De sanctis Bernice et Prosdoce

On the Holy Martyrs Bernice and Prosdoce, Virgins, and Domnina Their Mother, a Panegyric Homily. 1. Not yet twenty days have we completed the commemoration of the Cross, and behold, we are celebrating the commemoration of the martyrs. Do you see how swift the fruit of Christ's death is? Because of that sheep, these heifers were slaughtered; because of that lamb, these victims; because of that sacrifice, these offerings. Not yet twenty days have we, and immediately the wood of the Cross has sprouted the fair shoots of the martyrs; for these are the achievements of that death. Behold, then, the proof of what was then said, today realized through these very deeds. Then I said, "He shattered bronze gates, and he crushed iron bolts." Today these things are demonstrated through the deeds. For if he had not shattered the bronze gates, the women would not have dared, while they were closed, to enter so easily; if he had not crushed the iron bolt, the virgins would not have been able to remove it; if he had not rendered the prison useless, the martyrs would not have entered with such freedom.

Blessed be God: a woman dares to face death, a woman who brought death into our life, the ancient weapon of the devil—this woman has struck down the devil’s strength. This weak and vulnerable vessel has become an invincible weapon. Women dare to face death: who would not be astonished? Let the Greeks be ashamed, let the Jews who disbelieve in the resurrection of Christ cover their faces. For what greater sign of that resurrection do you seek, tell me, than when you see such a transformation of affairs having taken place? Women dare to face death, a thing that even for holy men before this was fearful and terrifying. Learn, then, of its former terror, so that seeing its present contempt, you may marvel at God, the cause of the change; learn of its former power, so that learning of its present weakness, you may give thanks to Christ, who has completely unstrung it. Nothing was stronger than that before, beloved, and nothing was weaker than we; but now nothing is weaker than that, and nothing is stronger than we. Do you see how excellent the transformation has been? How God has made the strong weak and has rendered the weak strong, showing us his power from both sides? But so that what is said may not be mere assertion, I also adduce the proof. And, if you please, let us first show that, how they feared it before—not only sinners, but also holy men who had great boldness before God, who boasted of their achievements and had attained every virtue.

I show these things not to condemn the saints, but to marvel at the power of God. How then is it evident that the mask of death was fearful before this, and that all shuddered at it and trembled? From the first patriarch. For Abraham the patriarch, the righteous one, the friend of God, who left his homeland, his house, his relatives, and his friends, and disregarded all present things because of God's command—he so feared and dreaded death that, when about to enter Egypt, he said to his wife these words: "I know that you are a beautiful woman. So it will be that when the Egyptians see you, they will spare you but kill me. What then? Say that you are his sister, so that I may fare well through you, and my soul will live because of you." What is this, O holy patriarch? Do you overlook your wife being insulted, your marriage bed violated, your wedlock undermined? Are you so afraid, tell me, of death? Not only do you overlook it, but you also weave a deception with your wife and join in feigning the drama of outrage, and you do everything so that the king of the Egyptians, attempting adultery, may not be detected—removing from her the name of wife and placing on her the mask of sister? But I fear that in striving to undo the power of death, I may appear to accuse the righteous man. Therefore I will try to do both: to show the weakness of death and to snatch him from this accusation. First, however, it is necessary to show that he feared death, and then to free him from the charges.

Let us then see what an unbearable and terrible thing he endured. For to see a woman insulted and to witness her being adulterated is more unbearable than countless deaths. And why do I say adulterated? Even if he harbors in his soul some mere notion of suspicion concerning her, his entire life becomes unlivable. For the passion of jealousy is for him an unconquerable fire and flame; and someone, indicating its tyrannical and inexorable nature, said: "Full of jealousy is the wrath of her husband; he will not exchange his enmity for any ransom, nor will he spare on the day of judgment, nor will he be appeased by many gifts." And again elsewhere: "Jealousy is as hard as Hades"; for just as, he says, it is not possible to bribe Hades with money, so it is not possible to console and reconcile the jealous man. Many, indeed, have often given up their own life in order to find the adulterer; and they would gladly taste the blood of the man who insulted their wife, and they would choose to do and suffer everything for this reason. But nevertheless, this unbearable passion, this tyrannical and inexorable one, the righteous man endured with even greater intensity, and he overlooks his wife being insulted because of the fear of death and the end.

