There dwelt in Antioch, a priest called Sapricius, and a layman, named Nicephorus, who had been linked together for many years by the strictest friendship. But the enemy of mankind, sowing between them the seeds of discord, their friendship was succeeded by the most implacable hatred, and they no longer accosted each other when they met in the streets. Thus it continued for a considerable time. At length, Nicephorus, entering into himself, and reflecting on the grievousness of the sin of hatred, resolved on seeking a reconciliation. He accordingly deputed some friends to go to Sapricius to beg his pardon, promising him all reasonable satisfaction for the injury done him. But the priest refused his forgiveness. Nicephorus sent other friends to him on the same errand, but though they pressed and entreated him to be reconciled, Sapricius remained inflexible. Nicephorus sent a third time, but to no purpose; Sapricius having shut his ears not to men only, but to Christ Himself, who commands us to forgive, as we ourselves hope to be forgiven. Nicephorus, finding him deaf to the remonstrances of their common friends, went in person to his house, and casting himself at his feet, owned his fault, and begged pardon for Christ's sake; but this also was in vain.
Persecution suddenly began to rage under Valerian and Gallienus, about a.d. 258. Sapricius was apprehended and brought before the governor, who asked him his name. "It is Sapricius," answered he. The governor: "Of what profession are you?" Sapricius: "I am a Christian." The Governor: "Are you of the clergy?" Sapricius: "I have the honour to be a priest. We Christians acknowledge one Lord and Master Jesus Christ, who is God; the only and true God, who created heaven and earth. As for the gods of the heathen they are but devils." The president, exasperated at his answers, gave orders for him to be put into an engine, like a screw press. The excessive pain of this torture did not shake Sapricius's constancy, and he said to the judges, "My body is in your power, but my soul you cannot touch; only my Saviour Jesus Christ is master of that." The governor seeing him so resolute, pronounced this sentence: "Sapricius, priest of the Christians, who is ridiculously persuaded that he shall rise again, shall be delivered over to the executioner of public justice to have his head severed from his body, because he has disregarded the edict of the emperors."
Sapricius seemed to receive the sentence with great cheerfulness, and was in haste to arrive at the place of execution, in hopes of his crown. On his way to martyrdom, Nicephorus ran out to meet him, and, casting himself at his feet, said, "Martyr of Jesus Christ, forgive me my offence." But Sapricius made him no answer. Nicephorus waited for him in another street, through which he was to pass, and, as soon as he saw him coming up, broke through the crowd, and falling again at his feet, conjured him to pardon the fault he had committed against him, through frailty, rather than design. This he begged by the glorious confession he had made of the divinity of Jesus Christ. Sapricius's heart was more and more hardened, and now he would not so much as look on him. The soldiers laughed at Nicephorus, saying, "A greater fool than thee was never seen, in being so solicitous for a man's pardon who is upon the point of execution." On their arrival at the place of execution, Nicephorus redoubled his humble entreaties and supplications, but all in vain; for Sapricius continued as obstinate as ever, in refusing to forgive. The executioners said to Sapricius, "Kneel down that we may cut off your head." And now, for the first time, there was a sign of wavering in the Confessor. He grew pale and trembled, and asked, "Upon what account?" They answered, "Because you will not sacrifice to the gods, or obey the Emperor's orders, for the love of that man that is called Christ." The unfortunate Sapricius cried out, "Stop, my friends; do not put me to death: I will do what you desire: I am ready to sacrifice." Nicephorus, dismayed at his apostasy, cried aloud to him, "Brother, what are you doing? renounce not Jesus Christ, our good Master. Forfeit not a crown you have already gained by tortures and sufferings." But the holy Spirit of Fortitude had been withdrawn from him, who would not show forgiveness to his brother, and he tremblingly renounced his Lord and Master. Then Nicephorus, with tears of bitter anguish for the fall of Sapricius said to the executioners, "I am a Christian, and believe in Jesus Christ, whom this wretch has renounced; behold me here ready to die in his stead." All present were astonished at such an unexpected declaration. The officers of justice, uncertain how to proceed, despatched a messenger to the governor for further orders. The governor, on hearing the account of the confession of Nicephorus, dictated the following sentence: "If this man persist in refusing to sacrifice to the immortal gods, let him die by the sword:" which was accordingly put in execution. Thus Nicephorus received the three immortal crowns of faith, humility, and charity, triumphs of which Sapricius had made himself unworthy.
