The Life and Passion of Cyprian

Where then shall I begin? Where shall I approach the beginning of his good deeds, if not from the beginning of his faith and his heavenly birth? For the deeds of a man of God ought not to be reckoned from any point other than that at which he was born to God. Although he had his studies, and the liberal arts had imbued his devoted heart, yet I pass those over. For they did not yet pertain to any usefulness save that of the world. After he had also learned the sacred Scriptures, and, the cloud of the world having been dispersed, had emerged into the light of spiritual wisdom, I shall speak of those things at which I was present, and of those things which I learned from his earlier works: yet asking this indulgence, that whatever I say too little—for I shall of necessity say too little—be attributed to my ignorance rather than detracted from his glory. In the first rudiments of his faith he believed nothing worthy of God except the preservation of continence.

For he believed that the heart and mind could become fit and arrive at full capacity for truth only if it trampled down the desire of the flesh with the robust and unimpaired vigor of holiness. Who has ever recalled so great a wonder? The second birth had not yet illumined the new man with the full splendor of the divine light, and already the very nature of light alone was overcoming the old and former darkness. Then, what is greater, when from divine reading he had already learned certain things not in keeping with the condition of a novice but in keeping with the eagerness of faith, he immediately seized upon what he found would be profitable for meriting God's favor.

Having distributed his possessions for the sustenance of the needy poor, dispensing entire estates for a price, he joined two goods at once: that he both despised the ambition of the world, than which nothing is more ruinous, and fulfilled mercy, which God preferred even to his own sacrifices—which not even he who had said he had kept all the commandments of the law had done—and with the headlong swiftness of his piety, he almost began to be perfect before he had learned. Who, I ask, of the ancients did this? Who among the oldest elders in the faith, whose minds and ears the divine words had been striking for very many years, bestowed anything such as this man, still a novice in faith and one to whom perhaps no one would yet have given credence, surpassing the age of long experience, accomplished in glorious and admirable works? No one reaps immediately after sowing; no one has pressed the vintage from newly dug trenches; no one has ever yet sought ripe fruit from newly planted saplings.

In him all things ran their course beyond belief. He anticipated—if it can be said (for the thing surpasses belief)—he anticipated, I say, the threshing of the seed, the vintage of the vine-shoot, the fruit of the root.

The letter of the Apostle says that neophytes ought to be passed over, lest, with the stupor of paganism still clinging to minds not yet established, an uninstructed novelty should sin in some way against God. He was the first and, I think, the only one to demonstrate by example that one can advance more by faith than by time. But even if in the Acts of the Apostles that eunuch is described as having been immediately baptized by Philip because he had believed with his whole heart, the comparison is not alike. For he was both a Jew and, coming from the temple of the Lord, was reading the prophet Isaiah, and was hoping in Christ, even though he had not yet believed that he had come: whereas this man, coming from among the ignorant gentiles, began with a faith as mature as few have perhaps attained in the end. There was, in short, no delay, no postponement regarding the grace of God. I have said too little: he immediately received the presbyterate and the priesthood.

For who would not believe that all the degrees of honor were owed to one believing with such a mind? Many are the things he did while still a layman, many while already a presbyter, many which, following the examples of the ancient just men with like imitation, he accomplished by rendering to the Lord the service of complete devotion. For he had this as a customary topic of discourse: that if he had read of someone praised with the praise of God, he would urge inquiry into the deeds on account of which that person had pleased God. If Job, glorious by God's testimony, was called a true worshipper of God and one to whom none on earth could be compared, he taught that one must do whatever Job had done before: so that, while we too do the same things, we may call forth a like testimony of God upon ourselves.