That he feared death is clear from this. It is now time to free him from the charges and the accusation concerning this, by first stating the accusation itself. What then is the accusation? He ought, they say, to have died rather than to have overlooked his wife being insulted. And this is what some accuse him of: that he chose rather to preserve his own life than his wife's chastity. What are you saying? He ought rather to have died than to have overlooked his wife being insulted? And what more would have been accomplished? For if, by dying, he was going to snatch his wife from the insult, you speak rightly. But if, by dying, he does nothing to free his wife from the insult, why does he vainly and simply betray his own safety? For, that you may learn that even by dying he was not going to snatch her from adultery, hear what he says: "And it will be that when the Egyptians see you, they will spare you, but they will kill me." Two evils, then, were about to occur: adultery and murder. It was a sign of no ordinary prudence to gain at least one of these two. For if, by giving up his own life, he was going to free her from the insult—and, having killed the just man, they were not to touch Sarah—you would accuse him rightly. But if, even after his death, the wife was likewise going to be insulted, why do you accuse the just man, who, when two terrible things were about to happen—adultery and murder—prevented one of them through his own wisdom, namely, the murder? For this, indeed, he ought to be praised: that he kept the hand of the adulterer clean of blood.

Nor could you say this, that by her saying, "I am his sister," she drew the Egyptian to commit outrage; for even if she had said, "I am his wife," he would not have desisted in that way either. And this he himself made clear by saying, "If they see you, they will say, 'This is his wife,' and they will kill me, but they will spare you." So if she had said she was his wife, both adultery and murder would have occurred; but when she said she was his sister, the murder was prevented. Do you see how, when two terrible things were about to happen, he removed one of them through his own wisdom? Do you wish to learn how he also, to the best of his ability, cuts short the charge of adultery, so as not to leave him a complete adulterer? Listen again carefully to their very words: "Say," he says, "that I am his sister." What does this mean? He who takes a sister is not an adulterer; for the adulterer is judged by his intention. Indeed, even Judah, when he went in to his own daughter-in-law Tamar, was not judged an adulterer, for he went in not as to a daughter-in-law, but as to a harlot. So too here, the Egyptian, about to take her, not as the wife of Abraham, but as his sister, was not going to be judged an adulterer. What then, someone says, is this to Abraham, who knew that he was giving away his own wife, and not a sister? But not even this is a charge against him.

If, on the one hand, he was going to desist from the outrage upon hearing that she was his wife, you would rightly reproach the righteous man; but if the name of wife was not going to avail Sarah to repel the outrage, just as he himself says, "They will say, 'This is his wife,' and they will take care of you," then much more must we admire the righteous man for being able, in such difficulty of the matter, to keep the Egyptian pure of bloodshed, and to mitigate the charge of outrage to the best of his ability. Let us now direct our discourse also to his descendant Jacob; and you will see that he too feared and trembled at death, a man who from his earliest youth displayed apostolic philosophy. For what Paul legislated to his disciples, saying, "Having food and shelter, we will be content with these," this man also asked of God, saying, "If the Lord would give me bread to eat and a garment to put on, it is enough for us." But nevertheless, this man who sought nothing beyond necessity, who disregarded his home, who received the blessings, who obeyed his mother, who was a friend of God, who by his wisdom overcame nature—for he was second by nature, but first in blessings—who was capable of so much, who philosophized so much, who displayed such great piety, after countless struggles, after countless contests, after countless wrestlings and those many crowns, returning to his homeland and about to meet his brother, as if about to see a wild beast, and fearing his resentment, falls before God and entreats him.

