and Divinely Inspired Writer Henry Suso of the Order of Preachers

ON THE HOLY AND DIVINELY INSPIRED WRITER HENRY SUSO OF THE ORDER OF PREACHERS, AT ULM IN GERMANY

Year of Christ 1365

Henry Suso, of the Order of Preachers, at Ulm in Germany

[1] Henry Suso, a most holy and truly Apostolic man (as Surius calls him), closed his last day on January 25 in the year 1365. Concerning him, Molanus writes in his Additions to Usuard: The feast of Henry Suso: "On the same day died Henry Suso, who was of extraordinary holiness." He has not indeed been solemnly enrolled in the catalogue of Saints by the Church, yet they widely call him Blessed — not only Abraham Bzovius in volume 14 of the Ecclesiastical Annals, but also our Antonius Balinghemius in the Marian Ephemeris, the title of Blessed: and from the Order of Preachers many: Hyacinth Choquet, Doctor of Theology, in the book entitled "The Maternal Bowels of Mary the Mother of God toward the Order of Preachers," chapter 13; Antonius of Siena in his Chronicle of the Preachers at the year 1340; Leander Albert on the illustrious men of the Order of Preachers, book 5; John Michael Pius on the illustrious men of the Order of Preachers, book 2, chapter 46. We have seen a printed image of him with this inscription: his image: "Blessed Henry Suso, Order of Preachers, Minister of Eternal Wisdom. Died at Ulm in the year 1365, and there his body was found intact in the year 1613." That, however, as we have learned from elsewhere, the heretics again covered with earth. Bellarmine calls him "a most pious and devout man"; Possevinus, "distinguished for holiness and miracles."

[2] But whether it is proper to call him Blessed, or whether we should still abstain from that superhuman title of honor, his Life has certainly seemed to us so well suited to inflaming the souls of pious men his life written by Surius: that we thought it would be wrong to pass it over here — especially since it was committed to writing by the most serious and devout writer Lawrence Surius, who made use of what the holy man himself had written about himself as though about some other person, and of what others had noted down from what they had heard from him, in weaving together that Life. The same Surius, at the request of the great and holy Abbot Louis de Blois, translated all the works of Suso from the Swabian dialect into Latin and published them — namely: his books: the Dialogue of Wisdom and Her Minister, the Sermons, the Letters, the Dialogue on Truth with an Appendix, the Little Book of the Nine Rocks, the Hundred Meditations on the Lord's Passion, the Hourly Prayers on Eternal Wisdom, and the Office of the Mass on Eternal Wisdom. Concerning these writings, Surius himself says in his Dedicatory Epistle to Blois: "What is to be thought of them, only he will be able to determine who has read them through, not drowsily, not perfunctorily, not from mere desire for learning and curiosity, but reverently and attentively. How useful the reading of them is: I believe indeed that no one has so stony a heart that he will not be somewhat changed by a hitherto unexperienced illumination of heavenly grace, if he does not refuse to become a diligent reader of these works. For in all his writings, he everywhere deliberately aims at this and labors for this: to lead the blind minds of men to the knowledge of their Creator and of themselves, and to kindle them to the contempt of visible things and to the love of God; to set before their eyes, insofar as it is possible, the vanity, instability, deceitfulness, and destructiveness of this world and of passing things, to which (alas!) almost all mortals are far too much addicted, so that once these are recognized, wretched men may recall their love therefrom, and devote themselves entirely to seeking, knowing, loving, and enjoying God, who alone can fulfill the whole desire of man."

[3] Concerning the life of Suso, moreover, Surius declares in the same place: "Not all the memorable deeds of his life were noted down there, but only a few out of many, as it pleased him to reveal them secretly to others under another's name. Moreover, in the German codex from which we translated his writings, certain things are briefly recorded by an uncertain author, which are not found in the longer version of his life, and which it was agreeable to insert here in a few words, lest, if they were placed elsewhere, the work itself should become too lengthy. And so in baptism he received the name Henry. But when he grew into wondrous holiness, God changed the name of Henry to Amandus. His name and surname: But for the sake of humility, as long as he lived, he would not reveal this to anyone; but after his death, among the revelations divinely granted to him, it was found that this name had been given to him by God Himself for his extraordinary love of God. He refused to take his surname from his father, although he was born of an honorable and distinguished family; but he retained that of his mother, a most holy matron, so that he might at the same time also emulate her virtues. Whence it came about that he was widely called not Henry of Berg after his father, but Henry Suso after his mother."

[4] When he had embraced the institute of St. Dominic at Constance and had made great progress in piety, his profession: and had then been advanced at Cologne to such a degree of learning that he was just about to be promoted to Doctor of Sacred Theology, the Spirit of the Lord Jesus forbade him his studies: to receive that title of honor, saying that he already understood abundantly well enough by what method he should turn himself toward God and likewise draw others to God by preaching. He therefore began to preach with such fervor and efficacy that he gained a celebrated reputation from his preaching. His custom in preaching was this: his sermons: that if he had determined to say something noteworthy, in order to make his hearers attentive, he would use these words: "Listen, I beseech you, for Suso will sound forth in his own name" — which is expressed far more significantly in German. In this manner he used other formulas of speech based on his name to render the people attentive, which cannot conveniently be expressed in Latin.

[5] Certain of his writings he kept hidden for many years, intending to show them to no one, for the sake of modesty, until he had completed his days. At length reason began to urge him to offer them while he was still alive to his Superior to read through, since he could easily, if any doubts occurred, give an account of them. And although perhaps certain inexperienced persons, whose judgments are not to be highly esteemed, might wish to criticize them with a malicious spirit and to judge them rashly, without attending to his pious intention of mind, or being unable, in their own dullness and ignorance, to grasp anything of the sort within themselves (for it could happen that after his death his writings might fall into the hands of the lukewarm, who would make no effort to have them communicated to pious persons eager for them, to the praise of God; or even that they might first be exhibited to those destitute of the light of reason, or to the depraved and malicious, who out of their envy would suppress them, as frequently happens) — taking confidence, he excerpted certain chief and most difficult passages from his writings his writings approved by a Superior: and offered them to be read by a certain Doctor of Theology marvelously illuminated by God and endowed with excellent gifts of mind, the chief head of the Dominican institute throughout Germany, whom they call the Provincial, named Bartholomew. He read them through carefully and approved them in every way, saying that they agreed perfectly with the sacred Scriptures.

[6] Then he wished to submit to the same Bartholomew also those things which were less problematic for examination; but when Bartholomew died in the interim, also certain things after his death: and he could not attain his wish, he began to be greatly saddened, not knowing what to do. For this reason he earnestly betook himself to imploring God that He would deign to indicate what should be done. Therefore the aforesaid distinguished Theologian appeared to him in a vision, conspicuous with much light, and said that it was very pleasing to God that he should impart his writings to all pious people. Which he also did willingly. Thus far from the German codex; let it suffice to have inserted more comprehensively what is there treated at greater length. For I wished to omit nothing that would be to the reader's profit.

LIFE, by the author Lawrence Surius the Carthusian.

Henry Suso, of the Order of Preachers, at Ulm in Germany.

By Lawrence Surius.

PREFACE OF THE AUTHOR.

[1] The Lord Henry Suso, a man of great holiness and distinguished by many miracles, led from nearly his boyhood a life imitable by few. He had a certain spiritual daughter, noble by birth but nobler by piety, By whom the Life of Suso was first written: who had secretly drawn out of him many things about his life, and had put them into writing. But when he discovered this, he ordered them to be returned to him, and partly burned them; but what remained he published under another's name, making absolutely no mention of himself, but everywhere calling himself the Minister of Wisdom, in order to avoid vainglory. And so in this Life of his there are many things than which nothing could be more efficacious for inflaming the souls of men, however cold, to love God. Certain carnal persons, devoted to this world, customarily disdain such things, but this should not disturb those who desire to please not men but God. The Lord God willed that the examples of His Saints should be available to us, so that we who are little moved by words may at least be kindled by the deeds of others. For deeds move more than words. I beseech you, pious reader, apply yourself diligently to reading this Life; for you will not do so without great profit to your salvation. Farewell.

CHAPTER I.

[2] There was in Germany a certain man, a Dominican by profession, a Swabian by nationality, whose name may be in the book of life. The homeland and profession of Suso: He desired both to be and to be called the Minister of Eternal Wisdom. It happened, however, that he obtained the acquaintance of a certain holy and divinely illuminated person, laboring under calamities and afflictions. She was of the female sex, and desired to hear from the aforesaid Minister of Eternal Wisdom something about his suffering from his own experience, by which her afflicted soul might be strengthened; and she did this over a long time, whenever he came to her; and by hidden inquiries she drew out from him the account of his beginning and progress, and certain of his exercises and sufferings, which he secretly disclosed to her through spiritual familiarity. His life: But when she perceived that she was gaining consolation and instruction from this, she put everything into writing, for her own use and that of others — but secretly and clandestinely, with him knowing nothing of it. Afterward, however, when he perceived this spiritual theft, he rebuked her and compelled her to return what she had written, and straightway consigned to the fire everything he had received from her. But when the other part was offered to him, and he wished to abolish it entirely in the same manner, he was prevented by a divine revelation; and in this way what remained was not consumed by the flames — which indeed she had for the most part written with her own hands — to which, however, after his death, several pious instructions were added in his name by the Minister of Eternal Wisdom.

[3] The first conversion of this Minister to God, or rather the beginnings of his conversion, his conversion: started when he was in his eighteenth year. And although for five years he had already borne the monastic habit, his soul was still restless and unsettled. Even though he had been divinely preserved from graver faults and sins his resolve for a holier life: which could have injured his reputation, he did not greatly regard common and lesser faults. Meanwhile, nevertheless, he was so kept by God that wherever he turned himself toward things pleasing and desirable to his senses, he was not quiet and content in his soul; and there seemed to remain something else which would bring tranquility and peace to his ardent mind. He was therefore ill at ease while he labored under this restlessness and disturbance; he was always inwardly pricked by the goads of conscience, and yet he could not bring help to himself, until the most merciful God freed him by a certain conversion. Others marveled at his sudden change and at what had happened to him, and one said this, another that; yet no one touched upon the reality of the matter, since a certain hidden and luminous drawing of God had suddenly effected this turning away from all things and conversion to God.

CHAPTER II.

Concerning certain contests of the new recruit of Christ.

[4] When this grace had come to him from God, certain contests immediately arose in him, by which the evil demon strove to impede his salvation; and they presented themselves in this manner. He is tempted in his resolve for a holier life: The internal impulse and instinct of God demanded of him a ready separation from all impediments and intermediate things. Against this, temptation resisted, casting this thought upon him: "Deliberate more maturely: it is easy to begin, but difficult to complete." But the internal call of God brought forward the power and works of the Holy Spirit. Temptation, on the other hand, affirmed that nothing was to be doubted about God's power, but that whether He would wish to help was uncertain. Then, however, it was certainly demonstrated to him, since the most merciful God had confirmed it by His benign promises that He would truly bring aid to all who undertook this in His name. Then, with grace obtaining the palm in this conflict, another thought, insinuating itself into his mind under the appearance, as it were, of a friend, counseled him in this fashion: "This can perhaps be commended, and rightly you ought to correct yourself; but do not press too much. Begin with such moderation that you can bring it to completion. Indulge your body in food and drink, and be kind to yourself, and meanwhile avoid sin. Be as good within yourself as you wish, but with such mediocrity that no one on the outside takes horror from you, as people are accustomed to say: 'So long as the heart is pious, all things are safe.' You can lead pleasant days with people, and no less remain in the office of virtue. Others too hope they will be saved, even though they do not lead a life devoted to such exercises." He was assailed by these and similar thoughts; but Eternal Wisdom overturned this deceitful counsel with this reasoning: "He who tries to hold an eel, that slippery fish, by the tail, and who tepidly undertakes to lead a holy life, is deceived on both counts; for while he thinks he holds either this or that, it slips from his hands. Likewise, he who wishes to bring an untamed and unexercised body into subjection by living delicately and softly is not sufficiently of sound mind; and he who wishes to enjoy the world and nevertheless serve God perfectly attempts an impossible thing and corrupts and perverts the divine Scriptures and the teachings of Christ. Therefore, if you wish to bid farewell to all things, do so with a manly spirit."

[5] When he had dwelt long enough upon this thought, at last, having taken courage and confidence, he firmly tore himself away from all things. Meanwhile his ardent spirit endured frequent "deaths," so to speak, at the beginning, The company of others is harmful to him: when he separated himself from vain society. Sometimes, overcome by the weakness of nature, he approached others for the sake of lightening his spirits; but for the most part it happened that he who had gone to them cheerfully departed sad, because their conversations and recreations were unpleasant to him, and his own were repugnant to them. It happened not infrequently that when he had joined them, they would exercise him with words of this sort: one would ask what singular kind and plan of life he had seized upon; another would affirm that the common manner of living was safer; another, finally, would say that such a mode of life ended in bad outcomes. Thus one after another would receive him. But he, falling entirely silent, would speak to himself: "O most merciful God, nothing is wiser than to flee the company of men. Indeed, if I had not perceived these conversations, no harm would return to me from them." He lacks a spiritual guide: At that time this was his most painful cross: that he had no one to whom he could open his afflictions, who was pursuing the same thing and in the same manner. He lived therefore desolate and wretched, and withdrew himself from others by great force — which practice afterward made most sweet.

CHAPTER III.

Concerning a certain supernatural rapture granted to the Minister of Eternal Wisdom.

[6] It happened at the beginning of his conversion that on the feast of St. Agnes, Virgin and Martyr, having dined, he entered the Choir and remained there alone, standing in the lowest seats of the right side of the Choir. He suffers a rapture: He was then seized with a certain grave anguish from the bitter cross and affliction under which he labored. While he stood thus, bereft of all consolation, and no one was there, his soul was snatched up, whether in the body or out of the body; and he saw and heard what not all tongues can express. It was devoid of form and mode, and yet contained within itself the pleasant delights of all forms and modes. With great consolation: His heart both burned with desire and was satisfied; his spirit was entirely pleasant and delightful; choice and appetite were lulled to sleep in him. He merely directed the gaze of his mind upon that lucid and illustrious splendor, where he was seized with forgetfulness both of himself and of all things. Whether it was day or night, he did not know. It was truly a certain sweetness of eternal life bursting forth, according to a present, tranquil, and quiet perception or experience. He said afterward: "If this is not the kingdom of heaven, I do not know what the kingdom of heaven is. For whatever affliction anyone can endure in this life cannot equally merit that joy to be enjoyed eternally." This ecstatic rapture lasted an hour or half an hour, while he did not know whether his soul dwelt in the body or outside the body.

[7] When he had been restored to himself, he was affected in the manner of those who have migrated from another world. How he conducted himself when restored to himself: His body was so ill from that momentary rapture that he did not think anyone at the very entrance of death could experience such pains in so brief a space. And as soon as he was restored to himself, from the depths of his breast he drew deep sighs; and his body, despite his resistance, collapsed upon the ground, just like those who faint from weakness of strength. He therefore uttered piteous cries and produced profound groans within himself, saying thus: "O my God, where was I, and where am I now? O my chief and highest good! No forgetfulness will ever be able to remove that hour from my heart." In body indeed he walked, yet no one saw or perceived anything outwardly in him. But his soul and mind were full of heavenly spectacles, and those heavenly splendors were moving back and forth in the inmost recesses of his mind, and he seemed to himself to be floating as it were in the air. Indeed, the powers of his soul were filled with that sweet and heavenly taste, just as a vessel for ointment, after the precious liquid has been poured out, retains a most pleasant fragrance. And that same taste, persevering in him for a long time afterward, gave him a heavenly thirst and desire for God.

CHAPTER IV.

How he contracted a spiritual marriage with Eternal Wisdom.

[8] The manner of life which he used for a long time afterward with regard to interior exercises He strives for the continual presence of God: was a perpetual study of enjoying the continual presence of Eternal Wisdom, conjoined with an affable conversation with her. How this first began can be observed from his books on Eternal Wisdom, written by him in German with God's help. From his earliest age his heart had been most devoted to love. The loveliness of the divine Wisdom: But Eternal Wisdom herself presents herself in the divine writings just as one who is very much captivated by love, and beautifully composes and adorns herself in order to please all; and uses gracious eloquence and an affable appearance to entice the minds of all to love of herself; and meanwhile she recalls the deceitfulness and inconstancy of other beloveds, and contrasts her own constancy and loveliness. By these things, no doubt, his youthful spirit was allured, just as the panther is said to draw other beasts to itself by the sweet odor it breathes. Moreover, the same Wisdom uses this method of enticing and sweetly and gently inviting to spiritual love of herself very frequently, especially in the books of Solomon, and in the volumes of Wisdom and Ecclesiasticus. When these books happened to be read at table, He ardently seeks her on every occasion: and he perceived the amorous and sweet voices of Wisdom, his spirit was gladdened, and he began to yearn for her and burn with great desire for her, and thus he thought to himself: "Indeed I shall try my fortune, to see if perhaps I may merit to enjoy the love of this surpassingly excellent beloved, of whom such magnificent things are reported, and to obtain her friendship. For my ardent and youthful heart cannot fail to be devoted and dedicated to the love of someone." Under these thoughts he frequently watched for her, and she frequently stole into his mind and pleased him well. And when on a certain occasion he was sitting at table, he heard these words recited about her: "Wisdom is more beautiful than the sun, and above all the arrangement of the stars; compared with light, she is found to be prior." Wisdom 7:29. "Her I loved and sought from my youth, and sought to take her for my bride, and became a lover of her beauty." Wisdom 8:2. "Through her I shall have glory among the multitudes, and honor among the elders. Through her I shall have immortality, and shall leave eternal memory to those who come after me. Entering my house, I shall rest with her. For her company has no bitterness, nor her fellowship any weariness, but gladness and joy. The Lord founded the earth by Wisdom; He established the heavens by prudence. By His Wisdom the deeps burst forth, and the clouds grow thick with dew. He who has attained her walked confidently in his way, and his foot shall not stumble. If he sleeps, he shall not be afraid; he shall rest, and his sleep shall be sweet." Having perceived these and other such honeyed words, with a burning soul he turned these thoughts over within himself: "O truly splendid and excellent beloved! If she could fall to my lot, I should indeed be most happy!"

[9] But on the other hand he was frightened by the goads of contrary thoughts, of this sort: "How can you love what you have never seen, what you have never known? A fistful with certain possession is better than a house full with uncertain expectation. He who attempts a lofty building and courts the friendship of an eminent person, to whom he himself is far unequal, not infrequently departs hungry, frustrated in his hope. The friendship of this Lady would indeed not be to be refused, if she gave her lovers the power of caring for the body. But now she herself says: 'He who loves wine and rich foods will not be wise.' Proverbs 21:17. And again: 'How long will you sleep, O sluggard? How long will you rise from your sleep? You will sleep a little, slumber a little, fold your hands a little to rest, and poverty will come upon you like a courier, and want like an armed man.' Proverbs 6:9. Come, see if anyone else has ever prescribed such hard laws for his lovers?" Against these, a certain divine thought presented itself: "This is the ancient law and condition of love: that lovers suffer adversity and hardship. He resolves to endure all hardships for the love of her: There is no suitor without a cross; and whoever devotes himself to love is himself a martyr. How much more fitting, then, for one who meditates on winning so sublime and distinguished a bride and beloved, to endure certain adversities in the meantime? Consider how many bitter misfortunes, how many weariness, how many labors the friends of the world must tolerate, whether they will or not." By these and similar internal inspirations his mind was confirmed in perseverance, and such things frequently happened to him. At times he was endowed with a good will; at other times, however, he somewhat applied his mind to the love of passing things. But wherever he turned himself, he always encountered something against which the complete conversion of his heart protested. And in this manner he was now bent in one direction, now in another.

[10] One day, sitting at table, he heard something read about Wisdom by which he was most vehemently kindled. Sirach 24:22. It was this: "I have stretched out my branches like a terebinth, and my branches are branches of honor and grace. Like uncut frankincense I have given forth fragrance in my dwelling, and like unmixed balsam is my odor. He who finds me will find peace, and will draw salvation from the Lord." Against this, the following was recalled concerning the shameful love of women: "I found more bitter than death the woman who is the hunters' snare, and whose heart is a net, and whose hands are bonds. He who pleases God shall escape her; but he who is a sinner shall be caught by her." At these words, exclaiming within himself, he said: "These things are plainly most true. It is now entirely certain and settled for me to take Wisdom in place of a bride, and to devote myself to her love and service. And would that," he said, "the opportunity of seeing and speaking with her might be granted even once! Who or what is she, who proclaims such wondrous things about herself and promises so many and such great things? Is she God or a human being, man or woman, He sees her: knowledge or cleverness, or what finally is she?" While he burned with these desires, insofar as he could recognize her from the aforesaid and other passages of Scripture in which she is expressed, she presented herself to be seen by him in such a form: She was borne far above him in a pillar of cloud, in what appearance: seated upon an ivory throne, gleaming like the morning star and shining like the sun in his power. Her crown was eternity, her raiment felicity, her speech sweetness, her embrace the fullness of every good. She was near and far away, lofty and humble, present and hidden; she showed herself as familiar, yet could not be grasped; she was higher than the loftiest summits of heaven, and deeper than the abyss; she reached from end to end mightily, and disposed all things sweetly. While she seemed to have the appearance of an elegant maiden, she soon presented the image of a most beautiful young man. Sometimes she presented herself as a beloved most skilled in all arts, lovable to all. And so, turning most sweetly toward him and smiling upon him pleasantly, yet not without a certain divine majesty, she graciously addressed him with these words: "My son, give me your heart." Then, casting himself at her feet, She addresses him kindly: he gave her thanks from the very marrow of his being with the deepest humility. This was granted to him at that time, and he could obtain nothing more on that occasion.

[11] Afterward, when as was his custom he was walking deep in thought about this most lovable Wisdom, his heart, most devoted to love, agitated this question within itself: "From where has all love and loveliness flowed? From where does all beauty, comeliness, delight, and grace proceed? Do all these things flow from the fertile source of the Divinity itself? Come then, with heart, senses, and mind I embrace you, inexhaustible abyss of all desirable things, with the affection of my burning heart; for no one forbids me." Meanwhile, the very fount and stream of all good sometimes communicated itself to his soul, in which he found at once whatever was beautiful, lovable, or desirable, since it existed there in an ineffable manner. From this he contracted a certain habit, that whenever he heard amorous songs spoken or sung, with heart and mind withdrawn to his sweetest beloved, from whom all that is lovable proceeds, he would immediately withdraw into himself by a certain abstracted gaze, or be inwardly rapt. Nor indeed can it be expressed how often, with weeping eyes He loves her most ardently: and with his heart's bosom expanded immeasurably, he embraced that most gracious beloved and sweetly pressed her to his breast. It was often for him at that time as it is for an infant hanging at the breast of his mother who clasps him in her arms, and hiding in her lap. For just as such a little child applies himself with head and movement of his whole body to his mother's breast, and by friendly and tender gestures of that sort declares the gladness of his heart, so his heart was borne with a certain perceptible flooding toward the most delightful presence of Eternal Wisdom; and he thought: "If she were betrothed to me, Lord Jesus, a powerful Queen, it would be to me a joy. Now therefore, Eternal Wisdom, you are the Empress of my heart and the parent of all grace. In you there is supplied to me abundance of riches, honor, and power. I desire nothing further, whatever this world has." Under these meditations, with brightened countenance, flashing eyes, heart raised in jubilation, and all his inner senses exulting, he burst forth into these words: "Above health and beauty I loved Wisdom, and resolved to have her for my light, and all good things came to me together with her."

CHAPTER V.

How he inscribed the saving name of the Lord Jesus upon his heart.

[12] About that same time an immense fire, infused into his mind, most vehemently inflamed his heart with divine love. One day, feeling that burning, and blazing ardently with the love of Christ, he entered his room, withdrew to a secret place, and gave himself to the sweetest meditation, and said to the Lord: "Would that, most merciful God, I could devise some sign of love which would be a perpetual memorial of affection between you and me, and would make it known that I am most loving of you and you of me, nor could it ever be blotted out by any forgetfulness." Under this most ardent fervor, having removed the scapular, as they call it, from his breast and having bared his chest, seizing a stylus and gazing upon his heart, he said: "Almighty God, grant me today the strength and ability to fulfill my desire: He inscribes the name of Jesus on the flesh above his heart: for you must now be melted into the very bowels of my heart." Having said this, he began to puncture the flesh at the very place of his heart with the stylus, drawing it up and down until he had carved the name JESUS upon the flesh which covers the heart. Meanwhile the blood flowed down through his body into his bosom, which he beheld with the greatest pleasure of mind, not greatly regarding the pain on account of the excess of love. When this was done, thus bloodied he withdrew outside his room to the pulpit of the church, and falling on his knees before the image of the Crucified, he said: "Come, Lord, sole love of my heart and soul, behold the immense desire of my mind. I cannot indeed fully impress you upon myself. Do you therefore, earnestly besought, complete, Lord, what remains, and impress yourself more deeply in the depths of my heart, and so seal and engrave your holy name in me that you can never be blotted out and separated from my heart." Then for a long time afterward the wounds of these affections of love were healed, and the name JESUS remained thus, as he had wished, expressed upon his heart. The letters themselves were as broad as a flat straw and as long as one joint of the little finger.

[13] He bears this sign his whole life: He bore this name upon his breast until death. Whenever his heart was moved, the name itself was also moved; and it was most especially luminous around the beginnings. He was, moreover, most secretive about this matter, and never showed it to anyone except only to one of his companions, from a certain intimate and spiritual familiarity. If anything adverse happened to him afterward, he would gaze upon this sign of love and feels consolation from it in adversity: and bore it more lightly. He used sometimes to say to the Lord in familiar conversation: "The lovers of this world sew the image of their beloved upon their garments; and I, Lord most loving by far, have inscribed you in my heart and in my blood." At a certain time, after morning prayers, having returned from his devotions, he was sitting in his room on his seat, and had placed under his head, in lieu of a pillow, the book entitled "Lives of the Fathers." He suffered an ecstasy of mind, and it seemed to him that something of light was emerging from his heart, a golden cross shines in his heart: and looking he saw in his heart a golden cross interwoven with many gems, in which the name JESUS appeared luminously with wondrous beauty. Immediately, covering his heart with his cowl, he strove to suppress that wondrous splendor, lest anyone should see it. But those fervent rays burned in a marvelous manner, so that by no means could he conceal the most powerful force and splendor of them.

CHAPTER VI.

Concerning certain preludes of divine consolation by which the recruits of Christ are enticed.

[14] When he had come as usual after morning prayers to his little chapel, he laid himself down upon his seat in order to take a little rest. That rest was brief, until the watchmen signaled the dawn of day, at whose voices he also awoke at the same time and, suddenly falling to the ground, saluted the rising morning star, namely that most glorious Queen of heaven, In the morning he greets the Blessed Virgin: with this intention: that just as in summer the little birds joyfully greet the dawning day, so he too might venerate the Mother of the eternal Sun with a pleasant affection. He would then say a greeting, not simply, but with a certain sweet and silent modulation of the mind. It happened that at that time, having given himself to rest as described, he heard a wondrous resounding clang in his soul, he is refreshed by a mystical song: by which he was shaken to the depths of his heart. The sound of that clang was very high-pitched, and he perceived it at the hour when the morning star customarily rises. It sounded these words: "Stella Maria Maris Hodie Processit Ad Ortum" ("The Star Mary of the Sea Today Has Come Forth to Her Rising"). This song spread through him beyond nature, so that he was entirely gladdened in spirit, and he himself also sang. And when they had completed this song together, he was embraced in an ineffable manner he enjoys an embrace: and heard a voice of this sort: "The more lovingly you embrace me, and the more purely you kiss me without admixture of matter, the more delightfully and amicably will you be embraced in my eternal brightness." After these words, his eyes were opened and they shed tears copiously; but he for his part, according to his custom, was greeting the Morning Star. Presently he added a second morning greeting, at the same time kissing the ground in honor of Eternal Wisdom, with that most devout prayer which he himself used to write in little books serving piety, whose beginning is: "My soul has desired," etc. To these he appended a third greeting conjoined with the kissing of the ground, in honor of the highest and most ardent Seraphic spirit, burning with the most ardent heat of love toward Eternal Wisdom, that the same spirit might most vehemently kindle his heart with the love of God, so that he might blaze entirely within himself and inflame all others by his fiery speeches and teachings. These indeed were his daily greetings upon waking in the morning.

[15] At a certain time during Carnival, he had prolonged his prayers until the watchmen indicated the dawning day by the given signal. And so he thought to himself: "Rest a little before you greet the glorious morning star." And while in the meantime his senses were enjoying a brief rest, angelic spirits began in a loud voice to sing that most sweet Responsory, as they call it, He is refreshed by the song of Angels: "Arise, be enlightened, O Jerusalem," and that song resounded in his soul with ineffable sweetness. And when they had sung for a little while, his soul was so filled by that heavenly melody that his fragile body could bear no more, and so his eyes were opened, and with his heart overflowing, warm floods of tears streamed down his cheeks. At the same time, while sitting as described in order to take rest, he seemed in a vision to be transferred to an outer region, and behold, he beheld his Angel standing at his right with a placid and serene countenance. Suddenly leaping up, he embraced the sweetest Angelic spirit, enclosing him, and pressed him as closely and lovingly as he could to his soul, He embraces his Angel: so that he thought no medium intervened between them, and with a mournful voice and moist eyes, with the full affection of his heart, he said to the Angel: "O sweetest spirit, who are divinely assigned to me as guardian and comforter, I beseech you by the love with which you burn toward God, do not forsake me." The Angel answered him: "Do you not dare to trust God? Believe me, God has embraced you from all eternity with such great kindness and charity that He will never wish to abandon you."

[16] At another time, after he had been given rest from afflictions, early in the morning, while in a vision he was dwelling familiarly with the heavenly spirits, he asked one of those splendid Princes of the heavenly fatherland to indicate to him in what manner God dwelt secretly in his soul. And the Angel said to him: "Come now, look cheerfully into yourself, and see how God exercises His sport with your loving soul." Without delay, looking inward, he saw his body at the place where the heart is seated become like transparent crystal, and in the very center of his heart he saw Eternal Wisdom sitting most quietly in a friendly form, He saw divine Wisdom in his heart: and beside her his own soul sitting, relying on heavenly benediction, and sweetly leaning upon her side, and held fast in her embrace and pressed to the divine heart, and there in ecstasy and a certain absorption, hiding and sleeping in the arms of the most loving Savior.