Scorning the losses of his family estate, he advanced so far in the exercise of virtue that he did not feel even the temporal damages of piety. Neither poverty nor pain broke him, nor did his wife's persuasion turn him aside, nor did the dreadful punishment of his own body shake him. Virtue remained fixed in its seat, and devotion founded on deep roots yielded not at all to any assault of the thundering devil: so that he blessed his God with grateful faith even amid adversities. His house stood open to all who came. No widow went away with empty bosom; no one lacking sight was sent on his way without him as a guide; no one weak in step was carried without him as a bearer; no one naked and needing help from the hand of one more powerful was not protected with him as a guardian. These things, he used to say, must be done by those who desire to please God.

And thus, running through the lessons of all good things, while he always imitated those better than himself, he also made himself worthy of imitation.

There was indeed also for him a close companionship with Caecilius, a man of just and praiseworthy memory from among us, at that time a presbyter both in age and in honor, who had corrected him from worldly error to the knowledge of the true divinity. Him he loved with complete honor and every observance, looking up to him with dutiful veneration, no longer as a friend equal in soul, but as the parent of his new life. Finally, that man, won over by his dutiful attentions, was moved to so great a merit of immense affection that, as he was departing from this world, with his summons now at hand, he commended to him his wife and children, so that he whom he had made a sharer in the fellowship of his sect he might afterward make the heir of his devotion.

It would take long to go through each thing: it is burdensome to enumerate all his deeds. For the proof of his good works, I think this alone is sufficient: that by the judgment of God and the favor of the people, he was elected, still a neophyte and, as it was thought, a newcomer, to the office of the priesthood and the rank of bishop. Although in the first days of his faith and in the raw age of his spiritual life, so noble a character shone forth that, even if not yet with the luster of office, yet gleaming with the brightness of hope, it pledged the full confidence of an approaching priesthood. I shall not pass over this remarkable thing either: how, when the whole people, with the Lord's inspiration, rushed forward in love and honor of him, he humbly withdrew, yielding to those of longer standing and deeming himself unworthy of the title of so great an honor, so that he might become more worthy. For he becomes more worthy who declines what he deserves.

With what ardor the people then burned and surged, longing with spiritual desire—as the outcome showed—not only for a bishop; for in him whom they then demanded in such a manner by a hidden divine presentiment, they sought not only a priest but also a future martyr. A great multitude of brethren had besieged the doors of the house, and anxious charity made its way around through every entrance. It might perhaps have been possible for that apostolic event to befall him then, that he should be let down through a window, if he were to be made like the Apostle also in the honor of ordination. One could see all the others waiting with suspended and anxious spirit for him to come, receiving him with exceeding joy when he arrived. I say it unwillingly; but I must say it.

Certain men even opposed him so that he might prevail: yet with what great gentleness, how patiently, how benevolently he indulged them, how clemently he forgave them, afterward counting them among his closest friends and reckoning them among his intimates, to the wonder of many. For to whom could the forgetfulness of so retentive a mind not be a wonder?

From that time, who would suffice to tell how he conducted himself? What piety was his? What vigor? How great his mercy? How great his discipline? Such holiness and grace shone from his mouth that it confounded the minds of those who beheld him. His countenance was grave and cheerful; neither was his severity gloomy, nor his affability excessive, but a tempered blend of both: so that one might be uncertain whether he deserved to be feared more or to be loved; except that he deserved both to be feared and to be loved. Nor was his dress unlike his countenance, itself likewise tempered from a middle course. The pride of the world had not puffed him up, yet neither had an affected poverty made him squalid: because this kind of dress is no less a form of boasting than an ostentatious frugality displayed in such a manner.

But what the bishop did for the poor, whom he had loved as a catechumen, let the overseers of piety consider—whether those whom the discipline of that order itself instructed to the duty of good works, or those whom the religion of the common sacrament bound to the service of showing love. The episcopal chair received Cyprian such from himself; it did not make him so.