Deliver me from the hand of Esau, my brother, he says, because I am afraid of him, lest he come and strike me, and my mother with her children. Do you see how this man also feared death? How he trembles and beseeches God concerning this? Do you wish me to show you another great man who suffered the same thing again? Consider Elijah, that heaven-high soul and divine one; for that man who closed the heavens and opened them again, who brought down fire from above, who offered the wondrous sacrifice, who was zealous on behalf of God, that man who in a human body displayed an angelic life, who possessed nothing more than a sheepskin, who rose above all human things—he so trembles and fears death that after all those things, after the heavens and the sacrifice, after the sheepskin and the wilderness, and the philosophy, and that great boldness, he feared a worthless woman, and because of this he fled. For when Jezebel said, "May the gods do such and such to me, and may they add such and such, if by tomorrow I do not set your soul as the soul of one of the dead," Elijah was afraid, it is said, and fled a journey of forty days. Do you see how fearful death is? Let us therefore marvel at the Master, because that which is fearful to prophets,

He made death contemptible to women. Elijah fled from death; women fled into death. He recoiled from death, and they pursued death. Do you see how sudden the transformation has been? Those around Abraham and Elijah are in anguish over the end, but women trampled death underfoot like mud. But let us not accuse even those saints; the fault is not theirs. The weakness was of nature, not a charge against their choice. God at that time wished death to be fearful, so that the greatness of grace might be shown afterward. He wished it to be fearful, for it was a penalty. For this reason he did not want the threat of the penalty to be dissolved, lest people become more careless afterward. Let the sentence remain, he says, frightening them and making them prudent. For there will be, there will be a time when they will also be released from this anguish. And that is indeed what happened. For that he released us from this anguish, the martyrs show, and before the martyrs, Paul shows. Did you hear in the Old Testament Abraham saying, "They will spare you, but they will kill me"? Did you hear Jacob saying, "Deliver me from the hand of Esau, my brother, because I am afraid of him"? Did you see Elijah fleeing a woman's threat because of death? Hear how Paul is disposed concerning this matter: whether he considers it fearful as they did, whether he is grieved when it comes and is afraid. On the contrary, he considers the thing desirable. For this reason he says, "To depart and be with Christ is far better." To them it was fearful; to him it was better.

To them it was unpleasant, to him it was sweet; and quite reasonably so, for formerly death led down to Hades, but now death escorts to Christ. Therefore Jacob says, "You will bring down my old age with grief to Hades," but Paul said, "To depart and be with Christ is far better." He said these things not condemning the present life—far from it; for let us be careful not to give ground to the attacks of the heretics, nor as if fleeing it as evil, but as desiring the future life as better. For he did not say simply that to depart and be with Christ is good, but better; and "better" will be better than something good. Just as when he says that the one who marries off does well, but the one who does not marry off does better, he shows that marriage is good, but virginity is better; so also here: the present life is good, he says, but the future is much better. Again elsewhere, philosophizing about these same things, he said, "Even if I am poured out in sacrifice and in the ministry of your faith, I rejoice and rejoice with you all; and you too rejoice and rejoice with me." What do you say, Paul? You are dying, and you call people to share in the pleasure? What has happened, tell me? "I am not dying," he says, "but I am ascending to the greater life." Just as people who are receiving an office invite many to share in their joy, so Paul, going to his death, called those who would rejoice with him. For death is a rest, a release from labors, a reward for toils, and a crown for struggles.

