Many Jerome
translations and studies with links to Amazon
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STUDIES
(Click on images below.)
The Monk and the Book:
Jerome and the Making of Christian Scholarship
Megan Hale Williams --------
Jerome:
His Life, Writings, and Controversies
J. N. D. Kelly --------
Saint Jerome in the Renaissance
Eugene F. Rice --------
Jerome (The Early Church Fathers)
Stefan Rebenich --------
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LETTER XXII.
30
Many years ago, when for the kingdom of heaven’s sake I had cut myself off from
home, parents, sister, relations, and—harder still—from the dainty food to which
I had been accustomed; and when I was on my way to Jerusalem to wage my warfare,
I still could not bring myself to forego the library which I had formed for
myself at Rome with great care and toil. And so, miserable man that I was, I
would fast only that I might afterwards read Cicero. After many nights spent in
vigil, after floods of tears called from my inmost heart, after the recollection
of my past sins, I would once more take up Plautus. And when at times I returned to my right
mind, and began to read the prophets, their style seemed rude and repellent.
I failed to see the light with my blinded eyes; but I attributed the fault
not to them, but to the sun. While the old serpent was thus making me his
plaything, about the middle of Lent a deep-seated fever fell upon my
weakened body, and while it destroyed my rest completely—the story seems
hardly credible—it so wasted my unhappy frame that scarcely anything was
left of me but skin and bone. Meantime preparations for my funeral went on;
my body grew gradually colder, and the warmth of life lingered only in my
throbbing breast. Suddenly I was caught up in the spirit and dragged before
the judgment seat of the Judge; and here the light was so bright, and those
who stood around were so radiant, that I cast myself upon the ground and did
not dare to look up. Asked who and what I was I replied: “I am a Christian.”
But He who presided said: “Thou liest, thou art a follower of Cicero and not
of Christ. For ‘where thy treasure is, there will thy heart be also.’”
Instantly I became dumb, and amid the strokes of the lash—for He had ordered
me to be scourged—I was tortured more severely still by the fire of
conscience, considering with myself that verse, “In the grave who shall give
thee thanks?” Yet for all that I began to cry and to bewail myself,
saying: “Have mercy upon me, O Lord: have mercy upon me.” Amid the sound of
the scourges this cry still made itself heard. At last the bystanders,
falling down before the knees of Him who presided, prayed that He would have
pity on my youth, and that He would give me space to repent of my error. He
might still, they urged, inflict torture on me, should I ever again read the
works of the Gentiles. Under the stress of that awful moment I should have
been ready to make even still larger promises than these. Accordingly I made
oath and called upon His name, saying: “Lord, if ever again I possess
worldly books, or if ever again I read such, I have denied Thee.” Dismissed,
then, on taking this oath, I returned to the upper world, and, to the
surprise of all, I opened upon them eyes so drenched with tears that my
distress served to convince even the incredulous. And that this was no sleep
nor idle dream, such as those by which we are often mocked, I call to
witness the tribunal before which I lay, and the terrible judgment which I
feared. May it never, hereafter, be my lot to fall under such an
inquisition! I profess that my shoulders were black and blue, that I felt
the bruises long after I awoke from my sleep, and that thenceforth I read
the books of God with a zeal greater than I had previously given to the
books of men.
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