S. ATHRACTA OR TARAGHTA, V.
(6TH CENT.)
[There is great uncertainty as to the day on which this Irish Saint is commemorated. Some say Feb. 9th; some Feb. 3rd; and others Aug. 11th. She is mentioned in the Tripartite Life of S. Patrick. Her life, which exists only in a fragmentary condition, given by Colgan from an ancient imperfect MS., is of no authority.]
The same caution must be renewed, which has been given so often in writing the lives of the Irish Saints,—not to trust the records we have, too implicitly. Doubtless, the main outline of their histories is true, but lively fancies, through many centuries, have filled those outlines with wondrous details which it is impossible to accept, and which have made an almost inextricable confusion in their history.
The virgin Athracta, was of noble race. She dedicated herself at an early age to God, and built a lodging where seven roads met, that she might have abundant opportunity of showing hospitality to wayfarers. She is said in her legend to have received the veil from the hands of S. Patrick, when he was founding a church in Druimnea. Lanigan says that this is a mistake, as S. Athracta did not live till some time in the sixth century. He adds, "The statements relative to her are indeed so contradictory that the period in which she flourished cannot be precisely ascertained. According to some accounts she was contemporary with S. Patrick. But we find her spoken of as living in the times of S. Corbmac, brother of S. Erin, and, consequently, in the sixth century. S. Nathy, that is, according to every appearance, Nathy of Achonry, who lived in the same century, is also mentioned as a contemporary of hers. On these grounds it may be fairly concluded that S. Athracta belonged to the same period. She is said to have been the daughter of Talan, of a princely family of Dalaradia, in Ulster, and sister of S. Coeman, of Aird-ne-Coemhain, a consanguinity which it would be difficult to reconcile with her having been a native of Ulster. Whatever were her family connexions, S. Athracta presided over a nunnery called Kill-Athracta (Killaraght), near the lake Techet, now Lough Cara, in the county of Sligo."[28]
The legend of the saint contains the following incidents, the first of which, as will be seen from what has been said above, it is impossible to reconcile with history:—
This virgin was of noble race; she dedicated herself at an early age to God, and built a lodging where seven roads met, that she might have abundant opportunity of showing hospitality to wayfarers. She received the veil from the hands of S. Patrick, at Dromanna, the modern Kill-Athractha, Connaught. The story goes that on a visit to the church, built there by the Holy Apostles, S. Patrick prepared to celebrate Mass, when it was discovered that his attendants had forgotten to bring a paten. He was, therefore, about to lay aside his vestments, when the virgin said, "Proceed, father! with God all things are possible." So he began the confession. Then, as Athracta knelt bowed forward, she felt something lightly fall on her shoulder, and she put up her hand, and lo! there was a paten resting upon it. She rose, and, going to the altar, handed it to S. Patrick. On one occasion the King of Connaught desired to build a strong castle, and for that purpose summoned all his vassals to contribute their assistance. Athracta in vain pleaded to be excused; the King roughly ordered her to take her part in the erection of his fortress. Then she, and her servants, and horses, went into the wood to cut timber and transport it. But her maid exclaimed, "Oh, if the stags drew our logs of wood, instead of these old broken-down horses, it would humble the King's pride." Then Athracta called the stags to her, and because the ropes or chains for dragging the timber were broken, she harnessed the stags to the felled trees by some of her long delicate hairs, and these proved as strong to draw the timber as the stags proved docile for the draught.
These quaint legends are, it must be repeated, on no account to be estimated above what they are worth.