For this reason, at the beginning there were lamentations and dirges for the dead, but now there are psalms and hymns. Indeed, they mourned Jacob for forty days, and they mourned Moses for another forty days, the Jews, and they beat their breasts, because death then was death; but now it is not so, but rather hymns and prayers and psalms, all indicating that the matter brings joy; for psalms are a symbol of cheerfulness: "If someone is cheerful among you," it says, "let him sing." Since we are filled with cheerfulness, therefore we sing psalms over the dead, urging confidence concerning the end. "Return, my soul," it says, "to your rest, because the Lord has benefited you." Do you see that death is a benefit and a rest? For the one who enters into that rest has ceased from his labors, just as God has from his own. 4. And so much concerning death; let us now proceed to the encomium of the martyrs, if you have not grown weary of listening; for even these remarks took their starting point from the encomium of the martyrs. But it is necessary to bring the discourse a little higher. A war was once kindled against the Church, a grievous one, the most severe of all wars; for this war was twofold: one from within, the other from without; one from one's own people, the other from enemies; one from strangers, the other from acquaintances. Yet even if the war had been simple, the evil would have been unbearable, and if it had attacked only from without, the magnitude of the terrors would have been great; but now it was twofold, and the war from one's own people was more severe than that from outsiders.

For the acknowledged enemy can be easily guarded against; but he who wears the mask of a friend while arranging the deeds of enemies is hard for those plotted against to catch. Double then was the war at that time: one civil, the other coming from outsiders; rather, if one must speak the truth, each war was civil. For the judges and rulers and soldiers attacking from outside were not some foreign tribe, barbarians, and of another rule and kingdom, but were governed by the same laws, dwelling in the same fatherland, sharing the same citizenship. So the civil war was that from the judges, but the more grievous was that from relatives, the novel and irrational one full of great cruelty. For brothers betrayed brothers, and fathers children, and husbands wives, and all the rights of kinship were trampled, and the whole inhabited world was in upheaval, and no one recognized anyone then; for the devil prevailed with great excess. In that tumult and war, then, these women—if indeed one must call them women; for in a woman's body they displayed a man's resolve, or rather they displayed not only a man's resolve but surpassed nature itself and set their contest against the incorporeal powers—these women, then, abandoned city and home and relatives and transferred themselves to a foreign land. For, it is said, when Christ is dishonored, let nothing be precious or necessary to us; for this reason they left everything and went out.

And just as when a house is set on fire in the middle of the night, those sleeping inside, when they perceive the commotion, quickly leap from their bed and rush out of the house's doorway, taking nothing from within—for they are eager only for one thing, to snatch their own body ahead of the flame and to outrun the fire's course advancing with great speed—so too did these women act. For seeing the whole inhabited world being set ablaze, they immediately sprang forth and leaped from the city's gates, seeking only one thing: to preserve the safety of their own soul by every means. For the conflagration then was severe, and deep darkness prevailed, a darkness more gloomy than this night's darkness; and because of this, as in darkness, friends did not recognize friends, and husbands betrayed wives; for this reason, they passed by enemies but collided with friends and relatives, and it was a fierce night-battle, and affairs were full of great turmoil. At that time, then, they went out, leaving their homeland, and emulating the patriarch Abraham, to whom it was said: "Depart from your land and from your kindred." For the time of persecution also urged these women to depart from the land and from the kindred, so that they might inherit heaven. So the woman went out from the house, having with her two daughters. And do not simply pass over this

hearing that women who had been raised in freedom, never having experienced such terrors, went forth, consider in your mind how great the evil was, how much difficulty the matter contains. For if men, when setting out on a moderate journey, well supplied with beasts of burden, having servants, traveling in safety, masters of their return, perceive many hardships and endure much misery—where there is a woman, and virgins, and a lack of servants, and betrayal by friends, and uproar, and confusion, and unbearable fear, and manifold danger among them, and a flight for life, and enemies on every side—what speech will be able to represent the struggles of these women, their courage, their magnanimity, their faith? For if the mother had gone forth alone, the struggle would not have been so unbearable; but as it was, she also took her daughters with her, and these virgins, so that the anguish was double and the increase of care great; for as the possession is great, so the guarding is more difficult. She went forth, then, having virgins, and having no place to conceal them in chambers; yet you know that chambers and women's quarters, and doors, and bolts, and guards, and sentinels, and maidservants, and nurses, and a mother's constant attendance, and a father's forethought, and much care from parents are employed so that the flower of virginity may be preserved, and even so it is barely kept safe; but she was deprived of all this protection. How then could she preserve them? By the protection of the divine laws. She had no roof encompassing her, but she had the strong hand sheltering from above.

