Letter 77: The eulogy of Fabiola whose restless life had come to an end in 399 A.D. Jerome tells the story of her sin and of her penitence (for which see Letter LV.), of the hospital established by her at Portus, of her visit to Bethlehem, and of her earnestness in the study of scripture. He relates how he wrote for her his account of the vestments of the ...

JeromeOceanus|c. 396 AD|jerome
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Barbarian peoples/invasions; Theological controversy; Imperial politics

Letter 77: To Oceanus (399 AD, Bethlehem)

[Jerome writes a magnificent eulogy of Fabiola, one of the most remarkable women of late Roman Christianity. The letter recounts her divorce and controversial remarriage, her dramatic public penance, her founding of the first hospital in Rome, her visit to Bethlehem, her flight from the Huns, and her triumphal funeral. It is one of Jerome's finest literary performances — vivid, passionate, and characteristically unafraid to confront scandal head-on.]

1. Several years ago I consoled the venerable Paula while her grief was still fresh over the death of Blaesilla. Four summers ago I wrote Bishop Heliodorus an epitaph for Nepotian, pouring whatever ability I possess into expressing my sorrow at his loss. Only two years have passed since I sent a brief letter to my dear Pammachius on the sudden departure of his Paulina — and I blushed to say more to so learned a man, or to give him back his own thoughts, lest I seem less a consoling friend than an officious instructor of one already perfect. But now, Oceanus my son, the task you lay on me is one I gladly accept and would seek even unasked. When new virtues demand treatment, an old subject becomes new. In previous cases I had to restrain a mother's grief, an uncle's sorrow, a husband's yearning — applying different scriptural remedies to different needs.

2. Today you give me Fabiola as my theme: the pride of the Christians, the marvel of the pagans, the grief of the poor, the consolation of the monks. Whatever aspect of her character I choose to treat first pales beside what follows. Shall I praise her fasts? Her almsgiving is greater still. Her humility? The blaze of her faith outshines it. Her deliberate plainness of dress, her voluntary choice of a slave's garb to shame silken robes? Changing one's disposition is a greater feat than changing one's wardrobe. It is harder for us to part with arrogance than with gold and gems — for even when we cast these aside, we sometimes preen ourselves on an austerity that is really just ostentation, bidding for popular applause with a poverty that is itself for sale. But a virtue that seeks concealment and is nurtured in the inner conscience appeals to no judge but God. The eulogies I must bestow on Fabiola will therefore be entirely new. I will not begin from a noble lineage — some rhetorician might trace her to Quintus Maximus, the man whose delays saved Rome, and the whole Fabian clan. But I am a lover of the inn at Bethlehem and the stable where the Virgin bore an infant God, and I shall trace Christ's handmaid not from a stock famous in history but from the lowliness of the Church.

3. Because at the very outset a rock blocks the path — she is overwhelmed by censure for leaving her first husband and taking a second — I will not praise her conversion until I have cleared her of this charge. So terrible were the faults imputed to her former husband that not even a prostitute or a common slave could have endured them. Were I to recount them, I would undo the heroism of a wife who chose to bear the blame of separation rather than expose the stains of the man who was one body with her. I will urge only this plea, which suffices to exonerate a chaste matron and a Christian woman.

The Lord has commanded that a wife must not be put away except for fornication, and that if put away she must remain unmarried. Now a commandment given to men logically applies to women also. It cannot be that an adulterous wife must be dismissed while a debauched husband may be kept. The apostle says: "He who is joined to a harlot is one body with her" [1 Corinthians 6:16]. Therefore she who is joined to a whoremonger is likewise made one body with him. The laws of Caesar differ from the laws of Christ; Papinianus commands one thing, our Paul another. Earthly laws give a free rein to male unchastity, condemning only seduction and adultery — lust is allowed to roam unrestrained among brothels and slave girls, as if guilt were determined by the rank of the person assaulted rather than the intent of the assailant. But with us Christians, what is unlawful for women is equally unlawful for men, and since both serve the same God, both are bound by the same obligations.

