The Voyage of St Brendan
The Voyage of St Brendan
1 SAINT BRENDAN, the son of Findlug, great-grandson of Atla of the line of Eogen, was born in the marshy region of Munster. He led a very ascetical life, was renowned for his powers as a miracle worker, and was spiritual father to almost three thousand monks.
One evening, while he was engaged in spiritual warfare in the place known as Brendan’s Meadow of Miracles,1 a monk called Barinthus,2 one of Brendan’s own kinsmen, came to visit him. Brendan questioned him at length and, when the interrogation was over, Barinthus began to weep. He threw himself full-length on the ground, and remained there a long time in prayer until Brendan lifted him to his feet, kissed him, and said, ‘Father, your visit ought to be filling us with joy, not sadness. Surely you came with the intention of cheering us up, so preach the word of God to us and then regale our spirits with an account of the wonders you have seen on your voyage over the sea.’
In answer to this request Barinthus started to tell them about an island he had visited:
‘My son Mernoc, the steward of Christ’s poor,’ he began, ‘fled from my sight in order to live the life of a hermit. He discovered an island called the Island of Delights, situated near a rocky mountain. A long while later I received news that there were many other monks with him on the island, and that God had worked numerous miracles through him. So I went to visit him myself.
‘After a three days’ journey I reached the island and found Mernoc and his brethren hurrying down to the shore to meet me – the Lord had revealed to him that I was coming. As we went round the island monks poured from their cells like a swarm of bees to look at us. The cells were scattered far and wide over the island, but the monks lived in close spiritual union with each other, bound together in faith, hope, and charity: they all ate at the same table and always sang the Divine Office in common. Their diet was made up of apples, nuts, roots, green vegetables, and nothing else. At night, when compline was over, each monk had to go to his cell and remain there till cockcrow or until the rising bell was rung. My son Mernoc and I stayed awake to wander round the island during the night. He led me to the western shore where there was a small boat moored. “Father,” he said, “let us embark and row away westwards to the isle which is called the Land of Promise of the Saints, that land which God will give to us and our successors on the last day.” We boarded ship and sailed away.
‘Clouds came down and covered us on all sides, so completely that we could scarcely make out the prow or stern of the vessel, but after we had sailed an hour or two a brilliant light shone round us and a country appeared before us, spacious, green, and exceedingly fruitful. The ship put in to land and we disembarked to make a tour of the island. We walked for fifteen days and still did not reach the farther shore. All the plants we saw were flowering plants and every tree was a fruit tree; the very stones beneath our feet were precious. On the fifteenth day we came to a river flowing from east to west. We stood and thought of all the marvels we had seen and wondered what direction we should take: we were eager to cross the river but were waiting for God to show us His will in the matter. Our ponderings were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a man surrounded by an aura of shining light. He greeted us by name and said: “Be of good cheer, brethren. The Lord has shown you this land which is intended for His saints. The river you see before you divides the island in two. You may not cross it; go back, therefore, the way you came.” I asked him where he came from and what was his name. “Why do you ask me where I come from or what is my name?” he answered. “Why do you not rather question me about the island itself? From the very beginning of the world it has remained exactly as you see it now. Do you need any food, drink, or clothing? You have been here a whole year already without tasting food or drink. You have never felt the need for sleep, for it has been daylight all the time. Here there is no obscuring darkness but only perpetual day, the Lord Jesus Christ being Himself our light.”
‘We set out at once and the man accompanied us as far as our boat. He disappeared from sight when we boarded the vessel, and we sailed back through the same dense cloud as before and arrived at the Island of Delights. When the brethren caught sight of us they rejoiced greatly and expressed their sorrow over our prolonged absence. “Why, fathers,” they complained, “did you leave your sheep to wander about in a wood without their shepherd to tend them? We are becoming accustomed to our abbot’s leaving us quite frequently to go we know not where and to stay there for perhaps a week, a fortnight, or even a month.” I tried to comfort them. “Brethren,” I said, “please do not think ill of us. You are living before the gate of Paradise. Not far from here is that island which is called the Land of Promise of the Saints, where night never falls and day knows no ending. It is to this place that Mernoc, your abbot, so often goes. Have no fear, for an angel guards him on his journey. Can you not tell by the smell of our garments that we have been in Paradise?”
‘ “Father,” they answered, “we know that you have been to God’s Paradise over the sea, but exactly where it is we do not know. We have often been able to smell the fragrance issuing from our abbot’s garments for forty days after his return.”
‘I had stayed with my son for two full weeks on the Island of Promise without eating a bite or drinking a mouthful, yet we felt so replete that anyone might well have thought we were full of new wine. After forty days on the Island of Delights I received the blessing of the abbot and his monks and left with my companions to return to my own cell – I shall arrive there tomorrow.’
St Brendan and his whole community prostrated themselves, glorifying God and saying ‘The Lord is righteous in all His ways: and holy in all His works.’ When they had finished praying, Brendan said: ‘Let us take some refreshment and carry out the Lord’s “new commandment”.’1 The following morning St Barinthus received the brethren’s blessing and set off for his own cell.
2 St Brendan chose out fourteen monks from the community, shut himself up with them in an oratory, and addressed them thus: ‘My most beloved co-warriors in spiritual conflict, I beg you to help me with your advice, for I am consumed with a desire so ardent that it casts every other thought and desire out of my heart. I have resolved, if it be God’s will, to seek out that Land of Promise of the Saints which our father Barinthus described. What do you think of my plan? Have you any advice to offer?’
As soon as their father in God had made known his intentions, they all replied, as with one voice: ‘Father, your will is ours too. Have we not left our parents and set aside our earthly inheritance in order to put ourselves completely in your hands? We are prepared to come with you, no matter what the consequences may be. We seek to do one thing alone – the will of God.’
3 St Brendan and his companions observed a series of three-day fasts, to cover the period of forty days before they were due to set out. At the end of forty days, Brendan bade farewell to the body of his community, commended them to the prior’s care (this prior later succeeded Brendan as abbot), and set out westwards with his group of fourteen monks to the island of a holy monk called Enda.1 There they remained for three days and nights.
4 At the end of their stay Brendan received the blessing of Enda and of all his monks and set out to the most distant part of the region, where his parents lived. He did not wish to visit them, but, rather, pitched his tent on the top of a mountain that extended far out to sea, in the place that is called Brendan’s seat.2 Below, at the water’s edge, there was room for only one boat to put in. Brendan and his companions made a coracle, using iron tools. The ribs and frame were of wood, as is the custom in those parts, and the covering was tanned ox-hide stretched over oak bark. They greased all the seams on the outer surface of the skin with fat and stored away spare skins inside the coracle, together with forty days’ supplies, fat for waterproofing the skins, tools and utensils. A mast, a sail, and various pieces of equipment for steering were fitted into the vessel; then Brendan commanded his brethren in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit to go aboard.
5 As Brendan was standing alone on the shore blessing the harbour, three of his own monks, who left the monastery in search of him, approached. They fell down in front of their abbot’s feet. ‘Father,’ they begged, ‘let us go with you. If you refuse we will remain here and die of hunger and thirst, for we are determined to go with you as pilgrims all the days of our life.’ Seeing their plight he ordered them aboard: ‘Your will be done, my sons, though I know what you have come for. One of you has done well and God will reward him with the place he deserves. The other two have a terrible judgement awaiting them.’
Then he stepped aboard, the sails were hoisted and they set off towards the summer solstice; the wind was fair and they needed to do no more than steady the sails. After fifteen days’ sailing the wind fell and they rowed and rowed until their strength failed. ‘Have no fear,’ said Brendan, losing no time in encouraging the brethren, ‘for God is our helper. He is our captain and guide and will steer us out of danger. Just leave the sails and let Him do as He will with His servants and their boat.’ They ate every day about the time for vespers, and from time to time the wind would fill their sails, though they knew neither whence it came nor whither it was taking them.