It had no door nor bolt, but it had the true door that walled off the plot. And just as in the midst of Sodom the house of Lot was besieged but suffered no harm—for it had angels within—so too these martyrs, being in the midst of Sodom and all the enemies, and besieged from all sides, suffered no harm; for they had the Master of the angels dwelling in their souls. And having come onto the deserted road, they suffered nothing; for they had the true road leading them to heaven. For this reason, in such a war and tumult and amid waves, they walked in safety; and the remarkable thing is that the sheep were led through the wolves, the lambs passed through the lions, and no one saw them with licentious eyes, but just as God did not allow the Sodomites standing near the door to see the entrance, so too then he blinded the eyes of all, so that the virginal bodies would not be betrayed.

They go then to a city called Edessa, a city more rustic than most, but more pious. For what did they consider equal to that city, to find refuge in such a storm and to have a harbor in such a tempest? And the city receives the strangers, strangers of the earth, but citizens of the heavens; and having received the deposit, it guarded it. But let none of the women condemn their weakness because they fled; for they were fulfilling the Lord’s command which says: “When they persecute you from this city,” it says, “flee to the other.” And having heard this, they fled, and for the time being a crown was woven for them. What crown is this? That of contempt for all present things. For whoever has left brothers and sisters, or fatherland, or home, or friends, or relatives, will receive a hundredfold, it says, and will inherit eternal life. And there they had Christ as their co-dweller. For if where two or three are gathered together, he is in their midst, where they were not only gathered but also fleeing for his name, how would they not rather draw his help to themselves? There, while the women were staying, suddenly evil edicts were sent everywhere, full of great tyranny and barbaric cruelty. For let relatives betray relatives, it says, husbands their wives, fathers their children, children their fathers, brothers their brothers, friends their friends.

Now recall for me here the words of Christ, and marvel at his foreknowledge. For he foretold all these things from above. He says: "Brother will betray brother, and father child; and children will rise up against parents." He foretold them then for three reasons. First, that we might learn his power, and that he is true God, foreseeing from afar things that have not yet happened. For that he foretold the future for this reason, hear him saying: "I told you these things before they happened, so that when they happen you may believe that I am he." Second, that none of the enemies might say that these things happen because of his ignorance or weakness. For he who foresaw from above could also have prevented them; but he did not prevent them, so that the crowns might become more glorious. For this reason he foretold them, and he also spoke beforehand for a third reason. What is this? That he might make the contest lighter for those in the arena. For unexpected evils, whatever they may be, appear harsh and unbearable, while those that are anticipated and prepared for become light and easy. Then, at that time, the enemies, issuing these commands, displayed their own cruelty, and unwittingly bore witness to Christ's prophecy. And brothers betrayed brothers, and fathers children; nature itself waged war against itself, kinship was split against itself, all laws were overturned from their foundations, and everything was full of some tumult and confusion, and the demons then filled houses with kindred blood. For the father who betrayed his son certainly also slew him. For even if he did not thrust the sword, nor accomplish the slaughter with his right hand, yet by his intention he completed the whole deed.