CHAPTER VII.

Concerning certain heavenly consolations granted to him.

[17] He had fashioned for himself certain bindings, hard and rough. It happened, however, that on a certain night during the very feast of All Angels, it seemed to him in a vision that he heard Angelic songs and heavenly, tinkling melodies, by which he was so refreshed that he forgot all his afflictions. And one of the Angels said to him: "Just as it delights you to hear from us the songs of eternity, What songs the Angels delight in: so it pleases us to receive from you the songs of Eternal and most excellent Wisdom." And he immediately added: "This indeed is the song which all the elect will utter on the last day, when they see themselves confirmed in the enjoyment of perpetual happiness." Then during the same feast he spent many hours in such contemplation of heavenly and Angelic joys; but when day was approaching, a certain youth came to him, with the figure and attire of a heavenly musician sent to him by God; and together with him there accompanied many distinguished and illustrious young men in the same dress and form, except that the first one bore a certain dignity above the others, as an Archangel. He came with a great and exalted spirit to the Minister of Eternal Wisdom, they console him by singing and dancing: saying that they had been divinely sent to him for this reason: to relieve and dispel his afflictions with heavenly joys. "Therefore," said the same spirit, "setting aside the grief of your heart, you must join yourself as a companion to us and lead heavenly dances with us." At the same time, taking him by the hands, they joined him to themselves. Forthwith the aforesaid youth began a most sweet little song about the child Jesus, namely this one: "In dulci iubilo," etc. When the Minister of Wisdom perceived the name Jesus being sung so sweetly and gladly, he was so refreshed in senses and mind that he seemed to himself never to have suffered anything, all trouble being instantly dispelled. Meanwhile with great pleasure of mind he beheld those blessed spirits making the highest and most elegant leaps. The precentor knew how to moderate all things most excellently, whose sweet measures the rest followed, singing and dancing with jubilation of heart. The precentor repeated the clause "Ergo merito" three times. But those dances were not such as belong to this life; rather they were certain heavenly outflowings and inflowings into the vast abyss of the Divinity. Innumerable heavenly consolations of this kind were granted to him for some years, and especially when he was pressed by hard afflictions, which he bore all the more gently.

[18] A certain friend of God perceived in a vision this same Minister of Wisdom: While about to celebrate, he is most sweetly embraced: that when he had approached the altar to offer the sacrifice of the Mass, he was illuminated with the most brilliant ornament of charity, and the grace of God descended like dew into his soul, and he became one with God; and at the same time many little children stood behind him, of beautiful and lovable form, bearing burning candles in their hands around the altar one after another, and each of them, with their little arms outstretched, embraced him as sweetly as they could and pressed him to their breast. Therefore in admiration he asked who they were or what they meant. They replied that they were his companions and fellows, and sharers of praise and exultation in eternal beatitude, and that they were perpetually present to him and protected him. The holy man who saw these things in the spirit said to the Angels: "What does it mean that you have embraced this brother so sweetly?" They said: "This brother is by far the dearest to us, and we have much intimacy and familiarity with him; and you should know that the Lord God works marvelous and ineffable things in his soul; and whatever he seriously asks of God, he will never suffer a refusal from God."

CHAPTER VIII.

Concerning certain visions.

[19] Many visions came to him in those times concerning future and hidden things, and God granted him, as far as was possible, a certain knowledge and experience of things that were happening in heaven and in hell and in purgatory. Many souls frequently appeared to him when they had departed from this life, Souls appear to him: and indicated to him what had befallen them — namely, by what demerits they had incurred punishment for themselves, and how they could be helped, or what reward they had obtained from God. Among others, the Lord Eckhart of blessed memory appeared to him, and the holy Brother John Fucrer of Strasbourg. Of these, the Lord Eckhart indicated to him that he was flooded with ineffable glory he asks certain things of the blessed: and completely transformed into God. The Minister of Wisdom raised two questions with him: The first was, how those had it in God, or were established in God, who desired with true resignation, without any admixture of error or deceit, to be sufficient for the highest truth. To this the answer was given that no one could express in words the absorption or immersion of man into the abyss of God's immensity. The second, for one wishing to attain to this, was what is the most useful exercise. The Lord Eckhart replied: "Namely, that he should pass away from himself according to his own propriety with a profound resignation of himself, and accept all things not from creatures but from God, and use a tranquil patience toward all wolf-like men." The other, Brother John, likewise in that vision showed him the exceptional beauty and adornment of his soul, and similarly he proposed to him a question of this kind: "What is the most useful exercise among all, and what causes a man the most pain?" He said that nothing brings a man more pain and benefit than if, forsaken by God, he patiently goes out from himself, and thus lacks God for God's sake.

[20] The natural father of this Minister of Wisdom, who while he lived was entirely devoted to the world, he frees his father from purgatory: appearing to him after death in a pitiable form, signified to him the dire torment of Purgatory which he was enduring, and why especially he had merited it, and expressed to him the manner by which he could bring him aid. When he had done this, appearing to him again, he said that he had been absolved from the punishments. He sees his mother in glory: Furthermore, his mother of holy memory, in whose heart and body while she lived God had worked wondrous things, likewise presented herself to his sight in a certain vision, setting forth to him the greatest rewards which she had obtained from God. In this manner he saw innumerable souls: which brought him a certain pleasure, and for a long time sustained him no little in that course of life which he was then maintaining.

CHAPTER IX.

How he conducted himself when about to approach the table, and when seated at it.

[21] Before approaching the table, kneeling before Eternal Wisdom with an intimate meditation of heart, he earnestly besought her to show herself as his companion and to eat with him, and said to her: "Sweetest Jesus, with great longing of heart I now invite you, He beholds Christ seated beside him: beseeching you, just as you graciously feed me, to show yourself present to me today also." Sitting at table, he set the sweetest guest of the pure soul, as a kind of object, opposite himself and directed his eyes gently and placidly toward him; sometimes he would recline at the side of His heart. At each dish set before him, he asks Him to bless the food set before him: offering the bowl to that heavenly head of the household, he asked him to bless it, frequently using this familiar prayer: "Most loving Lord, I ask you to eat with me, my Lord Jesus. Bless, I beseech you, this food, and take from it together with your little servant." He employed such friendly endearments and words of this kind toward Eternal Wisdom. When about to drink, first offering the cup to Him, he asked Him to drink. It was his custom to take five draughts at table, these being from the five wounds of his dearest Lord. But since from His divine side blood and water flowed, he doubled this draught. The first and last morsel he took in the love of the most ardent heart that could be on earth, and in the most burning charity of the supreme Seraphim, so that this twofold love might be perfectly communicated to his heart. If any unpleasant food was offered to him, he dipped it into the bleeding heart of his beloved, not doubting that it would bring him no discomfort.

[22] He delighted greatly in fruit, but God did not allow him to enjoy it. He gladly eats fruit: In a certain vision, he thought a fruit was offered to him by someone with these words: "Take and enjoy; for this is that in which you seek pleasure." He replied that he delighted in nothing but Eternal Wisdom. The other accused him of lying, saying that he took immoderate pleasure in fruit. He abstains from them for two years: Therefore, overcome with shame, for a full two years he did not even touch fruit. When these had passed, not without longing, the following year the fruit had grown badly, so that it was not served to the Brothers; and he, although not without sharp and manifold inner struggle, wrested from himself the resolve not to ask privately at table for any fruit, and asked God he obtains it from God for his brethren: that if it pleased Him that he should eat fruit, He would cause it to be supplied to all the Brothers. And so it happened. In the morning, an unknown man brought many fresh coins to that monastery, on this sole condition: that they should buy fruit with them. The Brothers did so, and for a long space of time that fruit sufficed for their use. Then at last this Brother began to eat fruit with a grateful spirit. The larger fruits he cut into four pieces: three of these he ate in the name of the most holy Trinity; the fourth in that love how he would eat them: with which the heavenly Mother and Virgin offered a fruit for her most tender little Son Jesus to eat; and this same piece he ate unpeeled, since little children are accustomed to eat fruit in that way. But from the Nativity of the Lord and for some time afterward he would not take this fourth piece, offering it in his meditation to the immaculate Virgin, that she might give it to her little Son, for love of whom he was willing meanwhile to go without it. If at any time he had been too eager for food or drink, he blushed with shame before his revered spouse. If he had transgressed in any of these matters at table, he imposed a penalty upon himself. At one time a certain pilgrim came to him, saying that in a certain vision he had been divinely commanded that if he wished to have an ordered manner of dining, he should approach him and request that his exercises and practices be disclosed to him.

CHAPTER X.

How he received the New Year.

[23] The custom of the Swabians on the Kalends of January: In Swabia, where he was born, in certain places on the very Kalends of January, foolish young men are accustomed to wander about at night and to solicit from the women they love a certain garland; that is, they sing little songs and utter sweet poems and certain melodies, and they act with the greatest possible art and industry so that their beloved may grant them a certain crown. When indeed he had heard of this, it was most pleasing to his youthful spirit, Suso mystically imitates this toward divine Wisdom as his beloved: and on that same night he too, approaching his beloved, asked that a garland be granted to him by her. Indeed, before sunrise he went to the image of the Virgin Mother, tenderly pressing her most tender little Son to her breast, and there, on bended knees, with a silent and sweet modulation of heart, he began to sing a Sequence about the same Virgin, praying that she would give him opportunity to obtain a crown from her Son, and that wherever he himself was less able, she would supply what was lacking. This was often so serious to him, and such great necessity of weeping came upon him, that fervent tears ran down his face. When that singing was finished, he turned to his uniquely beloved Wisdom, and casting himself at her feet, from the profound abyss of his heart he greeted her, and with much praise he extolled her beauty, nobility, virtues, tenderness, and liberty joined with eternal dignity, existing in her far above any maidens of this world, however beautiful. This he did by song, words, thoughts, and desires, as best he could; and at the same time he wished that, in a certain spiritual manner, he might be as it were a herald of all loving hearts, and a kind of repository and gathering of all thoughts, words, and feelings proceeding from love, so that, however unworthy he might otherwise be, he might sufficiently praise the most worthy Wisdom. At the end he spoke thus: "You, however, O glorious beloved, are my joyful Easter; you are the blooming summer of my heart; you are the most welcome hour; you are that sweetest beloved whom alone my youthful spirit loves and contemplates, for whose sake it has renounced every fleeting love. I ask, sweetest one, that this may profit me, and that I may be permitted to obtain a crown of garlands from you today. Grant me this, I beseech you, most kind one, by your divine liberality, by your inborn goodness, and do not allow me to withdraw from you empty on this first day of the new year. For that would not befit you, sweetest sweetness. Remember, I pray, that a certain faithful servant of yours testifies concerning you that there is found in you no 'Yes and No,' but only 'Yes and Yes.' Come then, sweetness of my heart, grant me today by a heavenly gift a pleasant and lovable garland, so that just as the insane lovers of the world are given a certain counterfeit crown, so a singular grace, or some new light, may be presented to my soul on this day as a gift or present by your most gracious hands, O sweetest Wisdom." He was accustomed to pray in this manner, and never departed frustrated in his hope.

CHAPTER XI.

Concerning the words "Lift up your hearts."

[24] Friends sometimes asked him what his intention was when he sang the Mass, At the "Lift up your hearts" in the Mass: especially when before the Canon he began the words of the Preface, "Lift up your hearts," the meaning of which is that the hearts of all should sigh toward God. For he pronounced these words with such feeling that those who heard could be moved by a special kind of piety and devotion. To these he sweetly responds thus: "When I am accustomed to sing the aforesaid words in the Mass, for the most part I melted in heart and soul from the burning desire for God, which at that time rapt my heart out of itself. His intentions: For there were three sublime and upward-impelling intentions within me, of which sometimes one alone, sometimes two, sometimes all presented themselves, and through these I was borne and rapt into God, The first: and through me all creatures. The first intention illuminating me inwardly was this: I placed before my inner eyes my entire self, as great as I am, with soul, body, and all my powers, and around me I arranged all creatures ever made by God in the heavens, on the earth, in the elements, each by name — namely the birds of the sky, the beasts of the forests, the fish of the waters, the green plants and grasses of the earth, and the innumerable sand of the sea, and all the atoms floating in the rays of the sun, and all the drops of water born and to be born from dew, from snow, from rain; and I perceived each and all of these being borne upward with a sweet sound, as of a certain harp playing excellently, from the inmost marrow of my heart, and singing new and exalted praises from end to end to the most loving and sweetest God. Then with great desire, toward the innumerable multitude of all creatures, the arms of my soul were extending, with this mind and intention: that I might make them all fruitful in the divine praise therein — just as a noble-minded and heartfelt precentor invites his fellow singers to sing joyfully and to raise their hearts upward to God, saying: 'Lift up your hearts.' The second: The other intention was of this sort: I called to mind my own heart and likewise those of all mortals, and I considered what joy and pleasure, what love and peace those obtain who give their hearts to God alone; and on the other hand, what detriment and trouble, what cross and disturbance the love of passing things produces in its followers; and thus with great feeling I addressed both my own heart and those of all others dwelling everywhere on earth in this manner: 'Come, emerge at last, hearts addicted to wretched captivity, from the death of vices; come, arise, hearts vain and dissolute, from the negligences and the sloth and tepidity of your idle life; raise yourselves up with a complete conversion, absolved from all things, to Almighty God: Lift up your hearts.' The third intention was a kind and compassionate sorrow toward all those endowed with good will and yet unresigned, the third: who wander wretchedly in themselves and are entangled in errors, so that they possess neither God nor creatures, because they wander with their hearts hither and thither through temporal things and are dispersed. All these, and myself together, I summoned to a confident and intrepid hazarding of ourselves, conjoined with a perfect turning away from ourselves and all creatures, saying: 'Lift up your hearts.'"

CHAPTER XII.

How he celebrated the Purification of the Virgin Mother.

[25] Devout meditations and exercises for the Feast of the Purification. When the solemnity of the Purification of the most blessed Mary drew near, for three days beforehand he fashioned through his prayers a kind of candle for that heavenly Mother, and made it threefold -- that is, twisted from a triple cord -- of which the first strand was in honor of her most perfect virginity, the second in honor of her immense humility, and the third in veneration of her maternal dignity, by which she shone forth among all mortals in a singular manner. This spiritual candle, I say, he prepared during the three preceding days, saying on each day the Magnificat three times. But when the very day of the Purification arrived, in the morning before anyone had entered the church, he himself approached the high altar and there in his meditation awaited the most holy Mother until she should come with her heavenly Pledge. When she drew near to the outer gate of the city, outrunning all others by the affection of his heart, he went forth to meet her with the whole company of the hearts of all who love God. In the very street he ran to her, asking that she pause a little with her retinue while he might sing some canticle to her. Presently, with a spiritual and silent modulation, so that his lips indeed moved yet his voice was not heard at all, he sang the Sequence, "Inviolata," etc., and this as lovingly as he possibly could, and he bowed his head to her from the depths of his heart when he said "O Benigna, O Benigna," beseeching her to show her most tender kindness toward a wretched sinner. Then rising, he followed her with his spiritual candle, with the affection and desire that she would never allow the burning flame of the divine light to be extinguished in him. Then, when he came to the assembly of all who love God, he began the canticle "Adorna thalamum," etc., and admonished them to receive the Savior worthily and to embrace his Mother eagerly; and thus with praises and hymns he led them to the church. Afterward, with immense longing, before the Virgin Mother entered and handed the Savior to Saint Simeon, he approached the most sacred Virgin herself and, on bended knees, with eyes and hands raised upward, prayed her to show him the little Child and allow him to press kisses upon him. When she graciously permitted this, extending his arms and at the same time the broadest reaches of the world, he received and embraced the dearest Spouse of his soul a thousand times or more in a brief hour; he gazed upon his snow-white eyes and tender hands, he kissed that sweetest mouth, and contemplating all the infant limbs of that heavenly Pledge, with eyes raised in wonder he wept in his heart, marveling indeed that the Maker of heaven should be so immense and yet so small, so beautiful in the heavens and yet a mere child upon the earth; and meanwhile he occupied himself with him as he was moved by him, singing, weeping, devoting himself to spiritual exercises; and then, returning him to his Mother, he entered in with her until all things were accomplished.

CHAPTER XIII.

How he observed Carnival.

[26] On the Saturday before Septuagesima Sunday, when the Alleluia is suspended and worldly people begin to be given over to folly more than usual on account of the approaching Carnival, he himself began to prepare heavenly Carnival celebrations in his heart, in this manner: First he considered the momentary and pernicious pleasure of carnal Carnival festivities, and how most people become entangled in prolonged calamities and miseries for the sake of a brief delight; and he prayed Psalm 50, "Have mercy on me, O God," etc., in honor of almighty God, for all the sins, injuries, and insults that would be inflicted upon Him during that most wanton season. These he called the Carnival of the Rustics, as of those who know nothing better. A twofold manner of mystical Carnival. Secondly, he meditated upon those preludes of the heavenly life, in which God, as it were, plays with his friends while they are still in this mortal body, through divine consolations; and thereupon, recounting with much thanksgiving and praise whatever he himself had experienced of this kind, he took delight in God his Lord.

[27] At the same time of his conversion, a certain spiritual Carnival was divinely granted to him, which was of this sort: During the very Carnival days, before Compline, he had retired to a warm room to warm himself, for he was greatly suffering from cold and hunger; but far more grievous to him was the thirst that he was then enduring. And when he saw others eating meat and drinking wine, while he himself was meanwhile worn out with hunger and thirst, feeling himself inwardly prompted, His abstinence rewarded by a divine song. he immediately went outside and, pitying himself, drew deep sighs from his heart. That very night, in a vision, he seemed to be in a kind of infirmary, and he heard outside a heavenly song being sung with such sweetness of voice that no harp could equal that melody; and the voice was as of a schoolboy of twelve years. Therefore the same Servant of Wisdom, forgetting food and drink, drank in this melody with attentive ears, saying with great fervor of heart: "Who is singing outside? Truly I have never heard such a melody on earth." A youth of extraordinary beauty, who happened to be present, answered him: "Know that this boy-singer is performing for you, and that this office of singing is directed at you." The Servant said: "O that God would remember me! I beg you, heavenly youth, bid him sing more." So he began to sing again with the highest pitch of voice, and completed three songs that were utterly heavenly. When these were finished, that boy, and a heavenly branch given by an Angel, as it seemed to him, came through the air to the windows of the dwelling where the Servant was, and held out to him a little branch thickly covered with reddish berries, resembling strawberries. But the aforementioned youth took the branch from the boy's hands and joyfully offered it to the Servant with these words: "Come, my brother and companion, take these red fruits as a gift given to you by your most loving Lord, this very most beautiful Youth, the Son of the eternal King, whom you have just now heard singing." "Oh, how greatly he loves you!" Upon hearing this, that Brother, his face flushed with joy and blushing, cheerfully received the little basket with the fruits and said: "O how happy am I, to whom so longed-for a gift falls from this glorious and divine Youth, which indeed cannot fail to fill me with perpetual exultation of spirit." And turning to the youth and the other blessed spirits present there, he said: "Dearest friends, is it not right that this gracious and heavenly young man should be ardently loved by me? Rightly indeed must I love him; and if I knew his most welcome will, I would carry it out in every way." And he turned to the aforementioned youth and said: "Tell me, dearest one, does it seem to you that I think rightly?" He, smiling sweetly, replied: "Indeed you think rightly, and justly must you love him who regards and loves you more kindly than many others. Wherefore, pursue him with immense love; and hold it for certain that henceforth you must also endure harder things on behalf of many others; and prepare yourself accordingly." By a vision and blessing of the child Jesus. He said: "I shall do so most willingly, and I pray that you may obtain for me the opportunity to see him, so that I may thank him for his splendid gift." "Go," said the youth, "to the window, and look out." He opened the window, and behold, he saw there a schoolboy of such beauty that he had never seen anyone like him; and when he wished to go out through the window to him, the boy, gently inclining himself toward him, sweetly blessed him, and instantly vanished from his sight. And so that vision ended. Restored to himself, he gave thanks to God for such divine Carnival celebrations granted to him.

CHAPTER XIV.

How he observed the first day of May.

[28] On the night of that day which is the head and beginning of the month of May, according to his custom he set aside for himself a certain spiritual and verdant branch, and for a considerable time he venerated it on each day. Among all the branches, however pleasant, The Cross surpasses all trees and plants. that had ever grown, he could find none more verdant than the glorious trunk of the holy Cross, which is more illustrious and more verdant in grace and virtues and every kind of beauty than any branches of trees whatsoever. Under this tree, therefore, he performed six prostrations, as they are called, and at each individual one he desired in his meditation to adorn this mystical branch with the most elegant things that the verdant summer could bring forth. And he said and sang within himself the hymn, "Hail, holy Cross," etc., adding also these words: "Hail, heavenly tree of everlasting salvation, in which grew the fruit of eternal Wisdom: first, indeed, for your perpetual adornment, in place of all the blushing roses, I offer you my inmost love; secondly, in place of all the violets creeping along the ground, a humble subjection; thirdly, in place of all the sweet-smelling lilies, a most pure embrace; fourthly, in place of every kind of gracefully colored and verdant blossoms that any forest, meadow, glade, tree, grove, or field has ever brought forth in this pleasant springtime, or that have ever existed or shall exist, a spiritual kiss of the heart; fifthly, in place of the song of all the birds flying joyfully in the air, which they have ever poured forth in any branches of trees, inexhaustible praises of the soul; sixthly, in place of every kind of ornament with which any verdant branch of the springtime was ever endowed, my heart today extols you with a spiritual canticle, beseeching that you, O blessed tree, may be my help, so that in this fleeting life I may be worthy to praise you in such a way that I may be found worthy to enjoy you, the fruit of life, forever." In this manner he celebrated the beginning of May.

CHAPTER XV.

Concerning the pitiable carrying of the Cross, which he was accustomed to imitate after the likeness of Christ being crucified.

[29] Almighty God at the beginning refreshed him for a long time with heavenly consolations, and he was so delighted by them that whatever pertained to the divinity was pleasant and delightful to him; but if he had to commemorate Christ's Passion and compose himself to its imitation, it seemed to him bitter and difficult. Whence the Lord on a certain occasion severely rebuked him and said to him: "Do you not know that I am the door through which all true lovers of God must enter if they wish to attain blessedness? By what way one arrives at the naked divinity of God. It is utterly necessary that you penetrate through my afflicted humanity by conforming yourself to it, if you truly wish to attain my naked divinity." He was indeed terrified by these words; nevertheless, he strove to direct his mind to them, however burdensome they were to him, and he began to learn what he had not known before, and with a resigned spirit he wholly submitted himself to the divine will.

[30] From this time, therefore, on each night after completing the Matins prayers in his usual place, which was in the chapter house, as they call it, he devoted himself to a Christlike compassion for all that the Lord Jesus had suffered on his behalf. He walked from corner to corner, so as to shake off all torpor and be more vigilant in the experience of the Lord's Passion. He began with Christ from the Last Supper itself, and transferred himself with him from place to place, until he brought him before Pilate. Finally he took him condemned to death before the tribunal, and enacted with him that pitiable journey of carrying the cross which the same Lord Jesus made from the tribunal to Mount Calvary. He began this Way of the Cross in the following manner: The Way of the Cross. When he had come to the vestibule of the chapter house, on bended knees he first kissed the footsteps of his Lord, condemned to death, turning and hastening to the place of execution. Here he said the Psalm: "My God, my God, look upon me," etc., and so proceeded through the door into the cemetery or cloister of the monastery. The mystical streets. He had imagined for himself four streets through which he was to go with his Lord. Psalm 21. Through the first he walked with him to death, with this desire: that he would be willing to abandon friends and possessions and temporal goods, and to endure, in praise of Christ, an exile destitute of all consolation and voluntary poverty. In the second street he resolved to despise temporal honors and dignities and to strive for the voluntary contempt of the whole world, reflecting that his Lord had been "a worm and not a man, the reproach of men and the outcast of the people." At the head of the third street he again bent his knee with a kissing of the ground, freely renouncing there all unnecessary rest, comfort, and indulgence of the body, in honor of the tormented body of the most tender Lord Jesus, recalling to mind how, as it is written, "his strength was dried up like a potsherd, and he was brought down to the dust of death." Psalm 11. 16. And as the soldiers drove him pitiably before them, he reflected that this rightly and deservedly ought to draw tears from the eyes of all and groans from their hearts. Coming to the fourth street, in its middle he fell upon his knees as if he were genuflecting before the gate through which the Lord was about to go forth, and going before him, having kissed the ground, he earnestly prayed that he would not proceed to death without him, but would permit him to die with him, since the Lord had to pass by him. All this he impressed upon his mind as vividly as he could, as though it were truly happening before him; and he said the prayer, "Hail, our King, Son of David," etc. And so he let him pass by. Then again falling upon his knees toward the gate, he also received the Cross with this verse, "O Cross, hail, our only hope," etc., and likewise allowed it to go before him. Afterward he again bent his knee toward the most blessed Virgin Mary, Queen of heaven, who, overcome by immense grief of heart, was being led before him; and he observed her pitiable gestures, the fervent floods of tears, the deep and wretched sighs, her face and expression of the deepest sadness, and said to her once, "Hail, Queen of mercy, our life," etc., and eagerly kissed her footsteps. Then suddenly springing up, he hastened after his Lord until he was joined to his side. This matter was sometimes so present to him through his imagination as if he were walking bodily at his side; and he reflected how, when King David fled from Absalom, the bravest soldiers once accompanied him on his right and left and stood faithfully by him. Here indeed he submitted and resigned all his will to the divine will, resolved to refuse nothing, whatever God might wish to do with him. Afterward he turned in his mind the reading from Isaiah the Prophet which is read on Good Friday, "Lord, who has believed our report," etc., which depicts to the life his being led forth to death; and entering under this into the door of the choir, he ascended by the steps to the pulpit of the church. Isaiah 53:1. When he had arrived there, having fallen to the ground before the image of the cross, he prayed the Lord Jesus not to allow his servant, neither by death nor by life, neither by prosperity nor by adversity, ever to be torn away from him.

[31] He was accustomed also to perform another interior Way of the Cross in this manner: Another interior Way of the Cross. When the Salve Regina was being sung at Compline, he meditated in his heart as though the most sacred Virgin were still lingering at her Son's sepulcher, full of maternal grief, and the time had now come when she must be led back home, and this duty fell upon him. And so in his mind he imagined three prostrations or kissings of the ground, by which he led her home. The first was around the sepulcher, for as soon as the Salve Regina had begun, he reverently bowed the head of his soul He consoles and leads the Blessed Virgin from the sepulcher. and in a certain spiritual manner received her into his arms, weeping over her maternal breast, which was then filled with bitterness, contempt, reproaches, and the most bitter grief; and he consoled her with a certain admonition -- namely, that for this very reason she is now a mighty Queen, the Queen of mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope. But when he had come with her to the gate of Jerusalem, he went before her and, looking back, gazed upon her entering the city in pitiable fashion, sprinkled and stained with the sacred blood dripping from the open wounds of her Son, and deprived of all consolation; and there again, receiving her with a fervent kissing of the ground, at those words, "Turn then, O our Advocate," he exhorted her to be of good courage, since she was now the most worthy advocate of us all; and he asked that, in love of that pitiable sight, she would turn her merciful eyes toward him and, after this exile, show him Jesus, the blessed fruit of her womb, in his kindness. The third prostration he made at the door of the house of Saint Anne, her mother, to which she was led in her grief; and this he did with a certain commending of himself to her sweetest tenderness and most tender sweetness, with those most devout words, "O clement, O loving, O sweet Mary"; and he besought her to receive his wretched and exiled soul at his death, and to lead and protect it from the enemies of hell, and to transport it through the gate of heaven into eternal blessedness.

CHAPTER XVI.

Concerning the most useful virtue of Silence.

[32] The same Disciple was urged in the interior man to strive to attain true peace of heart, and he felt that Silence above all was conducive to this. Wherefore he placed such a guard upon his mouth For thirty years he does not speak at table. that for thirty years he never broke silence at table, save on one single occasion, when, returning with many Brothers from a chapter meeting, he ate with them on a ship. And in order to tame his tongue more strictly and not be rash in speaking, in his meditation he appointed for himself three masters, without whose individual permission he would not speak; and these were the holy Fathers Dominic, Arsenius, and Bernard. When about to speak, therefore, in his thought he approached one after another, His remarkable caution in speaking. seeking permission and saying: "Give the blessing, Lord." And if indeed the conversation could take place at a fitting time and place, he considered himself to have leave from the first; and if from the conversation he would receive no external hindrance, he had permission also from the second; and if he would contract no inward disquiet or perturbation from the words, he then believed himself to have obtained the power of speaking from those three; and only then did he speak. But if he perceived otherwise, he kept himself within silence. When summoned to the gate of the monastery, he attended to these four things: first, what he observed with outsiders that he should receive everyone kindly; secondly, that he should dispatch matters briefly; thirdly, that he should send each one away consoled; fourthly, that he should return inside without any contagion or attachment of affection.

CHAPTER XVII.

Concerning the mortification of the body.

[33] In his youth he was of a wanton nature, and when this began to be titillated by vices, he felt the heavy burden of untamed flesh and was greatly tormented by his own body. For this reason, devising many things cunningly He tames the flesh with a hair shirt. and afflicting his body with dreadful chastisements, he strove to make it subject to the spirit. He wore a hair shirt and an iron chain upon his body for a long time, until, blood breaking forth, he was compelled to lay them aside. He had a pair of undergarments secretly made for him from leather, a chain, and in them certain bands, into which were driven one hundred and fifty sharp needles, with a remarkable undergarment, these being made of brass and sharpened with a file, their points always turned toward the flesh. The same undergarment was very tight and fastened in front, so that it might touch the body all the more closely and the sharp needles might penetrate the flesh; and it reached up to his navel, and he slept in it at night. In the hot summer, when he was weary and exhausted from traveling or had performed the office of lector, in those labors he lay thus confined, so that he was also greatly tormented by vermin; and often he contracted and twisted within himself, and, driven by necessity, turned this way and that, just as worms do when pierced with a needle. He was frequently afflicted no differently by the infestation of lice, enduring the biting of lice, than if he had been surrounded on all sides by many ants. For whether he wished to sleep or had already fallen asleep, they bit and sucked at him in a wondrous manner. He was accustomed to say then sometimes to the Lord with a full heart: "O my God, how bitter is this death. If robbers or wild beasts kill someone, he dies a quick death; but here I lie among hostile vermin, and I am always dying, yet I cannot die." But never, neither by the length of winter nights nor by the heat of summer, could he be induced to abstain from this. And lest he should feel any relief under this torture, he added something else: He placed around his throat a part of a belt into which he had skillfully inserted two rings made of leather, with arms bound, into which he put his hands and enclosed his arms with two locks, the keys of which he placed on a board before his bed, until, rising for the night prayers, he freed himself. In these bonds his arms were stretched upward toward his throat, and these same bonds were so firmly fastened that even if his entire cell had caught fire, he could not have helped himself. He continued this so long that his hands and arms began to tremble greatly from the constriction.