6 Forty days passed and they found themselves without food. Then one day an island came in sight towards the south. It looked very high and rocky, and as they drew in to the shore they saw a bank, built high like a wall, and several streams gushing down from the crest of the island into the sea. They could find no harbour at which to put in. Being sorely tormented with hunger and thirst, some of the monks picked up their flasks to fill them from the streams. The saint reproved them for this: ‘Stop, brethren! What a foolish thing to do! Since God does not intend to show us a way in just yet, why must you start assaulting the place? In three days’ time Our Lord Jesus Christ will show us a harbour and a place in which to stay and refresh our weary bodies.’ They circled round the island for three days and on the third, about the ninth hour, found a harbour just big enough for one ship. Brendan at once stood up and blessed it. On each side loomed a rock, cut away sheer like a wall and tremendously high. When they had all disembarked and were standing on dry land, St Brendan forbade them to bring any gear out of the boat. While they were wandering along the shore, a dog ran towards them down a path and sat at Brendan’s feet as though he were its master. ‘You must admit,’ said Brendan, ‘that God has sent us a trustworthy messenger. Let us follow him.’ He and his monks followed the dog till it led them to a group of buildings.
They entered and saw before them a vast hall, well furnished with seats and couches. Jugs of water had been put out for them to wash their feet. When they had sat down, St Brendan charged them: ‘Be on your guard, brethren, lest Satan lead you into temptation. I can see him persuading one of those three brethren who followed us to commit an awful theft. Pray for his soul, for his body is given over to the power of the devil.’ The walls of the room were hung with vases of various kinds of metal and bridles and drinking horns chased with silver.
Brendan told the monk who normally served their food to prepare supper. This monk found a table already laid, with cloths, rolls of extraordinarily white bread, and fishes. When everything was set out, Brendan blessed the food, praying thus: ‘Let us praise the God of Heaven who gives every creature its food.’ There was also plenty to drink. When the meal was over and they had finished the canonical hours for the day, the saint told them to sleep. ‘Take your rest,’ he said, ‘for there is a good, well-covered bed here for each of you. You need rest; you are worn out with over-exertion.’
After they had fallen asleep, St Brendan witnessed the machinations of the evil one. He saw a little Ethiopian boy holding out a silver necklace and juggling with it in front of the monk. At once the saint arose and persevered in prayer till dawn. At daybreak they went briskly about their business of singing the divine office, so that they might be able to get down to their boat in good time. When they had finished singing, a table appeared before them, already laid for a meal, just as had happened on the previous day. For three days and nights God provided for His servants in this way.
7 Then they set out on their voyage with this warning from Brendan: ‘Take care, brethren, not to take anything with you from this island.’
‘Far be it from us,’ they rejoined, ‘to mar our journey with theft.’
‘What I forecast yesterday has now come to pass. That brother of ours is hiding a silver necklace in his bosom; a devil handed it to him last night.’
At this the monk flung the necklace from him, fell at Brendan’s feet, and cried: ‘Father, I have sinned. Pardon me and pray for me lest I perish.’
The rest of the monks cast themselves to the ground and begged the Lord to save their brother’s soul. Brendan lifted the culprit to his feet and the rest of the monks stood up – to see a little Ethiopian boy pop out of the culprit’s breast and cry out: ‘Man of God, why are you expelling me from the home I have lived in these past seven years? You are casting me off from my inheritance.’
‘In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ,’ Brendan replied, ‘I forbid you to harm any man from now till the Day of Judgement.’ Then, turning to the monk, ‘You must receive the Body and Blood of the Lord, for your body and soul are soon to part company. You will be buried here, but that brother of yours who accompanied you out of the monastery will rest only in hell.’
The monk received Communion, his soul left his body and was borne heavenwards by angels of light, as the brethren stood looking on. Brendan buried him where he had died.
8 St Brendan and his monks reached the shore of the island where the boat was moored and, just as they were embarking, a young man arrived carrying a basket full of bread and a large jug of water. He greeted them, saying: ‘Accept a blessing from the hand of your servant. You have a long journey ahead of you before you will find the fulfilment of your desires, but at least you will not lack food and water between now and Easter.’ They received his blessing and sailed out into the open sea, where they refreshed themselves with food and drink every two days, while their barque was borne hither and thither over the face of the deep.
9 One day they sighted an island close at hand. A fair wind sprang up after they had set course for it and saved them from being overtaxed by the effort of rowing. On arrival, the man of God ordered them all out, but was himself the last to disembark. A tour of the island led to the discovery of springs gushing forth to form vast streams teeming with fish. ‘Let us sing the divine office here,’ said Brendan, ‘and offer to God the spotless victim of the Cross, for today is Maundy Thursday.’ They stayed there till Holy Saturday.
In their walks round the island they came across several flocks of sheep, all the same colour, white, and so enormous that their great bulky forms quite blotted out the ground from view. St Brendan called his brethren together and told them: ‘Take as many sheep as we shall need for the coming feast.’ They hurried away to carry out his order. One animal was singled out and its horns were tied. One of the monks took the cord attached to its horns and the sheep trotted along behind him, like a domestic pet. On their return Brendan repeated his command to one of the monks, saying: ‘Take an unspotted lamb from among the flock.’ The monk hastily did as he was bidden.
When all preparations had been made for the following day, a man suddenly appeared before them, carrying a basket full of bread baked in hot ashes, and other victuals. He put these down in front of Brendan and fell down three times full length on the ground at the saint’s feet, crying out: ‘What have I done, you pearl of God, to deserve the honour of providing meat and drink for you by the sweat of my brow during this holy season?’ Brendan raised him up and kissed him. ‘My son,’ he said, ‘Our Lord Jesus Christ Himself has indicated the place in which we are to celebrate His holy Resurrection.’
‘Father,’ the man replied, ‘you will celebrate Holy Saturday here, but God has decided that you will celebrate the Easter Vigil and tomorrow’s masses on the island you can now catch a glimpse of.’ Then the man began to wait on the servants of God and started collecting together whatever they would need the next day. He packed these supplies and carried them down to the coracle, then said to Brendan: ‘The boat can hold no more, but in eight days’ time I shall bring across to you everything you will need in the way of food and drink, sufficient to last you till Pentecost.’
‘And how,’ asked Brendan, ‘do you know where we will be in eight days from now?’
‘By tonight,’ the man rejoined, ‘you will be on that island you see close by and you will remain there till the sixth hour1 tomorrow. Then you will sail westwards to another island, called the Paradise of Birds. There you will remain till the octave of Pentecost.’
St Brendan asked him how the sheep could possibly grow to so great a size – they were as big as bulls.
‘There is nobody on the island to milk them, and since there is no winter to make them go thin they stay out at pasture and feed the whole year round. That is why they are bigger than sheep in your country.’
They blessed each other, then St Brendan and his monks set out for their boat and were soon rowing away.
10 Before reaching the neighbouring island, their vessel came to a standstill and the monks, on their master’s advice, jumped into the shallows and fixed ropes to either side of the boat to enable them to drag it in to the shore. The island was rocky and bare, there was hardly a grain of sand on the beach and only an occasional tree here and there. The monks landed and passed the whole night in prayer in the open, but Brendan stayed on board. He knew perfectly well what kind of an island it was but refrained from telling the others, lest they should take fright.
When morning came, he told the monks who were priests each to say his own mass, and this they did. After Brendan had sung mass in the boat, the monks took out of the coracle joints of raw meat and fish which they had brought over with them from the other island, and sprinkled them with salt. Then they lighted a fire and put a cooking-pot on it. When they had built the fire up with sticks and the pot began to boil, the island started to heave like a wave. The monks ran towards the boat, imploring their abbot to protect them. He dragged them in one by one and they set off, leaving behind all the things they had taken ashore. The island moved away across the sea, and when it had gone two miles and more the monks could still see their fire burning brightly. Brendan explained the situation: ‘Brethren, does the island’s behaviour surprise you?’
