Saint Eulalia by John William Waterhouse (1885)
Eulalia was a thirteen-year-old Roman Christian virgin who suffered martyrdom in Barcelona during the persecution of Christians in the reign of emperor Diocletian for refusing to recant her Christianity. It is said that a dove flew from her neck after decapitation, or in a similar story, that the dove flew from her mouth at the moment of her death.
Things happen. Things have happened. Things are happening. Things will continue to happen. Things happen for a reason that can sometimes seem like no reason at all. If we define happenstance as something that happens by chance, it makes the world seem chaotic and causes fear and insecurity. Defining happenstance as something that happens because of circumstances surrounding or existing at the time of the happening, makes the chaos seem a little less chaotic and reduces the fear and anxiety by a few smidgens.
As any historian, story teller or poet will tell you (see Aristotle), the improper measurement of literary ingredients is one of the quickest ways to ruin an accurate historical account, a compelling work of fiction, or a poem that packs a punch to the solar plexus. A pinch is not a dash is not a smidgen. Only a smidgen is a smidgen. Below you will find the literary equivalents for the terms pinch, dash, and smidgen. Anyone who's spent much time at a writing desk has likely suffered confusion over these vague terms while putting thought down on paper. A pinch, a dash and a smidgen, have all historically been a small, indefinite amount. It's time to clear up all doubt.
SMIDGEN - A smidgen holds 1/2 pinch or 1/32 teaspoon. 2 smidgens = 1 pinch
PINCH - A pinch holds 1/2 dash or 1/16 teaspoon. 2 pinches = 1 dash. Heretofore, a pinch has been defined as "an amount that can be taken between the thumb and forefinger" but without any definite equivalent in other units of measurement.
DASH - A dash holds 1/8 teaspoon. 8 dashes = 1 teaspoon. A dash was originally considered a liquid measure, a small but indefinite amount. More recently the term has been used as both a liquid and dry measurement.
St. Eulalia of Mérida was tortured and burned to death on December 10, 304, during the persecution of Diocletian, and her story was told later in the same century by Prudentius in his Peristephanon.
St. Eulalia of Barcelona, the patron saint of that city, was martyred on February 12 of the same year. In the seventh century Bishop Quiricus of Barcelona published a poem on the Barcelonan Eulalia that was identical with Prudentius' work. It is quite possible that the two saints are actually one and the same.
Prudentius' story is incredibly gruesome, but at the same time most credible. Modern readers might find it hard to believe, toss it into the category of folklore or myth, and the cynics among them, along with others of the same variety (which will go unnamed), would likely get out their rubber stamps and mark it off as "just one more piece of rubbish disseminated by those damned Catholics." But many of Prudentius' readers would have been alive at the time of the great persecution, and it would have been in his best interest to tell a story of, in Aristotle's phrase, "the kind of thing that can happen."
Waterhouse's depiction of St. Eulalia lying dead and prone, her virginal innocence and vulnerability symbolized artistically in the form of her beautiful, young body exposed to the harsh elements and the view of onlookers, lifts the "thing", the "happening" from the concrete reality of matter and history into the transcendental realm of spirit and poetry. Her pallor and her helplessness is magnified, made magnificent, by the gentleness of the lightly falling snow and by the doves, who surround her body conveying what we all must learn sooner or later, that in spite of death, life goes on all around us. In Prudentius however, there is just one dove, white as snow and explicitly interpreted as her soul, which emerges triumphantly from her mouth at the moment of her death and rises with swift assurance to Heaven. Prudentius shows us the thickly fallen snow before we learn that her body lies beneath it - taking the place, he tells us, of a linen cloak.
The classical verse of Prudentius functions like the snow, becoming a mantle for the saint, protecting her from prurient eyes. The luminosity of his verse bears witness that she is not an object to be pitied. On the contrary, St. Eulalia amazes us with her majestic strength and daring. As the flames roar around her, consuming her long hair, she drinks them in with the very mouth which the dove breaks through in triumph.
