^ JAN251927__ 
 %0fi/eAL8tv^ 
 
 BV 5095 
 
 .S85 
 
 A313 
 
 1865 
 
 Seuse, Heinrich, 
 
 1295-1366. 
 
 The life 
 
 of 
 
 Blessed Henry 
 
 Suso 
 
 
 
 
 Section 
 
hM..,fUc^, (i^^^ 
 
THE LIFIj^J-j^^-.^jg^^' 
 
 BLESSED HENRY SU80 
 
 BY HIMSELF. 
 CransIatiJr from t\iz original German 
 
 THOMAS FRANCIS KNOX, 
 
 PRIEST OP THE ORATORY. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BUENS, LAMBERT, AND GATES, 
 
 17 Portmau Street and 63 Paternoster Row. 
 1865. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 KOBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, 
 PANCBAS ROAD, N.W. 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 The Blessed Henry Siiso Avas born at Ueberlingen, 
 near Constance, on St. Benedict's - day, a.d. 1300. 
 He was of ancient and noble descent both on his 
 father's and mother's side. Out of devotion to his 
 mother, who was a person of eminent holiness, he 
 called himself by her maiden name of Seuss, Latin- 
 ised into Suso, instead of taking his father's sur- 
 name, Von Berg. His baptismal name was Henry ; 
 but many years later, when he had attained to great 
 holiness, God changed his name into Amandus, or 
 Beloved. The Blessed Henry did not make this 
 known to any one so long as he lived, but a record 
 of it was discovered among his papers after his death. 
 At the age of thirteen he entered the novitiate of the 
 Dominican Convent at Constance, where he was ad- 
 mitted to the vows of religion, and after some years 
 was sent to the convent of his Order at Cologne, to 
 pursue his studies at that University. While there 
 he made such great progress in learning that he was 
 about to be promoted to the degree of doctor in theo- 
 logy. But he was forbidden to accept this honour by 
 a voice from God within him saying : — Thou know- 
 
IV PKEFACE. 
 
 est well enough already how to give thyself to God 
 and to draw other men to Him by thy preaching. 
 From that time forth he began to preach with great 
 zeal and fervom-, and to devote himself to the con- 
 version of sinners and the guidance of souls along 
 the highest paths of mystical perfection. At length, 
 after many years of unceasing labours and sufferings, 
 he died at Ulm, on the feast of the Conversion of St. 
 Paul, A.D. 1365, and was buried in the cloister of the 
 Dominican Convent in that city. Two hundred and 
 forty-eight years after this, when Ulm had become 
 Protestant, the B. Henry's body was accidentally 
 discovered, a.d. 1613, by some workmen who were 
 digging the foundations for a new building. It was 
 quite incorrupt, and lay there clothed in the habit of 
 the Order, and emitted a fragrant odour. The work- 
 men went in alarm to inform the burgomaster, who 
 bade them fill up the grave and say nothing about 
 it; adding, that he had always heard that the dead 
 should be allowed to rest in peace. Meanwhile, 
 during the absence of the workmen, a devout person 
 went down into the grave and cut off part of the 
 black mantle and white scapular — portions of which 
 were afterwards distributed as relics among different 
 Catholics. One of these relics came into the posses- 
 sion of Henry Murer, who has given an account of 
 the discovery of the body in his Helvetia Sancta^ 
 published at Luzem a.d. 1648. At a later period, 
 when Ulm was occupied by the French during one of 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 their campaigns, they caused excavations to be made 
 in the hope of discovering the sacred remains, but 
 without success. The Blessed Henry has never been 
 formally beatified, but his feast is kept by the Domi- 
 nican Order on March 2d, with the approbation of 
 Gregory XVI., granted April 16, 1831. 
 
 Such are the main outlines of B. Henry's external 
 life and history. The details of the picture must be 
 sought for in the brief record which he has himself left 
 us of his experiences in the ways of God. 
 
 The following translation has been made from 
 the edition of the B. Henry Susd's Life and Works^ 
 edited by Cardinal Diepenbrock, Prince Bishop of 
 Breslau, in 1828. The text of the Life is based upon 
 a manuscript of the end of the fourteenth century 
 from the Royal Library at Munich, which the editor 
 carefully collated with the earliest printed copies pub- 
 lished at Augsburg a.d. 1-182 and a.d. 1512. 
 
 Surius, the Carthusian, translated the Life and 
 fWorks from the German into Latin. The first 
 edition, dedicated to the Venerable Abbot Blosius, 
 appeared at Cologne a.d. 1555. The rendering is 
 singularly graceful and accurate, so far as the differ- 
 ent genius of the two languages and the occasional 
 imperfections of the German text used by Surius, 
 principally in the last nine chapters, would permit. 
 
 A French translation by the Carthusian Le Cerf 
 was pubHshed at Paris in 1586, and an Italian one 
 by the Dominican Del Nente at Rome in 1651. The 
 A 2 
 
VI PEEFACE. 
 
 latter has been frequently reprinted, but it does not 
 in any sense merit the name of a translation, as it 
 is nothing more than a mere epitome or condensed 
 abridgment of the original. Cartier has recently 
 translated Del Nente's work into French, under the 
 title of CEuvres du B. Henri Suso. The second edition 
 appeared in 1856. 
 
 As the chief object of the present translator has 
 been to provide a book of spiritual reading for the 
 devout, he hesitated for some time whether or not to 
 omit the last nine chapters, which treat for the most 
 part of deep points of mystical theology in language 
 which, from its antiquated character and excessive 
 conciseness, is sometimes obscure, and is always difficult 
 to translate into intelligible English without indulging 
 in paraphrase. Surius has relegated these chapters 
 to another part of the volume, under the title of 
 " Appendix of certain sublime questions." Still, as 
 Cardinal Diepenbrock observes, they really belong to 
 the Life, and form part of it in the earliest manu- 
 script and printed editions. On the whole, it seemed 
 better to include these chapters in the present trans- 
 lation. They contain several passages of wonderful 
 beauty, which every one will read with pleasure. They 
 are, moreover, a protest against the errors of panthe- 
 ism and quietism, to which a spirit of false mysti- 
 cism naturally tends, and against which the B. Henry 
 often raised his voice in warning. Lastly, their ab- 
 sence would leave one side of the B. Henry's life 
 
PEEFACE. VU 
 
 wholly unrepresented. For they serve to remind us 
 that if his personal and experimental acquaintance 
 with mystical theology was great, he was no less 
 Cijnversant with it as a science, and could treat with 
 learning and accuracy the many deep and subtle 
 questions which it suggests. 
 
 The Oratory, London, 
 
 Feast of St. Richard, 1805. 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 Translator's Preface 
 Prologue . 
 
 I. Introductory 5 
 
 II. Of the preliminary combats of a beginner . 7 
 
 III. Of a supernatural rapture which befell him . 11 
 
 IV. How he spiritually espoused the Eternal Wis- 
 
 dom 13 
 
 V. How he inscribed upon his heart the gracious 
 
 Name of Jesus 20 
 
 YI. Of the foretaste of divine consolations, with 
 
 which God sometimes allures beginners . 23 
 VII. How one, who had begun well, was drawn on- 
 
 Avards in his search after divine consolation 27 
 
 VIII. Of certain visions 30 
 
 IX. Of the way in which he went to table . .33 
 
 X. How he began the New Year . . . .36 
 
 XI. Of the words Sursum corda . . . .38 
 
 XII. How he kept the feast of Candlemas . .41 
 
 XIII. How he spent the Carnival time . . .44 
 
 XIV. How he began the month of May . . .48 
 XV. Of the sorrowful way of the Cross, which he 
 
 made with Christ when He was being led 
 
 forth to death 50 
 
 XVI. Of the useful virtue called silence . . . oC 
 XVII. Of the chastisement of his body . . .57 
 XYIII. Of the sharp cross which he bore upon his back 01 
 
 PAGE 
 
 iii 
 
 I 
 
: CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGK 
 
 XIX. Of his bed GS 
 
 XX. How he broke hunself from drink . .71 
 XXI. How he was directed to the rational school, 
 in which the art of true detachment is 
 
 taught 81 
 
 XXII. How painful it is to die interiorly . . 84 
 
 XXIII. Of interior sufferings .... 97 
 
 XXIV. How he went forth to succour and to save 
 
 his neighbour 100 
 
 XXV. Concerning manifold sufferings . . 103 
 
 XXVI. Of the great suffering which befell him 
 
 through his sister Ill 
 
 XXVII. Of a grievous suffering which befell him 
 
 through a companion . . . .118 
 
 XXVIII. Of a murderer 125 
 
 XXIX. Of perils by water 130 
 
 XXX. Of a short interval of rest which God once 
 
 granted him . 133 
 
 XXXI. How he once entered into a loving account 
 
 with God 135 
 
 XXXII. How his sufferings once brought him nigh 
 
 to death 141 
 
 XXXIII. How a man should offer up his sufferings 
 
 to the praise and glory of God . . 14(> 
 
 XXXIV. Of the joys with which God recompenses 
 
 in this present life those who suffer for 
 
 Him 151 
 
 XXXV. Of the Servitor's spiritual daughter . .157 
 XXXVI. Of the first beginnings of a beginner . 1G2 
 XXXVII. Of the first lessons and examples whicli 
 are suitable for a beginner, and how he 
 should regulate his exercises with dis- 
 cretion 108 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XXXVIII. Of certain devout practices of a young be- 
 ginner in liis early years . . .178 
 XXXIX. How he drew light-minded persons to God, 
 and comforted those who were in suf- 
 fering 185 
 
 XL. Of a grievous suffering which l)efell him 
 
 while thus occupied . . . .191 
 XLI. Of interior sufferings . . . .214 
 
 XLII. What sufferings are the most useful to men, 
 
 and bring most glory to God ? . .217 
 XLIII. How he drew certain hearts from earthly 
 
 love to the love of God . . .222 
 
 XLIV. How God multiplied drink for His friends 233 
 XLV. Of certain sufferers, who were attached to 
 the Servitor by special ties of friend- 
 ship and affection .... 234 
 XLYI. How Christ appeared to him under the 
 form of a Seraph, and taught him how 
 
 to suffer 231) 
 
 XLVII. How steadfastly he must fight who would 
 
 win the spiritual prize .... 245 
 XLVIII. How the Servitor's face was once seen to 
 shine with light while he was preach- 
 ing 249 
 
 XLIX. Of the lovely Name of Jesus . . .249 
 L. A good distinction between a true and 
 false use of reason noticeable in certain 
 
 persons 252 
 
 LI. How to distinguish between a well-ordered 
 reason and one which is all flowers and 
 
 glitter 257 
 
 LII. A good distinction between tme and false 
 
 detachment 2G() 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 LIII. Maxims, confoi-mable to right reason, for the 
 guidance of an exterior man into his in- 
 terior 266 
 
 LIV. Of the high questions which the well-exercised 
 
 daughter put to her spiritual father . . 280 
 LV. An explanation where and how God is . . 288 
 LVI. Of the very highest flight of a soul experienced 
 
 in the ways of God 301 
 
 LVII. The conclusion of the contents of this book in 
 
 a few simple words 312 
 
PROLOGUE.* 
 
 The following book speaks throughout in an 
 instructive manner of the life of a beginner, 
 and contains, for those who look beneath the 
 surface, information respecting the proper way 
 in which a bemnner should order his outer and 
 inner man so as to be in harmony with God's 
 all-lovely will. And since good works are un- 
 doubtedly a better guide, and sometimes shed 
 a brighter light into a man's heart than mere 
 words, therefore the book recounts, as examples, 
 many different holy actions, which really and 
 truly took place just as they are related. The 
 book also tells of a man's progress in holiness ; 
 that is, how, by avoiding things, by sufferings, 
 and by exercises, he may break through his un- 
 mortified animal nature, and arrive at great and 
 exalted dignity. Moreover, since there are some 
 
 * The following passages are taken from the Prologue 
 prefixed by the B," Henry Suso to a manuscript copy of hi? 
 Life and Writings. They contain all in it that relates to the 
 Life. The Prologue is to be found in the ancient printed 
 copies, and is quoted by Diepenbrock in his preface. 
 
 B 
 
2 PROLOGUE. 
 
 men who, with courageous hearts, strive to gi'asp 
 at what is highest and best, and yet, from want 
 of the necessary knowledge to discriminate, go 
 astray and miss the road, therefore this book 
 gives instruction how to distinguish rightly be- 
 tween a true and false use of reason in spiritual 
 things; and it teaches the orderly and proper 
 course by which a man may attain to the un- 
 alloyed truth of a blessed and perfect life. 
 
 It should be also mentioned, that the pages 
 of this book lay for many years locked up in 
 secret, awaiting the Servitor's death ; for he 
 was in very truth reluctant to disclose himself 
 to any one by means of them, so long as he 
 lived. At length, however, his reason told him 
 that, in these days of the decline of the human 
 race, it w^ould be better and safer that the book, 
 by God's permission, should be submitted to 
 his superiors while he was still living, and could 
 answer for its truth in all points, than after his 
 death. And this, moreover, even though it 
 should fall out that certain ignorant men, whose 
 words are in no way worthy of account, should 
 pass false and perverted judgments upon it, 
 either because they would not regard the Ser- 
 vitor's good intention in the matter, or because 
 they were unable, from want of spiritual 
 
PROLOGUE. 3 
 
 refinement, to comprehend any thing higher 
 than what they had experienced in themselves. 
 Besides it was quite possible that the book 
 might, after his death, come into the possession 
 of lukewarm and unspiritual men, who would 
 not give themselves the trouble to communicate 
 it for God's glory to those who would receive it 
 eagerly ; and in this way the book might perisli 
 without fruit. Or again, it might chance to 
 fall into the hands of men intellectually blind 
 or morally bad, who from their sinful dislike 
 of it might suppress it, as has often happened 
 in other cases. Therefore, with the divine as- 
 sistance, he took courage, and extracted from 
 this book the sublimest thoughts and the most 
 elevated teaching which it contains, and himself 
 gave these extracts to a learned doctor, named 
 Master Bartholomew, to read; a man richly 
 endowed by God with virtues and graces, and 
 of approved experience in spiritual science, and 
 furthermore a Prelate with supreme jurisdiction 
 over the order of Friars Preachers throughout 
 Gemiany. The Servitor humbly gave him up 
 the book, and he read it through with great satis- 
 faction of heart, and pronounced that it was, all 
 of it, as it were, a kernel of hidden truth cbawn 
 from Holv Writ for all clear-sishted men. 
 
4 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Afterwards, when the ordinary teaching had 
 been added to it, in order that every man might 
 find there what would suit him, and the Ser- 
 vitor was about to lay this part also before the 
 Prelate, the good God withdrew from hence 
 this noble Master. The Servitor, on hearing 
 of his death, was exceedingly afflicted, for he 
 knew not what to do. He therefore betook 
 himself wath gi'eat earnestness to the Eternal 
 Wisdom, and prayed that it might be shown 
 him what was the best thing to do in this affair. 
 After a time his prayer was heard, and the 
 aforenamed Master appeared to him in a bright 
 vision, and told him that it was God's good will 
 that the book should be henceforth communi- 
 cated to all crood-hearted men, who ^Adth a ng-ht 
 intention and an eager longing might desire to 
 have it. 
 
 He then who wishes earnestly to become a 
 good and blessed man, and who longs after 
 special intimacy with God, or who has received 
 a token of God's love in heavy sufferings, as 
 God's way is witli His peculiar friends, — such a 
 man will find this book a help and comfort. 
 It will also serve as a guide for good-hearted 
 men to divine truth, as well as teach men of 
 reason the riglit road to supreme bliss. 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Chapter L 
 
 Introductory. 
 
 There was a Friar Preacher in Germany, by 
 birth a Swabian, — may his name be written in 
 the Book of the Li\dng ! — whose desire was to 
 become and to be called a Senator of the Eter- 
 nal Wisdom. Now it happened that he became 
 acquainted with a holy and illuminated person, 
 who was in poverty and suffering as regards 
 this world. This poor sufferer was a woman ; 
 and she used to beseech the Ser\dtor to tell her 
 something about suffering from his own expe- 
 rience, that her suifering heart might gather 
 strength from it. And she acted thus towards 
 hun for a long time. When he came to see 
 her, she drew from him by confidential ques- 
 tionings the manner of his beginning and pro- 
 
6 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 gress in the interior life, as well as certain ex- 
 ercises and sufferings which he had passed 
 through : all which he told her in spiritual con- 
 fidence. As she found comfort and direction 
 in these things, she wrote them do^vn, to be a 
 help for herself and others ; and she did this 
 by stealth, so that he knew not of it. Later 
 on, when he found out this ghostly theft, he re- 
 proved her for it, and, forcing her to give up to 
 him the writing, he burnt all of it that was 
 there. When, however, the rest of it was given 
 to him, and he was going to treat it in like man- 
 ner, he was stopped by a heavenly message 
 from God forbidding it. Thus what follows re- 
 mained unburnt, for the most part just as she 
 had ^^Titten it with her own hand. Many good 
 instructions were also added to it by him, after 
 her death, in her name. 
 
 The first beginning of the Servitor's perfect 
 conversion to God took place when he was in 
 his eighteenth year. And though he had worn 
 the religious habit for the five previous yeai^s, 
 his soul was still dissipated within him ; and it 
 seemed to him, that if God only preserved him 
 from weightier sins, which might tarnish his 
 good name, there was no need to be over-careful 
 about ordinary faults. Nevertheless, he was so 
 
COMBATS OF A BEGIXNER. 7 
 
 kept by God the while, that he had always an 
 unsatisfied feeling within him, whenever he 
 turned himself to the objects of his desires, and 
 it seemed to him that it must be something quite 
 cHfferent which could bring peace to his s^dld 
 heart, and he was ill at ease amid his restless 
 ways. He felt at all times a gnawing reproach 
 within, and yet he could not help himself, 
 until the kind God set him free from it, by 
 tm'ning him. His companions marvelled at the 
 speedy change, wondering how it had come over 
 him ; and one said this, and another that, but 
 as to how it was, no one either guessed or came 
 near to guessing it ; for it was a secret illu- 
 mination and drav^dng sent by God, and it 
 wrought in him with speed a turning away from 
 creatures. 
 
 Chapter H. 
 
 Of the preliminary combats of a beginner. 
 Soon after this impression had been made 
 upon his soul by God, there began within him 
 certain preliminary combats, in which the enemy 
 sought to lead him astray from his salvation. 
 The inward impulse, which he had received 
 
8 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 from God, urged liim to turn away entirely 
 from every thing which might he a hindrance 
 to him. The tempter met this with the sug- 
 gestion : — Bethink thee better. It is easy to 
 begin, but it is hard to bring to completion. 
 The voice within put forward God's might and 
 aid. The opposing voice replied, that God's 
 power was beyond doubt, but that His willing- 
 ness was doubtful. This, however, was clearly 
 proved to him ; for the kind God has vouched 
 for it in the good promise, which He uttered 
 with His divine mouth, that He would verily 
 and indeed help all those who should begin this 
 work in His name. 
 
 When grace had gained the victory in him 
 in this combat, there came a hostile thought in 
 friendly form, counselling him thus : — It may 
 be all right, that thou shouldst amend thy life ; 
 but do not set about it so impetuously. Begin 
 with such moderation, that thou mayest be able 
 to bring it to completion. Thou shouldst eat 
 and drink heartily, and treat thyself well ; and 
 at the same time be on thy guard against sins. 
 Be as good as thou pleasest within thyself, and 
 yet with such moderation that the world with- 
 out may not take fright at thee, as the saying 
 is. Is the heart good, all is good. Surely thou 
 
COMBATS OF A BEGINNER. 9 
 
 mayest be merry with people, and still be a 
 good man. Others too wish to go to heaven, 
 and yet do not lead a life of exercises such as 
 thine. These and the like temptations pressed 
 him hard. But the Eternal Wisdom overtlirew 
 for him these deceitful counsels thus : — The 
 man who tries to hold by the tail that slippery 
 fish, the eel, and to begin a holy life lukewarmly, 
 will be deceived in both cases ; for when he 
 thinks he has them, they aWII have slipped 
 from him. He too, who seeks with tender 
 treatment to get the better of a pampered and 
 refractory body, wants conunon sense. He who 
 would possess this world, and yet serve God 
 perfectly, tries for what is impossible, and seeks 
 to falsify God's own teaching, ^^^;lerefore, if 
 thou art minded to forsake all, do so to good 
 purpose. He tarried somewhat long in these 
 thoughts ; but at last taking courage, he turned 
 himself away from every thing with all his 
 might. 
 
 His untamed spirit had in the beginning to 
 die many deaths in breaking away from frivo- 
 lous companions. Sometimes nature overcame 
 him, and he would go to them to cheer himself; 
 but it commonly fell out, that he went to them 
 merr}', and left them sad; for their talk and 
 
10 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 sports were no pleasure to him, and liis were 
 unendurable to them. At times, when he came 
 to them, they would try his patience with such 
 words as these. One would say : — What strange 
 ways thou hast taken up ! Another would an- 
 swer: — An ordinary life is the safest. While 
 a third would add: — ^It will never come to a 
 good end. Thus they passed him on from one 
 to another. But he kept silence, as one dumb, 
 and he thought mthin himself: — Ah, gentle 
 God! there is nothino; better to be done than 
 to flee from them. If thou hadst not heard 
 these cruel words, they could have done thee 
 no hmi;. 
 
 One thing was a sore suffering to him. He 
 had no one to whom he could pour out his 
 grief, and who pursued the same end in the 
 same way, that he had been called to pui'sue it. 
 Therefore he went on his way in wretchedness, 
 pining for love; and with mighty efforts he 
 mthdrew himself from creatures, — a practice 
 which afterwards became very sweet to him. 
 
SUPERNATURAL RAPTURE. 11 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 Of a supernatural rapture which befell him. 
 
 It happened once in the time of his begin- 
 nings, that he came into the choir on St. Agnes' 
 day, after the midday meal of the convent was 
 ended. He was there alone, and he stood at 
 the lower stalls, on the right-hand side of the 
 choir. It was, moreover, a time at which he 
 was more than usually crushed do\Aai by a hea-vy 
 weight of sorrow. Now it came to pass, that as 
 he stood there all desolate, and with none to 
 help or shield him, his soul was caught up in 
 ecstasy, whether in the body or out of the body, 
 and he saw and heard what no tongue can tell. 
 It was without form or mode, and yet it con- 
 tained within itself the entrancing delightful- 
 ness of all forms and modes. His heart was 
 athirst, and yet satisfied ; his mind was joyous 
 and blooming ; wishes were stilled in him, and 
 desires had departed. He did but gaze fixedly 
 on the dazzling effulgence, in which he found 
 oblivion of himself and all things. Was it day 
 or night, he knew not. It was a breaking forth 
 of the sweetness of eternal life, felt as present 
 in the stillness of unvarying contemplation. 
 
12 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 He said afterwards : — If this be not heaven, I 
 know not what heaven is ; for not all the suffer- 
 ings, which a man could suffer here below, could 
 ever merit for him in justice to possess a joy 
 like this throughout eternity. This overpower- 
 ing rapture lasted about an hour and a half; 
 but whether his soul stayed in his body, or was 
 parted from it, he knew not. When he came 
 to himself aojain, he was altoo;ether like a man 
 who has come from another world. His body 
 was in such anguish from the brief moment, 
 that he had never deemed it possible to suffer 
 so much in so short a time, even at death. He 
 came to himself with a deep groan, and his 
 body sank to the ground, in spite of him, as if 
 he were in a faint. He cried aloud piteously, 
 and, deeply groaning, exclaimed : — Woe is me, 
 my God ! Where was I ? Wliere am I now ? 
 Adding : — Ah, Thou, who art my heart's good ! 
 never can this hour pass from my heart ! He 
 went on his way in body, and no one saw, or 
 took note of any thing in him outwardly ; but 
 his soul and mind were full within of heavenly 
 marvels. The heavenly glances came again 
 and again in his innermost interior, and it 
 seemed to him as if he were floating in the 
 air. The powers of his soul were filled full 
 
SPIRITUAL ESPOUSALS. 13 
 
 of the sweet taste of heaven ; just as, Avhen a 
 choice electuary has been poui'ed out of a box, 
 the box still keeps the good flavour of it. This 
 heavenly taste remained with him for a long 
 time afterwards, and gave him a heavenly 
 yearning and longing after God. 
 
 Chapter IY. 
 
 How he spiritually espoused the Eternal V/isdom. 
 
 The course of life, which he pursued for a 
 long time after this, in regard to interior exer- 
 cises, was a ceaseless striving after actual re- 
 collection in interior union with the Eternal 
 Wisdom. How he first began this, may be 
 learned from his Little Book of the Eternal 
 Wisdom, in German and Latin, which God 
 moved him to compose. 
 
 He had from youth up a loving heart. Now 
 the Eternal Wisdom is represented in Holy 
 Scripture under a lovely guise, as a gracious 
 loving mistress, who displays her charms witli 
 the intent to please every one ; discoursing the 
 while tenderly, in female form, of the desire 
 she has to win all hearts to herself, and saving 
 
14 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 how deceitful all other mistresses are, and how 
 truly loving and constant she is. This drew his 
 young soul to her; and it fared with him as 
 with the Tvild beasts of the forest whom the 
 panther attracts to itself with the sweet smell 
 that it sends forth. In this winning way she full 
 often wooed him to her spiritual love, especially 
 in the books called the books of Wisdom. "When 
 these were read at table, and he listened to the 
 endearing words as they were read out, his heart 
 was right glad within him, and he began to feel 
 a yearning in his loving soul, and thoughts 
 would come to him like these: — Truly thou 
 shouldst make trial of thy fortune, whether per- 
 chance this high mistress, of whom thou hast 
 heard tell such marvels, will become thy love ; 
 for in truth thy wild young heart cannot long 
 remain mthout a love. 
 
 In these things he observed her closely, and 
 she pleased huu well in heart and soul. 
 
 It happened, as he sat at table another morn- 
 ing, that she cried aloud in the person of Solo- 
 mon, saying : — " Audi, fili mi !" &c. Hearken, 
 my child, to the high counsel of thy father. 
 Wilt thou pursue exalted love, then take thee 
 for thy most sweet love the Eternal Wisdom ; 
 for she sives to all her lovers youth and virtue. 
 
SPIRITUAL ESPOUSALS. 15 
 
 nobility and riches, honour and profit, mighty 
 power and an everlasting name. She makes 
 him who loves her gi-acious to all ; she teaches 
 him courteous bearing, and secures him praise . 
 before the world, and fame among the multi- 
 tudes. She makes him dear and of high esteem 
 to God and men. By her the earth was created, 
 the heavens w^ere made fast, and the foundations 
 of the abyss were laid. He who possesses her 
 walks securely, sleeps quietly, and lives in safety ^ 
 (Prov. i.-iv.). 
 
 'VYhen he heard this beautiful discourse 
 read out, straightway the thought came to his 
 longino; heart : — Ah me ! what a love is this ! 
 Could she but become mine, I were indeed well 
 off. These thoughts were met by contrary sug- 
 gestions such as these : — Shall I love what I 
 have never seen, nor even know what it is ? A 
 handful in possession is better than a houseful 
 in prospect. They who raise lofty buildings 
 and love venturesomely, have but a hungry 
 time of it. Truly this loving dame were a good 
 mistress, did she let her servant treat his body 
 well and tenderly. But far from this, she 
 says: — He who seeks good food, strong wine, 
 and long sleep, can never win Wisdom's love 
 (Prov. xxi. 17). Was there ever a suitor sub- 
 
16 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 # 
 jected to such hard terms as these? A thought 
 
 from God answered: — By ancient right, love 
 and suffering go together. There is no wooer 
 but he is a sufferer ; no lover but he is a 
 martyr. Therefore it is not unjust that he who 
 aims so high in love should meet with some 
 things repugnant to him. Remember all the 
 mishaps and the vexations which earthly lovers 
 suffer, whether with their will or against it. 
 He was greatly strengthened to persevere by 
 good inspirations of this sort. And the like 
 of this often happened to him. Sometimes he 
 had a good will, while at other times he would 
 let his heart go after perishable love. Never- 
 theless, to whatever side he turned, he always 
 found a something in every object which would 
 not let him give his heart to it without reserve, 
 and which drove him back from it. 
 
 One day, the reading at table was about 
 Wisdom, and his heart was stirred and set on 
 fire by it. Wisdom spoke thus: — As the lovely 
 rose-tree is full of bloom, and the lofty uncut 
 Libanus yields its fragrance, and the pure bal- 
 sam sends forth its odours (Ecclus. xxiv.), even 
 so I am a blooming, fragrant, and pure love, 
 without anger and bitterness, a very abyss of 
 loving sweetness. All other mistresses have 
 
SPIRITUAL ESPOUSALS. 17 
 
 sweet words, but a bitter recompense. Their 
 hearts are deadly nets, their hands are manacles, 
 their discoui'se honied poison, and their pastime 
 infamy (Eccles. vii. 27). He thought: — How 
 true is this ! And then he said to himself joy- 
 fully : — Yes, it must be so. She must indeed 
 be my love, and I ^siW be her servant. And the 
 thought came to him : — Ah God, if I might but 
 once see my love ! if I might but once converse 
 ^yith. her! Ah! what is the form of my be- 
 loved, in whom so many delightful things lie 
 hid? Is she God or of human kind? woman 
 or man? art or cunning? or what can she be? 
 While he thus strove to see her, so far as she 
 could be seen with the soul's eyes in what Holy 
 Scripture has made known concerning her, she 
 showed herself to him in this wise. She floated 
 high above him in a choir of clouds ; she shone 
 like the morning star, and her radiance was 
 dazzling as the rising sun ; her crown was eter- 
 nity ; her vestui'e bliss ; her words sweetness ; 
 her embrace the fulness of everv delio-ht: she 
 was far, yet near; high, yet lowly; she was 
 present, yet hidden; she forbade not to con- 
 verse with her, yet no one can comprehend 
 her. She reaches above the summit of the 
 heavens, and touches the depths of the abyss; 
 c 
 
18 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 she spreads herself from end to end mightily, 
 and disposes all things sweetly. When at one 
 moment he thought he saw in her a beautiful 
 maiden, forthwith she appeared to him as a 
 noble youth. Sometimes she showed herself as 
 one rich in wisdom ; at other times as overflow- 
 ing -with love. She drew nigh to him lovingly, 
 and greeted him full smilingly, and sweetly said 
 to him : — " Praebe, fili mi, cor tuimi mihi ! 
 Give me thy heart, my child!" (Pro v. xxiii. 
 26.) Thereupon he bowed himself to her feet, 
 and thanked her from his inmost heart out of 
 the depths of his lowliness. This was what 
 was then granted to him, and no more than 
 this could he obtain. 
 
 Afterwards, when he dwelt in thought upon 
 the all-lovely one, he used commonly to put this 
 question to himself, and ask his love-sick heart : 
 — Ah, my heart ! from what source do all love 
 and gi'aciousness flow ? Whence come all ten- 
 derness, beauty, joyousness, and loveableness ? 
 Comes it not all from the outbursting fomitain- 
 head of the pure Godhead 1 Up then, my heart, 
 my senses, my mind ; up, then, and cast your- 
 selves into the fathomless abyss of all lovely 
 things. Who shall keep me from Thee now? 
 Ah ! I embrace Thee still to-day with the long- 
 
SPIRITUAL ESPOUSALS. 19 
 
 ings of my bui'iiing heart. Aiid then there 
 pressed itself as it were, into his soul, the 
 primal outflow of all good, and in it he found 
 in spiritual fashion all that is beautiful, lovely, 
 and desirable, for all was there in a way in- 
 effable. 
 
 Thus it grew into a habit with him, when- 
 ever he heard songs of praise, or the sweet 
 music of stringed instrimients, or lays, or dis- 
 com'se about earthly love, immediately to turn 
 his heart and mind inwards, and gaze abstract- 
 edly upon his loveliest love, whence all love 
 flows. It were impossible to tell how often 
 Avath weeping eyes, from out the unfathomable 
 depths of his outspread heart, he embraced this 
 lovely form, and pressed it tenderly to his heart. 
 And thus it fared wdth him as vdth sl sucking 
 child, which lies encircled by its mother's arms 
 upon her breast. As the child with its head and 
 the movement of its body lifts itself up against 
 its tender mother, and bv these lovino; xrestures 
 testifies its heart's delight, even so his heart 
 many a time leapt up within his body towards 
 the delightful presence of the Eternal Wisdom, 
 and melted away in sensible affections. At such 
 moments the thought would come to him : — Ah, 
 Lord I were only a queen my spouse, it would 
 
20 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 make my heart rejoice. Ah me ! and Thou art 
 now mv heart's empress. Thou, the giver of 
 every grace ! In Thee I have wealth enough, 
 and all the power I want. As for what earth 
 contains, I wish for it no longer. Amid these 
 contemplations his countenance became all joy- 
 ous, his eyes godlike, and his heart full of 
 jubilee, while all his interior senses sang " Super 
 salutem," &c. (Wisd. vii. 10). Above all good 
 fortune, and above all beauty art Thou, O my 
 heart's good fortune and beauty ; for good for- 
 tune has followed me with Thee, and I possess 
 mth Thee and in Thee every good. 
 
 Chapter Y. 
 
 How he inscribed upon his heart the gracious Name of 
 Jesus. 
 
 At this season there came down into his 
 soul a flame of intense fire, which made his 
 heart all l^m'ning mth diAdne love. Now one 
 day that this feeling was strong within him, and 
 he was suffering exceedingly from tlie torments 
 of divine love, he went into his cell to his place 
 of retirement, and, rapt in loving contemplation, 
 
NAME OF JESUS. 21 
 
 spoke tlius : — Ah, sweet Lord ! would tliat I 
 could devise some love-token, which might be 
 an everlasting simi of love between me and 
 Thee, as a memorial that I am Thy beloved, and 
 Thou art my heart's only beloved ; a sign which 
 no oblivion might be ever able to efface. In 
 this fervour of devotion, he threw back his sca- 
 pular, and, baring his breast, took in his hand a 
 style ; then, looking at his heart, he said : — Ah, 
 mighty God ! give me to-day strength and power 
 to accomplish my desire; for Thou must be 
 bm-nt to-day into my very inmost heart. There- 
 upon he set to work, and thrust the style into 
 the flesh above his heart, di'awing it backwards 
 and forwards, up and down, until he had in- 
 scribed the Name of Jesus upon his heart. The 
 blood flowed plenteously out of his flesh from 
 the sharp stabs, and ran down over his body into 
 his bosom ; but this was so ravishing a sight to 
 him through the ardour of his loye^_tlmt 
 cared little for the pain. When he had flnished, 
 he went thus torn and bleedino; from his cell to 
 the pulpit under the crucifix, and kneeling down 
 said : — Ah, Lord ! my heart and soul's only love ! 
 look now upon my heart's intense desire. Lord, 
 I cannot imprint Thee any deeper in myself; 
 but do Thou, O Lord, I beseech Thee, complete 
 
22 LIFE or BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 the work, and imprint Thyself deep down into 
 my very inmost heart, and so inscribe Thy holy 
 Name in me, that Thou mayest never more de- 
 part from my heart. 
 
 Thus he bore upon him for a long time love's 
 wound, until at length it healed up; but the 
 Name of Jesus remained upon his heart, as he 
 had wished, and the letters were about the 
 breadth of a smooth stalk of corn, and the length 
 of a joint of the little finger. In this way he 
 bore the Name upon his heart until his death, 
 and at every beat of his heart the Name moved 
 with it. When newly made, it was very visible. 
 He bore it secretly, so that no one ever saw it, 
 except a companion of his, to whom he showed 
 it in spmtual confidence. Thenceforth, when 
 any trouble befell him, he used to look at the 
 love-token, and his trouble became lighter. It 
 was his wont also at times to sa}^ within himself 
 fond words like these : — See, Lord, earthly lovers 
 write their beloved's name upon their garments ; 
 but I have written Thee upon the fresh blood of 
 my heart. 
 
 Once upon a time, after matins, when he 
 had finished pra^ang, he went into his cell, and 
 sitting down upon his chair, he placed the book 
 of the lives of the ancient Fathers under his 
 
CONSOLATIONS OF BEGINNERS. 23 
 
 head for a pillow. Thereupon he was rapt 
 in ecstasy, and it seemed to him that a light 
 streamed forth from his heart ; and as he looked, 
 there appeared upon his heart a cross of gold, 
 and there were worked into it in noble fashion 
 many precious stones, which gave forth in bril- 
 liant light the Name of Jesus. 
 
 Then the Servitor took his mantle, and drew 
 it over his heart, intending, if he could, to cover 
 up the bright light which streamed from it, so 
 that no one might behold it. But the fiery 
 radiance shone forth so ravishingly that all his 
 attempts to hide it were of no avail against the 
 power of its loveliness. 
 
 Chapter YI. 
 
 Of the foretaste of divine consolations, with which God 
 sometimes allures beginners. 
 
 It was his custom to go into his chapel after 
 matins, and sitting down upon his chair to take 
 a little rest. He sat there but a short time, 
 until the watchman announced the break of 
 day ; when, opening his eyes, he used to fall at 
 once on his knees, and salute the rising morn- 
 ing star, heaven's gentle queen, with this inten- 
 
24 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 tion that, as the Kttle birds in summer greet the 
 daylight, and receive it joyonsly, even so did 
 he mean to greet Avith joyful longings her, who 
 brings the light of the everlasting day ; and he 
 did not merely say these words, but he accom- 
 panied them with a sweet still melody in his 
 soul. 
 
 Once at this time, while he sat thus at rest, 
 he heard within him something which rang so 
 tenderly, that his whole heart was stirred by it. 
 The voice sang in tones sweet and loud, as the 
 morning star uprose, these words: — "Stella 
 maris Maria hodie j)rocessit ad ortum : Mary the 
 morning star has risen to-day." This strain re- 
 sounded in him ^^dth such unearthly sweetness, 
 that it filled his whole soul with gladness, 
 and he sang with it joyously. After they 
 had thus sung together, he was embraced in a 
 way ineffable, and it was said to him at the 
 time : — The more lovino;lv thou embracest me, 
 and the more spiritually thou kissest me, so 
 much the more ravishingly and lovingly shalt 
 thou be embraced by my glory. Upon this he 
 opened his eyes, and, the tears rolling down 
 his cheeks, he saluted the rising morning star 
 according:: to his custom. When this first 
 salutation was ended, he next saluted with a 
 
COXSOLATIOXS OF BEGIXNERS. 25 
 
 venia^ the gentle Eternal AVisclom in the words 
 of the prayer, begmning " Anima mea desidera- 
 Wt te, "&c. This was followed by a third saluta- 
 tion, vdt\\ another venia, Avhich he addressed to 
 the highest and most fen^ent of the Seraphim, 
 even to the one who flames upwards in hottest 
 and fieriest love towards the Eternal Wisdom, 
 and this he did ^yiih. the intention that the spirit 
 should so inflame his heart with divine love, 
 that he might both be on fire himself and en- 
 kindle the hearts of all men ^^'ith his loving 
 words and teaching. These were the saluta- 
 tions which he made every morning. 
 
 One night in the carnival time, when he 
 had prolonged his prayer until the watchman's 
 horn announced the daybreak, the thought came 
 to him : — Sit a little longer, before thou greet- 
 est the bright morning star. Thereupon, his 
 senses being thus for a short time lulled to rest, 
 it seemed to him that the heavenly spirits began 
 with loud voice to intone the beautiful respon- 
 sory, " Sm-ge et illuminare, Jerusalem (Isaias 
 Ix. 1) : Aiise and be illuminated, Jerusalem ;" 
 and it rang with exceeding sweetness in his 
 soul. They had scarcely sung a little, when 
 
 * A monastic term, which means to kneel down and 
 kiss the ground. 
 
26 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 liis soul became so full of the heavenly strain, 
 that his frail body could bear no more, and, 
 opening his eyes, his heart overflowed, and the 
 burning tears streamed down his cheeks. 
 
 Once at this time, as he w^as sitting thus, it 
 seemed to him in a vision that he was carried 
 into another land, and that his angel stood there 
 before him full tenderly at his right hand. 
 The Senator sprang up at once, and, embracing 
 his dear angel, clung round him, and pressed 
 him to his soul as lovingly as he could, so that 
 there Avas naught between them, as it appeared 
 to him. Then in sorrowful accents and mth 
 weeping eyes he exclaimed out of the fulness of 
 his heart : — O my angel, whom the faithful 
 God has given me for my consolation and guard, 
 I pray thee, by the love thou hast for God, not 
 to leave me. The angel answered him and said: 
 — Canst thou not trust God ? Behold, God has 
 so lovingly embraced thee in His eternity, that 
 He will never leave thee. 
 
 It came to pass once, after the time of his 
 sufferings was over, that early one morning he 
 was smTounded in a vision by the heavenly 
 spirits. Whereupon he besought one of the 
 bright princes of heaven to show him the man- 
 ner of God's secret dwelling in his soul. The 
 
DIVINE CONSOLATIONS. 27 
 
 angel answered thus: — Cast, then, a joyous 
 glance into thyself, and see how God plays His 
 play of love with thy loving soul. He looked im- 
 mediately, and saw that his body over his heart 
 was clear as crystal, and that in the centre of 
 his heart was sitting tranquilly, in lovely form, 
 the Eternal Wisdom; beside whom there sat, 
 full of heavenly longing, the Senator's soul, 
 which, leaning lovingly towards God's side, and 
 encircled by God's arms, and pressed close to His 
 divine heart, lay thus entranced and dro^vned 
 in love in the arms of the beloved God. 
 
 Chapter Yll. 
 
 How one, who had begun well, was drawn onward in his 
 search after divine consolation. 
 
 He had made anew for himself certain 
 bands, with which he was accustomed to chastise 
 his body. Now, on the night before the feast 
 of All Angels, it seemed to him in a vision that 
 he heard angelic strains and sweet heavenly 
 melody ; and this filled him "s^-ith such gladness 
 that he forgot all his sufferings. Then one of 
 the angels said to him : — Behold, with what joy 
 thou dost hear us sing the song of eternity ; even 
 
28 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 SO, with like joy, do we hear thee sing the song 
 of the venerable Eternal AVisdom. He added 
 further: — This is a portion of the song which 
 the dear elect saints Avill sing joyously at the 
 last day, when they shall see themselves con- 
 firmed in the everlasting bliss of eternity. At 
 another time, on the same festival, after he had 
 spent many hours in contemplating the joys of 
 the angels, and daybreak was at hand, there 
 came to him a youth, who bore himself as though 
 he were a heavenly musician sent to him by 
 God; and mth the youth there came many 
 other noble youths, in manner and bearing like 
 the first, save only that he seemed to have some 
 preeminence above the rest, as if he were a 
 prince-angel. Now this same angel came up to 
 the Servitor right blithely, and said that God 
 had sent them down to him, to bring him hea- 
 venly joys amid his sufferings ; adding that he 
 must cast off all his sorrows from his mind and 
 bear them company, and that he must also 
 dance with them in heavenly fashion. Then 
 they drew the Servitor by the hand into the 
 dance, and the youth began a joyous ditty about 
 the infant Jesus, which runs thus : " In dulci 
 jubilo," &c. When the Servitor heard the dear 
 Name of Jesus souncUng thus sweetly, he be- 
 
DI^^IXE COXSOLATIOXS. 29 
 
 came so blithesome in heart and feeling, that 
 the very memory of his sufferings vanished. It 
 Avas a joy to him to see how exceeding loftily 
 and freely they bounded in the dance. The 
 leader of the song knew right well how to guide 
 them, and he sang first, and they sang after 
 him in the jubilee of their hearts. Thrice the 
 leader repeated the burden of the song, " Ergo 
 merito," &c. This dance was not of a kind 
 like those which are danced in this world ; 
 but it was a heavenly movement, swelling up 
 and falling back again into the mid abyss of 
 God's hiddenness. These and the Hke heavenly 
 consolations were granted to him innumerable 
 times during these years, but especially at the 
 times when he was encompassed with great 
 sufferings, and they made it all the easier for 
 him to bear them. 
 