‘Indeed it does! We are almost petrified with fright.’
‘Have no fear, my sons. Last night God revealed to me the meaning of this wonder in a vision. It was no island that we landed on, but that animal which is the greatest of all creatures that swim in the sea. It is called Jasconius.1’
11 They rowed towards the island on which they had previously made a three days’ stay. They climbed its summit, which faces westwards across the sea, and from there they espied another island close at hand. It was grassy, covered with flowers, full of glades, and separated from the island they were on by only a narrow strait. They sailed round it, looking for a harbour, and put in at the mouth of a stream on the southern shore. This stream was about as wide as the coracle. The monks disembarked, and Brendan instructed them to fix ropes to the sides of the coracle and pull it, with himself on board, as hard as they could, against the current. He was conveyed about a mile upstream to the source. ‘Our Lord Jesus Christ,’ he said, ‘has led us to a place in which to stay and celebrate his Resurrection.’ Then he added: ‘I think that, even if we had brought no supplies at all, this spring would provide us with all the nourishment we need.’
Beyond the spring, on higher ground, there was an exceptionally tall tree growing, with a trunk of colossal girth. This tree was full of pure white birds; so thickly had they settled on it that there was hardly a branch, or even a leaf, to be seen. Brendan wondered why so vast a number of birds should have flocked together. So keenly did he long to unravel the mystery that he threw himself on his knees in tears and prayed silently: ‘O God, to whom nothing is unknown and who can bring to light every hidden fact, you see how anxious I am. I beseech your infinite majesty to deign to make known to me, a sinner, this secret design of yours which I see before me. I presume to ask, not because of any merit or dignity of my own, but solely on account of your boundless clemency.’
He sat down in the boat and one of the birds flew down from the tree towards him. The flapping of its wings sounded like a bell. It settled on the prow, spread out its wings as a sign of joy, and looked placidly at Brendan. He realized at once that God had paid heed to his prayer. ‘If you are God’s messenger,’ he said to the bird, ‘tell me where these birds come from and why they are gathered together.’
‘We are fallen angels,’ the bird replied, ‘part of the host which was banished from Heaven through the sin of man’s ancient foe. Our sin lay in approving the sin of Lucifer; when he and his band fell, we fell with them. Our God is faithful and just and, by His great justice, we were placed here. Thanks to His mercy, we suffer no torment: our only punishment is to have no part in the vision of His glory which those who stand before His throne in Heaven enjoy. Like the other messengers of God, we wander through the air, over the bowl of Heaven, and upon the earth, but on Sundays and holy days we take on this physical form and tarry here to sing the praises of our Creator. You and your companions have completed one year of your journey; six more years remain. Every year you will celebrate Easter in the same place as you are going to spend it today, and at the end of your travels you will achieve your heart’s desire – you will find the Land of Promise of the Saints.’ With that the bird flew away from the prow of the boat and rejoined the flock.
When it was almost time for vespers, the birds all began to sing in unison: ‘Thou, O God, art praised in Sion: and unto thee shall the vow be performed in Jerusalem…’, beating their wings against their sides, and they continued singing the verse antiphonally for a whole hour. To the man of God and his companions the rhythm of the melody combined with the sound of their beating wings seemed as sweet and moving as a plaintive song of lament.
‘Let us eat something,’ said Brendan to his monks, ‘to keep up our bodily strength; our souls have already been fully nourished today with heavenly food.’ After supper they sang the divine office and, when it was over, went to sleep till the third hour of the night. St Brendan stayed awake and called the brethren for lauds of Easter Sunday, himself intoning the ‘O Lord, open thou my lips’. When he had finished praying, the entire flock of birds started to flap their wings and sing ‘Praise him, all ye angels of his: praise him, all his host… ’ They sang for an hour, just as they had done previously at vespers.
As dawn came up in splendour, the birds sang ‘And may the splendour of the Lord come upon us… ’ in the same measure and psalm tone as they had used at lauds. At terce they sang ‘O sing praises unto our God; O sing praises, sing praises unto our king, sing ye praises with understanding… ’; at sext ‘Let thy face, O Lord, shine forth upon us, and be thou merciful unto us… ’; at none‘ Behold how good and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity… ’– day and night they praised the Lord.
Brendan made sure that Paschaltide was a source of spiritual refreshment for the brethren, by having them celebrate the full eight days of the Easter octave. When the feast days came to an end, he said: ‘Up to now we have used this spring, near which we are standing, only for washing our hands and feet; it is time for us to use it to replenish our supply of drinking water.’ Hardly had he finished speaking when the man who had been with them for three days before Easter, and who had stocked them up with provisions for the feast, arrived with a boat full of food and drink. He unloaded the supplies and said: ‘Men and brothers, you have here enough to last you till Pentecost. On no account drink water from that spring. It is too strong to drink. Let me tell you what its properties are: it flows from a spring and looks and tastes like ordinary water but, if anyone drinks it, he immediately falls fast asleep and remains in that condition for the next twenty-four hours.’ Then he received Brendan’s blessing and returned home.
The monks stayed where they were till the octave of Pentecost and were constantly regaled by the singing of the birds. On Whit Sunday, after Brendan had sung the community mass, their steward arrived with all they could require for celebrating the feast. ‘You have still a long way to travel,’ he told them, when they had all sat down at table. ‘Fill your flasks with water from this other spring1 and take with you loaves of dry bread which will keep till next year.’ At the end of the meal he received a blessing and set off home.
After the octave day of the feast Brendan loaded the coracle with everything their steward had brought them, and had all the flasks filled with water running out from the spring. When all the gear had been carried down to the shore, the bird that had previously spoken to Brendan flew quickly towards them and perched on the prow. The man of God realized it had a message for them. It addressed them in a human voice: ‘Next year you will celebrate Easter Sunday and the rest of the time up to the octave of Pentecost here with us, and you will celebrate Maundy Thursday in exactly the same place as you did this year. Easter Eve, too, you will spend in the same spot as this year, on the back of Jasconius. In eight months’ time you will come across an island called the Island of the Community of St Ailbe. You will spend Christmas there.’ The bird left as soon as it had finished speaking. The monks hoisted the sails and put out to sea, with the birds singing ‘Hear us, O Lord, thou that art the hope of all the ends of the earth, and of them that remain in the broad sea…’
12 The saintly abbot and his monks spent three months sailing hither and thither across the wide expanse of the ocean, and all the while they had nothing to look at but the sea and the sky. They took food every two or three days. One day they sighted an island close at hand, but, when they were approaching the shore, a breeze blew them back out to sea away from the harbour. Round and round the island they sailed for four days without being able to find anywhere to land. The monks, with tears in their eyes, implored the Lord to come to their aid, for they had come to the end of their strength and were completely exhausted. After three days of fasting and unceasing prayer, they came upon a small inlet, so narrow that only one boat could enter. Near by there were two springs, one clear and one muddy. The brethren were hurrying off to fill their flasks when Brendan called after them: ‘My sons, do not take anything that does not belong to you without permission from the elders who live on this island. They will be willing to let us have water, if only we ask. There is no need to take it by stealth.’
As they were all standing on the beach, looking round and trying to decide which direction to take, an extremely grave and dignified old man with white hair and a shining face came up to them and prostrated himself three times on the ground. The brethren helped him to his feet. He kissed each of them, was kissed by all in return, and then, taking Brendan’s hand, led them to a monastery about a furlong away. At the monastery gates Brendan stopped and asked him who the abbot was and where the monks came from. Brendan repeated his question in several different ways but could elicit no response at all from the old man, except the gentlest movement of the hand indicating that the rule of silence ought to be kept.
