Eulalia, noble by birth and yet nobler by nature, a sacred virgin, adorns with her bones her own Emerita, from whose breast she was born; she honors it with love. The place is near the setting sun that bore this surpassing glory — a city mighty, rich in peoples, but more powerful by the blood of martyrdom and by a virgin's title. She had reached three winters and nine courses four times over, when, with the crackling pyre, harsh, she terrified her trembling executioners, counting the torment sweet to herself. Already before she had given a sign that she stretched toward the Father's throne, nor were her members dedicated to the marriage-bed: she herself, a little girl knowing not how to play, had pushed away her rattles; she scorned amber, wept at roses, spurned tawny necklaces, severe of face, modest in step, and in her exceedingly tender ways meditating on the gray hairs of the aged.
But when the raging plague rouses itself against the servants of the Lord and bloodily commands the Christ-worshipers to burn incense, to offer up the liver of a beast to the death-dealing gods, the holy spirit of Eulalia rumbled, and fierce in disposition she prepares to break the turbulent wars, and the breathless girl, with raw breast, provokes against herself the arms of men, devoted to God. But her mother's pious care contrives that the spirited virgin should lie hidden at home, secluded in the country and far from the city, lest the wild girl should rush, for the price of blood and out of love of death. She, loathing to endure the works of repose in inglorious delay, by night moves the doors with no witness, and, a fugitive, opens the enclosed bars; thence she takes her way through pathless places. She enters on torn feet through regions rough with neglect and brambles, accompanied by an angelic choir, and, though the dread night be silent, she nevertheless has light for her guide.
So the noble multitude of the fathers had a pillar-bearing ray, which, mighty to cleave a way through the dark night, gave clear guidance by its shining torch while the chaos passed away. Not otherwise did the pious virgin, following her way by night, earn the day, nor was she covered by the darkness, while she fled the realms of Canopus and prepared her journey above the stars. She, swift with sleepless step, traverses many miles before the eastern region opens up the sky; in the morning, proud, she approaches the tribunal, stands before the fasces, and cries out in their midst: 'I ask, what madness is this, to destroy souls in headlong ruin, and, prodigal of yourselves in an evil way, to dash your hearts upon polished rocks and to deny the all-father God? Do you seek, O pitiable band, the Christ-worshiping race? Behold, I am the enemy of demonic rites; I trample idols beneath my feet, and with heart and mouth I confess God.
Isis, Apollo, Venus are nothing; Maximian himself is nothing — the one is nothing because made by hand, the other because he worships the works of hands; both are trifles and both are nothing. Maximian, lord of riches and yet himself a client of stones, let him prostitute and vow his own head to his deities — why does he shake noble hearts? A good leader, an excellent arbiter, he feeds on innocent blood, and, gaping after pious bodies, he tears apart sober inward parts, and rejoices to torture faith. Come then, torturer, burn, cut, divide my limbs compacted of clay! It is easy to dissolve a fragile thing; the inner soul will not be penetrated though pain harass it.' Stirred to fury by such words, the praetor says: 'Seize her headlong, lictor, and overwhelm her with torments!
Let her feel that there are the gods of our fathers, and that the command of the prince is no light thing. Yet how I would wish, before death — if it be possible — to recall your wickedness, fierce little maiden! Consider how great are the joys you reap, which a marriage-worthy honor brings you! Your house, shaken with tears, follows after you, and your nobility, anxious, laments your line, that you perish in tender youth, you who are so near to dowry and bridal chamber. Does the golden pomp to Jupiter not move you, nor the venerable piety of the elders, whom your rash frailty defies? Behold, the services of a tormenting destruction are prepared: either your head shall be struck with the sword, or you shall be mangled limb by limb by wild beasts, or, given over to smoking torches and pitiably wailed by your own, dissolved into ashes you shall flow away. This, I ask, what labor is it to flee?
If with your fingertips, kindly maiden, you are willing to touch a little salt and a tiny bit of incense, the grievous punishment will be far away.' To these things the martyr replies nothing, but rather rumbles and casts spittle into the tyrant's eyes; thereupon she scatters the images and tramples with her foot the meal heaped upon the censers. Without delay, twin executioners tear apart her joined breast, and the iron claw beats the virgin's side on both sides and cuts to the bone, while Eulalia counts the marks. 'Behold, you are being inscribed upon me, O Lord; how it delights me to read these letters, which mark your trophies, O Christ — the very purple of the elicited blood speaks your sacred name.' This she chanted, joyful and undaunted, without tears or groaning; the dread pain is absent from her soul, and her limbs, painted with fresh blood, wash her skin in the warm new fountain.
Then comes the last torture: not a wound-dealing laceration as far as the rib-cage, nor the skin furrowed, but flame on every side rages with torches against her sides and stomach. As the fragrant hair, which had flowed down toward her throat, floated, fluttering over her shoulders — so that her shame-faced modesty and virginal honor might lie hidden beneath the covering of her head set against them — the crackling flame flies into her face and, given vigor through her tresses, seizes her head and surmounts the crown. The virgin, desiring a swift death, longs for it and drinks in the pyre with her mouth. Thereupon a dove suddenly darts forth, seen to leave the martyr's mouth whiter than snow and to follow the stars; this was Eulalia's spirit, milk-white, swift, and innocent.
Her neck droops as the soul departs, and the fiery pyre dies down; peace is given to the lifeless limbs, and her breath claps for joy in the upper air and, on the wing, seeks the lofty temples. The guard himself saw the bird openly pass from the woman's mouth, and, stupefied and thunderstruck, he leaps up and flees from his own deeds; the lictor too flees in fear. Behold, the icy winter heaps up snow and covers the whole forum; it covers at the same time the limbs of Eulalia lying beneath the cold sky, in place of a little cloak, as a linen shroud. Let the love of weeping men depart, who are wont to celebrate funeral rites, and let the mournful office withdraw: the very elements, at God's command, bear your obsequies, O virgin. Now the place is Emerita as her tomb, the famous colony of Vettonia, which the memorable river Ana passes by, and, ravenous in its green flood,
flood washes the beautiful walls. Here, where with translucent marble a kindly brightness both foreign and native lights up the halls, the venerable ground keeps in its bosom the relics and sacred ashes. The gleaming roofs shine above from their golden coffers, and the hewn stones variegate the floor, so that you would think the meadows reddened with manifold roses. Pluck the purple violets and reap the blood-red crocuses! The festive winter does not lack these, and the warming ice loosens the fields, so that it may heap the baskets with flowers. These gifts of leafy foliage, O maiden and boy, give! But I in the midst of the choir will bear garlands woven with the dactylic foot — cheap, faded, yet festive.
Thus it is fitting to venerate the bones, and the altar set upon her bones; she, placed beneath the feet of God, looks out upon these things, and, made favorable by song, cherishes her own peoples.