 Once upon a time it was shown in a 
 vision to a certain holy person, when the Ser- 
 vitor had gone to the altar to say Mass, how 
 that he was gloriously arrayed with a vestment 
 of resplendent love, and that divine grace kept 
 dropping upon his soul like dew, and that he 
 was one with God. Behind him there were 
 seen standino^ at the altar a multitude of kindlv- 
 looking children with burning candles, one be- 
 
30 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 hind the other. The children stretched out 
 their arms, each one severally^ and embraced 
 him as lovingly as they could, and pressed him 
 to their hearts. The person in amazement asked 
 who they were, and what they meant. They 
 answered : — We are yom' brethren, and we 
 praise God with joy in eternal bliss, and ai'e 
 beside you and take care of you at all times. 
 The holy person said to them in the ^dsion : — 
 Dear angels, what mean you by embracing this 
 man so lovingly ? They answered : — He is so 
 very dear to us, that we have much to do with 
 him; and know this; God works unspeakable 
 marvels in his soul, and whatever he asks of 
 God earnestly, God mil never deny him. 
 
 Chapter YIII. 
 
 Of certain visions. 
 
 He had at this time very many visions of 
 future and hidden things, and God gave him 
 an experimental knowledge, so far as was 
 possible, of how things were in heaven, hell, 
 and pm-gatory. It happened to him com- 
 monly, that many souls appeared to him upon 
 
VISIONS. 31 
 
 their lea\ang this world, and told him how it 
 had fared with them, what sins were the cause 
 of their purgatory, how they could be helped, 
 or what was^ their reward from God. Among: 
 others there appeared to him the blessed Master 
 Eckart, and the holy brother John der Fucrer 
 of Strasburg. The Master signified to him, 
 that he was in exceeding glory, into which his 
 soul was quite transformed, and made godlike 
 in God. Upon this the Servitor besought him 
 to tell him two things. The first was, the 
 manner in which those persons dwell in God, 
 who with real and genuine detachment have 
 sought to rest in the supreme Truth alone? 
 To this he answered, that no words can tell the 
 way in which these persons are taken up into 
 the modeless abyss of the divine essence. The 
 second thing w^as ; what exercise is most calcu- 
 lated to help forward him, whose earnest desire 
 is to arrive at this state ? The blaster replied, 
 that he must die to himself by deep detach- 
 ment, receive every thing as from God and not 
 from creatures, and establish himself in un- 
 ruffled patience towards all men, however wolf- 
 ish they may be. 
 
 The other brother, John, also showed him 
 in a vision the ravishing beauty -with which 
 
32 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXEY SUSO. 
 
 his soul was glorified, and of him too he asked 
 the explanation of another point. The ques- 
 tion was : which among all spiritual exercises 
 is the most painful, and at the same time the 
 most profitable? The brother answered, that 
 there is nothing more painful, and yet more 
 profitable for a man, than, when forsaken by 
 God, to go out of himself by patience, and thus 
 to leaye God for God. 
 
 The Ser^'itor's own father, who had led a 
 yery worldly life, appeared to him after death, 
 and with a woful aspect showed him liis agon- 
 ising pm'gatory, and the chief sins for which 
 he had incurred it, and explained to him dis- 
 tinctly how he was to help him. The Servitor 
 did this ; and afterwards his father appeared to 
 him, and told him that he had been set free. 
 His holy mother also, in whose heart and body 
 God worked many marvels in her lifetime, ap- 
 peared to him in a vision, and made known to 
 him the great reward which she had received 
 from God. The like happened to him in the 
 case of numberless other souls; and it was a 
 source of pleasure to him, and dm'ing a long 
 time it gave him instruction and support in the 
 course which he was then pui'suing. 
 
HIS BEHAVIOUR AT TABLE. 33 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 Of the way in which he went to table. 
 When the time came for him to go to table, 
 he used to kneel do^^ii in lo^Tiig contemplation 
 before the Eternal Wisdom, and beseech Him 
 very eamestlv to go ydth hun to table and eat 
 with him, sapng: — Most sweet Jesus Christ, 
 I invite Thee ^N-ith the longuig desire of my 
 heart, and I pray Thee, even as Thou dost 
 bountifully, feed me, to grant me also to-day 
 Thy gentle presence. Then, on sitting down 
 to table, he would place opposite to him, as his 
 table-companion, the dear guest of pure souls, 
 and he would look at Him very tenderly, and 
 often bow himself towards Him on the side of 
 His heart. At each course that was set before 
 him, he used to lift up the plate towards his 
 Di\'ine host, that He might give His holy bless- 
 ing to it, and he would often say to Him, \Ndth 
 a lo\'ing familiarity : — O my Lord, bless what 
 is before us, and eat with Thy sen-ant. Such 
 were the words of tenderness -^^-ith which he 
 would address Him. Again, before he drank 
 he would lift up the goblet and ask Him to 
 drink first of it. At table he used to drink five 
 draughts, and he drank them out of the five 
 
 D 
 
34 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 wounds of his dear Lord; and because water' 
 and blood flowed from the Di^dne side, be drank 
 the last draught in two. He ate the first and 
 the last mouthful in union with the love of the 
 most loving heart which earth could possibly 
 produce, and with the hottest love of the high- 
 est of the seraphim, desiring the while that his 
 heart might have a full share in this love. He 
 used to dip the food which he disliked into the 
 wounded heart of his beloved, in firm trust that 
 it could then no longer hurt him. 
 
 He had a fondness for fruit, but God would 
 not let him indulge it. He had once a vision, in 
 which it seemed to him that some one offered 
 him an apple, saying: — Take this; it is what 
 thou art so fond of. He answered : — Nay ! all 
 my fondness is for the lovely Eternal Wisdom. 
 The other replied to him that this was not true, 
 seeing that he took too much delight in fruit. 
 This made him feel ashamed of himself, and 
 for two years he ate no more fruit, much though 
 he longed for it all the time. When the two 
 years were ended, and the next year the fruit 
 crop had failed, so that the convent was with- 
 out any, the Servitor, having now after many 
 combats gained the mastery over himself, and 
 wishing to be no longer singular at table about 
 
HIS BEHAVIOUR AT TABLE. 35 
 
 fruit, besought Almighty God, if it was His will 
 that he should eat fruit, to supply the whole con- 
 vent with it. And it came to pass accordingly ; 
 for when it was morning, an unknown person 
 arrived with a large quantity of new pennies 
 for the convent, and desired that fresh apples 
 might be bought up every where with them. 
 This was done, and thus the convent had fruit 
 enough for a long time, and the Servitor began 
 again to eat fruit with thankfulness. 
 
 He used to divide the large fruit into four 
 parts ; three of which he ate in the Name of the 
 Holy Trinity, and the fourth in union with the 
 love with which the heavenly Mother gave her 
 gentle child Jesus a little apple to eat. This 
 last part he ate without cutting it, because little 
 children usually eat it in this way, uncut. From 
 Christmas Day, for many days follomng, he did 
 not eat the fourth part, but he offered it in con- 
 templation to the gentle Mother, praying her to 
 give it to her dear little Son, for whose sake he 
 would meanwhile go mthout it. 
 
 If sometimes he began eating or drinking 
 too eagerly, the presence of his venerable com- 
 panion would make him ashamed of himself, 
 and he would give himself a penance for it. 
 
 Once there came to him from another city 
 
36 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 a good person, who told Mm that God had said 
 these words to him in a vision : — If thou would- 
 est learn how to conduct thyself at table as is 
 meet, go to my Servitor and bid him tell thee all 
 his ways. 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 How he began the New Year. 
 It is the custom in certain parts of Swabia, 
 his native country, for the young men to go out 
 in their folly on New- Year's Night, and beg for 
 May wreaths : that is to say, they sing ditties 
 and recite pretty verses, and do all they can, 
 with such like courtesies, to make their sweet- 
 hearts give them garlands. Now, when he heard 
 of this, the thought came at once to his young 
 and loving heart, that he too would go on that 
 same night to his Eternal Love, and beg a May 
 wTeath. Accordingly, before break of day he 
 went to the image of the most pure Mother, 
 which represents her holding in her arms, and 
 pressing to her heart, her gentle Child, the 
 beautiful Eternal Wisdom ; and, kneeling down 
 before it, he began with the sweet voiceless 
 melody of his soul to sing a sequence to the 
 Mother, praying her leave to beg a garland from 
 
new-year's night. 37 
 
 her Child, and, should he fail to obtain this, 
 that she would help him in his suit. And so 
 earnest was his prayer, and so little could he re- 
 strain himself from weeping, that the hot tears 
 kept rolling down his cheeks. When his song 
 was ended, he turned him to his heart's love, the 
 Eternal Wisdom, and bowing down at His feet, 
 greeted Him from the very bottom of his heart, 
 and praised and celebrated Him as one who far 
 surpasses all this world's fairest maidens in come- 
 liness, nobility, virtue, gentleness, and freedom, 
 united with everlasting majesty. And this he 
 did with songs and words, with thoughts and 
 longings, as best he could ; and much he wished 
 that he could be, in a spiritual sense, the fore- 
 runner of all lovers and loving hearts, and the 
 inventor of all tender thoughts, words, and sen- 
 timents, that the most worthy One might be 
 lauded with due love by His unworthy Servitor. 
 Then at length he broke forth into words like 
 these : — Ah, my beloved ! Thou art indeed an 
 Easter Day of joy to me. Thou art the bliss 
 of summer to my heart, and the hour of my de- 
 light. Thou art the loved One, whom alone my 
 young heart loves and thinks upon, and for 
 whom it has scorned all earthly love. Let this 
 avail me now, my heart's beloved, and let me 
 
^ 38 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 obtain a garland from Thee to-day. All, gentle 
 heart ! do this for Thy divine virtue's sake, and 
 for Thy innate goodness, and let me not depart 
 from Thee with empty hands this New Year's 
 Day. Ah ! how well this will beseem Thee, O 
 sweet sweetness ! Remember that one of Thy 
 dear servants has told us of Thee, that in Thee 
 there is not nay and yea, but only yea and yea 
 (2 Cor. i. 19). Therefore, my heart's beloved, 
 say to me to-day a loving yea in regard to Thy 
 heavenly gift, and as foolish lovers obtain a gar- 
 land from their loves, so let my soul receive 
 to-day, as a New Year's gift, some special grace, 
 or some new light from Thy fair hand, my own 
 sweet love, O Divine Wisdom. These and the 
 like prayers he used to offer up there, and he 
 never went away thence with his prayer un- 
 granted. 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 Of the words *' Sursuni corda." 
 He was once asked what was the subject of 
 his contemplation when he sang mass and in- 
 toned the words " Sursum corda," at the begin- 
 ning of the preface before the Canon. Now 
 these words mean in the vulvar toncrue, "Lift 
 
SURSUM CORDA. 39 
 
 up all hearts on higli to God. ;" and they came 
 forth from his mouth with such an expression 
 of ardent desire, that it may well have moved to 
 peculiar devotion those who heard them. He 
 answered this question with a deep sigh, say- 
 ing : — When I sing these adorable words in the 
 holy mass, it usually happens that my heart and 
 soul are melted with a yearning and longing 
 after God which carry away my heart out of 
 itself at that moment ; for three different inten- 
 tions commonly present themselves to me then, 
 and lift me up on high — sometimes one alone, 
 sometimes two, and sometimes all three together 
 — and they bear me upwards into God, and with 
 me all creatures. 
 
 The first intention, that darts like a ray of 
 light into my mind, is this : — I place before my 
 inward, eyes myself with all that I am — my body, 
 soul, and all my powers — and I gather round 
 me all the creatures which God ever created in 
 heaven, on earth, and in all the elements, each 
 one severally with its name, whether birds of the 
 air, beasts of the forest, fishes of the water, 
 leaves and grass of the earth, or the innumer- 
 able sand of the sea, and to these I add all the 
 little specks of dust which glance in the sun- 
 beams, with all the little drops of water which 
 
40 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 ever fell or are falling from dew, snow, or rain, 
 and I wish that each of these had a sweetly- 
 sounding stringed instrument, fashioned from 
 my heart's inmost blood, striking on which they 
 might each send up to our dear and gentle God a 
 new and lofty strain of praise for ever and ever. 
 And then the lo\dng arms of my soul stretch out 
 and extend themselves towards the innumerable 
 multitude of all creatures, and my intention is, 
 just as a free and blithesome leader of a choir 
 stirs up the singers of his company, even so to 
 turn them all to good account by inciting them 
 to sing joyously, and to offer up their hearts to 
 God. " Sursum corda." 
 
 His second intention, he said, was this : — I 
 put before myself in thought my own heart and 
 the hearts of all men, and I consider on the one 
 hand what joy and pleasure, what love and 
 peace they enjoy who give their hearts to God 
 alone; and, on the other, what hurt and suf- 
 fering, what sorrow and unrest perishable love 
 brings to those over whom it rules ; and then 
 I cry out with earnest desire to my o^vn heart, 
 and the hearts of all men, wheresoever they 
 be, from one end of this world to the other : — 
 Come forth, ye captive hearts, from the strait 
 bonds of perishable love ! Come forth, ye sleep- 
 
CANDLEMAS. 41 
 
 ing hearts, from the death of sin ! Come forth, 
 ye frivolous hearts, from the lukewarmness of 
 your slothful and careless lives ! Lift yourselves 
 up by tm'ning wholly and unreservedly to the 
 living God. " Sursum corda." 
 
 His third intention was a friendly call to 
 all well-disposed but undetached men, who go 
 astray in their interior life, and cling closely 
 neither to God nor to creatures, because their 
 hearts are distracted and drawn to one side or 
 the other at every moment. These men, and 
 myself among their number, I then invite to 
 make a bold venture of ourselves, by turning 
 away entirely from ourselves and every crea- 
 ture unto God. Such was the subject of his 
 contemplation in the words " Sursum corda." 
 
 Chapter XIL 
 
 How he kept the feast of Candlemas. 
 
 For three days before our Lady's feast of 
 Candlemas, he used to get ready with prayer a 
 candle for the heavenly Mother ; and he formed 
 the candle of three twisted tapers in this man- 
 ner : — The first taper was in token of her stain- 
 
42 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 less and virginal purity; the second, of her 
 unfathomable humility; and the third, of her 
 maternal dignity ; — three prerogatives which are 
 hers alone above all creatm^es. And he made 
 ready this spiritual candle every day with three 
 magnificats. Now when the day of the blessing 
 of the candles was come, he went early in the 
 morning, before any one had gone into the 
 church, to the high altar, and waited there in 
 contemplation the coming of the august Mother 
 with her heavenly treasure. When she ch'ew 
 nigh the outer gate of the city, he ran to meet 
 her with the multitude of all souls that love 
 God, and he outran them all with the longings 
 of his heart. Then running in front of her in 
 the street, he prayed her to tarry a while with 
 her attendants until he had sung something in 
 her honour. Thereupon, \^dth a spiritual voice- 
 less melody, so that his lips moved, but no one 
 heard him, he began to sing as lovingly as he 
 could the prose, "Inviolata," &c. (O spotless 
 one, &c.), and he bowed himself down before 
 her as he sang, " O benigna, O benigna !" (O 
 gracious one! O gracious one!) and he prayed 
 her to show forth her gracious kindliness to- 
 wards a poor sinner. Then rising up, he fol- 
 lowed her with his spiritual candle in the desire 
 
CANDLEMAS. 43 
 
 that slie Avould never j^ermit the burning flame 
 of divine light to be extinguished in him. After 
 this, on coming up to the multitude of all-loving 
 souls, he began to sing " Adorna thalamum," &c. 
 (Make ready the bridal bed, &c.), and he called 
 upon them to receive the Saviour with love, and 
 fen-ently to embrace His Mother ; and thus he 
 led them with songs of praise as far as the 
 temple. Then drawing near to the Mother be- 
 fore she entered in and gave the Saviour to 
 Simeon, he knelt dovm. in front of her, and A\'ith 
 uplifted hands and eyes prayed her to show him 
 the Child, and to suffer him also to kiss It. 
 When she kindly offered It to him, he spread 
 out his arms to the boundless quarters of the 
 wide world, and received and embraced the Be- 
 loved One a thousand times in one hour. He 
 contemplated Its beautiful little eyes ; he looked 
 upon Its little hands ; he kissed Its tender little 
 mouth ; and he gazed again and again at all the 
 infant members of the heavenly treasure. Then 
 lifting up his eyes, he uttered a cry of amaze- 
 ment in his heart that He who bears up the 
 heavens is so great and yet so small, so beauti- 
 ful in heaven and so childlike upon earth ; and 
 as the Divine Infant moved him so did he act 
 towards It, — now singing, now weeping, with 
 
44 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Other spiritual exercises, until at last he gave It 
 back to Its Mother, and, going in with her into 
 the temple, remained there till all was fully 
 accomplished. 
 
 Chapter XIII. 
 
 How he spent the Carnival time. 
 
 When the Carnival was close at hand, on 
 the evening that the Alleluias are left off,* and 
 the foolish people of this world begin to abandon 
 themselves to merriment, he set about keeping 
 in his heart a heavenly carnival, in this wise : — 
 In the first place he considered how short-lived 
 and hurtful the pleasure of this earthly carnival 
 is, and how some persons with a momentary joy 
 purchase for themselves long suffering; and then 
 he said a "Miserere" to the adorable God for 
 all the sins and the dishonour which would be 
 offered to Him at this time of dissipation. This 
 carnival he called the peasants' carnival, as be- 
 fitting those who knew nothing better. His 
 other carnival consisted in a contemplation of 
 
 * The eve of Septuagesima Sunday, when the Alleluias 
 are left off in the divine office. They are not resumed until 
 Easter. 
 
THE CARNIVAL TIME. 45 
 
 that which is the prelude of eternity; namely, 
 how God makes meny with His chosen friends, 
 while still clothed in this mortal body, through 
 the heavenly consolations which He gives them ; 
 and he recounted with praises and thanksgiving 
 those which he had himself received, and he was 
 full of joy in the Almighty God. 
 
 At this same season of his beginnings, God 
 once gave him a spiritual carnival, and it was in 
 this wise. It was the carnival time, and he had 
 gone before compline into a warm little room to 
 warm himself, for he was miserably cold and 
 hungry^, and yet this did not cause him so much 
 pain as the thh'st from which he suffered. Now 
 when he saw them eating meat there and di-ink- 
 ing good wine, while he was hungry and thirsty, 
 he was so affected by it interiorly that he soon 
 went out again and began to lament himself, 
 and to sigh from the very bottom of his heart. 
 That same night it seemed to him in a vision 
 that he was in an infirmary, and that outside 
 the room he heard some one singing a heavenly 
 song, and the tones rang so sweetly that no 
 earthly harp ever sent forth the like ; and it was 
 as if a little schoolboy of twelve years old was 
 singing there alone. The Senator forgot all 
 about the body's food as he listened to the sweet 
 
46 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 melody, and he exclaimed with longing heart : 
 — Ah me! what is it that is singing there? 
 Never on earth heard I tones so sweet. A 
 noble-looking youth, who stood by, answered 
 him and said: — Thou shouldst know that this 
 Boy who sings so well is singing for thee, and 
 that thou art the object of His song. The Ser- 
 vitor replied : — Alas ! God help me ! Ah, hea- 
 venly youth, bid Him sing more. The Boy sang 
 again, so that it resounded high in the air, and 
 he sang about three heavenly canticles from the 
 beginning to the end. When the song was 
 ended it seemed as though the same Boy who 
 sang so sweetly came through the air to the 
 little window of the room, and presented the 
 youth ^^^th a pretty basket filled with red fruit, 
 like ripe red strawberries, and they were large 
 in size. The youth took the basket from the 
 Boy, and offered it joyfully to the brother, say- 
 ing: — Look, comrade and brother! this red 
 fruit is sent thee by thy friend and heavenly 
 Lord, the delightful Boy, the Son of the hea- 
 venly Father, who has been singing to thee. 
 Ah, how very dear thou art to Him ! At this 
 the brother's face became all on fire and red 
 with joy, and he received the basket longingly, 
 saying : — Ah, it is well with me. This is indeed 
 
THE CARNIVAL TIME. 47 
 
 a lovely gift for me from the delightful heavenly 
 Boy. My heart and soul shall ever rejoice in 
 this. Then he said to the youth and the other 
 heavenly beings who were there : — Ah, dear 
 friends, is it not meet that I should be enamoured 
 of this heavenly Boy, who is so full of graces ? 
 Yes, verily, it is meet that I should be enamoured 
 of Him, and whatever I shall know to be His 
 dearest mil that I will always do. Then turning 
 to the aforenamed youth, he said: — Tell me, 
 dear youth, am I not right ? The youth smiled 
 sweetly, and said : — Yes, thou art right. It is 
 meet for thee to be enamoured of Him ; for He 
 has reo;arded and honom'ed thee more than 
 many other men. Therefore love Him A'ery 
 dearly; and I tell thee thou must also suffer 
 more than many other men. Wherefore make 
 thyself ready for it. The Servitor answered : — 
 Ah, this I will do right gladly ; but, I pray thee, 
 help me to see Him and to thank Him for His 
 beautiful gift. The youth replied: — Go then 
 to the little window and look out. The Servitor 
 opened the window, and there he saw standing 
 before the window the tenderest and loveliest 
 little boy that eye has ever seen ; and when he 
 tried to force himself through the window to 
 get at Him, the boy turned lo^ningly towards 
 
48 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 him, and inclining Himself sweetly to him, with 
 a friendly blessing, vanished from his sight. 
 Thus the vision departed, and when the Ser^d- 
 tor came to himself again, he thanked God for 
 the good carnival which He had bestowed upon 
 him. 
 
 Chapter XIY. 
 
 How he began the month of May. 
 
 It was his custom on May-day Eve to set 
 up a spiritual May-bough, and to do it honour 
 exerj day for a long space of time. Among all 
 the beautiful branches that ever grew he could 
 find none more like to a lovely May-bough than 
 the delightful bough of the Holy Cross, which 
 is more blooming with gi'aces, virtues, and orna- 
 ments of every kind than any May-bough that 
 ever was. Under this May-bough he made six 
 prostrations (yenias)^ and at each prostration 
 he desh'ed in his contemplation to adorn the 
 spiritual May-bough with some one of the love- 
 Hest things which the summer might bring 
 forth ; and he sang before it interiorly the 
 hymn, " Salve crux sancta," &c., in this wise ; 
 Hail, heavenly May-bough of the Eternal Wis- 
 
MAY-DAY. 49 
 
 dom, on which has grown the fruit of everlasting 
 bliss ! First, I offer thee to-day as an eternal 
 adornment, in place of all red roses, a heartfelt 
 love; secondly, for every little violet, a lowly 
 inclination ; thirdly, for all tender lilies, a pure 
 embrace ; fourthly, instead of all the beautifully- 
 coloured and brilliant flowers, which heath or 
 down, forest or plain, tree or meadow has 
 brought forth this lovely May, or which have 
 ever been or will be brought forth, my heart 
 offers thee a spiritual kiss ; fifthly, for the songs 
 of all the blithesome little birds which ever sang 
 merrily on any a May-day flight, my soul offers 
 thee praises without end ; sixthly, for every 
 ornament with which a May-bough has ever 
 been adorned my heart magnifies thee to-day 
 with a spiritual song ; and I pray thee, blessed 
 May-bough, to help me so to praise thee in this 
 short time of life that I may feed upon thy 
 living fruit throughout eternity. Thus it was 
 that he began the month of May. 
 
50 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 Of the sorrowful way of the Cross, which he made with 
 Christ when He was being led forth to death. 
 
 At first for a long time the Servitor was, 
 as it were, spoiled by God with heavenly con- 
 solations; and he was so eager after them, 
 that all subjects of contemplation which had 
 reference to the Divine nature were a delight 
 to him; whereas, when he should have medi- 
 tated upon our Lord's sufferings, and sought 
 to imitate Him in them, this seemed to him a 
 thing hard and bitter. He was once severely 
 rebuked by God for this, and it was said to 
 him: — Knowest thou not that I am the door 
 through which all true friends of God must 
 press in, if they would attain to true bliss? 
 Thou must break thy way through My suffer- 
 ing Humanity, if thou wouldst verily and indeed 
 arrive at My naked Divinity. The Servitor 
 was struck with consternation at this, and it 
 was a hard saying to him ; nevertheless he com- 
 menced meditating upon it, much though it 
 went against him, and he began to learn what 
 till then he knew not, and he gave himself up 
 to practise it with detachment. 
 
 He now began every night after matins at 
 
THE WAY OF THE CROSS. 51 
 
 his usual place, which was the chapter-room, to 
 force himself into a Christlike feeling of sym- 
 pathy with all that Chnst, his Lord and God, 
 had suffered for him. He stood up and moved 
 from corner to corner, in order that all sluggish- 
 ness might leave him, and that he might have 
 throughout a lively and keen sensitiveness to 
 our Lord's sufferings. He commenced this ex- 
 ercise with the Last Supper, and he accompa- 
 nied Christ from place to place, until he brought 
 Him before Pilate. Then he received Him 
 after He had been sentenced at the tribunal, 
 and he followed Him along the sorrowfid way 
 of the cross from the com-t-house to beneath 
 the gallows. The following was the manner in 
 which he made the way of the cross : — On com- 
 ing to the threshold of the chapter-house, he 
 kneeled down and kissed the print of the first 
 step which the Lord took, when, on being sen- 
 tenced. He turned Him round to go forth to 
 death. Then he began the psalm which de- 
 scribes our Lord's passion, " Deus, Deus mens, 
 respice," &c. (Ps. xxi.), and he went out by the 
 door into the cloister, repeating it. Now there 
 were four streets through which he accompanied 
 Him. He went with Him to death sdoncr the 
 first street, with the earnest desire and will to 
 
52 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 go forth from his friends and all perishable 
 goods, and to suffer, for Christ's glory, misery 
 without consolation, and voluntary poverty. In 
 the second street he proposed to himself to cast 
 aside all perishable honour and dignity, and vo- 
 luntarily to despise this present world, consider- 
 ing how the Lord had become ^"'a worm and the 
 outcast of the people." At the beginning of the 
 third street he kneeled down again, and, kissing 
 the gi'ound, willingly renounced all needless 
 comfort, and all tender treatment of his body, 
 in honour of the pains of Christ's tender body : 
 and he set before his eyes, what is written in 
 the psalm, how that all Christ's strength was 
 dried up, and His natural vigour brought nigh 
 to death, as they di'ove Him onwards thus piti- 
 ably; and he thought how fitting it is that 
 every eye should weep and every heart sigh on 
 account of it. When he came to the fourth 
 street, he kneeled dowTi in the middle of the 
 road, as if he were kneeling in front of the 
 gate through which the Lord must pass out; 
 and then falling on his face before Him, he 
 kissed the ground, and crying out to Him, prayed 
 Him not to go to death without His servant, 
 but to suffer him to go along with Him. Then 
 he pictured to himself as vividly as he could 
 
THE WAY OF THE CKOSS. OO 
 
 that the Lord was oWigecl to pass quite close to 
 him, and when he had said the prayer, "Ave, 
 rex noster, fiU David !" (Hail, our King, son of 
 David !), he let Him move onwards. After this 
 he knelt down again, still turned towards the 
 gate, and greeted the cross with the verse, " O 
 crux ave, spes unica!" (Hail, O cross, our only 
 hope !), and then let it go past. This done, 
 he kneeled down once more before the tender 
 Mother Mary, heaven's queen, as she was led 
 past him in unfathomable anguish of heart, and 
 he observed how mournfully she bore herself, 
 and noted her burning tears, sad sighings, and 
 sorrowful demeanour; and he addressed her 
 in the words of the " Salve Regina" (Hail, O 
 Queen !), and kissed her footsteps. Then he 
 stood up and hastened after his Lord, until he 
 came up with Him. And the picture was some- 
 times so vividly present to his mind, that it 
 seemed to him as if he were in body walking at 
 Christ's side, and the thought would come to him, 
 how that when King David was driven from his 
 kingdom his bravest captains walked around him 
 and beside him, and gave him lo^dng succour (2 
 Kings XV.). At this point he gave up his will 
 to God's will, desiring that God would do with 
 him according to His good pleasure. Last of 
 
54 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 all, lie called to mind the epistle, which is read 
 in Holy Week, from the prophecy of Isaias, 
 beginning, "Quis credidit auditui nostro" (Is. 
 liii.), and which so exactly describes how the 
 Lord was led forth to death, and meditating 
 upon it, he went in by the door of the choir, 
 and so up the stej)s into the pulpit, until he 
 came beneath the cross, and then he besought 
 the Lord that neither life nor death, weal nor 
 woe, might separate his servant from Him. 
 
 There was another mournful way of the 
 cross that he used to make, and it was in this 
 wise: — Wliile the "Salve Regina" was being 
 sung at compline, he contemplated in his heart 
 the pure Mother as at that moment still stand- 
 ing beside her dear Child's grave, with all a 
 mother's grief for her buried child, and that it 
 was time for her to be led home again, and that 
 he was to lead her home. Accordingly, he made 
 three prostrations (venias) in his heart, and with 
 them he led her home again in his contempla- 
 tion. The first was at the sepulchre. As soon 
 as the " Salve Regina" began, he bowed down 
 his soul before her, and supporting her in spiri- 
 tual fashion with his arms, bewailed her tender 
 heart, which was at that time so full of bitter- 
 ness, outrage, and deadly sorrow, and he sought 
 
THE WAY OF THE CROSS. 55 
 
 to comfort her by reminding her that on account 
 of all this she was now a queen in dignity, our 
 hope and our sweetness, as it stands in the hymn. 
 Then, when he had brought her under the gate- 
 way into Jerusalem, he went on before her into 
 the street, and looking back upon her, as she 
 came along in wretchedness,, all blood-stained 
 with the hot blood which had dropped upon her, 
 as it streamed forth from the bursting wounds 
 of her pierced Son, he marked how forsaken she 
 was and bereaved of all her consolation. Then 
 he received her again mth a second interior 
 prostration, at the words, " Eia ergo advocata 
 nostra !" (Hail then, our advocate !), meaning 
 by them that she should be of good cheer, since 
 she is the worthy advocate of us all ; and he 
 besought her with that love which shone forth 
 amid her anguish to turn to him her merciful 
 eyes, and to grant him, when this miserable life 
 is over, lovingly to behold her august Son, ac- 
 cording to the wish expressed in the prayer. 
 He made the third interior prostration before 
 the door of her mother St. Anne's house, whi- 
 ther he had led her in her sorrows, and, as he 
 did this, he commended himself to her gentle- 
 ness and loving sweetness, in the devout words, 
 " O clemens, O pia, O dulcis Yirgo Maria !" 
 
56 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 (O gentle, O pious, O sweet Virgin Mary!), 
 and he prayed her to receive his wretched soul 
 at its last passage, and to be its guide and de- 
 fender from its evil enemies, through the gates 
 of heaven to everlastino; bliss. 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 
 Of the useful virtue called silence. 
 The Servitor had an interior drawing to 
 strive after true peace of heart, and it seemed 
 to him that silence would be of service towards 
 attaining it. He therefore kept so strict a guard 
 over his mouth, that for thirty years he never 
 broke silence at table, except once, when he was 
 returning from a chapter with many other bro- 
 thers, and they ate on board ship. On that oc- 
 casion he broke it. In order to have greater 
 mastery over his tongue, and to stop himself 
 from giving way too readily to talk, he made 
 choice in his mind of three masters, without 
 whose special leave he resolved never to speak, 
 and these were the holy patriarchs St. Dominic, 
 St. Arsenius, and St. Bernard. Whenever he 
 wished to speak he went in thought from one 
 to the other, and asked leave, saying, "Jube, 
 
BODILY MORTIFICATIONS. 57 
 
 domne, benedicere" (Bid me, O master, speak) ; 
 and if it was the right time and place to speak, 
 he received permission from the first master; 
 and if there was no external reason to prevent 
 him speaking, he had leave from the second ; 
 and if it was not likely to do him an injury in- 
 teriorly, he considered that he had leave from 
 all three; and after that he spoke; but if it 
 was not so, it seemed to him that he ought to 
 keep silence. Whenever he was called to the 
 door of the convent he applied himself to these 
 four things : first, to receive every one with 
 kindHness; secondly, to despatch the matter 
 with brevity ; thirdly, to send the person away 
 consoled ; fourthly, to go back again free from 
 attachment. 
 
 Chapter XYH. 
 
 Of the chastisement of his body. 
 HJE was in his youth of a temperament full 
 of fire and life ; and when this began to make 
 itself felt, and he perceived what a heavy burden 
 he had in himself, it was very bitter and grievous 
 to him ; and he sought, by many devices and 
 great penances, how he might bring his body 
 
58 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 into subjection to his spirit. He wore for a 
 long time a hair shirt and an iron chain, until 
 the blood ran from him ; so that he was obliged 
 to leave them off. He secretly caused an under- 
 garment to be made for him ; and in the under- 
 garment he had strips of leather fixed, into which 
 a hundred and fifty brass nails, pointed and 
 filed sharp, were driven, and the points of the 
 nails were always turned towards the flesh. He 
 had this garment made very tight, and so ar- 
 ranged as to go round him and fasten in front, 
 in order that it might fit the closer to his body, 
 and the pointed nails might be driven into his 
 flesh ; and it was high enough to reach upwards 
 to his navel. In this he used to sleep at night. 
 Now in summer, when it was hot, and he was 
 very tired and ill from his journeyings, or when 
 he held the oflice of lecturer, he would some- 
 times, as he lay thus in bonds, and oppressed 
 with toil, and tormented also by noxious insects, 
 cry aloud, and give way to fretf ulness, and twist 
 round and round in agony, as a worm does 
 when run through Avith a pointed needle. It 
 often seemed to him as if he were lying upon 
 an ant-hill from the torture caused by the in- 
 sects ; for if he wished to sleep, or when he had 
 fallen asleep, they vied with ejach other in biting 
 
BODILY MOKTIFICATIONS. 59 
 
 and sucking him. Sometimes he would cry to 
 Almighty God out of the fulness of his heart : — 
 Alas I gentle God, what a dying is this ! When 
 a man is killed by murderers or strong beasts 
 of prey, it is soon over ; but I lie dying here 
 under the cruel insects, and yet cannot die. The 
 nights in winter were never so long, nor was 
 the summer so hot, as to make him leave off this 
 exercise. On the contrary, in order that he 
 might get still less rest amid these torments, he 
 devised something further. He bound a part 
 of his girdle round his throat, and made out of 
 it with skill two leather loops, into which he put 
 his hands, and then locked his arms into them 
 with two padlocks, and placed the keys on a 
 plank beside his bed, where they remained until 
 he rose for matins and unlocked himself. His 
 arms were thus stretched upwards, and fastened 
 one on each side his tliroat, and he made the 
 fastenings so secure, that even if his cell had 
 been on fire about him he could not have helped 
 himself. This practice he continued until his 
 hands and arms had become almost tremulous 
 with the strain, and then he debased something 
 else. 
 
 He had two leather gloves made for him, 
 such as labourers usually wear when they gather 
 
60 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 briers, and he caused a brazier to fit them all 
 over with sharp-pointed brass tacks, and he used 
 to put them on at night. This he did in order 
 that, if he should trv while asleep to throw off 
 the hair under-garment, or endeavom' in any 
 other way to relieve himself from the gnawings 
 of the vile and hateful insects, the tacks might 
 then stick into his body. And so it came to 
 pass. If ever he sought to help himself -wath 
 his hands in sleep, he drove the sharp tacks into 
 his breast, and tore himself, making horrible 
 rents, as if a bear had torn him with its sharp 
 claws, so that his flesh festered at the arms and 
 about the heart. When after many weeks the 
 wounds had healed, he tore himself again and 
 made fresh wounds. He continued this tor- 
 menting exercise for about sixteen years. At 
 the end of this time, when his blood was now 
 chilled, and the fire of his temperament de- 
 stroyed, there appeared to him in a vision on 
 Whit -Sunday a messenger from heaven, who 
 told him that God required this of him no longer. 
 Whereupon he discontinued it, and threw all 
 these things away into a running stream. 
 
THE SHARP CROSS UPON HIS BACK. 61 
 
 Chapter XYIII. 
 
 Of the sharp cross which he bore upon his back. 
 
 Above all his other exercises, he had a long- 
 ing desire to bear upon his body something 
 which might betoken a sensible sympathy with 
 the painful sufferings of his crucified Lord. To 
 this end he made for himself a wooden cross, in 
 length about a man's span, and of corresponding 
 breadth, and he drove into it thirty iron nails, 
 intending to represent by them all his Lord's 
 wounds and love-tokens. He placed this cross 
 upon his bare back between his shoulders on 
 the flesh, and he bore it continually day and 
 night in honour of his crucified Lord. After- 
 wards, in the last year, he drove into it besides 
 seven needles, so that their points passed a long 
 way through the cross, and remained sticking 
 in it, while the other ends were broken off close 
 to the wood. He bore the wounds made by 
 these pointed needles in honour of the piercing 
 anguish of God's pure Mother, by which her 
 heart and soul were wounded through and 
 through so utterly at the hour of her Son's 
 agonising death. The first time that he stretched 
 out this cross upon his back his tender frame 
 
62 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 was struck with terror at it, and he blunted the 
 sharp nails very slightly upon a stone. But very 
 soon repenting of this unmanly cowardice, he 
 pointed and sharpened them all again with a 
 file, and placed the cross once more upon him. 
 It furrowed his back, where the bones are, and 
 made it bloody and seared. Whenever he sat 
 down or stood up, it was as if a hedgehog-skin 
 lay upon him. If any one touched him un- 
 awares, or pushed against his clothes, it tore 
 him. To make this painful cross more bear- 
 able, he chiselled on the back of it the saving 
 Name of Jesus. For a long time he took two 
 disciplines every day with this cross, in the fol- 
 lowing manner. He struck behind him with 
 his fist upon the cross, and thus drove the nails 
 into his flesh, and made them stick in it, so that 
 he had to take off his clothes to get them out 
 again. He used to strike these blows upon the 
 cross so secretly that no one could have observed 
 it. He took the first discipline on arriving in 
 his contemplation at the pillar where our beau- 
 tiful Lord was so barbarously scourged, and he 
 prayed our Lord to heal His servant's wounds, 
 with His own. He took the second discipline 
 when he had come in contemplation beneath 
 the cross, and the Lord had been nailed to it, 
 
THE SHARP CROSS UPON HIS BACK. 63 
 
 and then he nailed himself to his Lord, never 
 more to part from Him. He did not take the 
 third discipline every day, but only when he 
 had been too indulgent with himself, or had 
 given way to inordinate pleasure in eating and 
 drinking, or such like. 
 
 Once upon a time he had been so much off 
 his guard as to take into his hands the hands of 
 two maidens, who were sitting beside him in a 
 pubKc assembly, though without any bad inten- 
 tion. He soon repented of this unguardedness, 
 and he considered that this inordinate pleasure 
 must be atoned for by penance. As soon as he 
 left the maidens, and had come into his chapel 
 to his place of privacy, he struck himself upon 
 the cross for this misdeed, so that the pointed 
 nails stuck into his back. He moreover laid 
 himself under an interdict for this fault, and 
 would not allow himself to go after matins into 
 the chapter-room, his usual place of prayer, to 
 meet the heavenly spirits, who were w^ont to 
 appear to him there during his contemplation. 
 At length, desiring to atone completely for the 
 misdeed, he summoned coui'age, and fell at the 
 Judge's feet, and took a discipline in His pre- 
 sence with the cross ; and then going round and 
 round on every side before the saints, he took 
 
64 LIFE OF BLESSED HE]NTIY SUSO. 
 
 thirty disciplines, till the blood ran down his 
 back. In this way he atoned very bitterly for 
 the inordinate pleasure which he had allowed 
 himself. 
 
 After matins had been sung, he went into 
 the chapter-room, to his place of privacy, and 
 kissed the ground a hundred times prostrate 
 with outstretched arms, and a hundred times 
 kneeling; each time with a special object of 
 contemplation. This caused him very great 
 pain on account of the cross. For as it was 
 fastened tightly upon him, and driven closer to 
 his body than a hoop is to a cask — such being 
 his custom at this period — each time that he 
 flung himself on the ground in maldng the 
 hundi'ed prostrations the nails stuck into him 
 through the fall. When he got up again he 
 writhed them out of him. But at the next fall 
 they stuck into fresh holes, and this was a sore 
 pain to him. If, however, they stuck into the 
 same holes it was endurable. 
 
 There was another penitential exercise w^hich 
 he had previously practised. It was this : He 
 made for himself a scourge out of a leather 
 thong, and had it fitted with pointed brass tacks 
 as sharp as a style, in such a way that the ends 
 of each tack stood out on either side of the thonir. 
 
HIS SCOURGE. 65 
 
 and eacli of tlie ends had a triple point, which 
 caused wounds in whatever part of the body 
 they struck. Such was the kind of scourge 
 which he made for himself ; and he used to get 
 up before matins, and go into the choir in front 
 of the Blessed Sacrament, and there discipline 
 himself with it severely. He j^ractised this 
 penance for a long time, until at last the bro- 
 thers became aware of it, upon which he dis- 
 continued it. 
 
 Once, on St. Clement's day, at the beginning 
 of winter, he made a general confession, and 
 that same evening, when it became dusk, he 
 shut himself up in his cell, and stripping him- 
 self naked to his horsehair under-garment, he 
 took out the scourge with the pointed tacks, and 
 struck himself with it over the body and about 
 the arms, till the blood ran down just as when 
 one is cupped. The chief cause of this was a 
 bent tack on the scourge, in shape like a little 
 hook, which tore away all the flesh on which it 
 caught. He struck himself so hard, that the 
 scourge broke into three pieces, and while one 
 little piece remained in his hand, the rest with 
 the points flew against the walls. As he stood 
 there all covered with blood, and looked at him- 
 self, the spectacle which he presented was a 
 
QQ LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 most miserable one, and lie resembled in some 
 degree Christ, our Lord, when He was bar- 
 barously scom'ged. Thereupon, being moved 
 to pity for himself, he began to weep from his 
 very heart, and kneeling down all naked and 
 bleeding in the frosty cold, he besought God so 
 to blot out all his sins that His merciful' eyes 
 might no more behold them. 
 
