Poems 15.1–15.321

My yearly vows return, and with them the yearly debts of my tongue: your birthday, O Felix, most illustrious to Christ, dearer to me than my own birthday; on which, however great the public joys of countless crowds, there is something special for your own, because Christ has granted that we be yours, bestowing worthless men on a dear friend; not because you were worthy of such worthless servants, you whom God deems worthy to go as a companion in eternal triumphs, but because the good Father willed so to enrich us, poor in justice and needy of salvation, that we, wrongly rich in crimes, the course of our riches turned to the better, instead of all wealth and all affections, and instead of noble titles and vain honours, might take Felix as all our wealth, fatherland and home. You are father and fatherland and home and substance to us; our cradle has been moved into your bosom, and your breast is our nest; well warmed in it we grow, and, changing our bodies into another form, we are stripped of our earthly stock, and as wings come on we are turned into birds by the seed of the divine Word. As you lighten the yoke, we know Christ's yoke is gentle; in you Christ is kind even to the unworthy and sweet to the bitter. So this day must be held solemn by us too, your birthday, because, as you abolished our evils, we died to the world, that we might be born to good things in Christ. Rise then, lyre, and be tuned with all your strings; awake, strength of my soul; let love strike my inmost being with a silent song, and, on the tortoiseshell of the heart, not silent, with the teeth struck, let the lyre of the mouth sound with the plectrum of the tongue. I shall not call the Castalian Muses, mere phantoms, nor deaf Phoebus from the Aonian rock;

Christ is the kindler of my song; by Christ's gift I, a sinner, dare to speak of a saint and of heavenly things. Nor is it hard for you, Almighty, to loose my mouth in learned measures, you who bid the dumb speak, the dry flow, the hard dissolve. For you made a she-ass cry out in speech, and sucklings establish perfect praise for you, and you dissolved the solid rock into rivers and ordered the waterless land to stream with sudden floods, watering the deserts in hope of the peoples, into whose parched souls godly grace has flowed, whom Christ, the rock, streaming with a living fountain, has refreshed. So I, the least part of mankind, relying on that gift of your dew, O Christ, dry as I am, pray for living draughts. Give me a word from your fountain; I cannot speak of what is yours without you; for the praise of your martyr is your praise too, you who, almighty, make men strong in divine things and overcome strong things through the weak, triumphing from the flesh, conquering the powers of the air in our body. So be present, that with you as guide I may go back to the origin and tell of your Felix, whose noble stock was drawn from the East; for no other land better befitted as the homeland of Felix than that which bore the patriarchs and the godly prophets, sacred vessels of Christ, and from which, pouring out its rivers through the tongues of the apostles, the sound of the gospel flowed forth into the whole world. So Felix, owed to God from there, his father having set out, came to Italy, not yet born, yet in his father, so that by affection he might be born a citizen of our shores and remember that he was born for none but us. So father Abraham, following the Lord's commands, exchanged his native lands for foreign soil and laid down a sacred seed in Canaanite fields;

whence, as the line passed into foreign lands, a mystic origin transmitted Felix to us, whom that perfect faith brought forth, sprung from that root, so that he might be for us a godly vein of faith. Felix, even now, while he rests with his flesh laid aside, a spirit living in Christ, by the working merits of lofty virtue changes into Abraham's seed the hardness of stones, which he raises up to the goods of life. So, born in this city of a Syrian father, he cherished beloved Nola as the image of a homeland, blessing it with his pleasing residence; and, left much gold, he flourished rich in wealth, though not the sole heir. With his brother Hermias, who bore his father's name, he divided the earthly wealth; Felix alone obtained the heavenly; a discordant judgment divided the two brothers: the world drove Hermias away, Christ took Felix up to himself; the one preferred perishing things, the other solid; the one clung to the present, the other turned his soil to heaven, his patrimony to the kingdom; the one was heir only of his own father, the other co-heir of Christ. But who would wonder at offspring so varied from one blood, who rereads, among the holy pledges of the ancient parents, that Rebecca, fruitful with the stock of two peoples, suffered the battles of her womb and complained to God of the struggles in her pregnant belly, since already then there raged within the holy mother's womb the discord that now rages within the womb of the world: rough for the Jews, who follow hairy Esau in faithlessness and are assigned to serve the younger people, but gentle for us, who follow Jacob through the gentle ways of peace, where the way of light leads, by a better birth.

