St. Thais, a renowned Greek saint, is another of these ‘bienheureuses pécheresses,’ not the same who sat at Alexander’s feast, and fired Persepolis, but a firebrand in her own way. St. Pelagia, called Pelagia Meretrix and Pelagia Mima (for she was also an actress), is another. These I pass over without further notice, because I have never seen nor read of any representation of them in Western Art.
St. Afra, who sealed her conversion with her blood, will be found among the Martyrs.
Poets have sung, and moralists and sages have taught, that for the frail woman there was nothing left but to die; or if more remained for her to suffer, there was at least nothing left for her to be or do: no choice between sackcloth and ashes and the livery of sin. The beatified penitents of the early Christian Church spoke another lesson; spoke divinely of hope for the fallen, hope without self-abasement or defiance. We, in these days, acknowledge no such saints: we have even done our best to dethrone Mary Magdalene; but we have martyrs,—‘by the pang without the palm,’—and one at least among these who has not died without lifting up a voice of eloquent and solemn warning; who has borne her palm on earth, and whose starry crown may be seen on high even now, amid the constellations of Genius.
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FOOTNOTES:
[1] Milman, Hist. of Christianity, iii. 540.
[2] Venice; SS. Giovanni e Paolo.
[3] Siena; San Domenico.
[4] Rome; Vatican.