[34] Then at last he devised another thing: He had two gloves made for him from leather, such as rustics or workmen use when pulling out thorns and briars; into these he had a craftsman drive sharp brass studs on every side, with spiked gloves, and thus he put his hands in them at night. He did this so that if perchance in his sleep he should wish to remove the hair-cloth undergarment, or in any other way help himself while he was being gnawed by those foul vermin, those studs would prick his flesh; which he later cast away at a divine warning. and so it happened. For if he had attempted to bring himself any relief while sleeping, rubbing his chest with those sharp studs, he lacerated himself so savagely, as if he had been torn by the claws of some bear, to such a degree that even on his arms and around his heart the flesh swelled up. When, after many weeks, those wounds had healed, he would rub and tear himself open again. This form of exceedingly harsh discipline -- nay, martyrdom -- he continued for sixteen years. When these had passed and his constitution had grown cold and was wretchedly broken, on the holy day of Pentecost a joyful vision of heavenly spirits appeared to him and informed him that God did not wish him to continue this any longer. Thereupon he immediately ceased and threw everything into the river.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Concerning the rough cross that he wore between his shoulders.

[35] He wears a cross bristling with nails in honor of the Passion of Christ. Above all other exercises, he was most eagerly drawn to bear upon his body some sign of sensible compassion for the most bitter Passion of his crucified Lord. He therefore fashioned for himself a wooden cross, the length of a man's palm, and of fitting width, and drove into it thirty nails in honor or memory of all the wounds of Christ by which he had testified his love for us. This cross he placed on his back between the shoulder blades against the bare flesh, and for eight years he bore it continually, night and day, in praise of his crucified Lord. Then in the last year he also pressed seven needles into it, the points of which he drove through the middle of the cross, to which they firmly adhered; the remaining part of the needles he cut off above. The bloody torment of these needles he bore in honor of the most piercing grief by which the heart and soul of the Virgin Mother were utterly transfixed at the death of her Son. When he first bound this cross to his bare body, his tender nature shrank in horror; He corrects the softness of nature. for which reason he dulled the edge of the nails slightly against a stone; but immediately, grieving that he had been overcome by this unmanliness, he sharpened them all again with a file and applied them to his body. Those parts of his back where the bones protruded the cross itself scraped and made bloody and wounded; wherever he walked or reclined, he seemed to himself to be covered with the skin of a hedgehog. If anyone inadvertently touched or pushed him in that spot, it hurt him. In order that the same cross might be more tolerable to him, he carved the saving name of Jesus into its back. With this cross he flogged himself twice daily for a long time in this manner: He struck the cross with his fist, he flagellates himself with this cross, and immediately the nails, driven into the flesh, were fixed so firmly that he was compelled to pull them out together with his clothing. He did this so discreetly and prudently that no one could easily notice it. First he flagellated himself in this way: when in his meditation he came to the pillar where his Lord, the fairest of the sons of men in form, had been so savagely beaten with rods and scourges; and he asked him to heal his wounds with his own wounds. Secondly he flagellated himself when with his Lord he came to the cross, and his Lord was nailed to it with nails, to which he too fastened himself with nails, with the intention that he would never be separated from him. He was also accustomed to beat himself a third time in this manner, but only when he had indulged himself too much in taking disordered pleasure in food, or drink, or other things of the kind.

[36] On a certain occasion, through a kind of negligence, he seized and held the hand of two Virgins who were sitting beside him in a public place before many others, thinking and intending nothing evil at all. But he very quickly repented of this carelessness, He severely punishes a certain carelessness in himself. and thought that this matter ought by no means to go unavenged. When therefore he had departed from the Virgins and come to his chapel, at a certain secret place, for that fault he threw himself upon the cross, so that the sharp nails were driven into his back. Nor content with this, he furthermore excommunicated himself, so that he did not dare to enter the chapter house after Matins prayers to his accustomed place of prayer, nor to join himself to the angelic spirits who were wont to be present there to him as he meditated. Afterward, when he wished to reconcile himself fully for this fault, he first afflicted himself with many dire punishments, and proceeding to the feet of the Judge, he flagellated himself with the cross before him; then, going in every direction to the Saints in the middle, he struck himself thirty times in the same manner, so that blood flowed down over his shoulders. In this way he severely expiated that pleasure which he deemed he had taken in a disordered fashion. When the night prayers were finished, going to the chapter chapel and to his secret place, Two hundred times at night he kisses the ground. he prostrated himself on his face one hundred times, kissing the ground, and the same number of times on bended knees he did the same, and he had for each such kissing of the ground his own particular meditations. From which, to be sure, he was greatly afflicted on account of the cross. For when he pressed the cross firmly against his body and applied it more closely than the bands of casks, and when with that same cross he fell prostrate upon the ground and kissed the earth one hundred times, in the very act of falling the nails were driven into his flesh, and the same nails, when he rose, were drawn out again, and when he fell again inflicted new wounds, which truly brought him great pain and torment. If they had remained fixed in one place, it was intolerable.

[37] Before this exercise he had another: He had fashioned for himself a scourge, which is called a "scutica," and had ordered it to be studded on this side and that with brazen and pointed barbs, sharp as a stylus, and two barbs protruded from the middle of each lash, so that each was three-pronged where it touched the body and inflicted wounds. With such a scourge, therefore, rising before the night prayers, he went to the choir of the church before the Venerable Sacrament and struck himself sharply for a considerable time, until he sensed that this had come to the notice of the Brothers; upon learning which, he ceased. On the feast of Saint Clement, when winter arrives, on a certain occasion he made a general confession, He scourges himself harshly. and when the silence of night had come, shutting himself in his cell and stripping his body bare down to the hair-cloth undergarment, together with his arms and legs, he beat himself with his spiked scourge to such a degree that blood ran down from his body no differently than if it had been scarified with a blade. There was in that scourge a certain curved barb, in the shape of a hook, which tore out whatever flesh it seized. He struck his body so persistently that the scourge broke into three parts, together with its barbs flying against the walls of his cell, and one part remained in his hand. Standing there, therefore, entirely covered in blood and gazing upon himself, he saw the pitiable appearance of his body, to such a degree that he often seemed to himself in a way similar to Christ cruelly scourged. Then, from a kind of self-pity, he wept bitterly, and in that winter cold, just as he was, naked and bloody, kneeling on the ground, he besought God to utterly abolish his sins. After this, on Quinquagesima Sunday, again according to his custom, while the Brothers were at table, he entered his cell, and after he had removed his garments, he beat himself savagely, blood flowing freely over his body. And when he was about to inflict still harsher blows upon himself, a certain Brother, hearing the sound of the scourging, arrived, and so he desisted; but nevertheless, to make the torment sharper, he rubbed vinegar and salt into the wounds.

[38] On the holy day of Saint Benedict, on which he himself had been born into this wretched world, during the midday meal he withdrew to his chapel; having locked it, he undressed and, seizing the scourge, began to strike himself, and he hit a vein of the heart in his left arm, the one called the median vein, or another nearby, from which blood then gushed forth abundantly, running down to the tips of his toes and copiously wetting the floor; and soon the arm, swelling excessively, took on a livid color. Terrified by this, he did not dare to strike further. This matter is revealed to a certain person who was absent. At the same time and the same hour, while he was scourging himself in this way, a certain holy Virgin named Anna, in another city in a certain castle, while engaged in prayer, was led in a vision to that place where he was beating himself; and seeing the terrifying blows, feeling excessive pity, she approached him more closely, and when he was about to strike with his arm extended, she interposed herself and seemed to receive that blow upon her own arm. When she returned to herself, she found that same blow marked on her arm in a dark and livid color; and this evident proof of certain truth she retained in her body for a very long time, in all seriousness.

CHAPTER XIX.

Concerning his bed.

[39] During the same time, having obtained an old and discarded door, he placed it in his cell beside his bed, What his bed was like. and was accustomed to sleep upon it, having absolutely no covering with which to comfort his poor body. He had woven for himself from rushes a thin coverlet, which he placed upon the door, and it extended only to his knees. In place of a pillow he placed under his head a small sack stuffed with oat chaff, to which he added another small cushion. He had absolutely nothing, as has been said, of those things that pertain to the use of a bed; and as he went about during the day, so he lay at night, with this sole difference: that he bared his feet of shoes and put on a coarse cloak.

[40] His bed was therefore pitiable. For the hard oat stalks lay in a heap under his head, and the cross with its sharp nails pricked his back. His manner of lying down. His arms were held fast by locked bonds, and the hair-cloth undergarment tormented his loins. The cloak pressed upon him with its excessive weight, and the door was hard and rigid. He lay there, therefore, wretchedly afflicted, and could not move himself, in the manner of a log, without great pain. If, when pressed by sleep, he had leaned too heavily upon the cross, the nails struck against his bones; meanwhile he sent forth frequent groans toward heaven. In winter he fared exceedingly ill from the cold. For stretching out his feet as usual, he placed them bare upon the door, and when, overcome by cold, he drew them back to himself and, raising his knees, brought them to his body, the blood stirred up in his legs tortured him dreadfully; and his feet became full of sores, and his legs swelled up like those of one suffering from dropsy; his knees were bloody and worn, his loins livid and ulcerous from the hair-cloth undergarment. The cross lacerated his back; his body was exhausted from excessive rigor; his throat dried out from thirst; a tremor seized his hands from the failure of his strength; and in these torments he passed his nights and days. He bore all these things, however, from an immense and intimate love of Eternal Wisdom, our Lord Jesus Christ, whose most bitter Passion he wished to conform himself to in some measure. At length, relinquishing this exercise of lying upon the door, he moved to a certain small cell, and used its chair, in which one would otherwise sit, in place of a bed. It was, however, so narrow and short that he could not stretch himself out in it. In this prison, therefore, and upon the aforementioned door, he lay down to sleep for eight years, with his accustomed bonds.

[41] It was then his custom that after Compline, when he was staying in the monastery, he would not retire to the warm room or to the Brothers' furnace for the sake of warming his body, however fiercely the cold might rage; and he observed this for twenty-five years, unless perhaps he had occasionally to go there for some other reason. During those same years he never used baths, never washed his feet to relieve the discomforts of his delicate body. Furthermore, he so restrained himself that, in summer as in winter, he ate only once a day, and abstained not only from meat, Endurance of cold, but also from fish and eggs. For many years he devoted himself to such poverty that he was unwilling, either with permission or without permission, to receive or touch any coin. Fasting, For no small length of time he so greatly strove for purity of heart and body poverty, that he would not rub or touch himself on any part of his body, except on his hands and feet.

CHAPTER XX.

Concerning his moderation in drink.

[42] At a certain time he undertook a most troublesome exercise, fixing for himself a very small measure of drink; and lest he should add or mix anything to it, either abroad or at home, he fashioned a small cup of the same capacity and carried it with him when going out. In great thirst, the only refreshment for his dry mouth was as if a tiny amount of liquid were instilled into a sick person burning with great fever. Furthermore, he abstained from wine for a very long time, permitting himself its use only on Easter Day, in honor of that great solemnity. He abstains from wine, except on the feast of Easter alone. When he had long suffered from such thirst and yet, from the severity of his spirit, would not relieve himself either with water or with wine, and at the same time looked up pitiably to heaven, it happened that on a certain occasion he perceived within himself a divine prompting or response of this kind: "Observe how I, once seized by the anguish of death, endured a most parching thirst with a little vinegar and gall, although all the springs of water were mine, as having been created by me, as well as all other things for the use and sustenance of men. So you also, if you wish to follow in my footsteps, bear scarcity and deprivation moderately and kindly."

[43] At a certain time before the Nativity of Christ, bidding farewell to all comforts and indulgences of the body, beyond the common exercises long practiced, he took upon himself three additional bodily exercises or afflictions. The first of these was that, at night after Matins prayers, he stood before the high altar on bare feet on the stones until day arrived. This he did when the nights are longest and the Brothers are roused earlier for the night office. The second was that neither by night nor by day did he go to warm places, nor was he willing to warm his hands at the altar fire, although at that time, as the cold was most severe, his hands had swelled up monstrously. After Compline, thus entirely seized with cold, he laid himself down to sleep in his seat. After the night prayers he remained, as has been said, barefoot before the altar on the stone pavement until day drew near. The third was that throughout the day he denied himself all drink, He abstains from all drink outside of dinner. however violent his thirst; excepting only the dinner hour, when he did not suffer thirst. But as evening approached, he was tormented by such dreadful thirst that his entire nature craved drink; yet he suppressed this and struggled against it, not without manifold and sharp pain. His mouth dried out, both outside and inside, just as happens to the sick when seized by disease; his tongue split apart, so that afterward for a year and more it could not heal. When he stood at Compline, parched with thirst, and holy water was sprinkled according to custom, with great longing he turned his gaping mouth toward the aspergillum, hoping that perhaps some little drop might reach his parched tongue, from which he might take a tiny bit of refreshment.

[44] Then, when seated at table for the Collation, as they call it, Wine offered he offers to Christ. though exceedingly thirsty, he pushed the wine away from himself, and sometimes, raising his eyes upward, said: "Accept, heavenly Father, as a sacrifice of the blood of my heart, this draught of wine, and offer it to your Son, afflicted with excessive thirst, now about to die upon the cross." Sometimes, tormented by such fierce thirst, he went to the fountain, contemplated the water gently murmuring as it gushed forth and leaped into a basin lined with tin on the inside, and at the same time raised his eyes to God, drawing deep sighs from the bottom of his breast. At times, burdened beyond measure, from the inmost part of his heart he said to the Lord: "O eternal goodness, how hidden are your judgments, that when the vast Lake of Constance is so near to me, and likewise the clear water of the flowing Rhine, nevertheless not a single draught of water can come my way. This is truly most wretched." He persevered in this practice until the time when the Gospel is read in which the Lord is said to have changed water into wine.

[45] On that same Sunday evening, sitting at table, overcome with misery, he could not take food because of the excess of thirst. As soon as the thanksgiving was said, he hastened immediately to his chapel, for he could no longer restrain himself on account of the unbearable intensity of his affliction; and he shed an enormous flood of tears, saying to the Lord: "O eternal God, who alone considers toil and grief, how utterly wretched I was born into this world, that although the necessities for sustaining life are abundantly available to me, I must nevertheless endure such great and dreadful scarcity." Under these complaints, he seemed in his soul to hear a voice of this kind: Wasting away with thirst, he is divinely refreshed. "Be of good courage; shortly you will be divinely gladdened with joy and consolation. Away with tears, strong athlete of God; take heart and bear yourself well." By these words his heart was so strengthened that he ceased somewhat from his tears; yet he could not be entirely glad, but just as drops of tears flowed from his eyes, something within compelled him to laugh, on account of the joyful and prosperous event that would shortly come to him from God. Thus affected, he went to Compline. His mouth indeed sang the psalms, but with a trembling heart, and meanwhile he seemed to see that he would soon be freed from this cross; which indeed happened shortly afterward, and that very night it began in part in the following manner: He is given drink by the Blessed Virgin. In a vision he beheld the Virgin Mother with the child Jesus, in the appearance he had when seven years old on earth, coming toward him, and the same infant had in his hands a cup full of water, somewhat larger than the goblet customarily used in the monastery. The most blessed Virgin then took this cup into her own hands and offered it to him to drink. Receiving it, he drank eagerly and drove away all his thirst to his satisfaction.

[46] He was at that time walking in a field along a narrow path, and behold, he saw a certain poor but respectable woman coming toward him; and when she had drawn nearer, leaving the dry path, he stepped down into the mud until she should pass by. But she, turning, He honors the Blessed Virgin in all women. said to him: "What does it mean, reverend sir, that you, though honored with the dignity of the priesthood, have been willing to yield to me, a poor woman, with such humility, when rather I ought to have deferred to you?" He replied: "Indeed, I am accustomed to show honor and reverence to all women, on account of the most illustrious Mother of God, the Queen of heaven." She, raising her eyes and hands to heaven, said: "I pray and beseech that most excellent Mother of God that you may not depart from this life without obtaining from her some special favor, whom you so greatly venerate in all of us." To which he said: "May that most glorious Empress of heaven grant me this."

[47] Shortly afterward it happened that, although manifold drink was abundantly available to him, he nevertheless departed from the table thirsty as usual. The following night, a certain heavenly person of wondrous beauty appeared to him in a vision and said: "I am the Virgin Mother, who gave you drink last night from an earthen cup, and whenever again you are tormented by such grievous thirst, I shall likewise refresh you, having pity on you." Then he said to her with great confidence: "Yet, O immaculate Virgin, you have nothing in your hands with which you could relieve my thirst." But she said: "I shall give you a saving drink flowing from my very heart." By these words he was so overwhelmed that he could not reply, since he deemed himself unworthy of it. But the most sacred Virgin, kindly consoling him, said: "Since the Lord Jesus has so sweetly immersed himself in your heart, He is refreshed by a drink flowing from the heart of the Blessed Virgin. and you have so painfully merited this by the dryness of your mouth, you shall receive from me this singular consolation; nor indeed shall I refresh you with a bodily drink, but with a saving and excellent and spiritual drink of inmost and perfect purity." Then he consented, as to something true, thinking meanwhile within himself: "Now I shall truly have drunk more than enough, so that I may at last drive away my immense thirst." But when he had been abundantly refreshed by that heavenly drink, there remained in his mouth something like a soft grain of snowy color, such as manna was. And he retained this in his mouth for a considerable time as proof of its truth. Thereupon, dissolved into burning tears, he gave thanks from the depths of his heart to God and to his most sacred Mother for so great a benefit bestowed upon him by them. That same night the Mother of God, showing herself visibly to a certain holy man dwelling elsewhere, informed him of the manner in which she had given him drink, and added this: "Go to the Servant of my Son and tell him in my words -- just as it is recorded in writing concerning that illustrious Doctor John Chrysostom, that when he was a schoolboy and knelt before the altar where I myself, in a wooden image, nursed my Son at my breast, through that same image I told my Son to pause for a little while and allow the aforesaid boy to suckle at my breasts -- tell him, I say, that the same grace has been bestowed upon him also through me in a vision. And as proof of its truth, if you pay attention, you will henceforth perceive a teaching proceeding from his holy mouth that is far more agreeable and fervent to hear than before, and more to be desired."

[48] When these things had been reported to him, raising his hands, heart, and eyes upward, he said: "Blessed be the ever-flowing fountain of divinity, and blessed likewise be the sweetest mother of all grace for this heavenly gift displayed to me, who am unworthy." The reader will find something similar to this in the first part of the Mirror of Vincent. Furthermore, the same holy man also added these things: "There is besides something else that I must make known to you. This night the Virgin with her little Son appeared to me in a vision, Water offered to him by the Blessed Virgin is turned into wine by Christ. holding in her hand an elegant cup full of water. She and the little Son made honorable and kind mention of you. Then the Mother offered the cup to the Son, asking that he bless it. He did as his Mother wished, and immediately the water was changed into wine; and he said: 'It is enough now; I do not wish my Servant henceforth to continue this kind of exercise, abstaining from wine. Let him henceforth use wine, on account of his exhausted and broken constitution.'" This permission, therefore, having been granted him by God, he henceforth used wine as he had been accustomed to do before. At that same time he was exceedingly broken down from the excess of the aforementioned exercises and chastisements with which he had afflicted himself for so many years.

[49] The Lord Jesus appeared, however, to a certain friend of his, carrying a box in his hands. When asked by that same holy man what he intended with that box, he said: "From this I wish to heal my Servant who is gravely afflicted." And behold, he went to the Servant himself and opened the box, which was full of fresh blood, and dipped or anointed the Servant's heart with it, so that it was rendered entirely bloody; then he anointed his hands, feet, and all his limbs with the same blood. Then that holy man, who beheld these things in a vision, said: "Why, Christ anoints his heart, hands, and feet with blood. O Lord, do you thus mark him with blood? Do you wish to impress upon him the likeness of your five wounds?" The Lord replied: "Indeed so; for I shall mark his heart and his entire nature with the cross and affliction, and I shall heal him with remedies applied, and I shall make him a man after my own heart." When, therefore, the Servant had led a life devoted to such harsh bodily afflictions as have been partly recounted above, from the eighteenth year of his age to the fortieth, and his entire nature or body was utterly broken and consumed, and nothing seemed to remain except death unless he should abstain from such things, he then abandoned them. But it was made known to him by the Lord that that severity and austerity of life, and all those practices and exercises, had been nothing but a good beginning and a mortification and taming of his untamed body; and that he must henceforth be pressed and exercised in another manner, if things were to be rightly ordered with regard to him.

CHAPTER XXI.

How he was sent to a rational school of true resignation.

[50] After these things, sitting one night after Matins prayers in his seat, while meditating he fell into an ecstasy and thought he saw in that interior vision a certain distinguished youth coming from above and standing beside him, addressing him in this manner: "Long enough have you been occupied and exercised in the lesser and elementary schools; now it is time for you to strive toward higher things. Come, therefore, proceed with me. Indeed, I shall lead you to the foremost school of this temporal life, where you will apply yourself to a most noble science, which will bestow upon you true peace and bring your good beginnings to a happy conclusion." Made more joyful by these words, he rose. But the Youth, taking him by the hand, led him (as it seemed to him) into a certain spiritual region, He is led by an Angel to the school of resignation. where there was a distinguished house, in the appearance and form of a certain monastery in which spiritual men dwelt. In this house lived those who diligently devoted themselves to the aforesaid science. Having entered, he was courteously and kindly received and greeted by them. And they quickly hastened to the master or Rector of that school, informing him of the arrival of a certain person who had resolved to submit himself to his discipline and thoroughly learn the aforesaid art. But he replied that he wished to see his face and to discern what might be hoped for from him. Having seen him, therefore, he smiled gently and said: "This guest of ours can indeed become a distinguished Master of this preeminent science, if he will patiently offer himself to the prison into which it is necessary to cast him." The Servant, not yet understanding these words, which were spoken somewhat obscurely, turned to the youth who had introduced him and questioned him in this manner: "Tell me, dearest one, what is this foremost academy and its discipline, of which you made mention to me?" The angelic youth replied: "The most excellent discipline of this school is none other than perfect self-denial and resignation, by which one so departs from and dies to oneself that, in whatever manner God presents himself, whether through himself or through creatures, and in adversity as well as in prosperity, one always strives to maintain an equal and steady spirit, with denial of self and all that belongs to self, insofar indeed as human weakness can accomplish this, looking solely to the praise and honor of God -- just as Christ Jesus perpetually conducted himself toward his heavenly Father." These things pleased the Servant of Wisdom, and he declared that he absolutely wished to apply himself to this science, and that nothing so burdensome could occur to him as to draw him back from this resolution; and he was already beginning to undertake the construction of a certain dwelling and to busy himself with many restless activities. The youth, forbidding this, said that this art required tranquil and devout leisure; and that the less one did, the more one truly accomplished -- speaking, that is, of that kind of activity by which one hinders oneself and does not purely regard the honor of God.

[51] He understands that this is still lacking in him. When this conversation was finished, the Servant immediately came to himself, and sitting in silence he began to turn over deeply in his mind what he had heard, and he perceived that it was perfectly consistent with the truth and with what Christ himself had taught. And so, conversing with himself inwardly, he spoke thus: "Look within, and see how you have now in truth discovered yourself for what you are, and how, with all the previously mentioned external exercises that you have applied to yourself at your own discretion, you are still unresigned when it comes to enduring external adversity inflicted by others. You still tremble daily, like a timid little hare lurking somewhere among the bushes and quaking at every rustle of any leaf, at afflictions coming from outside; at the sight of those who are opposed to you, you change color; where you ought to die and submit, you flee; where you should offer yourself simply and readily, you hide; if you are borne up by praises, you laugh; if you are blamed, you grieve. Wherefore I would readily believe that you stand in need of the exercises of a higher school." Presently, with a deep sigh from his breast, raising his eyes to God, he said: "O eternal God, how clearly the truth itself has been explained to me! Alas, when shall I at last be truly resigned?"

CHAPTER XXII.

Concerning certain troublesome self-denials.

[52] After God had commanded the Servant to abandon those external exercises, some of which have already been mentioned, which had nearly extinguished his life, his nature -- so utterly worn out and exhausted by this very thing -- was so cheered that he wept for joy when he recalled the harshest bonds and chains and the other things he had endured so harshly and bitterly. At that time thoughts of this kind turned in his mind: "Henceforth, Lord God, I shall lead a quiet life and indulge myself; I shall drive away thirst with water and wine; I shall lie down without bonds on a straw mattress -- that which I so often wished might be granted me even before death. I have worn down my strength more than enough; now it is time to seek rest." Thoughts of this reckless kind slipped into his senses; but he did not know what God had determined concerning him. And when for several weeks thoughts of this sort had been striking and, as it were, refreshing his senses, sitting in his chair as usual, he was turning over in his mind that most true saying of the blessed Job: "The life of man upon earth is warfare." Meanwhile he again fell into an ecstasy, and he seemed to see a certain youth of handsome appearance and manly bearing entering his room and bringing him two military boots, He is armed to endure greater and more numerous adversities. together with other garments that valiant knights wear; then approaching him and, having clothed him in these garments, addressing him thus: "Know, soldier, that hitherto you have served on foot, but now God wills you to conduct yourself as a knight." Job 7:1. He looked down at his boots and said with great amazement of heart: "Good heavens, what has happened to me? What have I become? Am I then to be a knight, who hitherto have preferred to enjoy leisure and quiet?" And he said to the youth: "Since it has so pleased God that I should be of the knightly order, if I had earned this dignity with praise in some conflict or contest, it would be all the more welcome to me on that account." The youth, turning his face aside a little and smiling, said: "Do not be anxious on this point; you will be provided with more than enough opportunity for combat. Indeed, whoever desires to prove himself a spiritual and valiant soldier of Christ will have far more and more terrible battles and anguishes to fight through and endure than those distinguished and eminent leaders and heroes whose warlike deeds and glorious triumphs worldly men celebrate in words and songs. You are persuaded that God has now released you from your yoke and cast off your chains, and that henceforth you are to devote yourself to ease and quiet. But the matter is far otherwise. God does not wish to free you from chains, but only to change them and make them far heavier than they have ever been before." Greatly terrified by these words, the Servant said to the Lord: "What then will you do with me at last, O Lord? I thought I had already overcome all struggles, and, as I see, they are only now to begin, and already I seem to be pressed and distressed more fiercely. What does this mean, my God? Am I alone a sinner, and are all others righteous, that you punish me, a wretch, so severely, while sparing the rest? Thus you have dealt with me from my earliest age, and have always tormented my youthful body with harsh and prolonged illnesses, and it seemed to me that I had already suffered enough." The Lord said to him: "Not at all; you are not yet sufficiently tested. If you wish things to be rightly ordered with you, it is altogether necessary that you be thoroughly proved in every way." Then he said: "I ask, Lord, be so good as to indicate how many crosses I must yet endure." The Lord said: "Look up to heaven, and if you can count the innumerable stars, you will also be able to reckon the afflictions yet to come upon you. And just as the stars, though they are exceedingly great, nevertheless appear small, so also your crosses will seem small to men who have not been tested, which you, however, will find harsh and exceedingly bitter."

[53] And the Servant said to the Lord: "I pray, make the crosses themselves known to me beforehand, so that I may be prepared for them." To which the Lord replied: "It is not at all necessary; indeed, it is better that you not know them, lest you collapse in spirit beforehand. Nevertheless, from among the innumerable crosses that you must endure, I shall mention only three. Three kinds of these are foretold. The first is this: hitherto you have beaten yourself with your own hands and, taking pity on yourself, you ceased when you wished; but now, snatched from your own hands, I shall cast you, without any defense of yourself, to others to be mistreated, and it will be necessary for you to suffer great loss of reputation and esteem in the hearts of certain blind persons -- which will be far more bitter for you to endure than that cross bristling with sharp nails upon your back. For from your previous exercises you obtained praise and glory among men, but here you will be cast down and utterly accounted as nothing. The second is this: although you have afflicted yourself with numerous and dreadful deaths, nevertheless, by God's permission, your nature has remained friendly and desirous of being loved; but now, in those places where you will seek particular trust and affection, you will find great faithlessness, and you will be grievously afflicted and tormented, and in so many ways that those who have embraced you with sincere faith and goodwill will, out of compassion, be involved in the same troubles along with you. The third is this: hitherto you have suckled like an unweaned infant, and have swum, as it were, in a sea of divine sweetness. But this I shall by no means continue to grant you hereafter; rather, from inner poverty I shall allow you to wither and waste away, and you shall be abandoned by both God and men, and you shall be savagely tormented alike by friends and enemies. And to sum up much in a few words: whatever you undertake for your own consolation and advantage will turn out entirely to the contrary."

[54] The Servant was so struck down by these words that he trembled in his whole body, and springing up violently, he threw himself upon the ground in the form of a crucifix, and crying out to God with a mournful heart and tearful voice, He is horror-struck. he prayed that, if it were possible, by his fatherly kindness he would not allow him to be engulfed in these calamities; but if this could not be, let the will of his eternal decree be accomplished in him. And when he had lain for some time seized by these anguishes and intent upon these prayers, he heard within himself a voice of this kind: "Be of good courage; I myself will be with you, and I shall bring it about that you happily overcome and fight through all these things." He therefore rose and committed himself to the hands of God. Moreover, at daybreak, when he sat sad in his cell after the sacrifice of the Mass, turning these things over in his mind, and at the same time seized with cold on account of the severity of winter, he perceived the voice of someone speaking within him, telling him to open the window and look out, and learn. He is instructed by a comparison, and afterward encouraged. He opened and looked out. And behold, a certain dog running through the middle of the cloister carried in its mouth a tattered cloth used for wrapping the feet, and was playing a remarkable game with that cloth, now tossing it upward, now downward, and tearing it with its claws. The Servant looked up to heaven, and groaning from the depth of his breast, he heard these words spoken within him: "In exactly the same way you too will be treated in the mouths of your Brothers." But he thought thus within himself: "Since it cannot be otherwise, resign yourself, and as this rag silently endures all its rough treatment, do you likewise do the same." He went down, then, and took that rag, and for many years he kept it as a precious thing, and whenever he was inclined to break out from the vice of impatience, he brought forth the rag, so that by contemplating it he might return to himself and know himself, and maintain himself in silence toward all. If perchance at some time he had turned his face away from those pressing upon him with a certain disdain, he was rebuked within with these words: "Remember how I, your Lord, did not turn my most beautiful face from those who reviled and spat upon me." At once, grieving sharply, he turned himself kindly and gently toward them.