So, unlike blood from the same blood of brothers, Hermias, like rough Edom, following earthly things, grew squalid, a captive in the empty image of the world, and chose the hard laws of the Idumean ancestor, living by his own sword, and bearing the barren labour of vain military service, in which he submitted to Caesar's arms, living as a private man with no part in the duties of Christ. But my Felix, born to take up the arms of the eternal King, passed over into the names of father Israel, and his godly mind, giving itself from boyhood to heavenly things, resolved to serve God; nor did grace come poor, and as much as his soul thirsted, gaping for light with capacious heart, so lavishly did it draw in the inflowing gifts of God. In his first years he served as reader. Then he took the grade whose duty is with faithful voice to adjure evil spirits and drive them out with sacred words. Because he did this with a clear power of merit, rightly gaining the venerable insignia of a priest, he adorned the honour he had earned with a mind worthy of the rank. But so that the fillet alone should not adorn his sacred head, a stronger cause for a doubled crown arose: the dire madness of profane frenzy broke out, when the godly church was shaken by sacrilegious war, and impiety demanded above all from the whole people those whose piety was more notable. Then the aged Maximus, the bishop, was forming the city of Nola with holy laws and a gentle mouth, strong in Felix his presbyter, whom with a father's mind he embraced as a son and destined as heir of his see; but, driven off by a sudden storm, with his faith not yielding, he sought deserted places.

Then, as the bishop was sought, Felix shone more and more, set against the swords, made alone the object of hatred for the faith; nor was he regarded for his rank: faith was greater than rank, because the cause was faith alone. He is sought then, when the livid dragon stirs up his arms, desiring to overthrow that by which we rise and he falls. So, as the bishop fled the cruel punishments, Felix alone, or first of the people, like the head of the body, is sought. All strive to conquer him, and as though he were a lofty citadel in besieged walls they attack him with siege works, so that, its defence overcome, the rest of the city may fall, laid low in easy ruin. O madness worthy of the faithless! They believe that by one man the faith that the whole world has believed can be extinguished. Alas, wretched impiety, blind with infernal darkness, whither do you rush? Against whom do you move your weapons? Do you believe that God consists in one mortal, and, if you destroy bodies, that the divine strength and mind can be abolished with them? It goes through the members of the world; by it you yourself are born and, though unworthy, are fed; on its divinity depend victory or defeat; by its strength even one man is stronger than countless men; armed with unarmed piety, it lays low those armed with iron but unarmed in heart, Christ conquering through faith, which, aware of the heavenly truth, purchases future life by present death, and, the body conquered, joyfully brings back to God the victorious mind and carries it up to the rejoicing stars. What good then is it, madman, that you attack godly Felix with such a mass of fury? Within, hidden, remains his mind unconquered for God; nor now does the nature of earthly man alone resist you; God himself fights back, whom you attack, and against your poisons, ancient serpent, Christ himself offers himself through the bodies of his servants, and, binding you in your own snares, in the slaughter of his own lays you low, triumphing over death through the appearance of death.

But their own error, with frenzied goads, urged savage hearts to burn with a bloody thirst and to demand holy blood as if it were the palm of crime. So when Nola received the sacrilegious fury and dreaded the swords aimed at its godly citizens, venerable Felix is sought in the shaken city. Nor did he flee; breathing the stars already with lofty breath, and sharpening his mind for battle with silent goads, the fearless shepherd guarded the trembling fold, ready, by the Lord's example, to give his life for the flock. So, eager, he stands firm like a wall against the savage enemies, and in white-haired years grows green again with flourishing faith, wholly turned to the stars in mind, mindful of Christ, unmindful of his age, bearing God in his heart, his breast full of Christ. Nor can he now contain himself; he seems holy and greater, and his eyes shine with a starry light and his face with honour. Forthwith he is seized, rejoicing, and dragged forth by the savage hands of the raging men; but, as is the way of the wicked enemy, whose greater labour is to destroy our souls rather than our bodies, he puts off the sword and first tries him with terrors, and rises toward death by degrees of punishment. The first stage of torment is woven of prison. Iron chains are joined to the dark cells; steel binds his hands and neck, and he stiffens in the stocks that pull his feet apart; fragments of potsherd are strewn, so that a penal bed may keep off sleep with its sharpness. Yet the confessor is not without rest nor deprived of light, he with whom Christ, now joined to him in everything, suffers, whose heavier punishment multiplies his green crowns, who with ranging mind travels through the heavens. And, though in a bound body, his free spirit flies ahead of itself into the inner sanctuary of the most high Christ, his soul anticipating its rewards with sure vows.