As soon as Brendan realized that monastic silence was in force there, he instructed his monks to observe it. ‘Keep guard over your tongues,’ he said, ‘or you will destroy the spirit of recollection of the monks here with your buffoonery.’ The attention of the brethren was distracted from this admonition by the arrival of twelve monks who came in procession, bearing crosses and reliquaries, to give them formal welcome. They were singing as they came and greeted Brendan and his company with the following verse: ‘Rise up you holy ones of God, from your abode, and set out on the way of truth. Hallow this place with your presence, bless the people, and vouchsafe to keep us, your servants, in peace.’ When the verse had been sung, St Ailbe1 the abbot came forward and kissed Brendan and the brethren in turn, then each of the monks in procession did the same. Everyone gave everyone else the kiss of peace, the guests were led inside, and prayers were recited as they went, as is customary in monasteries in the East. Then the abbot and community washed their guests’ feet, singing the antiphon: ‘A new commandment I give unto you…’ After this the abbot preceded them into the refectory in profound silence, a bell was rung, and they all washed their hands and were told to be seated. A second bell was rung, and one of the community rose from his place and laid out on the table roots and loaves of wonderfully white bread. The roots were incredibly tasty. The seating was so arranged that, all the way down the table, guests alternated with monks of the community. Loaves were shared one between two. Then a third bell went and the drink was served. With great amusement the abbot exhorted his guests to drink, saying: ‘Now you can have your fill, with joy and fear of the Lord, of the water which, a short while ago, you wanted to take by stealth from the clear spring. That other spring, the muddy one, we use every day for washing our feet, because the water is always warm. Where the bread comes from or who brings it to our cellar are facts unknown to us. All we know is that God, in His kindness, sends it to us by one of His creatures. Every day we have twelve pieces of bread, cut from two large loaves; on Sundays and feast days God adds a roll for each of us, so that the pieces left over from dinner may be eaten for supper; and now, on your arrival, we have been given double rations. Christ has been used to feeding us in this way from the time of St Patrick and St Ailbe, our holy founder, to the present day. It is eighty years since this began and we never feel any older or more feeble. On this island we feel no need for cooked food, nor do we ever suffer from extremes of heat or cold. When it is time for mass or the night hours, the church lamps which, by divine ordinance, we brought with us from our country, are always already lighted for us; they burn till daybreak and the flames never diminish.’
They drank three times, then the abbot rang the bell, and the monks rose from the table in a body and, with great solemnity and in complete silence, filed out into church, with St Brendan and the abbot at the end of the line. As they entered the church, St Brendan was surprised to see a group of twelve monks hastily genuflect and leave the building. ‘Father abbot,’ he said, ‘why did they not eat with us?’
‘Because you are here. The refectory table is not long enough to accommodate us all at once. They are going to have their meal now; they will not go hungry. Let us sing vespers now, so that the rest of the monks will be able to come in and sing their vespers as soon as they have eaten.’
When the evening office was over, St Brendan looked round the church to see how it was built. It was square and had seven lamps inside – three hanging before the high altar in the middle of the church and two each in front of two other altars. The altars were square blocks of crystal and the sacred vessels – patens, chalices, cruets – and other articles used in divine worship were made of the same substance. The twenty-four seats placed round the church were of crystal too. The abbot’s seat was flanked on either side by a choir of monks. He would begin a line of chant, the choir on one side would take it up, and then he would conclude it; then the next line would be picked up by the choir on the other side. No monk in either choir would presume to start a line of singing: that was the abbot’s privilege. Silence reigned throughout the monastery – none of the community would take it upon himself to speak or make any noise. If anyone needed anything, he would go up to the abbot, kneel down, and make a simple and sincere request for whatever he required. The abbot at once would take his stylus and write down on a tablet whatever God had revealed. This he handed to the monk who had made the petition. Brendan pondered over all this for a while, then said: ‘Father abbot, it is time to betake ourselves to refectory, so that we may eat while it is still light.’1 They did so and the usual mealtime order was followed.
The day’s routine over, they all hastened to compline with great alacrity. After the abbot had intoned the ‘O Lord, make haste to help us’ and had sung the ‘Glory be to the Father… ’ in praise of the Holy Trinity, the monks inserted the following: ‘We have acted unrighteously and done evil. Pardon us, O Lord, our merciful father. I will lay me down in peace and take my rest; for it is thou. Lord, only, that makest me dwell in safety.’ Then they continued with the rest of compline.
After finishing the day’s office, each monk retired to his cell, taking with him one of the guests. Brendan and the abbot stayed behind in church to await the coming of the light. Brendan inquired about the way of life in the monastery and about the rule of silence, wondering whether it were not too severe for human nature to bear. With great respect and humility the abbot replied: ‘Father, I testify before Christ that it is eighty years since we first came here and yet the only time we ever hear a human voice is in choir. There is never a sound heard from the twenty-four of us; sometimes the older brethren might express themselves with a glance or gesture, but only the older ones. And we have never known illness, either physical or mental, since we arrived.’
‘May we have permission to stay here?’ Brendan asked.
‘No,’ came the reply. ‘That cannot be. It is not God’s will. Why do you ask, father? Before you set out, did not God tell you what you had to do? You and your brethren must one day return to your own monastery. It is the will of God that you should be buried there. Of those two other monks, one will journey to the Isle of Anchorites, the other is doomed to everlasting death in hell.’
As they were speaking, a flaming arrow shot through the window and lighted all the sanctuary lamps. As soon as they were lit, the arrow shot back out the window, but the precious fire remained burning in the lamps. Brendan wanted to know who extinguished them in the morning. ‘Come and examine the mystery for yourself,’ replied the abbot. ‘You see these candles burning in the lampstands – they never burn lower nor do their wicks leave any ash, because their light is spiritual.’
‘But how,’ Brendan protested, ‘can material substance be on fire with spiritual light?’
‘Have you not read of the bush on Mount Sinai, how it burned and was not consumed?’
They kept watch the whole night long, and when it was day, Brendan asked permission to set off on his journey.
‘No father, not yet. You must first spend Christmas here with us and then stay on until the octave of the Epiphany.’
Brendan complied with the old man’s request and stayed the required length of time in the monastery of twenty-four monks on the Island of the Community of St Ailbe.
13 At the end of the Epiphany festivities St Brendan and his followers were given a good supply of victuals and received the blessing of the whole community. They set off in their little boat with all possible speed and voyaged hither and thither, sometimes sailing and sometimes rowing, till the beginning of Lent.
Their supplies ran out, and three days later they caught sight of an island not far off. They immediately began to row hard towards it, for, by that time, the pangs of hunger and thirst had become severe. St Brendan blessed the place where they landed and they all disembarked. There before them was a sparkling spring set in the midst of a profusion of greenery. A rivulet led from the spring and it was full of every kind of fish pushing their way down to the sea. ‘Brethren,’ exclaimed the saint, ‘what refreshment God has prepared for us after all our toil! Catch enough fish for supper, roast it, and pick salad and roots to go with it.’ They did as he bade them. Then, as they were pouring out the water, he warned them: ‘Be careful, brethren, not to drink too much of this water, in case it does you harm.’ His words, unfortunately, were not interpreted with uniform strictness by every monk – some had one glass, some two, and some three. They all fell asleep – some for one day and night, some for two, and the rest for three. St Brendan prayed unceasingly, begging God to pardon what they had brought on themselves by their own ignorance.
When at last they were all awake again, their holy father addressed them: ‘Come, my sons, let us flee, before worse befall us. This place is death to us. God provided us with food and drink, but you abused the gift and have done yourselves harm. Get in enough water, fish, and roots to last us till Maundy Thursday – calculate at one fish, one root, and one cupful of water per head each day. Then let us be off.’ The sails were hoisted and the boat set off southwards laden with all the supplies St Brendan had ordered.
14 Three days later the wind dropped and the calm was so great that the sea looked as though it had curdled. ‘Ship your oars!’ Brendan shouted. ‘Unfurl the sails and let God steer us where He will.’ And so they were carried back and forth for twenty days till God raised up a fair west wind for them. They hoisted the sails, at the same time manning the oars for greater speed. They ate every three days.
15 One day an island appeared in the far distance, like a cloud on the horizon. ‘Do you recognize that island, my sons?’ cried Brendan.
