Martin’s Wonderful Piety

No one ever saw him angry, or agitated, or grieving, or laughing. He was always one and the same, showing a kind of heavenly joy in his face, so that he seemed to have passed beyond the ordinary limits of human nature. There was never anything on his lips but Christ, and never anything in his heart but piety, peace and tender mercy. He often wept, too, for the sins of those who showed themselves his abusers, those who, while he led his quiet and retired life, slandered him with poisoned tongues and vipers’ mouths. And indeed we have known some who envied his virtues and his life, who really hated in him what they did not see in themselves and had no power to imitate. And (oh, wickedness worthy of the deepest grief and groaning!) some of his slanderers, though very few, some of his detractors, I say, were said to be none other than bishops! Here, though, there is no need to name anyone, although a good many of these people are still snarling at me. I will count it enough that if any of them reads this account and sees that he himself is meant, he may have the grace to blush. But if instead he grows angry, by that very fact he will admit that he is one of those spoken of, though all the while I may perhaps have had someone else in mind. I shall not be at all ashamed, however, if people of that sort include me in their hatred along with such a man as Martin. [a]

I am quite convinced that this little work will give pleasure to all truly good people. And I will say only this further: if anyone reads this account in a spirit of unbelief, he himself will fall into sin. I know in my own heart that it was belief in the facts and the love of Christ that led me to write these things, and that in doing so I have set out what is well known and recorded what is true. And, as I trust, the one for whom God has prepared a reward is not the one who reads these things, but the one who believes them.