Fabiola, then, did dismiss a sinful husband — they are quite right about that — a man guilty of offenses so notorious that the whole neighborhood rang with them, though the wife alone refused to name them. If, however, she is charged with not remaining unmarried after the divorce, I freely admit this was a fault, but at the same time declare it may have been a necessity. "It is better to marry than to burn" [1 Corinthians 7:9]. She was quite young and unable to endure widowhood. In the apostle's words, she saw "another law in her members warring against the law of her mind" [Romans 7:23], and felt herself dragged in chains toward the indulgences of wedlock. She thought it better to confess her weakness openly and accept the appearance of an unhappy marriage than, bearing the name of a faithful wife, to ply the trade of a courtesan. Fabiola believed she had acted legitimately in divorcing her husband and was free to remarry. She did not know that the rigor of the gospel forbids women all pretext for remarriage as long as their former husbands are alive — and not knowing this, though she managed to evade other assaults of the devil, she unwittingly exposed herself to a wound at this one point.

4. But why do I linger over old and forgotten matters, seeking to excuse a fault Fabiola has herself confessed through penitence? Who would believe it? After the death of her second husband — at a time when most widows, having shaken off the yoke of servitude, grow reckless and give themselves more liberty than ever, frequenting the baths, flitting through the streets, showing their painted faces everywhere — at precisely this time Fabiola came to herself. She put on sackcloth and made public confession of her error. There, in the presence of all Rome, in the basilica that once belonged to that Lateranus who perished by Caesar's sword, she stood in the ranks of the penitents and exposed before bishop, priests, and people — all of whom wept to see her weeping — her disheveled hair, her pale face, her unwashed hands and neck.

What sins would such penance fail to purge? What ingrained stains would such tears fail to wash away? Peter's threefold confession blotted out his threefold denial. If Aaron committed sacrilege by fashioning molten gold into a calf, his brother's prayers atoned for his transgression [Exodus 32:30-35]. If holy David, meekest of men, committed the double sin of murder and adultery, he atoned for it with a seven-day fast — lying on the earth, rolling in ashes, forgetting his royal dignity, groping for light in the darkness [2 Samuel 12:16]. And then, turning his eyes to the God he had so deeply offended, he cried in anguish: "Against you, you only, have I sinned and done this evil in your sight" and "Restore to me the joy of your salvation and uphold me with your free spirit" [Psalm 51:4, 12]. Among the kings, do we read of any so wicked as Ahab? Yet when Ahab heard Elijah's denunciation, "he tore his clothes, put sackcloth on his flesh, and fasted... and went about dejectedly" [1 Kings 21:27]. And the word of God came to Elijah: "Do you see how Ahab humbles himself before me? Because he humbles himself before me, I will not bring the disaster in his days" [1 Kings 21:28-29]. O happy penitence, which has drawn upon itself the eyes of God and by confessing its fault reversed the sentence of divine wrath!

5. This one thing I will say, for it is both useful and pertinent. As Fabiola was not ashamed of the Lord on earth, so He shall not be ashamed of her in heaven [Luke 9:26]. She laid bare her wound to the gaze of all, and Rome beheld with tears the disfiguring scar that marred her beauty. She bared her head and closed her mouth. She no longer entered the church of God but, like Miriam the sister of Moses [Numbers 12:14], sat apart outside the camp until the priest who had cast her out should call her back. She descended like the daughter of Babylon from the throne of her elegance, took the millstones and ground meal, and passed barefoot through rivers of tears [Isaiah 47:1-2]. The face that had once pleased her second husband she now struck with blows; she despised jewels, shunned ornaments, could not bear to look at fine linen. She mourned the sin she had committed as bitterly as if it were adultery, and spared no expense of remedies in her eagerness to heal her single wound.

6. Having run aground in the shallows of Fabiola's sin, I have dwelt this long on her penitence so that I might open up a wider, unobstructed space for the account of her virtues. Restored to communion before the eyes of the whole Church, what did she do? In the day of prosperity she did not forget affliction [Sirach 11:25], and having once suffered shipwreck she refused to face the sea again. Instead of re-embarking on her old life, she sold everything she could lay her hands on — a fortune befitting her rank — and converted it to money for the poor.

She was the first person to found a hospital, where she could gather the sick out of the streets and nurse the wretched victims of disease and want. Need I catalogue the ailments of humanity? Need I describe noses slit, eyes gouged out, feet half-burned, hands covered with sores, limbs swollen and wasted, flesh crawling with worms? She often carried on her own shoulders people racked with jaundice and filth. She washed with her own hands the pus from wounds that others — men included — could not bear to look at. She fed patients herself and moistened the barely breathing lips of the dying with sips of liquid.