‘No, not at all!’
‘Well, I do. It is the island where we celebrated Maundy Thursday last year; that is where our good steward lives.’
Overcome with joy they started to row with all the strength they could muster. ‘Do not be so foolish!’ Brendan shouted. ‘You will tire yourselves out. Is not the Lord our captain and helmsman? Then leave it to Him to direct us where He wills.’
Their steward ran down to meet them coming in and guided them to the place where they had disembarked the previous year. Praising God, he kissed their feet, beginning with St Brendan and going down in order to the lowliest monk, saying as he did so: ‘God is wonderful in His saints; the God of Israel is he who will give power and strength to his people. Blessed be God.’ Having unloaded the boat he erected a tent and got ready a bath for them – because it was Maundy Thursday – and dressed them all out in new clothes and waited on them during the sacred Easter triduum. Up till the Easter vigil the monks were occupied in celebrating the passion.
Once the Holy Saturday ceremonies were over, mass had been offered, and they had received Holy Communion, the steward made the following suggestion: ‘Board your vessel and depart to the place where you celebrated the holy night of Christ’s Resurrection last year. You shall do so again this year and shall remain there until the sixth hour tomorrow. Afterwards you shall sail to the island called the Paradise of Birds, where you spent from Easter to the octave of Pentecost last year. Take with you all necessary food and drink. I shall pay you a visit next Sunday.’ This they did. The steward stocked up the boat with as much bread and water, meat, and other delicacies as it could hold. St Brendan gave him a blessing and climbed aboard, and they sailed away.
They disembarked at the same place as before and there, in front of them on the ground, was a cooking-pot they had left behind a year ago. St Brendan stepped ashore, sang the Hymn of the Three Children1 and warned his monks: ‘My dear sons, watch and pray, lest you fall into temptation. Remember how God, without the slightest trouble, tamed, for our benefit, the fury of a monstrous beast.’ The monks scattered themselves round the island and kept vigil until time for lauds. Later each priest offered mass. This brought them to the third hour of the day. Then St Brendan celebrated the sacred mysteries, offering to God the unspotted Lamb, His Son: ‘A year ago,’ he said, ‘I kept the feast of the Lord’s Resurrection here. I want to do the same now.’ Then they journeyed on to the Island of Birds.
At their approach all the birds burst out in chorus: ‘Salvation to Our God who sits upon the throne, and to the Lamb. The Lord is God and He hath shone upon us. Appoint a solemn day, with shady boughs, even to the corner of the altar.’ Their cries resounded with loud flappings of wings for almost half an hour, until Brendan and his party, having disembarked and removed all their belongings from the boat, were finally settled into their tent.
When the Paschal feast was over, the steward arrived, as he had promised, on the first Sunday after Easter, bringing with him all the necessaries of life.
As soon as they had sat down to a meal, the bird who had spoken to them last year flew down and perched on the prow of the coracle, stretched out its wings, and made a noise like some great church organ. St Brendan surmised that it had a message to impart. It began: ‘God has mapped out four places for you, one for each of the four seasons of the year, where you shall stay every successive year till your pilgrimage is at an end. Maundy Thursday you spend with your steward; the Easter vigil is passed on the back of the whale; you are here with us from Easter till the octave of Pentecost; and Christmas you spend with the Community of St Ailbe. After seven years, not without great and diverse trials, you will find the Land of Promise of the Saints which you have sought so long. There you will stay for forty days and then God will take you back to the country of your birth.’ The holy abbot and his monks flung themselves to the ground thanking and praising their Creator. When the venerable old man rose to his feet, the bird flew back to its place in the flock.
At the end of the meal the steward said: ‘With God’s help I shall return with provisions on the day of the Descent of the Holy Ghost on the Apostles.’ St Brendan and all the monks gave him a blessing and he went off home. They remained till Pentecost, and when the festival was over Brendan ordered them to get the boat ready and fill their flasks with spring water. The coracle had already been drawn down to the sea when the steward arrived with a boat full of food. All this he transferred to Brendan’s vessel, kissed all the brethren, and went back whence he had come.
16 Our venerable father and his companions put out to sea and sailed for forty days. Looking round one day they espied a creature of gigantic proportions writhing along in their wake. It was still far off but was charging towards them at top speed, ploughing up the surface of the water and shooting out spray from its nostrils. It looked as though it would devour them. ‘Good Lord, deliver us!’ they yelled. ‘Do not let the beast consume us!’ Brendan tried to console them: ‘Do not be afraid, O you of little faith!’ he cried. ‘God has always looked after us and He is sure to save us from this monster and from all perils to come.’ Great waves buffeted the boat, heralding the sea-monster’s approach, and the monks’ fear increased. St Brendan raised up his hands to Heaven and prayed: ‘Lord, deliver your servants now, as of old you delivered David out of the hand of the giant, Goliath. Deliver us, O Lord, as you rescued Jonah from the belly of a great whale.’ Just as Brendan had finished, another huge sea-monster lunged from the west towards their attacker and, spewing out fire, began to give battle. ‘My sons,’ cried out Brendan, ‘look at the wonders of Almighty God. See how the creatures obey their Creator. The fight will soon be over and, far from its being harmful, you will be able to set down this event as one of the glories of God.’ The wretched animal that had assailed the servants of God was chopped into three parts before their very eyes; the victorious monster swam back the way it had come.
The following day they sighted an island, wide and well set with trees, and, when they drew in, the rear quarters of the dead monster were lying on the beach. ‘Ha!’ cried Brendan. ‘That creature was going to eat you; now you are going to eat it. We shall remain here a good while, so drag the coracle high up the beach and look round in that wood yonder for a safe place for our tent.’ He himself chose the spot to pitch the tent.
When they had put all the gear into the tent, Brendan told them to cut enough meat from the carcass to last them three months – ‘For animals will come in the night and pick it clean.’ They did as they were bidden and stored away as much meat as they would need. When this task, which kept them busy till vesper time, was completed, they asked, ‘How, father, will we be able to survive here without water?’
‘Do you imagine God finds it harder to provide water than food? Walk towards the southern shore. There you will find a sparkling spring and plentiful vegetation. Bring me some, but not too much.’
They found everything as he had said. Their stay on the island was lengthened to three months, because foul weather at sea – heavy rain and hail storms – kept them from putting out. The monks went to see if what Brendan had said would happen to the fish had in fact taken place. When they reached the spot where the carcass had been, they found nothing but bones. Back they came at once. ‘Father,’ they said, ‘you were right about the beast.’
‘I knew you would not be satisfied until you had seen for yourself. Here is another piece of information for you; a great lump of fish will be washed up tonight and will provide a meal for you tomorrow.’ The next day the fish was lying on the beach, just as he had foretold. The monks took as much as they could carry. ‘Preserve it carefully in salt,’ said Brendan. ‘You will need it later. God will give us fine weather today, tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the sea will be calm. Then we shall leave.’
Three days later he ordered them to load the coracle, fill their leather water-bottles and any other vessels, and to gather shoots and green plants for his own use – for, since his ordination, Brendan had never eaten meat. Everything was loaded on board, the sails were spread and they set off southwards.
17 One day they saw an island in the distance. ‘Do you see that island?’ Brendan asked.
‘Yes, we see it’, they replied.
‘There are three groups of people living there: boys, young men, and elders. One of our party will leave us to go and live with them.’
The monks were eager to know who it was and persisted in asking till, seeing how crestfallen they were, Brendan gave in. ‘That monk there,’ he said, pointing to one of the three who had left the monastery to follow him at the beginning of the voyage.