[55] In the beginning, whenever some cross befell him, he would think in this manner: "Would that, good God, I were freed from this affliction!" But the child Jesus appeared to him in a vision on the very day of the Purification, and, rebuking him, said: "You do not yet know how to suffer rightly; indeed, I shall teach you this. When you are laboring under some cross, you must not look to its end, He is admonished not to seek the end of afflictions. as though you were then to enjoy rest, but while the cross itself endures, submit yourself and prepare to receive another with equanimity. This is entirely fitting. Imitate a maiden gathering roses, who is not immediately content to have plucked one rose from the thorns, but resolves to gather more. So, I say, do you also. Be of a prepared spirit, so that as soon as the present cross has ended, you are ready to take up another immediately."

[56] Among other friends of God who foretold the crosses that would shortly befall him, a certain Virgin of outstanding holiness in particular came to him, saying that on the feast of the Angels, after the night prayers, she had very earnestly prayed to the Lord on his behalf. She seemed, as she recounted, in a vision to be led to the place where the Servant was; and she perceived above him a rosebush growing, broad and ample and most lovely, full of blooming roses, which were red in color. Moreover, raising her eyes to heaven, she saw the Sun rising with wondrous splendor, unimpeded by any clouds; and in the very rays or light there stood a most beautiful little boy in the form of the Crucified. Furthermore, a certain ray proceeded from the Sun itself into the Servant's heart, of such power and efficacy that all his limbs and all his veins were set ablaze. But that rosebush, thick and laden with roses, interposed itself and strove to remove and exclude the splendor of the sun from his breast; yet it could not, since those gleaming rays penetrated all the branches with great force and poured themselves into the Servant's heart. After these things she beheld the little boy coming forth from the Sun and said to him: "Where are you going, good boy?" "To my dearest Servant," he replied. And she said: "What does that solar splendor in his breast mean, sweetest boy?" The boy replied: "His heart has been flooded with so great a brightness of light that a certain reflection of the same light, bursting forth from him, will lead back and draw many hearts to me; nor shall this dense rosebush, signifying the manifold crosses he must yet endure, be able to prevent this from being accomplished in him splendidly and excellently." Since, moreover, an abstracted life is especially useful for a person at the beginning, it seemed to him most advisable For ten years he forbids himself all conversation and familiarity with others. to remain in his monastery for ten years and more, separated from all human familiarity and the entire world. Rising from the table, he shut himself in his chapel, and there he remained, and he refused to prolong conversation at the gate of the monastery or elsewhere, either with women or with men, or to look at them. He had fixed certain narrow limits for his eyes, which they were not to exceed -- namely, a space of five feet. He always stayed at home, never going forth either into the town or to neighboring places, but devoted solely to himself and his solitude. All of which, however, availed him nothing, for in that very year he was harassed by such dreadful crosses that both he himself and others pitied him.

[57] In order that he might bear more agreeably and moderately the solitude of that chapel, in which he had shut himself up as in a prison for that entire decade without iron bars, he earnestly requested a certain painter to depict on the walls the ancient Fathers and certain of their sayings, together with certain other wholly devout things that might rouse an afflicted man to patience. But here too, by God's permission, his wish was not immediately fulfilled. For as soon as the painter had sketched the images of the Fathers in charcoal, his eyes began to trouble him, and he could not continue the work he had begun because of the dimness. For this reason he asked leave to depart, asserting that the work must be left as it was until he recovered. When asked how much time would need to pass before he was better, he replied, three months. Then the Servant bade him set up the ladder again; ascending it, he applied his hands to the images, and touching the painter's ailing eyes with them, he said: He restores the painter's eyes to health by the touch of his hands. "In the power of God and of the holiness of these Fathers I command you, painter, to return here tomorrow with your eyes entirely healed." The next morning he returned, glad and well, giving thanks to God and to him for the restored use of his eyes. But the Servant attributed this not to himself, but to the holy Fathers whose images he had touched with his hands.

[58] In those times God seemed to have given both demons and men the power to afflict him. He endured innumerable vexations from demons, who tormented him most insolently and shamelessly, day and night, whether he was awake or asleep, assailing him in exquisite and bitter ways and savagely afflicting him. It happened at one time that a desire to eat meat came upon him, He is afflicted by a demon on account of eating meat. for he had abstained from it for many years. But when, having eaten meat, he had satisfied his desire, in a vision a most hideous demon, standing before him, recited this verse: "While their food was yet in their mouths, the wrath of God came upon them," and with a fearsome growl said to those standing around: "This monk is guilty of death, with which I shall now punish him." When the others would not allow this, he produced an enormous drill and said to him: "Since I am not permitted to inflict anything else upon you, I shall torment your body with this drill, and having bored through your mouth, I shall inflict upon you as much pain and punishment as you took pleasure from the meat." And at once he drove the drill into his mouth, whereupon his jaws, teeth, and mouth swelled up so much that for three whole days he could introduce neither meat nor anything else through his mouth, except what he could take by sucking.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Concerning certain interior vexations.

[59] For nine years he is tempted in faith, and is strengthened by divine light. Among his other afflictions, he endured three interior ones that were exceedingly troublesome. One of these was impious thoughts against the faith. Murmurings of this kind entered his mind: "How could God become man?" and many similar things, and the more he wished to oppose these by argument, the more entangled he became. He labored under this temptation for nine years, weeping and wailing meanwhile with eyes and heart toward God and all the Saints, imploring their help. At last, when it seemed opportune to the Lord, he completely freed him from this, and an immense firmness of enlightened faith was divinely bestowed upon him. For eight years he is afflicted with sadness. The second was disordered sadness. He was oppressed almost continuously by so great a weight of spirit, as though he were carrying an entire mountain in his breast. This came upon him in part because his sudden conversion to God had been so vehement that his body was greatly distressed thereby. He endured this affliction for eight years.

[60] The third was a temptation seeking to persuade him that he could never be saved, but must be tortured for eternity in hell; that however well he might act, however much he might exercise himself, nothing could avail him to attain the number of the elect, but he was losing all his labor and effort. By these stings of thought he was pricked night and day. For ten years by thoughts of despair. When approaching the church or attempting any other good work, this temptation immediately assailed him and wretchedly goaded him with these words: "What does it profit you to serve God? You are accursed all the same; counsel can never avail you; give up now; your salvation is over and done with, however you conduct yourself." When he perceived these things, he sometimes thought thus: "Woe is me, wretch! Where shall I turn? If I cast off the cowl, certain damnation awaits me; but if I remain here, not even so can I obtain salvation. O eternal God, who has ever lived more unhappily than I?" He would sometimes stand within himself, stupefied, drawing frequent groans from the depth of his breast, tears streaming down his face; sometimes he beat his breast, saying: "Must I then, Lord God, utterly perish? What can be more calamitous than this? Must I indeed be wretched both in this world and in the next? Woe is me, that I was ever born into this world." This temptation he contracted from a certain disordered fear. For he had been told that he had been received into the monastery on account of certain temporal goods, which is the sin of simony, where spiritual things are purchased with temporal ones. This remained fixed deep in his breast, until he fell into this torment. However, after he had endured this most dreadful affliction for ten years, He is freed after opening his conscience to a holy man. and throughout that entire time had regarded himself as nothing but a condemned man, he came at last to a most holy man, Master Eckhart, Doctor of Theology, and when he had explained his trouble to him, he was freed by his counsel and escaped from the prison of hell in which he had lingered for so many years.

CHAPTER XXIV.

How he turned himself to procuring the salvation of his neighbors.

[61] Admonished by God, he devotes himself to the salvation of his neighbors. When for many years he had devoted himself to nothing but his own interior man, and likewise to silence and solitude, he was then compelled by many divine revelations to apply his mind to promoting the salvation of others. The adversities that befell him in this kind of office and piety have neither number nor measure. And on the other hand, how innumerable the souls he had won for the Lord was once shown to a certain Virgin of outstanding religious life, who was herself his spiritual daughter. For while praying, she was caught up in spirit and saw this Brother celebrating the sacrifice of the Mass on a high mountain, with innumerable people clinging to him, different among themselves, each of them, the more closely they were united to God, so also the closer they were to him; and the more closely they were united to him, the more intimately God drew them to himself. She beheld him praying very earnestly to God, whom he held in his hands, on behalf of all of them. She then asked that this vision be divinely explained to her, He obtains this by prayer for the penitents committed to his care. which was granted, the Lord saying to her: "The innumerable multitude of people whom you see clinging to him signifies those who confess to him, who have committed themselves to his discipline, or who, apart from this, embrace him with special faith and goodwill -- all of whom he has so commended to me that I shall close their lives with a blessed end, nor shall I ever allow them to be separated from me. And whatever affliction, whether imposed by others or voluntarily undertaken, shall be inflicted upon him on their account, will be more than amply compensated by my consolations."

[62] Before this aforesaid Virgin of outstanding holiness had come to know this Servant of Eternal Wisdom, she was inwardly moved and prompted by God to see him. It happened, however, that while undergoing an ecstasy, she heard in a vision someone telling her to come to the place where the Servant was and to look upon him. When she replied that she could not distinguish him among the multitude of Brothers, it was immediately said to her: "He can easily be recognized among the others, because he wears on his head a verdant crown interwoven with red and white roses, He appears crowned with roses, on account of his patience and purity. like a garland of roses; and the white roses signify his purity, and the red ones his patience amid manifold sufferings; and just as that golden circle which is customarily painted around the heads of the Saints designates the eternal blessedness they enjoy in God, so this rose-crown expresses the manifold afflictions that the friends of God must endure while in this life they fight for God their Lord with strenuous exercises." After these things, the Angel of God led the same Virgin in a vision to the place where the Servant dwelt, and immediately from the rose-crown she recognized him.

[63] During these times, in which he was dreadfully and variously afflicted, his chief interior strengthening of soul was the perpetual companionship and familiarity of angelic Spirits. On a certain occasion, bereft of his external senses, he saw himself led in spirit to a certain place crowded with a great throng of angelic Spirits, of whom the one nearest to him said: "Stretch forth your hands and look." He stretched forth his hand, and looking, he saw in the middle of his hand a remarkable rose of crimson color coming forth, In adversity he is strengthened by Angels, roses growing on his hands and feet. surrounded by verdant leaves; and that rose grew so much that it covered the entire hand up to the fingers, and gathered to itself such beauty and grace that it brought great delight to the eyes. He turned his hands in both directions, and the appearance was everywhere most pleasing. And so, marveling greatly, he said: "What does this vision mean, excellent youth?" He replied: "Indeed, crosses upon crosses, and yet more crosses to be bestowed upon you by God -- that is what these four roses of both hands and feet signify." The Servant groaned and said: "O most gracious God, that the cross should be so burdensome to a man and yet confer upon him so great a spiritual beauty -- that is truly a wondrous permission and dispensation of yours."

CHAPTER XXV.

Concerning the manifold cross.

[64] At a certain time he came to a small town; not far from it there was a wooden image of the Crucified, for which a small chapel had been built, as is the custom in many places, and rumor had it that many miracles were wrought there; wherefore people brought wax figures and much wax to that place and hung them there in praise of God. Coming therefore himself also to the Crucifix, on bended knee he prayed for some time and departed with his companion to their lodging. A certain girl of seven years, however, had seen him praying thus. The following night, thieves broke open the locks of the chapel and carried off all the wax. When day broke, the rumor flew through the little town, and the matter was brought to a citizen who was the guardian of this image. He immediately began to inquire who had perpetrated this sacrilege. Then the aforesaid girl said she knew the author of this crime. When she was pressed to reveal his name, she pointed to the Servant, saying that she had seen him praying there the previous day very late and then withdrawing to the town. An innocent man is accused of sacrilege. That citizen immediately gave credence to the girl's words as true and spread this falsehood far and wide, so that the fabricated rumor now spread throughout the entire town, and most people believed the Servant guilty of so great a crime. Many unjust judgments were meanwhile cast upon him, as to what kind of punishment should most swiftly remove him from human society as a wicked man. When he perceived this, he was greatly afraid, although he knew himself to be entirely innocent, and with a deep groan of heart he said to God: "Since I must suffer, Lord, if you would permit crosses of this kind to befall me that would not dishonor me, I would indeed bear them willingly. But those things happen to me, by your permission, which extinguish my reputation and are most bitter to me." He remained, however, in that town until tranquility returned.

[65] It happened in another city that an enormous rumor about him grew and spread, pervading not only that town but the entire region. For in that city there was a monastery where a stone image of the Crucified was kept, of the same stature, as was reported, as the Lord Jesus had been. At a certain time during the Lenten fast, fresh blood was seen around the wound in the side of that image. The Servant hastened there along with the others to behold that marvel. Having seen the blood, he approached more closely and received it upon his finger, in the sight of all who were present there. Again. A great throng of people gathered, and they compelled him to declare publicly whether he had seen and touched it. He told the whole matter just as it was, defining nothing as to whether this had happened by divine or human agency, but leaving that to the judgment of others. This rumor was immediately spread far and wide throughout that region, and everyone added whatever he wished, and the matter was brought to the point where they said he had deliberately pricked his own finger and smeared the image with the flowing blood, so that it might be believed to have shed blood of its own accord, and that he had stirred up that concourse of people for no other reason than to satisfy his avarice and amass a great deal of money. Slanders of this kind about him flew from mouth to mouth in other places as well. With danger to his life. But as soon as this was reported to the citizens of that town, he was compelled to flee by night; and they began to pursue him with the intention of utterly destroying him, had he not escaped; and they promised a great sum of money to anyone who would bring him to them, either dead or alive. Calumnies of this kind were cast about concerning him by many people, and wherever they reached, they were taken as true; and for this reason very many execrated his name; exceedingly frequent were the judgments pronounced upon him, utterly unjust and rash. There were sometimes present certain wiser persons who knew him and affirmed his innocence; but they were opposed by others with such importunity that they were compelled to keep silence and endure his disgrace. A certain respectable matron of that place, when she learned of his undeserved persecution, moved by compassion, came to him in his affliction and offered him this counsel: that he should obtain from the city council a letter secured with the public seal, which he could carry with him elsewhere as testimony of his innocence, especially since nearly all the citizens of that town were well aware that he was innocent. To this he replied thus: "If indeed I were harassed, by God's permission, by this single cross alone, He trusts in God. I could easily defend myself with a letter. But afflictions of this kind come upon me daily in such numbers that I must commit the whole matter to God and neither resist nor struggle against anything."

[66] It happened that at a certain time he traveled to Lower Germany for the celebration of a Chapter, as they call it, where affliction had already been prepared and arranged for him beforehand. For two of the leading men of his Order were traveling to the same place, intent above all on the concern of grievously afflicting him. He was brought with a trembling heart to judgment, He is falsely accused of heresy by his own associates. and among many other charges he was also denounced on the ground that (as they said) he was composing books infected with heresy, by which the entire surrounding region was being corrupted. On this account he was sharply rebuked, and they leveled many threats against him, although he was utterly free from this vice before both God and men. Nor was it sufficient that God had permitted him to be afflicted with this cross, but he heaped more upon him, tormenting his body with fierce fevers; besides which, a dangerous ulcer also appeared in his internal organs, not far from his heart; and from these anguishes, both interior and exterior, he was brought to such a point that all despaired of his life. His companion frequently gazed upon him, watching for the departure of his soul. He falls dangerously ill. Thus lying in bed in a foreign monastery, utterly desolate, when he could not sleep at night because of the bitterness of his pain, he began to reason with God and said to him: "O most just God, who have weighed down my exhausted body with such intolerable pain and have transfixed the depths of my heart with enormous reproach and ignominy, so that now a violent anguish possesses me wholly, both within and without -- when at last, most loving Father, shall I seem to you sufficiently afflicted? When at last will you cease to strike?" And under these words he meditated in his mind upon those agonies of death which Christ endured on the Mount of Olives. Meanwhile, he withdrew from his bed as best he could to a chair placed nearby and sat there, for he could not lie down because of the discomfort of the ulcer.

[67] As he sat there in pitiable fashion, he seemed to see in spirit He is freed from illness, refreshed by angelic song. a great throng of heavenly Spirits coming to his cell for the purpose of consoling him and singing a heavenly song in pleasant voices, whose melody so delighted his ears that his entire nature was transformed. While they were singing in this manner and he was gravely afflicted, reclining in pain in his chair, a certain youth approached him, kindly addressing him with these words: "Why are you silent, Brother? Why do you not sing together with us? You are skilled enough in heavenly melodies." To him he responded, not without deep sighs of his afflicted heart: "Do you see the state I am in? What dying man could ever rejoice? Do you thus provoke me to sing? I am already singing a dirge; if ever before I sang joyfully, that has now come to an end; I am now only waiting for the hour of death." Then that youth said to him with great cheerfulness: "Act manfully; you will suffer nothing of the sort. Believe me, you will yet produce such a song in your life as will bring honor to almighty God and consolation to many who are afflicted and wretched." At once his eyes were opened, and he burst into tears; and at that very moment the ulcer burst, and he was restored to health. When he had returned home, a certain chief friend of God approached him and said to him: "Although, my Lord, you have been more than a hundred miles distant from me on this journey, nevertheless your cross was present to me. For on a certain day I saw with my inner eyes the supreme Judge seated on his throne, and by his permission two demons, set loose, tormented you -- and this through those two Prelates who were the authors of this persecution. And crying out to the Lord, I said: 'How, most loving God, can you endure such bitter affliction of your friend?' God answered: 'I have chosen him for myself, so that through afflictions he may be conformed to my only-begotten Son. Nevertheless, the judgment of my justice requires that so great an injury to him be avenged by the death of those two who inflicted it upon him.'" And this indeed truly came to pass a little later and came to the knowledge of many.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Concerning a serious trouble that befell him from his own sister.

[68] He had a blood sister who had professed the monastic life. While her brother was staying elsewhere, she began to associate herself with harmful company. When therefore she had at some point gone out with them, she fell into sin. From this calamity and misery she was brought to the point of abandoning the monastery and fleeing, her brother not knowing where she had gone. But when he returned home, this rumor was tossed about from mouth to mouth, not without murmuring. His sister having fled the monastery, A certain person came to him and informed him of what had happened. Upon hearing this, he was utterly stupefied, and wasting away in spirit from grief, he walked about no differently than one bereft of his senses. When he asked where the wretched woman was, no one could tell him anything certain. Then he thought thus within himself: "Behold a new affliction for you; He is afflicted. but do not be broken in spirit. Come, see whether you can by any means help that wretched and lost soul. Offer the loss of your honor and reputation to the most loving God; let all human shame depart; and plunge yourself into the deep lake, so that you may be able to draw out the unhappy one from there." When the Brothers were assembled in choir, he passed through the middle of the choir, his whole complexion changed and seized with enormous dread. He did not dare approach anyone, for all were ashamed of him; those who had previously been his familiar companions fled from him; if he wished to take counsel from friends, they spurned him with averted faces. Then the thought of the blessed Job came to his mind, and he said: "Since the whole world is estranged from me, may the most gracious God deign to console me with his consolation."

[69] He inquired wherever he could as to what direction he should take in order to bring swift remedy to the perishing one. At last a certain place was indicated to him, to which he immediately betook himself. It was then the feast of Saint Agnes the virgin, He seeks her. and cold had seized the air; that same night a violent rain falling from heaven had filled the streams everywhere. And when he attempted to cross a certain stream by leaping, he fell into the water from failure of strength; thence he emerged as he could; and because excessive grief of soul had taken hold of him, he made little of this bodily inconvenience. Then, as he continued on his way, his sister was pointed out to him in a certain dwelling. He finds her. He entered, utterly overcome with grief, and behold, he found her sitting there. And when he had looked upon her, he collapsed upon the bench on which she sat and twice fainted. But when restored to himself, he burst into pitiable tears and began to utter wretched cries and laments, and striking his hands upon his head, he said: "My God, my God, why have you so forsaken me?" He faints from excessive grief. At once his eyes grew dim, his tongue clung to his palate, his hands contracted, and thus he lay for some time deprived of the use of his senses. Then returning again to himself, he embraced his sister and said: "Alas, my daughter! Alas, my sister! To what a depth of calamity have you fallen! O most holy virgin Agnes, how sad and bitter this day of yours has been for me!" Having said this, he again collapsed, bereft of his senses.

[70] When his wretched sister perceived this, she threw herself at his feet, His sister, weeping, throws herself at his feet. pouring forth a great flood of tears and addressing him with these plaintive words: "O my lord and father, O that calamitous day on which I was born into this world, I who have now both lost my God and brought such great anguish upon you! Rightly therefore shall it ever go ill with me; rightly must I be consumed perpetually by shame and groaning. O most faithful restorer of my unhappy soul, although I am utterly unworthy of your reply and conversation, yet I pray, let it enter your most loving heart that in no way can you show greater fidelity to God, nor come closer to his likeness, than by leading back a wretched and despised sinner She grieves. and relieving a spirit that is more than overburdened. Surely God has bestowed upon you a ready mercy toward all the wretched. How then will you close the bowels of mercy to me, a desolate and cast-off sinner, who have now become pitiable to God and to all mortals, since my iniquity has so quickly made me hateful and despised by all? But she whom all despise and reject, you seek; she of whom all are not undeservedly ashamed, you pursue, not without grave injury to your own reputation and anguish of heart. I beseech you, my lord, prostrate at your feet with perpetual grief of heart, that for the honor of God you would mercifully forgive this great crime of parricide which, alas, I have committed against you and against my own soul; and remember that, although I have brought no small harm to your honor and your temporal life, you will enjoy singular honor and everlasting consolation on that account in heaven. And have pity on a most unhappy sinner who has headlong cast myself into a snare, destined for all eternity to bear this heavy loss in body and soul, and to be a burden both to myself and to all others; and receive me, I pray, into your care in this life as well as in the life to come. Nor do I desire anything so much as that I should never rightly be called or be your sister, but that only out of mercy you should allow me to hold the place of your lost sister, while rightly I should be nothing other than your recovered and painfully reclaimed little client. And this indeed is so firmly resolved in the very depths of my heart that if anyone should wish to call me your sister, or to grant me anything on that account, it would be exceedingly burdensome and bitter to my soul; and I plainly pity you if you should happen to be in a place where you see me before you and must endure the sight of me, a new acquaintance, which by its very nature ought rightly to be a cause of shame to anyone -- a shame from which you yourself are perhaps not free. Nor shall any other familiarity or association with you ever be mine, nor can it be. For your eyes and ears cannot but shudder at me and be ashamed on my account. But these things, though troublesome and bitter, I shall bear willingly and offer to almighty God for my disgraceful crime, so that, in your kindness having pity on me, you may deign faithfully to make satisfaction for my transgression and to restore my soul to grace with God."

[71] When her brother had come to himself, he responded to these laments and complaints in this manner: "Come now, fervent tears, burst forth from a heart that is overflowing and can no longer contain itself for grief! Alas, my daughter! She is received back into his grace. O sole consolation of my heart and soul from my earliest age! You who were my joy and comfort, come to me and be pressed to the nearly dead breast of your calamitous brother. Let me bathe the face of my sister with the bitter tears of my eyes; let me weep and lament over my dead daughter. O slight pain, to endure a thousand deaths of the body; but O immense pain, to suffer the loss of the soul and of good reputation! O grief and calamity of my most sorrowful heart! Alas, most loving God, what has befallen wretched me! Come to me, my daughter. Since I have recovered my daughter, I shall now cease to weep, and on this very day I shall receive you with that same kindness and mercy with which I would wish wretched me, a sinner, to be received at the last hour of my life. And most willingly shall I pardon you the most bitter pains of soul and whatever affliction I have already suffered on your account and must endure to the last day of my life; nor should you doubt that I shall be a help to you in effectively expiating your transgression before both God and men." Those who happened to be present at this affair, and who had witnessed the tears shed on both sides and the pitiable gestures, were so moved with compassion that none of them could refrain from tears.

[72] Moreover, by such mournful gestures and kindly consolation he softened her heart, so that she immediately offered herself with a ready spirit to embrace the monastic life In another monastery she lives devoutly until death. that she had abandoned. After this, when with unspeakable shame and disgrace and great labor he had led this lost sheep back to the fold of Christ, by the kindness of God it came about that she was received into a monastery far more suitable and advantageous than her former one; and her fervor and devotion toward God grew to such an extent thereafter, and her holy and cautious -- that is, well-guarded -- manner of life was so firmly established in virtues until her death, that her brother was abundantly consoled before both God and men for the troubles he had endured on her account. Seeing that the afflictions borne on her behalf had turned out so favorably, he was wonderfully delighted and exulted, and he pondered the hidden ordinances of God, how all things work together for good for those who love God; and he looked up to God with profuse thanksgiving, and his entire soul melted in the praise of God.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Concerning a bitter vexation that befell him on account of a certain Brother.

[73] When he was setting out on a journey at one time, a certain lay Brother was assigned to him as a traveling companion, whom he reluctantly took with him because he was of unsound mind. He recalled all the things that had been insolently inflicted upon him by most of his companions; and nevertheless, submitting himself to the will of others, he took the aforesaid Brother with him. And so it happened that they came to a certain village before dinner, to which a great concourse of people was gathering on account of a market. The lay Brother was soaked from rain; wherefore, entering a certain house, he stationed himself by the fire, telling the Servant of Wisdom that he could not go any further; He is abandoned by his traveling companion, a Brother. that he should carry out his business, if he had any, without him; that he would wait for him there. But as soon as the Servant had set foot outside, the lay Brother, rising from the fire, betook himself to a table where there was a disorderly crowd of merchants who had flocked to that market in hope of profit. When they saw this Brother, well soaked with wine, rise from the table, and stand in the rear looking about with rolling eyes and yawning, they seized him as one who had stolen their cheese. Meanwhile, while those wicked men were harassing the wretch in this way, five other armed men arrived, exceedingly fierce, and they too, seizing the Brother, shouted that he was spreading and carrying about poisons. For at that time the rumor about poisons had become widespread. They therefore seized the wretch and raised a great uproar, so that everyone from all sides came running to the spot. Seeing himself captured, he tried to free himself from their grip, and turning to the bystanders, he addressed them with these words: "Listen to me, I beg you, for a moment, and I shall set forth in order what has happened." When they pricked up their ears in great silence, he began to speak thus: "You all can see that I am of unsound mind, An innocent man is accused of poisoning. which is why no one takes any account of me. But my companion is a man of intelligence and accomplishment, who has been given this commission by our Order: to poison all the fountains from this very place all the way to the Tribuni, that is, Alsace. For that is where he is headed, and he will corrupt everything along the way with poison. Come, therefore, seize him quickly; otherwise he will carry out this deadly villainy. He himself a little while ago plunged a sack full of poison into the fountain of this village, so that all who come here and drink from that fountain may perish. This is the reason I have stayed behind and did not depart with him, since the matter troubles me. And so that you may be certain I speak the truth, the proof will be the very large bag in which books are transported, which he has with him, full of little pouches stuffed with that sort of poison and a good number of gold coins, which the Jews have given both to him and to our Order as a gift, so that he might perpetrate this monstrous crime."

[74] When those fierce and dissolute men heard these things, together with the others who had gathered there, He is sought for execution. they uttered terrible roars and cried out in loud voices: "Let us pursue him at once!" Immediately, some seizing a lance, others an axe, others whatever came to hand, they ran about like madmen, and breaking open doors and small buildings where they hoped to find him, they stabbed through beds and straw with drawn swords, to such a degree that at this tumult all who were at the market came running. There were also present certain strangers of the highest respectability who knew him well, and they, upon hearing his name, came forward and said that the people were acting unjustly: that man was endowed with such virtue that he would by no means wish to perpetrate such a crime. When they could not find him, they calmed down; but they led his companion as a captive to the village Prefect, who ordered him to be locked up in a certain dwelling. The Servant knew nothing of all this. And when he thought the hour of dinner had arrived and that his companion had dried his rain-soaked garments, he came with the intention of taking dinner. But when he entered the inn, He frees his companion from prison. they told him the entire story. Upon learning this, immediately and greatly terrified, he hastened to the house where his companion and the Prefect were, and begged the Prefect to release his companion. He replied that this could by no means be done, that he wished to cast him into a tower for the crime committed. The Servant, grievously and bitterly distressed by this, ran back and forth to bring help to the wretched man. And when he had pursued this, not without great disgrace and trouble, for a considerable time, at last at great cost to himself he brought it about that they allowed his companion to go free. He hoped then that an end had been put to this evil; but from this point it only began to grow worse.

[75] For when he had extricated himself from those who held the magistracy, not without much vexation and loss to himself, He is brought into danger of his life. he was then brought into danger for his very life. For when he departed from the Prefect, a rumor had been spread in the evening among the common people and the dregs of the populace that he was carrying about poisons; and all of them pursued him no differently than a robber, to such a degree that he did not dare approach the village. Everyone pointed at him with their fingers, saying: "Look, here is that poisoner; he certainly shall not escape our hands; he must now be put to death; he shall not be able to ransom himself with any coins here, as he did with the Prefect." But as he took to flight and wished to turn toward a farmstead, they began to shout more fiercely. Some cried: "Let us drown him in the river Rhine" (for it flowed alongside the village). Others said to the contrary: "By no means, for this impure scoundrel will infect the entire river; it is better that he be burned with fire." A certain rustic, cruel and savage, wearing a cloak, having seized a lance and pushing forcefully through the crowd, stood before all the rest and burst forth with these words: "Listen to me, men, and all of you who are here present: this heretic can be put to no more disgraceful death than if I transfix him through the middle with this lance, just as toads are usually transfixed. Thus, I say, I shall fasten this poisoner, naked, pierced by the lance and raised face-up into the air, firmly to this solid fence, and I shall see to it that he cannot fall. Let his impure body wither in the air, so that all who pass by this way, back and forth, may behold this villain and detest and execrate him, so wretchedly put to death, that he may be all the more wretched both in the present and in the future world. For this most pestilent man has more than deserved it." The Servant heard these words with no small terror and deep sighs, so that from anguish tears streamed down his face. All the respectable people who stood about there, upon seeing him, wept bitterly; some beat their breasts from compassion and wrung their hands above their heads; yet no one dared to say anything, for fear of the raging mob, lest they too be seized. Moreover, as the day was now growing late, he went back and forth, with tears begging to be received as a guest; but he was harshly turned away. Certain devout women would gladly have received him into their homes, but did not dare. He, therefore, seized with the anguish of death and destitute of all human help, while all were only waiting to seize and kill him, collapsed from grief and fear of death beside a certain fence, and raising his swollen eyes to the heavenly Father, he said: "O most merciful Father, when at last will you bring help to a wretch laboring in these anguishes? O most loving Father, why do you so forget me? O Father, O most faithful, O most merciful Father! Be present to wretched me in this my extreme necessity. For now, with my heart nearly dead, no hope of life remains; I must now utterly die, whether drowned in water, or consumed by flames, or transfixed by a lance. To you I commend today my desolate spirit; have pity on this calamitous death of mine, for those who would kill me are not far away." He is rescued. When a certain priest perceived these lamentable complaints, hastening thither, he forcibly extracted him from their hands and, having brought him into his own house, kept him unharmed that night, and releasing him at earliest dawn, delivered him from the present danger of death.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Concerning a certain robber.