Immediately thereafter, for such merits, he also attained the glory of proscription. For nothing else was fitting than that he who flourished with complete honor within the secret recess of his conscience in religion and faith should also be publicly celebrated by the renown of the gentiles. At that time, indeed, by the swiftness with which he had always attained all things, the crown of martyrdom owed to him might also have hastened to him; especially since he was demanded for the lions by repeated petitions: were it not that he had to pass through all the ranks of glories and so arrive at the summit; and were it not that the impending ruin had need of the aid of so fruitful a heart. For imagine that he had then been taken away by the dignity of martyrdom. Who would have shown the benefit of grace advancing through faith? Who would have restrained virgins to the fitting discipline of chastity and the manner of dress worthy of holiness, as if with certain reins of the Lord's reading?

Who would have taught the lapsed penitence, heretics truth, schismatics unity, the sons of God peace and the law of the evangelical prayer? By whom would blaspheming gentiles be overcome, with those things they cast at us being repelled back upon themselves? By whom would Christians of softer affection regarding the loss of their own, or, what is more, of lesser faith, be consoled with the hope of things to come? Whence would we so learn mercy, whence patience? Who would restrain with the sweetness of a saving remedy the malice of envenomed envy? Who would raise up so great martyrs with the exhortation of the divine word? Who finally would animate so many confessors, marked with the second inscription of branded foreheads and reserved as survivors for the example of martyrdom, with the incentive of the heavenly trumpet? Well, well was it then, and truly in a spiritual manner, that it came to pass that a man necessary for so many and such great things was delayed from the consummation of martyrdom.

Do you wish to know that that withdrawal was not cowardice? To say nothing else in excuse, he afterward suffered the very passion which he would surely have avoided out of habit, if he had avoided it before as well. That fear was truly a fear, but a just one: a fear that feared to offend the Lord; a fear that preferred to obey the precepts of God rather than to be crowned in such a manner. For a mind dedicated in all things to God and so given over to divine admonitions believed that, unless it had obeyed the Lord then commanding concealment, 52, 53 it would sin even by the passion itself.

I think that even now something must be said concerning the usefulness of the delay, although we have already briefly touched upon a few points. For through those things which are seen to have followed afterward, it follows that we prove that withdrawal was not conceived from the faint-heartedness of a man, but, as it truly was, to have been truly divine. The insolent and bitter ravaging of a fierce persecution had been enough to afflict the people of God; and because the crafty enemy could not deceive all by one snare, wherever an unwary soldier had exposed his unguarded flank, by a varied manner of raging he had struck down individuals with diverse slaughter. There needed to be one who could apply the remedy of heavenly medicine to wounded men, struck by the varied art of the assailing enemy, and according to the nature of the wound either cut or soothe them in the meantime.

There was preserved a man of talent, beyond other things, also spiritually tempered; who, amid the surging waves of clashing schisms, might steer the middle course of the Church with a balanced helm. Are not these, I ask, divine counsels? Could this have come to pass without God? Let those who think such things can happen by chance consider it. The Church answers them with a clear voice, saying: I do not admit, I do not believe, that I am preserved for necessary purposes without the will of God.

Let us run through the rest, however, if it seems good. Afterward a dreadful plague broke out; and the excessive devastation of a detestable disease, snatching innumerable people each day from their own dwelling with sudden violence, invaded in continuous succession the homes of the trembling common people. All shuddered, fled, avoided contagion, and impiously abandoned their own, as though someone could also exclude death itself along with that person who was to die of the plague. Meanwhile throughout the whole city there lay not bodies any longer, but the corpses of very many, and they begged for mercy from those passing by, by the contemplation of a shared fate. No one looked to anything but cruel gain. No one trembled at the recollection of a similar event. No one did for another what he wished to suffer himself. What the Pontiff of Christ and God did amid these things—he who had surpassed the pontiffs of this world by as much in piety as in the truth of religion—it is a crime to pass over.

Having first assembled the people together in one place, he instructed them concerning the goods of mercy, teaching by examples from divine reading how much the offices of piety avail toward meriting God.

