol Pi, on that above was to be read a Theta [symbolizing practical and theoretical philosophy]. And between the two letters there could be marked degrees, by which, as by the rungs of a ladder, ascent might be made from the lower principle to the higher. Yet the hands of rough men had torn this garment and snatched such morsels as they could therefrom. In her right hand she carried books, in her left was a sceptre brandished.

When she saw that the Muses of poetry were present by my couch giving words to my lamenting, she was stirred a while; her eyes flashed fiercely, and said she, “ Who has suffered these seducing mummers to approach this sick man? Never do they support those in sorrow by any healing remedies, but rather do ever foster the sorrow by poisonous sweets. These are they who stifle the fruit-bearing harvest of reason with the barren briars of the passions: they free not the minds of men from disease, but accustom them thereto. I would think it less grievous if your allurements drew away from me some uninitiated man, as happens in the vulgar herd. In such an one my labours would be naught harmed, but this man has been nourished in the lore of Eleatics and Academics; and to him have ye reached? Away with you, Sirens, seductive unto destruction! leave him to my Muses to be cared for and to be healed.”

Their band thus rated cast a saddened glance upon the ground, confessing their shame in blushes, and passed forth dismally over the threshold. For my part, my eyes were dimmed with tears, and I could not discern who was this woman of such commanding power. I was amazed, and turning my eyes to the ground I began in silence to await what she should do. Then she approached nearer and sat down upon the end of my couch: she looked into my face heavy with grief and cast down by sorrow to the ground, and then she raised her complaint over the trouble of my mind in these words.

“Ah me! how blunted grows the mind when sunk below the o’erwhelming flood! Its own true light no longer burns within, and it would break forth to outer darknesses. How often care, when fanned by earthly winds, grows to a larger and unmeasured bane. This man has been free to the open heaven: his habit has it been to wander into the paths of the sky: his to watch the light of the bright sun, his to inquire into the brightness of the chilly moon; he, like a conqueror, held fast bound in its order every star that makes its wandering circle, turning its peculiar course. Nay, more, deeply has he searched into the springs of nature, whence came the roaring blasts that ruffle the ocean’s bosom calm: what is the spirit that makes the firmament revolve; wherefore does the evening star sink into the western wave but to rise from the radiant East; what is the cause which so tempers the season of Spring that it decks the earth with rose-blossoms; whence comes it to pass that Autumn is prolific in the years of plenty and overflows with teeming vines: deeply to search these causes was his wont, and to bring forth secrets deep in Nature hid.

“Now he lies there; extinct his reason’s light, his neck in heavy chains thrust down, his countenance with grievous weight downcast; ah! the brute earth is all he can behold.

“But now,” said she, “is the time for the physician’s art, rather than for complaining.” Then fixing her eyes wholly on me, she said, “Are you the man who was nourished upon the milk of my learning, brought up with my food until you had won your way to the power of a manly soul? Surely I had given you such weapons as would keep you safe, and your strength unconquered, if you had not thrown them away. Do you know me? Why do you keep silence? Are you dumb from shame or from dull amazement? I would it were from shame, but I see that amazement has overwhelmed you.”

When she saw that I was not only silent, but utterly tongue-tied and dumb, she put her hand gently upon my breast, and said, “There is no danger: he is suffering from drowsiness, that disease which attacks so many minds which have been deceived. He has forgotten himself for a moment and will quickly remember, as soon as he recognises me. That he may do so, let me brush away from his eyes the darkening cloud of thoughts of matters perishable.” So saying, she gathered her robe into a fold and dried my swimming eyes.

Then was dark night dispelled, the shadows fled away, and my eyes received returning power as before. ’Twas just as when the heavenly bodies are enveloped by the west wind’s rush, and the sky stands thick with watery clouds; the sun is hidden and the stars are not yet come into the sky, and night descending from above o’erspreads the earth: but if the north wind smites this scene, launched forth from the Thracian cave, it unlocks the imprisoned daylight; the sun shines forth, and thus sparkling Phoebus smites with his rays our wondering eyes.

