Stories about the desert hermits inspired Christian ascetics in northern Europe to seek refuge from the world and its temptations in remote places. Precipitous mountainsides and fetid swamps replaced the arid wastelands of early Christian hagiography, but the struggles of the saints against their demonic adversaries remained the same. In the mid-eighth century, a monk named Felix composed an account of the pious life of Saint Guthlac (ca. 674–714). Modeled on Athanasius’s Life of Antony but set in the fenlands of East Anglia, the story of Guthlac featured a terrifying invasion of the saint’s hermitage by a horde of demons, who beat him and carried him aloft to frightening heights before threatening to hurl him into the depths of Hell. The timely arrival of Saint Bartholomew caused the demonic host to retreat, thereby permitting an escort of angels to return Guthlac to the solitude of his cell in the swamp.
Around that same time, in the intervening course of a few days, when the man of blessed memory, Guthlac, was keeping vigil in uninterrupted prayer at the darkest time of a certain night—as was his accustomed manner—he suddenly saw his entire little cell filled with a loathsome crowd of impure spirits. For the door was opened for them as they were approaching from all sides; thus, with them entering through the floor and wattle-walls, neither the joints of the doors, nor the apertures of the walls denied entrance to them; but, erupting from the sky and the earth, they covered the entire space with clouds of dark air. They were truly wild in appearance, horrible in shape, with large heads, long necks, a lean face, a pale expression, a rough beard, prickly ears, a grim brow, wild eyes, stinking mouths, equine teeth, a flaming throat, crooked jaws, broad lips, horrid-sounding voices, burnt hair, plump cheeks, a large chest, mangy thighs, knotted knees, curved legs, a swollen heel, rear-facing soles, a gaping mouth, and hoarse shouts. Indeed, they were said to shudder in their immeasurable wailing, such that they nearly filled the entire space from heaven down to earth with loud bellows. And without delay, attacking and intruding his home and castle, quicker than a word, they led the man of God outside his cell with bound limbs and threw him into the muddy waters of the dark swamp. Then, transporting that man through the harshest places of the swamp, they pulled him among the densest branches of briars, so that the joints of his limbs were torn to shreds. When they had passed a great part of the shadowy night in those afflictions, they made Guthlac stand for a brief period, commanding him to withdraw from his hermitage. That man, however, responding with a stable mind, sang as if with prophetic speech: “The Lord is at my right hand, that I may not be moved.”[2] Then, taking up their tortures once again, they began to scourge him with whips as though made from iron. When, after innumerable kinds of torments, after lashes of iron whips, they saw Guthlac persist with an unshaken mind, a firm faith in what he had begun, they began to carry him among the cloudy spaces of the icy air to the horrid buzzing of their wings. Thus, when he had come to the lofty summit of the air—horrible to say!—behold, the zone of the northern sky seemed to darken with the dim vapor of dark clouds. For you could see innumerable forces of impure spirits coming henceforth to meet them. Therefore, with the throng joined as one, making their way in the thin air with an immense clamor, they brought the servant of God, Guthlac, all the way to the heinous entrance of hell. Truly, that man, gazing upon the smoking caverns of that infernal burning realm, forgot all the torments which he had previously endured by the malign spirits, as if he himself had not suffered them. For not only could you see the burning whirlpools of surging flames swelling there, but also sulfurous vortices mixed with frozen hail seemed nearly to reach the stars with spherical whirlwinds; hence, malign spirits, roaming among the gloomy caverns of the smoking abyss, were tormenting the souls of the impious—in their wretched fate—with diverse kinds of tortures. Therefore, when the man of God, Guthlac, trembled at the innumerable displays of tortures, the throng of guards—as if with one voice—said to him: “Behold, power was given to us to thrust you into these punishments, and it was entrusted to us to torment you there with various tortures among the torments of this most dreadful hell. Look at the fire, which you have inflamed in your failings, it is prepared to consume you; look, the smoldering doors of Erebus open for you with a gaping cleft; now the bowels of the Styx prefer to devour you, just as the whirlpools of the Acheron gape with horrendous jaws.” With this and many other similar things having been said by them, the man of God, despising their threats and responding with unshaken senses, with a steadfast soul and a sober mind, said: “Woe to you, sons of darkness, seed of Cain, ember of ashes. If it is in your power to betray me to these punishments, see that I am ready; so why do you bring forth vain threats from lying hearts?”
Truly, as those demons were girding themselves in order to thrust Guthlac into Gehenna’s waiting torments, behold! St. Bartholomew, with an immense sheen of heavenly light, breaking through the middle of the darkness of that gloomy night by an outpoured brightness, presented himself before them veiled in a golden splendor from the ethereal abode of shining Olympus. Thus, the malign spirits, not enduring the brightness of heavenly splendor, began to gnash their teeth, to grumble, to flee, to tremble, and to fear. Truly, St. Guthlac, perceiving the approach of his most faithful helper rejoiced, restored with spiritual joy.
Then, St. Bartholomew commanded the band of guards to lead that man back to his place with great tranquility, without any trouble of offense. Without delay, complying with the apostolic precepts, they performed the command quicker than a word. For they flew up, carrying that man back with great gentleness, as if on the most tranquil fittings of their wings, so that he could be led more moderately in neither chariot nor ship. Truly, when they had come to the spaces of midair, the sound of singing psalms was appropriately heard, saying: “The saints shall go from strength to strength” and so on.[3] Therefore, with dawn imminent, when the sun had turned away the nocturnal shadows from the sky, the athlete of Christ, with a triumph acquired from his enemies, stood in the same place from which he was first carried, giving thanks to Christ. Then, when, in his accustomed way, he was devoting morning praises to Lord Jesus, diverting his eyes a little, he saw standing to his left two of the attendant spirits, known to him above all the rest; when he asked them why they wept, they responded: “We bewail our power, everywhere broken by you, and we lament our feebleness against your might; for we do not dare to touch or approach you.” Saying this, they vanished from his sight like smoke.