Then he goes on to add that it is no wonder if we cherish only our own with the due service of charity, since he can be made perfect who has done something more than the publican or the gentile; who, overcoming evil with good and exercising a likeness of divine clemency, has also loved his enemies; who, as the Lord admonishes and exhorts, has prayed for the salvation of those who persecute him. God causes his sun to rise continually and bestows rains in turn for nourishing the seeds, providing all these things not for his own only, but also for strangers; and he who professes himself to be also a son of God, why does he not imitate the example of his Father? It befits us, he says, to respond to our birth, and it is not fitting that those who are known to have been reborn through God should be degenerate, but rather that the lineage of a good father should be proved in his offspring by the emulation of goodness.

Many other things, and indeed great ones, I pass over, which the plan of keeping the volume within bounds does not permit to be repeated in a more lengthy discourse: concerning which it is enough to have said only this. That if the gentiles could have heard those things on our behalf, perhaps they would have believed at once. What should the Christian people do, to whom faith gives their name? The ministries were therefore immediately distributed according to the quality of men and their ranks. Many who through the straitness of poverty could not offer the benefit of expenditure, offered more than expenditure, compensating with their own labor a reward more precious than all riches. And who would not hasten under so great a teacher to be found in some part of such a service, by which one might please both God the Father, and Christ the judge, and so good a priest in the meantime?

And so it came to pass by the abundance of overflowing works that good was done toward all, not toward the household of faith alone. Something more was done than what is recorded of the incomparable piety of Tobias. Let him pardon, and pardon again, and pardon frequently; or, to speak more truly, let him deservedly concede, although before Christ much was permitted, that something more has been permitted after Christ, to whose times fullness is owed. He gathered only those of his own race who had been slain by the king and cast out.

Upon these so good and so pious acts, exile supervened. For impiety always renders this recompense in return, that it repays better men with worse things. And what the priest of God answered when the proconsul questioned him, there are the Acts to relate. He is meanwhile driven out of the city—he who had done something good for the safety of the city; he who had labored that the eyes of the living should not be exposed to the horror of an infernal scene; he, I say, who, watching with the vigils of piety—O wickedness!—had provided with thankless goodness, lest, while all were abandoning the grim face of the city, the deserted commonwealth and forsaken fatherland should feel the loss of many exiles. But let the world consider, for which exile is counted among punishments. For them the fatherland is exceedingly dear, and they share a common name with their parents; we shrink even from our parents themselves, if they counsel anything against the Lord.

For them to live outside their own city is a heavy punishment; for a Christian, this whole world is one home. Wherefore, even if he has been banished to a hidden and remote place, mingled with the things of his God, he cannot count it exile. Add that one who serves God with integrity is also a stranger in his own city. For while he restrains himself from carnal desires by the continence of the Holy Spirit, putting off the manner of life of the old man, he is estranged from earthly life even among his own fellow citizens, or, I might almost say, even among his own parents. There is the further consideration that, even if this could elsewhere seem a punishment, yet in causes and sentences of this kind which we endure as trials for the proving of virtue, it is not a punishment, because it is glory. But grant that exile is no punishment for us.

Let those who are able to inflict upon the innocent what they think a punishment inscribe it as the ultimate crime and worst wickedness upon their own conscience as witness. I do not wish now to describe the pleasantness of the place, and I pass over in the meantime the provision of all its delights. Let us imagine that place squalid in situation, grim to look upon, having no wholesome waters, no pleasantness of greenery, no nearness of the shore; but vast crags thrust away into a remote part of the world amid the inhospitable passes of a thoroughly deserted wilderness. Such a place might still bear the name of exile, to which Cyprian, the priest of God, had come; for whom, if the ministrations of men were lacking, either birds as for Elijah, or angels as for Daniel, would minister. Far be it, far be it, that anyone should believe that anything will be lacking to any person, however lowly, provided he stands in the confession of the Name.

So far is it from being the case that that pontiff of God, who had always been engaged in the works of mercy, should be in want of all these resources.

