THE persecution of Diocletian having broken out in Africa, the magistrates of Abitina broke, one Sunday, into the house of a citizen, Octavius Felix, during the celebration of the Divine Mysteries, and took the priest Saturninus, his four children, and forty-four other Christians who were assisting at the Holy Sacrifice. The two elder sons of the priest, Saturninus and Felix, were both lectors; Mary, his daughter, had consecrated her virginity to God; Hilarion, the youngest, was still quite a child. Among the other prisoners were Dativus, a noble senator, Ampelius, Rogatianus, Januarius, Cassian, Victorian, in all thirty men, and nineteen women.

Dativus marched at the head of the troop which surrounded Saturninus, standing as children about their father.

When brought before the magistrates, they confessed Christ so resolutely, that their very judges applauded their courage.

The confessors were shackled and sent to Carthage, the residence of the pro-consul. They rejoiced to see themselves in chains for Christ, and sang hymns and canticles during their whole journey to Carthage, praising and thanking God. The pro-consul, Anulinus, addressing himself first to Dativus, asked him of what condition he was, and if he had assisted at the collect or assembly of the Christians. He answered that he was a Christian, and had been present at it. The pro-consul bade him declare who presided, and in whose house those religious assemblies were held: but without waiting for his answer, commanded him to be put on the rack and torn with iron hooks, to force the information from him. The martyrs underwent severally the tortures of the rack, iron hooks, and cudgels. Felix was asked if he had been at the collect or assembly[32] on the Lord's day. Felix answered, "I am a Christian." "I did not ask that," said the magistrate, "but whether you had been at the collect." "Oh, foolish judge!" cried Felix, "Could I be a Christian and not be present? As if the Lord's day gathering should be without the Christian, and the Christian without the Lord's day gathering. Knowest thou not that the one was made for the other, and the one cannot be without the other?" Then he was savagely beaten and sent to prison. The weaker sex fought no less gloriously, particularly the illustrious Victoria; who, having been converted to Christ in her tender years, had signified a desire to lead a single life, but to this her pagan parents would not agree having promised her in marriage to a rich young nobleman. Victoria, on the day appointed for the wedding, full of confidence in the protection of Him whom she had chosen for the only spouse of her soul, leaped out of a window, and took refuge in a Christian church, where she consecrated her virginity to God, with the ceremonies then used on such occasions at Carthage, in Italy, Gaul, and all over the West.[33] To the crown of virginity she earnestly desired to join that of martyrdom. The pro-consul, on account of her quality, and for the sake of her brother, a Pagan, tried all means to prevail with her to renounce her faith. He inquired what was her religion. Her answer was, "I am a Christian." Her brother, Fortunatianus, undertook her defence, and endeavoured to prove her lunatic. The saint, fearing his plea might be the means of her losing the crown of martyrdom, made it appear by her intelligent answers that she was in her perfect senses, and she protested that she had not been brought to Christianity against her will. The pro-consul asked her if she would return with her brother. She replied, "Being a Christian, I acknowledge none as brethren but those who keep the law of God." The pro-consul then laid aside the quality of judge to become her suppliant, and entreated her not to throw away her life. But she rejected his entreaties with disdain, and said to him, "I have already told you my mind. I am a Christian, and I assisted at the holy assembly." Anulinus, provoked at this constancy, ordered her to prison with the rest, to wait the sentence of death which he not long after pronounced upon them all.

However, he made an effort to gain the little boy, Hilarion, not doubting that he would easily prevail with one of his tender age. But the child showed more contempt than fear of the tyrant's threats, and answered his interrogatories, "I am a Christian: I have been at the collect,[34] and it was of my own voluntary choice, without any compulsion." The pro-consul threatened him with those little punishments with which children are accustomed to be chastised, little knowing that God himself fights in his martyrs. The child only laughed at him. The governor then said to him, "I will cut off your nose and ears." Hilarion replied, "You may do it; but I am a Christian still." Then the governor ordered the child to be taken to the prison with the rest, and Hilarion, with his shrill voice cried, "God be thanked!"—and so was led away.