For the one who handed over the one about to be murdered to the murderer himself committed the murder. "Let us make them," the demons said, "child-killers; let us make the children parricides through betrayal." For such sacrifices were offered to them in olden times, and fathers slaughtered their children. And the prophet cried out, saying: "They sacrificed their sons and their daughters to the demons," and they thirsted for such blood. Since Christ had put an end to these abominable and polluted sacrifices, they were eager to revive them again. But they did not dare to say openly and shamelessly, "Slaughter your sons," for no one would obey. So they devised the command in another way and contrived the law, ordering through the judges that fathers betray their children. "For it makes no difference to us," they say, "whether one slaughters or hands over his son for slaughter; for both this one and that one are child-killers." Thus one could see parricides, child-killers, fratricides. Everything was filled with uproar and confusion, but the women enjoyed deep tranquility. For the hope of future things fortified them on all sides, since even though they were in a foreign land, they were not in a foreign land; they had as their true fatherland the faith, they had as their own city the confession, and nurtured by good hopes, they perceived none of the present circumstances; for they saw only the future. While matters were in this state, the father arrived in that city with soldiers for the capture of the prey.

The father and husband stood by—father of the daughters, husband of the woman, if indeed one ought to call father or husband the one who served such purposes. Rather, let us spare him as much as possible; for he became father of martyrs and husband of a martyr. Let us not make his wound more grievous by our own accusations. Now observe the wisdom of the women. For when it was necessary to flee, they fled; and when it was necessary to enter the contests, they stood firm, and they followed, bound by the love of Christ. For just as one ought not to draw trials upon oneself, so, when they come, one must contend, so that we may show both moderation from that side and courage from this side. This indeed they did then: they returned and contended. For the stadium opened, and the time called for the struggles. The manner of the contests was as follows. They came to a city called Hierapolis, and from there they truly ran up to the holy city through such a device. A river flowed alongside that road by which they returned, and they escaped the notice of the soldiers who were dining and drinking. Some say that they also took the father as a helper to deceive the soldiers, and I am persuaded. For perhaps he did this so that he might at least be able to lay up for himself some small defense through this betrayal on the day of judgment—to have cooperated, helped, and made easier the course toward martyrdom.

Having taken him as a helper, and through him having been able to deceive the soldiers, they entered into the middle of the river and let themselves go with those currents. A mother entered with two daughters—let mothers and virgins hear, and let the former be persuaded by mothers in this way, and the latter educate daughters in this way, let them love their children in this way. So the mother entered in the middle, holding the daughters on each side—she who had her husband in the middle of the unwedded, and marriage was in the middle of virginity, and Christ was in their midst. Just as a root of a tree having two shoots standing on each side, so that blessed woman then entered having the virgins on each side of her, and she let them go into the waters, and they were thus suffocated—or rather, they were not suffocated, but were baptized with a new and extraordinary baptism. And if you wish to learn that what then happened was clearly a baptism, hear how Christ calls his own death a baptism.

For speaking to the sons of Zebedee, he says, "You will drink my cup, and the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized." What baptism was Christ baptized with after John's baptism, if not death and the cross? Just as James, not crucified but having his head taken off by a sword, was baptized with Christ's baptism, so also these women, even if they were not crucified, but perfected through water, were baptized with Christ's baptism; their mother baptized them. What are you saying? A woman baptizes? Yes, such baptisms women also perform, just as she then both baptized and became a priestess; for she offered rational sacrifices, and her intention became her ordination; and what is remarkable is that she did not need an altar when sacrificing, nor wood, nor fire, nor a knife; for the river became everything: altar, wood, knife, fire, sacrifice, and baptism, a baptism much clearer than this baptism. For concerning this, Paul says, "We have been planted together in the likeness of his death"; but concerning the baptism of the martyrs, he no longer says "in the likeness of his death," but that we are conformed to his death. So the mother led her daughters in, not as about to lead them into a river, but as leading them by the hand into sacred bridal chambers; she led them in, holding them on each side and saying, "Behold, I and the children whom God gave me; you gave them to me, I entrust them to you, both my own and myself." And thus the woman's martyrdom became double, rather triple.