Now let us return with thanksgiving to what I had placed in the second position: that provision was made by divine care also for the spirit of so great a man—an open and fitting place, a lodging secluded according to his wish, and whatever was promised beforehand to those who seek the kingdom and justice of God. And, to say nothing of the frequent visits of brethren, and the affection of the citizens themselves from that place, which restored all the things of which he seemed to have been deprived; I will not pass over the admirable visitation of God, by which he willed his bishop to be so secure in exile concerning the passion to come, that by the fuller confidence of imminent martyrdom, he might possess Curubis not only as an exile but also as a martyr.

For on the very day on which we first remained in the place of exile (for his gracious charity had also chosen me among his domestic companions as a voluntary exile—would that it had been permitted also in his passion!): "There appeared to me," he said, "while I was not yet sunk in the quiet of sleep, a youth of extraordinary and unusual size; who, as he led me as it were to the praetorium, I seemed to myself to be brought before the tribunal of the proconsul then sitting. He, as he looked upon me, at once began to note down on a tablet the sentence, which I did not know: for he had asked nothing concerning me by the customary interrogation. But the youth who stood behind him, quite attentively, read whatever had been noted down. And because he could not from there bring it forth in words, by a declaratory gesture he showed what was contained in the writing of that tablet.

For with his hand spread out and flattened in the manner of a sword, imitating the stroke of the customary execution, he expressed what he wished to be understood, after the manner of clear speech. I understood that the sentence meant a future passion. I began at once to ask and beg that a delay of even one day might be extended to me, until I might arrange my affairs in due order. And when I had repeatedly urged my prayers, he had begun again to note down something on the tablet. I perceived, however, from the serene expression of the judge, a mind moved as if by a just petition. But also that youth, who a little before had revealed the indication of the passion by gesture rather than by speech, hastened by a secret repeated nod to signify, with fingers intertwined one after another, that the delay requested until the morrow had been granted.

I, although the sentence had not been read, even though I rejoiced with a very glad heart over the joy of the delay received, yet trembled with fear at the uncertain interpretation, so that the remnants of dread still struck my exulting heart with full terror."

What is more manifest than this revelation? What is more blessed than this condescension? All things whatsoever followed afterward were foretold to him beforehand. Nothing was diminished from the words of God; nothing was curtailed from so holy a promise. Recognize each detail according to what was shown. He asks for a delay until the morrow, when the sentence of passion was being considered, requesting that on that day which he had obtained he might set his affairs in order. This one day signified the year in which he was to live in the world after the vision. For, to speak more plainly, he was crowned on that day after a full year, on which this had been shown to him a year before. Now we read in the divine Scriptures of the day of the Lord, though not of the year; yet we receive that time as owed to the promise of future things.

Wherefore it makes no difference if now under the signification of a day only a year was shown, because that which is greater ought to be the fuller. But the fact that it was explained by gesture rather than by speech was reserved for the representation of the time; for the expression in words is customarily brought forth then, whenever whatever is brought forth is fulfilled. For indeed no one knew why this had been shown to him, except because he was crowned afterward on the same day on which he had seen it. In the intervening time nonetheless the imminent passion was known for certain by all; yet the certain day of the passion was kept silent by those same persons, as though they were ignorant of it. Indeed I find something of this kind also in the Scriptures.

For Zacharias the priest, because he had not believed the son promised to him through the angel, was struck dumb; so that, when about to write the name of his son rather than to speak it, he asked for tablets by a nod. Rightly also here, where the messenger of God expressed the imminent passion of the bishop by gesture rather than by speech, he both admonished faith and fortified the priest. Now the reason for seeking the delay arose from the ordering of affairs and the disposition of his will. And what affairs, or what will, was he to set in order, if not the ecclesiastical state? The final delay was therefore granted, so that whatever had to be disposed by final judgment concerning the care of the poor to be sustained might be arranged.