 Another time, on Quinquagesima Sunday, he 
 went, as he .had done before, into his cell, when 
 the brothers were at table; and after ha\ing 
 stripped himself naked, he gave himself very 
 cruel blows, so that the blood streamed down 
 his body. But just as he was about to strike 
 himself still harder, there came thither a bro- 
 ther, who had heard the noise, so that he was 
 obliged to leave off. Then he took vineo-ar and 
 salt, and rubbed them into his wounds, that the 
 pain might be rendered greater. 
 
 On St. Benedict's feast, the day on which 
 he was born into this miserable world, he went at 
 breakfast-time into his chapel, and making fast 
 the door, stripped himself as before, and taking 
 out the scourge, began to strike himself with it. 
 A blow fell on his left ann, and hit the vein 
 called mediana, or another vein near it. And 
 as the stroke was a very severe one, the blood 
 
HIS SCOURGE. 67 
 
 burst forth, and ran down in a stream upon his 
 foot between the toes, and lay in a pool upon 
 the pavement. His arm immediately swelled 
 up to a great size, and turned blue ; and this so 
 frightened him, that he did not dare to go on 
 striking. Now at this very time, and at the 
 selfsame hour in wdiich he thus struck himself, 
 there was at another place in a certain castle a 
 holy maiden, named Anna, j)raying, who seemed 
 to herself to be carried in a vision to the spot 
 where he was taking the discipline. And when 
 she saw the hard blows which he was giving 
 himself, it so moved her to compassion that, 
 gomg up to him just as he had raised his arm, 
 and was on the point of striking, she intercepted 
 the blow, and received it on her own arm, as it 
 seemed to her in the vision. When she came 
 to herself again, she found the mark of the blow 
 on her arm in black wales, as if she had been 
 hit by a scoui'ge. These marks remained visible 
 upon her for a long time, and they were accom- 
 panied with great pain. 
 
68 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 
 Of his bed. 
 
 At this same period the Servitor procured 
 an old castaway door, which he placed upon his 
 bedstead in his cell, and he used to lie upon it 
 at night without any bed-clothes to make him 
 comfortable. He also made for himself a very 
 thin mat of rushes, which he laid upon the door, 
 and which reached only to his knees. He put 
 under his head for a bolster a small sack filled 
 mth pea-stalks, and upon it a very small pillow. 
 He had no bed-covering over him, and he lay at 
 night just as he was clothed during the day; ex- 
 cept only that he took off his shoes, and -wTapped 
 a thick cloak round him. He thus secured for 
 himself a most miserable bed ; for the hard pea- 
 stalks lay in lumps under his head, the cross 
 with the sharp nails stuck into his back, his 
 arms were locked fast in bonds, the horsehair 
 under-garment was round his loins, and the 
 cloak too was very heavy, and the door hard. 
 Thus he lay in A\Tetchedness, afraid to stir, just 
 like a log. Whenever he attempted to tmm, 
 the pain it caused him was very great ; and if 
 he fell back at all heavily upon the cross when 
 
HIS BED. G9 
 
 asleep, the nails ran into liis bones ; and he 
 would then send up many a sigh to God. 
 
 In Avinter he suffered very much from the 
 frost, for if he stretched out his feet in sleep, as 
 people do, they lay quite bare upon the door, 
 and froze with the cold ; and if he di'ew them 
 in again, and kept them gathered up, the blood 
 became all on fire in his legs, and this was great 
 pain to him. His feet were full of sores ; his 
 legs swelled, as if they were growing ch'opsical; 
 his knees were bloody and seared ; his loins were 
 covered with scars from the horsehair under- 
 garment ; his back was wounded by the cross ; 
 his body wasted from excessive austerity; his 
 mouth parched with intense thirst; and his 
 hands tremulous from weakness. Amid these 
 torments he spent his days and nights ; and he 
 endured them all out of the greatness of the 
 love which he bore in his heart to the Divine 
 and Eternal Wisdom, om' Lord Jesus Christ, 
 whose agonising sufferings he sought to imitate. 
 
 After a time he gave up this penitential ex- 
 ercise of the door, and instead of it he took up 
 his abode in a very small cell, and used the 
 bench, which was intended for a seat, as his bed. 
 This bench was so narrow and short that he could 
 not stretch himself out upon it. In this hole, 
 
70 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 and upon the above-mentioned door, lie lay at 
 niglit, in his usual bonds, for about eight years. 
 It was also his custom during the space of five- 
 and-twenty years, provided he was stajdng in 
 the convent, never to go after compline in 
 winter into any warm room, or to the convent- 
 stove to warm himself, however cold it might be, 
 unless he was obliged to do so for other reasons. 
 Throughout all these years he never took a bath, 
 either a water or a sweating bath ; and this he 
 did in order to mortify his comfort -seekuig 
 body. 
 
 For a long time he only ate once a day, 
 both in summer and winter ; and he not only 
 fasted from meat, but also from fish and eggs. 
 He practised during a long time such rigid po- 
 verty that he would neither receive nor touch a 
 penny either with leave or without it. For a 
 considerable space of time he strove to attain to 
 such a high degree of purity that he would 
 neither scratch nor touch any part of his body, 
 save only his hands and feet. 
 
HIS ABSTIXEXCE FROM DPwINK. 71 
 
 Chapter XX. 
 
 How he broke himself from drink. 
 Another afflictive exercise, ^vliicli lie once 
 adopted, was to limit liimself to an exceedingly 
 small measure of drink ; and that he might not 
 transgress this measure either at home or abroad, 
 he caused a little cup to be made of the exact 
 size, and carried it "vvith him whenever he went 
 out. In times of great thirst it was no more 
 than enough to cool his parched mouth, just 
 like what is given to refresh a sick person in a 
 burning fever. For a long time he cbank no 
 wine at all, save only on holy Easter-day, and 
 he drank it then in honour of the high festival. 
 On one occasion, after he had long endured 
 great thirst, and from a spirit of mortification was 
 resolved not to quench his thirst with water or 
 wine, he looked upwards to God in the excessive 
 anguish of his soul, upon which God answered 
 him interiorly in this wise : — ^lark and see how 
 thirsty I was in My death-agony, with nothing 
 but a little vinegar and gall to drink; and yet 
 all the cool fountains upon this earth were 
 Mine, for I have created them all, as well as 
 all things else, and ordained them all for man's 
 support. Wherefore thou also must endure 
 
72 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 patiently privation and want, if tliou wouldst 
 imitate Me. 
 
 It happened once before Christmas that the 
 Servitor had utterly renounced and put from 
 him all bodily comforts, and moreover had 
 taken upon himself three penitential exercises 
 in addition to the ordinary practices which he 
 had long pursued. The first of these was, that 
 he remained after matins mitil daybreak stand- 
 mfT on the bare stones before the liiCTh altar, 
 and this too at a time when the nights were at 
 the longest, and the bell for matins rang very- 
 early. The second practice was, that he avoided 
 going to any warm place, either by day or night, 
 and never Avarmed his hands over the chafine;- 
 dish at the altar ;* in consequence of which his 
 hands became horribly swollen, because the 
 cold at that time was exceeding great. When 
 compline was ended, he used to go, all cold as 
 he was, to sleep upon his bench, and after 
 matins he stood before the altar on the bare 
 stones till daybreak. The third practice was 
 to abstain altogether from drinking during the 
 day, however great his thirst might be. He 
 
 * It was the custom to place a chafing-dish upon the 
 altar when the cold was veiy great, in order that the priest 
 might warm his fingers at it. 
 
HIS ABSTDsEXCE FEOM DRIXK. 73 
 
 only di'ank in the morning at table, and at that 
 time he was not thirsty. When, however, it 
 ch'ew towards evening, his thu'st l)ecame so ex- 
 cessive that his whole frame panted for drink ; 
 nevertheless he bore it all perseveringly, though 
 the pain of it was bitter and intense. His 
 mouth, inside and out, was as dry as that of a 
 sick person in a distemper, and his tongue was 
 so cracked that for more than a year afterwards 
 it would not heal. AMien he stood in chou' at 
 compline thus parched with thirst, and the holy 
 water was sprinlded around according to cus- 
 tom, he would eagerly open his parched mouth, 
 and gape wide towards the sprinkling-brush, in 
 the hope that a little drop of water might fall 
 upon his dried-up tongue and cool it a little. 
 Again, when he used to push away the wine 
 from him at the supper-table, all athirst though 
 he was, he would sometimes lift up liis eyes and 
 say: — Ah, heavenly Father, receive this cool 
 di'ink as an offering of my heail's blood, and 
 give Thy Child to drink of it in that thirst 
 wherewith He thirsted in His death-agony upon 
 the cross. Sometimes also, when he was very 
 thirsty, he would go opposite the fountain and 
 gaze at the tinkling water in the tinned basin, 
 and then he would look upwards to God and 
 
74 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 sigh deeply. At other times he was so utterly 
 overcome by his sufferings that he would cry 
 out from the depths of his heart : — Alas, O 
 everlasting Good, how hidden are Thy judg- 
 ments! Ah me! that the broad lake of Con- 
 stance is so nigh, and the clear Ehine flows all 
 around me,* and yet one single drink of water 
 is too dear for me to purchase ! This is indeed 
 a misery. 
 
 This state of things continued until the 
 time when the Gospel was read at Mass about 
 how our Lord God changed water into wine- 
 That same Sunday night he sat in misery at 
 table, for through excess of thirst he had no 
 deshe to eat. As soon as grace was read he 
 limTied quickly to his chapel, for he was so 
 overcome with agony that "he could no more 
 contain himself, and, bursting into a flood of 
 bitter tears, he exclaimed : — O God, Thou alone 
 knowest what sorrow and anguish of heart are.. 
 Wlierefore was I born into this world so utterly 
 poor and destitute that in the midst of all abun- 
 dance I must endure such grievous need? While 
 
 * The Dominican Convent in whicli Blessed Henry Susa 
 lived stood on a small island at the point where the Rhine 
 flows out of the lake of Constance. It is now a manufac- 
 tory. 
 
HIS ABSTINENCE FROM DEINK. 75 
 
 he was uttering these lamentations, it seemed to 
 him as though a voice spoke mthin his soul, 
 saying : — Be of good coui'age ; God will soon 
 rejoice and comfort thee. Weep not, hvaxe 
 knight ; bear thyself well. These words brouglit 
 fresh life to his heart, so that he stopped lament- 
 ing, and tried to leave off weeping altogether. 
 But the pain he suffered would not let him feel 
 quite joyful, and his tears continued fldling, 
 though something inwardly forced him to smile, 
 as though at some pleasant adventure close at 
 hand which God would ere long send him. In 
 this state he went to compline. His mouth 
 sang while his heart trembled, and it seemed to 
 him the while that he should soon be recom- 
 pensed for all his sufferings. And so it came 
 to pass not long afterwards, and even that very 
 night he received part pajTnent in the follow- 
 ing manner : It appeared to him in a vision as 
 though our dear Lady, God's ^Mother, came to 
 him with the little Child Jesus in the form He 
 wore on earth when seven years old. The 
 Child carried in His hand a small goblet of 
 fresh water. The goblet was glazed all over, 
 and was a little larger than one of the convent- 
 mugs. Then our dear Lady took the goblet in 
 her hand, and gave it to the Servitor to chink. 
 
76 LIFE OF BLESSED HENKY SUSO. 
 
 He received it with great eagerness, and 
 quenched his thirst to his heart's content. 
 
 One day as he was walking in the country, 
 he happened to meet, on a narrow pathway, a 
 poor, respectable w^oman; and when the woman 
 drew near him, he gave up to her the dry path, 
 and went himself into the wet at the side, in 
 order to let her go by. The woman, tm-ning 
 round, said to him : — Dear master, how comes 
 it that you, a gentleman and a priest, give way 
 so humbly to me, a poor woman, who ought 
 much more fittingly to have given w^ay to you? 
 He replied : — Ah, dear woman, it is my cus- 
 tom to pay willing deference and honour to all 
 women for the sake of the gentle Mother of God 
 in heaven. At this she lifted up her eyes and 
 hands to heaven, and spoke thus: — I beseech 
 this same august Lady that you may not depart 
 this world until you have received some special 
 grace from her whom you honour in all of us 
 women. He answered : — May the pure Maiden 
 Mary in heaven obtain me this. 
 
 It happened soon afterw^ards that, though 
 there was abundance of every kind of di-ink 
 before him, he left the table, according to liis 
 custom, with a thirsting mouth. That same 
 night, when he lay down to rest, there came 
 
OUR LADY GIVES HIM DRINK. 77 
 
 and stood before him, in a vision, a beautiful 
 heavenly form, which thus addressed him : — It 
 is I, the ^Mother, who gave thee to drink from 
 the Httle goblet the other night ; and, since thou 
 art so exceeding thirsty, I vnW in pity give thee 
 once more to drink. To this the Servitor made 
 answer very wisely : — Ah, purest one ! but thou 
 hast nothing in thy hand out of which to give 
 me drink. She replied: — ^I will give thee to 
 drink of that healthful drink which flows from 
 my heart. He was so terrified at this that he 
 could not answer her, for he knew well how mi- 
 worthy of it he was. Then she said to him, 
 w^ith great Idndliness : — Inasmuch as Jesus, 
 the treasure of heaven, has come down so lov- 
 ingly into thy heart, and since thy parched 
 mouth has so dearly earned this grace, I will 
 bestow it on thee for thy special consolation; 
 and it is not a corporeal drink which I will give 
 thee, but a healthful, spiritual, and excellent 
 drink of real and true purity. Then he let it 
 be as she had said, and he thought within him- 
 self : — Thou shalt noAV di'ink thy full, and be 
 able to quench thy great thirst. When he had 
 well di'unk of this heavenly drink, there re- 
 mained something in his mouth like a little soft 
 lump. It was white, and of the nature of 
 
78 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 manna ; and lie kept it in liis mouth for a long 
 time, as a voucher for the truth of what had 
 taken place. Afterwards, he began to Aveep 
 from his very heart, and he thanked God and 
 His dear Mother for the great grace that they 
 had vouchsafed him. 
 
 That same night our dear Lady appeared to 
 a holy person in another town, and said : — Go 
 and tell my Child's Servitor from me what is 
 written of the great doctor, John Chrysostom 
 of the golden mouth, how that one day, wdien 
 he was still a scholar, as he was kneeling be- 
 fore an altar, on which the heavenly Mother 
 was represented in carved wood giving the 
 Child in her arms to drink, as mothers do, the 
 image of the Mother bade her Child stop awhile, 
 and allowed the afore-named scholar likewise to 
 drink from out her heart. This same grace 
 the Servitor also has received from me in a 
 vision, and as a voucher for its truth, mark 
 this: that from this time forth the teaching 
 which will proceed from his holy mouth will be 
 much more fervent and pleasanter to hear than 
 it has ever been before. When the Servitor 
 heard this, he lifted up his hands, heart, and 
 eyes, saying: — ^Praised be the vein of the out- 
 flowing Godhead, and praised beyond praise be 
 
OUR LADY GIVES HIM DEINK. 79 
 
 the sweet Mother of all graces by me, poor 
 worthless man, for this heavenly gift. 
 
 The same holy person made answer, sa}dng: 
 — One thing more I have to tell yon. Ejiow, 
 then, that our dear Lady, mth her dear Child, 
 appeared to me last night in a vision, and our 
 Lady had in her hand a beautiful drinking-vessel 
 of water. The Child and the Lady spoke lo\dng 
 words about you, and then she held the vessel 
 of w^ater to the Child, and prayed Him to pro- 
 nounce His blessing over it. He pronounced 
 His holy blessing upon the water, and imme- 
 diately the w^ater became wine; and He said: — 
 It is enough. My will is that the brother should 
 no longer mortify himself by abstainmg from 
 wdne. Let him henceforward drink \vine for 
 his wasted frame's sake. From that time forth, 
 now that God allowed it to him, the Ser\dtor 
 drank mne as he had done before. 
 
 At this same period, when the Servitor had 
 become very ill, o^vuig to the excessive bm'den 
 of the afore-mentioned exercises which he had 
 so long practised, our dear Lord appeared to a 
 holy friend of God, holding in His hand a box. 
 She said to him: — ^Lord,what meanest Thou by 
 the box ? He answered : — ^I mean to cure my 
 Servitor with it, for he is sick. Then our Lord 
 
80 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 went to the Servitor -vvitli the box, and opened 
 it, and in the box there was fresh blood. He 
 took out some of the blood, and spread it over 
 the Servitor's heart, so that it became all bloody, 
 and after that He spread it over his hands and 
 feet and all his limbs. Upon this, she said to 
 Him: — Ah, Lord! why dost Thou mark him 
 thus? or is it Thy will to impress upon him Thy 
 five love-mai'ks 1 He answered : — Yes. I will 
 lovingly mark his heart and all his frame "svith 
 suflPerings, and I will heal him, and restore him 
 to health, and I mil make of him a man after 
 My whole heart. 
 
 At length, after the Servitor had led, from 
 his eighteenth to his fortieth year, a life of ex- 
 ercises, according to the outer man — such as 
 have been in part described above — and when 
 his whole frame was now so worn and wasted 
 that nothing remained for him except to die or 
 leave off these exercises, he left them off; and 
 God showed him that all this austerity and all 
 these practices were nothing more than a good 
 beginning, and a breaking through his un- 
 crushed natural man ; and he saw that he must 
 press on still further in quite another way, if he 
 wished to reach perfection. 
 
THE SCHOOL OF TRUE DETACHMENT. 81 
 
 Chapter XXI. 
 
 How he was directed to the rational school, in which 
 the art of true detachment is taught. 
 
 OxE day the Servitor was sitting on his 
 bench after matins, and while he was absorbed 
 in meditation his bodily senses became ab- 
 stracted, and it seemed to his inward vision that 
 a noble youth came down from above, and, 
 standing before him, addressed him thus : — 
 Thou hast been long enough in the lower 
 schools, and hast exercised thyself sufficiently 
 in them, and art now full-grown. Up then 
 with me. I mil take thee to the highest school 
 which is to be found in this world; and thou 
 shalt diligently learn there the highest of all 
 crafts, which shall estabhsh thee in chvine peace, 
 and bring thy holy beginnings to a blissful end. 
 The Servitor was rejoiced at this, and stood up; 
 upon which, the youth took him by the hand 
 and carried him, as it appeared to him, into a 
 land above the ken of sense. Tliere was a 
 beautiful house there, which looked as if it were 
 the abode of religious men, and those who prac- 
 tised the afore-named craft dwelt in it. When 
 he entered the house, they received him kindly 
 a 
 
82 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 and greeted him lovingly, and then they went 
 in haste to the Master Superior, and told him. 
 that one had come who also ^vished to be his 
 disciple, and to learn the craft. He answered: 
 — ^I will look at him and see how he pleases me. 
 Wlien he saw the Ser\dtor, he smiled upon liim 
 very kindly, and said: — Be assured that this 
 stranger may become an excellent professor of 
 this high craft, if he will patiently submit to the 
 strait stocks, in which he must be inwardly con- 
 fined. But the Servitor understood not these 
 obscure words ; so he turned him to the youth 
 who had brought him thither, and asked him, 
 saying: — Tell me, dear comrade, what is the 
 highest school, and what is the craft taught there 
 of which thou spokest to me ? The youth an- 
 swered : — The highest school, and the craft 
 which is taught there, consist simply in an 
 entire and perfect detachment from self; that 
 is to say, how a man may attain to such an 
 abiding spirit of self-renunciation, that, no mat- 
 ter how God treats him, either directly by Him- 
 self, or indirectly through creatures, or how he 
 feels, whether joyful or sad, the one object of 
 his stri-sdngs shall ever be to continue always 
 the same by a perpetual giving up of self, as far 
 as human frailty will allow, and to make God's 
 
THE SCHOOL OF TRUE DETACHMENT. 83 
 
 honour and glory his sole aim, just in the "way 
 that the dear Christ acted towards His heavenly 
 Father. When the Sersdtor heard this, he was 
 well pleased at it, and he resolved to study the 
 craft, and it seemed to him that he could meet 
 mtli no difficulties so great as to make him txxni 
 aside from this intention. Moreover, he ^\dshed 
 to build a house there, and to undertake much 
 active work. The youth prevented him from 
 doing this, saying : — This craft requires a com- 
 plete cessation from activity. The less a man 
 does here, the more he has really done.* 
 
 Immediately after this discourse the Servitor 
 came to hunself again, and he continued to sit 
 still as before. Then he began to reflect deeply 
 upon this discom'se, and he observ^ed that it Avas 
 the same pure and simple truth which Christ 
 Himself has taught. Thereupon he proceeded 
 to hold converse with himself interiorly, sapng: 
 — ^Look inwards, friend, and thou wilt find thy- 
 self still really there, and wilt perceive that, not- 
 withstanding all thy outward practices, in which 
 thou didst of thy own choice exercise thyself, 
 thou art still undetached from self in what re- 
 
 * He alluded in this to that mode of acting in which a 
 man is a hindrance to himself, and does not seek God's 
 honour purely. 
 
84 LIFE OF BLESSED IIEXRY SUSO. 
 
 lates to contradictions at the hands of others. 
 Thou art still like a timid hare, which lies hid- 
 den in a thicket, and is terrified at every rust- 
 ling leaf. Even so is it with thee too. Thou 
 art terrified every day at the sufferings which 
 come upon thee. The sight of thy enemies 
 makes thee lose colour. When thou shouldst 
 let thyself be humiliated, thou takest to flight. 
 Wlien thou shouldst expose thyself to the blow, 
 thou hidest. When thou art praised, thou laugh- 
 est. When thou art blamed, thou mom-nest. 
 It may well be true that thou needest a higher 
 school. Then sighing inwardly, he looked up 
 to God, and said: — O God, how nakedly has 
 this truth been shown me ! Woe is me ! Wlien 
 shall I ever become a truly detached man ? 
 
 Chapter XXIL 
 
 How painful it is to die interiorly. 
 Now that the Servitor had been released by 
 God from exterior penances of the kind described 
 above, by which his life had been imperilled, his 
 worn-out frame was so rejoiced at this, that he 
 used to weep for joy whenever he called to mind 
 his penitential bonds, and all the cruel sufi'erings 
 
INTERIOR CROSSES. 85 
 
 and combats which he had passed througli. 
 And he said within himself: — Henceforth, dear 
 Lord, I will lead a quiet life and enjoy myself. 
 I Avill quench my thirst fully with wine and 
 water, and I will sleep unbound on my straw 
 bed. Oh ! how often and how earnestly I have 
 longed that this comfort might be mine before 
 I died! I have been long enough wearing my- 
 self away. Henceforth the time is come for me 
 to rest. Such were the presumptuous thoughts 
 and fancies which then floated before his mind. 
 Alas ! he knew not yet what God had decreed 
 concerning him. 
 
 When he had spent several weeks very 
 pleasantly in these agreeable thoughts, it hap- 
 pened one day that, as he was sitting ac- 
 cording to custom on the bench which was his 
 bed, he began to contemplate that true saying 
 of the suffering Job, "^lilitia est vita hominis 
 super terram" (Job vii. 1), — The life of man 
 in this world is nothing else but a knight's life 
 of warfare. As he meditated on these words, 
 his senses became abstracted, and it seemed 
 to him that there came in a comely youth, of 
 very manly form, who brought him a pair of 
 knight's shoes, of excellent quality, with other 
 clothing such as knights are wont to wear. The 
 
8Q LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 youth went wp to the Sem'tor, and vested him 
 in the knight's attire, sajdng: — Hearken, Sir 
 Knight. Hitherto thou hast been a squii'e : 
 God wills thee now to be a knight. The Ser- 
 vitor looked at himself in the knight's shoes, 
 and marvelling greatly in his heart, exclaimed : 
 — ^Wonderful, O God ! A^^iat has happened to 
 me? What have I become? Must I be a 
 laiight ? I had much rather lead a comfortable 
 life than this. Then he said to the youth : — 
 Well, since God wills me to be a knight, if only 
 I had been made one gloriously in a battle, I 
 should have prefen'ed it. The youth turned 
 half aside, and, with a laugh, answered : — ^Be 
 not anxious. You shall have fiHitino; enouo-h. 
 He who resolves to bear himself undauntedly as 
 God's knight in this spiritual warfare will meet 
 with much harder conflicts than ever fell to the 
 lot of the famed heroes of olden time, whose 
 knightly prowess the world loves to recount in 
 song and tale. Thou fanciest that God has 
 taken thy yoke off thee, and that He has cast 
 away thy bonds, so that thou canst now attend 
 to thy comfort. But it is not so, as yet. It is 
 not God's will to take thy bonds from off thee. 
 He will only change them, and make them far 
 heavier than they ever were before. The Ser- 
 
INTERIOR CROSSES. 87 
 
 "vitor was struck with terror at this, and said : — 
 Alas, my God ! what art Thou about to do witli 
 me ? I fancied that all was at an end, just as 
 it is going to begin. My straits are only now 
 commencing, as it seems to me. Ah, Lord of 
 Heaven ! what mean Thy dealings with me ? 
 Am I alone a sinner, and are all other men 
 just, that Thou dost in this wise use Thy rod 
 on me, poor wretch, and sparest many others? 
 Thou hast acted thus w^ith me since my child- 
 hood's days, when Thou didst crucify my youth- 
 ful frame with heavy and weary sicknesses. I 
 fancied that I had had enough by this timet 
 He answered: — No! it is not yet enough. Thou 
 must be tried and proved to the very bottom in 
 all things, if it is to go well Avith thee. The 
 Servdtor said : — Lord ! show me how much suf- 
 fering I have still before me. He answered: 
 — ^Look upwards at the heavens above thee, 
 and if thou canst count the countless multitude 
 of the stars, thou canst count also the sufferings 
 which still await thee; and as the stars seem 
 small, and yet are great, even so thy sufferings 
 are small in seeming to the eyes of unexercised 
 men; while, judged of by thy own feelings, they 
 will prove great for thee to bear. The Servitor 
 said: — Ah, Lord! show me the sufferings be- 
 
88 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 forehand, that I may know them. He ansvrered : 
 — ^No ! it is better for thee not to know them, 
 lest thou shouklst lose heart beforehand. Never- 
 theless, among the countless sufferings which 
 await thee, I will tell thee three. 
 
 The first is this. Hitherto thou hast struck 
 thyself \\dth thy own hands, and left off striking 
 when thou wouldst, and hast had pity upon thy- 
 self. But now I will myself take hold of thee, 
 and give thee over quite defenceless into the 
 hands of strangers, and thou shalt suffer pub- 
 licly the loss of thy good name, through the 
 means of certain blinded men. This will press 
 upon thee more painfully than the shai-p cross 
 on thy wounded back did; for in thy former 
 exercises thou wast held in high repute among 
 men, whereas now thou shalt be beaten down 
 and broucrlit to nauo;ht in the siojht of all. 
 
 The second suffering is this. Many as have 
 been the bitter deaths which thou hast inflicted 
 on thyself, nevertheless this has always remained 
 to thee by God's providence, that thy disposition 
 is an affectionate and love-seeldng one. Now 
 it shall befall thee, that in those very quarters 
 where thou shalt look for special love and faith- 
 fulness thou shalt meet with great unfaithful- 
 ness, sufferings, and affliction. And this shall 
 
INTEKIOR CROSSES. 89 
 
 liappen in sucli manifold ways, tliat those who 
 shall continue more than ordinarily true to thee 
 will have to suffer with thee from compassion. 
 
 The third suffering is this. Hitherto thou 
 liast been like an unweaned sucking child, and 
 thou hast floated in divine sweetness, as a fish 
 in the sea. I -svill now withdraw this from thee, 
 and let thee starv^e and wither ; and thou shalt 
 he forsaken both by God and the world, and 
 he openly despised by friends and foes. In a 
 word: whatever thou shalt take in hand in 
 order to delight or comfort thee, shall come to 
 naught. 
 
 The Servitor was struck T^dth such conster- 
 nation at these words that his whole frame trem- 
 l)led; and springing up impetuously, he fell down 
 uj)on the ground in the form of a cross, and 
 calling upon God \^^[th a cry of agony from his 
 very heart, besought Him by His Idnd fatherly 
 l^oodness to take away from him, if it were pos- 
 sible, this great miseiy ; or, if this could not be, 
 to let the heavenly will of His eternal ordinance 
 be accomplished in him. 
 
 After he had lain a good while in this ex- 
 tremity of anguish, something spoke within him 
 thus: — Be of good cheer. I Myself will be 
 with thee, and I mil aid thee graciously to 
 
90 LIFE OF BLESSED HENKY SUSO. 
 
 overcome in all these unusual trials. There- 
 upon he arose, and gave himself up entirely 
 into God's hands. Now when it became morn- 
 ing, and he was sitting sorrowfully in his cell 
 after IMass, thinking over these things, and 
 frozen with cold, for it was winter, he heard a 
 voice within him saying : — Open the Tvdndow of 
 the cell, and look out and learn. He opened 
 the window, and looked out, and he beheld a 
 dog running about in the middle of the cloister 
 with a worn-out foot-cloth in its mouth. The 
 dog w^as acting very strangely with the foot- 
 cloth, for he kept tossing it up and down, and 
 tearing holes in it. Thereupon the Servitor 
 looked up to heaven, sighing deeply, and it was 
 said to him : — Even so shalt thou be in thy 
 brethren's mouths. Then the thought came to- 
 him : — Since it cannot be otherwise, resign thy- 
 self to it ; and, as the foot-cloth suffers itself to 
 be maltreated in silence, even so do thou. He 
 went doAA^i into the cloister, and, taldng up the 
 foot-cloth, preserved it for many years as a 
 jewel most dear to him ; and as often as he felt 
 inclined to break out into impatience, he used to 
 bring it forth, that he might recognise himself 
 in it and keep silence in regard to all men. If" 
 it sometimes happened that he half turned away 
 
INTERIOR CROSSES. - 91 
 
 liis face in anger from some of tliose who per- 
 secuted liinij lie was inwardly rebuked for it, 
 and it was said to him : — Remember that I, thy 
 Lord, tm-ned not away My beautiful face from 
 those who spat upon Me. Then he would bit- 
 terly repent of what he had done, and turn 
 himself to them again very lo\-ingly. 
 
 In the beginnmg, when he met with any 
 suffering, the thought would come to his mind : 
 — O God, that this suffering were at an end, 
 that I might have done with it! Thereupon 
 the Child Jesus appeared to him in a vision on 
 oux Lady's feast of Candlemas, and rebuked 
 him, savin n; : — Thou dost not yet know how to 
 suffer ; but I mil teach thee : Behold I when 
 thou ai't in any suffering, thou shouldst not 
 look onwards to the end of that suffering, 
 fancying that thou wilt then be at rest; but 
 so long as the suffering lasts, thou shouldst be 
 getting thyself ready to accept -svith patience 
 another suffering, which is sure to follow in 
 its train. Thou shouldst do like a maiden 
 picking roses. When she has picked one 
 rose from the rose-bush, this does not satisfy 
 her, but she resolves to pick many more from 
 it. Even so do thou. Make up thy mind 
 for this beforehand, that, when one suffering 
 
92 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 comes to an end, another will fortlnvitli meet 
 thee. 
 
 Among other friends of God who foretold to 
 him the new sufferings which were hanging 
 over him, there came to him a person of emi- 
 nent sanctity, who said that, on the Angels' fes- 
 tival, after matins she had prayed to God for 
 him with exceeding earnestness ; and that it 
 seemed to her in a vision that she was carried 
 to the place where he then was, and that she 
 beheld a beautiful rose-tree grow up over him, 
 and spread itself on all sides far and wide. It 
 was of a ravishing form, and full of lovely red 
 roses. On looking up to heaven it seemed to 
 her that the sun rose all beautiful, without a 
 cloud, and with much splendour. Now there 
 stood in the sun's radiance a lovely Child in the 
 form of a cross ; and she saw a ray come forth 
 from the sun to the Servitor's heart, and it was 
 so mighty that it set on fire all his veins and 
 limbs. But the rose-tree bowed itself between, 
 and did its best with its thick boughs to shut out 
 the sunshine from his heart. Nevertheless it 
 could not succeed in this, for the outstreaming 
 rays w^ere so powerful, that they pierced through 
 all the boughs and shone down right into his 
 heart. Then she saw the Child come forth 
 
INTERIOR CROSSES. 93 
 
 from the sun, and she said to him : — Dear 
 Chikl, whither art Thou going ? He answered : 
 — I am going to My beloved Servitor. Upon 
 which slie said : — Sweet ChikI, what means the 
 sun's brightness in Thy Servitor's heart? He 
 rephed : — I have made his loving heart thus 
 bright and glorious, that the reflection of its 
 radiance, streaming forth from out his heart, 
 may draw lo\angly the hearts of all men to Me. 
 The thick rose-tree, which represents the mani- 
 fold suffei-ings that await him, cannot hinder f 
 this, but right nobly it shall be accomplished ' 
 in him. 
 
 Inasmuch as seclusion is profitable to a be- 
 ginner, the Servitor resolved to remain for more 
 than ten years secluded in his monastery from 
 all the world. Wlien he went from table he 
 used to shut himself up in his cha^^el and re- 
 main there. He refused to hold any long con- 
 versations at the convent -door or elsewhere 
 with women, or even with men, nor would he 
 look at them. He fixed a short limit for his 
 eyes, beyond which he suffered them not to 
 look ; and the limit was five feet. He remained 
 always at home, and would never go out either 
 into the town or the country. His one aim was 
 to practise solitude. All this watchfulness, how- 
 
S4 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 ever, served him nothing; for dunng these years 
 there fell upon him exceeding grievous suffer- 
 ings; and they crushed him down so heavily 
 that he became an object of pity to himself and 
 others. 
 
 In order that his prison-house might be 
 more agreeable to him during the ten years 
 which he had resolved to spend in voluntary 
 confinement in his chapel, he directed a painter 
 to draw for him the holy fathers of olden time 
 with their sapngs, as well as other devout pic- 
 tures, calculated to encourage a sufferer to pa- 
 tience under afflictions. But God would not 
 let this be according to his Avish ; for when the 
 painter had sketched out the ancient fathers 
 with charcoal on the chapel -walls, his eyes 
 became so bad that he could no longer see to 
 draw. He therefore begged permission to de- 
 part, saying that the work must wait until he 
 got well again. The Servitor turned to the 
 painter, and inquired how long it would take 
 him to get well. The j^ainter answered: — 
 Twelve weeks. Upon this the Servitor told 
 him to set up again the ladder, which he had 
 taken down, against the outlines of the ancient 
 fathers on the wall; and when this was done, 
 he mounted the ladder, and, after rubbing his 
 
INTERIOR CROSSES. 95 
 
 hands upon the pictm'es, stroked the palnter^s 
 suffering eyes, saying : — In the might of God, 
 and through the hoKness of these ancient 
 fathers, I bid you, master, come back here to- 
 morrow morning vnth your eyes quite cured. 
 Early next morning the painter came back joy- 
 ous and well, and he thanked God and the 
 Servitor for his cm'e. The Servitor, however, 
 did not ascribe it to himself, but to the ancient 
 fathers, on whose pictures he had rubbed his 
 hands. 
 
 During this same period it seemed as if God 
 had given leave to the evil spirits and to all men 
 to torment him. Innumerable were the suffer- 
 ings which he then endured from the evil spirits, 
 who, in horrible assumed forms and mth savage 
 cruelty, caused him so much pain and grief, day 
 and night, awake and asleej), that his sufferings 
 from this source were exceeding gi-eat. 
 
 Once upon a time he was tempted with a 
 great longing to eat meat, for he had passed 
 many years without touching meat. Now, after 
 he had eaten the meat, and had scarcely finished 
 satisfying his longing, there came and stood 
 over against him, in a vision, a monstrous hellish 
 figure, who, after repeating the verse, " Adhuc 
 esc83 eorum erant in ore ipsorum, et ira Dei des- 
 
96 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 cendit super eos" (Ps.lxxvii. 30; Numb. xi. 33), — 
 As yet the morsel was in their mouth, and the 
 wrath of God came do^vvn upon them, — cried out 
 in a barking voice to those who stood by : — This 
 monk is guilty of death, and I will execute the 
 sentence on him. But when they would not suf- 
 fer this, he drew forth a horrible auger, saying : 
 — Since I may not do any thing else to thee, I 
 wdll at least torture thy body with this auger; 
 and I will bore it into thee through thy mouth 
 in such a manner, that the anguish which thou 
 shalt suffer mil be as great as the pleasure thou 
 didst take in eatino; the meat. And havino; said 
 this, he drove the auger in cruel fashion against 
 the Servitor's mouth. Wliereupon immediately 
 his chin-bones and teeth swelled up, and his 
 mouth became so swollen that he could not open 
 it ; and for three days he could not eat meat or 
 any thing else, except only what he coidd suck 
 up through his teeth. 
 
INTERIOR SUFFERINGS. 97 
 
 CH.VPTER xxni. 
 
 Of interior sufferings. 
 
 Among his various sufferings, there were 
 three interior ones which caused him great tor- 
 ment. One of these was impious imaginations 
 against the faith. Thus, there would come 
 into his mind the thought: — How was it pos- 
 sible for God to become man, with many other 
 thoughts of that kind. The more he fought 
 agamst them, the more perplexed he became. 
 God suffered him to remain under these temp- 
 tations about nine years, during which he ceased 
 not Avith wailing heart and weeping eyes to 
 cry to God and all the Saints for help. At last, 
 when God deemed that the time was come. He 
 set him entirely free from them, and bestowed 
 upon him great steadflistness and clearness of 
 faith. 
 
 The second interior suffering was an inordi- 
 nate sadness. He had such a continual heawi- 
 ness of spirit, that it was as if a mountain lay 
 upon his heart. A partial cause of this was, 
 that his tm-ning away from creatui-es to God 
 had been carried out with such excessive speed 
 and severity, that his bodily frame had suffered 
 H 
 
98 LIFE OF BLESSED HENBY SUSO. 
 
 greatly from it. This trial lasted for eight 
 years. 
 
 The third interior suffering was a tempta- 
 tion ^Yhich assailed him, that it would never be 
 well ^yiih. his soul hereafter, but that he must 
 be damned eternally, no matter how rightly he 
 should act, or how many spiritual exercises he 
 should practise ; for all this would be of no 
 avail to place him among the saved, and it all 
 seemed to him lost labour from the beginning. 
 His mind was saddened with this thought day 
 and night; and when he had to go into choir, 
 or to do any other good work, the temptation 
 presented itself: — What does it profit thee to 
 serve God? Then he would say to himself, 
 very mournfully : — Surely there is nothing but 
 a curse for thee. Never will it be well with 
 thee. Give it all up, then, betimes. Thou art 
 lost, do what thou wilt. Then he would think 
 within himself : — Alas, utterly ^ATctched that I 
 am, whither shall I betake myself? If I quit 
 the Order, hell will be my lot ; and if I remain 
 in it, nothing but misery awaits me. Alas, Lord 
 God ! was there ever a man worse off than I 
 am? Sometimes he would stand deep sunk 
 into himself, and groan many times heavily, 
 while the tears ran down his cheeks. Then he 
 
INTERIOR SUFFERINGS. 99 
 
 would beat liis breast and say : — Alas, O God ! 
 am I tlien never to be saved ? Oh ! what a 
 mournful thmg is this ! Must I be miserable 
 here and hereafter? Woe is me, that I ever 
 came forth from my mother's womb. 
 
 This temptation fell upon him through an 
 inordinate fear. It had been told him that his 
 admission into the Order had been connected 
 Avith the bestowal of temporal goods, and from 
 this comes the sin called simony, which consists 
 in the pm^chase of something spiritual with 
 something temporal. Wliat he heard smik 
 deep into his heart, until at length he was 
 quite overpowered by the anguish that it caused 
 him. 
 
 After this terrible suffering had lasted about 
 ten years, all which time he never looked upon 
 himself in any other light than as one damned, 
 he went to the holy Master Eckart, and made 
 known to him his suffering. The holy man 
 delivered him from it, and thus set him free 
 from the hell in which he had so long dwelt. 
 
100 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Chapter XXrV. 
 
 How he went forth to succour and to save his neighbour. 
 
 After he had spent many years in attend- 
 ing to his interior life, God urged him, by mani- 
 fold revelations, to apply himself also to the sal- 
 vation of his neighbour. The great sufferings 
 which befell him in this work were beyond num- 
 ber and measure. But how many souls were suc- 
 coured by him was once shown by God to one of 
 His chosen friends named Anna, who was, more- 
 over, a spiritual daughter of the Ser^dtor. She 
 was one day rapt in ecstasy at prayer, and she 
 saw the Servitor saying Mass upon a lofty moun- 
 tain. An innumerable multitude of children 
 were hanging in and on him, but each differ- 
 ently from the rest; for the more nny one had of 
 God, the more firmly he rested on the Ser^dtor; 
 and the more inwardly he was dravv^i into the 
 Servator, the more perfectly God tm-ned Himself 
 to him. She saw, moreover, that the Servitor 
 was praying earnestly for them all to the ever- 
 lasting God, whom he held in his priestly hands. 
 Upon this, she besought God to make know7i 
 to her what the vision meant. And God an- 
 swered her in this wise : — The innumerable mul- 
 
HIS ZEAL FOR SOULS. 101 
 
 titucle of cliilclren avIio liang upon him are all 
 those who are his penitents or disciples, or are 
 in other ways bound to him by ties of special 
 love and faithfulness. All these he has com- 
 mended to Me in such sort, that I will guide 
 their life to a good end, and they shall never be 
 pai'ted from My gladsome countenance. What- 
 ever heavy sufferings may on this account be- 
 fall him, shall be all fully made up to him by 
 the joys which I will give him. 
 
 Before the above-named noble maiden be- 
 came acquainted with the Servitor of the Eter- 
 nal Wisdom, she had received from God an 
 interior dra^^dnfr and desire to see him. Now 
 it happened once that she was rapt in ecstasy, 
 and in the \asion a voice bade her go to the 
 place where the Servitor then was, and see him. 
 She answered : — I do not know him among the 
 multitude of the brothers. The voice replied : 
 — It is easy to know him among the others. 
 He has around his head a green ring, entwined 
 round and round with red and white roses, like 
 a garland of roses. The white roses signify his 
 purity, and the red roses his patience amid the 
 manifold sufferings which he must endure ; and 
 just as the ring of gold, which it is the custom 
 to paint round the heads of Saints, represents 
 
102 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXEY SUSO. 
 
 the everlasting bliss wliicli tliey now possess in 
 God, even so the ring of roses indicates the mul- 
 tiplicity of sufferings which God's dear friends 
 must bear while they are still serving Him 
 in this world vnih knightly exercises. Then 
 the angel led her in the -^dsion to where he was, 
 and she soon recognised him by the ring of roses 
 which was round his head. 
 