At this point these interesting Acts break off abruptly, but a fragment which has been tampered with by some Donatist hand has, at the end, this passage, which has been lost from the genuine Acts:—"These blessed martyrs, being deprived of all nourishment for their bodies, one by one, and by degrees, sank, overcome with hunger, and migrated to the heavenly kingdom with the victor's palm, our Lord Jesus Christ sustaining them, who, with the Father, reigns through ages of ages. Amen."

S. JONAS THE GARDENER, MONK.
(4TH CENT.)

[Roman Martyrology, not to be confounded with the S. Jonas, monk, commemorated by the Greeks on Sept 21st. Authority:—Mention in the Life of S. Pachomius.]

In the monastery of Muchon, in Egypt, lived an old monk who acted as gardener. For eighty-five years he cultivated the fruits of the monastery garden, and gathered them, and gave of them to the monks, and to guests, and to travellers, as much as they would, but in all those years he never tasted so much as a grape, a date, or a fig; but lived on raw herbs with a little vinegar. Now, there stood in the midst of the monastery a very fruitful fig-tree, and the boys were in the habit of climbing it to gather and eat the luscious figs. And when S. Pachomius came one day to inspect the monastery, he saw that this fig-tree was a cause of self-indulgence and gluttony to some of the younger aspirants after an ascetic life. So he said to Jonas the gardener, "Cut that tree down!" Then the gardener lifted up his hands in dismay, and when Pachomius saw how greatly it would grieve the good man, he let him spare it. But lo! on the morrow the fig-tree was withered away, and Jonas knew that he had acted wrongly in opposing his will to the command of his superior. Jonas wore a dress made of three sheep-skins sewn together, and over this he cast a linen surplice without sleeves,[35] when he approached the Divine Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ; but as soon as he had communicated, he laid it aside. Jonas, after supper, was wont to retire to his cell, sit on his chair weaving rushes in the dark, reciting passages of Scripture, till the midnight call to the monks to rise for the night office. Then, when that was concluded, he returned to his seat, and slept seated till dawn. And one day he was found dead in his chair with the rushes in his stiff hand. Then the monks buried him as he sat, with the half-plaited mat on his knees.

S. LAZARUS, B. OF MILAN.
(ABOUT A.D. 449.)

[Roman Martyrology. He died on March 14th, but as by the Milan use no saint is commemorated in Lent, his festival has been there thrown back to Feb.11th; and adopted thence into the Roman Martyrology. His life from scattered notices is given by Bollandus.]

Of the acts of this saint, who was bishop of Milan before 440, but in what year consecrated is unknown, we have scarcely any records. He lived in the stormy time of the Gothic invasion of Italy. It is disputed whether he or S. Mamertus, bishop of Vienne, was the first to institute the use of litanies. It is certain that Bishop Lazarus ordered their use for three days in succession in all the principal churches of Milan.

S. EUPHROSYNE, V.
(ABOUT A.D. 470.)

[Roman Martyrology on Jan.1st, but anciently on Feb.11th; with great solemnity by the Greeks on September 25th. She is sometimes erroneously called Euphrosia or Euphrasia by martyrologists. The life of S. Euphrosyne is found inserted in the VitÆ Patrum. The authors of some of these lives are known, as S. Ephrem, S. Jerome, Sophronius of Jerusalem, Paulus Diaconus, but it is not known by whom the life of S. Euphrosyne was written. In gravity and purity of style it is not behind any of the others. That after her death a Greek life was written, which was translated into Latin, seems probable, from the extension of her cultus in the ancient Latin Church. Her life exists in an ancient Greek ode, and in a Latin heroic poem; another life is given by Simeon Metaphrastes, in all particulars of importance agreeing with that in the Lives of the Fathers, but without its freshness and ring of antiquity.]

The history of S. Euphrosyne, as given in the "Lives of the Fathers of the Desert," written, apparently, shortly after her death, is told so simply and beautifully by the ancient historian, that it shall be given here, somewhat abbreviated, but otherwise literally translated.