So a blessed passion pressed Felix with holy penalties, with heavy chains and a blind prison, and as many penalties as his subjected flesh had put on from men, so many palms did his patience receive from Christ. Meanwhile Maximus, sick in the lonely mountains, content to have fled the hands and deadly faces of the executioners, was bearing a different martyrdom, but with a cross no lighter than if he had given his neck to the sword and his limbs to tortures or flames; a sharper care for his flock burns and afflicts him; he is burned by the fire of cold and stiffens with the icy dew of the sky, without bread and without roof, wakeful night and day, he joins both times in intent prayer; prostrate on the thorny ground he is pricked in his limbs by briars and in his mind by cares; he fights within and without, and bears in his body the thorns of the countryside, and suffers in his sorrowful breast the thorns of sadness. Covering hard with hard, by the bitter torture of the mind he lightens the torments of the limbs, and the mind's pain shuts out the sense of bodily pain. Yet the sick matter of earth, though the strength of the soul remained unshaken, its faith scorning the frailties of the flesh, overcome by winter and hunger and worn by a hard bed, was leaving its mind as the body failed, and the cold, drunk deep into the empty marrow of the weary old man, was driving out life as his blood froze. The kindness of the most high Father, moved for so great a bishop, did not bear that his body be consumed in an obscure death. He could indeed have fed him also as he fed Elijah, sending food-bearing birds through the hungry wilderness, and could have covered him in a secret grave like Moses;

but God had given this gift to one friend only, to be covered in hidden earth, because so great an honour rightly befitted that body which had shone face to face with God's mouth and speech, so that, having fulfilled the laws of mortality, he should have God alone as witness of his grave. So the gentle Father, looking with serene light on the priest and confessor, did not bear any longer that he waste away in the silent woods; and since he was preparing to join to his merits a fully worthy companion, he chose Felix from the whole number in the prison, to whose merits he would add this work: to lift the limbs of the kindly old man, call back his soul, bring him back revived, and restore to the astonished sheep the comfort of their dear shepherd. So there came, shining in the silent night, an angel, and among the whole crowd of bound prisoners he speaks to Felix alone, whom holy piety had made a prisoner; the horror of the black prison fled. Felix, roused at once by the voice and light of the sacred minister, trembles and drinks in the word with faithful ear. And at first, as if he were receiving God's commands in the image of a mocking dream, he is dazed and anxious, and pleads that he cannot follow, since the chain prevents him, and that he is held besides by the bar and the guard of the watched prison. But the divine voice, rebuking him as he delayed, bids him rise, his chains shaken off. And suddenly the chains flowed off his hands like soft things, his neck, freed of its own accord from the iron yoke, is lifted, and his feet spring out, the block of the stocks loosened. Wondrous faith! The prison unlocked, its bars intact, the guard asleep, he goes out of the doors unafraid, and a way is made through the very men by whom the way is shut; the angel went before, through the friendly silence of the quiet night.

