And these were the daily acts of the priest, destined as a sacrifice pleasing to God, when behold, by the proconsul's command, 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 assuredly have sold again for the use of the poor, had he not been avoiding the odium arising from the persecution), the magistrate suddenly burst in with his soldiers — nay, to speak more truly, believed that he had burst in suddenly. For how could a mind always prepared be taken, as it were, by an unforeseen assault? He set out, then, now certain that what had long been delayed was being discharged; he set out with a soul lofty and erect, displaying cheerfulness on his countenance and courage in his heart.
But, being deferred to the morrow, he was returning from the praetorium to the magistrate's house, when suddenly a rumour, spread throughout all Carthage, grew rife that Thascius had now been brought forth — Thascius, whom, besides his celebrated repute in glorious renown, everyone also knew from the remembrance of his most illustrious work. From every direction all ran together to the spectacle — glorious to us through the devotion of our faith, and grievous to the heathen. Yet, having been received and lodged in the magistrate's house, he was kept one night under courteous custody, so that we, his messmates and dear ones, were in his company as usual. Meanwhile the whole populace, anxious lest anything be done during the night without their knowledge, kept watch before the magistrate's doors.
Then divine goodness granted to him, truly worthy, that God's people should keep vigil even at the passion of their priest. Yet perhaps someone may ask what was the cause of his returning from the praetorium to the magistrate. And some indeed will have it that the proconsul, on his own account, was then unwilling. Far be it from me to complain of any sluggishness or distaste of the proconsul in things wrought by God. Far be it from me to admit this evil within the conscience of a religious mind, that in the case of so most blessed a martyr the belching of a man should be the cause. But that morrow which the divine favour had foretold a year before was truly bound to be the morrow. At last there dawned another day — that marked day, that promised day, that divine day — which, had the tyrant himself wished to defer it, he would never have availed at all:
a day glad from the consciousness of the future martyr, and, the clouds being scattered throughout the whole compass of the world, radiant with a bright sun. He went forth from the magistrate's house, but as a prince of Christ and of God, and walled about on every side by the throngs of a mingled multitude. So an endless host clung to his escort, as though one came with a band gathered to storm death itself. Now on the way it fell out that the passage of a stadium lay in his path. And rightly, as if of set purpose, was it brought about that he should pass by the place of a fitting contest — he who was running to the crown of righteousness, the struggle being accomplished. But when they came to the praetorium, the proconsul not yet coming forth, a more private place was given.
There, when after the long journey he sat drenched with excessive sweat (the seat, moreover, happened to be covered with a linen cloth, so that even on the brink of his passion he might enjoy the honour of the episcopate), one of the orderlies, once a Christian, offered him his own things, as though he wished him to change his damp garments for drier ones — clearly, in the things offered, he sought nothing else than to possess the now bloody sweat of the martyr setting out to God. To him he answered and said: 'We apply remedies to ailments which today perhaps will be no more.' Is it a wonder, if he despised the labour of the body, who had despised death in his mind? What need of 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 the words.
And so the judge read from the tablet that sentence which not long before he had not read in the vision — a spiritual sentence, not rashly to be spoken, a sentence worthy of such a bishop and of such a witness, a glorious sentence, in which he was called the standard-bearer of the sect and the enemy of the gods, and one who would himself be an example to his own people, and that by his blood the discipline should begin to be ratified. Nothing is fuller than this sentence, nothing truer. For all the things that were said, although said by a heathen, are divine. Nor indeed is it any wonder, since pontiffs are wont to prophesy concerning the passion. He had been a standard-bearer, who taught of bearing the standard of Christ; an enemy of the gods, who commanded the idols to be destroyed;
and he was an example to his own people, who, with many of like kind to follow, first in the province consecrated the first-fruits of martyrdom. By his blood, too, the discipline — but of the martyrs — began to be ratified, who, emulating their teacher by an imitation of like glory, themselves also ratified the discipline of his example with their own blood. And when he went out of the doors of the praetorium, a crowd of soldiers went as escort; and lest anything be lacking in the passion, centurions and tribunes guarded his flank. The place itself is a valley where it befell him to suffer, such that, with trees densely set on every side, it offers a lofty spectacle.
But because, owing to the vast extent, the sight was denied to those farther off, or because of the exceedingly confused crowd, persons who favoured him had crept up into the branches of the trees, lest even this should be denied him — that, after the likeness of Zacchaeus, he might be seen from the trees. But now, with his eyes bound by his own hands, he tried to hasten the delay of the executioner, whose office is the sword; and as his right hand faltered, his fingers scarcely steady, he went round the sword, until, when the ripe hour of glorification for accomplishing the death of the precious man had come, he set free the executioner's hand — strengthened by a vigour granted from above and at last given full strength.
O blessed people of the Church, who suffered together with their bishop in such things, alike with their eyes and their feelings and — what is more — with their voice made public, and who, as they had always heard while he himself was teaching, were crowned with God as judge! For although what they desired by common signs could not come to pass — that the whole people should suffer together in the fellowship of equal glory — yet whoever, under the eyes of the watching Christ and under the ears of the priest, willed from the heart to suffer, sent, as it were, by a fit witness of his vow, letters of his embassy to God. Thus, the passion being consummated, it was brought to pass that Cyprian, who had been the example of all good things, should also be the first in Africa to imbue the priestly crowns, since he had also been the first to begin to be such after the apostles.
For from the time when the succession of the episcopate at Carthage is reckoned, never is any man, however from among the good and the priests, recorded to have come to a passion. Although devotion always given over to God is always reckoned to consecrated men in place of martyrdom, Cyprian nevertheless attained 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 been the first to do many illustrious things, being first he might also adorn the insignia of the heavenly priesthood with glorious blood. What shall I do at this point? Between the joy of the passion and the grief of remaining, my mind, divided into parts, and my breast, all too narrow, are burdened by a twofold affection. Shall I grieve that I was not his companion? But his victory must be celebrated in triumph. Shall I triumph in the victory? But I grieve that I am not his companion.
Yet to you it must nevertheless be confessed, and simply, what you also know: that I have been of this mind. I exult much, and far too much, over his glory; yet more do I grieve that I have remained behind.