And I think for no other reason—nay, truly for this reason alone—was indulgence also granted by those very persons who had driven him out and were about to kill him; so that, being present and with the poor present, he might relieve them with the last distributions of his final dispensation, and, to speak more fully, with his entire resources. His affairs having therefore been so piously ordered and thus disposed according to his will, the morrow drew near.

A messenger had already come from the City concerning Sixtus, the good and peaceable priest, and for that reason most blessed martyr. The executioner was coming and was now at hand to strike the devoted neck of the most holy victim; and so were all those days in daily expectation of dying, that a crown could be ascribed to each one. Meanwhile several men of distinguished and most illustrious rank and blood, and also noble by the nobility of the world, came together, who on account of their long-standing friendship urged him repeatedly to withdraw; and lest bare persuasion be too little, they also offered places to which he might withdraw. But he had already, with his mind lifted up to heaven, despised the world, and did not yield to their flattering persuasions. He would perhaps have done then also what was asked by many of the faithful, if he were also commanded by divine command.

But neither is that sublime glory of so great a man to be passed over without proclamation: because, while the world was swelling and panting with the confidence of its princes for the persecution of the Name, he was instructing the servants of God with the Lord's exhortations as occasion was given, and animating them to trample upon the sufferings of this present time by the contemplation of the glory to come. So great indeed was his longing for sacred discourse, that he wished his vow of passion to befall him in such a way that, while speaking of God, he might be slain in the very act of speaking.

And these were the daily acts of the priest destined as a sacrifice pleasing to God, when, by order of the proconsul, he came to his gardens (to his gardens, I say, which at the beginning of his faith he had sold, and which by God's indulgence had been restored to him, and which he would certainly have sold again for the use of the poor, had he not been avoiding the ill-will arising from the persecution)—when the commander suddenly came upon him with his soldiers. Or rather, to speak more truly, he believed he had come upon him suddenly. For how could a mind always prepared be taken by surprise, as if by an unexpected assault? He went forth therefore, now certain that what had long been delayed would be accomplished; he went forth with a lofty and uplifted spirit, showing cheerfulness in his countenance and virtue in his heart.

But being put off until the next day, he was returning from the praetorium to the commander's house; when suddenly a rumour spread throughout all Carthage and grew strong, that Thascius had been brought forth—he whom, beyond the celebrated renown of his glorious reputation, everyone knew also from the mention of his most illustrious work. From every direction all ran together to the spectacle, glorious to us by reason of our devotion of faith, and grievous to the pagans. Yet he was received and kept one night under a comfortable custody in the commander's house, so that his companions and dear ones were with him in his quarters after the usual manner. Meanwhile the whole people, anxious lest anything should be done in the night without their knowledge, kept watch before the doors of the commander. Then the divine goodness granted to him—truly worthy of it—that God's people should keep vigil even in the passion of their priest.

Yet perhaps someone may ask what was the reason for returning from the praetorium to the commander. And some indeed wish to say, from their own conjecture, that the proconsul was then unwilling. Far be it from me to complain of the proconsul's sloth or disdain in matters divinely ordered. Far be it from me to admit this evil within the conscience of a religious mind; that the belching of a man should pass judgment on so blessed a martyr. But that next day, which a year before the divine condescension had foretold, truly had to be the next day.

At length another day dawned—that marked day, that promised day, that divine day—which, had the tyrant himself wished to defer it, he could never have done at all: a day joyful to the conscience of the future martyr; and with the clouds dispersed throughout the whole compass of the world, radiant with the bright sun. He went forth from the commander's house—but as the commander of Christ and of God—and was surrounded on every side by throngs of a mingled multitude. And so an infinite host clung to his retinue, as though one were coming with a force assembled to storm death itself. Now the passage of the stadium lay along the way he had to go. And it was well done, and as if by design, that he who was running to the crown of justice with his contest completed should pass by a place fitting for the contest. But when they came to the praetorium, the proconsul not yet having come forward, a more secluded place was given to him.