In such a manner were the clouds of grief scattered. Then I drew breath again and engaged my mind in taking knowledge of my physician’s countenance. So when I turned my eyes towards her and fixed my gaze upon her, I recognised my nurse, Philosophy, in whose chambers I had spent my life from earliest manhood. And I asked her, “Wherefore have you, mistress of all virtues, come down from heaven above to visit my lonely place of banishment? Is it that you, as well as I, may be harried, the victim of false charges?”

“Should I,” said she, “desert you, my nursling?

“Should I not share and bear my part of the burden which has been laid upon you from spite against my name? Surely Philosophy never allowed herself to let the innocent go upon their journey unbefriended. Think you I would fear calumnies? that I would be terrified as though they were a new misfortune? Think you that this is the first time that wisdom has been harassed by dangers among men of shameless ways?”

Chrysostom (c. 347–407) Exiled, Forced to Walk Until He Drops

Chrysostom preaches to Aelia Eudoxia, by Jean-Paul Laurens [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Forced against his will to become archbishop of Constantinople, John Chrysostom soon alienated the empress and emperor by his stern, and often tactless, rebukes of their pride and pleasures. For instance, on different occasions he likened the empress to both Jezebel and Herodias, two of the most wicked women in the Bible. As a consequence, he was sent into a harsh exile. When his influence did not wane in exile, he was moved further and further from the eastern capital of the Roman Emperor and the recent scene of his labor and conflicts.

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Finally the emperor determined to shut his mouth once for all. Robert Wheler Bush describes the method chosen and its result.

Chrysostom’s forced march as described in Robert Wheler Bush’s Life and Times of Chrysostom

Pityus was selected as being the most windswept and inhospitable place in the limits of the Roman empire, at the base of Mount Caucasus, and, therefore, as the most likely to bring his existence to a close, even on the supposition that the long and fatiguing three-months’ journey did not, before his arrival, extinguish his frail life.

Such was the murderous design that received the emperor’s approval. Two praetorian guards of notorious ferocity were picked out to execute this deadly commission. No pity was to be shown to their feeble prisoner. They were ordered to accomplish the journey with remorseless expedition. No consideration for the health or comfort of their victim was for a moment to be entertained. Promotion, it was hinted, might be expected if their cruel treatment brought about his death on the journey. He was not to be allowed any conveyance; the journey must be performed on foot. The solace of a hot bath was not to be permitted to the sufferer. No towns, at which comforts could be procured, were to be selected as places for a halt; poor and miserable villages were to be chosen in preference, or they were to spend the night at unsheltered places in the open country. He was to receive no letters; and all communication with strangers or passers-by was to be sternly prevented.

One of the guards was disposed to relent a little in his conduct towards him; but the time of that sad and dreadful journey must have been terrible indeed to the toil-worn and ague-stricken sufferer. His body was scorched by the heat of the glaring sun, so that, as Palladius has remarked, it resembled a ripe apple ready to fall from the tree.

He reached Comana in Pontus, but it was evident that he could advance with safety no farther on the road. His unrelenting escort, however, hurried him through the town without any halt, till, at about five or six miles beyond Comana, they reached a chapel, with some residences attached to it, which had been erected over the tomb of Basilicus, a martyred bishop of Comana, who had died for the faith of Christ in the reign of Maximin. Here a halt for the night was made. We are told that, during sleep, Chrysostom beheld the martyred bishop standing near him, and telling him to “be of good cheer, for tomorrow they should be together.” A similar vision, it is reported, was previously seen by the priest of the chapel, who was bidden to “prepare a place for our brother John.”

In the morning, Chrysostom earnestly pleaded for a short rest. His entreaty, however, was fruitless. He was urged forward once more on his sad journey; but they had not advanced more than four miles on their way, when a very violent access of fever came upon him, and they were reluctantly forced to go back to Comana. When Chrysostom reached the chapel, he was supported to the communion table, and having been attired, according to his request, with the white robe of baptism, he gave away the clothes which he had worn to those who were standing near him. He then received the holy communion, uttered a last prayer, which he concluded with his usual doxology, “Glory to God for all things. Amen”—and peacefully fell asleep in Jesus, on September 14th, 407, in the sixtieth year of his age, or, according to others, the eighth month of his fifty-second year. It was the third year and third month of his exile, and the tenth year of his archbishopric.