The boat came close in to the shore. The island itself was remarkably flat and low, and seemed to be literally at sea level; it was completely bare of trees or of anything which could act as a windshield. It was very wide and was covered with purple and white caltae.1 Three bands of men could be discerned, just as Brendan had said, and they were standing apart from each other, the distance between them being roughly as far as a stone could be cast by a sling. They moved about continually except when one band stopped and sang ‘The saints shall go from strength to strength, the God of gods shall be seen in Sion.’ When the group came to the end of the verse, another band would take it up again, and so the singing went on unceasingly. The first band, the boys, was dressed in pure white garments, the second group in jacinth apparel, and the third in purple dalmatics.1
Brendan’s party landed about the fourth hour. At sext the groups sang in unison ‘God be merciful unto us…’ – which was sung right through to the end, ‘Haste thee, O God, to deliver me…’ and, as a third psalm, ‘I believed, and therefore will I speak…’ and then a prayer. At none they sang another three psalms: ‘Out of the depths have I cried to thee, O Lord…’, ‘Behold how good and joyful…’, and ‘Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem…’. The psalms for vespers were: ‘Thou, O God, art praised in Sion…’, ‘Praise the Lord, O my soul…’, ‘O Lord, my God…’, ‘Praise the Lord, ye servants…’ and then, one after another, the fifteen ‘Songs of Degrees’.2 These latter were sung sitting down.
An astoundingly white cloud came down over the island at the end of the singing and made everything invisible, such was the density of vapour; but the singing continued audibly till it was time for lauds. The psalms for lauds were: ‘O praise the Lord of Heaven…’, ‘O sing unto the Lord a new song…’, and ‘O praise God in his holiness…’. Then twelve psalms were sung, one after the other, as they occur in the psalter. The cloud lifted at daybreak and the three groups at once sang three psalms: ‘Have mercy upon me, O God…’, ‘O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee…’, and ‘Lord, thou has been our refuge…’. At terce they sang another three: ‘O clap your hands together, all ye people…’, ‘Save me, O God, for thy name’s sake…’, and ‘I am well pleased…’ with the Alleluia. Then the divine victim was offered up and all received Communion, saying: ‘Receive this sacred Body and Blood of your Lord and Saviour unto life everlasting.’3
Two boys came out at the end of mass, carrying a basket of purple caltae, which they put into the boat, saying: ‘Take with you some of the produce of this island of steadfast men. Let your brother come with us, then set out in peace.’ St Brendan called the monk who was about to leave them. ‘Kiss your brethren,’ he said, ‘and go with those who are calling you, for you have been found worthy of a place in this wonderful fellowship. Blessed was the hour in which your mother bore you!’ The monk kissed his abbot and fellow monks and Brendan bade him farewell: ‘My son, remember all the many benefits God has given you in this world. Go in peace, and pray for us.’ The monk followed the two youths to their group.
Our venerable father and his companions began to row away. At the ninth hour Brendan told them to restore their strength with caltae from the island of steadfast men. He picked out one himself and was astonished to find it so huge and full of juice. ‘Never in my life,’ he exclaimed, ‘have I heard, or even read, of caltae of this size.’ They were all the same size, large and globular in shape. He asked for a cup, and from one fruit alone squeezed out a quart of juice. This was shared among the twelve monks and for the next twelve days the party lived on one fruit each day. The caltae left a constant taste of honey in their mouths.
18 When the fruit had all been eaten, Brendan ordered a three-day fast. At the end of the third day an enormous bird flew straight towards the boat, carrying in its beak a branch of some unfamiliar tree. On the end of this branch hung a large bunch of bright red grapes. The bird dropped the branch into Brendan’s lap. Calling together the monks he exhorted them to eat: ‘Look at the meal God has sent us! Take and eat.’ Each of the grapes was as big as an apple. Brendan shared the bunch out, grape by grape, and it lasted twelve days. After this they fasted again.
The island they came upon three days later was thickly set in every part with trees bearing the same kind of fruit as the bird had brought them. These trees were all the same colour and so full of fruit – it was incredible – that the branches were bowed down to the ground. No other species of tree was to be found and not one of the fruit trees was sterile. They put in to the shore. Brendan disembarked to beat the bounds of the place, and the monks stayed on board till he came back. The island exhaled a fragrant odour, like the smell of pomegranates pervading the rooms of a house. They were so much refreshed by the sweet smell wafting over them that the edge was quite taken off their fast. Meanwhile Brendan had discovered six springs set in the middle of a patch of lush ground which was thick with green plants and shoots. He came back with his arms full of the first fruits of the island’s produce. ‘Come ashore!’ he shouted. ‘Fix the tent and take your fill of these prime fruits of the land to which God has led us.’ For forty days they fed well on grapes, salads, and shoots. Then they left, taking with them as much as the boat could hold.
19 They hoisted sail and drove before the wind. As they were sailing along, a bird appeared in the distance, flying towards them. It was a gryphon. The brethren cried out to Brendan in consternation, ‘Help! That thing is coming to eat us.’
‘Fear not,’ Brendan replied. ‘God has been our helper up to now and will not fail us this time.’
The gryphon was stretching out its claws to catch the monks when, suddenly, the bird that had brought the grapes swooped rapidly down upon it. The gryphon tried to devour it but the other defended itself and finally gained the upper hand. It tore out the gryphon’s eyes and the gryphon then flew higher and higher, till it was almost lost from sight. The other bird gave chase and killed it; the carcass fell into the sea near the coracle. The victorious bird flew back to where it had come from.
20 St Brendan and his mariners caught sight of the Island of the Community of St Ailbe a few days later. Christmas was spent there, and after the festivities were over Brendan’s party received the blessing of the abbot and community and sailed across the ocean for a long while. The only rest they had from navigating was at Christmas and Easter, which they spent at the usual places.
21 St Peter’s Day was celebrated by St Brendan at sea, and the water was so clear that the monks could see every movement of life beneath the boat; so clear, indeed, that the animals on the ocean bed seemed near enough to touch. If the monks looked down into the deep, they could see many different kinds of creatures lying on the sandy bottom like flocks at pasture, so numerous that, lying head to tail, and moving gently with the swell, they looked like a city on the march.
The monks urged their master to say mass silently lest the fish, hearing his voice, might rise up and attack them. Brendan chaffed them: ‘I am surprised at your foolishness. What – are you afraid of these creatures? Have you not several times landed on the monarch of the deep, the beast who eats all other sea creatures? Why, you have sat down on his back and sung psalms,’ have even gathered sticks, lighted a fire and cooked food – and all this without showing fear. Then how can you be afraid of these? Is not Our Lord Jesus Christ the Lord of Creation? Can he not make all creatures docile?’ Brendan sang at the top of his voice, causing the brethren to cast an anxious eye in the direction of the fish, but at the sound of singing the fish rose up from the sea bed and swam round and round the coracle. There was nothing to be seen but crowds of swimming forms. They did not come close but, keeping their distance, swam back and forth till mass was over. Then they scurried away on their own tracks over the paths of the ocean, out of sight of the servants of God. St Brendan journeyed on, and after going at full sail for a week, with fair winds every day, still had not crossed the open sea.
22 One day, when the masses were over, they noticed a column rising out of the sea. It seemed quite near at hand but turned out to be a good three days’ journey away. When they reached it, Brendan gazed upwards but could hardly see the top because of its great height: it was higher than the sky. This column was covered with a most unusual canopy – so strange indeed that the coracle could pass through the openings in it but no one could tell what substance it was made of. It was the colour of silver and seemed harder than marble. The column itself was of pure crystal.1
‘Ship the oars!’ Brendan commanded. ‘Take down the sails and hold back the ribs of the canopy.’ The canopy was so big that it extended a mile on either side of the column and went down into the sea. ‘Now draw the boat through the opening,’ Brendan continued, ‘and let us inspect the wonders of God, our Maker.’ They entered and gazed all round: the sea was as transparent as glass and everything in it was clearly visible; they could look at the foundations of the column below the surface and see the top of the canopy reflected in the water. The sun shone inside the canopy as brightly as on the open sea. Brendan measured four different apertures in the canopy and found them each four cubits long.