[76] When he was once returning from Lower Germany and making his way through the Rhine region toward the upper parts, a certain young and nimble companion accompanied him; and when on a certain day he could not keep pace with him because he was ill and exhausted, he was left behind at perhaps half a mile's distance. He kept looking back to see whether any fellow-traveler might come along as he was about to enter the nearby forest. For the day was declining toward sunset, About to enter the forest, and a vast and dangerous forest remained, one exceedingly infested with robberies. Before the forest he paused for a little while, waiting for some companion. Meanwhile he saw two people approaching at a brisk pace, one of whom was a young and comely woman, He sees a terrible man. the other a terrible man bearing a lance and a long sword and wearing a cloak of black color. Terrified by the dreadful appearance of that monstrous man, he looked about on all sides to see whether anyone might be following behind; but he saw no one. He thought to himself: "What sort of people are these, Lord God? How shall I be able to penetrate this great forest? What is to become of me?" Immediately, having impressed the sign of the Cross upon his breast, he entered the forest. When they had now proceeded far into it, the woman first approached him, asking who he was or what his name was. He told his name to the woman. But she said: "I know you, From whose wife my lord, by name. I pray you, receive my confession." She began therefore to confess and said: "Alas, reverend lord, I lament to you my unhappiness. Behold, that man He understands the man is a robber. who follows us is a robber, and he slaughters people both in this forest and in other places, and takes their money and clothes, sparing no one. He deceived me and led me away from my friends, He shudders. and I am compelled to be his wife." Upon hearing this, the Servant nearly fainted from horror, and looking back, he scanned everything pitiably with his eyes, to see whether he could see or hear anyone. But he neither saw nor heard anyone in that dark forest, except the robber himself following behind. Meanwhile he thought: "If, exhausted as you are, you flee, he will easily overtake you and kill you. If you cry out, there is no one to hear in this vast wilderness, and you will be lost all the same." And looking up to heaven, sad and sorrowful, he said: "Ah, Lord God, what is to become of a wretch today? O death, how near you are!"

[77] When the woman had completed her confession, she went back to the robber and secretly entreated him, saying: "I ask you, good sir, make your confession to him. Among our people such is the esteem and trust concerning him that whoever confesses to him, however wicked he may be, will never be forsaken by God. Do therefore what I urge you: perhaps God, for his sake, may be willing to help you in your last anguishes." While they whispered thus between themselves, the Servant, seized with terror, feared he had been betrayed. But the robber began to approach him. As he drew near with his lance, the Servant trembled and shuddered in his whole body, thinking his life was over. For he did not know what they had said between themselves. The situation of the place was such that the Rhine flowed alongside the forest, and the path was on the very bank of the river. The robber confesses his sins to him. The robber wished the Servant to walk on the side facing the river, while he himself kept to the other side. As the Servant therefore walked on, not without a trembling heart, the robber began his confession and laid before him all the robberies he had committed; and in particular he recounted to him a certain murder, exceedingly dreadful, at which the Servant trembled in his whole heart. And the robber said: "Once I came into this forest for the purpose of robbery, as I have also done now, and a certain respectable and venerable priest was presented to me, to whom I confessed while he walked with me, just as you are walking with me. Then, when the confession was finished, I drew this sword that you see, pierced him through, and pushed him from the bank into the flowing Rhine." At these words and gestures and the sight of the robber, the Servant grew so pale and broken that a cold sweat of death ran down his face into his bosom, and he became utterly rigid, and his voice stuck in his throat, so that he was almost bereft of his senses; and from time to time, turning his eyes to the robber's sword, he watched for the moment when the robber would likewise pierce him through and cast him dead headlong into the river. And when he was already beginning to collapse from anguish and had no strength left, his face was pitiable, like that of a man desperate to escape the most imminent peril of death. When the robber's female companion perceived this, She begs his prayers. immediately rushing forward, she embraced him as he was collapsing to the ground and tried to raise him up, saying to him: "Fear nothing, good sir; you will suffer no harm." And the robber himself said: "I have heard many good things about you, my lord, on account of which I shall allow you to live. Pray God that he may help and have mercy on me, a wretched robber drawing my last breath, for your sake." With these words they arrived at the edge of the forest; and behold, his companion was sitting under a tree, waiting for his arrival. The robber with his companion went ahead, but the Servant, creeping toward his fellow Brother, fell to the ground, his heart and whole body seized with a trembling. After lying there for some time, when he had regained his strength, he rose and completed the journey he had begun; and he earnestly prayed God, with intimate groans, that the good hope and trust which the robber had conceived toward him, the Servant, might profit that robber, and that God would not allow him to die condemned. The eternal salvation of this man is revealed to him. And God granted him a vision of such a kind that he was made entirely certain of the robber's future salvation, so that he had no doubt that he would be saved.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Concerning perils of drowning.

[78] He is rescued from perils of drowning, having fallen into the Rhine. According to his custom, he had at one time traveled to Strasbourg. About to return home, he fell into a savage whirlpool of the Rhine, and together with him a little book that he had composed shortly before, against which the evil spirit was exceedingly hostile. While therefore, swept along by the force of the river, he was being carried downstream upon the waters in the anguish of death, with no one bringing him help, by the providence of the most gracious God it happened that at that same hour a certain young Prussian knight, coming from Strasbourg, threw himself into that most impetuous river and rescued both the Servant and his companion from that wretched death.

[79] On another occasion he set out under obedience to some place during wintertime. And when he had traveled the whole day until evening without food in that cold wind and harsh, icy air, riding in a wagon, they came to certain turbid waters, deep and rushing with rapid current, swollen by the force of rains. Again, thrown headlong from the wagon into a stream. But the servant who was driving the wagon, through negligence approaching too near the edge of the bank, overturned the wagon. Immediately the Servant was thrown headlong from the wagon and fell on his back into the waters; and at once the wagon was carried directly upon him, so that the Servant, crushed by the wagon, could not turn in any direction or help himself. And so he was carried along with the wagon far through the waters up to a certain mill. There the servant, running up with certain others, seized him; and although they greatly wished to pull him out of the water, he was pressed down by the enormous weight of the wagon. When the wagon was at last removed, not without great labor, they drew him out, thoroughly soaked, onto the land; and immediately his garments froze upon his body from the excessive cold, so that his teeth chattered. He stood there for a very long time, so wretchedly afflicted, and looking up to God, he said: "What shall I do, Lord, or what shall I undertake first? Night is now approaching, and there is no place here, nor any village nearby, where I might be warmed or refreshed. If therefore I must die here in this way, it is truly a pitiable kind of death." Moreover, looking around this way and that, he saw in the distance on a hill a certain village. He made his way there as best he could, drenched and stiff with cold. And already night had fallen. He went around the houses, asking to be received as a guest for God's sake; and behold, everywhere he was turned away, with no one pitying his plight. Fearing therefore for his life, he cried out to the Lord in a loud voice: "It would have been better, Lord, if you had allowed me to drown; thus I would have perished more quickly and more agreeably than to die here of cold." These lamentable cries were by chance heard by a peasant who had previously rejected him, and moved by pity for him, he took him in his arms and brought him into his house, and there he passed a wretched night.

CHAPTER XXX.

Concerning a brief intermission of afflictions.

[80] It had altogether become God's custom with him that when one affliction receded, another immediately followed. Thus God exercised him without intermission. Only on one occasion did he grant him a small respite, but by no means a long one. At that same time, when he had come to a certain convent of nuns, his spiritual daughters inquired of him how he was faring. Free from temptations, he complains that he has been abandoned by God. He replied that he feared things were going ill with him and that God had forgotten him, because for an entire month he had been injured by no one either in body or in reputation, contrary to his long-standing custom.

[81] While he sat for a brief time at the grille of that same convent, a certain Brother, a Dominican by profession, calling him aside, He learns that a new persecution is at hand. said to him: "Not long ago, while I was in a certain castle, I heard the lord of that place harshly inquiring where you were, and raising his hands upward, swearing before that entire assembly of people that if he found you anywhere, he would drive a sword through your sides. Other noblemen, his kinsmen, swore the same and searched for you through several monasteries in order to carry out their wicked intention against you. See therefore that you conduct yourself cautiously and take what care you can for your life." Upon hearing this, the Servant was frightened and said to the Brother that he wished to know why he had deserved that death. The Brother said: "That lord has been told that you have led his daughter, as you have many others, into a particular kind of life which is called spiritual, and its followers are called spiritual persons; and he has been persuaded that this kind of people are by far the worst of all mortals. Besides, there was present there another man, bold and fierce, who affirmed that you had stolen from him his dearest wife, so that she, with covered face, would not look at him but wished only to look inward -- and he proclaimed you the author of this." He gives thanks to God. When the Servant learned these things, he gave thanks to God, and hastily returning inside to the grille, he said to his daughters: "Act bravely, dearest daughters; behold, God has remembered me, and he has not yet forgotten me." And he told them those dreadful rumors, how people were plotting to repay his good deeds with evil.

CHAPTER XXXI.

Concerning a certain friendly reckoning once entered into with God.

[82] During the same time of affliction, and in the same places where the Servant was then staying, when he sometimes entered the infirmary or house of the sick to give some relief to his ailing body, and sat at table in silence according to his custom, he was subjected to jeers and insulting words; which at first grieved him greatly, and he pitied himself to such a degree that quite frequently fervent tears fell down his face and were carried along with the food and drink into his mouth. But raising his eyes upward, with intimate sighs he addressed God in this manner: "Most loving God, is it not sufficient for you, the misery and calamity with which I am afflicted night and day, unless even the small amount of food I receive is turned to the utmost bitterness for me?" This happened to him quite frequently. On one occasion, rising from the table, he could no longer restrain himself from going to his secret place and offering these complaints to God: "Sweetest God, Lord of the whole world, show yourself loving and kind, I pray, toward wretched me; for today I must enter into a reckoning with you, which I cannot omit. And although you owe nothing to anyone and are obligated in no matter, by reason of your immense majesty, yet it befits your infinite goodness to allow a spirit overburdened with afflictions to seek refreshment in you through your grace, especially one who has no one else to whom he can complain or who might console him. Behold, Lord, I call you yourself as witness, He invokes God as witness of his own kindness. you who know all things, that from my very mother's womb I have always had a compassionate heart. For I have never looked upon anyone afflicted or sorrowful without grieving for him from the depths of my heart; nor could I ever bear to hear, whether in the presence or absence of my neighbor, anything that might burden him. He protests that he interprets the deeds of others in the better part. I have as witnesses all my companions, that anyone has rarely heard me interpret by my words the deeds of a Brother or any other person in the worse part, either before superiors or before anyone else. On the contrary, I have always, as far as I could, interpreted the deeds of all mortals in the milder part; where this was not possible, I was silent; or certainly I fled, so as not to hear such things. And to praise those whose reputation he hears being diminished. Those, moreover, whose reputation or esteem I noticed was being diminished, to them I showed myself more familiar out of compassion, so that their esteem might thereby be more easily restored to them. I myself was called the faithful father of the wretched; I was the singular friend of all the friends of God. However many came to me sad or afflicted, they carried away at least some counsel from me, so that they departed cheerful and in good spirits. For I wept with those who wept, I grieved with those who mourned, until I raised them up and consoled them with maternal tenderness. No one was ever so troublesome to me that I did not immediately forgive him everything, as if he had done me no harm, if only once he smiled at me gently. And what need is there, Lord, to speak of people, when even the distress and affliction of any animals, birds, or little creatures, known to me by sight or hearing, so twisted my heart that I prayed almighty God to deign to come to their aid? Whatever lives upon the earth has found in me a heart of compassion and goodwill. But you, most loving God, permit certain persons, whom the Apostle calls false brothers, to conduct themselves far too ferociously toward me, as is sufficiently clear to you, Lord, and known and manifest to all. 2 Cor. 11:15. I ask that you attend to this, Lord, and through yourself refresh me. Gal. 2:4.

[83] After he had thus refreshed his spirit before God for a considerable time, He is taught perfection by God. he obtained a certain tranquil rest, and a divine response of this kind illumined him: "Your childish reckoning, which you have entered into with me, arises from the fact that you do not always equally attend to the words and gestures of Christ Jesus in his suffering. Know well that it is not enough for God, as far as you are concerned, that you be of a compassionate and kind heart, but he requires something still more perfect from you. He wills, indeed, that when someone treats you unworthily and inhumanely in words or conduct, you should not only bear it with equanimity, but should so die to yourself that you dare not take sleep until you have approached such a person and, with gentle and modest and placid words and gestures, as far as may be possible, have softened and calmed the ferocity and violence of his spirit. For by such gentle modesty and humility you wrest the sword from his hands and render him utterly weak and powerless in his malevolence. This indeed is the ancient path of perfection which Christ handed down to his disciples when he said: 'Behold, I send you as lambs among wolves.' Luke 10:3." Then, when the Servant came to himself, this path of perfection seemed to him more than sufficiently burdensome and difficult, and he could not think about it without weariness, and with even greater weariness he strove to enter upon it; but nevertheless, with a resigned spirit, he began to apply his effort so that he might learn to walk by that road.

[84] It happened afterward that a certain lay Brother spoke to him with more than enough arrogance and fierceness and inflicted upon him a notable injury. He bore it in silence patiently, and wished that to be sufficient. But he perceived himself inwardly admonished that he ought to do something more. As evening therefore drew on, when that lay Brother was taking his supper in the infirmary, the Servant waited for him at the door of the infirmary as he was about to leave, and immediately prostrating himself at the feet of the departing man, he humbly besought him, He anticipates his reviler with humility and patience. saying: "Dearest and reverend Father, I beg you for the honor of God, if in any matter I have been troublesome to you and have offended you, forgive wretched me for God's sake." Upon seeing this, that lay Brother at first stood silent, then, looking up, said in a loud voice: "Good heavens, what a strange thing you are doing! You have never harmed me at all, no more than anyone else. But I have caused you notable distress and dreadfully afflicted you with my most insolent biting speech. That you would pardon me for this, I most earnestly beg you, Father." And in this way his spirit was calmed and restored to tranquility.

[85] At a certain time, while the Servant was sitting at table in the infirmary, a certain Brother was troublesome to him with insolent words. Turning toward him most kindly, he smiled at him as at one who had bestowed upon him some singular benefit. He softens insolence by his own kindness. This indeed so pricked that Brother inwardly that he not only fell silent but also showed him a wholly placid face. After dinner, the same Brother told the story in the city, saying: "Today I was overcome with such shame and disgrace at table as I think I have never experienced before. For when I was conducting myself unworthily and insolently toward the Servant, he displayed to me the most serene countenance, so that I was suffused with shame. I hope that his example will always profit me."

CHAPTER XXXII.

How, from excessive affliction, he was at one time brought to the very brink of death.

[86] It happened at a certain time that, on not a few nights, he was roused from sleep with terror and, I know not why, immediately began the Psalm about the Passion of Christ, whose beginning is "My God, my God, look upon me." Psalm 21. This Psalm the Lord Jesus, hanging on the cross and in that extreme necessity forsaken both by the Father He foresees a coming affliction. and by all creatures, is said to have spoken. This continual repetition or recollection of the beginning of this Psalm, as soon as he awoke, greatly alarmed the Servant, who was not ordinarily afraid for himself. He therefore cried out to the Lord clinging to the cross, and that with bitter tears, saying to him: "Alas, Lord God, must I again bear a new cross or crucifixion with you? If so, I beseech you, accomplish in wretched me your innocent and most holy death, and be with me, and make me, relying on your help, overcome every affliction." When the cross then drew near, as had been foretold to him, certain monstrous afflictions, of which it is not fitting to speak here, began to grow upon him and to increase from day to day, which finally grew to such a point that they brought him, already weak, to the very brink of death.

[87] For when, on a certain occasion, being outside the monastery, he had gone to bed late at night, Rapt into ecstasy, he is thought to be dead. he was seized with such a failure of strength that he seemed to himself about to collapse and instantly perish from excessive weakness. He lay there so quiet and motionless that no vein in his entire body stirred. When a certain pious and faithful man, devoted to him, whom he had drawn to God not without much heavy labor, noticed this, he ran up mourning and weeping and began to feel his chest and heart, to discover whether any vital spirit remained in him; but his heart was so stilled that it appeared to beat no more than in a dead man. Then that man, collapsing from excessive grief, dissolved in tears and with a lamentable voice said: "O God, behold how today that most illustrious heart has been extinguished which for a long time held and bore you within itself with no ordinary devotion, and which to innumerable dissolute people, through words and writings now spread to every region, most sweetly proclaimed you. Alas, how sad is the report that that extraordinary heart must now decay, and that long further spans of life are not granted to it for your praise and the consolation of many." Thus lamenting and weeping, he repeatedly touched his heart, mouth, and arms, wishing to know whether he lived or had expired; but he perceived no movement. His face had grown pale, his mouth had taken on a dark color, and nothing vital remained, no differently than in a corpse about to be buried. This lasted for nearly the time in which a German mile could have been traversed. While therefore he lay thus in ecstasy, his spirit enjoyed no other object than God and divinity, truth and verity, and eternal unity.

[88] He invokes God as if about to die. But before he began to be deprived of strength and to be rapt beyond himself, he had commenced to converse and speak tenderly with God in this manner: "O eternal truth, whose inexhaustible abyss is unknown to all creatures, I, your wretched servant, now seem to myself to have been brought to the uttermost, as the very weakness of my strength testifies. And so, in my last breath, I speak with you, almighty God, to whom no one can lie, whom no one can deceive, since all things are manifest to you. You alone know how matters stand between you and me. I therefore implore your kindness and mercy, most merciful and most faithful Father; and for whatever I have ever turned aside into any dissimilitude apart from the supreme truth, I now repent, Lord God, and grieve with my whole heart, beseeching you to atone for it by your precious blood, according to your mercy and my necessity. Remember, I pray, O Lord, that I have exalted your most pure and most sacred blood with all my power throughout all the days of my life; and may it now, I pray, cleanse and wash me from every sin as I depart this life. I beseech you, all you Saints, and you especially, most gracious Father and Bishop Nicholas, He seeks the aid of the Saints. on bended knees and with uplifted hands, pray together with me to the Lord that he may grant me a happy death. O most pure and most glorious Virgin Mary, stretch forth to me now your hand; your most loving hand, I say, and at this last hour receive my soul into your care and protection, since you are, after God, the sole joy and consolation of my heart. O my Lady and Mother, into your hands I commend my spirit. Come, sweetest angelic Spirits, be mindful, I pray, that throughout my whole life, whenever I heard you so much as named, my heart leaped and laughed; and how often, when I was laboring under afflictions, you brought me utterly heavenly joys and defended me from enemies. Come, most glorious Spirits, now at last the utmost necessity and anguish seize me, and I am in need of help. Now therefore bring aid to a wretch and preserve me from the terrible and hideous sight of my enemies. Praise and thanks I give to you, almighty God, that to me, a dying man, you have granted so clear a mind and so lucid a reason and understanding; and I now depart from this world with the entire Catholic faith, without any hesitation or fear; and I willingly forgive all who have ever been troublesome to me, just as you forgave on the cross those who were putting you to death. Lord Jesus, may your most sacred body, which today, though exceedingly weak, I received at Mass, guard and lead me even to the sight of your divine countenance. He prays for those close to him. Furthermore, my last prayer, which I make at this very hour of my death, is for my dearest spiritual sons and daughters, devoted and attached to me in this exile with singular faith or even through confession; and just as you, most loving Jesus, when near death, commended your dearest disciples to the heavenly Father with the utmost fidelity, in that same charity may they too, I pray, be commended to you, that you may grant them also a holy and happy death. Indeed, I now effectively turn myself entirely away from all passing creatures and turn toward the very divinity itself, toward the first source of eternal salvation." And when he had spoken these things and many more of the same kind within himself, gently and sweetly, he was rapt beyond himself and began to suffer the aforementioned weakness. But while both he himself and others supposed that he would depart from the living, he returned to himself, and his lifeless heart resumed its vital spirit, and his afflicted limbs were restored to health, and he recovered his former strength.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

How afflictions are to be referred to God with praise and thanksgiving.

[89] At a certain time, when the afflicted Servant was deeply pondering and recounting his long struggles and attending to the hidden and wondrous judgments of God in them, he turned to God with an intimate groan and said: "These external crosses and afflictions, Lord, appear outwardly as nothing but sharp brambles and thorns piercing the very flesh and bones. Wherefore, most loving Lord, I beseech you, let some sweet fruit of saving instruction issue from these harsh thorns, by which we wretches may bear adversity with greater moderation and may better know how to refer our crosses to the praise of God." Taught by God. After he had earnestly petitioned God for this for a considerable time, he was at one point rapt within himself and above himself, and deprived of his bodily senses, he heard the Lord gently pronouncing these words to him: "Indeed, I shall now reveal to you the most excellent dignity and preeminence of my life, and I shall inform you how an afflicted man ought to pour back what he suffers, with praise, to God." When he heard these things, his soul wholly melting, under that ecstasy, from a certain immense abundance of heart, he extended the arms of his soul to the vastest reaches of heaven and earth, giving thanks to God with an intimate and ineffable affection and desire of heart, in this manner: "Hitherto indeed, my Lord, in my writings I have praised you, celebrated you, extolled you, recounting and employing in your praise whatever in all creatures could be pleasant and praiseworthy. But now I am compelled to burst forth into a certain new melody and an unaccustomed encomium, which I myself had not previously known, He offers to God all the afflictions of all people, with thanksgiving. but which I have now at last learned through afflictions; and it is this: With all the depths of my soul I ardently desire that all the crosses and troubles which I myself have endured, together with the pains and anguishes of all other persons whatsoever, the bitterness of all wounds, the torments of all the sick, the groans of all who mourn, the tears of those who weep, the contempt and insults of the oppressed, the destitution of widows and orphans bereft of all help, the parching hunger and thirst of the poor and the starving, the shed blood of all the Martyrs, the denial of their own will by all those still flourishing in the bloom of youth, the harsh and severe exercises of all the friends of God whatsoever, all afflictions and pains both hidden and manifest, which either I or any wretched and calamitous person has ever endured in body, in possessions, in honor, in prosperity and adversity, and whatever anyone shall ever suffer until the last day -- that all these, I say, may redound to your eternal praise, O God the Father, and may be to the honor and glory of your only-begotten Son, who suffered for us, forever and ever. Moreover, I, your wretched servant, eagerly desire to faithfully fulfill the role of all the afflicted who perhaps do not know how to make right use of their crosses, by praising you with a patient and grateful spirit, and I refer their sufferings and troubles in their place to your praise, in whatever way they may have suffered, and I offer them on their behalf to the eternal praise of your only-begotten Son, who suffered so dreadfully, and to the consolation of those same afflicted persons, whether the present world still holds them in the flesh or the future world has already received them, freed from the body."

[90] He invites all the afflicted to do the same. "I beseech you, all you wretched and afflicted who bear crosses together with me, fix your eyes and ears upon me and listen more attentively to my words. It is fitting indeed that we, though afflicted, be filled with joy and consolation from the contemplation of our most worthy head and Lord Jesus Christ, who first experienced manifold crosses, so much so that while dwelling on earth he never spent a single joyful day. Certainly, if in a humble and lowly family there were but one wealthy man, that entire kinship would doubtless congratulate itself on that account. O most loving Jesus, most illustrious head of all of us who labor under the cross, be gracious to us, and wherever out of human frailty we fall short of true patience in any affliction, do you make up and perfect that shortcoming before the heavenly Father. Remember, Lord, how you once came to the aid of one of your servants who was almost despairing in his very adversity, saying to him: 'Be of good courage, my son; look upon me. Behold, I myself was both of the most illustrious birth, and yet a poor and lowly man in this world, at once the most tender and the most wretched; I was born from the highest joys, and nevertheless pain and the cross had entirely beset me.' Come then, The example of Christ set forth. however many we are, valiant soldiers of that supreme Emperor, let us by no means be broken in spirit; however many of us follow that most illustrious Leader, let us take manly courage and not be unwilling to bear our cross after him. For indeed, if there were no other benefit of affliction than that we are made more like that most luminous mirror, the Lord Jesus Christ, the more truly we follow him, that alone would surely be great enough. Indeed, I am so persuaded that even if God were hereafter to give the same reward to those who suffer adversity and those who do not, we still ought rightly to prefer to bear the cross, solely for the sake of obtaining his likeness. For a lover conforms and joins himself to his beloved wherever he can. But by what right do we dare attempt or desire, O Jesus, most invincible King, that by suffering we might be conformed and made like to you? O how great is the difference between your afflictions and ours! You alone, Lord, are the one who suffered most grievously and yet never deserved any cross. But who else could boast of himself that he has never deserved any affliction? For even if on one account he suffers beyond his deserts, on another he has reason to be worthy of affliction. And so all of us who have ever endured afflictions sit together in the broadest circle from every side, and we place you, our sweetest friend, in the very center of the crown or circle of all the afflicted, and we spread wide our parched veins with immense desire toward you, the living fountain of all grace. Now parched earth, most deeply cracked from dryness, is accustomed to receive abundantly poured rains more copiously; so also we, fragile and subject to many faults, the more we are bound to you by a greater debt, the more, with souls and hearts dilated and gaping wide, we embrace you within ourselves; and just as you yourself testified with your sacred mouth, we wish, even against all opposition, to be washed by the freely flowing blood of your wounds and to be thoroughly cleansed in every way from all guilt and liability; whence eternal praise and honor are referred to you from us, and we obtain grace from you. For by that most efficacious power of your precious blood, all our dissimilitude is abolished." After the Servant of Wisdom had sat thus quietly for a considerable time, until all these things had been most earnestly revealed in the innermost recesses of his soul, he then rose, glad and eager, and gave thanks to God for this grace bestowed upon him.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

How God refreshes and consoles the afflicted in this world amid their very afflictions.

[91] On a certain day of the Easter solemnity, the Servant of Wisdom was of a joyful spirit. Sitting therefore, according to his custom, in the place where he was accustomed to take a brief rest, he wished to know from God what refreshment he would grant in this life to those who had suffered much for his sake. Meanwhile, rapt in ecstasy, he received from a divine illumination a response of this kind: "Let all who are afflicted and bear their crosses with a resigned spirit rejoice with all the depths of their soul and with unbroken spirit, certain that their patience will be rewarded with immense prizes. For as they have been made pitiable to many here, so innumerable persons shall be filled with everlasting spiritual and divine joy on account of their singular glory and praise, which shall endure forever. [He understands that three joys are divinely promised to those who have suffered affliction.] They have died with me here, and have joyfully risen together with me. Moreover, I shall bestow upon them three special joys of such dignity and excellence that no one can estimate them. The first is that they shall receive from me the power of wishing in heaven and on earth, and whatever they wish they shall always obtain. The second is that I shall impart to them my divine peace, which neither Angels, nor demons, nor men, nor any creatures whatsoever can take from them. The third is that I shall intimately kiss them all and so sweetly embrace them inwardly that they shall be entirely one with me and shall abide eternally, and they shall be in me and I in them. And just as it is burdensome to afflicted hearts to pray long and not obtain, so for the present brief hour of affliction, this mutual love shall not be interrupted here even for a moment, but shall begin here and shall be enjoyed for all eternity, insofar as mortal weakness can endure, more or less, according to each one's condition."

[92] The Servant of Wisdom, gladdened by these not slightly pleasant tidings, when he returned to himself, leaping from his chair, began to laugh from the depths of his heart, so that it resounded loudly in the chapel where he then was; and he said joyfully within himself: "If anyone has endured adversity, let him come forward and complain. Plainly, concerning myself I so determine and pronounce that I have never, it seems to me, suffered anything on earth. I truly do not know what cross or affliction is; He forgets his calamities. but I know well what joy and exultation are. Behold, the free power of wishing has been given to me, which innumerable people who stray from the right path must lack. What more, then, can I desire or wish?" Having said these things, with reason and understanding he turned to the eternal truth, saying: "I beseech you, make me more certain of these things, O eternal truth, most loving Jesus, insofar as they can be declared in words; for these things are utterly hidden from most blinded men."