 During this same period of suffering, the 
 Sersdtor's greatest interior support came from 
 the continual help which the holy angels gave 
 him. 
 
 Once upon a time, when his outvfard senses 
 were absorbed in ecstasy, it seemed to him in a 
 vision that he was carried to a place in which 
 there was a very great number of the angelic 
 host, and that one of those who stood nearest to 
 him said : — Put forth thy hand and look. He 
 put forth his hand and looked ; and out of the 
 middle of his hand there sprung up a beautiful 
 red rose, with lovely green leaves. The rose 
 was so large that it covered his hand to his 
 fingers, and it was so beautiful and resplendent 
 that it gave great pleasure to his eyes. He 
 turned his hand round outside and inside, and 
 on both sides it was ravishing to look at. Greatly 
 marvelling in his heart at this, he said : — Dear 
 
FALSE ACCUSATIONS. 103 
 
 comrade, what means this \dsion ? The youth 
 answered : — It means sufferings upon suffer- 
 ings, and over again sufferings upon sufferings, 
 which God intends to give thee. This is what 
 is signified by the foui' roses on thy two hands 
 and thy two feet. The Semtor, with a deep 
 sigh, said : — Alas, gentle Lord ! it is a singular 
 ordinance of God that sufferings should cause 
 such pain to men, and yet be so beautiful an 
 adornment to them spiritually. 
 
 CmvpTER XXY. 
 
 Concerning manifold sufferings. 
 
 Once upon a time he came to a small town, 
 and near the town there was a wooden image, a 
 crucifix, which stood in a little house, as the 
 custom is ; and it was the popular belief that 
 many miracles were "WTOught there, on which 
 account people used to bring thither wax figures 
 and much wax in honour of God. When he 
 arrived opposite the crucifix, he went up and 
 knelt before it; and then, after he had spent 
 some time in prayer, he arose and proceeded 
 "vvith his companion to the inn. This kneeling 
 and praying of his before the crucifix had been 
 
104 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 seen by a little girl, a child of seven years old. 
 Now, the night follomng, there came thieves to 
 the image, and they broke oj)en the doors, and 
 stole all the wax which they found there. As 
 soon as it was day, the news came into the 
 town, and was carried to the citizen who had 
 the charge of the image. He inquired into the 
 matter, in order to discover who had committed 
 this great robbery. Upon which, the above- 
 mentioned child said that she knew well who 
 had done it. And when she was pressed to 
 make it known, and to point out the villain, she 
 said : — No one is guilty of the crime except the 
 brother, meaning by this the Servitor ; for, she 
 added : — I saw him yesterday kneel before the 
 image, and then go into the town. 
 
 The citizen took these words of the child as 
 truth, and repeated them on all sides, so that 
 the calumny concerning the brother spread 
 through the town, and he was charged 'S'vdth the 
 crime on these slight grounds; and many an 
 evil judgment was passed upon him, how that 
 he ought to be killed, and, as a wicked man, to 
 be j^ut out of the world. 
 
 When the Servitor heard all this, he was 
 filled with consternation, though he well knew 
 that he was guiltless, and, \vith a deep groan, he 
 
F.VLSE ACCUSATIONS. 105 
 
 said to God : — Alas, Lord ! since it is my lot to 
 suffer, and I must needs suffer, if Thou wouldst 
 but give me ordinary sufferings, such as would 
 not bring me to disgrace, I would bear them 
 joyfully; but by destroying my good name 
 Thou dost strike me to the heart in those things 
 which of all others are the sorest to me. He 
 j-emained in this town until the people ceased 
 to talk about it. 
 
 It came to pass, in another town, that there 
 arose a great outcry concerning him, so that the 
 whole town and neighbourhood was full of it. 
 There was a monastery in this town, in wdiich 
 there was a stone crucifix, of the exact size, it 
 was said, of Christ Himself. Now, one day dur- 
 ing Lent, fresh blood was observed on the cru- 
 eifix, just beneath the wound on the side. The 
 Servitor ran thither with the others to behold 
 the wonder, and when he saw the blood, he 
 went up and received it on his finger, in the 
 sisht of all who stood around. The concourse 
 of people from every part of the town soon be- 
 came very great, and they forced him to stand 
 fonvard before them all, and relate what he 
 had seen and touched. He did this, adding 
 at the same time the caution, that he pronomi- 
 ced no judgment about the matter, whether 
 
106 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 it was from God or man, but that he left this to- 
 others. 
 
 This story resounded far and vdde through 
 the country, and each person added to it what 
 he pleased, and it was given out that the Servi- 
 tor had pricked himself in the finger and rubbed 
 the blood upon the crucifix, in order that it might 
 be supposed that the crucifix had bled of itself, 
 and that he had devised this throus^h covetous- 
 ness, Avith a view to draw a crowd of people 
 thither, that he might plunder them of their 
 property. The same evil report was spread, 
 abroad about him in other towns also. 
 
 As soon as the citizens of the town heard 
 this calumnious tale, there was nothing left for 
 him but to escape by night out of the place, and 
 they pm-sued him, and would have killed him, 
 if he had not got away. They even offered a 
 large sum of money to whoever would bring 
 him in alive or dead. Evil rumours of this 
 kind were circulated in abundance concerning 
 him; and wherever these tales reached, they 
 were received as truth, and his name was greeted, 
 with many revilings and curses, and many an 
 unjust judgment was passed upon him. Some 
 persons, indeed, who knew him, were more 
 reasonable ; but, if they ventured to assert his 
 
FALSE ACCUSATIONS. 107 
 
 innocence, tliey were so savagely put down, that 
 they were forced to hold their peace, and let him 
 perish in the world's esteem. 
 
 An honourable lady, a citizen of the town, 
 when she heard all the marvellous sufferings 
 which the poor innocent man had undergone, 
 came to him out of compassion, in the midst of 
 his distress, and advised him to procure from 
 the town a sealed testimonial of his guiltless- 
 ness, that he might take it with him wherever 
 he went, for every one in the tow^i knew well 
 that he was mnocent. He replied : — Ah, dear 
 lady ! if this were my only suffering, and if it 
 were God's intention to lay no other affliction 
 upon me but this, I would apply for the testi- 
 monial ; but as things are, so much suffering of 
 this kind falls to my lot every day, that I must 
 leave it to God and bear it. 
 
 At another time he set forth on a journey to 
 the Netherlands, to be present at a chapter, and 
 he found sufferings ready waiting for him on 
 his arrival, for there came thither to attack him 
 two persons of high position in the Order, Avho 
 were very active in their endeavours to bring 
 him into great trouble. With quaking heart, 
 he was put upon his trial, and many things were 
 laid to his charge, among which was the follow- 
 
108 lif:^ of blessed heney suso. 
 
 ing : — ^They said that he had written books con- 
 taining false doctrine, which had defiled the 
 whole country with heretical filth. In conse- 
 quence, he was harshly and severely repri- 
 manded, and he was threatened with heavy 
 punishment, though God and the world knew 
 that he was guiltless in the matter. 
 
 These crushing trials did not satisfy God, but 
 He made their number still gi'eater. He sent 
 the Servitor a sickness on his journey home, and 
 caused him to be attacked by a violent fever. 
 Besides this, a dangerous abscess gathered in- 
 wardly, close to his heart; so that, what with 
 interior anguish and outward sufferings, he came 
 so near to death that his companion often looked 
 at him to see whether the moment had not come 
 for his soul to take its departure. 
 
 As he lay thus utterly wretched in a 
 strange convent in bed, and could not sleep at 
 nio;ht from the straits to which his g-rievous 
 sickness had reduced him, he began to enter 
 into account \^dth God in this -svise : — Woe is 
 me, O just God, that Thou hast so exceedingly 
 overburthened my sick frame T\dth bitter suffer- 
 ing, and wounded my heart through and through 
 with the great dishonom- and shame that has 
 been done me, and that I am thus encompassed 
 
FALSE ACCUSATIONS. 109 
 
 with bitter anguish from without and from with- 
 in ! A^^[len wilt Thou cease afflicting me, O 
 gentle Father ? When wilt thou deem it enough ? 
 Then he set before his mind the death-agony 
 which Christ endured on the Mount of Olives, 
 and while contemplating this, he crawled from 
 his bed to the bench which stood beside it, for 
 he could not bear to lie do^^^^, owing to the 
 abscess. 
 
 While he sat thus in miser}', it seemed to 
 him in a vision that there came into the cham- 
 ber a great company of the heavenly host to 
 comfort him, and that they began to sing one of 
 the sono-s of heaven, which rancj so sweetlv in 
 his ears that his whole being was transformed 
 by it. As they sang thus joyously, and the sick 
 Servitor sat there so full of sorrow, a youth came 
 to him, and said very lo^^ngly : — ^A^ierefore art 
 thou silent? Whv sino-est thou not with us? 
 And yet thou knowest right well the song of 
 heaven. The Servitor, with a sigh from his 
 sorrowful heart, ma'de answer, saying : — Alas ! 
 seest thou not how full of woe I am I 'W^ien 
 ever did a dying man rejoice? Do you want 
 me to sing ? I am singing now the wail of suf- 
 fering. If I have ever sung joyously, that is all 
 over now, for I am waiting only for the hour of 
 
110 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 my death. To this the youth repHed right joy- 
 fully ; — " Vmliter age." Be of good cheer. Be 
 joyous. Nothmg of this kind shall befall thee. 
 Thou shalt yet sing in thy hfetime such a song 
 that God in His eternity shall be glorified, 
 and many a sufferer consoled by it. Upon 
 this, his eyes ran over, and he burst into tears, 
 and at the same instant the abscess within him 
 broke, and departed from him, and he was re- 
 stored to health upon the spot. 
 
 Afterwards, when he reached home, there 
 came to him a blessed friend of God, saying : — 
 Dear sir, though it is true that on this jour- 
 ney you were more than a hundred miles away 
 from me, nevertheless, what you suffered dm'ing 
 it was quite present to me. I saw one day with 
 my soul's eyes the Di\ine Judge sitting upon 
 His throne, and, by His permission, two evil 
 spirits were let loose, who persecuted you by 
 means of the tAVO prelates who caused your suf- 
 ferings. Then I cried to God, saying: — Alas, 
 gentle God! how canst Thou bear to let Thy 
 friend be in such great and bitter suffering! 
 Upon which God answered me in this ^vise :— 
 It is for this end that I have chosen him for 
 Myself, that by means of these sufferings he 
 may be fashioned after the image of My only- 
 
HIS SISTEK. Ill 
 
 begotten Son. Nevertheless, My justice must 
 avenge the great A^Tong that has been done him, 
 by the speedy death of the two who have tor- 
 mented him. This came to pass in very truth 
 soon afterwards, and in such a way that many 
 persons became aware of it. 
 
 Chapter XXYI. 
 
 Of the great suffering wliicli befell him through his sister. 
 
 The Servitor had a sister who was under 
 the obedience of the rehgious hfe. Now, it 
 happened that, wdiile the brother was hving 
 elsewhere, she began to throw aside restramt 
 and attach herself to evil company. On one 
 occasion, when she had gone out with these 
 companions, she went astray and fell into sin, 
 and then, through grief and wretchedness at 
 what had befallen her, left her convent, and 
 ran away he knew not whither. 
 
 Wlien he retui'ned home, the miserable tale 
 -svas being whispered about, and some one came 
 and told him what had taken place. On hearing 
 it, he became like a stone from sorrow, and his 
 heart died within him, and he went about like 
 one out of his mind. He asked where she was, 
 
112 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 but no one could tell him where. Then the 
 thought came to him : — ^A new suffering is quite 
 right, but that it should be here! Well! lose 
 not heart. See whether thou mayst not be able 
 to bring back again the poor ruined soul, and 
 offer at once the sacrifice of thy worldly honour 
 to the merciful God. Cast aside all human 
 shame, and spring into the deep gulf to her and 
 lift her up. 
 
 When the brothers stood in the choir at 
 office, and he had to pass up through the choir, 
 all his colour left him, and he felt as if his hair 
 was standino; on end. He had not couracre to 
 go up to any one, for all were ashamed of him, 
 and those who had formerly been his compa- 
 nions fled from him. If he sought counsel of 
 his friends, they tmiied away their faces from 
 him contemptuously. Then he called to mind 
 poor Job, and said : — ^Well ! the compassionate 
 God must needs comfort me, since I am aban- 
 doned by all the world. 
 
 He inquu'ed on all sides whither he should 
 go, that he might bring speedy help to the for- 
 saken soul. At last he was directed to a certain 
 place, and he set out for it. It was St. Agnes's 
 Day, and the weather was cold, and there had 
 been a pouring rain throughout the night, so 
 
HIS SISTER. 113 
 
 that the brooks were much swollen. On tr}ang 
 to jump over a brook, he fell into it from weak- 
 ness. He got up as soon as he could, but his 
 inward distress was so excessive that he heeded 
 little this outward mishap. After he had gone 
 some distance further, his sister was pointed out 
 to him in a small cottage. He went up to it in 
 anguish of soul, and going in, found her there. 
 As soon as he saw her, he sank down upon the 
 bench on which she was sitting, and tmce his 
 senses left him. When he came to himself 
 again, he began to cry aloud piteously, and to 
 lament and weep and beat his hands toge- 
 ther above his head, saying: — ^Alas, my God, 
 how hast Thou forsaken me ! Then his eyes 
 failed him, and his mouth became fixed, and his 
 hands stiffened, and he lay thus unconscious for 
 a while in a faint. But as soon as he came to 
 liimself again, he took his sister into his arms, 
 and said : — Alas, my child ! Alas, my sister ! 
 Wliat have I lived to see in thee ? Alas, gentle 
 maiden, Saint Agnes, how bitter has thy feast- 
 day become to me ! And then he sank down 
 again, and his senses left him. 
 
 Upon this, his sick sister stood up and fell at 
 his feet, with great and bitter tears, and in a 
 I 
 
114 LIFE OF BLESSED HENKY SUSO. 
 
 voice of lamentation addressed liim thus : — Alas, 
 my lord and father ! what a sad day was that 
 which brought me into the world, since I have 
 lost God and caused you such great suffering. 
 Alas, true brother and rescuer of my lost soul ! 
 though I am not worthy that you should speak 
 to me or answer me, still take me to your true 
 heart, and call to mind that in nothing can you 
 be more true to God and act more like Him 
 than in what you do for a cast-away sinner and 
 an overburdened heart. Since God has made 
 you full of pity for all pitiable things, how mil 
 you refuse to pity me, a poor cast-away sinner, 
 who am become an object of pity to God and 
 all the world, now that my grievous sin has so 
 speedily and thoughtlessly made me vile in the 
 eyes of every one? What all reject and dis- 
 dain, you seek out. Wlien all are justly ashamed 
 of me, you go openly to the cause of your suf- 
 fering and disgrace, and seek me out. Oh ! I 
 beseech you "s^ith an anguish of heart which 
 knows no rest, prostrate and bowed down be- 
 neath your feet, reverence God in me, poor 
 fallen sinner, and forgive me altogether this 
 crime and wrong which I have done you, to the 
 hm't of my poor soul. Call to mind, I pray you, 
 
HIS SISTEE. 115 
 
 that if In tliis world I have lessened your honour 
 and harmed your person and life, you will receive 
 instead sino-ular honoui' and consolation in eter- 
 nity ; and refuse not to pity me, for I am the 
 poor maid who has fallen into the snare, and I 
 must bear this loss in time and eternity in heart 
 and soul for evermore, and, besides all, be a 
 burden to myself and every one. Oh ! let me 
 then be your poor needy child in this world and 
 the next. Nothmg higher does my heart desire 
 than that I may have no longer the right to be, 
 or to be called, your sister. Only let me in pity 
 be your lost sister, and by right your found and 
 well-earned needy one. This comes so truly 
 from the very bottom of my heart, that when any 
 one calls me your sister, or points me out as 
 such, it is a peculiar bitterness to my heart ; and 
 I pity you when you are where you see me in 
 your presence and must needs suffer from it, for 
 I know that you cannot help suffering all the 
 shame which a heart naturally feels at such 
 times. Any thing further in common between 
 us there neither ought to be henceforth, nor do 
 I desire it, for yom- eyes and ears must be filled 
 with shame and horror at me. All these pain- 
 ful things I -will endure, and offer them up to 
 God for my shameful sin, in the hope that you 
 
116 LIFE OF BLESSED HEKRY SUSO. 
 
 will mercifully pity me, poor sinner, and faith- 
 fully satisfy for me, and help my poor soul to 
 find grace again before God. 
 
 When the brother came to himself again, he 
 answered her sorroTN^ul lament in this wise : — 
 Alas, ye hot tears, burst forth from a full heart 
 which can no longer contain itself for anguish ! 
 Alas, my child ! thou, my heart and soul's only 
 jo}^ from my childliood np, in whom I had 
 dreamed to find joy and comfort throughout 
 life, come hither and let me press thee to this 
 dead heart of thy A\Tetched brother. Let me 
 water my dear sister s face with the bitter tears 
 of my eyes. Let me wail and weep over my 
 dead child. Oh, a thousand deaths of the 
 body, how slight a woe ! Oh, the death of the 
 soul and of honour, how great a woe ! Oh, sor- 
 row and sufferings of my i^Tetched heart ! O 
 God, merciful God, what have I lived to see! 
 O my child ! come hither to me. Since I have 
 found my child, I will weep and lament no more ; 
 and I will receive thee to-day with the same 
 grace and pity "viath which I pray the merciful 
 God to receive me, a sinful creature, at my de- 
 parture; and I will gladly forgive thee alto- 
 gether the exceeding pain and sorrow which I 
 have suffered through thee, and must go on suf- 
 
HIS SISTER. 117 
 
 fering to my life's end ; and I ^vill lielp tliee 
 with all ni}' miglit to expiate and correct thy 
 sin in the sight of God and of the world. 
 
 All those who saw and heard these lamenta- 
 tions of the two were so moved to pity thereby, 
 that they could none of them restrain them- 
 selves, but were forced to weep. Thus, by his 
 son'owful bearing and his loving consolations, 
 he so softened her, that she became wilHng to 
 return at once to religious obedience. 
 
 Later on, after he had with unspeakable 
 shame, and great toil and labour, brought back 
 in his arms to the merciful God this lost sheep, 
 God so ordered it that she was received into a 
 far more satisfiictory place than where she was 
 before. And her earnestness in God's service 
 became so great, and her holy and well-guarded 
 manner of life showed such perseverance in all 
 virtues mitil her death, that the brother was well 
 repaid in the sight of God and of the world for 
 all the pain and suffering which he had ever 
 had on her account. 
 
 When the true-hearted brother saw that his 
 affliction had tm'ned out so exceeding Avell, it 
 gave him pleasure and joy, and he called to 
 muid how God secretly orders all things so 
 that they turn to good for the good ; and then 
 
118 LIFE OF BLESSED HEISHY SUSO. 
 
 he looked up to God '\;\dtli great thanldulness, 
 and liis lieart melted Tsdthin liim in praise of 
 God. 
 
 Chapter XXYH. • 
 
 Of a grievous suffering -which befell him through a com- 
 panion. 
 
 Once upon a time, when he was about to 
 set forth upon a journey, there w^as assigned to 
 him for his companion a lay-brother who was not 
 quite right in his head. He received this bro- 
 ther very reluctantly, for he had continually 
 before his mind the sufferings which he had 
 on former occasions undergone through the ill- 
 beha^doui' of his companions. Nevertheless, he 
 submitted himself, and took the brother with 
 him. 
 
 Now, it so happened that they arrived before 
 breakfast at a village in which an annual fair 
 was being held on that day, and a very great 
 number of people of all sorts were collected 
 together. The Servitor's conijoanion, having 
 been wet with the rain, w^ent into a house to a 
 fire, and declared that he would not go about 
 with him any where, adding that the brother 
 must do wdiatever he had to do without him,, 
 
CHARGE OF POISONING. 119 
 
 and that he would wait for him there. The 
 brother had scarcely left the house when his 
 companion rose up, and seated himself at table 
 with a set of rough fellows and dealers who had 
 travelled to the fair. When these men per- 
 ceived that the wine had got well into his head, 
 and he had left the table, and was standing 
 under the yard-door gaping about him, they 
 set upon him, saying that he had stolen a 
 cheese from them. Now at that very moment, 
 when these \vicked people were treating him in 
 this cruel manner, there came up four or five 
 good-for-nothing soldiers, who also fell upon 
 him, exclaiming that the scouncbel monk was 
 a poisoner ; for it was just then that there was 
 the outcry about poisoning. Upon this, they 
 laid bold of him, and made a great uproar, so 
 that there was a general rush to the place. 
 
 When the lay -brother saw what coui'se 
 things had taken, and that he was a prisoner, 
 he wished very much to get free, and, turning 
 round, he said to them: — Stop a moment. 
 Only stand still and let me speak, and I will 
 confess it all to you, and tell you how things are. 
 They stood still, and every body hstened ; upon 
 which, he began thus : — Look at me now ; you 
 cannot help seeing that I am a fool and a vdt- 
 
120 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 less man, and no one makes any account of me ; 
 but my companion is a man of consummate 
 wisdom, and tlie Order lias intrusted liim with 
 little bags of poison to throw into the wells 
 between this place and Alsace, whither he is 
 now journeying; and his mtention is to defile 
 every place to which he comes ^\'ith vile poison. 
 But see that you make haste and seize him, or 
 he w^ill have done a murderous deed which can 
 never be healed ; for he has just now taken out 
 a little bag of poison and cast it into the village 
 well, that all those who have come here to the 
 fiiir and shall diink of the well may die without 
 fail. This is why I stayed behind, and would 
 not go out with him, for it is a great grief to 
 me. And as a voucher that I speak the truth, 
 you must know that he has a great bag for 
 books, fall of little bags of poison and a quantity 
 of florins, which he and the Order have received 
 from the Jews for caiTying out this murderous 
 desimi. 
 
 o 
 
 When the 's^^ld crew, and all those who had 
 forced their way into the house, heard these 
 words, they became mad Avith rage, and with 
 loud yells they shouted out: — Quick after the 
 mui'derer, that he escape us not ! And one 
 seized a pike, and another a battle-axe, each 
 
CHAEGE OF POISONING. 121 
 
 one taldng what lie could, and they rushed 
 about in a state of frenzy, forcing open the 
 houses and the closets, where they fancied they 
 might find him, and stabbing w^ith their naked 
 swords tlii'ough the beds and the straw, mitil 
 the whole fair ran together, on account of the 
 uproar. 
 
 Among the crowd there were strangers 
 from other districts, honourable men, who knew 
 the Servitor well, when they heard his name. 
 These persons came forward and told the others 
 that they were TSTonging him, for that he was a 
 very pious man, who would be very sorry to 
 commit such a crime. At length, as they could 
 not find him, they gave over the search, and 
 carried his companion as a prisoner to the 
 village magistrate, Avho ordered him to be shut 
 up in a cell. 
 
 The Servdtor knew nothing of all this 
 trouble; but when he thought the time for 
 breakfast had come, and that his companion 
 had quite dried himself at the fire, he set out 
 for the inn, intending to breakfast there. When 
 he reached the inn, they began to tell him the 
 sad news, and related to him all that had hap- 
 pened. Upon which, he ran straightway in 
 terror to the house where the magistrate and 
 
Its UFK OP BLESSiKD HiafRY SI SO, 
 
 hia cconpuiion were, and besought the magis- 
 trate to release hu». The magistrate ivplieil 
 that this eoiilil not be, tW that he inteinietl to 
 c^itino liim in a tower as a puuishmeiU foi' his 
 oA'eni^v. This seemevl hai\l and \uibean\ble to 
 the Senator, and he ran hither and thither 
 seeking help ; bnt he could find no one to aid 
 him in this matter. Ai^er he had busie<l him- 
 self in this way IW a long time, he at length, 
 with much shame and bitterness, obtaineil his 
 companion's release, though at great cost to 
 himself. 
 
 He now fancied that his sttffenngs were at 
 an end; bnt thev were only jttst beginning. 
 For he had no sooner got five ]fi\»m the authori- 
 ties with trv^nWe and loss^ than his life was ex- 
 pose^l to imminent dangvr. AiMien he lei\ the 
 magistrate, about vesper-time, a cry was raised 
 amemg the common people and the mob that a 
 poisoner was thetv; and they yelled at him as 
 at a miu\leivr, so that he dareil not j^ass along 
 in front of the village. They pointed at him, 
 saying: — That is the poisoner. He shall not 
 escape us. He must be killeil. We will not 
 let him oA' for money, like the magisti*ate. 
 When he tried to escape by slipping away into 
 the village, they yeUed still more fieix?ely after 
 
ClfAUOE OF POWOMNG. l2o 
 
 ill III. Honui of tlifcm «aid: — We ought to 
 drown him in the Khine; which ran [>a*t the 
 villiige, Tlie othern anHwere^l: — No; tlie filthy 
 murrierer will dc-file all the water: we hhoiild 
 burn liini. A huge pea«ant, in a Hooty jerkin, 
 snatched up a pik<.', anrl, forcing \m way 
 through to the front, cried out: — Hear me, 
 my mahters, all of you. Tliere Lh no more 
 fihameful death to wliich we can put thiii heretic 
 than ii' I nijj liliii through with thi« long pike, 
 ju/it aH we hpit a poi^^^nouii toa^L Even no in 
 like manner let me spit thi^ [KjLKoner naked 
 on thiii pike, and then lift him up backwardii, 
 and rlrive him m firmly into thi« 8tout fence 
 tluit he will not be able to fall off. There let 
 liiii foul carciiHH \je drie^l by the winds, tliat all 
 who go by may liave a view of the munlerer, 
 and curfie him after Im vile death; that «o hi« 
 mlseiy may l^e the greater in thi« world and 
 the next, for richly ha» this utter miscreant 
 deserved thij* fate. 
 
 The Servitor heard these words with such 
 terror that he groaned ^leeply, and the great 
 tears rolled down his face from anguish. 
 
 All those who stoo^l round the ring and saw 
 him wept bitterly ; and some beat their breast* 
 through pity, and struck their hands together 
 
124 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 above tlieii- heads ; but no one dared to say any 
 tbing in presence of the infuriated people, for 
 they were afraid of being attacked themselves. 
 
 When night began to fall, he went up and 
 down with weeping eyes entreating that some 
 one, for God's sake, would pity him and give 
 him shelter; but they repulsed him cruelly. 
 Some Idnd-hearted women would have gladly 
 taken him in, but they dared not. At length, 
 when the wretched sufferer was thus in the 
 straits of death, and all help from man had 
 failed him, and they were only waiting for the 
 moment to fall upon him and kill liim, he 
 sunk down beside a fence through anguish and 
 fear of death, and, lifting up his miserable and 
 swollen eyes to the heavenly Father, exclaimed: 
 — O Father of all pit}", when Avilt Thou bring 
 me help to-day in my great need? O kind 
 heart, how hast " Thou forgotten Thy great 
 kindness towards me ? O Father, O true, 
 kind Father, help me, poor wTetch, in these 
 great straits ! I cannot resolve in my heart, 
 which is already dead, whether it be more toler- 
 able for me to be drowned, or to be burned, or 
 to die upon a pike, for one of these deaths must 
 now be mine. I commend my wretched spirit 
 to Thee to-day, and I pray Thee to show me 
 
A MURDERER. 125 
 
 pity in my miserable death, for they are nigh 
 unto me who are resolved to kill me. 
 
 This sorrowful plaint was overheard by a 
 priest, who, running thither, snatched him by 
 force out of their hands, and brought him home 
 into his house ; and, after keeping him during 
 the night, that nothing might happen to him, 
 set him on his way next morning early, safe out 
 of all his troubles. 
 
 Chapter XXVIII. 
 
 Of a murderer. 
 
 Once upon a time, when the Ser\'itor was 
 returning from the Netherlands, his road lay 
 up the Ehine. He had mth him a companion 
 who was young, and a good walker. Now, it 
 happened one day that he could not keep up 
 with his swift companion, for he had become 
 very tired and ill, and in consequence the com- 
 panion had gone ahead of him about half-a- 
 mile.* The Servitor looked back to see if any 
 one was following in whose company he might 
 
 * A German mile is about four English miles and a 
 half. 
 
126 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 go through the forest, at the skirts of which he 
 had arrived, for it was late in the day. The 
 forest, moreover, was extensive, and of ill re- 
 pute, for many persons had been murdered in 
 it. The Servitor therefore stopped at the out- 
 skirts of the forest, and waited to see whether 
 any one was coming. 
 
 At length two persons approached, at a very 
 rapid pace; the one was a young and pretty 
 woman, the other a tall ferocious-looking man, 
 carrying a spear and a long knife, and he had 
 on a black jerkin. The Servitor was struck 
 with di'ead at the terrible appearance of the 
 man, and he looked round to see if there was 
 any one following; but he saw no one. He 
 thought ^^'ithin himself: — O Lord! what Idnd 
 of people are these ? How am I to go through 
 this great forest, and how w^ill it fare with me ? 
 Then he made the sign of the cross over his 
 heart and ventured it. "VYlien they were al- 
 ready deep in the forest, the woman came for- 
 ward to him, and asked him who he was and 
 what was his name. As soon as he had told 
 her his name, she answered : — Dear sir, I know 
 you well by name. I pray you to hear my 
 confession. Then she began to confess, saying: 
 Alas, worthy sir ! it is mth soitow I tell you 
 
A MUKDEEER. 127 
 
 my sad lot. Do you see the man who follows 
 us ? He is by trade a murderer, and he mur- 
 ders people here in this wood and elsewhere, 
 and takes from them their money and clothes. 
 He never spares any one. He has deceived 
 me, and carried me off from my friends, who 
 are persons of good repute, and I am forced to 
 be his wife. 
 
 The Servitor was so terrified by these words 
 that he nearly fainted, and he cast a very soitow- 
 ful look all round him, if haply there were any 
 one in sight or hearing, or any mode of escape. 
 But there was no one to be seen or heard in the 
 dark forest coming after them, except the mur- 
 derer. Then he thought within himself: — If, 
 weary as thou art, thou triest to flee, he will 
 soon overtake and Idll thee; and if thou criest 
 out, no one will hear thee in this mlderness, 
 and death again will be thy lot. He looked 
 upwards veiy wofuUy, and said : — O my God, 
 what is to become of me to-day? O death, how 
 nigh thou art to me ! 
 
 When the woman had finished confessinsr, 
 
 of 
 
 she went back to the murderer, and besought 
 him privily, saying: — Come now, dear friend, 
 go forward, and make thy confession also; for 
 it is a pious belief among my people that who- 
 
128 LITE OF BLESSED HEXEY SUSO. 
 
 ever confesses to liim, however sinful he may be, 
 will never be abandoned by God. Do it, then ; 
 that God may help thee, for His sake, at thy 
 last hour. 
 
 While the two were thus whispering to each 
 other, the Senator's terror knew no bomids, and 
 the thought came to him: — Thou art betrayed! 
 The murderer was silent, and went forward. 
 Now, when the poor Servitor saw the murderer 
 advancing upon him, spear in hand, his whole 
 frame quivered with dread, and he thought with- 
 in himself: — Alas, now thou art lost I For he 
 knew not what they had been talking about. At 
 this point it happened that the Rhine ran close 
 to the wood, and the narrow path lay along the 
 bank. Moreover, the murderer so contrived it 
 that the brother was forced to walk on the side 
 next the water, while he walked next the wood. 
 As the Servitor went along in this manner with 
 trembling heart, the mm^derer began to confess, 
 and revealed to him all the murders and crimes 
 which he had ever committed. Especially he 
 spoke of a horrible murder, which struck terror 
 into the Servitor's heart, and which he thus de- 
 scribed: — I came once into this wood to rob 
 and murder, as I have done to-day, and meet- 
 ing with a venerable priest, I confessed to him. 
 
A MURDERER. 129 
 
 while he was walking beside me at this very 
 spot, just as you are doing ; and when the con- 
 fession Avas over, I drew forth this knife and ran 
 him through with it, and then thrust him from 
 me over the bank into the Rhine. 
 
 These words, and the gestures with which 
 the murderer accompanied them, made the Ser- 
 vitor turn pale, and terrified him so exceedingly 
 that the cold sweat of death ran down his fiice 
 upon his breast, and he shook with fear, and 
 became speechless, and all his senses failed him, 
 and he kept looking every moment at his side, 
 expecting that the same Ivuife would be thrust 
 into him, and that he would then be pushed 
 over into the river. Now just as he was on the 
 point of falling down through agony of mind 
 and utter inability to advance a step, he cast an 
 exceeding piteous look all round him, like a per- 
 son longing to escape death. The murderer's 
 damsel cauMit siMit of his woe-stricken face, 
 and running up received him in her arms, as he 
 was falling, and holding him fast, said : — Good 
 sir, be not afraid. He will not kill you. The 
 murderer added : — Much good has been told me 
 concerning you, and you shall have the benefit 
 of it to-day, for I will let you live. Beg of God 
 K 
 
130 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 to help and favour me, a poor criminal, at my 
 last hour, for your sake. 
 
 In the mean time they had come out of the 
 forest, and the Servitor's companion was sitting 
 there under a tree waitino; for him. The mur- 
 derer and his partner passed on. But the Ser- 
 vitor, crawling to his companion, sank dovm on 
 the ground, while his heart and his whole body 
 trembled, as in an attack of ague, and he lay 
 thus motionless for a long time. At length on 
 recovering himself, he rose up and went on his 
 way ; and he besought God earnestly and with 
 deep inward sighings for the murderer, that He 
 would let him have the benefit of the pious con- 
 fidence which he had conceived towards the Ser- 
 vitor, and not suffer him to be damned at his 
 last hour. God gave the Servitor such an in- 
 ward assurance of this, that it was impossible 
 for him to doubt tliat the murderer woukl be 
 saved. 
 
 Chapter XXIX. 
 
 Of perils by water. 
 On one occasion v>dien he had travelled to 
 Strasburg, according to his custom, and was on 
 
TEllILS BY WATEK. 131 
 
 his return liome, he fell into a great stream of 
 water, caused by an overflow of the Rhine, and 
 he had with him the new little book which he 
 had just finished, and with which the foul fiend 
 was very wrath. As he was being swept help- 
 lessly along by the current, at the peril of his life, 
 the faithful God so ordered it, that at that very 
 moment there came up by chance from Stras- 
 burg a young newly-made Prussian knight, who 
 venturino; into the turbid and raixino; vrater saved 
 the Servitor and his companion from a miser- 
 able death. 
 
 Once upon a time he set forth on a journey 
 under obedience, when the weather was cold; 
 and after travellino; on a carriage the whole dav 
 through until evening without food in the cold 
 wind and frosty weather, he arrived at a troubled 
 piece of water, which was deep and rapid, owing 
 to the great quantity of rain which had fiillen. 
 The man who drove him went too near the bank 
 through carelessness, and the carriage turning 
 over, the brother was shot out of it and fell into 
 the water on his back. The carriao:e fell over 
 on him, so that he could not turn himself in the 
 water either to this side or to that, nor yet help 
 himself at all ; and in this state he and the car- 
 riage floated down for some distance towards a 
 
132 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 mill. The driver and others ran thither, and 
 jumping into the water seized hold of him, and 
 tried their best to di*aw him out ; but the hea^y 
 carnage lay upon him and pressed him down. 
 When at last they succeeded with gi'eat labom* 
 in liftino; the carriacije off him, they di'ew him 
 out to land dripping wet, and he had not been 
 long out of the water before his clothes froze 
 upon him from the excessive cold. He began to 
 tremble with cold, so that his teeth chattered, and 
 in this miserable plight he stood still for a long 
 time, and then looking up to God exclaimed: 
 — O my God, what am I to do ? what course am 
 I to adopt ? It is late and night is at hand, and 
 if there is no town or village near, where I can 
 warm and refresh i^iyself, I must die ; and what 
 a wretched kind of death this will be ! He looked 
 around on all sides, until at last he espied far 
 away upon a hill a very small hamlet. He 
 crawled thither, all wet and frozen as he was, 
 and by the time he reached it night had set in. 
 lie went up and down begging for shelter in 
 God's name ; but he Avas driven awa}' from the 
 houses, and no one would take pitv on him. 
 Then the frost and fatigue began to attack his 
 heart, and put him in fear for liis life; upon 
 which he cried with a loud voice to God : — 
 
INTERVAL OF REST. 133 
 
 O Lord ! O Lord ! it Avould have been better 
 hadst Thou let me be drowned, for then tliere 
 ■would have been an end of it, instead of my 
 being frozen to death in this street. 
 
 These -words of lamentation were overheard 
 by a peasant, who had before this driven him 
 away, but who now touched with compassion 
 took him in his arms and brought him into his 
 house, where he spent a miserable night. 
 
 ClIArTER XXX. 
 
 Of a short interval of rest which God once granted him. 
 
 God had accustomed him to this, that as 
 soon as one suffering left him another was 
 ready at hand to take its place; and in this 
 way God played mth him unintermittingly. 
 Once only He allowed him an inten'al of rest ; 
 but it did not last long. 
 
 During this season of inaction he came to a 
 nmmery, and, being asked by his spiritual cliil- 
 <b*en how things went -with him, he replied : — 
 I fear they are going very ill with me at pre- 
 sent, and for this reason. It is now fom* weeks 
 since any one has attacked me in my person 
 
134 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXKY SUSO. 
 
 or my good name, quite unlike "vvhat -Qsed to 
 happen to me ; so tluit I ieai* lest God has for- 
 gotten me. Xow he had not sat long -s^itli 
 them at the gi-ate when there came a hrother 
 of the Order, who called him out, and said: — 
 I was a little while ago at a castle, and the lord 
 of it asked after you, where you were, and he 
 chd this very savagely. And then he hfted 
 up his hands, and swore hefore every one that 
 wherever he found you, he would rmi a sword 
 through you. The same thing was also done 
 by several fierce soldiers, his Idnsmen, and they 
 have been searchino; for vou in diiierent monas- 
 teries romid about in order to execute then qxH 
 designs upon you. Be warned, therefore, and 
 take care of youi'self, as you love youi' hfe. 
 
 The Senator was struck with terror at these 
 words, and said to the brother: — I should be 
 veiy glad to hear what I have done to de- 
 sene the penalty of death. He answered : — 
 The lord of the castle has been told that you 
 have misled his daughter, as well as many 
 other persons, into a particular kind of life, to 
 which the name of spirit is given, and that 
 those who follow it are called spirits; and he 
 lias been assured that they are the most aban- 
 doned set on the face of the earth. But more 
 
HIS LOnXG C03IPLAEN-T TO GOD. 135 
 
 than this. There was another ferocious man 
 there, who said of von : — He has robbed me of 
 a dear wife. She draws her veil down now, 
 and will no longer look at me. She will onlv 
 look inwards. He is the cause of this, and he 
 shall pay for it. 
 
 When the Servitor heard this tale, he re- 
 phed: — Praised be God! and hastening back 
 immediately to the grate, said to his daughters : 
 — ^Be of good cheer, my children. God has 
 been mindful of me, and has not forgotten me. 
 Then he told them the cruel tale, how that men 
 were seeking to return him evil for the good 
 that he had done. 
 
 CHAPTEn XXXI. 
 How he once entered into a loving account with Go<L 
 
 During this season of the Sen-itor's suffer- 
 ings, and in the places where he then Hved, it* 
 he sometimes happened to go into the iafirmaiy 
 to give a little refreshment to his sick body, or 
 if he sat silent at table according to his cus- 
 tom, he was sorely tried by mockmg discourse 
 and unseemly words ; and this at tet was 
 
136 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 a great suffering to liim, and made liim feel 
 sucli pity for himself tliat the hot tears would 
 often run down his cheeks, and force their way 
 with what he ate or drank into his mouth. At 
 such times he used to look up silently to God, 
 and, groaning inwardly, exclaim : — Alas, O 
 God! art not Thou content with the misery 
 which I suffer day and night? Must even my 
 scanty food at table be mingled with great per- 
 secutions? This happened to him oftentimes 
 and abundantly. 
 
 Once on leaving table he could restrain 
 himself no longer, and, going into his place of 
 privacy, he said to God: — Dear God, Lord of 
 the whole world, be gentle and gracious to me, 
 poor man, for I must enter into account with 
 Thee to-day. I cannot help doing it; and 
 though in truth Thou owest no man aught, 
 and art bound to no one by reason of Thy 
 high sovereignty, nevertheless it well beseems 
 Thy infinite goodness graciously to suffer a full 
 heart to seek refreshment in Thee, when it has 
 no one else to whom it can make its plaint or 
 Avho can comfort it. O Lord, I call Thee to 
 Avitness, who knowest all things, that from my 
 mother's womb all my life through I have had 
 a tender heart. I never yet saw any one in 
 
HIS LOVING COMPLAINT TO GOD. 137 
 
 pain or sadness but I had a lieartfelt pity for 
 him; and I never willingly gave ear to talk 
 which would grieve any one, whether behind 
 his back or in his presence. All my com- 
 panions must allow that it has been seldom 
 heard of me that I ever by my words made 
 worse the case of any brother, or of any one 
 ■else, either to the prelate or to others; but I 
 made every one's case better, so far as I was 
 able; and when I could not do this, I was 
 silent, or I fled away that I might not hear it. 
 Out of pity I showed all the more friendship 
 towards those who were wounded in then' 
 honour, that they might more easily recover 
 their good repute. I was called the faithful 
 father of the poor. I was a special friend of 
 lall God's friends. All who ever came to me 
 in sorrow, or aggrieved, always received some 
 good counsel from me, which made them leave 
 me joyful and consoled ; for I wept mth those 
 wdio wept, and I sorroAved Avith those who were 
 in sorrow, until, like a mother, I brought them 
 round again. Ko one ever caused me any 
 suffering however great, but if he only smiled 
 kindly on me afterwards, it was all past and 
 over in God's name, as if it had never been. 
 O Lord, I AAdll say no more about mankind, for 
 
138 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 I could not even see or liear tlie needs and 
 sorrows of all tlie little birds and beasts and 
 other creatures of God without being pierced to 
 the heart thereby, and I used to pray the kind 
 Lord of all to help them. Whatever lives on 
 earth met with favour and tender treatment 
 from me. And yet Thou, O kind Lord, suf- 
 ferest some, of whom dear Paul speaks, calling 
 them false brethren, to behave to me so exceed- 
 ing cruelly, as Thou knowest well, O Lord, and 
 it is manifest enough. Alas, kind Lord ! look 
 at this, and console me for it with Thyself. 
 