They spent a whole day in rowing along one side of the canopy and could still feel the heat of the sun until the ninth hour, despite the shade cast by the canopy. The length of each side was one thousand four hundred cubits. Brendan measured a side of the towering canopy a day, and as there were four sides the task took four days to complete. A chalice, made of the same substance as the canopy, came to light in the southern reaches on the fourth day; with it, lying on a niche in the canopy, was a paten the same colour as the column. St Brendan immediately picked up the vessels. ‘This miracle,’ he said, ‘is the work of Our Lord Jesus Christ. These two gifts have been given to me so that the story of our travels may be widely believed.’ He ordered them to sing the Divine Office and then to take some food, because the sight of the column had cast out of their mind all thought of food and drink.
The following day they set off southwards. Some of the brethren held back the ribs of the canopy to let the others get the mast and sails ready for hoisting as soon as the boat would be clear of the opening. Once the mast and sails were hoisted they were caught by a good strong wind, which carried them north for eight days, so that all they had to do was keep an eye on the steerage and rigging.
23 The eighth day found them near a stony island quite without grass or trees. The countryside was wild and dotted with slag heaps and numerous forges. ‘Brethren,’ said Brendan, ‘that island makes me feel uneasy. I have no desire to land nor even to go near, yet the wind is taking us straight towards it!’ They had only gone forward about a stone’s throw when the blowing of bellows and the clang of hammer on anvil dinned in their ears like thunder. Crossing himself with the sign of Christ’s victory, he prayed: ‘Lord Jesus Christ deliver us from this island.’ Hardly had he finished the prayer when one of the inhabitants, a very swarthy, evil-looking man, with a bright red face, came out of a forge to perform some task or other. He caught sight of the coracle approaching and turned back. St Brendan crossed himself again. ‘My sons,’ he shouted, ‘let us flee from this place. Up with the sails and row as fast as you can.’ He had just finished the sentence when the savage rushed down to the beach carrying a huge piece of blazing slag in a pair of tongs. This he hurled at the boat, but it shot over their heads and fell about a furlong beyond them. It struck the water and seethed like a live ember from a volcano. Smoke rose up from the sea as from a fiery furnace.
When the boat had sailed about a mile from where the slag fell, all the inhabitants of the island rushed down to the beach, each carrying a glowing mass of slag. Some aimed at the servants of God, but the rest pelted the embers at each other. Then they ran back to the forges and set them alight. Soon the whole island was like a blazing furnace and the sea hissed like a cauldron of stew boiling over a good fire. All day a long drawn-out wail could be heard. An intolerable, fetid stench emanated from the island and was still perceptible after they had lost sight of it. Brendan tried to comfort his flock: ‘Soldiers of Christ, put on spiritual arms and stand firm in faith unfeigned. Watch and play the man, for we are at hell’s gates.’
24 The next day a high mountain came up towards the north. At a distance it seemed wreathed in light cloud, but the cloud turned out to be smoke belching from its peak. The wind carried them swiftly towards it. The cliffs at the water’s edge were so high that the summit was obscured; they were as black as coal and wonderfully sheer, like a wall.
One of the three monks who had followed Brendan out of the monastery suddenly leapt overboard and started wading to the bottom of the cliffs, calling out: ‘Woe is me, father, I am being torn away from you and am powerless to turn back.’ The monks hastily pushed the boat off, crying out to the Lord: ‘Have mercy upon us O Lord, have mercy!’ Then they witnessed the wretch being led off to torment by a group of devils. He and they would burn together. ‘Woe to you, my son!’ exclaimed Brendan. ‘What a dreadful doom you have brought upon yourself.’ A fair wind carried them away southwards, and, when they looked back from afar, they saw the mountain, clear of clouds, vomiting forth flames sky-high and then sucking them back upon itself, so that the whole mass of rock, right down to sea-level, glowed like a pyre.
25 Seven days after this fearful sight, St Brendan espied a shape in the sea that looked like a man perched on a rock. A length of cloth, the size of a cloak, hung down in front of it from two spits. The whole thing was being battered by the waves like a skiff in a whirlpool. Some of the monks said it was a bird, others a ship. ‘Put an end to the discussion,’ said Brendan, ‘and turn the boat towards it.’
As Brendan approached, the waves retreated as though turned to jelly, revealing a swarthy and disfigured man crouching on the rock. When the waves surged in, they crashed right over his head, and when they retreated the rock stood out stark and bare. The sheet of cloth would alternately billow out, leaving him exposed to the gale and then, caught by the wind, would lash in and smack him hard about the face and eyes.
The saintly abbot asked him who he was and what crime he could have committed to have deserved such a fate.
‘I am of all men the most wretched,’ came the answer, ‘for I am Judas Iscariot who foully bargained away the life of his Master. Jesus Christ’s unspeakable mercy, not my own desert, has put me here. To me this is no place of punishment. It is the spot where my loving Saviour grants me respite in honour of His Resurrection. Sitting here is like being in the Garden of Delights, compared to the torments to which I can look forward this evening. My punishment is to burn like a lump of molten lead in a crucible, day and night, in the middle of yonder mountain, the home of Leviathan1 and his allies. I was there when that brother of yours was swallowed up. The mountain shot out great flames then, as though leaping for joy – that is the usual welcome for a damned soul. I come here to rest from first to second vespers of every Sunday, from Christmas to Epiphany, from Easter to Whitsun, and on the feasts of the Purification and the Assumption of the Mother of God. The rest of the year I am torn in hell with Herod and Pilate, Annas and Caiaphas. I implore you, therefore, to beg Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the World, to let me stay here till sunrise tomorrow, so that the devils may not take your arrival as a sign to come to torture me and drag me off to the destiny I purchased at so horrible a price.’
‘God’s will be done,’ the saint replied, ‘the devils will not gnaw you till morning. But tell me, what is that cloth for?’
‘It is a sheet I gave a leper when I was the Lord’s treasurer, but since it was not mine to give – it belonged to Him and His brethren – it is more hindrance than help to me now. These iron spits to which the cloth is tied are those I gave the temple priests as a stand for cooking pots. This rock I sit on used to lie in the open street, where I flung it into the gutter to trip up passers-by, before I became His disciple.’
No sooner had twilight begun to close in over the deep than a vast cloud of demons wheeled about, yelling at the top of their voice: ‘Keep out of our way, man of God! We cannot reach our colleague if you stay close to him, and, without him, we dare not face our prince. So give us our tasty morsel, do not shield him from us tonight’.
‘It is not I who shield him, but the Lord Jesus Christ. He has granted him respite here until tomorrow morning.’
‘How can you invoke the Lord’s name over His own betrayer?’
‘I command you,’ Brendan retorted, ‘in the name of that same Jesus Christ, not to lay hands on him till tomorrow.’
Once night was past and the man of God had set sail, an endless press of demons covered the face of the deep, yelling hideously and calling out: ‘O man of God, cursed be your goings out and your comings in! All night long we have been flogged with the utmost severity for not bringing our prince that damned slave.’
‘Your maledictions shall light on yourselves, not on us; for whomsoever you curse is blessed, and cursed is he whom you bless.’
‘Because you shielded him from us last night, he shall receive twice as much punishment these next six days.’
‘Neither you nor your leader have power to do so; that decision lies with God. Therefore I command both you and him, in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, to torment Judas no more severely than before.’
‘Why should we take notice of what you say? Do you think you are Lord of all?’
‘No. I have no power except what God has given me, but I am His servant and whatever I command in His name shall be done.’
The demons followed Brendan till Judas was out of sight, then they turned back and violently snatched away the miserable wretch with a loud plangent cry.
26 St Brendan and his co-warriors in Christ sailed away in a southerly direction, glorifying God in all things. The appearance of a small island in the distance towards the south made them row more spiritedly. ‘Do not row too fast,’ Brendan advised them, as they were approaching it. ‘You will soon tire yourselves out. You have toiled quite enough – this coming Easter will mark the seventh anniversary of our leaving our homeland. In a short time you will meet Paul the Hermit, a very holy man. He has lived on that island for the past sixty years without a mouthful of food. For thirty years before that an animal used to bring him food.’