[93] Presently, instruction of this kind was given to him inwardly: "Whoever conduct themselves rightly in that mortification and self-denial Consolation for mortified and spiritual persons. that must precede in a person, so that he dies to himself and to all things -- whose number, alas, is small -- their senses and their spirit have so wandered and passed over into God that they know almost nothing of themselves, except that they receive both themselves and all other things in their first origin. And for this reason they are filled with such pleasure and complacency from any of God's works or deeds, Because they acquiesce in the divine operation as their own. as if God had done none of those things at all, but had handed them over to them to be accomplished according to their own judgment. And in this way they receive within themselves the power of wishing, since heaven and earth obey and serve them, and all creatures comply with them by the very fact that they do whatever they do, or omit whatever they omit. Such persons feel no affliction of spirit in anything. For what I call feeling pain or affliction of spirit is when a man's will, by deliberate reason, would wish to be free from affliction. Even in adversity. For according to the outer man, even those of whom we speak both fare well and fare ill, like other people, and for the most part they feel pain more keenly than others, on account of their exhausted nature; but it finds no place within them; and according to the outer man they conduct themselves in nothing immoderately or impatiently. They are abundantly satisfied here, as far as can be, through their own going beyond themselves, so that in all things they enjoy full, complete, and stable joy. Since in the divine essence, into which they have entered in spirit -- if indeed things have been rightly ordered with them -- neither pain nor sorrow has a place, but peace and gladness; except insofar as through their own fault and vice they fall into consent to sin, whence sorrow rightly comes upon anyone who commits that sin. But to the degree that they defile themselves by committing vices, to that degree this happiness or blessedness fails them without doubt; and to the degree that they flee from sin, and in this go beyond themselves and deny themselves, and pass over into that where neither pain nor distress of spirit can be felt (except that they do not consider pain to be pain, nor do they regard affliction as affliction), so that in all things they rejoice in true peace -- then indeed things are well with them. All of this, indeed, is accomplished by the extinction and abandonment of one's own will. And with one's own will extinguished. For beyond themselves they are driven by a most ardent desire and thirst to carry out the will and justice of God. Moreover, God's will is so agreeable to them and they take such pleasure from it They embrace the divine will. that whatever befalls them by God's permission is so welcome and delightful to them that they neither wish nor seek anything else. Yet these things are not to be understood as if for this reason they were not permitted to pray and beseech God. For it is the very will of God that we pray to him. But they are to be understood in accordance with the ordered denial and resignation of one's own sense and judgment into the will of the supreme Deity, as has been said. But a certain hidden scruple lurks here, upon which most people stumble, and it is this: 'Who,' they say, 'knows for certain whether this is the will of God?' Truly, God is a superessential good which is more interior and present to each thing than the thing is to itself; and nothing can happen against his will, nor endure even for a moment. Those, therefore, who always resist the divine will and would wish always to follow the caprice of their own will, if they could, cannot but be gravely tormented and tortured. They enjoy no other peace than those who are tortured in hell. For they are consumed by perpetual sorrow of spirit. On the contrary, to a soul stripped and bared of all its own will, God and peace perpetually correspond in reality, and this equally in adversity as in prosperity and pleasant things. For he himself is truly present who does and governs all things, and who is all things. How then can any present cross or affliction be burdensome to such persons, when in it they see God, find God, enjoy the will of God, and utterly do not know their own will? -- to say nothing meanwhile of all those luminous consolations and heavenly delights and pleasures with which God frequently refreshes and sustains his afflicted friends. Assuredly these persons dwell in something very close to heaven, since whatever happens to them or does not happen, whatever God does or does not do in all creatures, all these things turn out excellently for them and work together for their good. In this way, even in this life, a certain portion of the reward is restored to the person who bears adversity with equanimity, inasmuch as in all things he possesses peace and joy, and after death eternal life will follow him. Amen."

CHAPTER XXXV.

Concerning the Servant's spiritual daughter.

[94] At nearly the same time, the Servant of Wisdom had a spiritual daughter, a Dominican by profession, living in a certain enclosed monastery of a certain town, named Elizabeth Staglin. Elizabeth Staglin, a religious of the Order of Saint Dominic. Her outward life and conduct were exceedingly holy, and her interior spirit was truly angelic. That glorious conversion by which she transferred herself entirely, soul and heart, to God was so strong, efficacious, and vehement that she was immediately freed from all superfluous things and all vanities by which many neglect and impede their eternal salvation. All her zeal was directed Devout. to being imbued with spiritual teachings by which she might be guided to attaining the blessed and perfect life, Diligent. for which alone she yearned with all her heart. If she had learned anything devout and salutary anywhere that could promote either herself or others to spiritual virtues, she carefully noted it down. She plainly imitated the busy bees, gathering the sweetest honey from many kinds of flowers. In that monastery, where she lived among the other Virgins as a kind of living image of all virtues, She writes the lives of deceased holy nuns. although her body was afflicted and weak, she nevertheless composed a rather large book, in which among other things she had written down the holy and devout manner of life of deceased Virgins, and the wondrous and marvelous things God had wrought in them -- things that are especially apt to stir devout persons to piety. This same Virgin made the acquaintance of the Servant of Wisdom, and was divinely moved with great devotion to learn his life and practices; and so it came about that, most secretly, she drew from him by what means he had penetrated through all things into God, And of Henry. and had first denied himself; and she put the same into writing, as has been said above and will be related below.

[95] At the beginning of this same Virgin's conversion, many lofty matters pertaining to the intellect occurred to her, exceedingly difficult to grasp -- Entangled in lofty contemplations. such as concerning the simple and naked Divinity, how all created things are nothing, concerning resignation of self, concerning the expulsion and wiping away of all forms and images, and other things of the kind, which were adorned with elegant words and brought the reader a wondrous delight of spirit. But in these there lurked this much of harm and danger, as far as simple and beginning persons were concerned: that for want of the necessary discretion, which this Virgin still lacked, those words and sayings could be pulled in this direction and that, and could be applied equally to the flesh as to the spirit, according to the reader's disposition. In themselves they were excellent teachings, She consults Henry. yet she herself could not extricate herself from them. For this reason she wrote to the Servant of Wisdom, asking that he might come to her aid and lead her to the plain and royal road. But because she was herself somewhat captivated by the pleasure of her aforementioned teachings, she wrote to him, asking that, setting aside the more rudimentary teachings, he would write to her concerning those lofty matters already mentioned above. To which the Servant replied thus: "If indeed, daughter, you wish to be informed by me concerning such lofty matters out of wonder, so that having learned them you might speak capably about spiritual things, I shall easily dispatch you in a few words -- which, however, ought not to carry you away with joy, especially since from this you can easily be led into pernicious errors. True holiness and progress consist not in beautiful words, but in good works and right deeds. But if what prompts you to inquire is the desire to attain these things by living them, She is led to safer foundations. then do what I urge: setting aside for the time being these rare and exalted questions, seek rather what is more fitting and suitable for you. As it seems to me, you are still a nun, young and little exercised; wherefore it would be far more useful and profitable for you and those like you to know how one must first begin, and concerning the active life and saving and devout examples -- namely, how this or that friend of God, who began the amendment of their life in a similar way, first exercised themselves in the life and Passion of Christ, what they perpetually endured, how they conducted themselves outwardly and inwardly, whether they were drawn by God through sweetness or through barrenness, and when at last, or in what manner, they were freed from forms and images. By these things indeed a beginning person is provoked and directed toward grasping perfection and those things that are nearer to salvation, although God can accomplish these same things in a person in a moment -- which, however, he does not customarily do, but they must be obtained through labor and struggle."

[96] To these things the aforesaid Virgin wrote back: "I do not gape after lofty and subtle words, but after holiness and integrity of life, and my firm resolution is to proceed rightly and in order, however burdensome and bitter it may be. She entrusts herself entirely to his direction. Whether it be necessary to flee, or to endure, or to die, or whatever else there may be that can raise me to the highest perfection, I have resolved to pursue it entirely. Nor should the weakness of my nature deter you, Father. Whatever you yourself shall dare to command, even if it pain my nature, relying on the help of divine power, I shall not shrink from carrying out. Begin first from the smallest things, and lead me gradually to higher ones, just as a schoolmaster is accustomed first to teach a schoolboy those things that are suited to childhood, and then progressively advances him to more important and weightier studies, until he becomes a master. There is one thing I would ask of you; I pray you not refuse it: that I may not only be directed and instructed by you, but also confirmed and strengthened in whatever adversities may befall me." When the Servant inquired what her request was, she answered: "I have learned from others, my lord, that the pelican is of such a nature that it wounds itself with its beak and feeds its young with its own blood, overcome by the love of nature. By this example I wish to signify that you also, in the same way, should nourish and feed me, your wretched and unworthy daughter, with the spiritual food of your devout teachings, and not gather them from elsewhere, but draw them from yourself. For the more intimately you yourself have experienced something and learned it from your own life, the more it will affect and move my thirsting soul." To these things the Servant wrote back in this manner: "Not long ago you presented to me certain lofty sayings that you yourself had gathered from the most honeyed writings of Doctor Eckhart of holy memory, which you preserve, as is fitting, with great devotion and love. I cannot, therefore, but greatly wonder that after drinking the exquisite nectar of that most illustrious man, you signify such great thirst for the simple and rustic drink of a humble Servant. Although, when I consider it rightly, I discover, not without great joy, your prudence and industry in this matter: that you diligently inquire what the first beginnings of a lofty and secure life are, or by what exercises one must first attain to it."

CHAPTER XXXVI.

Concerning the first beginnings of a person starting out.

[97] Now the beginnings of all the Saints are diverse; one has one beginning, another has another. He recommends to her a general confession of sins. Nevertheless, I shall not fail to treat that beginning of a more upright life about which you wish to be informed. I knew a man in Christ who, when he resolved to begin, first purified his conscience with a complete confession; and he was then wholly intent upon this care: that he should perform that confession properly and explain all his faults to a prudent and discreet confessor, and thus depart clean and spotless from him who acts in God's stead, all his sins being remitted -- just as to the most blessed Magdalene, when with contrite heart and weeping eyes she bathed the sacred feet of Christ, and that same Christ pardoned all her sins. Luke 7. This, I say, was that man's first beginning before God. When the aforesaid Virgin perceived this, she fixed it in her mind, and wishing to act similarly herself, she began with all her heart to want to have that Servant as her most suitable confessor, looking also to this end: that by reason of the confession she might become his spiritual daughter as well, and be all the more commended in the faith of God. But because for certain reasons she could not confess to him by mouth, she recounted her whole life, which was truly innocent and spotless, and wherever according to her own opinion she had ever transgressed, she wrote it on a large wax tablet, sealed it, and sent it to him, asking that he impart absolution to her. Having read through that tablet of confession, he found written at the end: "Venerable Lord, I, a wretched sinner, prostrate at your feet, beseech you to lead me back with your most faithful heart into the divine heart, and to permit me to be and to be called your daughter in this temporal and eternal life." Moved to the depths by this trusting devotion of this Virgin, turning to God he said: "What shall I say, most loving Lord? Shall I repel her? Surely I could not do this even to a dog; and if I did, it would perhaps be a disgrace to you, my Lord, since she seeks the riches of her Lord in his servant. And so, most merciful Lord, together with her I fall at your feet and beseech you to hear her. May her faith and pious confidence profit her. For she cries after us. Consider what you once did for that Canaanite woman. Surely, most loving Lord, your immense kindness is so famous and well known among us that you ought rightly to grant pardon even for far more sins. Most merciful Jesus, turn your most kind eyes toward her. Speak to her one single word of consolation: 'Take courage, daughter; your faith has saved you.' And let that, I pray, be firm and ratified, and do you fulfill my role toward her; since I, for my part, have done what was mine to do, wishing her the fullest pardon of all her sins."

[98] Then by the same messenger he wrote back to her: "What you sought from God through the Servant, know that it has been granted you, and hold it for certain that this had already been revealed to him by God beforehand. For on that same day, very early in the morning, after completing his prayers, he sat down to rest a little, He beholds her among the Angels. and when his outer senses had been stilled, many spectacles of divine goodness were presented to him in a vision. Among other things, he learned from a divine illumination how God had filled the angelic Spirits with the greatest joys and endowed them with supreme happiness, and how he had bestowed upon each of them, according to a certain singular order and distinction, special properties that could not be expressed in words. And when for some time he had refreshed himself with those most blessed Spirits in heavenly delight and his spirit had been gladdened by those stupendous and wondrous illuminations that his soul had perceived, in that same vision he saw you entering and standing before him, seated among the throng of Angels, and presently, most earnestly, on bended knees, you reclined your face upon his heart, and for a considerable time you remained thus, while those angelic Spirits looked on. The Servant himself wondered at your boldness, although you were composed with such courtesy and modesty that he bore with you kindly. What grace, however, you obtained from God while reclining upon that wretched heart, you yourself know best, and it could be perceived in you. Not long afterward, when you raised yourself, your face appeared so joyful, serene, and gracious that it could clearly be understood that God had both bestowed upon you a certain singular grace and would still bestow more through that heart, so that praise would accrue to God, and consolation to you."

[99] In almost the same way it happened to another, a truly illustrious and exceedingly devout Virgin dwelling in a certain castle, bearing the name Anna, whose entire life was nothing but sheer suffering. God wrought great and wondrous things in her from the beginning of her earliest age until her death. [Another Virgin is admonished by Saint John the Evangelist to confess her sins to him.] Before she knew the Servant of Wisdom or had heard anything at all about him, on a certain occasion while praying she fell into ecstasy and saw how in the heavenly homeland the Saints contemplate and praise God. She asked of Saint John the Evangelist, who was her Apostle and toward whom she felt a special devotion, that he would receive her confession. But he most kindly replied that he would give her in his own place a well-suited confessor, upon whom God had conferred full authority or power over her, and who could abundantly console her in her manifold afflictions. When the Virgin inquired who he was and what he was called, all was made known to her by the Apostle. She, giving thanks to God, rose early the next morning and went to the monastery to which she had been sent by God, and inquired where the Servant was. The Servant, therefore, being summoned, came to the gate of the monastery and asked her what business she had. She set forth to him the matter as it was and began to confess. He, understanding that she had been divinely sent to him, allowed her to confess and gave her satisfaction. [She sees him covered with roses by the child Jesus, on account of crosses bravely endured.] The same holy Virgin told the Servant that she had once seen in spirit a most beautiful rose-tree, distinguished by extraordinary and crimson roses. In this tree the child Jesus appeared, wearing a garland fashioned from crimson roses. Beneath the tree itself the Servant was sitting. And the infant Jesus, plucking very many roses, cast them upon the Servant until he was entirely covered with roses. When the Virgin asked what those roses meant, the child replied: "Those roses, great in number, signify the manifold crosses that God will permit to befall the Servant, which he will accept sweetly and graciously from God's hands and bear with patience."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Concerning the first teachings and examples or figures for a person beginning, and how his exercises ought to be joined with discretion.

[100] [To avoid sins, he distinguishes the places of the monastery with a threefold circle.] Moreover, when at the first beginning of his more upright life the Servant had duly purified himself through confession, in his own thought he set before himself three circles or boundaries, within which he enclosed and restrained himself for spiritual guardianship and observance. The first circle was his cell, his chapel, and the choir of the church. Situated within this circuit, he deemed himself sufficiently safe. The second circle was the entire monastery within the limits of the gate. The third and outermost was the gate itself, where he needed much watchfulness and care. But if he ever went beyond these three boundaries, it seemed to him no different from little wild creatures that have ventured beyond their den and are surrounded by hunters, who doubtless need great skill and craft to protect themselves.

[101] At the very beginning of his conversion he had also chosen for himself a certain secret place, namely a chapel, where he might satisfy his devotion also through images. In particular, while he was still a young man, He chooses Eternal Wisdom as his bride. he had had Eternal Wisdom painted for him on parchment, presiding over heaven and earth, surpassing in wondrous beauty and elegance of form and lovely appearance the beauty of all creatures -- whence he had taken her as his bride and beloved in the very flower of his youth. This image, wonderfully beautiful, he was accustomed to carry with him whenever he was compelled to travel elsewhere for the sake of his studies, and he would place it before his eyes at the window of his cell and gaze upon it most frequently with the most intimate affection of his heart. At last he brought it home with him and, with sincere intention of soul, placed it in his chapel.

[102] What other images he had there, suited to their objects, He has the sayings of the Fathers painted in his chapel. as was fitting for himself and other beginners, can be sufficiently understood from the painted figures and sayings of the ancient Fathers in that chapel, which are partly written down here, just as they were sketched in the chapel, and we have expressed the sense rather than the words. Abbot Arsenius asked an Angel what he should do to be saved. And he was told: "Flee, Be Silent, Be Still." In a certain vision, an Angel read to the Servant from the Lives of the Fathers a saying of this kind: "The fount and origin of all good things is to dwell constantly with oneself." Abbot Theodore: "Purity of heart confers greater knowledge than study itself." Abbot Moses: "Sit in your cell, and it will teach you about everything." Abbot John: "Guard your outer man in silence, and your inner man in purity." The same: "A fish out of water and a monk out of his cell fail equally." Anthony: "Bodily mortification, devotion of heart, and withdrawal from people produce and protect chastity." The same: "Wear no garment that displays vanity." "The first battle of a new recruit is to fight bravely against vices." Abbot Pastor: "You shall never grow indignant at anyone, even if he wished to gouge out your right eye." Abbot Isidore: "An angry man displeases God, however great the signs he performs." Hyperechius: "He sins less who eats meat at a forbidden time than he who speaks ill of his neighbor." Abbot Pior: "The worst thing is to treat the faults of others while ignoring one's own." Zacharias: "He who wishes to be perfect must necessarily be greatly despised." Nestor: "You must first become a donkey before you obtain divine wisdom." A certain elder: "Like the dead, you should always remain unmoved in adversity and prosperity." Elias: "A pale countenance, a body wasted with fasting, and a humble bearing and manner of life fittingly adorn a religious man." Hilarion: "From a wanton and petulant body, as from a spirited horse, food must be taken away." A certain elder: "Take wine away from me, for in it lurks the death of the soul." Pastor: "He is by no means to be considered a monk who still complains and does not know how to restrain anger, flee much speaking, and bear contempt of himself." Cassian: "As Christ conducted himself dying on the cross, so we ought to order our conduct." Abbot Anthony to a certain Brother: "Come, Brother, take care of your salvation, or certainly neither God nor I shall ever be able to counsel you." When a certain woman asked Abbot Arsenius to remember her before the Lord, he replied: "I pray God to utterly banish the memory of you from my mind." Macarius: "I torment my body by tormenting me, and afflict it with many temptations." Abbot John: "I have never followed my own will, nor have I ever taught others by words what I had not first performed by deeds." A certain elder: "Many beautiful words without right deeds are vain, just like a tree abounding in many leaves and empty of fruit." Nilus: "Whoever must deal much with the world must also necessarily receive many wounds." A certain elder: "If you can exercise no other occupation in your cell, at least guard its walls, for the love of God." Hyperechius: "Whoever lives chastely is honored here and crowned by God." Apollonius: "Resist beginnings and crush the head of the serpent." Abbot Agathon: "For three years I carried a stone in my mouth, so that I might learn to be silent." Arsenius: "Often I have regretted having spoken; having been silent, never." An elder, asked by a certain youth how long he should be silent, answered: "Until he is questioned." Saint Syncletica: "While you are ill, rejoice, for God remembers you. And do not attribute the cause of illness to fasting, since those who do not fast are also ill. If you are harassed by temptations of the body, likewise rejoice, for another Paul can be made of you." Nestorius: "The sun has never seen me eating." John: "The sun has never beheld me angry." Anthony: "Discretion easily claims the first place among the virtues -- that is, in all things to be able to hit the mean and apply moderation." Paphnutius: "It avails nothing to have begun well unless you persevere to the end." Abbot Moses: "Whatever hinders purity of soul must be fled from, however good it may appear." Cassian: "The aim of all perfection is when the soul, with all its powers, has been received into that one single thing which is God."

[103] The Servant sent these figures and sayings of the Fathers to his spiritual daughter with the intention that she too might severely chastise her body after the example of those Fathers. Accepting this, she began to deprive herself and afflict herself with hair garments and ropes, dreadful bonds, sharp iron nails, and many other things of that kind. When the Servant perceived this, He prescribes moderate bodily chastisement for Elizabeth. he sent her these instructions: "If indeed, daughter, you have resolved to lead a spiritual life according to my counsel, as you yourself have asked of me, abandon this excessive severity and harshness. For it is suited neither to feminine weakness nor to your well-constituted nature and disposition. Christ did not say, 'Take up my cross upon your shoulders,' but he said, 'Let each one take up his own cross.' You must not wish to imitate the rigid severity of the ancient Fathers, nor even the harsh exercises of your spiritual Father. Matt. 16:24; Luke 9:23. But from these you shall select only certain ones that the weakness of your frail body can well endure, so that you may indeed extinguish and destroy vices in yourself, but live long in body. That assuredly is an excellent exercise and most useful for you." When she wished to know why the Servant himself had embraced such harsh exercises, which nevertheless he would not recommend to her or others to follow, he referred her to the writings of the Fathers, saying: "It is recorded that formerly among the Fathers some led a life that was almost inhuman and harsh beyond what can be believed, to such a degree that in these more recent times certain delicate people cannot even hear of it without horror. For they do not consider how much fervent love and devotion, joined with the power of God, can both do and endure for God's sake. For such a fervently loving person, even all things that are impossible become entirely possible in God. Thus David in the Psalm says: 'In my God I shall leap over a wall.' Psalm 17:30. On the other hand, in those same Lives of the Fathers we equally read that some passed over this harshness and severity, and yet both groups aimed at one and the same goal. The blessed Apostles Peter and John were not drawn in the same way. Who can resolve and explain all these things, which are truly wondrous? -- unless that God is wonderful in his Saints, and according to the multitude of his greatness he wills to be praised in diverse ways. Furthermore, we are not all endowed with the same constitution and nature of body, whence what profits one harms another. It should not therefore be thought that if someone perhaps cannot embrace such severity, he is thereby hindered from attaining the highest perfection. Although, on the other hand, the soft and delicate ought not to scorn or condemn such rigid exercises and harsh manner of living in others, or interpret them in the worse part. Let each one be intent only on himself and observe what God requires of him, and satisfy that, leaving others aside. For the most part it is certainly better to follow a moderate and discreet rigor and severity than an excessive and indiscreet one. But since it is difficult to hold the mean, it is better to fall a little short of the mean than to exceed it too much. For it not infrequently happens that when too much is taken from nature in a disordered way, it is afterward necessary to indulge it in a disordered way too much; although many Fathers of outstanding holiness, from the most ardent fervor, exceeded in this regard. Such a rigid manner of living and the examples recounted may profit those who are too indulgent toward themselves and treat themselves too softly and abuse their wanton and untamed body to their own destruction. But for you and those like you, they are not so fitting. God has various crosses with which he chastises and tests his friends. Indeed, I believe that God wishes to place upon your shoulders another cross, not a little more troublesome than this bodily mortification. When it comes, receive it with equanimity."

[104] Not long afterward, God began to afflict this Virgin with prolonged illnesses, Her illness. so that she suffered from poor bodily health until the last day of her life. She wrote to the Servant that things had turned out for her just as he had predicted. To which the Servant sent the following reply by letter: "Not only through me, dearest daughter, has God foretold your future crosses, but he has also afflicted and wounded me in you, especially since I have no one else who will hereafter with equal zeal and such sincere fidelity lend me assistance in completing and finishing my literary works, just as you did when you were well. He tries to avert it with prayers. For this reason the same Servant prayed to God from his heart on your behalf, that if it were pleasing to him, he would restore your health. But when he was not immediately heard according to his wish, moved by a certain friendly indignation toward God, he said that he would henceforth write no more books about him, and that he would also abandon that morning greeting which he was accustomed to offer, unless he restored you to health. When therefore, under this perturbation of spirit, he had sat down in his chapel according to his custom, withdrawn from his senses, he seemed to see a throng of Angels entering that chapel and singing a heavenly song for the purpose of consoling him. He learns from Angels. For they knew that at that time he was harassed by no ordinary affliction. When they asked why he was so sorrowful and why he did not join them as a companion in their singing, he confessed to them his perturbation of spirit, by which he had been moved toward the most loving God, because he would not hear his prayers poured out for your health. But they urged him to be calm and not to behave so, since God had permitted that bodily illness to befall you for your supreme benefit, and that this would be your cross in this world, Given for the increase of grace and glory. by which you would obtain the greatest grace in the present and a manifold reward in the future life. Therefore, daughter, be patient, and accept this affliction as nothing other than a most welcome gift from God's providence."

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Concerning childlike devotion in new recruits of Christ.

[105] Afterward, when the Servant came to visit her, this afflicted Virgin asked him to relate to her something about spiritual matters that would not display great severity, and yet would be pleasant to hear for a soul that loves God. Henry's devout practice at the letting of blood. The Servant therefore began to recount to her certain things about his childlike devotion and piety, and said: "When the Servant was still of youthful age and vigorous spirit, for a long time he maintained this custom: that whenever he had his vein opened, he would betake himself to Christ hanging on the cross, and stretching forth his wounded arm, with intimate sighs he would say to him: 'O most dear of all friends, Lord Jesus, remember, I beseech you, that among men this custom prevails: that friends visit their friends when they have had blood let, so that they may recover healthy blood. But you yourself know, my Lord, The shaving of hair. that no one is dearer to me than you alone. For this reason I come to you, that you may bless this wound of mine and create good blood for me.' During the same period of his youth, after he had been shaved and his face was suffused with its most elegant color, he betook himself to the Lord Jesus, saying: 'Sweetest Jesus, if my face and countenance surpassed the color of all roses, however lovely, your Servant would display this beauty to none but you alone. And although it is the heart rather that you look upon, and do not greatly regard externals, yet by this very fact my heart shows you a certain token of love: that I come to you, not to anyone else.' Putting on new garments. If at any time he had put on a new tunic or cowl, he would first retire to his accustomed place and pray the Lord of heaven, by whose bounty he had obtained that garment, to make it salutary for him and to grant him, according to his most gracious will, the grace to wear it out."

[106] [Offering a garland of roses to the Mother of God, he is refreshed with heavenly music.] While still in his childlike age, when the new spring arrived and the most beautiful little flowers were bursting forth, according to his custom he restrained himself from plucking or touching the flowers until he had fashioned for his spiritual beloved a pleasant and most lovely crown from those very flowers, in which the first flower he plucked he placed in honor of the Mother of God. Then, when the time seemed to him to have arrived, he picked the flowers, not without many most loving thoughts, and carrying them to his cell, he fashioned a garland from them; and entering the choir of the church or the chapel of the Blessed Virgin, before her image, on most humbly bended knees, he placed the garland upon the head of that image, with this intention of soul: that she herself was the most gracious of all flowers and the verdant loveliness of his heart; and he prayed that she would not despise the first-fruits of flowers offered by her little servant. At a certain time, when he had adorned that most beautiful Lady of his with such a crown, in a vision heaven seemed to open to him, and he beheld the most luminous angelic spirits, clad in splendid garments, flying up and down; at the same time he drank in with his ears a melody far sweeter than any that had ever been heard, sung by those most delightful Spirits in the palace of heaven. In particular, he heard them singing a certain song about the Virgin Mother with such harmony of voices that from excessive delight his whole soul melted. The song was similar to that which is sung in the Sequence, as they call it, on the feast of All Saints: "There the Queen of Virgins, transcending the summit of orders," etc. And he himself also began to sing together with them. At that time his soul drank in an abundance of heavenly taste and sweetness and ardent desire toward God.

[107] At another time also, at the beginning of May, he had with great devotion placed a rose garland upon that most beloved Lady of his, the Queen of heaven, according to his custom. He sings her praises with the Angels. On that same day, very early in the morning, wishing to indulge himself in sleep because he had returned home weary from a journey, and proposing on that occasion to leave the glorious Virgin unsaluted, when the hour of rising according to his custom arrived, he seemed to himself to be standing as it were in a certain heavenly choir, where the Magnificat was being sung in praise of the Mother of God. When it was finished, the most sacred Virgin approached the Servant and commanded him to begin singing the verse "O Vernalis Rosula" (O Little Rose of Spring), etc. He wondered what she meant by this, and nevertheless, wishing to obey her, he began to sing with a cheerful spirit, "O Vernalis Rosula"; and at once from that angelic company standing in the choir, three or four youths joined their voices with his; then all the rest competed eagerly; and they sang so grandly and sweetly, as if all the musical instruments in the world were resounding there. But since his weak nature was unable to bear the excessive sweetness of that song, he came back to himself.

[108] On the day after the Assumption of the same Virgin, he was again permitted to see the immense joys of the heavenly homeland, but no one was admitted who had approached unworthily. And so, when the Servant was very eager to enter, a certain youth seized him by the hand and said: "It is not, as you suppose, Brother, permitted for you to enter this time; but stand outside here, since you are held bound by a debt and must first make satisfaction for your fault before you can hear the heavenly songs." Having said this, he led him by a winding and tortuous path into a certain underground cavern, utterly dark and empty and dreadful in appearance. The Servant could not proceed in any direction, just like those who, cast into chains, are not permitted to see either the sun or the moon. Here, wretchedly afflicted, he began to draw deep sighs and display gestures of lamentation over his captivity. Shortly afterward the youth returned and asked him how he was. He replied that he was doing very badly. Then the youth said: "Know that the supreme Empress of the heavens is at present angry with you on account of the fault for which you are held captive here." But the Servant, greatly terrified by this, He is rebuked for refusing out of humility to preach at her feasts. said: "Alas, wretched me! What, then, have I done against her?" The youth replied: "She is indignant that you preach about her so unwillingly on her feast days, to the point that even yesterday, on her principal feast, you told your Superiors that you did not wish to deliver a sermon about her." To this the Servant said: "I, my lord, consider her of such great dignity that I deem myself unworthy to speak of her publicly to the people; and for this reason I leave this task to those who are older and more qualified, since I plainly feel that they can preach far more excellently about her than wretched I can." But when the youth insisted that the Mother of God found his sermons very pleasing and that he ought not henceforth to evade this duty, the Servant, dissolved in tears, said to the youth: "I beseech you, dearest one, reconcile me to the grace of the most blessed Mother of God. Behold, I promise you on my word that I shall not henceforth commit anything of this kind." The youth smiled and, gently consoling him, led him out of the prison and brought him back to his own place, saying to him: "I have perceived from the placid countenance of the heavenly Empress and from her words about you that she has set aside her anger toward you and will always continue to regard you with maternal fidelity."

[109] During that time it had become his custom that whenever he went down from his cell or went back up again, he would make his way through the choir of the church Going out from his cell, he salutes the Venerable Sacrament. and salute the most worthy Sacrament, thinking thus to himself: "If someone has an extraordinary friend dwelling along the way where he is going, he is usually glad to extend his journey somewhat, so that he may visit his friend and speak with him familiarly."

[110] On one occasion it happened that he asked God to grant him a festive Carnival, because he did not wish to receive one from any mortal creature. And so, withdrawn from his senses, he seemed to see the Lord Jesus entering in the form he had when he was thirty years old, to fulfill his desire and make for him a heavenly Carnival. The same Lord Jesus then took a cup full of wine into his hands He seemed to celebrate a sacred Carnival with Christ. and offered it to the three persons sitting there at table, one after another. The first, having drunk the wine, fell down, deprived of strength. The second was somewhat weakened. The third felt no discomfort. What these things meant the Lord explained to the Servant, showing him what the difference is between a beginner, one making progress, and a perfect person, and how they conduct themselves differently in the abundance of divine sweetness.

