Andreas IX

Listen, I have defamed* for a while now the teaching
of the saint, the praise of what he achieved,
in the words of poetic songs; true events way beyond my capacity.
There is much to say, and a lot of reading, of what Andrew
performed in his life, according to my exemplar —
That story a man of the world must find it in his heart,
one more learned than I account myself, one who might know
all those hardships and savage battles from the beginning
that Andrew endured with courage. Nevertheless, we must
relate a few more verse-words with little stiches.* (1478-89a)

It is said of old how Andrew suffered a great number
of fierce attacks and torments in that heathen city.
He saw by the wall,* wondrously rooted beneath
the plains of time,* columns—and not small ones—
pillars standing battered by the storm,
the old work of giants. He, mighty and mind-bold,
wise and wonderfully sagacious, made conversation
with one of their number and heaved up a word: (1489b-97)

“Now, marble-stone, hear the decrees of the Creator!
Formerly all creation worshipped his face fearfully,
when the heavens and earth see the father,
with the greatest of hosts,
in middle-earth seeking mankind. (1498-1502)

“Now let currents burst forth from your base,
a river full of water—now the Almighty,
Heaven’s King, commands you to send forth
speedily onto this pride-fed* people, wide-streaming waters
as a slaughtering of men, a flowing sea! (1502-08a)

Look, you are a rich gift, a giver of gold!*
The King himself wrote upon you, the God of Glory,
the Creator of such might made known wordfully swift secrets,
and the true law signified in ten words. He gave it to Moses,
as the just held it afterwards, courageous young servants,*
his kin, god-fearing men, Joshua and Tobias.* (1508b-16)

“Now you can perceive how the King of Angels
has adorned you in former days more greatly
with gifts that any kind of gemstone.
Through his holy behest you shall swiftly reveal
if you have understood any of his words.” (1517-21)

There was then not a whit more delay in speech
when the stone sundered itself. Rushing water gushed out,
flowed over the earth. Foamy billows covered the ground
by early day, as the sea-flood increased.
A mead-service was made after the feast-day,
the armor-havers torn from their slumber.
Water seized the ground, disturbed the deep.
The multitude became terrified by fear of the flood.
Doomed they died, the young taken away by the ocean’s sortie,
by the salty waves. That was a sorrowful brewing,
a bitter beer-taking. The cup-bearers delayed not,
the attending servants. There was enough
drink immediately ready for all from the start of day. (1522-35)

The majesty of the flood increased. The men lamented,
the spear-bearers of old. It was their intention to flee away
from the fallow flood, wishing to save their lives,
seeking survival in earthen-caves, the support of high ground.
But an angel defended that place, who covered the city
then with a glittering flame, a fiery battle-tongue.
There was tempest within and a beating sea;
nor could the company of warriors survive by fleeing the fastness.
The waters swelled, the breakers crashed,
fiery sparks flew about, the deluge boiled with waves.
It was easy to find there, within the city,
those driven to sing their sorrows. Many fright-hearted people
signaled their grief and sang a death-song. (1536-49)

The terrifying holocaust was readily visible,
a dire devastation and its awful voice.
Dancing in the wind, blasts of flame encircled the walls
and the flood continued to swell. Here was human wailing
heard widely,* a wretched confusion of old men. Then one began to gather
the people; a warrior destitute, abject, sad-minded—grieving he spoke: (1550-7)

“Now you can recognize the truth for yourselves,
that perversely we have clapped in chains that stranger
in the prison, with agonizing bonds. Disaster has destroyed us,
severe and malice-cruel. That is readily apparent;
it is much better, as I account the truth,
that we release him from his bone-bonds, all of us together—
the sooner the better—and then beg the sainted one for help,
for succor and solace for ourselves. Peace after this sorrow will
be readily ours at once if we go to him now.” (1558-68)

Then this disposition in the people’s soul-close
became manifest to Andrew there where the strength
of the arrogant was humbled, the majesty of war-faring men.
The waters had enveloped it, the mountain-currents flowed over it,
the flood was hungry for it—until the swelling sea
had risen above a man’s breast, up to the shoulder.
Then the noble saint ordered the stream-course to be stilled,
the storms to sleep around the stone-hills. Keen and courage-hearted,
Andrew stepped out, leaving the prison, wise-minded
and beloved by God. Immediately, there was a path prepared for him,
cleared through the river-channel. That victory-field was peaceful—
it already was dry, the earth from the flood, wherever his foot stepped. (1569-82)

Then the city-dwellers became joyful at heart, spirit-gladdened,
when comfort after calamity arrived. The ocean subsided
through holy behest, the storm gave ear, the sea-road waited.
Next the mountain yawned open, a terrifying crack into the earth,
and the flood was allowed to be engulfed therein, the fallow waves.
The wounded earth swallowed all of the welling sea.
Andrew sent not only the water there, but also fourteen guilty folk-harmers,
the worst among their nation. They were sent shaking into destruction
by the waves, beneath the abyss of earth. Then were many people timid-hearted,
fearful in spirit, in their tracks — they expected a slaughter
of women* and men, a more wretched period of humiliating
circumstances, after the battle-players, stained
with evil and murder-guilty were cast beneath the earth. (1583-600)

Then they spoke, all of them one-minded:
“Now it is plain that the True Creator,
the King of All-Created Things, governs skillfully,
He that dispatched this messenger as help to our people.
There is much need for us to eagerly heed him,
a man chosen among men.”* (1601-6)