I know many wealthy and devout people who, unable to overcome their natural revulsion at such sights, perform this work of mercy through agents, giving money instead of personal service. I do not blame them — I am far from calling a weakness of stomach a failure of faith. But while I pardon their squeamishness, I extol to the heavens the burning zeal of a spirit that rises above it. A great faith makes light of such horrors. And I know the terrible retribution that fell on the rich man clothed in purple for failing to help Lazarus [Luke 16:19-24]. The poor wretch we despise, whom we cannot bring ourselves to look at, whose very sight turns our stomachs — that person is human like us, made from the same clay, formed from the same elements. Whatever he suffers, we may suffer too. Let us regard his wounds as our own, and all our callousness toward another's pain will dissolve before pity for ourselves.

"Not with a hundred tongues or throat of bronze / could I exhaust the forms of fell disease" — which Fabiola alleviated so wonderfully that many of the healthy fell to envying the sick. She showed the same generosity to clergy, monks, and virgins. Was there a monastery not supported by Fabiola's wealth? A naked or bedridden person not clothed by her? Anyone in want to whom she did not give swift, unhesitating relief? Even Rome was not wide enough for her compassion. In person or through trusted agents she went from island to island, carrying her bounty around the Etruscan Sea and throughout the Volscian coast, along those secluded, winding shores where monastic communities are found.

7. Then suddenly, against the advice of all her friends, she resolved to take ship and sail to Jerusalem. She was welcomed here by a great crowd, and for a short time she enjoyed my hospitality. Indeed, when I recall our meeting, I seem to see her here now rather than in the past. Blessed Jesus, what zeal, what passion she poured into the sacred texts! In her craving to learn she would race through the Prophets, the Gospels, the Psalms — posing questions and storing the answers in the treasury of her memory. Yet this eagerness brought no satiety: "increasing her knowledge, she also increased her sorrow" [Ecclesiastes 1:18], and by casting oil on the flame she only fed a still more burning desire.

One day we had before us the book of Numbers, and she questioned me about the meaning of all those names. Why were certain tribes grouped differently in one passage and another? How was it that the soothsayer Balaam, in prophesying the mysteries of Christ [Numbers 24:15-19], spoke more plainly of Him than almost any other prophet? I answered as best I could. Then, unrolling the scroll further, she reached the list of all the halting-places by which the people traveled from Egypt to the waters of Jordan. When she asked me the meaning of each, I spoke with confidence on some, hesitation on others, and in several cases simply confessed my ignorance. At this she pressed me harder, protesting that it was unacceptable for me to be ignorant of what I did not know — while simultaneously insisting on her own unworthiness to understand such deep mysteries. In short, I was ashamed to refuse and let her extort from me a promise that I would devote a special work to this subject for her use. Until now I have had to defer that promise — as I now see, by the will of God, so that it might be consecrated to her memory.

8. But let me continue. While I was searching for a suitable dwelling for so great a lady — whose idea of the solitary life still required something like Mary's inn — suddenly messengers flew in every direction and the whole East was struck with terror. News came that hordes of Huns had poured forth from the Sea of Azov — their hunting grounds between the frozen Don and the savage Massagetae, where the Gates of Alexander hold back the wild peoples behind the Caucasus. Speeding on their nimble horses, they were filling the entire world with panic and slaughter. The Roman army was absent, detained in Italy by the civil wars. May Jesus preserve the Roman world from further assaults by these beasts!

Everywhere their approach was unexpected — they outran rumor itself. When they came, they spared neither religion, nor rank, nor age; they had no pity even for wailing infants. Children were forced to die before they could be said to have begun living, and little ones, oblivious to their fate, could be seen smiling in the hands of their killers. It was generally believed the invaders were making for Jerusalem, driven by their insatiable greed for gold. The city's walls, neglected in peacetime, were hastily repaired. Antioch was under siege. Tyre, seeking to cut itself off from the mainland, retreated once more to its ancient island. We too were compelled to man our ships and lie offshore as a precaution, dreading the barbarians more than any shipwreck. Our anxiety was not so much for our own safety as for the chastity of the virgins in our company. At the same time, dissension raged among us, and our internal struggles overshadowed even the barbarian threat.