[111] When the Servant had recounted these and other things of this kind to his sick daughter, These writings, stored away, were revealed to another. he put an end to his discourse. But she secretly noted down everything she had heard and, so that they might be preserved, enclosed them in a chest. At a certain time, however, another devout nun came to her, saying: "Do you have, sister, something of a divine mystery stored away in your chest? Last night in my dreams I saw a certain heavenly little boy standing in that same chest, holding in his hand a certain musical instrument of the sweetest kind, from which he produced spiritual songs so pleasant and melodious that everyone was filled with spiritual joy and delight by them. I pray you, my sister, bring forth what you keep enclosed there, that the rest of us may also read it." She was silent and refused to disclose anything from it, since she had been forbidden to do so.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

How the Servant led back to God people given over to the vanities of the world, and how he consoled the afflicted.

[112] At one time a long period had passed during which the Servant had communicated nothing to his spiritual daughter. She therefore wrote a letter asking him to make known to her something by which her afflicted heart might be purified. The letter was written in approximately this manner: "A wretched person receives some consolation if he sees others more wretched than himself; and likewise an afflicted man takes courage if he perceives that his neighbors have at times been more calamitous and yet have been divinely aided." To this the Servant wrote back as follows: "That you may bear your crosses more moderately, I shall say something about afflictions, to the praise of God. I knew a man to whom, by God's permission, monstrous crosses came, which touched his celebrated reputation and esteem. That same man's entire endeavor and desire was directed to this: He draws various people from worldly that he might love God with his whole heart and so commend him to all that he would be loved by them above all things, and that he might draw them from harmful and vain love -- which indeed was accomplished in many of both sexes. But when the devil saw his prey being snatched from him and restored to God, he bore it exceedingly ill, and appearing to certain devout persons, he threatened the Servant, saying that he had resolved to take excellent revenge upon him. Meanwhile the Servant came to a certain monastery of that order where both religious men lived by their own rule and religious women likewise used their own regulations. And sensual love. In that monastery, two religious persons, one male and the other female, had conspired in a wondrous love and familiarity with each other. The devil, indeed, had so veiled this in their blinded hearts with the appearance of virtue that they thought it by no means subject to fault, but divinely permitted to them. When the Servant was asked whether that friendship could endure in accordance with God's will, he flatly denied it, declaring that their opinion was false and contrary to the Christian way of life. And so he brought it about that the friendship was dissolved and that they thenceforth lived purely and chastely."

[113] While these things were taking place, a certain holy Virgin named Anna, rapt in spirit, saw a great crowd of demons gathered above the Servant, crying out in loud voices: "O that wicked monk! Come, let us attack him and kill him!" Meanwhile they heaped curses and execrations upon him, because by his admonitions and counsels he had expelled them from that welcome place; and all together, with the fiercest gestures and expressions, they swore that they would always be intent upon him and would perpetually lay snares for him until they avenged themselves upon him; Against the assaults of demons. and even if they could perhaps do him no harm in body or possessions, yet they would greatly diminish his honor and name among secular people, and would inflict upon him foul and shameful things, and although he might avoid all occasions with the utmost care, nevertheless by tricks and the undermining of lies they would accomplish it. The aforesaid Virgin Anna was terrified as she heard these things, and prayed the most holy Mother of God to bring him help in the dangers threatening him. The most loving Mother kindly replied: "They can do him no harm without the permission of my Son. But whatever he permits to happen to him will be far most useful and most salutary for him. Wherefore bid him be of good courage." When she had made this known to the Servant, He is defended by Angels. he began to fear the council and hostile conspiracy of the demons, and, as he was frequently accustomed to do in his anguishes, ascending the hill where there was a chapel dedicated in honor of all the Angels, according to his custom he circled the chapel nine times with prayers, and this in honor of the nine angelic orders, earnestly asking them to stand by him against all his enemies. Then early the next morning, in a spiritual vision, he was led into a pleasant field and saw around himself a most numerous throng of blessed Angels, willing to bring him aid and consoling him with these words: "The Lord is with you and will never abandon you in any of your anguishes and dangers. Do not therefore cease your effort to draw people devoted to the world to the love of God."

[114] Strengthened by these things, he strove mightily to bring people of every kind back to God. He converts a sinner about to die. A certain man, wonderfully bold and fearsome, who had not confessed for eighteen full years, he piously won over with good words and gained him, to such a degree that, touched by divine grace, he confessed to the Servant with such contrition of heart that both shed tears together. The same man not long afterward departed in a happy death. Twelve prostitutes. On one occasion he converted twelve prostitutes from that depravity. What evils he suffered from them, however, could not be told. In the end, only two of them persevered. In that region, in many places, there were many women, both religious and secular, who from frailty and instability of spirit had monstrously fallen into vices. Those wretches had no one to whom, for shame, they dared confess the most grievous pain of their hearts, Various women. but from excessive anguish they were frequently assailed by the temptation to lay hands upon themselves. But when they learned that the Servant was of the most compassionate spirit toward all the afflicted, taking courage, each one hastened to him, especially at the time when danger threatened, and they pitiably set forth to him their anguishes and perils by which they were oppressed. When he saw those wretched women so wretchedly afflicted, weeping together with them, he kindly consoled them and came to their aid, and although not without danger to his reputation and honor, With danger to his own reputation. he nevertheless exerted himself so that they might recover both their souls and their good name, meanwhile making light of whatever malicious tongues might attach to him.

[115] He is made Chaplain of the Mother of God and is covered by her mantle. Among the rest there was one, born of illustrious family, who grieved greatly over her fall. The most blessed Virgin Mary, appearing to her, commanded her to go to her Chaplain (indicating the Servant), by whom she would be cured. But when she said she did not know him at all, the Mother of mercy said to her: "Look under my mantle, where I keep him under my protection, and carefully study his face, so that you may recognize him. For he is the consoler and helper of all the wretched, and he himself will console you." She came to the Servant and recognized his face, as she had previously beheld it in spirit, and asked him to be gracious to her, recounting her fall. He received her kindly and brought her aid with all his might, so that she might recover her lost reputation, just as the Mother of mercy had charged him.

CHAPTER XL.

Concerning a monstrous affliction that befell him as he thirsted for the salvation of souls.

[116] In this way he assisted innumerable afflicted people. But on account of these works of piety he had to endure many dreadful crosses, which, however, the loving Lord foretold to him beforehand in a vision, in the manner that follows. On a certain day he came in the evening to a certain inn; but the next morning, around daybreak, he was led in a vision to a certain place where the sacrifice of the Mass was to be celebrated, and this duty fell to him by lot. The singers, however, were singing the Introit of the Mass, as they call it, from the Martyrs, namely: He learns in a vision that great tribulations are threatening him. "Many are the tribulations of the just." He heard this unwillingly, and wishing another office to be sung, he said: "Why do you force the Martyrs upon us? Why do you carry on so madly singing about Martyrs, when today no Martyr's feast is being celebrated?" But they, fixing their eyes upon him and pointing with their fingers, said: "Even today God has his Martyrs, no less than ever before. Only prepare yourself and continue singing." He turned the leaves of the book they call the Missal, placed before him, back and forth, and wished to say an office either of Confessors or from some other source, rather than of Martyrs who had endured dreadful things. But however many leaves he turned, all the pages were full of offices of Martyrs. Then, seeing that it could not be otherwise, he sang with them, but in a plainly mournful voice. Then after a little while, addressing them again, he said: "This is strange enough and unusual, what you are doing now. Why do we not rather sing 'Gaudeamus' about pleasant things, than about Martyrs, which is mournful matter?" But they answered in return: "You do not know, friend, what is happening. This song about Martyrs comes first; afterward, at an opportune time, the festive 'Gaudeamus' will follow." When he came to himself, he trembled in his whole heart at what he had seen and said: "Alas, loving Jesus, must I again bear crosses?" And when on the journey his face was downcast, his companion said to him: "What is the matter, Father, that you appear so sad?" He answered: "Ah, my Brother, a Mass of Martyrs must be sung for me here" -- wishing to indicate that it had been revealed to him by God that he would be monstrously tormented. But since the Brother did not understand this, he too kept the matter to himself.

[117] Then, when he came to a town before the Nativity of Christ, when the nights are longest, according to his custom he began to be tormented by bitter afflictions, to such a degree that by human judgment he thought his heart would burst from pain, if such a thing had ever happened to anyone. For he was so gravely beset by these afflictions that there was pitiably taken from him whatever he had remaining of ease, or comfort, or temporal honor, or anything else that could refresh a person, on which he could lean. By the snares of a brazen woman. The most bitter cross was of this kind: Among many others whom he wished to lead back to God, a certain deceitful and wily woman came to him, bearing a wolf's heart under the cover of a respectable (as it seemed) manner of life; and she knew how to conceal this so well that for a very long time the Servant could not detect it. She had previously fallen into shameful vice and disgrace with a certain man; and not content with this crime, she wished to heap it higher by assigning the child born of her to another who was entirely innocent. The Servant, however, being unwilling to repel her from himself on account of this disgrace, heard her confessions and rendered her the necessary and honorable services -- more, indeed, than the other religious Brothers of that region, whom they call Terminaries. But when this had gone on for a long time, both he himself and other trustworthy people clearly discovered that she was secretly given over to the same crimes as before. This, however, he suppressed in silence, not wishing to expose her before everyone. But nevertheless he withdrew from her and did not render her the customary services. When she perceived this, she sent him word not to act thus, for if she were deprived of the benefits she received from him, he would pay the penalty: she would give him the little child she had by the secular man, and she would affirm him to be its father, and by this very thing she would brand him with such a mark of ignominy that he would be most vilely defamed everywhere. He was greatly struck down by these words, and standing silent within himself, groaning from the depth of his breast, he said within: "Anguishes surround me on every side and I know not where to turn; if I do this, woe is me; but if I do not do it, again woe is me; and thus anguishes entirely beset me, so that they can overwhelm me." Meanwhile he waited with anxious heart to see what God would at last permit that demon to do against him. But he took this counsel with himself and God: that it was better for the salvation of both his body and his soul to choose, between two evils, rather to be separated from that wicked woman, whatever might happen to his reputation; and this he also followed. A child is falsely imposed upon him. She was so provoked by this that, running back and forth to secular and religious people, out of monstrous wickedness she willingly branded herself with the greatest ignominy, merely in order to forge a cross for the wretched man; and she affirmed before all that she had conceived a child by him. This matter greatly offended all who gave credence to her words, and all the more so inasmuch as his well-known holiness had spread more widely. This pierced the very marrow of his heart and soul, and he went about wasting away in himself from misery and anguish, and passed sleepless nights and troubled days, and his brief sleep was mingled with terrors. He therefore looked up with a lamentable face and deep sighs to God and said: "Behold, Lord, that wretched time has come; my hour is at hand; how shall I be able to endure the immense pressures of my heart? O that I were dead, so that I might not perceive this calamity by sight or hearing! He flees to God. O loving Jesus, you yourself know that I have venerated your most excellent name all my days and have striven far and wide to make it lovable to all and have offered it for honor, and you wish to inflict such great ignominy upon my name? I may rightly complain of this. Behold, the illustrious Dominican Order will receive such great infamy from me -- which certainly I shall never cease to lament. O the anguishes of my heart! All the devout who have hitherto honored me as a holy man, which could have given me courage, will now look upon me as nothing other than a deceitful corruptor of men -- which surely inflicts dreadful wounds upon my soul."

[118] While the Servant had been occupied for some time amid these complaints and laments, He prevents the murder of the child. so that life and strength were failing him, a certain woman came to him, saying: "Why do you waste yourself so, my lord? Take courage; behold, I shall easily help you, if only you will obey me, so that you suffer no loss of reputation. Be, I pray, of great and unbroken spirit." He, looking up, said: "By what means will you accomplish this?" She replied: "I shall take the little child secretly in my arms under my garment, and by night I shall either bury it alive or kill it by driving a needle into its brain. Once it is removed, all this tumult will be quieted, and your reputation will remain intact." To this the Servant answered indignantly: "O most cruel of all women! Will you thus put this innocent little child to death? What is to be charged against him, because his mother is so wicked? Will you bury him alive? Far be it, far be it, that such a crime should ever be committed with my consent! Nothing worse can happen to me from this than the extinction of my reputation and name; and truly, even if the esteem of an entire kingdom depended on me, I would willingly offer it today and resign it to almighty God, rather than allow this innocent blood to be shed." But she said: "This infant is not born of you; why does it trouble you if he perishes thus?" And at the same time, producing a sharp knife, she said: "Let me take him away from your sight; and I shall quickly cut his throat, or drive this knife into his heart, and thus, with him quickly dispatched, there will be peace." Then he said: "Be silent, wicked woman! Whoever this little child may belong to, he has been formed in the image of God and redeemed by the most sacred blood of Christ. I do not wish, therefore, that his blood be shed so cruelly." But the woman, moved by dark rage, replied: "If you do not wish him to be killed, at least allow him to be placed in the church tomorrow morning, as is done with other abandoned infants; or else you must necessarily bear the intolerable expenses until he is raised."

[119] The Servant said: "Indeed, I trust in almighty God, who has provided for me until now, that he will easily furnish the necessities both for me and for this little child. He takes the child into his arms. Go, therefore, and bring the infant here to me secretly, so that I may look at him." When therefore he had placed the little child in his bosom, the infant smiled at him. Whereupon, groaning from the depth of his breast, he said: "Shall I kill such a beautiful little child who smiles at me? Far be it. Indeed I shall willingly endure whatever happens to me on his account." He speaks to him out of compassion. And turning his face gently toward the infant, he said: "O you pitiable little boy, how wretched an orphan you are! For he who begot you does not wish to have you as his own; your faithless mother wished to cast you out like a rejected dog. But by God's permission you have been given to me, that I may be your parent. And this I shall willingly do, nor shall I receive you from any other source than from God himself. You, sweetest infant, sit in my bosom, and although you are incapable of speech, yet you gaze upon me with placid eyes. But I look upon you with a wounded heart and weeping eyes and loving kisses of my lips. Behold, I bathe your tender face with my warm tears." But when the most beautiful infant felt the Servant's copious tears watering his face, he too wept bitterly, and so they wept together. When the Servant saw the infant crying, he lovingly pressed him to his breast, saying: "Cease now, my dearest son. Shall I kill you because you are not born of me and I must endure harsh labors on your account? I cannot in any way afflict you, since you will be my son and God's, and as long as, by God's providence, any morsel remains to me, I shall share it with you in praise of God, and willingly endure whatever comes upon me from this." When the fierce woman who had intended to kill the infant heard these lamentable words, she was so deeply pierced in her heart that she burst into loud wailing, so that she had to be restrained, the Servant fearing lest the matter be divulged publicly. After she had wept enough, he returned the infant to her, and blessing him, said: "May God bless you, He arranges for the child's upbringing. and may his holy Angels protect you from all evil." And he ordered that the child be well cared for at his own expense.

[120] After this, the detestable woman, the mother of this infant, continued to defame the Servant more and more everywhere, especially where it could harm him most, to such a degree that very many respectable people pitied his plight and frequently invoked death upon that woman from God the just Judge. He prevents the murder of the faithless mother. On one occasion a certain kinsman of his came to him and said: "Woe to that sacrilegious woman who has committed such a great crime against you! Truly I shall avenge you upon her. I shall lie in wait somewhere on that very long bridge over the river, and when she crosses I shall drown her from the bridge into the river, so that her monstrous cruelty may be avenged." The Servant replied: "Do not do this, my friend. Far be it that anyone should perish on my account. The Lord, who knows all secrets, knows that she has unjustly foisted this child upon me. Therefore I commend this cause to his hands, that he himself may either kill her or allow her to live, as he sees fit. And even if I were to overlook the danger to my soul in procuring her death, still I would honor in her all chaste and respectable women and would allow her to live." To this the other answered indignantly: "For my part it makes no difference whether I kill a woman or a man, if someone had inflicted such an insult upon me." The Servant replied: "Do not do it, for that would be a monstrous savagery and barbarous recklessness. Cease, therefore, and allow all the crosses to come upon me that the Lord wishes me to endure."

[121] But as the affliction itself increased, at a certain time, overcome by weakness of spirit, when he was too heavily burdened, he wished to seek some refreshment and relief. And so he went to two friends of his, intending to seek consolation from them, who, while fortune smiled, had shown themselves familiar and faithful to him. But there God permitted him to experience in reality, in both of them, how nothing is solid or whole in creatures. For by those two and their associates he was cast down far more grievously than by common people. One of them received him with harsh words and unworthily turned his face away from him, not abstaining from abuse and insults. When afflicted, he received abuse instead of solace from his companions. Among other things he said injuriously to him, he ordered him to desist from his friendship and familiarity, because he was ashamed of his association. Those words were borne through the inmost marrow of his heart, and he said to him in a pitiable voice: "O my Brother, if God had permitted you to be plunged into this thick mire, as he has permitted me, I would readily spring toward you and kindly pull you out. But for you, alas, it is not enough that you see me deeply submerged; you yourself also strive to trample upon me. I complain of this with a most afflicted heart to the most loving Jesus." But the other ordered him to be silent, saying with abuse: "It is over for you. Not only your sermons, but also the books you have written, will be rejected." But he, raising his eyes to heaven, gently replied: "I trust in almighty God that my books and writings will in due time be far more welcome and prized than ever before." Such was the truly lamentable consolation he received from his chief companions and friends. In that same town, up to that time, devout people had provided for him sufficiently in necessary things. But when those false rumors had reached them, all who believed them withdrew their help and friendship from him, until, taught the certain truth, they again returned to him.

[122] On a certain day he sat down to rest a little. And meanwhile, withdrawn from his senses, he seemed to himself to be carried away to a certain intelligible region; there someone was speaking in the depths of his soul in this manner: "Listen, listen to the word of consolation that I shall now read to you." He listened with attentive ears. He then read to him in Latin those words of Isaiah: "You shall no more be called Forsaken, and your land shall no longer be called Desolate, but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Inhabited, for the Lord has taken pleasure in you." Having read these through, he repeated them a third and fourth time. Isaiah 62:4. Wondering at this, He is raised up by God's consolation. he said: "What does it mean that you repeat these things to me so many times?" "I do this," he said, "for this reason: that with your spirit confirmed in God you may trust him firmly, since he will also provide necessities for the land of his friends -- that is, for their mortal bodies -- and if anything is taken from them in one place, he will supply it in another. So also, in his kindness, God will do for you." All this afterward came to pass in reality, and so evidently that many laughed for joy and praised God, whose eyes had previously shed tears from excessive compassion. It was then with this afflicted man no differently than with a little creature torn and devoured by wild beasts, which still exhales some scent, to which afflicted and hungry hornets fly in a whole swarm and utterly devour the remains of the bones and carry the extracted marrow away with them through the air. For in that manner, wretchedly, he was made known far and wide, and this by people religious in appearance, who did it under the cover of pious complaints and pious conversations, as if to refresh one another from friendship, when in fact there was no fidelity in them. From this, moreover, he sometimes perceived the hostile stings of evil thoughts arising, in this manner: "If someone, loving Jesus, were to suffer something from Jews or pagans, From whose hand he is taught to accept tribulations. or from publicly wicked persons, it could somehow be tolerated. But these seem to be your friends who torment me so savagely, and by this very thing the cross is all the more intolerable." Moreover, when he came to himself and weighed everything by right reason, he attributed no blame to them, but sensed that God had accomplished it through them, and that he himself must suffer thus, and that God adopts his friends through their enemies for their especial salvation. In particular, when stirred by such stings of impatience, the following response was given to him inwardly: "Remember that the Lord Jesus, in his company, wished to have not only the blessed John, his dearest disciple, and the blessed Peter, most faithful to him, but also to endure that impure Judas. You, therefore, who desire to be a follower of Christ, why do you unwillingly bear your Judas?" Upon this a sudden thought replied thus: "Alas, loving Jesus, if your afflicted friend had but one Judas, it would be tolerable; but now every corner abounds with them, so that when one departs, five others arise." But to this the following response was given inwardly: "Whoever is of a well-ordered spirit ought not to consider anyone his Judas, but rather God's co-worker, through whom he himself ought to be exercised for his especial salvation. Indeed, when Judas betrayed Christ with a kiss, Christ called him his friend, saying: 'Friend, for what purpose have you come?'" Matt. 26:50.

[123] After the Servant had been more than sufficiently harassed in this manner He fears lest the calumny reach the Prelates of the Order. and had endured such calamity for no small time, a certain small consolation remained to him, by which alone he was still sustained: that the rumor spread about him had not yet reached the chief Prelates of the Dominican Order. But God suddenly took away even this little consolation. For the one who presided over the entire Order and the Provincial, as they call him, of Germany arrived simultaneously in the city where the wicked woman had falsely denounced the Servant. When the wretch, dwelling elsewhere, learned of this, exceedingly terrified in spirit, he thought thus within himself: "Perhaps your Superiors will give credence to that wicked woman; and if they do, it is over for your life. For they will cast you into such a penitential prison that it would be better to endure death itself." This anguish seized him for twelve continuous days and nights, so that he always expected this punishment upon himself. On a certain day, out of human weakness, he broke forth with certain less-than-composed gestures, overcome by the excessive anguish that then held him; and under this lamentable condition of both his inner and outer man, he sought, apart from people, a certain secret place where he could neither be seen nor heard by anyone, and sometimes he drew deep sighs; sometimes tears moistened his eyes, and presently they rushed impetuously down his cheeks. He could not remain still anywhere because of the excessive anguish of his heart; now he suddenly sat down, presently he leaped up quickly and ran back and forth through the cell, as if he were wrestling with the anguish of death. Sometimes words of this kind passed through the depths of his heart: "Alas, most loving Jesus, what will you make of me?" When therefore he was in this wretched state, it was divinely inspired within him: "Where now is your resignation? Where is that maintaining of the same spirit in adversity and prosperity? -- which you yourself cheerfully advised and urged others to do, that they should promptly resign themselves to God and not cling to anything." Restless, he flees to prayer. To which he tearfully replied: "Do you ask where my resignation is? I rather ask of you where is the inexhaustible mercy of God toward his friends. Behold, I expect nothing but the utmost calamity, and I have already perished within myself, like one who is to be condemned to death and has suffered the loss of his possessions and reputation. I thought God was most kind and most merciful and most faithful toward all who dared to surrender and resign themselves to him. But alas, he seems to have failed in my case. Alas, that fountain of tenderness which could never be blocked allows itself to be held back from wretched me. Ah, that most indulgent heart, whose kindness the whole world testifies and proclaims, has utterly abandoned wretched me. He has turned away from me his most luminous eyes and most serene countenance. O face of my God! O most loving heart, I never would have believed, never would have hoped of you, that you would reject me to this degree. O inexhaustible abyss, come to the aid of a wretch who is already nearly dead and lost. You know that all my hope and consolation is placed in you alone, and in no other dwelling on earth. Come, all you who are afflicted, I beg you hear me today. Surely no one should take scandal from this my lamentable perturbation and uncontrolled gestures. For as long as resignation was on my lips, it was pleasant to speak of it. But now I am entirely wounded in heart, and the arrows of the Lord have pierced the inmost marrow of all my veins and have drained my very brain, so that there is no limb in my whole body that is not utterly consumed with pain and torment; and how, in the end, can I be resigned?" In this manner, when he had been so wretchedly situated until midday and his mind was exceedingly weakened, at last he sat down quietly, and turning away from himself, he turned to God, and submitting and resigning himself to his will, he said: "Thy will be done."

[124] When therefore he sat thus, in an ecstasy of mind he saw one of his spiritual daughters, a holy Virgin, standing before him -- she who, while still among the living, had predicted that he would suffer much, He is taught that tranquility is at hand. but that God would deliver him from all things. This Virgin, I say, he perceived to be present with him and gently consoling him. But he took this badly and accused her of lying. Then the Virgin, smiling, came nearer and, extending to him her sacred hand, said: "Behold, I give you my word in the name of almighty God that you will by no means be abandoned by him, but by his help and kindness you will overcome both this and any other troubles." The Servant replied: "So immense is my present pain and anguish that I cannot henceforth give credence to you, daughter, unless you provide me evident proof of this." To which she said: "Behold, And that the judgments of the wicked are to be counted as nothing. God will, of his own accord, purge and excuse you before all devout and good people; but the wicked, in their wickedness, judge all things -- which a wise and sensible friend of God ought to count as nothing. Moreover, the Dominican Order, which you lament as afflicted with this disgrace, will on your account be all the more welcome, both to God and to all who use reason. And that I affirm this with certainty, you may know by this proof: Behold, God, just and terrible, will shortly avenge you and will pour out his fury upon that execrable woman who is the author of this calamity for you, and will suddenly destroy her. And all who were her special helpers in spreading evil about you will likewise all perish shortly." Upon hearing this, the Servant, made more cheerful about his deliverance, waited to see what end God would impose upon that tragedy.

[125] Within a few days all these things truly came to pass. For that sacrilegious woman suddenly expired, God punishing her, His revilers punished by sudden death. and of the others, very many who had more grievously harassed him also quickly departed this life, some without reason, some without confession and the Eucharist. Among these was one Prelate who had dreadfully afflicted him. He appeared to the Servant in a vision after his death and told him that he had been deprived of life and dignity for this reason, and that he must endure dreadful torments for a long time. When certain friends of his, who knew all these matters, beheld this unusual vengeance and sudden death of his adversaries, they praised God, He is restored to his former esteem. saying: "Truly God stands by this good man, and it is clear that he has been wronged; wherefore he rightly deserves to be held henceforth in greater value and esteem and reputation for holiness, both among us and among all sensible people, than if he had not suffered these things." And so, by God's doing, that storm was quieted, as had been predicted by the Virgin in the vision. He often thought afterward: "It is most true, Lord, what is commonly said: 'Whom God wishes well, no one can harm.'" Furthermore, the companion who in this affair had not shown himself friendly toward him, as was said above, and who did not long afterward survive, appeared to him after his death -- all impediment having been removed by which he had been detained from the contemplation of the face of God -- in a luminous and golden garment, lovingly embraced him, gently pressed his face to his cheeks, and besought him to forgive what had offended him, and that between them there might be everlasting friendship. He is freed from all trouble. This was most pleasing to the Servant, and he embraced him again in the most friendly manner. Presently the other vanished and departed to the heavenly realms. Afterward, when it seemed opportune to the Lord, the Servant, having suffered much, was divinely refreshed from all his affliction, and this with interior peace of heart, tranquil rest, and luminous grace. He praised God from the depths of his heart for this affliction above all that had passed, and said that he would not wish, for the whole world, not to have endured all these things. He then easily perceived, from God's illumination, that he had been more gloriously raised up and refreshed and lifted up into God by this humiliation than by all the other afflictions he had endured from childhood up to that time.

CHAPTER XLI.

Concerning certain interior vexations.

[126] When the Servant's spiritual daughter had read the aforementioned affliction and had wept enough from compassion, she asked him to speak also about interior vexations. He replied that he would recount two things about interior troubles. "There was," he said, "in a certain monastic order a man of celebrated name, to whom, by God's permission, a certain interior cross had come. Under this cross he had so utterly collapsed in spirit that night and day he afflicted and wretchedly tormented himself with tears and wailing. This same man, therefore, came to the Servant of Wisdom and, with great devotion, explained his vexation to him, beseeching him to implore help from God on his behalf through his prayers. One morning, while the Servant was praying for him and sitting in his chapel, in a vision the devil stood before him in the appearance of the blackest Ethiopian, with flaming eyes and a hellish and terrible aspect, bearing a bow in his hand. The Servant said to him: 'I adjure you by the living God The devil appears in a vision as he prays for another. to declare who you are and what you want here.' He answered in a thoroughly diabolical manner: 'I am the spirit of blasphemy, and you yourself will experience what I want.' When the Servant turned toward the door of the choir, behold, the aforementioned Brother, entering through the same door, wished to go into the choir to sing Mass. Immediately the hideous demon, drawing his bow, sent a fiery dart into the heart of that afflicted Brother, so that he nearly fell backward and could not reach the choir. The Servant, offended by this, severely rebuked that demon. But the proud demon, taking this badly, wished to shoot a fiery dart at the Servant himself with his drawn bow; but the Servant immediately turned to the Blessed Virgin and said: 'May the Virgin Mary with her loving Son bless us.' At once the demon vanished with broken strength. The next morning, the Servant explained these things to the aforementioned Brother and indicated to him certain remedies -- none other than those he wrote down in that sermon of his whose beginning is: 'Our bed is verdant,' etc."

[127] Among many others weighed down by interior crosses, on a certain occasion a secular man from another region came to the Servant and told him that he was tormented far more grievously than all others, and yet could obtain counsel from no one. "Not long ago," he said, "I had despaired and, from the intensity of pain, wished to kill myself. He snatches a man from the precipice of despair. Seized by this anguish, when I was about to throw myself headlong into the water and was rising up against myself as my own murderer, I heard a voice above me of this kind: 'Stop, stop, do not destroy yourself so shamefully. Seek out that Dominican Brother' -- and he gave him the name of the Servant, which the man had never heard -- 'and he will relieve and instruct you.'" Cheered by these words, the man refrained from destroying himself and sought out the Servant as he had been commanded. When the Servant saw the man's pitiable complaints, turning to him gently, he so filled his spirit with consolation and cheerfulness, and taught him what to do, that henceforth, relying on God's grace, he did not fall into such temptations again.

CHAPTER XLII.

What afflictions bring greater benefit to a person and greater glory to God.