 After he had spent a long time in thus re- 
 freshing his heart with God, there came upon 
 him a stillness of repose, and he was inwardly 
 illuminated by God in this wise : — The childish 
 account which thou hast entered into with Me 
 comes from this, that thou dost not always keep 
 before thee the words and ways of the suffer- 
 ing Christ. Thou must knovf that God is not 
 satisfied with the mere Idndliness of heart 
 which thou professest; He wants still more 
 from thee. What He wants is, that when thou 
 art openly ill-treated by any one in Avords or 
 behaviour, thou slialt not only bear it patiently, 
 but shalt die to self so utterly as not to go to 
 sleep that night until thou hast sought out thy 
 
HIS LOVING COMPLAINT TO GOD. 139 
 
 persecutor, and, as far as possible, calmed his 
 incensed heart with thy sweet words and ways ; 
 for with such meek lowliness thou wilt take 
 from him sword and knife, and make him 
 powerless m his malevolence. See, this is the 
 old and perfect way which the dear Christ 
 taught His disciples, when He said, ^^ Behold, 
 I send vou as lambs among the wolves" (Luke 
 
 When the Servitor came to himself again, 
 this perfect way seemed to him too buixlensome, 
 and it was grievous to him to contemplate it, 
 and still more grievous to follow it. Neverthe- 
 less he submitted himself thereto, and befran to 
 leai'n it. 
 
 Now it happened one day after this that a 
 lay brother spoke very insolently to him, and 
 abused him openly. The Servitor bore it pati- 
 ently in silence, and he would gladly have let 
 it rest there. But he was inwardly admonished 
 that he must do something better than this. Ac- 
 cordingly, when it became evening, and the bro- 
 ther was eating in the infirmary, the Servitor 
 went and stood in front of the infirmary, waiting 
 for him to come out. As soon as he came out, 
 the Servitor fell on his knees before him, and 
 addressed him in words of humble entreatv : — 
 
140 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 I pray tliee, clear worthy father, honour God in 
 me, poor man, and if I have troubled you, for- 
 give me, for God's sake. The brother stood 
 still, and, looking up in amazement, exclaimed, 
 wdtli a loud cry : — Ah me ! what a marvellous 
 tiling you are doing! and yet you never in- 
 jured me, nor any one else. It is I who have 
 openly outraged you by my villanous words. 
 You must indeed forgive me, I entreat you. 
 In this way his heart w^as stilled and restored 
 to peace. 
 
 Once upon a time, as he sat at table in the 
 guest-house, a brother insulted him with scorn- 
 ful talk. Upon which the Servitor turned to- 
 Avards him very lovingly, and smiled upon him, 
 iis though he had just received a precious jewel 
 from him. The brother was so moved by this, 
 that he became silent, and tm^ned his face again 
 in kindliness tovrards the Ser^dtor. When the 
 meal was ended, the brother spoke of it in the 
 town, saying: — I have never been so grossly 
 insulted as I was to-day at table ; for, after I 
 had treated the Servitor with open rudeness at 
 table, he bowed his face towards me so very 
 sweetly, that I became red mth shame ; and it 
 shall always be a good lesson to me. 
 
HE COMES NIGH TO DEATH. 141 
 
 Chapter XXXII. 
 
 How his sufferings once brought him nigh to death. 
 
 It liappened to liim once during many 
 nights, tliat tlie moment he awoke from sleep 
 something began to repeat in him the psalm of 
 OUT Lord's sufferings, "Deus, Deus mens, re- 
 spice in me" (Ps. xxi.). This psalm was spoken 
 by Christ on the gallows of the cross, when He 
 was forsaken in His distress by His Heavenly 
 Father and by eveiy one. The SerA^tor was 
 struck with consternation at this continual in- 
 terior whispering Avhen he awoke, and weeping^ 
 bitterly, he cried to Christ upon the cross in 
 these words : — ^Alas, my Lord and my God ! if 
 it be meet and necessary that I should once 
 more suffer a new crucifixion with Thee, accom- 
 plish, I beseech Thee, Thy pure and innocent 
 death in me, poor man, and be with me, and 
 help me to come forth victorious over all my 
 sufferings. 
 
 Wlien this cross arrived, as had been fore- 
 sho^\^l him, sufferings of no ordinary kind, and 
 of whose nature nothinor is here said, beo:an to 
 increase continually upon him, and to multi- 
 ply from day to day, until at last they became- 
 
142 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 SO great, and weighed down the sick man so 
 heavily, that they brought him to the very ex- 
 tremity of death. One eA'ening when lie was 
 away from the monaster^', and had gone to his 
 bed to rest, there fell on him such an utter pro- 
 stration of strength, that he thought he must 
 now inevitably die of faintness, and he lay there 
 quite motionless, so that there was no pulse in 
 any of his veins, ^^len this was observed by a 
 faithful and good-hearted man who tended him, 
 and whom he had won to God at great cost to 
 himself, the man ran to him in bitter grief, and 
 pressed his hand against his heart, to try whether 
 there was still life there. But his heart was 
 without movement, and beat no more than that 
 of a dead man would. At this he sank to the 
 gi'ound in gi*eat sorrow, and while tlie tears 
 streamed down his face, he cried aloud vritli 
 piteous lamentations : — O God ! alas for this 
 noble heart, which many a day has borne Thee, 
 O merciful God, so lovingly ^dthin it, and has 
 told of Thee so pleasantly by word and writing, 
 in every land, to so many erring men for their 
 consolation — how has it perished to-day! O 
 what evil tidings is it that this noble heart 
 must rot, and cannot live a long time yet for 
 Thy glory and the consolation of many ! Thus 
 
HE COMES NIGII TO DEATH. 143 
 
 piteouslj lamenting with streaming eyes, lie 
 bent over tlie Sen'itor and touched his heart 
 and month and arms, to see whether he still 
 lived or was dead. But there was no motion 
 there. His face was deadly white, his mouth 
 black, and all sign of life had vanished, as from 
 a dead man laid out upon his bier. This lasted 
 as lonfiT as it would take to walk a mile. 3Jean- 
 while the object of his soul's contemplation, 
 while he lay thus in seeming death, was naught 
 else but God and the Godhead, the Time and 
 the Truth, in indwelling everlasting oneness. It 
 happened, indeed, that before he became so very 
 weak, and was carried out of himself in ecstasy, 
 ho began to speak in his heart fond words to 
 God in this wise : — Ah, everlasting Truth, Thy 
 deep abysses are hidden from every creature. 
 I, Thy poor Servitor, see clearly that there is 
 now an end of me, as my departed strength be- 
 tokens. I speak now at my life's verge to Thee, 
 mighty Lord, whom no one can deceive, because 
 all things are manifest to Thee. Thou alone 
 knowest how things stand between me and Thee. 
 Therefore I seek m-ace of Thee, faithful heavenl v 
 Father; and wheresoever, alas, I have broken out 
 into unlikeness and deflection from the supreme 
 Truth, I grieve for it, and repent me of it with 
 
144 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 all my heart, and I beseech Thee to blot it out 
 with Thy precious Blood, according to Thy gra- 
 ciousness and my necessity. Kemember that 
 all the days of my life I have celebrated and 
 exalted as highly as I could Thy pure and inno- 
 cent Blood, and it must now at my departure 
 wash me clean from all my sins. Oh, kneel 
 do^vn, I entreat you, all ye Saints, especially 
 thou, my kind and gracious lord, St. Nicholas, 
 and lift up youi' hands and help me to beseech 
 the Lord for a good end. O pure, gentle, Idnd 
 Mother Mary ! reach me thy hand to-day, and 
 at this my last hour graciously receive my soul 
 beneath thy shelter, for thou art my heart's joy 
 and consolation. O Lady and ]\iother mine, into 
 thy hands I commend my spirit. O dear Angels, 
 be mindful that, all my life through, my heart 
 has ever lauo;hed within me, when I onlv heard 
 you nam.ed, and forget not how often you have 
 brought me in my sorrows heavenly joys, and 
 guarded me from my foes. O gentle Spirits, 
 it is only now that my greatest straits are come, 
 and that I most need your help. Aid me, then, 
 and shield me from the horrible sight of my 
 foes, the evil spirits. O Lord of heaven, I 
 praise Thee for having bestowed on me at my 
 death-hour such entire consciousness ; and I go 
 
. HE COMES NIGH TO DEATH. 145 
 
 hence in the full Christian faith without a doubt 
 and without fear ; and I forgive all those who 
 have ever made me suffer, as Thou upon the 
 cross forgavest those who slew Thee. Lord, 
 Lord, Thy di^dne sacramental Body, which I 
 received to-day at ^lass, ill though I was, must 
 be my guardian and my convoy to Thy divine 
 countenance. My last prayer which I make now 
 at this my end, gentle Lord of heaven, is for 
 my dear spiritual children, who whether by spe- 
 cial bonds of faithfulness, or by confession, have 
 lovingly attached themselves to me in this mis- 
 erable world. O merciful God, as Thou at Thy 
 departure didst commend Thy dear disciples to 
 Thy Heavenly Father, even so in that self-same 
 love let these be commended to Thee, and grant 
 them also a good and holy end. And now I 
 turn myself away altogether from all creatures, 
 and I turn me wholly to the pure Godhead, the 
 primal fountain-head of everlasting bliss. 
 
 After he had held much discourse w^ithin his 
 heart in this fond loving fashion, he was trans- 
 ported out of himself in ecstasy, and fell into 
 the faint described above. At length, when he 
 and others fiincied that he must have departed, 
 he came to himself ao-ain, a:^! his affrio-hted 
 heart began to revive, and his sick limbs to re- 
 
 L 
 
146 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 cover strength, and lie got well and returned to 
 life again, as before. 
 
 Chapter XXXin. 
 
 How a man should offer up his sufferings to the praise and 
 glory of God. 
 
 When tlie suffering Servitor had deeply 
 meditated upon this long and weary warfare, 
 and moreover had come to see in it God's hid- 
 den marvels, he turned one day to God, sighing 
 inwardly, and said: — Alas, Lord, these suffer- 
 ings are in their outward aspect like sharp thorns 
 which pierce through flesh and bone. There- 
 fore, gentle Lord, cause some sweet fruit of 
 good instruction to issue forth from these sharp 
 thorns of sufferings, that we, poor men, may 
 suffer more patiently, and be better able to offer 
 up our sufferings to Thy praise and glory. 
 
 After he had continued for a long time ear- 
 nestly beseeching God for this, it came to pass 
 one day that he was rapt in ecstasy, and his 
 bodily senses being abstracted, it was sweetly 
 said to him within his soul : — I will show thee 
 to-day the high nobility of My life, and how a 
 
HOW TO SUFFER FOR GOD. 147 
 
 sufferer should offer up liis sufferings to the 
 praise and glory of the loving God. 
 
 At these sweet interior words his soul was 
 melted within him, and his bodily senses being 
 stilled in ecstasy, the arms, as it were, of his 
 soul stretched themselves forth, out of the un- 
 fathomable fulness of his heart to the far-off 
 ends of the universe, even to heaven and earth ; 
 and he thanked God vdth. a boundless heartfelt 
 yearning, saying: — Hitherto, O Lord, I have 
 praised Thee in my musings ^^^th the aid of all 
 that is pleasant and delightful in all creatures ; 
 but now I must joyously break forth into a new 
 song, and a strange kind of praise, which I knew 
 not before, since I have only now come to know 
 it by suffering. And it is this : I pray from 
 my heart's bottomless depths that all the sorrow 
 and pain which I have ever suffered, as well as 
 the w^oes and agonies of every human heart, the 
 smarts of all wounds, the anguish of all the sick, 
 the gi'oans of all sad souls, the tears of all weep- 
 ing eyes, the misery of all the oppressed, the 
 distress of all needy widows and oi*phans, the 
 pining want of all the poor and hungiy, the out- 
 poured blood of all martyrs, the crushing of self- 
 will in all who are young and blooming, the 
 afflictive exercises of all God's friends, and all 
 
148 LIFE OF BLESSED HENKY SUSO. 
 
 tlie secret and open pains and sorrows, which I 
 or any other poor sufferer ever endured in body, 
 goods, or honour, in weal or woe, or which any 
 one will ever have to suffer from now to dooms- 
 day, — all these I pray may be an everlasting 
 source of praise to Thee, O Heavenly Father, 
 and an eternal honour to Thy only-begotten 
 suffering Son from everlasting to everlasting. 
 And I, Thy poor Servitor, desire to-day to be 
 the faithful representative of all sufferers who 
 perchance have been unable to turn to full ac- 
 count their sufferings, by patient thanksgiving 
 and praise of God for them ; and I wish in their 
 place to offer up their sufferings in praise of 
 God, however they may have borne them ; and 
 I now offer them up to Thee in their stead, just 
 I as if I myself alone had suffered them all in my 
 body and in my heart, as it is my heart's msh 
 to do ; and I tender them all this day to Thy 
 / only-begotten suffering Son, that they may be 
 j an everlasting praise to Him, and that the suf- 
 ferers may be comforted, whether they are still 
 I here in this vale of sorrow, or in the next world 
 in Thy hand. 
 
 O all ye who suffer with me, look at me and 
 give ear to what I say to you I We, pooi* mem- 
 bers, ought to console ourselves and rejoice in 
 
HOW TO SUFFER FOR GOD. 149 
 
 our venerable Head, God's lovely only-begotten 
 Son, that He has suffered for us, and never 
 passed one pleasant day on earth. Behold ! if 
 there is only one rich man in a poor family, the 
 whole family rejoices in him. Ah, venerable 
 Head of us all, Thy members, be gi'acious to us, 
 and where through human frailty true patience 
 fails us in any affliction, do Thou make it up 
 for us before Thy Pleavenly Father. Bethink 
 Thee how Thou camest once to the help of one 
 of Thy servants, and when his courage was all 
 but faihng him through suffering. Thou saidst 
 to him : — Be of good cheer and look at Me. I 
 was noble and poor ; I Avas tender and in misery ; 
 I was born from out the fulness of all joys, and 
 yet I was full of sorrow. Therefore, as valiant 
 knights of our imperial Lord, let us not lose 
 heart; as noble followers of our venerable Leader, 
 let us be of good cheer, and rejoice to suffer; for 
 if there were no other profit and good in suffer- 
 ing, than that we became more like the fair 
 bright mirror Christ, the more closely that we 
 copied Him in this, om' sufferings would be well 
 laid out. It seems to me in truth, that even if 
 God meant to give the same reward hereafter 
 to those who suffer and to those who do not suf- 
 fer, we ought still to choose suffering for our lot. 
 
150 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXP.Y SUSO. 
 
 were it only to be like Him ; for love produces 
 likeness and devotion to the beloved, so far as 
 it can and may. But oli ! how dare we pre- 
 sume to take upon ourselves that we ought to 
 resemble Thee, O noble Lord, in om* sufferings! 
 Thv sufPerino-s and our suflPerino-s how unlike 
 they are ! O Lord, Thou alone art the suflPerer 
 who hast never deserved to suffer. But where is 
 he, alas, who can pnde himself that he has never 
 given cause for sufferings ? For if on the one 
 hand he is guiltless in that for which he suffers, 
 on the other he deserves punishment on other 
 counts. Therefore we place ourselves, I mean 
 all we who haA'e ever suffered, in a great wide 
 ring round and round; and we place Thee, our 
 dear gentle Lover, in the midst of us, even in the 
 ring of us suffering mortals, and we spread out 
 far and wide our thirsty veins with great long- 
 ing towards Thee, the rich outbursting foun- 
 tain of all grace. Behold and marvel. Just as 
 the earth which is most cracked with drought 
 takes in best the stonny streams of watery rain, 
 even so vre hea\ily-laden men, the more guilty 
 we are towards Thee, the more closely do we 
 clasp Thee to us with outspread hearts, and 
 our longing desire is that, come what may, ac- 
 cording to the promise of Thy di\dne mouth, we 
 
THE REWARDS OF SUFFERIXG. 151 
 
 may be washed in Thy streaming and trickhng 
 wounds, and be set free thereby from every 
 sm ; for all which Thou shalt receive everlasting 
 praise and honour from us, and we shall obtain 
 grace from Thee, since all unlikeness will be 
 removed from us by Thy almightiness. 
 
 After the Servitor had remained sittino; ^Yith■' 
 out movement for a long time, during which 
 all this was revealed to him mth great solem- 
 nity in the innermost interior of his soul, he 
 rose up joyfully and thanked God for the grace 
 which he had received. 
 
 Chapter XXXIY. 
 
 Of the joys with which God recompenses in this present 
 life those who suffer for Him. 
 
 On a joyful Easter-day the Servitor was once 
 in very blithesome mood, and as he sat for a 
 short time, according to his custom, in the re- 
 pose of contemplation, he desired earnestly to 
 hear from God what meed of delights they shall 
 receive from Him in this life who have borne 
 manifold sufferings for His sake. IMiereupon, 
 being rapt in ecstasy, a hght shone into his soul 
 from God to this effect : — Let all who suffer 
 
152 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 AAatli detachment rejoice, for their patience shall 
 be gloriousty rewarded ; and as they have been 
 here below an object of pity to many, even so 
 shall many rejoice eternally at the deserved 
 praise and everlasting honour which shall be 
 theirs. They have died with Me, and they 
 shall also rise again with Me in gladness. 
 Three special gifts I will give them, so precious 
 that no one can reckon up then' value. First, 
 I will give absolute power to their wishes in 
 heaven and on earth, so that whatever they 
 wish sliall come to pass. Secondly, I will give 
 them My divine peace, which neither angel, 
 nor devil, nor man, nor any other creatm-e can 
 take aAvay from them. Thirdly, I will so in- 
 wardly kiss them through and through, and so 
 lovingly embrace them, that I in them and they 
 in Me, and we together, shall abide eternally, 
 one undivided unity for ever. And since long 
 waiting and praying are painful to restless 
 hearts, this love shall not be withheld from 
 them during this short present hour of life, 
 which lasts but for a moment, but it shall begin 
 even now, and be enjoyed eternally, so far as 
 man's mortal nature can in each case more or 
 less support it. 
 
 These glad tidings filled the Servitor with 
 
THE REWARDS OF SUFFERING. 153 
 
 joy; and when lie came to liimself again, lie 
 sprang up, and began to laugh so heartily that 
 the chapel in which he was reechoed to the 
 sound, and he said within himself joyously : — 
 Let him who has suffered come forward and 
 complain. God knows, I can declare that as to 
 myself, methinks I have never had any thing 
 at all to suffer. I know not what suffering is ; 
 but I know well what joy and bliss are. Power 
 to wish and to obtain is given me; a thing 
 which many erring hearts must be without. 
 What want I more? Then he turned his 
 thoughts to the eternal Truth, and said : — Ah ! 
 eternal Truth, show me now this hidden mys- 
 tery, so far as words can tell it, for it is a truth 
 of which many blinded men are altogether m- 
 norant. 
 
 This mystery was inwardly manifested to 
 him thus : — Mark those who have paid due 
 attention to the breaking away from creatures, 
 — in other words, to that death to self and all 
 things with which a man must begin. Alas ! 
 there are not many such. The mind and 
 thoughts of these men have so passed away into 
 God, that they laiow nothing, as it were, of them- 
 selves, save only that they view themselves 
 and all things in theii' primal fountain-head; 
 
154 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXEY SU80. 
 
 and therefore tliey have the same pleasure and. 
 complacency m each several thhig which God 
 does, as if God stood by miconcerned mth it and 
 inactive, and it were granted to them to carry 
 out each thing according to their o^vn mind; 
 and thus it is that their will is absolute in 
 might, for heaven and earth serve them, and 
 every creature is subject to them, in what each 
 does or leaves undone. Such persons feel no- 
 sorrow of heart about any thing ; for I only call 
 that pain and sorrow of heart which the ^dll 
 Avith full deliberation \^ishes to be freed from. 
 Externally, indeed, they have a sense of plea- 
 sure and pain like other people, and it is more 
 intense perhaps in them than others, because of 
 their great tenderness ; but in their inmost souls 
 it finds no abiding- place, and exteriorly they 
 remain firm against impatience. They are filled 
 to the full even in this life, so far as this is 
 possible, omng to their detachment from self^ 
 and hence their joy is complete and stable in all 
 things. For in the divine essence, into which 
 their hearts have passed away and become 
 merged, — that is, supposing they have not gone 
 astray from the right path, — neither pain nor 
 sorrow finds place, but only peace and joy. If, 
 however, thy own frailty entices thee to commit 
 
THE EE WARDS OF SUFFERIXG. 155 
 
 sin, from which pain and sorrow justly spring up 
 for the sinner, and if thou committest sin, then, 
 and then only, thou wilt find a flaw in thy 
 happiness. But if thou ayoidest sin, and goest 
 out of thyself in this respect, and passest away 
 into that in which thou canst have neither suf- 
 fering nor sorrow — since pain is not pain to thee 
 there, nor suffering suffering, but all things are 
 iinmingled j)eace — then it is well Avith thee iii 
 very truth. And all this comes to pass because 
 their self-will is lost and gone. For these persons 
 are of themselves cbiven onward with a lonmncT 
 thirst towards God's will and His justice; and 
 they find such a sweet savour in God's will, and 
 they so delight in it, and take such pleasm'e 
 in all that He ordains concerning them, that 
 they have no wish nor desire for any thing else. 
 This, however, must not be understood as if 
 they were forbidden to ask things of God and 
 to pray to Him; for it is God's Arill that we 
 pray to Him. But it is to be understood of the 
 due and rio-htful o-oino; forth out of om- o^^^l 
 judgment into the will of the supreme God- 
 head, as has been said. Now there Hes in this 
 a hidden difficulty, against which many stumble, 
 and it is this. "Wlio Iviiows, they say, whether 
 it is God's will? See now. God is a super- 
 
156 LIFE OF BLESSED HENFwY SUSO. 
 
 essential good, and He is more interiorly pre- 
 sent to every individual tiling than that thing 
 can be to itself; and against His will nothing 
 can happen, nor can any thing exist for an in- 
 stant. Therefore they must be miserable vy^ho 
 are always struggling against God's will and 
 desuing to do their own will, if they could. 
 They have the kind of peace which is in hell, 
 for they are always in sadness and heaviness. 
 On the contrary, a soul stripped of self has God 
 and peace at all times present to it, in adversity 
 as well as in prosperity ; for if He is truly there 
 who does all and is all, how can the sight of 
 their o^^^l sufferings be grievous to them, since 
 in them they see God, find God, make use of 
 God's will, and know nothing of their owai will? 
 not to speak of the consoling illuminations and 
 heavenly dehghts wdth which God often secretly 
 sustains His suffering friends. These persons 
 are, as it were, in heaven. T\niat happens to 
 them or does not happen to them, what God does 
 in all creatures or does not do, all tui*ns to their 
 advantage. And thus he who can bear suffer- 
 ing well receives in this world a portion of the 
 reward of his sufferings ; for he finds peace and 
 joy in all things, and after death everlasting life 
 awaits him. 
 
HIS SPIKITUAL DAUGHTER. 157 
 
 Chapter XXXV. 
 
 Of the Servitor's spiritual daughter. 
 
 " FiLiA confide," — ^Be of good heart, daugh- 
 ter (Matt. ix. 22). The Servitor had at this 
 time a spiritual daughter, of the Order of Friars 
 Preachers, in an enclosed convent at Tosse.* 
 Her name was Elizabeth Staglin, and she lived 
 a very holy life exteriorly, and was of an an- 
 gelic disposition within. The noble and ener- 
 getic way in which she turned herself with her 
 whole heart and soul to God set her free en- 
 tirely from all those vain things which cause so 
 many persons to neglect their eternal salvation. 
 All her diligence was directed towards obtain- 
 ing spuntual instruction, that she might thus be 
 guided to a blessed and perfect life, the one end 
 and object of all her wishes. She wrote down 
 whatever she met with that pleased her, and 
 seemed calculated to aid herself and others in 
 the acquisition of divine virtues ; and she acted 
 in this like the industrious bees, which bring 
 back sweet honey collected from many different 
 flowers. 
 
 In tlie convent where she lived amon^x the 
 sisters as a miiTor of every virtue, she composed, 
 
 * Thoss, near Winterthur, in Switzerland. 
 
158 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 notwithstanding her bodily infinnities, a large 
 book, containing, among other things, an ac- 
 count of the blessed lives which the deceased 
 holy sisters had led, and the great marvels God 
 had AATOught in them. It is a book well suited 
 to excite good-hearted persons to devotion.* 
 
 This blessed daughter came to hear of the 
 Servitor of the Eternal Wisdom, and God in- 
 spired her with great devotion to his manner of 
 life and teaching. She di'ew from him secretly 
 the way in which he broke through created 
 things to arrive at God, and she wTote it do^vn, 
 as has been already related. 
 
 At the first beginning of her conversion to 
 God she came across a gi'eat many deep mtel- 
 lectual \dews regarding the pm-e Godhead, the 
 nothingness of all things, detachment from self, 
 abstraction of the mind from all sensible forms, 
 and such-lilve high things; and they Avere 
 clothed in beautiftd language, and were very 
 pleasant to reflect upon. But there lay con- 
 cealed beneath them somethino^ hurtful to 
 simple-minded beginners like her ; for she was 
 quite ignorant of the necessary distinctions 
 
 * Henry Murer lias extracted many of these lives from 
 the Chronicles of the convent at Thoss. and inserted them 
 in his Helcetia Sancta, 
 
HIS SPIEITUAL DAUGHTER. 159 
 
 which ought to be made, inasmuch as the words 
 were capable of being taken in a spiritual or 
 a natural sense, according to the disposition of 
 those who used them. These doctrines were 
 good in themselves ; but they were insufficient 
 for her instruction. She therefore wrote to the 
 Servitor, asking him to help her, and guide her 
 along the right path. Nevertheless, as she had 
 already tasted of the pleasure which is to be 
 found in these doctrines, she prayed him to pass 
 over the common ordinary kind of instruction, 
 and to -write to her something about the above- 
 mentioned high subjects. 
 
 The Servitor answered her thus: — Good 
 daughter, if thou askest me concerning high 
 things through curiosity, in order to become 
 acquainted yviih them, and to be able to talk 
 well about spiritual matters, what I have to say 
 to thee will need but a few words. Take not 
 too much pleasm'e in them, for they may easily 
 lead thee into dangerous errors. True bHss Hes 
 not m beautiful words, but in good works. If, 
 however, thou askest about these things in order 
 to put them in practice, my answer is, Let alone 
 for the present these deep questions, and attend 
 to those only which are suitable for thee. Thou 
 seemest to me to be as yet a young unexercised 
 
160 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 sister, and therefore it will be more profitable to 
 thee, and the like of thee, to hear about the 
 first beginnings of the spiritual life, both how it 
 ought to be begun and what exercises are ap- 
 propriate to it ; and also about good and holy 
 examples, as, for instance, how this and that 
 friend of God, who began in the same way, first 
 of all exercised themselves in imitating Christ's 
 life and suiferings ; what Idnd of things they had 
 to suffer continually ; how they bore themselves 
 in their sufferings interiorly and exteriorly ; whe- 
 ther God drew them onwards by sweetness or 
 by severity; and when and how they were set 
 free from sensible forms and imaojes. This is 
 the way in which a beginner is spm'red on and 
 guided to perfection ; for, though it is true that 
 God can give all this to a person in an instant, 
 it is not His way to do so, but it is to be ob- 
 tained ordinarily only by hard labour and many 
 conflicts. 
 
 On receiving this letter, the dauo-hter re- 
 plied to him as follows : — What I long for is 
 not wise words, but a holy life ; and this I have 
 the com'age truly and honestly to strive after 
 until I attain it, whatever pain it may entail 
 upon me, and no matter what I may have to 
 give up or suffer, or die to, or whatever else 
 
Ills SPIPwITUAL DAUGHTER. 161 
 
 may be needful to bring me to perfection ; for 
 all this I must and will undergo. And fear not 
 on accomit of the weakness of my nature ; for 
 whatever you have the com\age to command me, 
 which is painful to nature, I have the courage 
 to accomplish, with the help of God's might. 
 Begin first \vith the lowest things, and guide 
 me in them, just as a little school-child is first 
 taught what is adapted to its childish years, and 
 then afterwards receives more and more instruc- 
 tion, until it becomes at last a master in the art. 
 One only prayer I make to you, and this you 
 must grant me, for God's sake, in order that I 
 may not only be instructed by you, but may be 
 also strenMhened ao;ainst all the trials which I 
 may have to encounter. He asked wdiat this 
 request might be. She answered : — Sir, I have 
 heard say that the pelican is of such a nature 
 that it bites itself, and, from natural love, feeds 
 with its own blood its young offspring in the 
 nest. Ah, sir, what I iisk is, that you will act 
 thus towards jour needy child, and feed her 
 AAath the spiritual food of your good teaching; 
 and that you will not seek for this from afar, 
 but take it from yourself; for the nearer it has 
 been to you in the way of experience, the more 
 deeply it will come home to my loiiging soul. 
 
 M 
 
162 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 The Servitor wrote tlms to lier in answer: — 
 Thou showedst me a Httle while ago some high 
 thoughts which thou hadst thyself culled from 
 the sweet teaching of the holy Master Eckart, 
 and which J as is just, thou valuedst highly; and 
 I marvel much, that, after thou hast drunk of 
 the noble drink of this high IMaster, thou de- 
 clares t thyself so thirsty for the coarse drink of 
 the lowly Servitor. Nevertheless, when I con- 
 sider it well, I note mth joy thy great wisdom 
 in this matter ; namely, that thou art so busy in 
 thy questionings about what is the first begin- 
 ning of a high and secure life, and what are the 
 exercises which must be first practised in order 
 to attain it. 
 
 Chapter XXXVI. 
 
 Of the first beginnings of a beginner. 
 The beginnings of a holy life, said the 
 Servitor to the daughter, are various. One 
 person begins in one way, and another in an- 
 other; but as regards the beginning, to which 
 yom' questions refer, I will tell you about it. 
 I know a man in Christ, who, when he began 
 to give himself to God, first cleared out his 
 conscience by a general confession ; and he 
 
FIRST BEGINXINGS. 163 
 
 spared no pains to make tliis confession well, 
 by exposing every sin that lie liacl committed 
 to a prudent confessor, in order that he might 
 go pure and clean from the confessor, who sits 
 in God's place, and that all his sins might be 
 forgiven him, as happened to Mary [Magdalen, 
 when, with penitent heart and tearful eyes, she 
 washed Clmst's feet, and God forgave her all 
 her sins. Such was the first beginning of this 
 man's tmiiing to God. 
 
 The daughter laid this example very much 
 to heart, and she wished to lose no time in 
 imitating it, and she conceived a great desire 
 to make her confession to the Servitor, thinkincp 
 that he would be the one best suited for her; 
 and it was her intention also, in doing this, to 
 become thereby his spiritual daughter, and so 
 to have a greater claim upon his godly care. 
 
 Now it so happened that the confession 
 could not be made by word of mouth. She 
 therefore passed in revicAv her whole life, which, 
 in veiy truth, had been a pm-e and innocent 
 one; and whatever sins it seemed to her that 
 she had committed, she WTote down on a laro-e 
 waxen tablet, which she then fastened up and 
 sent to him, begging him to pronounce absolu- 
 tion over her sins. 
 
164 LIFE OF BLESSED IIENEY SUSO. 
 
 When he read through the confession, he 
 came to the following words at the bottom of 
 the tablet : — Gracious sir, I, a sinful creatm^e, 
 fall do^^^i now at your feet and beseech you, 
 with your true and faithful heart, to bring me 
 back again into God's heart, and to let me be 
 called your child in time and in eternity. The 
 daughter's confiding devotion touched him very 
 much, and, tmniing to God, he said : — Merciful 
 God, what answer is Thy Servitor to make to 
 this? Shall I drive her from me? I should 
 not like to treat a dog thus. O Lord, if I did 
 this, it might reflect ill upon Thee, my Lord 
 and Master ; for she seeks the Lord's wealth in 
 His servant. O gentle Lord, I cast myself at 
 Thy holy feet, and beseech Thee, kind Lord, to 
 hear her. Let her have the benefit of her good 
 faith and hearty confidence, for she cries after 
 us. How didst Thou treat the heathen w^omnn? 
 Ah ! kind Heart, see how fiir and wide the fiime 
 of Thy unfathomable bountifiilness has spread 
 amongst us. O kindly Goodness, turn Thy 
 gentle eyes towards her, and say to her one 
 single little word of consolation. Say then, 
 "Confide filia, fides tua te salvam fecit," — Be 
 of good heart, daughter; thy faith has saved 
 thee. And bring Thou it to pass in my stead ; 
 
FIRST BEGIXXIXGS. 165 
 
 for I have done what rests witli me, and I have 
 wished her a f idl absolution from all her sins. 
 
 He wrote back the following answer to her 
 by the same messenger: — What thou hast asked 
 of God through the Ser\dtor has come to pass, 
 4ind thou must know that it was all shown to 
 him by God beforehand. Early this very morn- 
 ing, when his prayer was ended, he sat down 
 for a brief moment of repose; and his bodily 
 senses being stilled in ecstasy, many divine 
 mysteries were manifested to him. Among 
 other thino;s, he was enlifyhtened to understand 
 
 7 C? 
 
 how God has made diversity of form to be the 
 individualising principle of the angelic nature, 
 and has given to each angel a special property 
 which distinguishes him from the rest ; all which 
 it is impossible for liim to express in words. 
 After he had spent a good space of time in 
 heavenly recreation with the angelic spmts, and 
 was in very joyous mood tlu'ough the exceeduig 
 wonderment which his soul had felt, it seemed 
 to him, in the same \^sion, that thou didst come 
 ill and stand before him where he sat among the 
 heavenly company, and then, kneeHng down 
 with great earnestness in front of him, didst 
 bow thy face upon iiis heart, and continue 
 kneeling thus with thy face bowed upon his 
 
166 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 heart, so that the angels who stood by beheld 
 it. The brother marvelled at thy boldness, and 
 yet thy bearing was so holy that he graciously 
 permitted it. What manner of gi-aces the 
 Heavenly Father bestowed on thee, whilst thou 
 wert bowed down upon the suffering heart, thou 
 Imowest right well, and they were visible upon 
 thee; for when after a good while thou didst 
 raise up thyself j thy countenance was so joyous 
 and full of grace, that it was quite evident God 
 had bestowed some special grace upon thee ; and 
 He AAall do still more for thee through the same 
 heart, that He may be glorified in it, and thou 
 consoled. 
 
 The like happened also to a maiden named 
 Anna, a noble and godly person, who dwelt in 
 a castle, and who, moreover, led a life of piu'e 
 unmingled suffering. God wrought great mar- 
 vels in her from her youth up until her death. 
 Before she knew the Servitor, or had ever heard 
 of him, she was one day rapt in ecstasy at her 
 devotions, and she saw how the Saints gaze upon 
 and praise God in the court of heaven. Upon 
 this she prayed her dear Apostle St. John, to 
 whom she had a special devotion, to hear her 
 confession. He answered her very lovingly : — 
 I will give thee a good confessor in my place. 
 
riliST BEGINNINGS. 1G7 
 
 God has granted him full authority over thee, 
 and he can comfort thee well in thy manifold 
 sufferings. She asked who and where he was, 
 and what was his name : all which St. John 
 made known to her. She thanked God, and, 
 rising earl}' in the moniing, went to the monas- 
 tery which God had shown her, and asked for 
 him. He came to her to the outer gate, and 
 inquired of her what her business was. Upon 
 this she made her confession to him, and when 
 he heard the heavenly message, he consented, 
 and fulfilled it. 
 
 This holy daughter also told him, that she 
 had once seen in spirit a beautiful rose-tree, 
 richly adorned with red roses, and on the rose- 
 tree there appeared the little Child Jesus, mth 
 a garland of red roses. Beneath the rose-tree 
 she saw the Ser\-itor sitting. The little Child 
 broke off many of the roses, and threw tliem 
 upon the Servitor, so that he became all covered 
 and bestrewed with roses. Upon this she asked 
 the Child what the roses meant, and He an- 
 swered : — The great quantity of roses signifies 
 the manifold sufferings which God will send 
 him, and which he must lovingly accept at 
 God's hands, and bear with patience. 
 
168 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 Cbl^^pter XXXVII. 
 
 Of the first lessons and examples whicli are suitable for a 
 beginner, and how he should regulate his exercises with 
 discretion. 
 
 At the first beOTiinino; of the Servitor's in- 
 terior life, after he had purified his soul properly 
 by confession, he marked out for himself, in 
 thought, three circles, within which he shut 
 himself up, as in a spiritual intrenchment. 
 The first circle was his cell, his chapel, and 
 the choir. When he was ^^ithin this circle, he 
 seemed to himself in complete secm'ity. The 
 second circle was the whole monastery as far as 
 the outer gate. The third and outermost circle 
 was the gate; and here it was necessary for him 
 to stand well upon his guard. When he went 
 outside these tlu'ee circles, it seemed to him that 
 he was in the plight of some wild-animal which 
 is outside its hole, and surrounded by the hunt, 
 and therefore in need of all its cunning and 
 watchfulness. 
 
 He had, moreover, in his beginnings, made 
 choice of a chapel as a place of retirement, in 
 which he might satisfy his devotion by means 
 of pictui'es. Now it should be observed that, in 
 his youth, he had caused to be painted for him- 
 
PICTURE OF THE ETERNAL WISDOM. 169 
 
 self, upon parchment, a pictiu'e of the Eternal 
 Wisdom, who rules supreme over heaven and 
 ^arth, and far surpasses all created things in 
 ravishing beauty and loveliness of form; for 
 which reason, when he was in the bloom of 
 youth, he had chosen Wisdom for his beloved. 
 He carried this lovely pictm-e mth him when 
 he journeyed to the place of stucUes, and he 
 always set it before him in the window of his 
 cell, and used to look at it lovingly Avith heart- 
 felt longings. He brought it back home vnth 
 him on his retm'n, and caused it to be trans- 
 fen'ed to his chapel-wall as a token of affection. 
 What other kinds of s^Tiibolical representations 
 were there, bearing upon the interior life, and 
 adapted to himself and other beginners, may be 
 learned from the pictvu'es and sayings of the 
 ancient fathers painted on the walls. A part 
 of these sayings, translated into the vulgar 
 tongue, follows below, exactly as they were in- 
 scribed upon the chapel ; — 
 
 The ancient father Ai'senius asked the anorel 
 what he must do to be saved. The angel an- 
 swered : — Thou must flee, and be silent and sit 
 still. 
 
 Afterwards, in a vision, the angel read these 
 
170 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 words to the Servdtor out of the book of the 
 ancient fathers : — A well-spring of all bliss is to 
 keep thyself quiet and in solitude. 
 
 Abbot Theodore. To keep thyself pure and 
 spotless will advance thee more in knowledge 
 than study will. 
 
 Abbot Moses. Sit in thy cell : it will teach 
 thee all things. 
 
 Abbot John. Keep thy outward man still, 
 and thy inward man pure. 
 
 Tlie same. A fish out of water and a monk 
 out of his monastery will equally come to grief. 
 
 Anthony. Bodily mortification, interior devo- 
 tion, and seclusion from men beget chastity. 
 
 The same. Wear no garment in which vanity 
 can be chscerned. The first battle of a beo;inner 
 is boldly to resist sins. 
 
 The Shepherd. Be "wi'oth with no one, until 
 he tries to pluck out thy right eye. 
 
 Isido7'e. A wrathful man is displeasing to 
 God, however great may be the miracles which 
 he works. 
 
 Ipericius. It is a less sin to eat meat when it 
 should have been avoided than to backbite thy 
 neighbour. 
 
 Pior. It is very mcked to bring forward the 
 sins of others, and to keep back our own. 
 
MAXIMS OF THE ANCIENT FATHERS. 171 
 
 Zachary. A man must suffer great humilia- 
 tions if lie is to aiTive at perfection, 
 
 Nestor. Thou must first become an ass, if 
 thou wouldst jiossess heavenly wisdom. 
 
 An Ancient. Thou shouldst be immovable 
 in weal and woe, like one dead. 
 
 Hellas. A pale complexion, a wasted body, 
 and a lowly bearing beseem well a spiritual man. 
 
 Hilarion. A. wanton horse and an unchaste 
 body should have their provender cut do^^Tl. 
 
 An Ancient. Take away from me wine, for 
 the death of the soul lies hidden in it. 
 
 The Sliepltenl. He who still complains, and 
 cannot keep from anger and much talking, will 
 never become a spiritual man. 
 
 Cassian. As the djang Christ bore Himself 
 upon the cross, so should oui' manner of life be 
 fashioned. 
 
 Anthony said to a brother: — O man, help 
 thyself; otherwise neither God nor I will ever 
 help thee. 
 
 A woman besought the ancient father Ar- 
 senius to remember her before God. He an- 
 swered: — I pray God to blot out thy image 
 from my heart. 
 
 Macanus. I inflict many hardships on my 
 body, because I have many temptations from it. 
 
172 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 John, the father, said: — I have never done 
 my own will, and I never taught any thing in 
 words which I had not first practised in deeds. 
 
 An Ancient. Many words without deeds are 
 vain; like the tree which bears many leaves, but 
 no fruit. 
 
 Nilus. He who must have much intercourse 
 with the world must needs also receive many 
 wounds. 
 
 An Ancient. If thou canst do nothing else, 
 keep guard at least over thy cell for God. 
 
 Jpericius. He who keeps himself chaste will 
 be honoured here, and crowned by God hereafter. 
 
 Apollonius. Kesist beginnings, and stoj^ the 
 serpent by the head. 
 
 Agathon. I have carried a stone in my mouth 
 for three years, that I might learn silence. 
 
 Arsenins. I have often repented of having 
 spoken, but never of having kept silence. 
 
 An ancient father was asked by a disciple 
 how long he should keep silence. The father 
 answered : — Until thou art asked a question. 
 
 St. Syncletica. If thou art sick, rejoice there- 
 at, for God has been mindful of thee. 
 
 Hie same. If thou art sick, do not ascribe it 
 to thy fasts, for those also fall sick who do not 
 fast. 
 
]MAXIM8 OF THE A^'CIENT FATIIEIJS. 173 
 
 The same. If tlion art tried by temptations 
 of the flesh, rejoice, for thou mayest become a 
 second Paul. 
 
 Nestor, a good brother, said: — The sun 
 never shone upon me eating. 
 
 Another called John added : — Nor upon me 
 angiy. 
 
 Anthony. The greatest virtue is to be able 
 to observe moderation in all thino-s. 
 
 o 
 
 Paphnutins. It is no use to begin well, unless 
 thou dost carry it through to a good end. 
 
 Ahhot Moses. Avoid whatever would deprive 
 thee of purity of soul, however good it may 
 appear. 
 
 Cassian. The term of all perfection is at- 
 tained, when the soul, with all its powers, is 
 gathered up into one only object, God. 
 
 The Servitor sent these examples and say- 
 ings of the ancient fathers to his spiritual 
 daughter, who drank them all in, and applied 
 them to herself, as though he had meant her 
 also to exercise her body with severe chastise- 
 ments, after the austere fashion of the ancient 
 fathers. And she began accordingly to mortify 
 and torment herself with hair-shirts, and cords, 
 and cruel bands set round with sharp iron nails, 
 and many other such-like instrum.ents of penance. 
 