The cliffs were so sheer that it was impossible to find a landing place. The island itself was small and round, about a furlong in circumference and as high as it was wide. On top of the cliffs there was no soil, only bare, jagged flint. They sailed round and round and came upon a narrow harbour, barely wide enough to let the prow of the boat pass through. They had difficulty in clambering out of the boat. ‘Wait here,’ Brendan instructed them, ‘till I return. You may not have access to the island without first obtaining permission from the servant of God who dwells here.’
He climbed up to the summit and saw two caves with their mouths facing each other, on the eastern side of the isle, and a tiny spring gushing out from a rock in front of the mouth of the cave where the soldier of Christ was sitting. The spring water, as it fell, was at once absorbed by the rock. While Brendan was peering into the mouth of one cave, the old hermit emerged from the cave opposite, saying: ‘Behold how good and joyful it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.’ Paul told Brendan to call the monks up from the coracle, kissed them when they arrived, and addressed them each by name. This prophetic gift of knowing their names added to their astonishment at his attire: he wore no clothes at all, yet only his face and eyes were visible, the rest of his body being covered from head to foot with his hair, beard and body hair – all of which was snow white on account of his age. Brendan felt sad within himself at the sight: ‘How ashamed I feel, I who wear the habit of a monk and have jurisdiction over many monks in our order, when I see this mortal man living like an angel and wholly free from the sins of the flesh.’
‘Venerable father,’ the hermit replied, ‘God has worked many astounding miracles on your behalf, such as have never been vouchsafed to any of the holy fathers. You say you are not worthy to wear the habit of a monk, yet you are higher than any monk. A monk has to support himself by the sweat of his brow, but, for the past seven years, God has secretly fed and clothed you and your family of monks.’
In answer to Brendan’s questions where he had come from, how he had come and how long he had borne so hard a life, Paul replied: ‘For forty years I was brought up in St Patrick’s monastery, where I was caretaker of the cemetery. One day the prior told me to dig a grave in a certain spot for one of the monks. As I was digging, an old man, whom I did not recognize, came up to me and said: “Do not dig the grave there, brother. That plot of ground is for someone else.”
‘“Who are you, father?” I asked.
‘“What! Do you not know me? Do you not recognize your abbot?”
‘“St Patrick is my abbot,” I answered.
‘“I am he,” the apparition replied. “Yesterday I departed this life and here I am to be buried.” He pointed to another spot. “Dig a grave here for the brother who has died recently, and do not repeat what I have told you. Go down to the shore tomorrow and you will find a small boat waiting. Step into it and it will take you to the place where you are to await the day of your death.”
‘The following morning I went down to the shore and found a boat, just as St Patrick had said. I boarded it and sailed for three days and nights. From the fourth day onward I let myself sail with the wind and on the seventh day I sighted this island and the vessel came straight towards it. Once landed I pushed the boat off with my foot and back it went to my native land, furrowing swiftly through the waves. And here I have remained. Every third day, at the ninth hour, a sea-otter would emerge from the water on its hind legs, with a fish for my dinner in its mouth and a small bundle of twigs between its front paws for kindling a fire. It put down the fish and the bundle of twigs and returned to the sea. I lit a fire with flint and iron and cooked the fish. For thirty years the otter fed me. I ate a third part of the fish each day and, thank God, never experienced thirst, for on Sundays a trickle of water flowed from a rock. This provided me with drink there and then and I used to fill a flask to last me for the rest of the week. I did not discover these two caves nor the spring until I had been here thirty years. From then on I lived – indeed am still living – on spring water and nothing else. I have lived ninety years on the island – for thirty of which I lived on fish, and the remaining sixty on water from this spring – and I was fifty when I left my own country; so I am now one hundred and forty years old. And here, in this mortal flesh, I shall soon see my judgement day dawn. Away you go now, and fill your bottles at the spring. You will need water: you have a forty-day journey ahead of you between now and Holy Saturday. You will celebrate Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday and its octave in the same places as you have done these past six years. But this time, when you have received your steward’s blessing, you will journey to the Land of Promise of the Saints, and after forty days spent there the God of your fathers will bring you back safe and sound to the land of your birth.’
27 St Brendan and his monks received the old man’s blessing and set off southwards. During the whole of Lent their little barque was carried hither and thither over the ocean and their only source of nourishment was the water they had brought with them from Paul the Hermit’s isle. Yet they were quite content: one drink every three days perfectly satisfied their appetite for food and drink.
On Holy Saturday they arrived at the island where their steward was waiting for them. He was so overjoyed to see them that he lifted them bodily out of the coracle, one by one. When the office of the day was over, he set before them a meal, and on the evening of that same day they put to sea again, taking the steward with them.
They found Jasconius in the usual place, climbed out on to his back, and sang to the Lord the whole night, and said their masses the next morning. After the last mass, the whale swam away and all the brethren called out: ‘Hear us, O God of our salvation, thou that art the hope of all the ends of the earth, and of them that remain in the broad sea.’
‘Have no fear,’ said Brendan, trying to comfort them. ‘The beast will not harm you; it is helping us on our way.’
The whale swam in a straight line towards the Island of Birds, and there they stayed till the octave of Pentecost.
When the solemn season had ended, the steward said to Brendan: ‘Fill your water-bottles from this spring here and go back on board. This time I shall be your guide and companion, for without me you will never find the Land of Promise of the Saints.’ As they left, all the birds called out: ‘May the God of our salvation grant you a safe journey!’
28 The steward took them back to his island and stocked up the coracle with all they would need on the forty days’ journey east which they were about to undertake. He led the way, sailing on in front of them. On the evening of the fortieth day they were enveloped in darkness, so thick that they could hardly see each other. ‘Do you know what this darkness is?’ the steward asked.
‘No,’ said Brendan.
‘It swirls round that island which you have been seeking these seven long years.’ An hour later a brilliant light shone round them – their boat had reached the shore. Before them lay open country covered with apple trees laden with fruit. The monks ate as much as they wanted and drank deeply from the springs. The island was so wide that forty days’ wandering still did not bring them to the farther shore. One day they came upon a vast river flowing through the middle of the country. ‘What are we to do?’ asked Brendan. ‘We have no idea of the size of the country and we cannot cross this river.’ While he was standing pondering, a young man approached, kissed the monks joyfully, called them each by name, and said: ‘Blessed are they that dwell in thy house, O Lord. They shall praise thee for ever and ever.’
He turned to Brendan. ‘Now, at last, you have found the land you have been seeking all these years. The Lord Jesus Christ did not allow you to find it immediately, because first He wished to show you the richness of His wonders in the deep. Fill your ship brim-full with precious stones and return to the land of your birth. The day of your final journey is at hand; you shall soon be laid to rest with your fathers. After many more years have rolled by, this island will be revealed to your successors at the time when Christians will be undergoing persecution. This river divides the island in two. You must be thinking that it is autumn and the fruit has just ripened – it is like this the whole year round; dusk and darkness are unknown, for Christ Himself is our light.’
They gathered fruit and all kinds of gems, bade the young man farewell, dismissed their steward with a blessing, and sailed away into the belt of darkness. Once they had passed beyond it, they soon came to the Island of Delights. After a three days’ stay they set off, with the abbot’s blessing, on a direct route for their own monastery.
29 Brendan’s community was rapturous with joy at his return, and glorified God for His kindness in letting them once more enjoy the sight of their father from whom they had been separated so long. St Brendan returned their affection and recounted everything he remembered of the voyage and all the wonders God had deigned to show him. Finally he informed them of the prophecy made by the young man on the Island of Promise, assuring them that he had not long to live. Events proved him right; he put all his affairs in order, and very shortly afterwards, fortified with the sacraments of the Church, lay back in the arms of his disciples and gave up his illustrious spirit to the Lord, to whom be honour and glory, world without end. Amen.
The end