There was a man of Alexandria named Paphnutius, honourable, and observing the commandments of God. He married a wife worthy of his race, and of honest manners, but she was barren. Thereat the man was troubled much and sorrowful, likewise his wife was sore afflicted, seeing the distress of her husband. And after some time he told a certain abbot his desire; and he, compassionating him, besought the Lord to give him a child. Then God heard the prayers of these twain, and gave to Paphnutius a daughter. After that, Paphnutius brought his wife to the monastery, that she should be blessed by the abbot and the brethren. And when the little girl was seven years old, she was baptized, and called Euphrosyne, and her parents rejoiced over her, because they had received her of the Lord, and she was comely of face. Now when she was twelve years old, her mother died, and she lived with her father, who taught her her letters, and to read, and all the rest of the world's knowledge. The good report of her spread through the town, for she was wise in knowledge, and very comely, and composed in face and spirit. Thus many desired to mate her with their sons, and tried to come to terms with the father, but could not gain their point; for he said, "God's will be done." But one man excelled all in wealth and honour, and he sought the father and asked him to give his daughter to his own son in marriage; and he consented; so the usual betrothal gifts were made.

And after some time, when she was aged eighteen, Paphnutius, taking her, went to the monastery with her, and gave monies for the need of the brethren, and said to the abbot, "I have brought to thee the fruit of thy prayers, that thou mayest pray for her, for I am about to deliver her in marriage."

Then the abbot bade that she should be taken to the guest-house, and he spake with her, and said much about purity, humility, and meekness. Now she was there three days, and she gave ear to the psalmody every day, and saw the holy conversation of the monks, and she wondered at their life, and said, "Blessed indeed are these men." So her heart began to be solicitous in the fear of the Lord.

And when three days were accomplished, Paphnutius led her to the abbot and said, "Come, my father, that thy handmaiden may salute thee, and pray for her, for we are going home to town." And the maiden cast herself at the abbot's feet, saying, "I pray thee, my Father, entreat the Lord to give me my heart's desire," so he, extending his hand over her, blessed her, saying, "God, who knewest man before ever he was born, take care of this thy handmaiden, that she may merit a portion and fellowship in thy heavenly kingdom." So they returned to the city. Now, it fell out, one day, that the abbot was about to be ordained, and he sent a monk to Paphnutius, to invite him to the solemnity. Then the brother asked after him, and the servants said, "He has gone out." Then Euphrosyne called to her the monk, and began to question him. "Tell me of your charity, my brother, how many brethren are there in the monastery?" He answered, "There are three hundred and fifty-two." The maiden said, "If anyone desired to go there for conversion, would your abbot receive him?" He answered, "He would receive him with the greatest joy, for the Lord said, 'He that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'" Euphrosyne said, "Do all of you chant in your church, and all fast together alike?" The monk answered, "We all chant together, but every one fasts following his own way, as much and how suits him best; there is no constraint, but ready will." Presently Paphnutius returned from his walk, and the monk, seeing him, told him the message of the abbot. Then Paphnutius was glad, and went with him in a little boat to the monastery. Now, when he was gone, Euphrosyne sent a trusty servant, saying, "Go into the monastery of Theodosius, enter the church, and bring hither any monk you find there." Now, by the goodness of God, there was a monk just coming from the monastery, and when the boy saw him, he bade him come to the house of Euphrosyne. And when the maiden saw him, she rose and saluted him, saying, "Pray for me, my Father!" So, praying, he blessed her, and sat down. Then Euphrosyne said to him, "My lord, I have a Christian father, but my mother is dead. My father wishes to give me to this world, and I shrink from being defiled thereby, but I fear to be disobedient to my father, so I am in a strait and know not what to do. I spent all last night without sleep, asking God to show me His way, and this morning I have sent into the church for a father, who might tell me what I should do. I know that God hath sent thee to me; declare to me, now, His will." Then the old man said, "This is the Word of the Lord. If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple. (Luke xiv., 26.) This is the saying of the Lord Christ. I have nothing to add thereto." Then said Euphrosyne, "I trust in God and in thy prayers. Cut off my hair." So the old man arose, and shore off the hair of her head, and laid on her the tunic of profession, and praying, he blessed her, saying, "The God, who hath delivered all His saints, protect thee from all evil." And when he had thus spoken, he departed, and went on his way rejoicing.

