The Life of Saint Monica: This book is above all things the story
of a mother. But it is also the story of a noble woman-a woman who
was truly great, for the reason that she never sought to be so.
Because she understood the sphere in which a woman's work in the
world must usually lie, and led her life truly along the lines that
God had laid down for her; because she suffered bravely, forgot
herself for others, and remained faithful to her noble ideals, she
ruled as a queen amongst those with whom her life was cast. Her
influence was great and far-reaching, but she herself was the last
to suspect it, the last to desire it, and that was perhaps the
secret of its greatness. The type is rare at the present day, but,
thank God There are Monicas still in the world. If there were more,
the world would be a better place. Excerpt: CHAPTER I HOW ST.
MONICA WAS BROUGHT UP BY CHRISTIAN PARENTS IN THE CITY OF TAGASTE
On the sunny northern coast of Africa in the country which we now
call Algeria stood, in the early days of Christianity, a city
called Tagaste. Not far distant lay the field of Zarna, where the
glory of Hannibal had perished for ever. But Rome had long since
avenged the sufferings of her bitter struggle with Carthage. It was
the ambition of Roman Africa, as the new colony had been called by
its conquerors, to be, if possible, more Roman than Rome. Every
town had its baths, its theatre, its circus, its temples, its
aqueducts. It was forbidden even to exiles as a place of refuge-too
much like home, said the authorities. It was about the middle of
the fourth century. The Church was coming forth from her long
imprisonment into the light of day. The successor of Constantine,
in name a Christian, sat on the Imperial throne. The old struggle
with paganism, which had lasted for four hundred years, was nearly
at an end, but new dangers assailed the Christian world. Men had
found that it was easier to twist the truth than to deny it, and
heresy and schism were abroad. In the atrium or outer court of a
villa on the outskirts of Tagaste an old woman and a young girl sat
together looking out into the dark shadows of the evening, for the
hot African sun had sunk not long since behind the Numidian
Mountains, and the day had gone out like a lamp. "And the holy
Bishop Cyprian?" asked the girl. "They sent him into exile," said
the old woman, "for his father had been a Senator, and his family
was well known and powerful. At that time they dared not put him to
death, though later he, too, shed his blood for Christ. It was
God's will that he should remain for many years to strengthen his
flock in the trial." "Did you ever see him, grandmother?" asked the
girl. "No," said the old woman, "it was before my time; but my
mother knew him well. It was when he was a boy in Carthage and
still a pagan that the holy martyrs Perpetua and Felicitas suffered
with their companions. It was not till years after that he became a
Christian, but it may have been their death that sowed the first
seed in his heart." "Tell me," said the girl softly. It was an
oft-told tale of which she never tired. Her grandmother had lived
through those dark days of persecution, and it was the delight of
Monica's girlhood to hear her tell the stories of those who had
borne witness to the Faith in their own land of Africa. "Perpetua
was not much older than you," said the old woman. "She was of noble
race and born of a Christian mother, though her father was a pagan.
She was married, and had a little infant of a few months' old. When
she was called before the tribunal of Hilarion the Roman Governor,
all were touched by her youth and beauty. Sacrifice to the gods, '
they said, 'and you shall go free.' 'I am a Christian, ' she
answered, and nothing more would she say, press her as they might.
"Her old father hastened to her side with the baby, and laid it in
her arms. 'Will you leave your infant motherless?' he asked, 'and
bring your old father's hairs in sorrow t
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