[Roman Mart. Authority:—S. Gregory the Great, Dialog., lib. i., c. 12.]
S. Severus was priest to a church in the district of Valeria, which is that part between the Tiber and the Velino, occupied by the cities Riete, Terni, and Narni. S. Gregory relates that on one occasion a message was brought him, whilst he was pruning his vines, that a dying man needed his pastoral assistance. Severus promised to go as soon as he had done cutting the vine he was then engaged upon. When he drew near to the sick man's house, the people ran out to meet him, saying, "Oh, sir! why didst thou delay? the man is dead." Then Severus entered, full of self-reproach, praying to God for pardon. And when he saw the dead body, he burst into tears, and beat his head against the ground, reproaching himself for his neglect. Then the dead man's spirit returned, and he opened his eyes, and sat up. So he made his confession and received absolution, and died shortly after.
The relics were translated to the monastery of Münster-Maifeld, near Coblenz, about the year 980, by S. Egbert, bishop of Trèves.
S. BERACH, B., AB.
(ABOUT A.D. 615.)
[Irish Kalendar. Two lives of this saint exist, but both are late, collected from oral tradition, and full of fable.]
The lives of the Irish saints were, for the most part, written from popular tradition, many centuries after their decease. They are characterised by a love of the marvellous and the grotesque, diminishing their historical value. The same quaint legends re-appear in almost all, or with slender modifications. It seems that every Irish saint yoked stags to his plough, and made bells come to him over the water. If some of these fanciful stories are here inserted, it is not that we desire a ready credence to be yielded to them, but rather because it is all that there is to be told about these saints, and some of them possess a strange beauty or are characteristically grotesque.
Berach is said to have been the son of Nemnald, descendant of Brian, Prince of Connaught, by his wife, Finmaith, who took him to be baptized by his uncle, S. Froech. And here follows a strange tale. When Berach was taken from the font, the mother wished to resume her charge of him, but "No," said the bishop, "let me have the bringing up of this little one; God will provide for his sustenance." So S. Froech took him, and when the babe cried for the breast of his mother, his uncle gave him the lobe of his ear to suck, and thence flowed a copious supply of honey. Now, when the boy was grown up, guided by an angel, he went to Glendalough, and there he settled, leading a monastic life under S. Coemgen. One day a wolf fell on a calf, belonging to the monks, and devoured it, then the cow ran lowing painfully about, and Berach, pitying her, bade the wolf come and suck her, and be to her in place of the calf he had eaten.
Now there was in the charge of S. Coemgen, a lad, the son of Duke Colman, who was very ill, and consumed with fever. As the boy fretted in his bed, and cried for apples and sorrel to quench his burning thirst, S. Coemgen said to Berach, "Go forth, my son, taking my staff, and bring me what the sick boy needs." So Berach went forth. And it was midwinter. Then he prayed to God, with whom nothing is impossible, for he was stirred with pity for the fevered child, and he went to a willow, and blessed it; then it thrust forth its little silky flowers, and these swelled and ripened into red apples, and beneath the willow the snow dissolved, and green sorrel thrust up its shoots and spread its delicate leaves; so he gathered of the apples a lap-full, and picked a large bunch of sorrel, and came with them to his master.[43]
And after some time, Berach went forth and built a monastery in a remote spot, Clon-cairpthe, in the desert of Kinel-dobhtha; but a certain wealthy man interfered to pull it down, and to disturb him in many ways. So Berach appealed for protection to the king; and when he came to the court his adversary arrived also, and was admitted by the porter, for he was well-dressed; but the door was shut against the abbot in his tattered clothing. Now it was winter, and the ground was white with snow, and rude boys, seeing the poor man, scantily clothed, shivering outside the gate, began to pelt him with snow-balls, but suddenly they were struck as by an icy blast, that they could not stir. And Berach saw that the snow had been scraped from the palace-door into a great heap. So he approached it, and blew upon it, and a flame crackled in the snow heap, and leaped up, and he stood and warmed himself at the flaming snow. Then, when the king heard what had taken place, he was full of wonder, and went forth, and besought the man of God; so he restored the boys to their usual activity, and quenched the blazing snow-heap.