shes the enemies of Saint Martin; a dog lets loose a hare, and
a great fire ceases to burn at his command. Mary the Egyptian walks
upon the sea; honey-bees fly from the mouth of Ambrosius at his birth.
Continually saints cure diseases of the eye, withered limbs, paralysis,
leprosy, and especially the plague. There is no disease that resists the
sign of the Cross. In a crowd, the suffering and the feeble are placed
together, that they may be cured in a mass, as if by a thunderbolt.
Death itself is conquered, and resurrections are so frequent that they
become quite an everyday affair. And when the saints themselves are
dead the wonders do not cease, but are redoubled, and are like perennial
flowers which spring from their tombs. It is said that from the head and
the feet of Nicholas flowed two fountains of oil which cured every ill.
When the tomb of Saint Cecilia was opened an odour of roses came up from
her coffin. That of Dorothea was filled with manna. All the bones of
virgins and of martyrs performed marvels: they confounded liars, they
forced robbers to give back their stolen goods, they granted the prayers
of childless wives, they brought the dying back to life. Nothing was
impossible for them; in fact the Invisible reigned, and the only law
was the caprice of the supernatural. In the temples the sorcerers mix
themselves up with the popular idea, and scythes cut the grass without
being held, brass serpents move, and one hears bronze statues laugh and
wolves sing. Immediately the saints reply and overwhelm them. The Host
is changed into living food, sacred Christian images shed drops of
blood, sticks set upright in the ground blossom into flower, springs
of pure water appear in dry places, warm loaves of bread multiply
themselves at the feet of the needy, a tree bows down before some holy
person, and so on. Then, again, decapitated heads speak, broken chalices
mend themselves, the rain turns aside from a church to submerge a
neighbouring palace, the robes of hermits never wear out, but renew
themselves at each season like the skin of a beast. In Armenia at one
time the persecutors threw into the sea the leaden coffins of five
martyrs, and the one containing the body of Saint Bartholomew the
Apostle took the lead, and the four others accompanied it as a guard of
honour. So, all together, in regular order, like a fine squadron, they
floated slowly along, urged by the breeze, through the whole length of
the sea, until the