I myself clung to my long-settled home in the East, yielding to my deep love of the holy places. Fabiola, accustomed to moving from city to city and owning nothing beyond what her baggage held, returned to her native land — to live in poverty where she had once been rich, to lodge in another's house though she had once hosted many guests in her own, and — not to prolong the tale — to pour out before the eyes of Rome the proceeds of the property that Rome had watched her sell.

9. This only do I lament: in her, the holy places lost their loveliest jewel. Rome recovered what it had previously surrendered, and the slanderous tongues of the pagans were silenced by the testimony of their own eyes. Others may praise her compassion, her humility, her faith — I will rather praise her fire. My letter urging Heliodorus to the hermit's life, written when I was a young man, she knew by heart; and whenever she gazed upon the walls of Rome she complained she was in a prison. Heedless of her sex, forgetful of her frailty, desiring only solitude, she was already in spirit where her soul longed to be. Her friends' counsel could not hold her back — she was that eager to burst from the city as from a place of bondage. She did not delegate her charity to others; she distributed it herself. Her wish was that, having given her money equitably to the poor, she might herself find support from others for Christ's sake. She was in such haste, so impatient of delay, that you would have thought her on the eve of departure. Because she was always ready, death could not catch her unprepared.

10. As I write her praises, my dear Pammachius suddenly rises before me. His wife Paulina sleeps that he may keep vigil; she has gone before her husband so that he, left behind, may be Christ's servant. Though he was his wife's heir, others — the poor, I mean — now possess his inheritance. He and Fabiola competed for the privilege of establishing a hospice like Abraham's tent at Portus. The rivalry between them was over who could show more kindness. Each conquered and each was defeated; both were at once victors and vanquished, for what each had wanted to accomplish alone they achieved together. They pooled their resources and united their plans, so that cooperation might advance what competition would have ruined. No sooner was the project conceived than it was carried out. A house was purchased as a shelter, and crowds flocked to it.

The seas brought voyagers who found a welcome waiting at the harbor. Travelers hurried from Rome to take advantage of the mild coast before setting sail. What Publius once did on Malta for a single apostle and a single ship's crew [Acts 28:7], Fabiola and Pammachius did again and again for vast numbers — not only supplying the needs of the destitute but providing additional means for those who already had something. The whole world knows a hospice has been established at Portus; Britain learned in the summer what Egypt and Parthia knew in the spring.

11. In the death of this noble woman we see fulfilled the apostle's words: "All things work together for good to those who fear God" [Romans 8:28]. Having a presentiment of what was to come, she had written to several monks asking them to come and help her discharge the burden of her remaining wealth — for she wished to "make friends by means of unrighteous mammon, that they might receive her into everlasting dwellings" [Luke 16:9]. They came, and she made them her friends. She fell asleep as she had wished, and having at last laid down her burden she soared all the more lightly to heaven.

How great a marvel Fabiola had been to Rome in life became clear in the city's behavior at her death. Hardly had she breathed her last, hardly had she given back to Christ the soul that was His, when "flying Rumor, heralding the woe," gathered the entire city for her funeral. Psalms were chanted and the gilded ceilings of the churches trembled with thunderous shouts of Alleluia. "The choirs of young and old extolled her deeds / and sang the praises of her holy soul." Her triumph was more glorious by far than those of Furius over the Gauls, Papirius over the Samnites, Scipio over Numantia, or Pompey over Pontus. Those men had conquered physical force; she had mastered "spiritual wickedness" [Ephesians 6:12]. I seem to hear even now the vanguard leading the procession, and the thunder of the multitude that thronged in thousands to her funeral. Streets, porticoes, and rooftops could not contain the spectators. On that day Rome saw all her peoples gathered as one, and every person present claimed some share in the glory of her penitence. No wonder that mortals should rejoice in the salvation of one whose conversion brought "joy among the angels in heaven" [Luke 15:7, 10].

12. I offer you this, Fabiola — the best gift of my aging powers — as a funeral tribute. Many times I have praised virgins and widows and married women who kept their garments spotless and "follow the Lamb wherever He goes" [Revelation 14:4]. Happy indeed is she whose life has been stained by no defilement. But let envy depart and censoriousness be silent. "If the master of the house is good, why should our eye be evil?" [Matthew 20:15]. The soul that fell among thieves has been carried home on the shoulders of Christ. "In my Father's house are many rooms" [John 14:2]. "Where sin abounded, grace abounded all the more" [Romans 5:20]. "To whom more is forgiven, the same loves more" [Luke 7:47].

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

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