174 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 But when the Sei^itor became aware of this, 
 he Avrote to her as follows : — Dear daughter, if 
 thy purpose is to order thy spiritual life according 
 to my teaching, as was thy request to me, cease 
 from all such austerities, for they suit not the 
 weakness of thy sex and thy well-ordered frame. 
 The dear Jesus did not say, Take My cross 
 upon you; but He said to each, Take up thy 
 cross. Thou shouldst not seek to imitate the 
 austerity of the ancient fathers, nor the severe 
 exercises of thy spu'itual father. Thou shouldst 
 only take for thyself a portion of them, such as 
 thou canst practise easily with thy infirm body, 
 to the end that sin may die in thee, and yet thy 
 bodily life may not be shortened. This is a very 
 excellent exercise, and the best of all for thee. 
 
 She wished to know from him why he him- 
 self had practised such great austerities, and 
 yet would not advise her or others to practise 
 them. Upon this he referred her to the holy 
 writings, saying : — ^It is ^vritten that, in former 
 times, some among the ancient fathers led a life 
 of such superhuman and incredible austerity, 
 that the very mention of it is a horror to certain 
 delicate persons of the present day; for they 
 know not Avhat burning devotion can enable a 
 man, by the divine aid, to do and suffer for 
 
AUSTERITIES OF THE SAINTS. 175 
 
 Ood. One who is filled with such fervour 
 finds all impossible things become possible of 
 accomplishment in God; just as Da\4d says, 
 that with God's help he would go through 
 a wall (Ps. x\di. 30). It is also A^Titten in 
 the book of the ancient fathers, that some of 
 them did not treat themselves mtli such great 
 severity as others did, and yet they were all 
 striving to reach the self-same end. St. Peter 
 and St. John had not the same traininir. Who 
 can fully explain this marvel, unless it be 
 that the Lord, who is wonderful in His Saints, 
 wills, by reason of His high sovereignty, to be 
 glorified in many different ways ? Besides this, 
 our natures are not all alike, and what is suit- 
 able to one, suits not another. Therefore it 
 must not be thought that, if perchance a man 
 has not practised such gi'eat austerities, he will 
 be thereby hindered from arriving at perfection. 
 At the same time, those who are soft and deli- 
 cate should not despise austerities in others, or 
 judge them harshly. Let each look to himself, 
 and see what God wants of him, and attend to 
 this, lea\dng all else alone. Speaking generally, 
 it is much better to be moderate rather than im- 
 moderate in the practice of austerities. But as 
 the mean is hard to find, it is wiser to keep a 
 
ITC) LIFE or BLESSED IIENKY SUSO. 
 
 little under it, than to venture too high above it ; 
 for it often happens that, if a man mortifies his 
 bodily frame to excess, he will have afterwards 
 to indulge it to excess ; though certainly many 
 great Saints have forgotten themselves in this 
 point through the fervour of their devotion. 
 Such austerity of life, and the examples which 
 have been mentioned, may be of use to those 
 who are too tender \ATLth themselves, and to their 
 own injury give too much rein to their rebellious 
 bodies ; but this concerns not thee, nor the like 
 of thee. God has many kinds of crosses with 
 which He chastens His friends. I look for 
 Him to lay another sort of cross upon thy 
 shoulders, wdiich will be far more painful to 
 thee than these austerities. Accept this cross 
 with patience when it comes to thee. 
 
 Not Ions afterwards God afflicted the Ser- 
 vitor's spiritual daughter wdth long and weary 
 illnesses, so that she continued sickly in body 
 until her death. She sent him word that it 
 had come to pass with her as he had predicted. 
 Upon which he wrote in answer thus : — Dear 
 daughter, God has not only afflicted thee ac- 
 cordins: to my words, but He has also wounded 
 me in thee; for I have now no one left who 
 will help me with the same diligence and godly 
 
VISION OF ANGELS. 177 
 
 faithfulness to complete mv little book, as thou 
 didst when thou wert well. Therefore the Ser- 
 vitor besought God earnestly on thy behalf, 
 that it might be His good will to give thee back 
 thy health ; and when God would not forthwith 
 hearken to his prayer, he was angered against 
 Him with a lo^dng anger, and was minded that 
 he would write no more books about the faith- 
 ful God, and would likewise leave off his usual 
 mornino:-2:reetinfr throuMi ill-humour, unless 
 God made thee well aojain. Now when he had 
 sat do^vn in the disquiet of his heart, according 
 to custom, in his chapel, his senses were absorbed 
 in ecstasy; and it seemed to him that a com- 
 pany of angels came before him in the chapel, 
 and sang to comfort him a heavenly song, be- 
 cause they knew that at that time he was in 
 peculiar sorrow; and they asked him why he 
 looked so sad and did not sing with them. 
 Then he told them how he had behaved in his 
 excess to the dear God, because He would not 
 hearken to his prayer for thy recovery. And 
 they counselled him to desist from it, and not 
 act thus ; for that God had ordained this sick- 
 ness for the best, and it would be thy cross in 
 this world, and through it thou wouldst earn 
 great grace here, and a manifold reward in 
 N 
 
178 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 heaven. Therefore be patient, my daughter, 
 and receive it simply as a loving gift from the 
 faithful God. 
 
 Chapter XXXVUI. 
 
 Of certain devout practices of a young beginner in his 
 early 3'ears. 
 
 OxCE upon a time the sick spiritual daugh- 
 ter besought the Servitor, who had come to see 
 her in her illness, to tell her something about 
 spiritual things, not of too grave a Idnd, but 
 yet such as a godly soul would hear with plea- 
 sure. Upon which he told her about his devout 
 practices in early life, in the following words : — 
 
 As the Servitor was in his youth of a liA^ely 
 temperament, he made it a practice for a long 
 time, vvdienever he was bled, to turn in spmt to 
 God imder the cross, and, lifting up his wounded 
 arm, to say, mth an inward sigh : — Ah, Friend 
 of my heart ! remember that it is the way 
 with lovers to go to their beloved ones at the 
 time of blood-letting, in order that the new 
 blood may be good. But Thou Iviiowest well, 
 dear Lord, that I have no beloved one save 
 Thee alone, and therefore I come to Thee to 
 bless my vround and make my blood good. 
 
YOUTHFUL DEVOTIONS. 179 
 
 At this same season of his youtli, when his 
 face was still in its fresh bloom and beanty of 
 colour, it was his practice, as often as he shaved 
 hunself, to go to the Lord, and say : — All, 
 sweet Lord, if my countenance and mouth were 
 as rosy as the hue of all red roses. Thy Servitor 
 would keep them for Thee, and give them to 
 no one else ; and though Thou lookest only to 
 the heart, and regardest little what is outward, 
 nevertheless, dearest Lord, my heart offers 
 Thee herein a love-token in testimony that it 
 turns to Thee, and to none but Thee. 
 
 When he put on a new tunic or cloak, he 
 would first go to his usual place of prayer and 
 beseech the Lord of heaven, who had provided 
 him mth this garment, to wish him luck and 
 happiness in it, and to help him to wear it out 
 in the fulfilment of His all-lovely will. 
 
 Before this, in his childliood, it had been his 
 custom, when the beautiful summer came and 
 the tender flo\yrets first began to spring up, 
 never to pluck or touch a flower until he had 
 greeted vdth. the gift of his first flowers his 
 spiritual love, the sweet, blooming, rosy maid, 
 God's Mother. When it seemed to him that 
 the time for doing this had come, he picked the 
 flowers with many lo^^ng thoughts, and, carry^- 
 
180 LIFE OF BLESSED IIENPvY SUSO. 
 
 iiig tliem to his cell, made a garland of tliem ; 
 and then he went into the choir, or into our 
 Lady's chapel, and, kneeling do^Aii very humbly 
 before our dear Lady, placed the garland upon 
 her image, in the hope that, as she was the 
 fairest of all flowers, and the bliss of summer to 
 his heart, she would not disdain to accept these 
 first flowers from her Servitor. 
 
 Once upon a time, wdien he had thus 
 cro^vned the all-lovely one, it seemed to him in 
 a A^sion that heaven was opened, and he saw 
 the bright ano-els ascendino; and descendincr in 
 shininoc s^nients. He heard likewise in the 
 court of heaven the blissful attendants singing 
 the loveliest song which was ever heard. But 
 chiefly they sang a song about oui' dear Lady, 
 which rano; so sweetly that his soul melted 
 within him from excess of rapture, and it was 
 like what is sung of her in the sequence on All- 
 Saints day, " Illic regina virginum, transcen- 
 dens culmen ordinum, etc. ;" which means, 
 that the pm-e Queen soars high above all the 
 heavenly host in honour and dignity. He too 
 began to sing ^yith. the heavenly company, and 
 it left behind in his soul a great savour of 
 heaven and longing after God. 
 
 Once, at the beginning of May, he had, 
 
YOUTHFUL DEVOTIOXS. 181 
 
 according to his custom, placed ^Yitll great de-, 
 votioii a garland of roses upon his loveliest! » 
 heavenly Lady ; and that same morning early, ! 
 as he had come from a distance and was tired, 
 he intended to allow himself a longer sleep, and 
 to omit his usual gi'eeting to the Virgin at the 
 proper hour. Now when the time had come 
 for him to greet her, as he was wont to do, and 
 he should have got up, it seemed to him as if 
 he were in the midst of a heavenly choir, and 
 that they were singing the Magnificat in praise 
 of God's Mother. When it was ended, the 
 Virgin came forward, and bade the brother 
 begin the verse, " O vernalis rosula, etc. ;" 
 which signifies, O thou lovely little rose of 
 summer. He thought within himself what she 
 could mean by this, and yet, wishing to obey 
 her, he began in joyous mood, " O vernalis ro- 
 sula." Whereupon immediately three or four 
 youths of the heavenly company, who were 
 standing there in choir, began to sing with him, 
 and then the rest of the choir took up the strain, 
 as if in rivalry, and they sang so merrily, that 
 the sound rang out as sweetly as if all stringed 
 instruments were resounding there together. 
 But his mortal frame could not bear this excess 
 of melody, and he came to himself again. 
 
182 LIFE or BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 On tlie day after our Lady's feast of the 
 Assumption, lie was once more shown a vision 
 of great joy in the court of heaven. But no 
 one was allowed to enter in who was not worthy 
 to be present there. Now when the Servitor 
 was A^ery anxious to j^ress in, there came a 
 youth who caught him by the hand, saying : — 
 It is not for thee to enter in at present. Thou 
 hast done wrong, and must expiate thy misdeed, 
 before thou wilt be allowed to hear the song of 
 heaven. Then he led him by a crooked path 
 into an underground hole, which was dark and 
 desolate, and very miserable to look at. The 
 Ser\dtor could not move in it either to the one 
 side or to the other; but he lay there like a 
 man in a dmigeon, who cannot see either the 
 sun or the moon. This was a sore sufferinor 
 to him, and he began to bemoan and lament 
 himself on account of his imprisonment. Soon 
 afterwards the youth came back, and asked him 
 how it fared "s^dth him. The Servitor answered : 
 — ^Very ill. Then the youth said to him : — 
 Know that the sovereign Queen of Heaven is 
 auOTV mth thee on account of the fault for 
 which thou art lying here in prison. The Ser- 
 vitor was greatly terrified at this, and said : — 
 Woe is me ! utterly miserable that I am, wdiat 
 
THE QUEEN OF HE A VEX. 183 
 
 liave I done to her? He answered: — She is 
 angry with thee for being so unwilHng to preach 
 about her on her festivals, and because yester- 
 day on her great festival thou didst refuse thy 
 superior's request, saying that thou wouldst not 
 preach about her. The Servitor made answer: 
 — Alas, my friend and master ! it seems to me 
 in truth that she is worthy of far greater honoiu' 
 than what I can give her, and that I am of too 
 little account to undertake this office. There- 
 fore I yield it up to those who are old and 
 worthy; for methinks they can preach more 
 Avorthily about her than I, poor man, can. 
 To this the youth replied : — Know that it 
 pleases her to receive this honour from thee, 
 and it is an acceptable service from thee in her 
 eyes. Therefore refuse no more. Tlie Servitor 
 began to weep, and said to the youth : — Ah, 
 dearest youth ! make my peace ivith the pure 
 ^lother, for I promise thee by my troth that 
 it shall not happen again. The youth smiled, 
 and consoled him lovingly, and led him home 
 out of the prison, saying: — ^I have observ^ed, 
 from the kindly Avay in whicli the Queen of 
 Heaven looked at and spoke of thee, that she 
 vdll lay aside her anger against thee, and will 
 always love thee v^th a mother's faithful love. 
 
184 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 It was the Servitor's practice when he left 
 his cell, or returned to it, to pass through the 
 choir before the Sacrament; for he thought 
 within himself that he who has a very dear 
 friend any where upon his road, is very glad to 
 make his journey a little longer in order to hold 
 some loving converse with him. 
 
 A man once asked God to bestow upon him 
 a heavenly carnival, as he did not wish for an 
 earthly one from creatures. And Avhile his 
 senses were stilled in ecstasy, it seemed to 
 him as if the dear Christ came in, under the 
 form which He wore when He was thirty yeai's 
 of age, and signified to him that He Avould grant 
 him his request, and make for him a heavenly 
 carnival. Then He took a cup of wine in His 
 hand, and presented it to three men, who were 
 sittino' there at table, one after the other. The 
 first sank down powerless ; the second also 
 became a little faint; but the third was not 
 affected by it. Upon this the Lord explained to 
 him the difi^'erence between a beginner, a pro- 
 ficient, and a perfect man, — how unlike they 
 are in the way in which they bear themselves 
 in spiritual sweetness. 
 
 When the Servitor had finished conversing 
 with his spiritual daughter about these and 
 
HE DllAWS SINNEHS TO GOD. 185 
 
 sucli-like divine endearments, she wrote it all 
 down secretly, and then placed it in a box, which 
 she locked up for concealment and security. 
 
 Now one day there came to her a good 
 sister, to whom she had given the box in 
 charge, saying : — Dear sister, what is this mar- 
 vellous heavenly secret which thou hast in thy 
 box ? I dreamed this night that there was in 
 thy box a young heavenly l)oy, and that he had 
 a sweet stringed instrument in his hands, from 
 which he drew such ravishing spiritual melodies, 
 that it filled many a one with spiritual delight. 
 I pray thee bring forth for us what thou hast 
 locked u}), that Ave too may read it. But she 
 kept silence, and would not speak to her about 
 it, for it had been forbidden her. 
 
 Chapter XXXIX. 
 
 How he cli-ew light-minded persons to God, and comforted 
 those Avho were in suifering. 
 
 The Servitor had once been a long time 
 without sencHng any message to his spiritual 
 daughter. Upon this she Avrote a letter to liim, 
 telling him that she was in great need of a 
 message from him to cheer her suffering heart, 
 
18 G LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 and. adding : — The 230or find a little consolation 
 when they see those who are poorer than them- 
 selves, and sufferers draw a little courage from 
 hearing that some among theii' neighbom's have 
 been in greater straits than they are, and have 
 been helped out of them by God. 
 
 The Servitor A^Tote thus to her in answer: — 
 In order that thou mayest be more patient in 
 thy suiferings, I will tell thee for God's glory 
 something about suifering. I know a man on 
 whom by God's appointment there fell cruel 
 sufferings in regard to his good name in this 
 world. This man's unceasins; desire was to 
 love God from the very bottom of his heart,, 
 and to wui all persons to the same love of God,, 
 and to mthch-aw them from all vain affections ; 
 and he brought this about in the case of many, 
 both men and women. Since, however, by 
 doing this he estranged from the devil those 
 who had been his, and brought them back to 
 God, the evil spirit took it ill, and appeared 
 to certain holy persons, and threatened that he 
 would avenge himself on the Servitor. 
 
 It happened once that the Senator came to 
 a monasteiy belonging to a certain Order in 
 which the religious men are accustomed to have 
 a special dwelling-place for themselves, and the 
 
HE DliAWS SINNERS TO GOD. 187 
 
 religious women of the Order likewise a special 
 dwelling-place for themselves. Now in this 
 monastery there were two religious, a man and 
 a woman, who were bound to each otlier by 
 closest ties of gi'eat affection and hurtful inti- 
 macy ; and the devil had so disguised it to their 
 blinded hearts, that they looked upon the mis- 
 deed as if it were no fault or sin, but a thinir 
 permitted to them by God. When the Servitor 
 Avas privately asked whether they could go on in 
 this way without being in opposition to God's 
 will, he answered : — No, by no means ; and he 
 told them that their \Tiew of the matter was 
 false, and contrary to Christian doctrine; and 
 he succeeded in making them leave off their 
 intimacy, and live thencefonvard in purity. 
 Whilst he was occupied about this matter, a 
 holy person named Anna was rapt in spirit 
 when she was at prayer, and she saw a great 
 band of devils o-athered too;etlier in the air 
 
 to o 
 
 'above the Senitor, and they all cried aloud 
 with one voice : — Death, death, to the mcked 
 monk! and they reriled and cursed him for 
 havino; di'iven them forth bv his wjod counsels 
 
 to ^ to 
 
 from that place which was so pleasant to them ; 
 and they all swore, ^rith horrible gestures, that 
 they would never let him alone until they had 
 
188 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SU30. 
 
 revenged tliemselves upon liim ; and that if they 
 were not allowed to touch him in his person or 
 Ills goods, they would at least inflict cruel in- 
 jury upon his good name and honour in men's 
 eyes, by laying shameful things to his charge ; 
 and, however carefully he might avoid giving 
 any cause for it, they would by falsehood and 
 cunning bring it about. The holy woman 
 Anna was greatly terrified at this, and she be- 
 sought our dear Lady to come and help him in 
 his impending straits. Upon which the kind 
 Mother said to her lovingly : — They can do 
 nothing to him without my Child's ordinance. 
 What He ordains concerning him will be the 
 best and the most profitable for him. Bid him 
 therefore be of good cheer. 
 
 When she told tliis to the brother, he began 
 to feel great alarm at this hostile assembhng of 
 the evil spuits ; and, as he often used to do in 
 his distresses, he ascended the hill on which a 
 chapel stands dedicated to the holy angels, and 
 he went nine times round this chapel, accorduig 
 to his custom, sapng prayers in honom' of the 
 nine choirs of the heavenly host, and he be- 
 sought them earnestly to be his helpers against 
 all his enemies. Early that same morning he 
 was earned in a spiritual vision to a l)eautiful 
 
HE DEAWS SINNERS TO GOD. 189 
 
 2:)lain, and he saw there all round him an ex- 
 ceeding great company of angels, who stood 
 ready to help him, and they comforted him, 
 saying : — God is with thee, and Avill neA'er leave 
 thee in any of thy straits. Cease not, then, to 
 draw Avorldly hearts to the love of God. This 
 confirmed him in his purpose, and he busied 
 himself all the more dilio-entlv in brinmncr back 
 both the wild and the tame to God. 
 
 He had succeeded by his good words in 
 coming round a ferocious man, who had been 
 eighteen years without confession. This man 
 was inspired by God with confidence in the 
 Servitor, and confessed to him with such sreat 
 contrition, that they both began to weep. He 
 died soon aftervrards, and made a happy end. 
 
 He once converted twelve sinful women fi-om 
 their e\dl life. It is impossible to tell how much 
 he suffered from them. In the end, however, 
 only two of them persevered. 
 
 There were at that time up and down the 
 country many persons of the female sex, both 
 secular and religious, who from the frailt}' of 
 their disposition had fallen openly into sinful 
 practices. These poor women through shame 
 dared not confess to any one their heart's an- 
 guish ; so that from agony and distress of mind 
 
190 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 they were often assailed by the temptation to 
 destroy themselves. Now when these persons 
 heard that the Ser\itor had a tender heart for 
 all who were in suffering, they took courage and 
 came to him, — each one at the time when her 
 distress lay heavy upon her, — and disclosed to 
 him their anguish, and the straits in which they 
 were held captive. Wlien he saw these poor 
 hearts in such misery and suffering, he used 
 to weep \^dth them and console them lovingly. 
 He often risked his good name in this world in 
 order to help them to recover their souls and 
 then- reputation ; and he let malicious tongues 
 pass what judgment on him they pleased. 
 
 Among others there was a lady of high bu'th, 
 whose contrition for her fall was very great. 
 One day om* Lady appeared to her and said : — 
 Go to my chaplain ; he will set thee right again. 
 She answered : — Alas, Lady, I know him not. 
 The Mother of Compassion replied : — Look here 
 beneath my mantle, where I keep him mider my 
 guard, and note well his face, that thou mayest 
 know him again. He is a help in need and a 
 comforter of all who suffer. He ^^dll comfort 
 thee. The lady came to the Servitor from a 
 foreimi land, and she recomiised his face as she 
 had seen it before in spirit, and she prayed him 
 
VISION OF SUFFERINGS. 191 
 
 to bring lier back to grace, and told him what 
 had befallen her. He received her very kindly, 
 and set her right again to the best of his ability, 
 according as the Mother of Compassion had en- 
 joined him. 
 
 Chapter XL. 
 
 Of a grievous suffering which, befell him while thus 
 occupied. 
 
 Such was the way in which the Servitor 
 aided many persons who w^ere in suffering. But 
 the good work cost him dear, owing to the 
 martyrdom of sufferings which fell upon him 
 in consequence. And God showed him these 
 afflictions when they were still future, in the fol- 
 lowing vision. Once when he was travelling he 
 arrived one evening at an inn ; and just before 
 daybreak it seemed to him in a vision that he 
 was taken to a place where Mass was going to 
 be smig, and that he had to sing it, for the lot 
 had fallen upon him. The smgers began the 
 Mass of martyrs, "Mult^e tribulationes jus- 
 torum ;" that is, Many are the sufferings of God's 
 fi'iends. He was not pleased at hearing this, 
 and would have been very glad to change it, 
 saying : — How strange ! Why are you deafen- 
 
192 LIFE OF BLESSED IIEXPwY SUSO. 
 
 ing us with the martp's ? Why do you sing to- 
 day the Mass of martyrs ? We are not keeping 
 any martyr's feast to-day. They looked at him, 
 and pointing at him ^^ith their fingers, said : — 
 God has His martjTs now at this time, as He has 
 eyer had. Get ready, then, and sing for thyself. 
 
 He turned over the pages of the Missal which 
 lay before him, and would mucli rather have 
 sung the Mass of confessors, or any other one 
 except that of the suffering martyrs ; but though 
 he turned the book over and over again, it was all 
 full of Masses of mart}TS. When he saw that it 
 could not be other^\^se, he sang mth them, and 
 his singing rang forth exceeding mournfully. 
 After a little while he began again, and said 
 to them: — This is very singular. One would 
 much rather sing Gaudeamus (Let us rejoice) 
 about joyful things, than sing as we are do- 
 ing about sorrow^l things. They answered : — 
 Good friend, thou dost not understand it yet. 
 This song about the mart}TS goes first, and then 
 when the proper time has come the joyous song 
 Gaudeamus follows after it. 
 
 When he came to himself again his heart 
 trembled within him because of the ^dsion, and 
 he said: — Alas, O God! must I once more 
 suffer martyrdom ? In consequence of this his 
 
HE IS CHUELLY SLANDERED. 193 
 
 demeanour became so so^ro^Yful as he journeyed 
 onwards, that his companion asked him, say- 
 ing : — ^Ah ! father, what is the matter with you, 
 that you look so exceeding soiTowfiil ? He an- 
 swered : — Alas ! dear companion, I have to sing 
 here the ^lass of martyrs. Meaning, that God 
 had made known to him that he had a martyr- 
 dom to suffer. But his companion understood 
 him not ; so he remained silent, and kept it all 
 Avithin himself. 
 
 On his arrival at the town, which took place 
 in the dark days before Christmas, he was, as 
 usual, so sorely ^dsited with bitter sufferings that 
 it seemed to him, as the sajdng is, that his heart 
 witlihi his body must break, if such a thing 
 has ever happened to those in sorrow. For 
 these suffering's hedo;ed him round on all sides, 
 and it was his sad lot to liaA'e every thing taken 
 from him which had been a support to him in the 
 way of serAdce, consolation, or honour, and which 
 was of a nature calculated to comfort a man 
 here below. This bitter sufferino^ was of the 
 following kind: Among those persons whom 
 he had tried to lead to God there came to him 
 a deceitful crafty woman, who under an out- 
 wardly good life concealed a wolfish heart, 
 which she hid so well that the brother for a 
 o 
 
194 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 very long time did not perceive it. She had be- 
 fore this fallen into great sin with a man, and 
 had added to her crime by attributing the off- 
 spring to a different person from the guilty man, 
 who protested his own innocence in the matter. 
 
 The Servdtor chd not reject the woman on 
 account of her misdeeds ; but he heard her con- 
 fession, and helped her in all needful and proper 
 ways, more than it was the custom of the other 
 religious of the country, who are called Ter- 
 minerer (mendicants), to do. After this had 
 gone on for a long time, it came to the knowledge 
 of the Servitor, and of other reliable persons, 
 that she was still secretly continuing the same 
 e^dl practices as before. He said nothing about 
 it, and would have gladly avoided making it 
 known ; at the same time he gave up his rela- 
 tions with her and ceased to help her. When 
 the woman became aware of this, she sent him 
 word not to act thus ; and threatened him that, 
 if he left off giving her the same assistance as 
 heretofore, he should suffer for it ; for that she 
 would father upon him a child, which she had 
 had b}^ a secular man, and he would thus be 
 put to shame by means of the child and be 
 covered with infamy every where. 
 
 The Servitor was filled Avith consternation 
 
HE IS CKUELLY SLANDERED. 195 
 
 at tliese words, and stood motionless; tlien, 
 sighing inwardly, lie spoke thus witiiin himself ': 
 — Aiiguish and distress surround me on all 
 sides, and I know not which way to turn ; for 
 if I act in this Avay, woe is me, and if I do not 
 act thus, still woe is me; and I am so girt round 
 on all sides by distress and woe that I am like 
 to sink under it. And thus, with terror in his 
 heart, he waited for whatever God might allow 
 the dcAal to bring wpon him. At last, after 
 taking comisel -with God and himself, he came 
 to the conclusion, that of these two miserable 
 alternatives it was better for him in soul and 
 body to abandon the mcked woman altogether, 
 let the consequences to his good name be what 
 they might ; and so he did. 
 
 This inflamed her fierce heart with such 
 rage against him, that, running hither and 
 thither to ecclesiastics and seculars, she strove 
 with more than human wickedness to defame 
 herself, in order to bring suffering upon the 
 poor man, and she told every one that she had 
 had a child, and that it was by the brother. 
 All who believed her words were greatly scan- 
 daHsed at it, and the scandal was the greater 
 the wider the reputation of his holiness had 
 spread. All this pierced him through to his 
 
196 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 very inmost heart and soul, and, being thus 
 encompassed on every side by anguish and 
 distress, he hved absorbed in himself, and the 
 days seemed to him long and the nights miser- 
 able, and his short sleep was mingled Avith panic 
 frights. He used to look upwards sorrowfully to 
 God, and with deep gi'oans exclaim : — Alas, O 
 God ! my hour of woe is come. How shall I, or 
 how can I, bear this agony of heart ? Alas, O 
 God, would that I had died before I ever saw 
 or heard of this misery ! Lord, behold, I have 
 honoured Thy venerable Name all the days of 
 my life, and I have taught many persons far 
 and wide to love and honour it. And vrilt Thou 
 bring my name to such great dishonour? This 
 is a sore thing that I complain of. Behold how 
 the venerable Order of Preachers must now be 
 brought to disgrace through me. I grieve for 
 this, and shall always grieve for it. Woe is me, 
 by reason of the straits into which my heart has 
 come ! All good persons, who before held me 
 in PTeat honour as a holv man — a thino- which 
 gave me courage to persevere — now, alas ! re- 
 gard me as a wicked deceiver of the world ; and 
 this pierces and wounds my heart through and 
 through. 
 
 When the poor sufferer had spent much 
 
HE IS CRUELLY SLANDERED. 197 
 
 time in these lamentations, and his body and 
 vital powers were Avasting away, there came to 
 him a woman, saying: — Good sir, why do you 
 wear yourself away through this excessive grief? 
 Be of good cheer. I will give you such counsel 
 and assistance, that, if you will follow my advice, 
 your good name will remain uninjm-ed. There- 
 fore take courage. He looked up, and said to 
 her: — Dear lady, how will you bring this to 
 pass ? She answered : — I will take away the 
 child by stealth under my cloak, and either bury 
 it alive at night, or stick a needle into its brain 
 so that it mil die. Thus the vile slander will 
 fall to the ground, and you will keep your good 
 name. He answered in a voice of fury : — Woe 
 is me, wicked murderess ! alas for thy murder- 
 ous heart ! Wouldst thou thus kill the guiltless 
 babe ? Wliat matter that its mother is a wicked 
 woman ? Wouldst thou bury it alive ? No, no ; 
 God forbid that such a crime should ever be 
 committed through me. See; the very worst 
 that can befall me in this matter is the loss of 
 my worldly honour; but if the worldly honour of 
 a whole country depended on me, I would ratlier 
 sacrifice it to-day to the everlasting glorious God 
 than let this innocent blood thus perish. She 
 replied : — And yet it is not yom- child. Why 
 
198 LIFE OF BLESSED IIENRY SUSO. 
 
 then trouble yoiu'self about it? Upon wliicli 
 she drew forth a sharp-pointed knife, and said : 
 — Let me take it away out of your sight, and 
 I mil A\Ting its neck, or stick this laiife into its 
 little heart. It will be dead at once, and you 
 will be at peace again. He answered: — Silence, 
 thou unclean and wicked devil. Be it whose 
 child it may on earth, it is still formed after 
 God's image, and has been full dearly pur- 
 chased Avith the most precious and innocent 
 Blood of Christ. Therefore I mil not that its 
 young blood be shed in this way. The woman 
 made answer to him impatiently : — If you will 
 not let it be killed, at least let me caiTy it 
 secretly into the church some morning, that it 
 may fare with it as with other deserted found- 
 lings ; else you will be put to great expense 
 and annoyance, until the child's bringing up 
 is finished. He replied: — I trust in the rich 
 God of heaven, who has always provided for me 
 hitherto, that He will pro^dde henceforth for both 
 of us. And then he added : — Go and bring me 
 the babe very secretly, that I may see it. 
 
 When he took the babe into liis bosom and 
 looked at it, the babe smiled at him. Upon 
 which, fetching a deep sigh, he said : — Should 
 I then kill a pretty babe that smiles at me? 
 
HE IS CRUELLY SL.VNDEIiEI). 190 
 
 Xo, ill triitli! I will gladly suffer whatever 
 may befall me through it. Then turning to 
 the babe ; he said : — Alas, thou hapless, tender 
 babe ! thou art indeed a poor orphan ; for thy 
 own false father has denied thee, and thy mur- 
 derous mother has sought to fling thee away, 
 like an ngly good-for-nothing Avhelp. Well ; 
 since God's proA'idence has given thee to me, 
 in such a way tliat I cannot help being thy 
 father, I -will gladly act as one towards thee, 
 and I ^vill receive thee from God and from no 
 one else; and even as He is dear to me, so shalt 
 thou too be dear to me, my own sweet babe. 
 Ah, child of my lieart ! thou sittest in my sor- 
 rowful lap, and lookest up at me so lovingly, and 
 yet canst not speak. Alas ! and I too look at 
 thee with wounded heart and tearful eyes, and 
 mouth that kisses thee, and I bedew thy infant 
 face with the stream of my hot tears. 
 
 When the pretty boy felt the gi'eat tears of 
 the weeping man fall so fast upon his little eyes, 
 he too began to weep heartily with him ; and 
 they both wept together. But wdien the Ser- 
 \'itor saw the babe thus weeping, he pressed it 
 tenderly to his heart, and said: — Be still, my 
 darling ! Alas, child of my lieart ! should I 
 kill thee because thou art not my child, but 
 
200 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 must cost me dear? Alas, my beautiful, dear, 
 tender cliild ! I wovild not lim't thee ; for tliou 
 must be my child and God's child ; and so long 
 as God provides me ^ith but one single mouth- 
 ful, I will share it mth thee, to the glory of 
 the good God ; and I will bear patiently what- 
 ever may befall me through thee, my own sweet 
 child. 
 
 When the cruel-hearted woman who had 
 before wished to kill the babe heard him speak 
 thus tenderly amid his tears, she was so deeply 
 moved by it to great pity, and broke out into 
 such loud cries and weeping, that he was ob- 
 liged to quiet her, lest some one should come, 
 and the whole thing be kno^^ai. At length, 
 when she had wept her full, he gave her back 
 the babe, and blessed it, saying : — May the 
 loving God bless thee, and the holy angels 
 guard thee from all evil ! And he bade her 
 proA^ide it A^dth what was needful at his cost. 
 Afterwards the wicked woman, the child's 
 mother, set to work again; and as she had 
 akeadv £!:reatlv slandered the brother, so she 
 continued to do whenever she had an oppor- 
 tunity of injuring him; on which accomit he 
 became an object of pity to many pm-e and 
 virtuous souls, and they often wished that the 
 
HE IS CRUELLY SLANDERED. 201 
 
 just God would take lier away out of the 
 world. 
 
 It happened once that one of the Servitor's 
 kinsmen came to him, and said: — Alas, sir, 
 for the ffreat crime which this wicked woman 
 
 o 
 
 has committed against you ! God kno's\s, I will 
 avenge you on her. I will secretly station my- 
 self on the long bridge which goes over the 
 water ; and when the saciilegious ^vretcli passes 
 that wa}', I will throw her over and di'own her ; 
 and her great crime shall be avenged upon her. 
 He answered : — No, my friend; God forbid that 
 any living bemg should be put to death on my 
 account. God, who Iviiows all hidden things, 
 knows that she has done me wrong about the 
 child. Therefore I leave the matter in His 
 hand, either to slay her or to let her hve, ac- 
 cording to His ^^dlL And I tell thee that, even 
 if I were ^^^lling to disregard my soul, by con- 
 nivuig at her death, I would still honoui' in her 
 the dignity of all pm-e women, and allow her the 
 benefit of it. The man answered very angrily : 
 — ^As for me, I would as soon kill a woman as 
 a man, if she had behaved to me so villanouslv. 
 He replied: — ^Nay; for that would be an act 
 of m.ost unreasonable and blameworthy ferocity. 
 Think no more about it, and let all the suffer- 
 
202 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 ings tall upon me wliicli God wills me to 
 suffer. 
 
 As tlie Servitor's afflictions were continually 
 on the increase, it seemed to him one day, 
 through infirmity of soul, that his distress had 
 reached such a point that he must needs go 
 forth in quest of something to support and cheer 
 him in his sufferings. Accordingly he went out 
 to seek for consolation, and he hoped to meet with 
 it especially at the hands of two of his friends, 
 who while he still sat on the upper side of for- 
 tune's wdieel had treated him as though they were 
 his true friends and coim-ades. It was from them 
 that he now sought consolation for his suffering 
 heart. Alas ! God showed him in them botli 
 that no dependence is to be placed in creatures; 
 for he was more cruelly humiliated by them 
 and those about them than he ever was by 
 ordinary people. One of these friends received 
 the afflicted brother very harshly, and tm^rdng 
 aw^ay his face from him in anger, behaved to liim 
 in a very insulting manner, with cuttmg words. 
 Among other offensive expressions Avhich he used 
 he told the Servitor to cease in future from all 
 familiarity with liim; for that he was ashamed of 
 his company. Alas! this pierced the Servitor's 
 inmost heart ; and he answered mournfully: — O 
 
HE IS CRUELLY SLANDERED. 203 
 
 dear friend, if by God's ordinance thou liadst 
 fallen into tlie miry pool, as 1 have done, verily 
 I would have sprung in after thee, and lovingly 
 helped thee out of it. O misery ! it is not 
 enough for thee to see me l}^ng before thee deep 
 in the mire, but thou must needs trample on me 
 besides. Of this I make my plaint to the sor- 
 rowful Heart of Jesus Christ. His friend bade 
 him be silent, and said to him insultingly : — 
 There is an end of you now. Not only your 
 preaching, but yom' books too which you have 
 's\Titten, ought to be treated mth contempt. 
 The Servitor answered him very sweetly, and 
 looking up to heaven, said : — I put my trust in 
 the good God of heaven that my books will 
 be still more valued and loved than they have 
 ever been, when the appointed time shall come. 
 Such was the mom'nful consolation which he 
 received from his best friends. 
 
 Hitherto in this town his necessities had been 
 fully supplied by kind-hearted persons. But 
 when these lying and slanderous tales were 
 carried to them, those who beheved the false 
 talemongers mthdrew from him then' help and 
 friendship, until at length, the truth having been 
 manifested to them by God, they retm-ned to 
 him and acknowledo;ed that he was oTiiltless. 
 
206 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 friends, and therefore it is so mucli more pain- 
 ful. 
 
 But wlien lie came to liimselij and took a 
 reasonable view of it, he excused them from all 
 fault, and aclaiovvledged that it was God who 
 had done it through them, and that it was fit- 
 ting he should suffer thus, and that Almighty 
 God often orders things for His friends' good by 
 means of His enemies. 
 
 Once especially, when he was suffering from 
 these thoughts, it was said to him interiorly : — 
 Remember that Christ the Lord would not onl}' 
 have His beloved disciple John and His faithful 
 St. Peter in His pure company, but He willed 
 also to endure the wicked Judas at His side. 
 And dost thou desire to imitate Christ, and yet 
 will not endure thy Judas? A thought in answer 
 flashed at once across his mind : — Alas, Lord ! if 
 a suffering fi-iend of God had only one Judas, it 
 would be bearable ; but in these times every cor- 
 ner is full of Judases, and when one departs four 
 or five spring up. To this there came the fol- 
 lowing reply within him : — ^A man who is what 
 he ought to be should not look on any Judas as 
 a Judas; but he should regard him as God's 
 fellow-worker, by whom he is to be trained and 
 piu-ified for his good, ^^len Judas betrayed 
 
HE IS CllUELLY SL.VKDERED. 207 
 
 Christ witli a kiss, Christ called him his friend, 
 sajoiig : — l^ly friend, wherefore art thou come ? 
 
 The sufferings of this poor man had now 
 lasted a long time ; but there was one very little 
 gromid of comfort, to which he clung, and vrhich 
 was all his support — namely, that the burden 
 which weighed him down had not been brought 
 before the judges and prelates of the Order. This 
 Httle comfort was speedily withdi'aAvn from him 
 by God ; for the Master-general of the whole 
 Order and the Master of the Gemian pro^vince 
 both came together to the town in which the 
 ^^^cked woman had slandered the pious Servitor 
 of God. When the poor man, who was li^dng 
 in another place, heard this news, his heart died 
 within him utterly, and he said to himself: — > 
 If perchance the Masters give credence to the 
 wicked woman against thee, thou art dead ; for 
 they will condemn thee to such a penitential 
 })rison, that it were better for thee to die. He 
 remained mider the weight of this anguish twelve 
 days and nights continuously, and during this 
 time he was in constant expectation of this ao-o- 
 nising penance, as soon as they should arrive 
 there. 
 
 One day, overcome by the state of misery 
 in which he Avas, he broke out, through human 
 
208 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 frailty, into unseemly gestni'es and behaviour; 
 and in this sad condition of his outer and inner 
 man he went apart from every one into a place 
 of secrecy, where none could hear or see him, 
 and he gave way at intervals to deep and re- 
 peated gToans. The tears stood in his eyes, and 
 then streamed do^vn his cheeks. His distress 
 was so intense that he could not remain still, 
 but he would sit down on a sudden, and then 
 spring up again and run up and do^vn the room 
 like a man wrestlintr with £!;rief and ancvuish. 
 Then there shot through his heart a thought 
 which took the form of a remonstrance, thus : — 
 Alas ! O everlasting God, what is Thy purpose 
 with me ? Meanwhile, when he was in this sad 
 disordered state, a voice from God spoke within 
 him, saying: — AVhere is now thy detachment 
 and that evenness of soul in weal and woe which 
 thou hast so often and so joyously counselled to 
 others, whilst thou didst lovingly point out to 
 them how entirely a man should abandon him- 
 self to God, and hold fa^t by nothing ? 
 
 To this he answered with many tears : — 
 Askest thou me where my detachment is ? lea- 
 ther do thou tell me vrhere is God's unfathom- 
 able pity for His friends ? For in spite of it I 
 am waiting here in utter desolation, like a man 
 
HE IS CRUELLY SLANDERED. 209 
 
 condemned to forfeit his life, property, and hon- 
 our. I had fancied that God was kind. I had 
 fancied that he was a good and gracious Lord to 
 all who ventured to abandon themselves to Him. 
 Woe is me ! God has failed me ! Alas ! that 
 vein of kindness whose compassionate streams 
 never yet ran dry has run diy for me, poor man. 
 Alas! the kind Heart whose kindness the whole 
 world proclaims has deserted me, poor man, mis- 
 erably. He has turned away from me His beau- 
 tiful eyes and His gracious countenance. O 
 thou Divine countenance! O thou Idnd Heart! 
 I had never deemed of Thee that Thou wouldst 
 have cast me off so utterly. O fathomless abyss, 
 come to my aid, for I am altogether imdone. 
 Thou knowest that all my consolation and re- 
 liance is in Thee alone, and in no one else on 
 earth. Oh, hearken to me this day for God's 
 sake, all ye suffering hearts! See that no 
 one take scandal at my disordered state ; for so 
 long as detachment was in my mouth it was 
 sweet to me to speak of it ; but now my whole 
 heart is w^ounded throucrh and throuo^h, and the 
 inmost core of all my veins and brain is trans- 
 pierced with anguish, and there is not a limb of 
 my body which is not tortured and wounded in 
 every part of it. How can I then be detached ? 
 P 
 
210 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 TV^ien lie had spent about half a day in this 
 disordered state, and his brain was quite shat- 
 tered, he sat still at last, and, turning from him- 
 self to God, gave himself up to God's ^^dll in 
 these words : — ^lay it not be othenvise ! " Fiat 
 voluntas Tua" (Thy mil be done). 
 
 As he sat thus, with his senses rapt in ec- 
 stasy, it seemed to him in a vision that there came 
 and stood before him one of his holy spiritual 
 daughters, who when she was yet ahve had often 
 told him that he would have many sufferings, 
 but that the everlastmg God would help him out 
 of them. She now appeared to him, and tried 
 lo\dngly to comfort him ; but he received her 
 consolations angrily, and charged her ^^dth un- 
 truthfulness. She smiled at this, and di'amng 
 near, ofPered him her holy hand, saying : — Ac- 
 cept my Christian troth, in God's stead, that He 
 will not forsake you, but mil help you to come 
 out victorious from these and all other sufferings. 
 He answered : — See, daughter ! The weight of 
 my afflictions is so great, that I can no longer 
 credit thee, unless thou givest me some token 
 that thy words are true. She replied: — God 
 Himself will manifest ^^om^ innocence to all good 
 and pure hearts. As for wicked hearts, things 
 look to them according to the colour of their o^vn 
 
HE IS CRUELLY SLANDERED. 211 
 
 wickedness. A wise friend of God heeds tliem 
 not. Moreover, tlie Order of Preachers which you 
 bewail shall be the more pleasing to God and all 
 reasonable men, on your account. And as a sign 
 that these words are true, note this. The ever- 
 lasting God will soon avenge you, and will let 
 fall His ^\Tathful hand upon the wdcked heart 
 which has thus troubled you. Moreover, all those 
 who have specially abetted her by theu' malicious 
 slanderings will soon feel His vengeance. Be 
 sure of this. The brother was much comforted 
 hj these words, and waited steadfastly in expec- 
 tation of how God Avould brmg this matter to 
 an end. 
 
