Chapter XII.
A commendation of the most elegant blessed parent of those seven sons who were martyrs.
54. The words of the holy woman who said to her sons come to mind: I gave birth to you, I poured the milk of life into you, do not lose your nobility. Other mothers use martyrdom to call their sons back, not to call. But she placed maternal affection in this, if she would advise her sons not temporal life, but eternal life. Therefore, the pious mother witnessed the struggles of her sons; and although she was shaken by the compassion of a mother's heart, she still suppressed her sorrow with a desire for piety. And when Antiochus was offering, although he could choose the salvation of his sons, he preferred danger: and, suppressing the groans of nature, he wished the punishments to be increased for his sons, so that death might approach more quickly. We see the mother's prayers turned towards her sons; lest she leave any of them as survivors, but acquire all of them as dutiful heirs of death.
But not even the younger sons had such a parent, who encouraged each other, who said with one zeal and a certain sharpness of mind: We will overcome the attack of adverse death. For we will truly live when we are dead. Let no one abandon the order of compassion, let no one withdraw from the triumphant battle. We have dedicated our souls not to man, but to the Almighty God. We fight not for man, but for the author of all things. This battle is such that he who is more gloriously defeated will be victorious. Therefore, no one was afraid, no one trembled, and none of the brothers were more sluggish towards death: but all ran to death through bitter tortures as if on the path to immortality; and the mother, seeing the ranks of her sons united, offered herself as a devoted soul offering her own body's members in her sons, and seemed to undergo torments wished for herself through her own limbs.
The sons, wounded by the torture devices, were falling, dead, one on top of the other. Bodies were rolling over bodies, heads were being severed from heads. The place was filled with the corpses of the sons, but the mother did not weep, she did not lament; she did not close the eyes or the mouths of the dying. She did not wash their wounds, knowing that they would be more glorious if they were seen disemboweled and covered in a mixture of dust and blood, like the victorious warriors who return from war, who bring back trophies from their enemies. She did not mourn the dead or attend the funeral, unless she considered it a part of her own death. What sweeter songs did she produce on her lyre than the dying children sang in such dire circumstances? For the lamentations of nature burst forth, even against their will. You would see the bodies of the dead laid out in order like the strings of a harp, and you would hear the seven-stringed psaltery resound with triumphant groans. Those enticing songs of the Sirens did not attract the listener in the same way: for they dragged towards shipwreck, while these drew towards the victory of sacrifice. Nor did the swan songs soothe the ears and souls in that way, for swans by the order of nature die, but these were dying out of love for piety. Nor do the hoarse murmurs of doves in a hidden grove resonate like the last words of the dying, which resounded with the greatest sweetness. Nor does the moon shine among the stars in that way, as a mother shines among her children, and when she led them to martyrdom, she shone, and when she embraced the victors among her children.
O true mother, stronger than diamond, sweeter than honey, more fragrant than a flower! O unbreakable bond of love! O truly powerful charity, like harsh death, like the jealousy of hell for devotion and faith! No floods of passion could exclude your charity, no rivers of bitterness could drown it. Just as the ark in that flood of the whole world was carried unharmed through the vast spaces of the earth: so too you, immovable in your piety against the waves of such great passions, have withstood them, and when you could have chosen the salvation of your children, you did not want to.
58. With what affection shall I honor you, holy mother, devoted pledges? With what pen of my speech shall I describe your form and likeness of souls? You stood among the royal armies, by whom the whole world was subdued, whom even India, fleeing to the secret depths of the farthest sea, did not avoid; and you alone, without any military conflict, achieved victory over the proud king. The only weapons of piety prevailed in you: the tyrant received his punishment, both because he could not conquer you and because he was slain by a cruel death.