Medieval hagiography was influenced by the ninth-century Cantilène de Sainte Eulalie, in which the fire is incapable of burning the saint and she is consequently put to death by the sword. The iconography retains a few features from Prudentius' story, such as the dove and the long hair, but in the high and late middle ages St. Eulalia is seen with a cross saltire. The palm of martyrdom is of course customary. She is also seen at times with a crown, which would be consistent with Prudentius' insistence on her noble birth, or with a book.
Feast day: December 10 (Eulalia of Mérida) and February 12 (Eulalia of Barcelona)
St. Eulalia of Barcelona, the patron saint of that city, was martyred on February 12 of the same year. In the seventh century Bishop Quiricus of Barcelona published a poem on the Barcelonan Eulalia that was identical with Prudentius' work. It is quite possible that the two saints are actually one and the same.
Prudentius' story is incredibly gruesome, but at the same time most credible. Modern readers might find it hard to believe, toss it into the category of folklore or myth, and the cynics among them, along with others of the same variety (which will go unnamed), would likely get out their rubber stamps and mark it off as "just one more piece of rubbish disseminated by those damned Catholics." But many of Prudentius' readers would have been alive at the time of the great persecution, and it would have been in his best interest to tell a story of, in Aristotle's phrase, "the kind of thing that can happen."
Waterhouse's depiction of St. Eulalia lying dead and prone, her virginal innocence and vulnerability symbolized artistically in the form of her beautiful, young body exposed to the harsh elements and the view of onlookers, lifts the "thing", the "happening" from the concrete reality of matter and history into the transcendental realm of spirit and poetry. Her pallor and her helplessness is magnified, made magnificent, by the gentleness of the lightly falling snow and by the doves, who surround her body conveying what we all must learn sooner or later, that in spite of death, life goes on all around us. In Prudentius however, there is just one dove, white as snow and explicitly interpreted as her soul, which emerges triumphantly from her mouth at the moment of her death and rises with swift assurance to Heaven. Prudentius shows us the thickly fallen snow before we learn that her body lies beneath it - taking the place, he tells us, of a linen cloak.
The classical verse of Prudentius functions like the snow, becoming a mantle for the saint, protecting her from prurient eyes. The luminosity of his verse bears witness that she is not an object to be pitied. On the contrary, St. Eulalia amazes us with her majestic strength and daring. As the flames roar around her, consuming her long hair, she drinks them in with the very mouth which the dove breaks through in triumph.
Medieval hagiography was influenced by the ninth-century Cantilène de Sainte Eulalie, in which the fire is incapable of burning the saint and she is consequently put to death by the sword. The iconography retains a few features from Prudentius' story, such as the dove and the long hair, but in the high and late middle ages St. Eulalia is seen with a cross saltire. The palm of martyrdom is of course customary. She is also seen at times with a crown, which would be consistent with Prudentius' insistence on her noble birth, or with a book.
Feast day: December 10 (Eulalia of Mérida) and February 12 (Eulalia of Barcelona)
The Hymn of St. Eulalie (La Cantilène de sainte Eulalie)
Eulalia was a perfect girl.
She had a beautiful body, a soul still more beautiful.
God’s enemies wanted to vanquish her.
They wanted to make her serve the devil.
But she did not listen to bad counselors
Who advised her to deny God, who lives in Heaven.
Not gold, nor silver, nor finery
Nor the king’s threats and entreaties
Could ever make the girl
Stop loving the service of God.
And so she was brought before Maximian,
Who was king of the pagans in those days.
He exhorts her, though without success,
To give up the name of Christian.
She endures the torment of the fire.
She would rather endure the torture
Than lose her virginity.
Thus she died in glory.
They threw her in the fire so she would burn quickly.
She had done nothing wrong, so the fire did not consume her.
The pagan king would not give in.
He ordered that she be beheaded with a sword.
The demoiselle did not refuse.
She wanted to leave this earth, prayed Christ that she could.
In the form of a dove she flew to Heaven.
Let us all pray that she will deign to pray for us
And that Christ will have mercy on us
After our death, and let us come to him
In his mercy.
Interesting but depressing.
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