Hymn 14

14. The Passion of Agnes

Agnes’s tomb is in the home of Romulus,

a brave girl, a renowned martyr.

Set within the very sight of the towers,

the maiden guards the welfare of the Quirites,

and protects the strangers too,

suppliants with a pure and faithful heart.

A twofold crown was granted to the martyr:

her maidenhood untouched by any stain,

and then the glory of a freely chosen death.

They say that, scarcely fit for the marriage-bed,

in her first years a little girl perchance,

warm for Christ, bravely resisted the impious

commands, that she might not, made over to idols,

forsake the holy faith,

for, tempted first by many arts,

now by the enticement of a coaxing judge’s mouth,

now by the threats of a raging executioner,

she stood, stubborn with fierce strength,

and offered her body to harsh torments

of her own will, not refusing to die.

Then the grim tyrant: “If it is easy,” he says,

“to bear punishment, the pains subdued,

and a cheap life is scorned, yet the honour

of dedicated virginity is dear.

I am resolved to thrust her into the public brothel,

unless she lays her head at the altar

and now begs pardon of Minerva,

the virgin whom this virgin goes on to scorn,

all the youth will rush in and seek

a new chattel for their mockeries.”

“By no means,” says Agnes, “is Christ

so forgetful of his own that he would let our golden

modesty be lost and forsake us too.

He is at hand for the chaste and does not suffer the gifts

of holy integrity to be defiled.

You will stain the iron with my blood, if you will,

you will not pollute my limbs with lust.”

When she had spoken thus, he bids the maiden

be set publicly at the turn of the street.

A mournful crowd shrinks from her as she stands,

their faces turned away, lest anyone

too boldly should gaze on the place that must be revered.

One man, by chance, shamelessly directed

his eyes upon the girl and did not fear to look

on her holy form with a wanton glance.

Lo, a winged fire, after the manner of lightning,

is brandished, burning, and strikes his eyes.

Blind, he fell down at the flashing light

and writhes in the dust of the street.

His companions lift the half-dead man from the ground

and bewail him with words of funeral.

The maiden went triumphing, singing together

of God the Father and Christ in a holy song,

because, under the threat of profane peril,

the brothel had proved chaste and inviolable,

and her virginity a victor.

There are those who report that, when asked, she poured out

prayers to Christ, that he might give back to the guilty man

the light as he lay: then to the youth was breath

of life renewed, with his sight made whole.

But Agnes had this as the first step

of the heavenly court, soon another ascent

is given; for fury rouses the anger

of the bloody foe: “I am conquered,” he says, groaning,

“go, draw your iron, soldier, and carry out

the royal commands of the supreme prince.”

When Agnes saw the grim man stand

with naked blade, the gladder she says this:

“I rejoice that such a one rather comes,

a madman, savage, turbulent, an armed guard,

than if there came a languid and tender,

soft youth, anointed with perfume,

who would ruin me with the death of my modesty.

This, this lover now, I confess, pleases me:

I will go to meet the steps of the man rushing on,

nor will I delay his ardent desires:

I will take all the iron into my breasts

and draw the force of the sword to the depth of my chest.

So, wedded to Christ, I will leap over all

the darkness of heaven, loftier than the upper air.

Eternal ruler, part the gates

of heaven, barred before to the earthborn,

and call, Christ, the soul that follows you,

both a maiden’s and the Father’s offering.”

So speaking, with bowed head she adores

Christ as a suppliant, that the impending wound

her bent neck might more readily undergo.

But he accomplishes with his hand so great a hope,

for with a single stroke he cuts off her head;

a swift death forestalls the sense of pain.

Her spirit, stripped of the body, flashes forth thence

and, free, leaps into the air. The angels

hedged her as she went along a shining path.

She marvels at the world set beneath her feet,

gazes from on high on the darkness set below,

and laughs at what the wheel of the sun circles,

at what the whole world rolls and entangles,

that life is lived in a black whirlwind of things,

that the vain mobility of the age sweeps along:

kings, tyrants, empires and ranks

and the pomps of those who foolishly swell with honours,

the force of silver and gold, sought by all

with a rabid thirst through every kind of wickedness,

dwellings built with much splendour,

the empty deceits of painted garments,

anger, fear, desires, perils,

now a long sorrow, now a brief joy,

the smoking torches of black envy,

whence the hope and glory of men grows dark,

and, what is the foulest of all evils,

the sordid clouds of heathenism.

These Agnes treads underfoot and tramples with her foot,

standing and pressing with her heel the dragon’s head,

the fierce one who scatters all earthly things

of the world with his poisons and sinks them in hell;

now, subdued beneath the maiden’s sole,

he lowers the crests of his fiery brain

and, conquered, dares not raise his head.

Meanwhile God girds with crowns

the brow of the unwedded martyr, with two:

one, a reward brought forth ten times sixfold,

completes with perennial light,

a hundredfold fruit stands out in the other.

O happy maiden, O new glory,

noble dweller of the heavenly citadel,

turn upon our defilements

your face with its twin diadem,

to whom alone the parent of all gave the power

to make chaste even the brothel itself,

I shall be cleansed by the brightness of your

propitiable face, if you fill my heart.

Nothing is unchaste that you, holy one, deign

to visit or to touch with your kindly foot.