He was light and road for Felix. Is not the one Christ present in every saint? As the same Spirit flourishes in all who are born in Christ, so the grace itself of the godly agrees. I see the ancient pattern return in a recent history, in which Peter, bidden to depart, exalted in the band of twice six disciples, came out, his chains slipping off of their own accord, and likewise out of the closed prison, where an angel, going before, led him, stealing Herod's prey. So, God leading him out, my Felix, through the doubled darkness of prison and night, dark to the others but lit up for him alone, with impunity through the very guards, pressing on his steps with steady pace, directed along unknown paths, sought what he was bidden. And after crossing the secret, pathless woods he found the country place of the weary old man, and sorrowfully sees him drawing sick sighs, now with a feeble breath. And as soon as he recognized the limbs of his dear father, he threw himself into his embrace, gave kisses to the familiar face, and tried by cherishing to call back warmth to the cold limbs, and with frequent breaths of his panting mouth to restore living senses to the warmed body. But the body was moved neither by calling nor by shaking, now like one lifeless; yet a slight breath, the last of life, and a trembling of the inner fibres betrayed it. Felix, anxious at such a sight, is torn in his godly breast, seeing the bloodless limbs and the face pale with hunger, and having nothing with which to bring help in their need, no fire far or food near, to revive the wasting man with food and the stiffened man with fire.

As he searched and approached Christ with much prayer, asking by what help or what way he could fulfil the service bidden, the Almighty produced a sudden cluster of grapes from the briars and bade it hang close to his head, so that from the neighbouring branch he could easily pluck food grown of its own accord. So, divinely refreshed, Felix rejoices with godly mind in the gift offered, and, plucking the cluster with his hand, brings it to the dying man's lips, and since he, his teeth now clenched, cannot taste or take sweet food, he squeezes the juicy grapes and drips in the flowing juice, parting the dry lips with his finger, until, God breathing on the feeble efforts and the struggling hand, he loosened a little the stiff jaws and gave a narrow entry to the opened mouth, by which the pressed grape might pour in a little dew. Then sense returns to the soul, warmth to the bones, light to the eyes, and the whole of life, and the tongue, which had clung, crusted, to the dry throat, now exercises its usual speech, after the slippery moisture has opened the voice's path. So, reviving, he sees close by that most familiar face, the face of his Felix, and embracing him in turn complains that he is late: “For the Lord had long since promised,” he says, “that you would be with me, Felix, my portion; Felix, my chief pledge, what delays, I ask, held you so long, or where? If I gave way in my frail body for a time, yet I have endured to be faithful with a solid heart. The place and the very state in which you see me dragging out the last of this life teach that I did not flee from fear of death and that I put Christ before my own life; I fled, not from love of the light, but fearing this frailty of a weak body; and yet, seeking shelter, I could have lived safe in another city, if faith had been cheap to me and this life dear.

I sought unknown mountains and bare deserts, laying my neck in the bosom of the sweet Lord, to die with him as witness or to be fed by him. And not in vain, see, was this our trust; the Almighty was present and chose you to send to me, through whom he might give me back his gifts; use, my son, the precepts of piety that command the work, and, taking me up on your shoulders, carry me back to our common fold.” Tireless Felix, glad at the longed-for task, takes up the dear burden as the light weight of Christ and carries it so swift in running that he seemed rather to be carried himself than to carry; and truly Christ himself carries the carrier, and God added wings to feet swift with piety. In the same night Felix alone receives so many gifts and carries them out together; bidden to break his own chains, he restores the priest and carries him back restored, and sets him down safe under the roof of his house, which one old woman alone was keeping; so lofty, and by this merit, was Maximus a confessor, that of his bereft house and property one old woman alone remained to him. Knocking at the doors, Felix wakes her; she, astonished at the first sounds, barely recognizes the familiar voice, and receives her master, opening the house, trembling in voice and step, fear shaking her old age. Felix said to her: “Take this deposit, which the stars of the night, witnesses with me, and the angelic hands under Christ as prince hand over to you as I hand it over; take with faithful bosom this jewel of the Lord, which at the last time you are to return to us unharmed before the Lord as judge, with whom as witness you receive it now.” Maximus follows these words, and calling back his Felix said: “You too take, my son, a return for the gift, which he who bade you be present for the deposit bade me, once restored, to give to you.” Then he places his sacred right hand on the head of his beloved Felix, asking at the same time all the gifts of Christ, as Isaac, venerable among the patriarchs, blessed his son with the dew of heaven and the richness of the earth; so Maximus, blessing Felix for Christ with a father's mouth and with an apostolic mouth, and enriching him, crowned him with the honour of an unfading crown and increased him with everlasting riches, which we see even now.