 Very soon afterwards, it all came to pass ex- 
 iictly as she had said. For the monster who had 
 thus tormented him died, and she died too by a 
 sudden death. And many others also among 
 those who had been the chief causes of his suf- 
 ferings were snatched hence by death ; some of 
 them dying insensible, and others without con- 
 fession and communion. 
 
 One of these persons, who had been a prelate, 
 and had caused very great suifering to the Ser- 
 vitor, appeared to him in a \'ision after death, 
 and told liim that it was on this accomit God 
 had cut short his life and term of office, adding, 
 
212 LIFE OF BLESSED IIEXRY SUSO. 
 
 that lie would have to waste and wither in pur- 
 gatory for a long time as a penance for it. 
 
 Many persons wlio knew what had happened, 
 and were favourably disposed towards the Ser- 
 vitor, on seeing this unusual vengeance, and the 
 deaths which God sent so suddenly upon his ad- 
 versaries, praised Almighty God, saying : — Of a 
 truth God is with this good man ; . and we see 
 well that wrong has been done him, and it is but 
 just that he should henceforth be of more accomit 
 in the eyes of reasonable men, and be looked upon 
 as hio-her in holiness than if God had not visited 
 him -with these sufferings. 
 
 Moreover, the prelate of the German province 
 exculpated him, saying that he and the Piaster- 
 general of the Order had held a strict visitation 
 about him, as was fitting, and had found nothing 
 against him, save that a ^^dcked woman, who was 
 unworthy to be believed, had spoken maliciously 
 of the honest man ; a thing which might very 
 well happen, if people would give ear to Tsdcked 
 tongues. 
 
 Thus the kind God succom-ed the Servitor, 
 and very graciously caused this terrible storm of 
 suffering to subside and pass away, according as 
 the holy daughter in the vision had told him for 
 his consolation. And he often thought "vvithin 
 
HE IS CRUELLY SLANDERED. 213 
 
 Mmself : — Ah, Lord, how true the words are 
 which are said of Thee : He to whom God wishes 
 •well can be harmed by no one ! 
 
 The friend, also, who behaved to him in 
 such an unfriendly way was shortly afterwards 
 taken hence by God. After his death, when 
 all the hinch'ances which had delayed him from 
 beholding God face to face had been removed, 
 he appeared to the Servitor in golden garments 
 radiant with light, and embracing him lovingly, 
 pressed his face tenderly against his cheeks and 
 besought his pardon for all the ^\Tong he had 
 done him, and prayed him that a true heavenly 
 friendship might continue between them ever- 
 lastingly. The Servitor accepted this proposal 
 %\ith joy, and embraced him in tm-n very lovingly; 
 upon which he vanished out of sight, and entered 
 again into the bliss of God. 
 
 Afterwards, when the appointed time had 
 jcome, God gladdened the sufferer in return for 
 all his sufferings mtli inward peace of heart, still 
 repose, and bright illuminations of grace; so that 
 he praised God with all his heart for the past 
 suffering, saj-ing that he would not take the 
 whole world not to have suffered it all. More- 
 over, it was given to him to see clearly that by 
 this crushino; blow he had been in a more noble 
 
214 LIFE or BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 fashion drawn out of himself and transported 
 into God than by all the manifold sufferings 
 which he had endured from his youth upwards 
 imtil then. 
 
 Chapter XLI. 
 
 Of interior sufferings. 
 
 When the Servitor's spiritual daughter had 
 read the account of the grievous sufPerings just 
 related, and had shed many tears over it through 
 pity, she prayed him to explain to her in the 
 next place what is the nature of interior suf- 
 ferings ? He answered : — I will tell you two 
 things ahout interior sufferings. There was a 
 man of high position in a certain Religious 
 Order on wdiom God had laid an interior suffer- 
 ing; and the poor brother's heart and spirits 
 were so overwhelmed by it, that he ceased not 
 night and day from tears and cries and lamen- 
 tations. At length he came with great devotion 
 to the Servitor of the Eternal Wisdom, and told 
 him his distress, and besought him to pray to 
 God for him that he might be delivered. 
 
 Early one morning, when the SerAator was 
 sitting in his chapel and praying for the brother^ 
 he saw the evil sj)irit come and stand before 
 
INTEKIOK SUFFEKIXGS. 215 
 
 liim, under the form of a liideous ]\Ioor, witli 
 eyes of fire and a temfic liellisli look, and with 
 a bow in his hand. The Servitor said to him : 
 — ^I adjui'e thee by the hving God to tell me 
 who thou art, and what thou wantest here. 
 He answered in a very fiendish fashion : — I 
 am " Spiritus Blasphemiai" (the Spirit of Blas- 
 phemy), and thou shalt soon know what I want. 
 
 The Servitor tm-ned towards the door of the 
 choir, and, as he did this, the suffering brother 
 came in by the same door on his way to the 
 choir for Mass. Thereupon the e^^l spirit drew 
 his bow and shot a fiery arroAV into the brother's 
 heart, so that he almost fell backwards, and 
 could not come into the chou\ The Servitor 
 was greatly pained at this, and severely re- 
 proved the deril for it. On which the proud 
 fiend became exceeding -wroth with him, and 
 dra\ving the bow once more, w^itli a fier}^ arrow 
 upon it, tried to shoot him also through the 
 heart. But the Servitor tui'ned quickly to our 
 dear Lady for help, saying : — " Nos cum prole 
 pia benedicat Yh-go [Maria" (0 Virgin ^lary, 
 bless us with thy gentle Babe) ; and immediately 
 the devil's strength left him, and he vanished 
 out of sight. 
 
 When morning came, the Servitor related 
 
216 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 what lie had seen to the suffering brother, and 
 consoled him, and at the same time told him 
 the remeches which would be of aA^ail, as they 
 are set forth in the sermon of his which begins : 
 — " Lectulus noster floridus, etc." 
 
 Among the many persons afflicted with 
 interior sufferings who sought his help, there 
 once came to him a secular man from a foreign 
 country, saying: — Sir, I have within me the 
 greatest of all sufferings which a man ever had, 
 and no one can help me. A httle while ago 
 I despaired of God, and I was so despondent, 
 that through excess of anguish I resolved to 
 destroy myself, and Idll both body and soul. In 
 this agony of mind, just as I was on the point 
 of spiinging into a raging torrent, and had 
 already taken a run with the deliberate pm*pose 
 of drowning myself, I heard a voice above me 
 say, " Stop I stop ! Put not thyself to this shame- 
 ful death: seek a friar preacher." And the 
 voice named you to me by your name, which I 
 had never heard before, and it said, " He will 
 help you and set you right." I was full of joy 
 at this, and gave up the thought of killing 
 myself; and I have sought you out by asking 
 after you, as I was bidden. ^Ylien the Servitor 
 saw the miserable state in which the man was, 
 
THE BENEFITS OF SUFFERING. 217 
 
 he turned lovingly to the poor sufferer, and 
 comforting him, made his heart light, and taught 
 him what to do in order to avoid, by God's help, 
 falling again into such a temptation. 
 
 Chapter XLII. 
 
 ■\Vhat sufferings are the most useful to men, and bring 
 most glory to God ? 
 
 The holy daughter asked him, saying: — ^I 
 would gladly know what Idnd of sufferings are, 
 above all others, most useful to men, and bring 
 most glory to God. He answered as follows : — 
 Thou must know that there are many kinds of 
 sufferings by which a man is disciplined and set 
 forward on the road to bliss, if only he can use 
 them rightly. Sometimes God sends heavy 
 sufferings on a man without any fault of his, 
 either to try how firm he stands, or to show him 
 what he is in himself, as we often read in the 
 Old Testament ; or, again, merely to manifest 
 His own gloiy, as is related in the Gospel about 
 the man born blind whom Christ the Lord de- 
 clared to be without fault, and restored to sight. 
 
 On the other hand, there are some sufferers 
 who well deserve their sufferings, as the thief 
 did who was crucified with Christ the Lord, 
 
216 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 what he had seen to the suffering brother, and 
 consoled him, and at the same time tokl him 
 the remedies which wonkl be of avail, as they 
 are set forth in the sermon of his which beoins : 
 — " Lectulus noster floridus, etc." 
 
 Among the many persons afflicted with 
 interior sufferings who sought his help, there 
 once came to him a secular man from a foreign 
 country, saying: — Sir, I have within me the 
 greatest of all sufferings which a man ever had, 
 and no one can help me. A Httle while ago 
 I despaired of God, and I was so despondent, 
 that through excess of anguish I resolved to 
 destroy myself, and Idll both body and soul. In 
 this agony of mind, just as I was on the point 
 of springing into a raging torrent, and had 
 already taken a run with the deliberate pm'pose 
 of drowning myself, I heard a voice above me 
 say, "Stop I stop ! Put not thyself to this shame- 
 ful death: seek a friar preacher." And the 
 voice named you to me by your name, which I 
 had never heard before, and it said, " He will 
 help you and set you right." I was full of joy 
 at this, and gave up the thought of killing 
 myself; and I have sought you out by asking 
 after you, as I was bidden. ^Vlien the Servitor 
 saw the miserable state in which the man was, 
 
THE BENEFITS OF SUFFERING. 217 
 
 he turned lovingly to the poor sufferer, and 
 comforting him, made his heart light, and taught 
 him what to do in order to avoid, by God's help, 
 falling again into such a temptation. 
 
 Chapter XLII. 
 
 "VVliat sufferings are the most useful to men, and bring 
 most glory to God ? 
 
 The holy daughter asked him, saying: — I 
 would gladly know what Idnd of sufferings are, 
 above all others, most useful to men, and bring 
 most glory to God. He answered as follows : — 
 Thou must know that there are many kinds of 
 sufferings by which a man is disciplined and set 
 forward on the road to bliss, if only he can use 
 them rightly. Sometimes God sends heavy 
 sufferings on a man without any fault of his, 
 either to try how firm he stands, or to show him 
 wdiat he is in himself, as we often read in the 
 Old Testament ; or, again, merely to manifest 
 His own glory, as is related in the Gospel about 
 the man born blind whom Christ the Lord de- 
 clared to be without fault, and restored to sight. 
 
 On the other hand, there are some sufferers 
 who well deserve their sufferings, as the thief 
 did who was crucified with Clu'ist the Lord, 
 
218 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 and to whom Christ gave everlasting bhss be- 
 cause of his true conversion to Him amid his suf- 
 ferings. There are others, again, who are guilt- 
 less in regard to the particular thing for which 
 they are at the moment suffering, but yet there 
 is something else faulty in them, on account of 
 which God makes them suffer ; just as it often 
 happens that Almighty God crushes haughty 
 arrogance, and brings persons of this description 
 to themselves by letting then' pride and super- 
 ciliousness meet vnth a heavy fall in things in 
 which, perhaps, they are wholly and entu'ely 
 free from guilt. Again, God sometimes sends 
 sufferings upon men out of special love for them,, 
 to save them in this way from a still greater- 
 suffering, as is the case with those to w^hom God 
 gives then* purgatory in this life by sicknesses, 
 poverty, or such like, that so they may be de- 
 livered from sufferings in the life to come ; or 
 with those whom He permits to be tried and ex- 
 ercised by fiendish men, that they may thus be 
 saved from the siffht of the foul fiend at death. 
 There are others also who suffer from bm-ning 
 love, like the martyrs, whose joy it was by the 
 manifold deaths, whether of body or soul, which 
 they endured, to show forth to the dear God their 
 love. 
 
THE BENEFITS OF SUFFErwIXG. 219 
 
 Besides all this, we find in this world many 
 sufferings Avhich are A^ain and without consola- 
 tion ; such, for example, as are undergone by those 
 who make it their aim to please the world in 
 •worldly things. These persons pm'chase hell at 
 a very dear price, while, on the contrary'', those 
 who suffer for God find help in their tribulations. 
 Again, there are some persons who are often in- 
 wardly admonished by God to give themselves 
 to H[im without reserve, because He Irishes to 
 admit them to His intimacy. Now if they 
 resist the call through negligence, God di'aws 
 them to Him by sufferings ; and to whichever 
 side they tm*n in their endeavours to escape 
 Him, the faithful God sends upon them tem- 
 poral misfortunes and discomfort, and thus holds 
 them by the hair, that they cannot get away 
 from Him. 
 
 There are many others also to be met with 
 who have no sufferings except those which they 
 make for themselves, by estimating too highly 
 what is not worthy of being taken into account 
 at all. Once when a man who was heaA^ily 
 laden w^ith afilictions chanced to pass by a cer- 
 tain house, he heard a woman mthin uttering 
 very great lamentations. The thought came to 
 him: — Go in and comfort the woman in her 
 
220 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 sufferings. Accordingly he went in and said : — 
 Dear lady, wliat has happened to yon, that you 
 are bewailing yourself thus ? She answered : 
 — ^I have let a needle drop, and cannot find it 
 any where. He turned round, and thought to 
 himself as he went out : — O foolish woman, if 
 thou hadst my burden on thee thou wouldst not 
 weep for a needle! In this way some soft- 
 natured persons make for themselves sufferings 
 in a multitude of things where there is nothing 
 to suffer. 
 
 But the noblest and best kind of suffering is 
 after the pattern of Christ's sufferings — I mean 
 those which the heavenly Father gave to His 
 only-begotten Son, and which He still gives to 
 His dear and chosen friends. This must not 
 be taken as if any one were altogether without 
 fault, except indeed the dear Jesus Christ, who 
 never sinned ; but it is to be understood of the 
 example of patience wdiicli Christ gave us when 
 He bore Himself in His sufferings like a gentle 
 little lamb amono; wolves. Hence it is that He 
 sometimes gives great sufferings to some of His 
 dear and chosen friends, that we, who are so im- 
 patient under suffering, may learn patience from 
 these blessed men, and in every case by sweet- 
 ness of heart to overcome evil with good. All 
 
THE BENEFITS OF SUFFERING. 221 
 
 this tlioii sliouldst consider, my daughter, and 
 be ready to suffer without reluctance ; for from 
 whatever quarter sufferings come they can be 
 turned to profit, if only the sufferer accepts them 
 all as sent by God, and refers them back again 
 to God, and so gets the mastery over them with 
 His help. 
 
 The daughter answered : — The noblest kind 
 of suffering, of which you spoke last, I mean 
 when a person suffers innocently, is the lot of 
 fcAv. Therefore I would gladly hear how those 
 who for their sins have deserved to suffer can^ 
 by God's help, come forth victorious from their 
 sufferings ; for such persons have a twofold source 
 of pain : they have angered the Almighty God, 
 and they are tonnented from without. 
 
 He replied : — I will tell you. I knew a man 
 who, whenever he fell into a sin through human 
 frailty, used to do like a good washerwoman, who 
 takes the clothes, Avhen she has steeped and soft- 
 ened them, to the pure spring, and there by wash- 
 ing makes every thing clean and fresh which be- 
 fore was dirty. Even so this man would never 
 rest until some of the innocent, doA\-n-tricldino; 
 Blood of Christ, which the Lord shed with un- 
 speakable love, that it might be a help and com- 
 fort to all sinners, had been spiritually poured 
 
222 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 forth in sufficient measure upon liim : and in 
 this hot Blood he washed himself and all his stains 
 away, and he bathed himself in the healthful 
 brook of Blood as a little child is bathed in a 
 •warm water -bath; and this he did with heart- 
 felt devotion in a well-grounded Christian faith ^ 
 that this Blood must and would wash away all 
 his sins, and cleanse him from all guilt by its 
 almighty power. In this way, however things 
 might be, whether he was guilty or free from 
 guilt, he always referred them ultimately to the 
 good God. 
 
 Chapter XLHI. 
 
 How lie drew certain hearts from earthl)'- love to the 
 love of God. 
 
 While the Ser^dtor was occupied in drawing 
 souls from earthly love to God, he remarked that 
 in certain monasteries there were persons who, 
 though they wore the rehgious habit, had worldly 
 hearts beneath it. Among others there was one 
 who had steadfastly fixed her heart upon a pe- 
 rishable affection, of a kind Avhich goes by the 
 name of " sponsiren," and is a \ery poison to all 
 happiness in religion. The Servitor told her that 
 if she A^dshed to lead a godly and quiet life, she 
 
HE WINS SOULS TO GOD. 223 
 
 must renounce this practice, and in place of her 
 earthly lover take the Eternal Wisdom for her 
 "beloved. This was a hard thing for her to do ; 
 for she was in the bloom of youth, and completely 
 entangled in this Idnd of company. Neverthe- 
 less, he brought her thus far, that she formed the 
 good resolution to do it. When, however, she 
 broke this good resolution again, through the in- 
 fluence of her friends, he said to her: — Daughter, 
 leave off this practice ; for I tell thee that if thou 
 wilt not do it cheerfully, thou wilt have to do it 
 sorrowfully. As she would not be converted by 
 his friendly counsels, he pra3'ed to God very ear- 
 nestly to A\dthdraw her from this affection, cost 
 her what it might. One day he went up into 
 the pulpit under the crucifix, as his wont was, 
 and he took a severe discipline on his bare back, 
 so that the blood streamed from it, and he be- 
 sought God for her that she might be tamed. 
 And so it came to pass ; for immediately upon 
 lier return home there grew an ill-shaped hump 
 upon her back, which made her look hideous, 
 and thus necessity obliged her to give up what 
 she had refused to renounce for God. 
 
 In the same unenclosed monastery, there 
 was a young, beautiful, and noble maiden, who 
 having been caught in the same devil's net, had 
 
224 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 been for many years wearing away lier heart 
 and her time in frivolous licrht-mincleclness with 
 all Idnds of persons ; and she had become so 
 infatuated in these practices, that she always 
 fled hke a wild animal from the Ser^dtor of the 
 Eternal Wisdom, because she feared that he 
 would order her to give up the kind of life 
 which she was leading. Now the sister of this 
 maiden besought the Senator to try his luck 
 with her, and see whether he could not bring 
 her back from her ruinous courses to the ever- 
 lasting God. Tliis seemed to him an impossible 
 request, and he made answer that, in his opinion, 
 it would be more possible for the sky to fall 
 than for her to give up this practice ; and that 
 only death could take it from her. The sister, 
 however, was very urgent with him in her 
 entreaties, saying that it was her firm belief 
 that whatever he asked of the everlasting God 
 with earnestness, God never refused to him. 
 At length she overcame him by her impor- 
 tunities, and he promised her to undertake it. 
 
 As the maiden always fled from him, so that 
 he could never come to words with her, he took 
 note one day, about the time of St. Margaret's 
 feast, that she had gone out with the other 
 young sisters into a field to pick flax. He stole 
 
HE WINS SOULS TO GOD. 225 
 
 after tliem, and went ronnci tlie fields and in tliis 
 way managed to come gently np to lier. 
 
 When she perceived that he was drawing 
 near to her, she toi'ned her back npon liim very 
 insolently, and, with her face all on fire wdtli 
 anger, cried out passionately to him : — Sir monk, 
 what mean you by coming out here to me ? keep 
 to your own road, I advise you ; for you have 
 nothing to do with me. I tell you that I would 
 rather have my head cut off than confess to you, 
 and I would sooner be buried alive than obey 
 you and give up my practices (sponsiren). 
 
 Her playmate, who stood next her, tried to 
 quiet her; and reproved her, saying that the 
 Servitor had only done it out of kindness. But 
 she, tossing up her head in fary, answered : — 
 See, I will not deceive him ; I will show him by 
 my words and ways what I have in my heart. 
 The Servitor was so horror-struck by these 
 insolent words and unseemly gestures, that he 
 blushed with shame and kept silence ; for he 
 could not speak. The other sisters, who heard 
 her outciies against him, were grieved at it, and 
 chid her sharply. He soon withdrew on one 
 side and left her; and then looking upwards, 
 he began to sigh deej)ly, and would have given 
 up the attempt ; only that there still remained 
 Q 
 
22Q LIFE or BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 in liim a Idnd of interior impulse from God, 
 reminding him that lie wlio wishes to accom- 
 plish any thing either for God or for the world 
 must not give up so soon. This took place after 
 midday. 
 
 On the evening of that same day, after sup- 
 per, the sisters went in a hody into the court- 
 yard to pill the flax which they had gathered, 
 and the afore-mentioned sister went with them. 
 Now they were obliged to pass by the guest- 
 quarters, in which the Servitor was staying. 
 He, therefore, besought one of the maiden's play- 
 mates to contrive to bring her to him, and then 
 to leave the room again herself. This v/as man- 
 aged, though with difficulty. 
 
 As soon as she came into the room where the 
 brother was, and had seated herself near him 
 under the mndow, he fetched a deep sigh from 
 his full heart, and said: — Ah! beautiful and 
 gentle maiden, God's chosen one! how long 
 will you abandon your beautiful lovely body 
 and yom' tender heart to the vile and wicked 
 devil ! And yet you are so richly adorned by 
 the everlasting God with every grace, that it is 
 indeed an evil tale that such a well-formed, 
 noble, and angelic maiden should be the be- 
 loved of anv other save the All-adorable One 
 
HE WINS SOULS TO GOD. 227 
 
 alone. Who lias a greater riglit to pluck the 
 fair and tender rose than He whose own it is '? 
 No, dear lovely maiden, open your bright fal- 
 con-eyes, and think of that beautiful chosen 
 love, which begins here and lasts for ever and 
 ever. Think, too, what sorrow and unfaithful- 
 ness, what pain and suffering in body and 
 goods, in soul and honour, they must needs 
 endure, willingly or unwillingly, who pursue 
 earthly love; only they are so blinded by the 
 honeyed poison that they forget the great hurt 
 which thence results to them in time and in 
 eternity. Come, then, thou angelic form, thou 
 loving noble heart, and turn thy natm-e's high 
 nobility to Him who is noble from eternity, 
 and cease from this. I promise thee, by my 
 troth, that God will take thee for His darling, 
 and will be altogether true to thee, and love 
 thee right Avell, here and hereafter, everlast- 
 ingly. 
 
 The moment was propitious. These fiery 
 words shot, as it were, through her heart, and 
 softened her so exceedingly, that, at once lifting 
 up her eyes and sighing very deeply, she said 
 to him these determined and courageous words : 
 — xVh, sir, my father ! I surrender myself this 
 day to God and you ; and from this hoiu* I will 
 
228 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXTtY SUSO. 
 
 have done witli my Avikl unbridled life, and, by 
 your counsel and help, I will give myself to the 
 lovincy God, to be His own, and will sen'e Him 
 only until my death. He answered: — This is 
 an horn- of gladness. Praised be the kind Lord, 
 who is ready to receive back again with joy all 
 those who retm^i to Him. 
 
 Wliile the two were thus conversing toge- 
 ther in private about God, her playmates whom 
 she had left stood outside the door, and they 
 were vexed at the length of the discourse, for 
 they feared lest she should abandon their light- 
 minded society. So they called out to her to 
 finish with him. Upon this she rose up, and 
 Avent away with them, saying : — ^Ij playmates, 
 God bless you! I bid you now farewell — you 
 and all our comrades, A\ith whom, alas, I have 
 wasted my time so frivolously ; for henceforth I 
 will have no one but the faithful God, and all 
 else I will let go. 
 
 From that time the maiden began to avoid 
 all hurtful company, and to keep herself re- 
 tired; and though in after times the attempt 
 was often made to bring her back to her old 
 hfe, nothing ever came of it ; and her conduct 
 continued such, that, in the enjoyment of an 
 honourable reputation and the practice of every 
 
HE WINS SOULS TO GOD. 229 
 
 Virtue, she remained firmly unci steadfastly at- 
 tached to God mitil her death. 
 
 Once, later on, the Servitor set forth from 
 home to visit his new daughter, that he might 
 confirm her in a good and holy life, and console 
 her lo\dngly, if she were in any sorrow ; and he 
 l^ut himself to much suftering by undertaking 
 the jom-ney at a time when he was ill. As he 
 walked along in this state through the deep 
 mu'e, and climbed over lofty mountains, he often 
 lifted up his eyes to the living God, and said : — 
 Merciful God, be mindful of the painful steps 
 which Thou didst take for man's salvation, and 
 keep safe my child. His companion, on whom 
 he leant from time to time, said to him in pity : 
 — It well beseems God's goodness that many 
 souls should be kept safe through you. 
 
 When he had iione on until he could o[o no 
 further, but was cpiite exhausted, his companion 
 said to him once more : — Ah, father ! God 
 should have considered how very ill you are, 
 and He should have sent you a horse to ride 
 upon, until you come to where people are. He 
 answered : — AYell, if we both ask God for it, I 
 have confidence that He will let me have the 
 benefit of thy wtue, and that it will come to 
 pa ss. 
 
230 LIFE OF BLESSED IIENKY SUSO. 
 
 Then the Servitor looked round about him^ 
 and he saw there on the right hand, coming 
 forth out of a wood, a handsome horse, properly 
 bridled and saddled, and it was coming along 
 alone. His companion joyfully exclaimed: — 
 See, dear father, how God will not forsake you ! 
 He answered: — Son, look round about on all 
 sides of this broad plain, and observe whether 
 there is any one to whom it can belong. He 
 looked far and near, and could see no one, but 
 only the horse trotting up to them. Then he 
 said : — Of a truth, father, God has sent it to 
 you; sit upon it and ride. He answered: — 
 Well, comrade, if the horse stops still when it 
 comes to us, I trust in God that He has sent it 
 hither for om' necessity. The horse came up 
 quietly, and stood still before him. He said : — 
 So be it, in God's name. Then his companion 
 helped him on the horse and made him ride 
 upon it, and walked by his side for some dis- 
 tance, until he Avas well rested. When they 
 came near a village the Servitor got off, and 
 laying the reins upon the horse's neck, let it go 
 its way to the place from which it came. But 
 whence it came, or whose it was, he never could 
 discover afterwards. 
 
 When the SerA-itor had arrived at his jour- 
 
HE WINS SOULS TO GOD. 231 
 
 ney's end, it happened one evening that he was 
 sitting Avith his spiritual children speaking to 
 them in disparagement of perishable love, while 
 at the same time he praised and celebrated to 
 them the excellence of eternal love. When they 
 left him, his heart was greatly inflamed with Di- 
 vine love through the ardoni' of his discom'se; for 
 it seemed to him that his Beloved, whom he both 
 loved himself and advised others to love, was in- 
 finitely better than all earthly objects of love. 
 Wliile he meditated on this, his senses were 
 stilled in ecstasy, and it appeared to him in a 
 'vision that he was earned to a beautiful green 
 heath, and that by his side there went a heavenly 
 youth of comely form and noble bearing, who 
 led him by the hand. Then the youth began 
 to sing in the brother's soul a song which rang 
 forth so joyously that all his senses took to flight 
 before the mighty power of that sweet melody, 
 and it seemed to him that his heart became so 
 exceeding full of burning love and longing after 
 God that it began to leap and rage within his 
 body, as if it were on the point of breaking, 
 from the intense strain that was upon it; and 
 he was forced to lay his right hand upon his 
 heart as a relief, and his eyes became so full that 
 the tears ran down his cheeks. 
 
232 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 When the song was ended, a pictiu'e was 
 placed before him, with the intent to teach him 
 this song in such a way that he might not forget 
 it. He looked, and saw tliere our Lady pressing 
 her Child, the Eternal Wisdom, to her maternal 
 heart. Over the Child's head the beginning of 
 the song was \^Titten in beautiful and well-formed 
 letters, and 3^et the writing was so concealed 
 that it was not every one could read it. Only 
 those who had gained the knowledge of it by 
 experience and spiritual exercises read it well ; 
 and the writing was, " Heart's darling." 
 
 The Servitor read the writing rapidly ; and 
 then the Babe looked up and gazed at him with 
 love; upon which he felt in his inmost soul how 
 true it is that the Divine Babe alone is our 
 heart's darling — the sole object of all our joy and 
 sorrow. Then he pressed the Babe to the very 
 centre of his heart, and began to sing with the 
 youth this song from end to end. In these 
 burning sentiments of heartfelt love he came to 
 himself again, and he found his right hand lying 
 upon his heart, just as he had placed it there 
 as a relief, when his heart was agitated so vio- 
 lently. 
 
DRIXK MULTIPLIED. 233 
 
 CiLVPTER XLIV. 
 
 How God multiplied drink for His friends. 
 
 Once upon a time the Servitor, having tra- 
 velled to a distance, became very tired, and on 
 arriving in the evening at a hermitage, where it 
 was proposed to spend the night, no wane was to 
 be found either in the village or the hermitage ; 
 until at length, a certain good woman came and 
 said that she had a small bottle of wine left, about 
 half a quart, adding, " But what is this among so 
 many ?" For they were in nmnber about twenty 
 persons, good children, together with those who 
 had come thither desiring to hear the word of 
 God from his mouth. The Servitor told her to 
 bring the bottle and place it on the table, and 
 they prayed him to pronounce a blessing from 
 God upon it. He did this in the mighty power 
 of the loving Name of Jesus, and then began to 
 diink of it, for he was very tlm^sty from the jom'- 
 ney ; after which he offered it to the others, and 
 they all ch'ank together. The bottle was placed 
 upon the table openly, in the sight of every one, 
 and no more wine or water was poured into it, 
 for there was no other wine there. They con- 
 tinued drinking again and again out of the same 
 bottle ; and they were so eager to hear from him 
 
234 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 the word of God, that no one took note of the 
 Divine miracle. At last, when they came to 
 themselves, and saw God's almighty power so 
 manifestly displayed in the multiplication of the 
 drink, they began to praise God, and wished to 
 attribute the mu^acle which had taken place to, 
 the Servitor's holiness. But he would not on 
 any account suffer this, saying : — Children, this 
 is not my doing. God has permitted this pure 
 company to reap the benefit of their good faithy 
 and has given them chink both bodily and spi- 
 ritually. 
 
 Chapter XLY. 
 
 Of certain sufferers, who were attached to the Servitor hy , 
 special ties of friendship and affection. ' 
 
 In a certam town there were two persons o£ 
 eminent holiness, both intimate friends of the. 
 Servitor. The one stood in high repute before, 
 the people, and abounded in divine sweetnesses. 
 The other was held in no esteem, and God ex-: 
 ercised him continually with sufferings. 
 
 After they were both dead, the Servitor wished 
 much to know what was the difference between 
 theu* rewards in the next world, inasmuch as the 
 roads by which they had been led in this life were' 
 
HIS 3IOTnER. 235 
 
 so unlike. Early one morning, tlie one who liad 
 been held in such esteem here below appeared 
 to the Servitor, and told him that he was still in 
 purgatory ; and when asked how this could be, 
 he replied, that the only sin for vvdiich he had ta 
 suffer was a certain s])iritual pride which had 
 assailed him, throuo;h the hio-h esteem in which, 
 he had been held, and which he had not driven 
 away quickly enough. He added, that his suf- 
 ferings would soon be at an end. The other, 
 whose life had been full of humiliations and suf- 
 ferings, passed at once without any hincb'ance 
 to God. 
 
 The Servitor's mother was all the days of her 
 life a very great sufferer. This arose from the 
 painful dissimilarity which there was between her 
 and her husband. She was full of the Almighty 
 God, and her vrhole desire was to live a spiritual 
 life. But her husband was full of the world, and 
 opposed her ^\-ith great harshness and severity; 
 and tlirough this she had much to suffer. 
 
 It was her custom to cast all her soitows 
 into the bitter sufferings of Jesus Christ, and 
 in this way to get the mastery over them. 
 Before her death she confessed to the Servitor 
 that for thirty years she had never assisted at 
 Mass without weeping bitterly from heartfelt. 
 
236 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 compassion for tlie torments of our dear Lord 
 and His faithful Mother. She told him also 
 that, from the excessive love which she felt for 
 God, she had once fallen ill, and kept her bed 
 for twelve weeks, longing and pining for God 
 so ardently that the physicians clearly perceived 
 it and were edified by it. 
 
 Once, at the beginning of Lent, she went to 
 the Cathedral, where the taking down of the 
 Lord Jesus from the cross is represented in 
 carved wood over an altar. While she was 
 before this image she experienced sensibly the 
 great anguish which the tender Mother felt 
 beneath the cross ; and so intense was the agony 
 which it caused this good woman, through com- 
 passion, that her heart became sick within her 
 body, and she sank do^Yn fainting to the ground, 
 and could neither see nor speak. She was 
 helped home, and lay there sick until Good 
 Friday at none, and died while the Passion was 
 being read. 
 
 Her son, the Servitor, was at this time at 
 Cologne, engaged with his studies. She ap- 
 peared to him there in a vision, and said to him 
 with great joy : — All, my child ! love God and 
 trust Him well, for He vdll never forsake thee 
 in any trouble. See, I have departed from this 
 
HIS MOTHER. 237 
 
 world, and yet I am not dead. I shall live ever- 
 lastingly in tlie presence of the everlasting God. 
 She kissed him in motherly fashion upon his 
 mouth, and blessed hun lo\^ngly, and then dis- 
 appeared. He began to weep, and ciied out 
 after her, saying : — O my true-hearted holy mo- 
 ther, be true to me in God's presence! and 
 thus weeping and sighing, he came to himself 
 again. 
 
 In his yomig days, when he was at the 
 place of studies, God provided him once with 
 a dear and holy companion. On one occasion, 
 when they were alone, and had conversed to- 
 gether much and tenderly about God, the com- 
 panion besought the Sen-itor by the sincerity 
 of their friendship to show him the lovely Name 
 of Jesus which was eno;raven over his heart. 
 The Sei^^itor was reluctant to do this; never- 
 theless, when he saw his companion's great devo- 
 tion, he granted his request, and ch'awing aside 
 his habit where it covered his heart, let him 
 look at this jewel of his heairt as much as he 
 would. Tlie companion vras not content mth 
 this ; but when he saw the sweet Name standino^ 
 out visibly in the middle over the Servitor's 
 heart, he put out his hand and face, and after 
 passing his hand across it, laid his mouth upon 
 
'238 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 it, and began to weep so heartily from devo- 
 tion that tlie tears ran down over the heart. 
 After this the Servitor covered up the Name, 
 and he never would allow any one else to see it, 
 save only one of God's chosen friends, to whom 
 this was permitted by the everlasting God; and 
 this person also contemplated it mth the same 
 devout feelincps as the other. 
 
 When these two dear companions had spent 
 many years together in spiritual companionship, 
 and the time was come, for them to separate, 
 they blessed each other lovingly, and made a 
 compact betv/een them, that whichever of them 
 might die first, the survivor should, as a token 
 of their mutual friendship, say for his departed 
 friend two Masses weekly dming a year; the 
 one to be a Requiem Mass on the ^londays, and 
 the other a Mass of our Lord's Passion on the 
 Fridays. Many years passed away after this, 
 until at length the Servitor's dear companion 
 died before him ; but the Servitor had forgotten 
 the promise about the Masses, though, mthout 
 reference to it, he faithfully remembered his 
 friend's soul to God. One morning, as he sat in 
 ecstasy in his chapel, his companion appeared to 
 him in a vision, and said to him very piteously : — 
 Alas, friend, how great is thy unfaithfulness ! 
 
CHKIST UNDER THE FOKM OF A SERAPH. 239 
 
 How hast thou forgotten me ! The Servitor an- 
 swered : — Aiid yet I remember thee every day 
 in my ]Mass. His companion repKed : — That is 
 not enough. Fulfil what we j)romised about the 
 Masses, that some of the sinless Blood may thus 
 come do^ai upon me and quench the severity 
 of my purgatory. In this way I shall be soon 
 set free. The Servitor accomplished this with af- 
 fectionate fidelity, grieving much for his forget- 
 fulness ; and his companion w^as soon released. 
 
 Chapter XLYI. 
 
 How Christ appeared to liim under the form of a Seraph, 
 and taught him how to suffer. 
 
 OxCE upon a time, when the Servitor had 
 turned to God wdth great fervom-, beseeching 
 Him to instruct him how to suffer, there ap- 
 peared to him in a vision a Hkeness of Cluist 
 upon the cross in the form of a Seraph : and the 
 Seraph had six wings : with two he covered liis 
 head, with two his feet, and with two he flew. 
 On the two lowest -wings w^as wTitten, "Re- 
 ceive sufferings willingly;" on the two middle 
 wings, "Bear sufferings patiently;" and on 
 
240 LIFE OF BLESSED IIEXEY SUSO. 
 
 the two highest wings, "Learn to suffer after 
 Christ's pattern." 
 
 He told this vision of love to one of his inti- 
 mate friends, who was a very holy person. The 
 answer which he received was: — Be assured 
 that God has once more prepared for you new 
 suiferings, which you will have to suffer. He 
 asked what kind of sufferings these might be. 
 He was answered : — You will be raised to the 
 dignity of a prelate, in order that those who are 
 disaffected to you may be the better able to 
 strike you, and may humble you so much the 
 more deeply. Therefore stablish yourself in 
 j)atience, as has been sho\\'n you under the 
 figm'e of the Seraph. He fetched a sigli, and 
 looked out for the coming of a new storm ; and 
 so in truth it came to pass as the holy person 
 had foretold him. 
 
 It happened at this time that there were 
 several years of scarcity, and no one gave alms 
 of bread or wine to the convent in which he 
 then was ; so that the convent fell greatly into 
 debt. The brothers resolved in common to elect 
 the Servitor prior during the gi^eat scarcity, not- 
 withstanding his sorrow and repugnance; for 
 he well understood that herein new sufferings 
 were prepared for him. 
 
HE IS MADE PRIOR. 241 
 
 On the first day he caused the bell to be 
 rung for chapter, and he exhorted the commu- 
 nity to call upon the dear St. Dominic, inas- 
 much as he had promised his brothers-- that if 
 they called upon him when they were in need, 
 he would, with God's permission, come and 
 help them. Now there were two of the bro- 
 thers sitting side by side in the chapter, one 
 of whom whispered to the other very scorn- 
 fully : — See what a foolish man this prior is, 
 that he bids us turn to God in our need. Does 
 he fancy that God will open heaven, and send 
 us down meat and diink? The other an- 
 swered : — He is not the only fool. We are all 
 fools for having made him prior, though Ave 
 knew well beforehand that he is quite ignor- 
 ant about earthly things, and does nothing but 
 gape upwards continually to heaven. Many a 
 contemptuous judgment of this kind was passed 
 upon him. When morning came, he ordered 
 a mass of St. Dominic to be sung, that the 
 saint might provide for them what they needed. 
 Now, while he was standing in the choir deej) 
 sunk in thought, the porter came and called 
 him out to a rich canon, who was his particular 
 friend. The canon said to him : — Dear sir, 
 you have no experience in temporal things ; 
 R 
 
242 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 but I have been inwardly admonished by God 
 last night to help you in His stead, and ac- 
 cordingly I have brought you twenty pounds 
 weight of Constance pennies for a beginning. 
 Put yoiu- trust in God. He will not forsake 
 you. The Ser\dtor was filled with joy, and, 
 taking the money, ordered wine and com to be 
 bought with it. Moreover, God and St. Do- 
 minic so helped him during the whole time that 
 he was prior, that the convent never wanted 
 for pro\dsions of any kind ; and besides this, he 
 paid off all the debt. 
 
 The above-mentioned canon, when he lay 
 upon his death-bed, made large bequests for 
 his soul's health to various objects towards 
 which he had a devotion. Afterwards he sent 
 for the Servitor, who was then prior, and 
 intrusted him with a considerable number of 
 florins, bidding him distribute them in other 
 places among poor friends of God who had 
 worn out their strength in austere exercises. 
 The Servitor was reluctant to undertake this, 
 for he feared that he would have to suffer for 
 it afterwards, as in fact happened. At last he 
 was over-persuaded to take the money, and he 
 went out into the neighboui'ing country and 
 distributed the sum, as he had promised, here 
 
HIS LIFE IS THREATENED. 243 
 
 and there where he beheved that it woukl be 
 most beneficial to the donor's soul ; and he took 
 proper receipts for it, and gave account of it all 
 to his superiors. A heavj tribulation, hoAvever, 
 fell upon him in consequence of this. 
 
 The canon had an ill-conditioned natural 
 son, who, after squandering away what his fa- 
 ther had given him, abandoned himself to pro- 
 fligate and ruinous courses. This man was very 
 anxious to obtain possession of the money in 
 question, and, as he could not succeed in this, 
 he sent word to the Servitor, under a solemn 
 oath, that wherever he fell in with him he 
 would kill him. No one could a2:>pease this 
 man's enmity, however often the attempt was 
 made. Nothing would do but he must kill him. 
 The poor Servitor was for a long time in an- 
 guish and distress, and he did not venture to 
 travel about from place to place, for fear of 
 being murdered by the reprobate man. He 
 used to lift up his eyes to God, and with many 
 sighs exclaim: — Alas, O God! what miser- 
 able kind of death hast Thou ordained for me ! 
 His distress was all the greater because a short 
 time before a brother of good repute had been 
 cruelly murdered in another town for the same 
 sort of thing. The poor Servitor found no one 
 
244 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 who had the will or the courage to undertake to 
 shield him from the ferocity of this savage man. 
 So he betook himself to the sovereign Lord of 
 allj who set him free from his persecutor, and 
 cut short his young and vigorous life by death. 
 
 To these afflictions was added another bitter 
 suffering. There was a certain ecclesiastical 
 community which had received great gifts from 
 the canon. But this did not satisfy them, and 
 they all fell upon the brother with great indig- 
 nation because he would not let all the above- 
 mentioned money come to them. He was sadly 
 insulted on this account, and they accused him 
 before seculars and ecclesiastics, and the slan- 
 derous tale, making him out guilty by a per- 
 version of the facts, was carried far and wide 
 throughout the country, and he had to bear the 
 loss of his good name among men for things in 
 which he was guiltless in the eyes of God. 
 
 At this time the deceased canon appeared to 
 him in a A^sion, clothed in a beautiful green 
 vestment worked all over w^ith red roses. He 
 told the Servitor that it was well with him in 
 the other world ; and he entreated him to bear 
 patiently the great wrong which was being done 
 him, for that God would make it all up to him 
 abundantlv. The Servitor asked him what 
 
SPIRITUAL TOURNAMENT. 245 
 
 his beautiful vestment signified. He answered : 
 — The red roses on the green ground represent 
 your patient suffering, with which you have 
 richly clothed me ; and for this God will clothe 
 you -s^ith Himself everlastingly. 
 
 Chapter XL VII. 
 
 How steadfastly he must fight who would win the spiritual 
 prize. 
 