For through herself she bore witness once, but through her two daughters twice; and just as when she was about to give herself up, she needed great endurance, so also when she drew the children with her, she required an equal amount of endurance, or rather much more; for women are not accustomed to grieve as much when they themselves are about to die as when their daughters suffer this. So this woman bore witness more greatly through her daughters, and she stripped herself of the tyranny of nature, and stood before the flame of the birth pangs, and before the unbearable turmoil of her bowels, and before the disturbance of the womb. For if a woman seeing one daughter dying considers life unlivable, this woman, seeing not her two daughters dying together, but drawing them to death by her own hand, consider how many testimonies she displayed, which it is not even bearable for others to hear, she endured through deeds. Now the soldiers, knowing none of this, remained as though they would take them again, but those women were already with the soldiers of Christ, the heavenly angels; and the guards did not see, for they did not have the eyes of faith. Now Paul says about the mother that she will be saved through childbearing; but here the daughters were saved through the mother. Thus mothers ought to be in labor. For these birth pangs are better than the previous ones, having a more bitter pain but a greater gain. Those birth pangs are known to all who have become mothers, what the birth pangs are of seeing a daughter die.

And that she herself became the very hand that slew them has an ineffable excess. But why did the woman not come to the court? She wished to seize the trophy before the battle, to snatch the crown before the contests, to receive the prizes before the wrestling, not fearing tortures, but the licentious eyes of the unbelievers; she was not afraid that someone might pierce her sides, but she feared that someone might corrupt the virginity of her daughters. And that she feared this fear, not that one, and for this reason did not come to the court, is clear from the following. She endured much greater tortures in the river; for to see one’s own flesh being torn apart is far more difficult and painful, as I said earlier, to sink her own children—I mean her daughters—through her own hand, and to see them drowning, required far greater philosophy than to endure the tortures, so that she might be able to hold the hands of the children and drag them along with herself into the currents of the river.

For it is not the same, in terms of the measure of pain, to see others suffering badly and to serve death oneself, to become oneself the minister of the end, to stand in place of the executioner for one's own daughters; but this is far more grievous and unbearable than that. And all of you who have been mothers, who have experienced the pains of childbirth, and who have had daughters, will bear witness to my words. How did she touch the right hand of the children? How did her hand not grow numb? How did the sinews not give way? How did her mind not become deranged? How did her reason have the strength to serve what was happening? For what was happening was more bitter than countless tortures, as her soul was being torn apart instead of her body. But how long shall we strive to pursue the unattainable? For no speech will be able to represent the magnitude of the passion, but only the woman who experienced and struggled in it knows what these contests are like. Let mothers hear this, let virgins hear this: mothers, that they may thus educate their daughters; virgins, that they may thus obey their mothers. For it is necessary not only to praise the mother who commanded such things, but also to admire the daughters who obeyed such things; for neither did the mother need bonds for the sacrifices and victims, nor did the heifers leap away, but with equal eagerness and soul, drawing the yoke of martyrdom, they entered the river, leaving their sandals on the bank. And they did this out of consideration for the guards; such was the forethought of those holy women. To leave off.

For they were preparing a defense for themselves before the court, so that that harsh and cruel judge might not have grounds to accuse them of betrayal, and that they had taken money and let the women go. For this reason they left behind the sandals, bearing witness to the soldiers' intention, that it was not with their knowledge, but in ignorance, that they deserted to the river. Perhaps a great longing for those holy women has come upon you. With this fire, then, let us fall upon their relics; let us embrace their tombs. For even the tombs of martyrs can possess great power, just as indeed the bones of martyrs possess great strength. And not only on this feast day, but also on other days, let us attend upon them, let us entreat them, let us ask them to become our protectors. For they have great boldness not only while alive, but also after death, and much more so after death. For now they bear the stigmata of Christ; and displaying these stigmata, they can persuade the King of anything.

Since, then, such is their power and their love for God, let us, by constant attendance and unceasing resort to them, make ourselves their intimates, and through them draw down the benevolence of God. May it be granted to all of us to obtain this, by the grace and loving-kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom glory is to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.