NOTES for Мф 2:1-12
Today we offer you a text written about forty years before the Nativity of Christ. Since the time of the early Church, the very first Fathers regarded this text as an astonishing prophecy from the pagan world about Christ's coming. Astonishing indeed... One can argue at length about whether Virgil knew the biblical prophets; perhaps he did, for he came from a highly educated milieu. But this does nothing to diminish the force of the prophecy. Many knew the prophecies for certain, yet failed to recognize the Coming itself: knowledge is not enough; one must also receive. On the other hand, we hear the criticism that this is evidence of the "non-uniqueness" of our faith, of its pagan character, and from there it is only two steps to Marxist propaganda. But nothing prevents a loving heart from rejoicing.
Now let us sing a loftier song, Sicilian Muses,
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Once more the great order of the ages is born anew:
The Virgin returns to the world; Saturn's reign draws near;
A new generation now descends from heaven on high.
Only smile, pure Lucina, upon the child now being born, who will bring the iron age to an end,
And proclaim to all the world the coming of the age of gold:
Your Apollo now reigns.
In the year of your consulship, Pollio, this age has begun,
And the era of glorious months begins its course.
Under you may every trace of our crimes disappear,
Freeing the earth forever from unending fear.
Receiving life from the immortals, he will be worthy to behold
The hosts of gods and heroes, himself beheld by them.
He will rule the world pacified by his father's hand.
For you, child, the untilled earth will pour out her gifts:
Ivy will spread, and violets spring up everywhere,
While clover mingles with the cheerful leaf of acanthus.
The goats will bring home udders swollen with milk,
Nor will they know any fear of lions;
And your cradle itself will become a lovely basket of flowers.
The serpent will perish, and the treacherous poisonous herb will perish,
And fragrant Assyrian spice will sprout everywhere.
But as soon as you can read of the glory of heroes
And of your father's deeds, and learn what virtue is,
The fields will gradually grow golden with tender wheat in its season,
The vine will redden with grapes, bending down the bramble,
And the sturdy oak will sweat with dewy honey.
Yet traces of our ancient error will remain with us.
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O greatest one, the time draws near when you will visit us,
Priceless offspring of the gods, glorious descendant of Jupiter!
See how the world bows its vault before you,
With the solid earth, the expanse of the seas, and the depths of heaven.
See how all things rejoice in the age that is coming!
If only I might prolong the final years of my life,
If only my breath might suffice to exalt your deeds!
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Begin then, little child, to know your mother with a smile;
Ten long months have wearied her with expectation.
Begin then, little child...
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(Virgil, Bucolics, Fourth Eclogue)