[128] After these things the holy Virgin pressed the Servant with these questions: "I would like to know," she said, "which crosses are above all profitable for a person and most to the praise and honor of God." The Servant replied: "The afflictions are manifold that prepare a person and pave the way for his eternal blessedness, if only he knows how to use them rightly. He teaches why God permits the devout to be afflicted with adversity. Sometimes God permits dreadful vexations to come upon a person without his deserving them; by which he certainly wishes either to test how steadfast the person is, or to show him what he has of himself -- of which sort many examples are read in the Old Testament. Or else in these things God looks solely to his own praise and glory, as the Gospel has it concerning the man born blind, whom Christ declared innocent and gave him sight. Some are afflicted who have indeed deserved it, as that robber crucified with Christ, to whom the Lord promised blessedness because of his complete conversion to him on the cross. Luke 23:43. The afflictions of some are undeserved as far as the cause of the present vexation is concerned, and yet they are not without fault, on account of which God permits adversity to befall them -- as it is very common and usual for almighty God to suppress excessive pride and to lead a person infected by it back to himself, severely restraining and humbling the swelling of his spirit, and this by some such thing in which the person has perhaps merited no evil. Other afflictions God in his goodwill allows to come upon certain people so that through them they may be preserved from greater ones -- as happens to those who bear their purgatory here, while they are chastised with illnesses, poverty, or other evils of this kind, so that they may be spared more troublesome punishments; or whom God allows to be exercised by diabolical persons, so that in death they need not behold the monstrous faces of demons. Some suffer from the most ardent love. There are also in this world many vain and desolate afflictions Sinners. that those must endure who wish to satisfy the world in worldly things, who without doubt purchase for themselves the punishments of hell with much pain and labor -- which indeed can console devout people in their afflictions. There are others whom God frequently admonishes inwardly to turn to him with their whole heart, because he wishes to show himself familiar to them, who nevertheless through their own carelessness resist him. These God sometimes draws to himself through afflictions, so that wherever they turn, in order to escape God, by God's permission they experience nothing but adverse fortune and many inconveniences of the world, mixed with its advantages; and by this very thing, as if seizing them by the hair, he so holds them that they cannot slip from his hands. Finally, you may find many who suffer no adversity except insofar as they themselves fashion a cross for themselves, when they make much of things of no consequence. This was in fact learned by a certain grievously afflicted man when he passed by some houses and heard a woman weeping wretchedly. For when he had entered the house to console her, he asked what was tormenting her so grievously. But when she answered that she could not recover a lost needle, he immediately went out and thought thus to himself: 'O foolish woman, if you had lifted one of my bundles onto your shoulders, you would not weep over a lost needle.' Thus certain delicate persons create a cross for themselves from various causes, where none exists. But the most excellent and most outstanding cross is a Christlike affliction, The innocent. such as God the Father imposed upon his Son and still customarily imposes upon his dearest friends -- not that anyone besides the Lord Jesus alone is entirely without fault, but just as Christ in his Passion showed himself most gentle, like a sheep surrounded by wolves, so also upon his chief friends he imposes monstrous crosses, so that we, who are impatient, may learn from those illustrious men to suffer with equanimity and with a kind heart to overcome evil with good. Consider all these things, daughter, and do not bear your crosses unwillingly. For from whatever source a cross may come, it can be useful to a person, if he knows how to receive it rightly from the hands of God, to refer it to God, and to overcome it through him."

[129] The Virgin said to him: "That most excellent cross of which you spoke last, Father -- when someone suffers without his own fault -- is surely the lot of few. I would therefore like to be instructed how a person subject to faults and guilty of them ought to overcome his afflictions with God's help; for he seems to be doubly afflicted, both because he has offended God and because he is tormented from without." The Servant replied: "I shall explain this too. I myself knew a certain man How guilt or any other affliction is washed away in the blood of Christ. who maintained this custom: if out of human frailty he had committed a fault worthy of punishment, he would imitate a diligent washerwoman, and just as she first washes linen garments with soap and then brings them to clean waters and thoroughly washes out all the filth, so he too would never rest until he had spiritually obtained for himself a copious flow of the precious blood of Christ, poured out with ineffable love for the consolation and aid of all the guilty, flowing from his wounds. And in that same fervent blood he washed himself and his filth, and in that saving and bloody stream he bathed his whole self, just as little children are accustomed to be bathed in warm baths; and he did this with great devotion of spirit, joined with firm and unhesitating Catholic faith, trusting that by the almighty power of that precious blood he would be cleansed from all sin and guilt. Whether, therefore, he suffered with his own deserving or without it, he always maintained this practice before God."

CHAPTER XLIII.

How he drew certain people addicted to the world from the love of passing things and attracted them to the love of God.

[130] To call a nun back from illicit love. At the time when the Servant was earnestly applying himself to calling people back from fleeting love to God, he noticed that in certain monasteries there were people of a kind who, under a religious habit, bore worldly hearts. Among these was one who was greatly given over to illicit love and had her lovers or suitors -- which is the poison of all religion. The Servant told her that if she desired to obtain a spiritual and tranquil life, she should bid these farewell and take Eternal Wisdom as her beloved in place of her lovers. This was exceedingly distressing to her, since she was of elegant body and youthful age and had entangled herself with such people. Nevertheless he brought her to the point where she was now of a ready will to obey him. But when this good will was changed by the efforts of others, the Servant said to her: "Leave these things, daughter; behold, I predict to you that unless you do this willingly, you will do it even unwillingly." By prayers. But when she made light of his most faithful words, he earnestly besought God to draw her away from there, whether by prosperous or adverse means. And by chastisement of his own body. One day he went according to his custom to the pulpit beneath the image of the crucifix and dreadfully scourged his bared shoulders until blood flowed copiously, and he prayed God to tame her. And so it was done. For when she had returned home, He obtains a hunchback for her. a foul hump soon grew upon her back, which rendered her deformed. And so she was forced by necessity to abandon what she was unwilling to abandon for God's sake.

[131] In the same monastery, which was by no means enclosed, there was another virgin, young, of noble birth, who for many years had wretchedly worn away her heart and time, entangled in the snares of the same demon, with men of every sort; and she was already so blinded that she fled the Servant no differently than a little wild creature. For she feared being called back from her way of life by him. The blood sister of this same virgin asked the Servant to try his fortune with her, to see whether by any means he could bring her back from that pernicious way of living to God. Since he thought this scarcely possible, he said to her: Another. "I feel indeed that it would be easier to incline the heavens than for her to depart from this, and that only by death can she be drawn back." Then she entreated him most earnestly, saying that she had conceived such trust in him that whatever he earnestly asked of God, he could not suffer a refusal. Overcome by these words, the Servant pledged her his effort. But since the woman always fled from him and he could not speak with her, around the feast of Saint Margaret the virgin he noticed that she had gone out with other virgins into a field to tend flax. And so, secretly following them, Exceedingly obstinate. he circled the field so that he might conveniently approach her. But when she detected his arrival, she rudely turned her back on him, displaying a fiery and furious face, and addressed him with importunate shouts, saying: "Why do you come here to me, sir? Go your way: you will accomplish nothing in me. I would rather have my head cut off than confess to you; and I would sooner allow myself to be buried alive than, obeying you, renounce my love." A companion standing next to her rebuked and restrained her, saying that he had done this for no other reason than her salvation. But she, shaking her head furiously, said: "I shall not deceive him, but with words and deeds I shall lay open my whole heart to him." The Servant, terrified by these most insolent words and uncontrolled gestures, blushed so deeply that he could not utter a word. The other virgins were vexed by their companion's rashness and proclaimed that she was not acting rightly. The Servant immediately withdrew from her and, looking up to heaven, groaned; and he wished to give up entirely, except that he was always inwardly urged by God with a sentiment of roughly this kind: "If someone wishes to accomplish anything before God and the world, he ought not to give up so easily." This happened in the afternoon. But when supper was over and evening had come, and the virgins were about to go to the garden to prepare the flax, and the aforesaid virgin was going with them, and they had to pass by the hospice where the Servant was staying, By a stratagem he draws her into conversation. he asked one of her companions to bring her to him by some artifice, and then to go out again herself. This was done, though with difficulty. When she had entered to the Servant and sat down beside him in a public place, the Servant began his discourse, not without deep sighs, from an overflowing heart: "Come now, most beautiful virgin, chosen of God, how long will you give over your most elegant body and heart to the evil demon? Behold, God has made you in every way so lovable and gracious that it is unworthy for so well-constituted and noble a virgin to be devoted to any other than God, by far the most excellent of all friends. Who, I ask, has more right to pluck the blooming roses than he to whom they belong? I beseech you, noble and beautiful virgin, open those bright eyes of yours, and above all remember that friendship which begins here and endures eternally. Consider what calamities, what faithlessness, what pains and crosses, what inconveniences of body, possessions, soul, and reputation those devoted to pernicious love must endure, whether they will or not, although the sweet poison of that love so drives them mad that they forget all those monstrous misfortunes that nevertheless pursue them both in this and the future life. Come then, daughter, by far the most beautiful and lovable, transfer whatever natural nobility is in you to him who from all eternity is by far the noblest of all, and cease from this folly. Behold, I promise you on my word that God will receive you as his beloved, and will keep entire faith and friendship with you both in the present and in the future world." That was a blessed hour. Those words penetrated the heart of that virgin and so softened it that presently, raising her eyes upward, she groaned from the very depths and addressed him in a trusting and truly manly speech, saying: "Come, my Lord and Father, behold, today I surrender myself to God and to you, prepared this very hour to bid farewell entirely to my dissolute and vain life, And gains her for Christ. and from your counsel and help to devote myself wholly to God and to serve him alone henceforth until death." The Servant said: "Nothing more pleasant could be reported to me; blessed be God, who joyfully receives all who return to him." While these two were conversing with each other about God, the wanton companions of the virgin stood outside at the door, and growing weary of so long a conversation, fearing that she would be drawn away from their dissolute familiarity, they began to shout that she should at last make an end. She therefore rose and went with them and said: "Farewell forever, my companions; I bid farewell to you and to all our associates, with whom, alas, I have spent my time in perdition. But now I give and offer myself to almighty God alone and renounce all others." And in this way she began to avoid all harmful familiarity and to lead an abstracted life, and although she was frequently tempted afterward to see whether she could be led back to her former manner of living, nothing could be accomplished. She so conducted herself that, adorned with the highest virtue and every kind of goodness, she persevered constant to God until the end.

[132] It happened afterward that the Servant set out beyond his monastery to visit this new daughter of his, to confirm her in the religious life, and also to console her in affliction. And because he was suffering from poor health at the time, he afflicted himself no little on that journey, traveling through thick mud and climbing high mountains. Meanwhile, frequently raising his eyes to God, he said: "Merciful and compassionate Lord, I remind you of those pitiable steps of yours which you endured for our salvation, and I beseech you to preserve my daughter." Moreover, his companion, upon whom he leaned from time to time, said to him from compassion: "It is altogether fitting for the goodness of God that many souls be saved through your effort." But when he had gone farther, until his strength was broken and he could proceed no further, his companion said to him again: "Certainly, Father, God ought rightly to look upon your grave infirmity and by his power send you a horse to carry you for a time, until we reach people." To which the Servant replied: "If we pray to God together for this, I trust that he, on account of the merit of your virtue, will provide what you have said." Then, looking about, the Servant saw coming from the right, out of a certain forest, a fine horse, very tame and broken, equipped with a saddle, and entirely alone. Then the Servant's companion exclaimed with joy: "Come, dearest Father, Broken by labor, he obtains from God a horse to carry him. see how God has not forgotten you." The Servant said: "Look, my son, and scan with your eyes this vast field on every side, whether perhaps there is someone anywhere whose horse it might be." But when the companion looked far and wide, he saw no one except that horse, coming gently toward them, and he said to the Servant: "Truly, Father, the Lord has sent this horse for you. Sit, therefore, and ride." The Servant replied: "If indeed, my son, the horse stands still when it reaches us, I trust the Lord has sent it to our aid." The horse approached calmly and modestly and stood before the Servant. Seeing this, he said: "Come, in the name of Christ," and with his companion's help he mounted the horse and continued on the journey he had begun, his companion accompanying him for a considerable time until the weary man had recovered his strength. When they were not far from a certain village, the Servant dismounted from the horse and, loosening the reins, sent the horse back the way it had come. Where it went or whose it was he could never afterward discover.

[133] When therefore the Servant had come to his destination and, in the evening of a certain day, was sitting with his daughters, wishing to make the love of passing things hateful to them and to commend to them the divine love, when at last they withdrew, his heart was inflamed with divine charity from that ardent discourse. For he considered his Beloved -- whom he himself regarded and preached and urged others to love -- to be infinitely more excellent than all the friends of the world. And under this meditation, rapt in spirit, In ecstasy. in a vision he seemed to be led into a most pleasant meadow, accompanied by a certain distinguished and truly heavenly youth who led him by the hand. The same youth then began to sing a certain song in the soul of the Brother with such sweetness and cheerfulness of voice With angelic song. that from the excessive sweetness of that melody he was carried beyond all his senses; and it seemed to him that his heart was so filled with the most burning love and desire toward God that his heart was stirred and burned within his breast, as if from the excessive force it would burst. He was compelled by this to place his right hand upon his heart to bring it aid. His eyes, moreover, so overflowed with tears that they ran down his face. When that song had been sung, a certain image was presented to him He is refreshed by the presence of the Blessed Virgin and the child Jesus. from which he might learn that canticle and never forget it. He looked at the image and saw the most blessed Virgin Mary pressing her little Jesus, Eternal Wisdom, to her maternal breast. The beginning of this song was written above the head of the little child in the most beautiful characters; and that writing was so subtle and hidden that it could not be read by all, but only by those who had obtained this through the experience of exercises. The writing was in German: "Hertzen traut," which may be rendered in Latin as "Most faithful Friend of the Heart," as if he alone were the true joy and most sincere friend of the heart. The Servant quickly read the writing, and the child Jesus gently looked back at him. Whence he experienced, as if with certainty, that the sweetest child Jesus alone is truly the intimate friend in whom both joys and sorrows are overcome. And so he impressed him deeply upon his heart, and presently he sang that song with the youth to its end. Meanwhile, while he thus burned with ardent love, he was restored to himself and found his right hand placed upon his heart, just as he had placed it there to aid it during that impetuous agitation.

CHAPTER XLIV.

How on a certain occasion, through the Servant's merits, God increased the drink for his friends.

[134] At a certain time, excessively fatigued by a long journey, the Servant came late in the evening to an anchorage in a foreign place, where he had resolved to lodge that night. But since there was wine neither in the village nor in the anchorage, a certain respectable virgin affirmed that she had a small flask full of wine. "But what is that," she said, "among so many?" For more or less twenty devout people were present there, together with others who had gathered, By his blessing he multiplies the wine. wishing to hear the Servant preach. The Servant ordered the flask to be brought forth and placed on the table. When this was done, they asked him to bless it. He did so in the almighty power of the saving name of Jesus, and he himself was the first to drink from it, since he was thirsty from the journey; and he gave it also to the others, who all drank from it. The flask was placed openly on the table in the sight of all, and nothing of water or wine was poured in, since there was no other; and again and again they drank from the same flask. But because a vehement desire to hear the word of God possessed them, no one noticed that divine miracle. At last, when they came to themselves and clearly perceived the power of God in the multiplication of that wine, they praised God and wished to attribute the miracle to the holiness of the Servant. This he would by no means accept, saying: "It is not, my children, that you should consider me the author of this, but almighty God has refreshed this chaste company of people, for their devout faith, with both bodily and spiritual drink."

CHAPTER XLV.

Concerning certain afflicted people bound to the Servant with singular faith.

[135] In a certain city there were two persons of no small holiness, familiar to the Servant, who were nevertheless drawn in a very different manner according to the spirit. A Virgin celebrated by the name of holiness. One was of celebrated esteem among people and overflowed with divine sweetness. The other was of no renown, and God exercised her with perpetual afflictions. When both had died, the Servant wished to know how different their reward was in that future life, since they had lived here in so different a manner. She appears to him from purgatory. And so, on the morning of a certain day, the one of celebrated reputation appeared to him and said that she was still being retained in the places of purgatory. When he asked how this could be, she replied that she suffered this for no other fault than that from her reputation a certain spiritual pride had crept into her soul, which she had not resisted quickly enough; The other, less celebrated, was saved after death. yet her punishment would end shortly. The other, who had been despised and lowly here, had flown without any interval to God.

[136] The Servant's own mother also labored under the most severe afflictions throughout her whole life, which came about from the different manner of living His mother. that she and her husband followed. She was full of God and wished entirely to live according to God. But her husband was full of the world and harshly resisted her; thence crosses arose. That matron had made it her custom to plunge all her sufferings into the Passion of Christ, and thus she overcame them. Most devoted to the Passion of Christ. She told the Servant, her son, before her death that for thirty years she had never attended the sacrifice of the Mass without weeping bitterly from intimate compassion for the sufferings of Christ and his most sorrowful mother. She also said that from immense love toward God she had once fallen ill, and had lain in bed for twelve weeks with so burning a desire for God that even the physicians noticed it and were edified thereby. At one time, at the beginning of Lent, she went to a certain church where the deposition of Christ from the cross was represented in carved figures on a certain altar. Before these images she perceived in a sensible manner something of the most bitter pain that the Virgin Mother endured beneath the cross. And from this anguish this devout woman felt such pains from compassion that her heart nearly burst, so that from the failure she collapsed to the ground and neither saw anything nor spoke. She dies on Good Friday. Thus carried home, she lay in her bed in silence until Good Friday, on which day, when the Passion was being sung in the church, around the ninth hour she expired. She appears to him. At that time the Servant, her son, was living at Cologne for the sake of his studies. His mother, appearing to him in a vision, said with immense joy: Blessed. "I beseech you, my son, love almighty God, certain that he will never abandon you in whatever adversity you may labor. Behold, I have departed from this world, and yet I have not died, but I shall live forever with God." And gently kissing her son and blessing him from her heart, she vanished from his eyes. He, dissolved in tears, called after her, saying: "O my holy and most faithful mother, be faithful to me before the Lord!" And thus weeping and groaning, he was restored to himself.

[137] During the time of his youth, when he was compelled to travel elsewhere for the sake of study, by God's providence, an exceedingly devout and faithful companion once fell to his lot. At a certain time, when they had spoken much about God, this companion secretly begged the Servant through mutual trust to show him the saving name of Jesus carved upon his breast. But the Servant refused. At last, perceiving his great devotion, he complied, and uncovering his garment at the breast, he allowed him to inspect that precious ornament of his heart as much as he wished. But the companion, not content with this, when he had sufficiently contemplated the same name clearly carved in the middle of his heart, also applied his hand and face to it, and putting his mouth to it, began to weep bitterly from devotion, so that the falling tears flowed down the Servant's breast. Henceforth the Servant held that name so dear that he never allowed anyone the opportunity to see it except one singular friend of God alone, to whom God had permitted it to be seen. That man contemplated it with similar devotion. When these two companions had enjoyed a spiritual familiarity and friendship for many years, and now had to part from each other, bidding farewell to each other from the heart, they entered into this pact: that whichever of them died first, the other should, out of fraternal friendship, say two Masses each week for one year -- one on Monday for the dead, The companion from purgatory asks him for the sacrifices promised to him. the other on Friday for the Lord's Passion. After many years the Servant's companion died, and because the Servant had now forgotten his pledged word about offering the Masses, he did not say them; yet he nevertheless kept a faithful remembrance of him. When therefore he was sitting one morning in his chapel as if in an ecstasy of mind, his companion came to him in a vision and said with a lamentable voice: "What faithlessness is this, Brother! Alas, how you have forgotten me!" When the Servant said that he remembered him daily in his Masses, the other replied that this was not sufficient, but that he must fulfill the debt of Masses, so that the innocent blood of Christ, descending into purgatory, might extinguish his dreadful fires; and so it would come about that he would shortly be led out of the places of purgatory. The Servant did this with the most perfect fidelity and with great grief at his forgetfulness; and shortly afterward the other flew free from his punishments.

CHAPTER XLVI.

How Christ, appearing to the Servant in the form of a Seraph, taught him to suffer.

[138] By Christ appearing to him. The Servant once turned to God most earnestly, praying that he would teach him to suffer. There appeared to him therefore in a vision the likeness of Christ crucified in the form of a Seraph, who had six wings: with two he covered his head, with two his feet, and with the remaining two he flew. On the two lowest wings was written: "Accept affliction willingly." On the middle ones were these words: "Bear the cross with equanimity." On the uppermost was expressed: "Learn to suffer in a Christlike manner." When he related this vision to a certain holy Virgin, He is encouraged to suffer. she replied: "Know, Father, that new crosses are threatening you, which you will have to bear, God so willing." When he asked what kind of crosses they would be, the Virgin said: "Behold, you will be placed over a certain monastery, so that your rivals may more closely reach you and more heavily oppress you. Therefore embrace patience, as you have been taught in that Seraph." He groaned, awaiting the coming storm -- which truly befell him, as had been foretold by the Virgin. During that time, for three years, the monastery where he was then living had received neither grain nor wine, by which cause it was burdened with great debts. The Brothers of that monastery, having taken counsel, He is made Prior of the monastery. elected the Servant of Wisdom, however much he resisted -- seeing that a new cross was being forged for him -- as their Prior, in such great scarcity of provisions.

[139] On the first day, therefore, he ordered the bell to be rung and the Brothers to be assembled; and when they were gathered, he told them to invoke Saint Dominic, In the scarcity of provisions he invokes Saint Dominic. since he had promised his Brothers that he would bring them help if they implored his aid in their necessities. And behold, two Brothers were sitting next to each other in the place where they were assembled, one of whom, whispering to the other, said quite absurdly: He is mocked by his subjects. "See how foolish this Prior is, ordering us to refer our need to God. Perhaps he thinks God will open the heavens and send us food and drink." The other replied: "Not only is he himself deluded, but we are all mad for wanting him to rule over us, when we knew beforehand that he was inexperienced in temporal affairs and does nothing but look up to heaven." Thus he was torn by many unjust judgments and jibes. But he, persevering in his resolution, the next morning ordered a Mass to be sung in honor of Saint Dominic, that he might provide for them. While he stood in the choir, lost in thought, the doorkeeper called him out to a certain wealthy Canon, a singular friend of his, He unexpectedly receives a generous alms from a Canon. who spoke thus to him: "I know, my lord, that you have no experience in secular affairs; and this night I have been divinely admonished to help you in God's place. Wherefore, to begin, I offer you twenty Constance pounds. Trust in God, for he will not abandon you." He, filled with joy, received the money and ordered wine and grain to be purchased. And aided by God and the Blessed Dominic, he provided the necessities for that monastery as long as he was Prior, and brought it about that they were not compelled to pay anything.

[140] The same Canon, when nearly at the point of death, bequeathed most generous alms to various places that he more particularly favored. Then, summoning the Servant, who was performing the office of Prior there, he entrusted to him a good number of gold coins to be distributed elsewhere among indigent friends of God who had worn out their strength with harsh and severe exercises. When the Servant reluctantly took this upon himself, fearing the vexations that afterward ensued, at last, overcome, he consented, He distributes certain moneys of the deceased to the poor. and going forth he distributed the money here and there, as he had promised, wherever he hoped it would be most beneficial for the Canon's soul; and he did this before trustworthy witnesses and with an accounting rendered to his Superiors. But bitter crosses came upon him from this. For that Canon had an illegitimate son who had already consumed the goods assigned to him by his father; and being wholly dissolute, he gave his mind to ruinous affairs. This same man coveted all the money entrusted to the Servant; and when he could not obtain it, he swore to the Servant He incurs the hatred of a fierce man. that wherever he found him, he would put him to death. No one could quiet this dangerous and hostile hatred, although it was frequently attempted. The man was absolutely determined to destroy the Servant. Seized by these anguishes for no small time, the Servant, from fear of death, did not dare to travel freely here and there. Raising his eyes to God, he said with a groan: "What kind of calamitous death, by your permission, my Lord, am I now about to suffer?" He was all the more afflicted by this because shortly before, in another city, a certain venerable Brother had been wretchedly slain for a similar reason. The Servant could find no one who either wished or dared to ward off this trouble from him, because of that fierce man's bold recklessness. At last he betook himself to God, who freed him from that man, destroying his still youthful and robust body by a swift death.

[141] To the heap of this evil was added another most bitter cross. There was an entire college And of another college. to which the aforesaid Canon had given much; but they, not content with this, attacked the Servant with hostile spirits because he would not hand over the aforementioned gold coins to them, and they wretchedly exposed him to be harassed by all. For they denounced him before both religious and secular people, and by interpreting far and wide before everyone in the worse part the things he had done, they everywhere published them abroad; and so it came about that in a matter in which he was entirely free from guilt before God, he was nevertheless compelled to be ill spoken of among men. If at any time this business was suspended for a while, it was soon taken up again; and they pursued this for many years until they had thoroughly harassed the Servant.

[142] During that time the oft-mentioned Canon appeared to him in a vision, wearing a distinguished garment of green color He is refreshed by the Canon appearing to him. that had red roses on every side; and he told the Servant that he was faring well in the other world, and asked him to bear with equanimity the monstrous injury being inflicted upon him, certain that God would console him abundantly. When the Servant asked what his most splendid garment signified, he replied: "Those red roses on the green cloth represent your patient endurance, with which you have so adorned me; on account of which almighty God will clothe you eternally with himself."

CHAPTER XLVII.

How manfully he must fight who wishes to win the spiritual palm.

[143] At the beginning of his conversion, the Servant greatly desired to please God in no ordinary way, yet without labor and pain. At a certain time, therefore, he happened to travel to a region for the purpose of preaching; and coming aboard a certain ship on Lake Constance, he found there among others a certain distinguished youth clad in splendid garments. Joining himself to the youth, he began to inquire who he was or what business he was engaged in. The youth said he was the kind of man who set noblemen against each other so that they would compete with lances and practice exercises of that kind. He examines the difficulty of jousting. He then said that they also devoted themselves to beautiful women, and whoever was the most valiant won the palm and prize of honor. When the Servant asked what the prize was, the youth replied: "The most beautiful of all the women present places a golden ring upon his finger." When the Servant inquired further what was required of one who wished to gain that honor and that ring, the youth said: "He who endures sharper blows and anguishes than the rest and does not grow weary of spirit under them, And the labors in winning the palm. but shows himself strong and manly and sits unmoved and allows himself to be struck by the blows of others -- he obtains the honor." When the Servant said: "Tell me, I beg you, is it enough if someone is bold in the first encounter?" the youth said: "By no means; the contest must be endured to the end. And even if he is so beaten by blows that sparks fly from his eyes and blood bursts from his mouth and nostrils, he must bear it all if he wishes to win the glory." Again the Servant, exploring everything: "I ask you, is he permitted to shed tears or to contract his face into wrinkles while he is being so badly beaten?" "By no means," said the youth, "even if, as happens to most, his heart fails in his breast; he must maintain a cheerful countenance; otherwise he will be exposed to mockery and will lose the honor and the ring."

[144] Upon hearing this, the Servant, compelled to descend into himself, groaned from the depths of his heart and said: "Come now, most excellent and by far most worthy God, He is confounded. if the soldiers of this world are compelled to suffer such things for so vile a reward -- which in itself is nothing -- how just it is, then, that we endure harsher labors for eternal glory! O that I were worthy, most loving God, to be enrolled in the number of your spiritual soldiers! He aspires to the eternal palm. O most beautiful and eternal Wisdom, whose loveliness nothing in the world can compare to, if the ring could be bestowed upon my soul by you, I would be willing to suffer on that account whatever might seem good to you." And he began to shed tears from excessive fervor. When he had arrived at his destination, almighty God permitted monstrous afflictions to be inflicted upon him, and so many that he nearly despaired toward God, and many wept on his account from compassion. Then he, forgetting all valiant and untiring warfare, brooding and somewhat impatient toward God, wondered why God was afflicting him with such troubles. The next morning, at daybreak, while his soul was sweetly resting and withdrawn from the senses, something within him spoke in this manner: "Where now is that preeminent warfare and valor? Is a straw soldier, a man of rags or softly clothed in rags, to be of overconfident spirit -- brave indeed in prosperity, but shortly after, in adversity, broken and womanish? By this method that everlasting ring that you desire surely cannot be obtained." The Servant replied: "But Lord, those contests in which one must resign and surrender oneself to you and endure you are far too prolonged." He is raised up in this affliction. To which the following response was immediately given: "But the honor itself and the glory and the ring of my soldiers, whom I have honored, is everlasting." The Servant, thrown back upon himself and convicted, said most humbly: "I confess my fault, my Lord. Only I beg that an afflicted man be permitted to shed tears, for my heart utterly overflows." The Lord replied: "For shame! Do you wish to weep in the manner of a woman? Surely you will brand yourself with a mark of disgrace before all the citizens of heaven. Dry your eyes and display a cheerful countenance, so that neither God nor men may perceive that you are weeping on account of affliction." He began to laugh a little, and nevertheless tears flowed down his cheeks, and he promised God that he would henceforth not weep, so that he might obtain that spiritual ring.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

How on a certain occasion, when the Servant was preaching, his face shone three times like the Sun.

[145] When on a certain occasion the Servant was preaching most earnestly and fervently at Cologne, a certain new recruit of Christ, recently converted to God, was present at that sermon. He was himself much afflicted. When therefore he gazed intently at the Servant, with his interior eyes he saw his face changed to a most pleasant brightness, and three times it became so splendid as the Sun is wont to be when the sky is most serene; He refreshes an afflicted man with the splendor of his face. and he could easily contemplate his own face reflected in the Servant's countenance. From this vision, therefore, the man was sufficiently encouraged and refreshed in his affliction and confirmed in the holy life.

CHAPTER XLIX.

Concerning the saving name of JESUS.

[146] When the Servant was once traveling from Upper Germany to Aachen to visit the most blessed Virgin, while he was on his return, He is called by the Blessed Virgin a Herald of the name of Jesus. the most blessed Mary, appearing to a certain holy Virgin, spoke thus: "Behold, the Servant of my Son has returned, and has spread his most sweet name far and wide with a burning heart, just as his Apostles once did. And as they desired to proclaim and commend that name and the Christian faith to all, so he too is wholly devoted to this: to bring that same most sacred name, with renewed fervor and love, into all lukewarm hearts and to arouse and kindle it in them. Whence he also, together with the holy Apostles, will obtain an eternal reward after his death." After these things, the same holy Virgin, turning her eyes to the Blessed Mary, saw her holding in her hand an elegant candle, so brightly burning that it illuminated the entire world. On the candle itself the name of Jesus was carved on every side. The Mother of God then said to the Virgin: "This burning candle represents the name of Jesus, who truly illuminates the hearts of all who devoutly receive his name, venerate it, and carry it about within themselves with loving affection. Moreover, my same Son has chosen his Servant for this purpose: that through his efforts his name may be eagerly kindled in the hearts of many, and that they may thereby receive the advancement of their eternal salvation." When that same holy Virgin perceived in many ways that the Servant, He has it inscribed on his breast. who was her spiritual Father, had a wondrous faith and devotion toward the sweetest name of Jesus -- which he had even inscribed upon his breast -- she herself also began to be seized by a great love for it, and with devout affection she sewed the same name in crimson silk threads onto a small cloth, wishing to carry it secretly about her person; and she made innumerable other names of Jesus of the same form and brought it about that the Servant applied them all to his breast and, having added a divine blessing, sent them back and forth to his spiritual children. He gives it to others to carry. It was moreover revealed to that same Virgin by God that whoever carried that name about his person in this manner and daily said the Lord's Prayer in its honor, God would deal kindly with him in this life and would be gracious to him at his death. Which may Christ Jesus grant to us all. Amen.