But Euphrosyne thought in herself, "If I go to a convent of maidens my father will make inquiries and drag me violently away, and give me to the bridegroom. I will go to a monastery of men, where none will suspect me." So saying, she put off her female attire, and clothed herself in the habit of a man, and, leaving her house in the dusk of evening, taking with her 500 pennies, concealed herself all night. Next morning her father came to the city, and went, by the will of God, to church, before going home. Now, Euphrosyne made her way to that monastery where her father was so well known, and announced to the abbot, through the porter, that an eunuch of the palace was without desiring to speak with him. Then, when the abbot came forth, Euphrosyne cast herself on the ground, and when they had prayed they sat down. Then said the old man, "Wherefore hast thou come hither, my son?" And she answered, "I desire to dwell here and follow your holy conversation." Then said the old man, "Thou hast done well, my son! Here is the monastery. If it please thee, dwell with us. But tell me, what is thy name?" She answered, "Smaragdus (Emerald)." He said, "Thou art very young, and not able to dwell alone, but needest a master to teach thee the rule and conversation of the monks." To whom she made answer, "As thou willest, my father." So she put the five hundred pence in his hand, and he called to him an aged brother, named Agapitus, a holy man, and gave to him Smaragdus, saying, "Henceforth he shall be to thee a son and disciple." Then, having knelt, he blessed them, and they responded Amen, and Agapitus led her away to his cell.

Now Paphnutius, her father, went home, and when he found her not he sought through Alexandria. He searched every convent of women. Now, there were ships in the harbour, and his servants by force entered them, and searched them through, and they hunted the country round, the deserts and the caves, not to mention the houses of their friends, and they found her not. Then he bewailed her as one dead, together with the bridegroom and his father; but Paphnutius could not be comforted, he had no rest, not knowing where his daughter was. And at last, unable to bear his anguish longer, he hastened to the abbot of whom we have already spoken, and fell at his feet, and cried, "I pray thee, cease not from supplication that the child of thy prayer may be found, for I know not what has befallen my daughter." Hearing this, the venerable old man was mightily troubled, and he summoned all the brethren, and said, "Show your charity, my brothers, and let us all entreat the Lord, that he may declare to us what has befallen the daughter of our good friend, Paphnutius." So they all fasted and prayed for the space of a week, and nothing was revealed touching Euphrosyne, as was wont, when they at other times besought the Lord. Now when nothing was revealed to any, the abbot began to console the father, saying, "Do not be downcast, my son, at the Lord's discipline, for whom He loveth He chasteneth. Know this, of a surety, that no sparrow falls to the ground, without His knowledge, how then can anything have happened to thy daughter without His consent? If any evil had befallen her—which God forbid!—would not the Lord have showed it to one of the brethren praying for her? I have confidence in God, that thou shalt see thy daughter again in this life." So the father went away comforted. But he often returned to commend himself to the prayers of the brethren, and one day he cast himself down before the abbot and said, "I cannot bear my anguish, O my father! because of my lost daughter, but the wound in my heart bleeds more every day, and my spirit is vexed within me." Now when the old man saw him so broken, he said, "Wouldst thou converse with a spiritual brother here, from the palace of Theodosius?" But he knew not that he spake of the daughter of Paphnutius; and the man said "I am willing." Then the abbot called Agapitus, and said, "Take Paphnutius, and introduce him to the cell of Smaragdus." And he did so, knowing nothing. Now, when she suddenly heard her father's voice, and knew him, her eyes filled with tears. But Paphnutius did not recognize her, for her face was much shrunk with fasting, vigils, and tears; and she drew her hood over her face, that he might not see her distinctly. And when they had prayed, they sat down. Then she began to speak to him of the future kingdom of happiness and eternal glory, and how it was to be won through humility and purity, and a holy life, and tender love. For she saw that her father was much depressed, and she pitied him; yet fearing lest he should recognize her, and it would prove a hindrance in her path, and willing to comfort him, she said, "Believe me, God will not despise thy groaning. If thy child were living in wickedness, God would shew thee the way to her, that thou mightest pluck her away. No! trust God, she has chosen the better course, and is serving God somewhere. He is able to lead thee to her. Be of good courage, He will reveal her to thee some day." Then she said "Go, sir!" And as he retired, she grew deadly pale, and tears flowed from her eyes. But he was full of comfort, and he said to the abbot, "I go comforted as though to-day I had seen my child." And he returned home magnifying the Lord.