There, as he sat after the long journey drenched with excessive sweat—and the seat happened to be covered with linen, so that even under the stroke of his passion he might enjoy the honour of his episcopate—a certain man who had formerly been a tessarius and was a Christian offered him his own garments, as though he wished him to exchange his wet clothing for drier; who evidently sought nothing else from the things offered than to possess the already blood-like sweat of the martyr setting out to God. To him he replied and said: "We apply remedies to ailments which today perhaps will be no more." It is no wonder if he despised bodily toil, who had despised death in his mind! What more? Suddenly he was announced to the proconsul. He is brought forth, led up, questioned about his name; he answered that he was the man. And thus far words.

And so the judge read from the tablet the sentence which he had not read in the vision a short time before; a sentence not to be called spiritual rashly, a sentence worthy of such a bishop and of such a witness, a glorious sentence, in which he was called the standard-bearer of a sect and enemy of the gods, and one who was himself to be an example to his own people, and that discipline was beginning to be sanctioned by his blood. Nothing is more complete than this sentence, nothing more true. For all the things that were said, though said by a pagan, are divine. Nor is it any wonder, since pontiffs are wont to prophesy concerning the passion.

He had been a standard-bearer who taught the bearing of the sign of Christ; an enemy of the gods, who commanded that idols were to be destroyed; and he was an example to his own people, who, as the first in the province, dedicated the first-fruits of martyrdom, with many to follow in like manner after him. The discipline also began to be sanctioned by his blood—but the discipline of martyrs; who, emulating their teacher by the imitation of a like glory, themselves also sanctioned the discipline of their own example with their own blood.

And as he went out through the doors of the praetorium, a band of soldiers went with him as escort: and lest anything should be lacking in his passion, centurions and tribunes had covered his side. Now the place itself is level where it befell him to suffer, so that, with trees densely planted on every side, it affords a lofty spectacle. But because the view was denied through the excessive extent of the wider space by reason of the all too confused crowd, those who favoured him had climbed up into the branches of the trees, lest even this should be denied him—that, after the likeness of Zacchaeus, he should be seen from the trees.

But now, with his eyes bound by his own hands, he was trying to urge on the delay of the executioner, whose office is the sword; and as the man's right hand faltered, he went about the sword with scarcely trembling fingers, until, for the accomplishment of the death of the precious man, the hour ripe for his glorification, with strength granted from above, at last released the permitted force and steadied the hand of the centurion. O blessed people of the Church, who suffered together with such a bishop both in eyes and in feelings alike, and—what is more—with voice made public; and, as they had always heard from his own preaching, were crowned with God as judge!

For although what the common prayers desired could not come to pass—that the whole people should suffer together in the fellowship of equal glory—yet whoever, under the eyes of Christ watching, and under the ears of the priest, was willing to suffer from the heart, sent, through a fitting witness of his desire, letters of embassy, as it were, to God.

Thus, with his passion consummated, it was brought to pass that Cyprian, who had been an example of all good things, should also be the first in Africa to inaugurate the priestly crowns; because he had also been the first after the apostles to begin to be such as he was. For from the time that the order of the episcopate is reckoned at Carthage, no one, however good and however a priest, is recorded to have come to martyrdom. Although devotion consecrated to God is always reckoned as martyrdom for persons dedicated to God; yet Cyprian advanced even to the perfect crown, the Lord bringing it to completion: so that in that very city in which he had so lived, and in which he had first done many illustrious things, he should also be the first to adorn the insignia of the heavenly priesthood with his glorious blood. What shall I do in this place? My mind, divided between joy at his passion and grief at remaining behind, and my breast all too narrow, are burdened by twofold feelings.

Shall I grieve that I was not his companion? But his victory must be celebrated in triumph. Shall I triumph over his victory? But I grieve that I am not his companion. Yet I must confess to you plainly and simply what you yourselves know to have been my mind in this matter. I rejoice exceedingly, and more than exceedingly, over his glory; yet I grieve the more that I remained behind.