Now after Smaragdus had lived thirty-eight years in the cell, she fell sick, and knew that she must die. And when, on a certain day, as was his frequent custom, Paphnutius came to the monastery, and asked to see Smaragdus, the abbot bade that he should be conducted to the cell. But when he found that Smaragdus lay sick, he kissed him, and weeping, said "Woe is me! where are all the promises, and sweet hopes, that thou didst give me, of seeing my daughter again? Not only do I not see her, but thou in whom I have found some consolation, thou goest away, and there is none left to be the comfort of my old age. For thirty and eight years I have lost my daughter, and nothing has been revealed to me concerning her, though I have prayed for her night and day." And when Smaragdus saw the old man's distress and tears, he said, "Be of good courage, is the hand of the Lord shortened, that He cannot perform what is promised? Lay aside thy sorrow. Remember how Joseph was revealed by God to the patriarch Jacob, who bewailed him as one dead. But I pray thee, tarry here three days, and leave me not." So Paphnutius remained beside him three days, for he said, "May be, the Lord will reveal somewhat to him;" and he was all that while full of anxiety. And on the third day he said, "I have waited, my brother!" Then Smaragdus knew that he should not survive that day, and he said to Paphnutius, "Draw near to me." And he drew near. Then said Smaragdus, who is also Euphrosyne, "Because the Almighty Lord hath brought me to the end of my contest, not by might of mine, but by His help, there remaineth to me the crown. And now I would not have thee troubled about thy daughter—I am thy daughter, Euphrosyne, and thou art my father, Paphnutius. And now I pray thee, (for none know that I am a woman), when I am dead, do thou, my father, wash and lay me out for my grave, and pray for me." And when she had said this, she gave up her soul. And it was the first of January.

Then when Paphnutius heard these words, and saw that she was fallen asleep, all his bowels were moved, and he fell on the ground, and was as one dead. Now Agapitus came running in, and saw Smaragdus dead, and Paphnutius lying senseless on the ground, so he cast water on his face and said, "What aileth thee, Master Paphnutius?" Then said Paphnutius, "Let me go that I may die." And when he was risen up, he cast himself on the face of the dead monk, and cried, "Woe is me! my sweetest daughter, why didst thou not tell me before, that I might have died with thee?" So Agapitus, having guessed the truth, was amazed, and hasted and told the abbot, who came, and cried "Euphrosyne, spouse of Christ, forget not thy fellow-servants, who dwell in this monastery, but pray for us to our Lord Jesus Christ, that he may make us manfully contend to reach the port of safety, and to have our portion with Him, and with all His saints." Then he called all the brethren together, and they buried Euphrosyne reverently. And after that her father came and dwelt in the same cell, and was there for ten years, and after that he migrated to God, and they laid him beside his daughter.

S. CEADMON, MONK.
(ABOUT A.D. 680.)

[Anglican Martyrology, published by John Wilson. Authority:—Bede: Hist. Eccl. iv.24.]

According to an usage very general in the 7th century in England, but principally prevailing in Celtic countries, monasteries and nunneries were placed under the rule of one abbot or abbess. This was the case at Whitby, where the abbess Hilda governed a community of men, as well as one of women; and she inspired the monks subject to her authority with so great a devotion to their rule, so true a love of sacred literature, that this monastery, ruled by a woman, became a true school of missionaries, and even of bishops. But not all the bishops and saints nurtured in her school, occupy in the annals of the human mind a place comparable to that held by an old cowherd who lived on the lands belonging to Hilda's community. It is on the lips of this cowherd that Anglo-Saxon speech first bursts into poetry, and nothing in the whole history of European literature is more original or more religious than this first utterance of the English muse. His name was Ceadmon. He had already reached an advanced age, having spent his life in his humble occupation without ever learning music, or being able to join in the joyous choruses which held such a high place at the feasts and social gatherings of all classes, both poor and rich, among the Anglo-Saxons as among the Celts. When it was his turn to sing at any of these festal meetings, and the harp was handed to him, his custom was to rise from the table and go home. One evening, when he had thus withdrawn himself from his friends, he went back to his humble shed and went to sleep by the side of the cattle. During his slumber he heard a voice, which called him by name, and said to him, "Sing me something"; to which he replied, "I cannot sing, and that is why I have left the supper and am come hither." "Sing, notwithstanding," said the voice. "But what, then, shall I sing?" "Sing the beginning of the world: the Creation." Immediately on receiving this command he began to sing verses, of which before he had no knowledge, but which celebrated the glory and power of the Creator. On awaking he recollected all that he had sung in his dream, and hastened to tell all that had happened to him to the farmer in whose service he was.

The Abbess Hilda, when the story was repeated to her, called for Ceadmon and questioned him in the presence of all the learned men whom she could assemble around her. He was made to relate his vision and recite his songs, and then the different passages of sacred history and various points of doctrine were explained to him that he might put them into verse. The next morning he was again called, and immediately began to repeat all that had been told him, in verses, which were pronounced to be excellent. He was thus discovered all at once to possess the gift of improvisation in his mother tongue. Hilda, and her learned assessors, did not hesitate to recognise in this a special gift of God, worthy of all respect and of the most tender care. She received Ceadmon and his whole family within the monastic community of Whitby, and afterwards admitted him to the number of monks who were under her rule, and made him carefully translate the whole Bible into Anglo-Saxon. As soon, accordingly, as the sacred history and the gospel were narrated to him, he made himself master of the tale, ruminated it, as Bede said, and transformed it into songs, so beautiful that all who listened to him were delighted. He thus put into verse the whole of Genesis and Exodus, with other portions of the Old Testament, and, afterwards the life and passion of Our Lord, and the Acts of the Apostles. His talent and his poetic faculty thus went on, day by day, to fuller development, and he devoted numerous songs to such subjects as were best calculated to induce his companions to forsake evil, and love and practise the good: the terrors of the last judgment, the pains of hell, the joys of paradise—all these great and momentous subjects were in their turn woven into verse. The fragments that remain enable us to estimate the earnest and impassioned inspirations, strongly Christian and profoundly original, which characterised these first efforts of genius, barbarous, but subdued and baptized. But it would be a totally mistaken idea to recognise in the Abbess Hilda's dependant, nothing but a poet or a literary pioneer; he was, above all, a primitive Christian, a true monk, and, in one word, a saint. His mind was simple and humble, mild and pure; he served God with tranquil devotion, grateful for the extraordinary grace that he had received from heaven. But he was full of zeal for monastic regularity. No frivolous or worldly subjects ever inspired his verse; he composed his songs only that they might be useful to the soul, and their solemn beauty did even more for the conversion than for the delight of his countrymen. Many were moved by them to despise this world, and to turn with ardent love to the divine life. He died as poets seldom die. At the very beginning of his illness he desired his bed to be made in that part of the infirmary which was assigned to the dying, and, while smiling and talking cheerfully with his brethren, asked for the viaticum. At the moment when he was about to administer the Communion to himself, from the pyx brought from the Church, according to the usage of the period, and while holding in his hands the Holy Eucharist, he asked all those around him, if any one had any grudge against him, or any complaint to make? All answered, "No." Then said he, "I, too, my children, have a mind at peace with all God's servants." A little while after he had received the venerable Sacrament, as they were about to waken the monks for Matins, he made the sign of the Cross, laid his head on the pillow, and fell asleep in silence, to awake no more.

S. THEODORA, EMPRESS.
(A.D. 867.)

[Commemorated by the Greeks; not regarded as a Saint by the Western Church.]

Theodora, wife of Theophilus, the Byzantine Emperor, has the glory of having brought to an end the triumph of the Iconoclasts in the East. After the death of her savage husband she ruled during the minority of her son, Michael III. Her claim to sanctity is certainly very questionable.