 At the first bemnnincr of the Ser^^itor's 
 conversion, he desired with all his heart to 
 be singularly and pre-eminently well-pleasing 
 to the loving God, but he expected to accom- 
 plish this without labour and suffering. 
 
 Now it happened once, when he w^ent out 
 into the country to preach, that he embarked 
 on board a passenger ship on the Lake of Con- 
 stance, and he observed there, sitting among 
 the other passengers, a comely youth, gaily at- 
 tired. He drew near the youth, and asked him 
 what manner of man he was. The youth ans- 
 wered: — I am an esquire errant, and I bring the 
 gentlefolk together, and aiTange tournaments, 
 in which they tilt and fight, and pay homage 
 to fair ladies ; and he who proves himself to be 
 
246 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 the best of all carries off the honour and the 
 reward. The Servitor said : — And what is the 
 reward? The esquire replied : — The most beau- 
 tiful of the ladies present places a gold ring 
 upon his finger. The Servitor asked further: — 
 But tell me, dear friend, wdiat must one do ^:o 
 carry off the honour and the ring? He an- 
 swered : — He who proves to be the best at 
 bearing sword- strokes and assaults, and who 
 shows no faintheartedness in this, but behaves 
 himself courageously and manfully, and sits 
 firm, and bears up against the blows — he it is 
 who receives the prize. The Servitor asked 
 once more : — Tell me ; if a man were only 
 bold in the first onset, would that be enough? 
 He replied : — No ; he must remain firm to the 
 very end of the tournament ; and though the 
 blows wdiich he receives bring sparks of fire 
 into his eyes, and make the blood burst from 
 his mouth and nose, he must endure them all, 
 if he is to obtain the glory of victory. The 
 Servitor replied: — But, dear comrade, may he 
 not weep or look mournful when he gets such 
 terrible blows ? He answered : — No ; and though 
 his heart sinks within him, as happens to many, 
 he may not do anything of the kind ; but he 
 must bear himself joyously and bravely, other- 
 
SPIRITUAL TOURN^AMENT. 247 
 
 wise he will become a laughing-stock, and lose 
 the glory and the ring. 
 
 This discourse made the Servitor enter into 
 himself, and, fetching a sigh from the depths of 
 his heart, he said : — Ah ! glprious Lord God ! 
 must the knights of this world endure so much 
 suffering for such a small rew^ard, which is in itself 
 a very nothing ! How fitting then it is that much 
 greater labours should be undergone for the ever- 
 lasting prize ! O sweet Lord, would that I were 
 worthy to be Thy spiritual knight ! O lovely 
 Eternal Wisdom, who art rich in graces beyond 
 aught in any land, w^ould that my soul might 
 receive a ring from Thee ! To win it, I would 
 suffer whatever might be Thy will ! And he be- 
 gan to w^eep, from the great fei-vour which he felt. 
 
 When he arrived at the place to which he 
 w^as going, God sent him great and cruel suf- 
 ferings in such plenty that the poor Servitor 
 nearly lost all his trust in God ; and many eyes 
 became wet with tears tlirough pity for him. 
 He had forgotten all his knightly daring and 
 his promise, and he became melancholy and 
 peevish with God, wondering within himself 
 what God could have against him that He had 
 sent him such great sufferings. Li the morn- 
 ing, at daybreak, there came a calm over his 
 
248 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 soul; and his bodily senses being stilled in 
 ecstasy, a yoice spoke within him : — Where is 
 now thy knightly prowess ? What a knight of 
 straw, and a scarecrow of a man he must be, 
 who is so daring in prosperity, and so despair- 
 ing in adyersity ! This is not the way to \\in 
 the eyerlasting ring, for which thou longest. 
 He replied: — O Lord! the jousts of the inte- 
 rior life, which must be borne for Thee, are far 
 too long and wearisome. To this there came 
 an answer : — Therefore the glory, and the hon- 
 our, and the ring of ^ly knights, who receiye 
 honour from Me, are stable and eyerlasting. 
 Upon this the Servitor, entering into himself, 
 said yery humbly : — Lord ! I am in the wrong. 
 Only permit me to weep while I suffer, for 
 my heart is yeiy full. The answer came : — 
 Alas for thee ! Dost thou want to weep like 
 a woman, and disgrace thyself before the court 
 of heayen ? Wipe thy eyes, and bear thyself 
 joyously, so that neither God nor men may 
 perceiye that thou hast wept on account of 
 sufferings. The Servitor began to laugh, and 
 yet at the same time the tears were running 
 down his cheeks, and he promised God that he 
 would no more wish to weep, that so he might 
 obtain from Him the spu'itual ring. 
 
HIS FACE SHINES. 249 
 
 Chapter XLYIII. 
 
 How the Servitor's face was once seen to shine with light 
 while he was preaching. 
 
 Once when the Senator was preaching at 
 Cologne Avith great fervour, there sat among his 
 hearers a beginner in the spiritual life, who had 
 been recently converted to God. Now while 
 this beginner was attending diligently to the 
 preacher, he saw with the eyes of his soul that 
 the preacher's face began to be transfigured 
 with a ravishing brightness, and three times it 
 became like the radiant sun when its splendour 
 is at the highest ; and the face, moreover, was 
 so pure, that the beginner saw himself reflected 
 in it. This vision brought him very great con- 
 solation in his sufferings, and confinned him in 
 a holy life. 
 
 Chapter XLIX. 
 
 Of the lovely Name of Jesus. 
 The Servitor of the Eternal Wisdom once 
 made a journey from the upper country to Aix- 
 la-Chapelle, to visit our dear Lady. And on 
 
250 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 his return, our dear Lady appeared to a holy 
 person, and said: — Behold, my Child's Servitor 
 has come hither, and he has carried about His 
 sweet Name of Jesus far and wide, with the 
 same ardent desire with which His Apostles of 
 old carried it ; and just as their desire was to 
 make all men laiow this Name through the 
 preaching of the faith, even so all his strivings 
 have been to set all cold hearts on fire with 
 new love for this Name of Jesus. Therefore 
 he shall receive, after his death, an everlasting 
 reward with them. 
 
 Afterwards, this holy person saw our dear 
 Lady holding a beautiful candle in her hand, 
 and it burned so beautifully that its light shone 
 throughout the whole world ; and all romid and 
 round the candle the Name of Jesus was vait- 
 ten. Then our dear Lady said to this person : — 
 Behold, this bmiiincp candle simiifies the Name 
 of Jesus, because He in veiy truth illuminates 
 the hearts of all who receive His Name mth 
 devotion, and pay it honom', and bear it lov- 
 ingly about AATLth them. To this end, my Child 
 has chosen out His Servitor, that devotion to 
 His Name may be lit up through him in the 
 hearts of many, and that these may be helped 
 onwards by him to everlasting bliss. 
 
THE NAME OF JESUS. 251 
 
 When this holy maiden, of wliom mention 
 has been made above, perceived that her spirit- 
 ual father was so devout to, and had such firm 
 faith in, the loving Name of Jesus, which he 
 bore upon his breast over his heart, she con- 
 ceived a great and peculiar love for it, and out 
 of devotion she marked the Name of Jesus in red 
 silk on a little piece of cloth, in the follo^\'ing 
 form: IHS — and wore it secretly upon her- 
 self. She also made an almost countless number 
 of similar Names, and persuaded the Servitor to 
 lay them on his bare heart, and then send them, 
 ^\dth a blessing from God, to his spiritual chil- 
 dren in different parts. Moreover, it was re- 
 vealed to her by God that those who bore the 
 Name upon them, and said daily with devotion 
 an "Our Father" in honour of it, would be 
 treated loAangly by God in this world, and 
 would find grace before Him at their last 
 passage. 
 
 Such were the austere exercises and such 
 the godly examples of Jesus Christ and His dear 
 friends, according to which the beginnings of 
 this holy maiden's spiritual life were fashioned. 
 
252 LIFE or BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Chapter L. 
 
 A good distinction between a true and false use of reason 
 noticeable in certain persons. 
 
 "As the eagle enticing her young to fly" (Deut. xxxii. 11). 
 
 When this holy daughter, by the good 
 instructions of her sj)iritual father, had been 
 thoroughly fashioned after the outward man 
 to every branch of holiness which can be 
 taught by examples, just as a piece of soft 
 wax before the hre takes the form of the seal 
 which is impressed upon it, and when she had 
 been for a long time regularly trained in the 
 imitation of the mirror-like life of Christ, which 
 is the sm'est way, she received the following 
 letter from her spiritual father, the Servitor : — 
 Daughter, the time is now come for thee to aim 
 at something higher, and to fly upwards out of 
 the nest of forms and images, and the conso- 
 lations which proceed from them. Do like a 
 young, newly-fledged eagle, and soar upwards 
 on thy well-grown pinions — I mean thy soul's 
 highest powers — to the heights of that noble 
 contemplation which belongs to a blissful and 
 perfect life. Knowest thou not what Christ 
 said to His disciples, who clung so closely to 
 
TKUE ASD FALSE USE OF REASON. 253 
 
 His sensible presence ? — It is expedient for you 
 that I go away from you, if you are to receive 
 the Holy Ghost (John xvi. 7). Thy former 
 exercises have been a good preparation to bring 
 thee onwards through the wilderness of an ani- 
 mal and unconscious life, into the promised land 
 of a pure and quiet heart, where bliss begins in 
 this world, and will continue everlastingly in 
 the next. But that thou mayest better under- 
 stand this high intellectual way, I vnW cause to 
 shine before thee the light of a good distinction, 
 which, if thou clearly comprehendest it, ^\dll save 
 thee from all error, however high thou mayest 
 soar with thy mind^ 
 
 Observe this then. Two courses are to 
 be met with among apparently good persons. 
 Some pursue a com*se in harmony with reason, 
 and others a course at variance with it. The 
 first are those who make it their aim to shape 
 all their thoughts, actions, and omissions accord- 
 ing to the rule of sound discretion, in harmony 
 with the sentiments of holy Christendom, to 
 God's glory, and the peace and quiet of all 
 other men ; while at the same time they keep 
 diligent watch over their words and ways, so 
 as to give scandal to no one, unless indeed a 
 person takes scandal at them through his own 
 
254 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 fault, as often happens. Now tlie very name 
 and nature of reason admonish us to pursue a 
 guarded walk and manner of life like this. And 
 the reason of these persons is after the fashion 
 of the Divine reason, and worthy of praise, for 
 its light shines inwards in itself in a true though 
 hidden way, just as the heavens shine in the 
 bright stars. On the contrary, in those appa- 
 rently good persons who follow a course at 
 variance with reason, and mth an unmortified 
 nature make self their aim, and only gaze in- 
 tently upon objects with their reason after the 
 manner of contemplation, and are able to dis- 
 course about them overbearingly before the un- 
 learned, while by word and deed they testify 
 contempt for every unfavom'able judgment passed 
 upon them; — in such persons the intellectual 
 light streams outwards, and not imvards; and 
 just as decayed wood, from the glimmer it sends 
 forth at night, seems to be something, and yet 
 is nothing, even so the inward light and outward 
 walk of these persons show themselves to be in 
 all respects unlike that which they ought to 
 resemble. 
 
 What these persons are may be easily ga- 
 thered from the free and unweiMied maxims 
 
 o 
 
 which they put forth. We will only take one 
 
TRUE AND FALSE USE OF REASON. 255 
 
 of tkese maxims, and by it we can estimate all 
 tlie rest. The following words occur in a poem 
 by one of them, " The just needs shun no ob- 
 stacle." This saying, and others like it, have 
 an ail' of importance in the eyes of certain dim- 
 sighted persons, but mil meet with no praise 
 from those who see well and understand what 
 they really mean. This is evident in the case 
 of the saying just quoted, "The just needs shun 
 no obstacle." For what is " the just," and what 
 is an "obstacle"? "The just," according to the 
 usual meaning of the term, is a just man re- 
 garded as actually existing in creation. For 
 the quality "just" has no existence by itself, 
 but needs a subject in which it can exist, and 
 this subject in the present case is the just man. 
 Again, what is an " obstacle" ? It is sin which 
 separates a man from God. Is a just man, then, 
 to shun no obstacle — that is to say, is he to 
 avoid or shun no sin ? Such an assertion would 
 be simply false, and at variance with all rea- 
 son. It is true, indeed, that the just man, and 
 all other things, when viewed, antecedently to 
 their coming into being and their creation, as 
 existing ideally from everlasting in God's essen- 
 tial reason, are all one and the same, without 
 any formal difference, and therefore the saying. 
 
256 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 if understood in this sense, may be allowed to 
 pass. But then it must be remembered that 
 the just man, regarded as existing only in this 
 simple super-essential basis, is not the corporeal 
 man ; for there is nothing corporeal in the God- 
 head, neither is there any obstacle there. But 
 it is outside this basis that each man finds him- 
 self to be this or that individual man ; for outside 
 of it he is mortal, and within it he is immortal ; 
 and it is outside of it that he now exists in his 
 frail created nature, in which he has great need 
 to shun every hurtful obstacle. If, then, 1 were 
 to try to regard myself in my own mind as 
 non-existent, and in this way to know nothing of 
 myself; and ifj without distinguishing between 
 myself and God, I were to do all corporeal ac- 
 tions as thouojh the uncreated Beinf^ did them 
 — this would be a crime aboA^e all crimes. 
 
 From this we see, that such maxims as these 
 have really nothing rational in them. In saying 
 this, however, it is not meant to condemn ra- 
 tional doctrine or rational well-weighed maxims 
 and poems, by which men are refined, and 
 guided toAvards intellectual truth, even though 
 they are not understood by every body. For it 
 is manifestly true, that no one can speak with 
 sufficient clearness to be understood by those 
 
MISUSE OF REASON. 257 
 
 who are grossly blind, and as ignorant as brute 
 beasts. 
 
 The daughter answered: — Praised be God 
 for this good distinction ! But I should also be 
 very glad to hear the distinction between a well- 
 ordered reason and one which is all flowers and 
 outward show, as well as between true and false 
 detachment. 
 
 Chapter LI. 
 
 How to distinguish between a well-ordered reason and one 
 which is all flowers and glitter. 
 
 The Servitor replied as follows: — At the 
 end of the first combats, which have for their 
 object to bring flesh and blood into subjection, 
 a man arrives at a deep sea in which many 
 perish ; and this is a use of reason which is all 
 glitter and external show. Now what is meant 
 by this ? The follomng is what I mean by a 
 use of reason which is all glitter and outward 
 show: — ^When a man has been emptied inte- 
 riorly of the grossness caused by sin, and his 
 mind is freed from the forms and images which 
 used to cling to it, and he is able to soar up- 
 wards joyously above time and space, which till 
 then held him in bondage, so that he could not 
 S 
 
258 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 use Ill's nature's noble powers — at such a time, 
 when he has ah'eacly begun to open his soul's 
 eyes and to taste a new and better pleasure, 
 even that which springs from the perception of 
 truth, the enjo^^ment of di\diie bliss, the gazing 
 into the iiow^ of eternity which lies before him, 
 and such like, and when, moreover, his created 
 reason begins to recognise in itself and in all 
 things a portion of the everlasting and uncreated 
 reason, it comes to him as something wondrous 
 strange, wdien, for the first time, he sees himself 
 as he was before and as he is now, and he dis- 
 covers that he was before like a poor, godless, 
 needy creature, both blind and far from God; 
 "whereas now it seems to liuu that he is full of 
 God, and that there is nothing which is not 
 God; nay, more, that God and all things are 
 absolutely one. And he catches at this view 
 too hastily, and in an unseasonable way, and 
 his mind runs wdld, like new wine which is still 
 fermenting and has not settled, and he seizes 
 upon that which is present to his thoughts, or 
 which is suggested to him, without the needful 
 distinction, by some One, who is Himself that 
 very One to whom alone he should give ear, 
 and to no one else; and then he resolves ac- 
 cording to his self-satisfied judgment to dismiss 
 
MISUSE OF liEASON. 259 
 
 from his thoughts every thing created, and lie 
 regards no longer hell or heaven, de\^l or angel, 
 in their own created nature; nay, he disdains 
 also Christ's suffering Humanity as soon as he 
 has beheld God in it. Yet for all this, he has 
 not gone to the bottom in his knowledge of 
 things ; namely, in regard to their distinctions, 
 and what is permanent and what is transient in 
 them. It fares, in fact, mth such men as with 
 the honey-bees. Wlien the bees a:re fully grown, 
 and for the first time burst forth out of the hive, 
 they fly at random on this side and on that, they 
 know not whither ; and some go astray in their 
 flight and are lost, while others return again in 
 due course to the hive. The same thing hap- 
 pens with these persons when, A^ith their undis- 
 ciplined reason, they try to behold God as all 
 in all, and endeavom*, according to their imper- 
 fect intelligence, to let go this and that, they 
 know not how. It is true, indeed, that every 
 thing must be let go by him who would attain 
 perfection ; but they do not understand how 
 this lettlng-o;o of thino;s is to be manao-ed, and 
 they try to let go this and that without discre- 
 tion, and to rid themselves of all things without 
 attending to the necessary distinctions. This 
 fault arises either from unlearned simplicity or 
 
260 LIFE OF BLESSED HENEY SUSO. 
 
 unmortified craftiness. Hence many a one ima- 
 gines that he has attained every thing if only he 
 can go forth out of himself in this way, and 
 detach himself from himself. But it is not so. 
 For he has only slmik over the outer ditch of 
 the still unstormed fortress, under cover of the 
 screen hehind which he skilfully and secretly, 
 conceals himself, and he cannot yet, hy the 
 orderly annihilation of his spiritual being, pass 
 away into a veritable poverty of spirit, in which 
 every foreign object is in a certain sense let go, 
 and to which the possession of the everlasting 
 and simple Godhead corresponds, now that all 
 human activity has come to an end, as will be 
 shown hereafter with the requisite distinctions. 
 
 Behold, this is the point where some persons, 
 without knomng it, stick fast for many years, 
 and can neither come in nor go out. But I will 
 show thee, by the help of a distinction, the right 
 road, so that thou mayest not be able to go astray* 
 
 Chapter LII. 
 
 A good distinction between true and false detachment. 
 Know, then, that there are three kinds of 
 passing away. The first is a complete passing 
 
TRUE ^VXD FALSE DETACHMENT. 2G1 
 
 away. This takes place wlieii a thing passes 
 away so entirely that it ceases to exist; as a 
 shadow passes away and is no more. In this 
 sense of the word, the spii'it of a man, to which 
 we give the name of a rational soul, does not 
 pass away at its going forth, but it continues 
 for ever, in virtue of the high nobihty of its 
 rational nature and godlike powers. For God, 
 after whose image it is fashioned, is a super- 
 essential reason, and therefore it is impossible 
 for the soul to cease to exist, as the mortal body 
 does. 
 
 Another kind of passing away may be teraied 
 a half passing away, and has its o^vu hour and 
 time. This is the case with those who are rapt 
 in contemplation into the pure Godhead, as 
 Paul was; or again, in another way, when a 
 man becomes abstracted in thought, as often 
 happens, and thus passes away out of himself. 
 This kind, however, is transitory; for when 
 Paul came to hunself again, he fomid himself 
 the same Paul, a man as before. 
 
 The third land may be called a metaphorical 
 passing away. This takes place when a man, 
 by the renunciation of his free-^^'ill, abandons 
 himself to God at each moment that he finds 
 Limself, just as if he loiew nothing about him- 
 
262 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 self, and God alone was lord and master. This 
 kind of passing away cannot be complete and 
 perpetual, so long as the body and soul are 
 united; for at the very moment when a man 
 has detached himself from himself, and fancies 
 that he has so entirely passed away into God 
 that he -svill never resume himself, so flir as his 
 lower or sensual nature is concerned, all at once, 
 in an instant, he and his perverse self are back 
 again, and he is the same that he was before, 
 and has to forsake himself ao-ain and again. To 
 think, then, that in this imperfect state of detach- 
 ment a man may lawfully do just whatever he 
 pleases, would be a simple delusion. Though 
 certainly it is true, that the more any one 
 estranges himself from himself, and passes away 
 out of himself into God, the more completely 
 he is established in the very truth. 
 
 Thou must know further that there are two 
 kinds of detachment from self. The one is 
 called antecedent, and the other subsequent 
 detachment. Thou wilt understand this better 
 from an example. A thief feels in himself 
 through the wickedness of his natui'e an im- 
 pulse and craving to steal. But his conscience 
 opposes this, saying : — Thou shouldst not steal, 
 for it is a sin. Now if the thief went out of 
 
TllUE Ji^D FALSE DETACIOIEXT. 263 
 
 himself and obeyed liis conscience, tins would 
 be antecedent detachment, and the nobler of 
 the two, for he would remain in his innocence. 
 If, however, he will not detach himself from 
 himself in this matter, but resolves to satisfy his 
 wicked propensities, later on, when he has been 
 caught and he sees that he must hang for it, the 
 subsequent detachment comes, mo\^ng him to 
 yield himself patiently to death, since it cannot 
 be other^^dse. This kind of detachment is good 
 and saves the man's soul, but the other is be- 
 yond comparison nobler and better. Hence we 
 oucyht not to be so darino; as to abandon our- 
 selves to sin, according to the sentiments of 
 some foolish persons, who say that he who would 
 arrive at perfect detachment must wade through 
 all sins. This is false ; for a man would be a 
 fool to throw himself wantonly into a filthy 
 pool, in order that he might afterwards become 
 more beautiful. 
 
 Therefore the most pious of God's friends 
 earnestly desire to be brought to naught, and 
 to abide steadfastly in antecedent detachment, 
 without ever resuming themselves in any thing 
 so far as human frailty will permit ; and when- 
 ever they fail in this, it is a som'ce of lamenta- 
 tion to them. It is true, indeed, that they have 
 
264 LIFE OF BLESSED HENPwY SUSO. 
 
 this advantage over other men, that they can 
 rid themselves more speedily of the obstacle (i.e. 
 of the sin which stands between them and God) ; 
 for out of their lamentation itself springs up at 
 once a subsequent detachment, which replaces 
 them quickly where they were before, and this 
 happens when a man, finding himself still a man, 
 bears with himself as such for God's glory. 
 
 ]MoreoA'er this subsequent detachment be- 
 comes in a certain sense profitable to them, 
 through the self-knowledge which results from 
 it; and here their lamentation ceases to be a 
 lamentation, and they are born again into their 
 former state of simplicity, and become once 
 more what the}^ were before. If, however, a 
 man who is thus incomplete were to try by 
 subtlety to help himself, alleging, ^^Hiat harm 
 can it do a man if he resumes himself in what 
 is only accidental, and thereby commits some 
 sin exteriorly, provided that the essence of the 
 man remains as it was, without being resumed 
 in any point ? To this I answer, that he neither 
 understands himself nor what he says. And all 
 learned doctors will agree to this, if only they 
 understand what the term accident means. For 
 the name of accident is given to that which may 
 be added to or taken from the substantial essence 
 
TRUE AND F^VLSE DETACHMENT. 2(j5 
 
 •without destroying tlie substance, as colour on 
 a board. But here the case is different ; for the 
 soul and body, which in their ignorance they 
 term accidents, are two essential parts wliich 
 make up a man's essence, and do not belong to 
 him as accidents. Tlierefore every man, however 
 l^erfectly he may be able to detach himself from 
 himself, and to bring himself back again, has 
 still that in him by which he can act vii'tuously 
 or sinfull}^ For the annihilation of the spirit, 
 its passing away into the simple Godhead, and 
 all its nobility and perfection, are not to be re- 
 garded as a transformation of man's created es- 
 sence into God, in virtue of which all that he is 
 is God, only that he does not perceive it through 
 his grossness, or, in other words, that he has be- 
 come God, and his own essence is annihilated ; 
 but they are to be understood of a going out of 
 self, and a contempt for self, such as has been 
 described. And thus it is that the spirit of a 
 man is taken out of itself and passes away duly 
 and rightfully, and then for the first time it is 
 well mth him. For God has now become all 
 things to him, and all things have become, as it 
 were, God to him ; for all things present them- 
 selves to him now in the manner in Avhich they 
 are in God, and yet they all remain each one 
 
266 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 what it is in its own natui'al essence. This is 
 what those who are bKndly ignorant and unex- 
 ercised in reasoning cannot or mil not admit 
 into their bemldered minds according to the 
 above true distinction. 
 
 Thon mayest now, with the help of this 
 good distinction, proceed to consider the follow- 
 ing rational maxims and instructions, which 
 have for their object to free men from their 
 gi'ossness of sj^mt, and to lead them onwards 
 to their highest bliss. 
 
 Chapter LIII. 
 
 Maxims, conformable to riglit reason, for tlie guidance of 
 an exterior man into his interior. 
 
 Let thy walk be an interior one, and be not 
 given to break out either in words or in thy 
 walk. 
 
 Act according to the truth in simplicity, and 
 Vhatever happens, be not helpful to thyself; for 
 he who helps himself too much will not be 
 helped by the Truth. 
 
 When thou art with men pay no heed ta 
 what thou seest or hearest, and cleave to that 
 alone which has shown itself to thee (i.e. re- 
 
SPIKITUAL MAXIMS. 267 
 
 member God alone who has shown Himself to 
 thee under these outward things). 
 
 Be careful that in thy actions thy reason 
 goes first; for when the sensual appetite gets 
 the start, every e\dl comes of it. 
 
 God washes not to deprive us of pleasure ; 
 but He wishes to give us pleasure in its totality, 
 that is to say, all pleasure. 
 
 The more mightily thou humblest thyself, 
 the higher thou shalt be exalted. 
 
 He who wishes to dwell in his inmost inte- 
 rior, must rid himself of all multiplicity. We 
 must habitually reject all that is not the one 
 thing. 
 
 Where the sensual appetite is the moving 
 principle of a man's actions, there is toil, suffer- 
 ing, and mental darkness. 
 
 Wliat greater pleasure is there than to find 
 myself the one thing that I ought to be, and the 
 whole thing that I ought to be (i.e. one with 
 God, who is one and all) ? 
 
 A man should remain steadfast in his state 
 of freedom from mental images, and of self- 
 restraint. Herein lies the greatest deliirht. 
 
 In what does a truly detached man exercise 
 himself ? In annihilating himself. 
 
 When our love is given to a sensible image 
 
268 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 or person, it is accident, loving accident, and 
 this we have no right to do ; nevertheless I bear 
 with myself in this until I get quit of it. It is, 
 hoAvever, an interiorly simple act, when a man 
 does not love the image, which is present to him, 
 but when all things are to him one, and that 
 one is God. 
 
 When a man detaches himself from himself 
 without allowing the sensual appetite to break 
 out, he destroys self. If he acted otherwise, he 
 would be helping himself by means of his sen- 
 sual appetite. 
 
 Keep thy feelings within thee both in weal 
 and woe ; for a man who does this loves more 
 in one year than one who lets his feelmgs break 
 out loves in three. 
 
 Wilt thou be of use to all creatures, turn 
 thyself away from all creatures. 
 
 If a man cannot comprehend the matter, let 
 him be passive, and the matter mil comprehend 
 him. 
 
 Take heed not to break out exteriorly in 
 a w^ay unlike the (divine and interior) pat- 
 tern. 
 
 A man should be on his guard against the 
 inclination which leads him to catch at every- 
 thing which may save him from having to yield 
 
SPIRITUAL 3iAxms. 269 
 
 to tlie invitations of the simple Truth. If thou 
 wilt not submit to be simple, thou "wilt have to 
 submit to be manifold. 
 
 Live as if there were no creature on earth 
 but thee. 
 
 Say to creatures : — What thou art to me I 
 viill not be to thee (lies tihi, te Deo). 
 
 Nature loves nature and makes itself its aim. 
 Some men's natui'e has not been sufficiently 
 crushed, and when this happens, they continue 
 exterior. 
 
 The power of refraining from things gives 
 a man more power than the possession of the 
 thin£]!;s would. 
 
 One deflection from the rio-ht com\se brings 
 along ^Adth it another. 
 
 See that nature in thee is imbui'dened, and 
 that thy outward man is confomiable to thy in- 
 ward man. 
 
 Look well to the inward man ; for on this 
 depends thy exterior and interior life. 
 
 It belongs to perfect detachment to keep 
 nature at all times bridled. 
 
 A man should never lose sight of himself, 
 lest natui'e should run away. 
 
 Thou lamentest that thou art still too active, 
 undetached, and impatient. Nevertheless de- 
 
270 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 spair not. The more keenly tliou feelest this 
 the better. 
 
 Perishable love is a root of all \aces, and a 
 cloak of all truth. 
 
 The setting of the sensual nature is the 
 rising of the truth. When the powers of the 
 soul have ceased to work, and the elements 
 have been purified, the powers remain fixed 
 upon their eternal object, if they have been 
 directed towards it according to their ability. 
 
 All the powers have one object and one work, 
 and this is to be conformed to the eternal Truth. 
 
 There is nothing pleasurable save what is 
 uniform with the most inmost depths of the 
 Divine natm'e. 
 
 Some men are to be met "svith who have had 
 an interior drawing from God, and have not 
 followed it. The interior and exterior of these 
 men are far apart, and it is in this that many 
 fail. 
 
 Our natui'e in its present state is richly 
 endowed. The more it goes out of itself, the 
 further it is from God; and the more it turns 
 inwards, the nearer to Him it is. 
 
 He who has attained to the pimfication of 
 the senses in God performs so much the better 
 all the operations of the senses. 
 
SPIRITUAL MAXIMS. 271 
 
 If a man subjects liis nature, when it has 
 been purifiedj to the Truth, his nature is guided 
 in such sort tliat it perfoiTas much more per- 
 fectly all exterior actions. Otherwise it wastes 
 itself upon temporal matters, and can do nothing 
 really well. 
 
 Purity, intelligence, and virtue give a feel- 
 ing of wealth to those w^ho possess them. When 
 the sensible possession of these virtues is witli- 
 draT^^l from such persons by God, it sometimes 
 liaj)pens that they die to all creatures. Those 
 who profit by this withdrawal are brought nigher 
 to God by it. 
 
 What is that which diives a man to pur- 
 sue evil com'ses? It is the craving for some- 
 thing which may satisfy him. Yet we can 
 only find this in abnegation, and not in evil 
 courses. 
 
 The reason why some men so often fall into 
 a faulty sadness is that they do not at all times 
 keep an eye upon themselves to avoid in every 
 thing doing what deserves punishment. 
 
 To be worsted is to gain the victory in the 
 estimation of God's friends (Matt. v. 39). 
 
 Abide within thyself. The plea of seeking 
 things outside thee presents itself as a necessity; 
 but it is only a way of helping self. 
 
272 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXEY SUSO. 
 
 It is bad to begin many tilings and to bring 
 none to an end. 
 
 We should not move until we have ob- 
 served whether it be God or nature that is 
 working in us. 
 
 Take care that nature works in thee its 
 works from out itself without the concuiTence of 
 other causes. 
 
 A truly detached man should attend to foui' 
 things. First, he should be very virtuous in 
 his walk, that things may flow from him with- 
 out him. Secondly, he should also be virtuous 
 and quiet with regard to his senses, and not 
 carry tales hither and thither, for this is calcu- 
 lated to fill his mind mth images. Thus his 
 interior senses A^dll be able to act inactively. 
 Thirdly, he should not be given to attach him- 
 self; and he should take care that there is 
 nothing heterogeneous in him. Foiu-thly, he 
 should not be contentious, but he should be- 
 have lovingly to those by whom God may be 
 pleased to purify him. 
 
 Eemain steadfastly in thyself until thou art 
 drawn out of thyself without any act of thine. 
 
 Observe whether the intimacy between good 
 people arises from inclination or from simpKcity. 
 The first is far too common. 
 
SPIRITUAL aLVXIMS. 273 
 
 Offer not thyself too much to any one. 
 Those please least who offer most. 
 
 An interior humble walk beseems thee. 
 When a thing acts in oj^position to its natm-e, 
 it is always unbecoming to it. 
 
 Happy the man whose words and ways are 
 few. The more words and ways there are in 
 any man, the more there is of what is acci- 
 dental. Stay within thyself, and be not like 
 such men, other\vise thou wilt suffer for it. 
 
 Some men act from their sensible feelings 
 both in suffering and in joy ; but a man should 
 not look to himself in this. 
 
 In the spiritual annihilation of self the final 
 consummation is attained. When Christ had 
 said, "Into Thy hands I commend My spirit," 
 He added immediately, " It is consummated." 
 
 God and the devil are in man. He who 
 guides himself and he who forsakes himself 
 discover the difference (i.e. the self-^^'illed 
 find in themselves hell, and the detached 
 heaven). 
 
 He who desires to have rest at all times 
 must be on his guard against himself in this as 
 in every thing else (i. e, this desire is a species 
 of self-seeldng). 
 
 He who is interior amid exterior things is 
 
274 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 mucli more interior than he Avho is only interior 
 when -svithin himself. 
 
 It is good for a man to guide himself in 
 nothing ; and he is on the right road who con- 
 templates under the forms of things their eternal 
 essences. 
 
 There are many more reasoning men than 
 simple men. Those are called reasoning men 
 in whom reason rules. But the simple man, 
 tln:ough his inaction, is freed from the multi- 
 plicity of images which are generated by sen- 
 sible objects, and he does not contemplate things 
 as sensible, for simplicity has become his natm'e, 
 and he is like a vessel (full of God) and like a 
 child. 
 
 He who wishes to possess all things must 
 become as nothing to himself and all things. 
 
 How happy is the man who abides steadfast 
 against multiplicity ! What a sensible entrance 
 he has into familiar intercourse with heaven ! 
 A good intention often impedes true union. 
 Om- eyes should not look outvrards, except 
 to rid ourselves of interior images. 
 
 We should bear as readily with that part of us 
 which comes from Adam (i.e. the consequences 
 of the fall) as with that by which we attain 
 eternal bliss. 
 
SPIRITUAL 3IAXIMS. 275 
 
 A dctaclied man is alwa^'s interiorly alike. 
 
 When a man still complains and is impa- 
 tient, all this springs from imperfection. It 
 must therefore be got rid of. 
 
 All those who allow themselves a wrong 
 liberty make themselves their own aim and 
 object. 
 
 A detached man must be unformed from 
 the forais and images of creatm'es ; he must be 
 formed upon Christ, and transformed into the 
 Godliead. 
 
 He who regards himself in Christ lets all 
 things follow their rightful course. 
 
 ^Mien a man has died to self and begun to 
 live in Christ, it is well wdth him. 
 
 When a man strives by turning inwards to 
 conform himself to the Truth, it is clearly brought 
 home to him that he has gone forth out of 
 himself, and he observes that there is still some- 
 thing of the creatm'e in him, on which the 
 attraction acted. In this he bears mth him- 
 self, and perceives that he has not yet ceased 
 from all action. Now, thus to bear Avith self 
 is to become simple. The going out of self 
 produces a kind of weariness; but when he 
 has turned away from creatures this weariness 
 passes off. 
 
276 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 What is a truly detached man's object m all 
 things ? It is to die to himself; and when he 
 dies to himself all things die to him. 
 
 'Wliat is the least obstacle ? It is a thought. 
 Wliat is the greatest obstacle? It is when the 
 soul abides in the obstinacy of its self-mil. 
 
 A detached man should not let any moment 
 pass away unmarked. 
 
 A detached man should not be always looking 
 to see what he needs, but he should be always 
 looking to see what he can do without. 
 
 If a detached man wishes to conform him- 
 self to the Truth, he must in the first place be 
 diligent in tui'ning inwards from things of sense, 
 for God is a spirit. Secondly, he must take 
 note whether he has attached himself to any 
 obstacle (i. e. any thing which stands between 
 him and God). Thirdly, he must observe 
 whether he is his o^ti guide in any thing, 
 owing to the sensual appetite ha^dng got the 
 start. Fourthly, he must, in the light which 
 fills his soul, consider the presence of the all- 
 penetrating Divine essence in him, and that he 
 is one of Its vessels. 
 
 The more a man turns away from himself 
 and all created things, the more perfect are the 
 union and bliss to which he attains. 
 
SriRITUAL MAXIMS. 277 
 
 Wouldst thou be a detached man? take 
 care that, however God may act towards thee, 
 whether directly by Himself or indirectly by His 
 creatures, thou abidest always the same, by a 
 complete renunciation of what is thine. 
 
 Keep thy senses closed to every image 
 which may present itself. 
 
 Be empty of every thing which the outward- 
 gazmg mind selects, which takes captive the 
 will, and which brings earthly joy or delight 
 into the heart. 
 
 Rest on nothing which is not God. 
 
 If thou art where a sin or imperfection is 
 committed, add not aught of thine to it, and 
 have nothing to do with it. 
 
 He who always dwells with himself becomes 
 possessed of very ample means. 
 
 The recreation which a detached man grants 
 to his nature should be confined to strict neces- 
 sity, and it should be taken in harmless occupa- 
 tions, from which he can readily and mthout 
 attachment turn away to God. 
 
 The more or less detachment a man has, the 
 more or less will he be distm'bed by transitory 
 things. 
 
 It happened once to a half-detached man 
 that, on a certain occasion when he had been 
 
278 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 too self-conscious in suffering, it was said to 
 Mm: — Thou shouldst be so attentive to Me 
 and so forgetful of thyself, that when thou 
 knowest it is well mth Me thou shouldst care 
 nothing how it fares with thee. 
 
 In the case of a detached man who draws 
 his senses iuAvards from external objects and 
 establishes himself in the inner castle of his 
 soul, the less he finds within to cling to, the 
 more painful are his interior sufferings, and the 
 more quickly he dies, the more swiftly he bursts 
 through to God. 
 
 To give the senses a wide field Tvithdraws a 
 man from his interior. 
 
 See that thou undertakest nothing which 
 will carry thee out of thyself. 
 
 If tilings come in search of thee, let them 
 not find thee. 
 
 Be quick in turning inwards into thyself. 
 
 Natural Hfe shows itself in movement and 
 in the operations of the senses. He who de- 
 taches himself from himself in this, and dies ta 
 himself in stillness, begins a supernatural life. 
 
 Some persons find no hincbance in going 
 out of themselves, but they want steadfastness 
 in this state. 
 
 Establish thyself in absolute detachment; 
 
SPIRITUAL IVLVXIMS. 279 
 
 for an unbounded longing, even for what is 
 divine, when it is excessive, may become a 
 secret obstacle. 
 
 A detached man should keep the powers of 
 his soul imder such restraint that, on looking 
 within, this is apparent to him. 
 
 A detached man remains always inactive as 
 regards himself, just as if he were unconscious 
 of himself ; for in that object, which is God, all 
 things are well and harmoniously ordered in 
 him. 
 
 Give heed also to thy outward man that it 
 be at one with thy inward man, by the subjec- 
 tion of all fleshly appetites. 
 
 To return again into God by detachment is 
 often more pleasing to Him than a self-satisfied 
 stability. 
 
 Gather together and draw in thy soul from 
 the external senses, tlirough which it has chssi- 
 pated itself upon the multiplicity of outward 
 things. 
 
 Go in again, and return over and over again 
 into unity, and enjoy God. 
 
 Be steadfast, and never rest content until 
 thou hast obtained the now of eternity as thy 
 present possession in this life, so far as this is 
 possible to human infirmity. 
 
280 life of blessed henry suso. 
 Chapter LIV, 
 
 Of the high questions which the -well-exercised daughter 
 put to her spiritual father. 
 
 After the introduction of tlie out\Yard into 
 the inward man had taken place in a way con- 
 formable to right reason, high thoughts arose in 
 the daughter's mind, and she inqmi-ed whether 
 she might yet venture to ask questions about 
 them. The Servitor replied: — Yes; if thou hast 
 been duly led through the proper intermediate 
 stages, it is quite lawful now for thy spiritual 
 intellio;ence to ask about hifrh thino;s. Ask 
 what thou wilt. She made answer : — Tell me 
 what is God? and where is God? and how is 
 God ? — I mean how He is single and yet three- 
 fold? 
 
 The Servitor replied : — God knows, these 
 are high questions. As to the first — what is 
 God? — thou must know that all the learned 
 doctors who ever were cannot fully explain 
 it ; for God is above all sense and reason. 
 And yet a diligent man, by hard seeking, 
 gains some knowledge of God, though in a 
 very far-off way; and it is in this knowledge 
 that man's supreme bliss consists. Thus it was 
 that in days of old certain virtuous heathen 
 
WHAT GOD IS. 281 
 
 doctors souf^lit after God, es23e dally the intel- 
 lectual Ai'istotle. He pried minutely into the 
 course of nature, in order to discover who he is 
 who is the lord of nature. He searched after 
 Him diligently, and found Him. He proved, 
 from the Avell- ordered course of nature, that 
 there must necessarily be one only prince and 
 lord of all creatures, and that is what we mean 
 by the name God. 
 
 Of this God and Lord we know thus much : 
 that He is a substantial being; that He is 
 everlasting, without before or after; that He 
 is simple and unchangeable; an iinembodied 
 and essential Spirit ; whose bemg is to live and 
 work; whose essential reason knows all things 
 in itself and by itself; whose being's fathom- 
 less delight is in itself; and who is to Him- 
 self, and to all who shall enjoy Him in the way 
 of contemplation, a supernatm'al, unspeakable, 
 and entrancing bhss. 
 
 The daughter looked upwards and said: — 
 This is good to hear, for it stirs the heart and 
 lifts the soul sm'sum, on high above itself. 
 Therefore, dear father, tell me more about it. 
 
 He answered: — Behold, then. The divine 
 essence, of which it is said that it is a rational 
 substance, of such nature that no mortal eye 
 
 < 
 
282 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 can see it in itself, may nevertheless be dis- 
 cerned in its effects, just as we trace a good 
 craftsman in his works. For, as Paul says, 
 creatures are like a mirror which reflect God,. 
 And this mode of gaining knowledge we term 
 reflection (speculiren). 
 
 But let us pause here awhile, and reflect 
 upon the high and venerable Master as mir- 
 rored in his works. Look above thee and 
 around thee to the four quarters of the uni- 
 verse, and see how wide and high the beautiful 
 heaven is in its swift course, and how nobly its 
 Master has adorned it with the seven planets,, 
 each of which, not to reckon in the moon, is much 
 bigger than the wdiole earth, and hoAV He has 
 decked it with the countless multitude of the 
 bright stars. Oh! when in summer time the 
 beautiful sun bursts forth unclouded and serene, 
 what fruitfulness and blessings it bestows un- 
 ceasingly upon the earth ! See how the leaves 
 and grass shoot up, and the lovely flowers smile;. 
 how forest, heath, and meadow ring again wdth 
 the sweet song of nightingales and other Httle 
 birds ; how all those little creatures, which stern 
 winter had shut up, issue forth rejoicing, and 
 pair together; and how men too, both young^ 
 and old, entranced with joy, disport themselves 
 
WHAT GOD IS. 283 
 
 right meiTil}-. Ah, gentle God, if Thou art so 
 lovely in Thy creatures, how exceeding beauti- 
 ful and ra\dshino: Thou must be in Thyself! 
 But look again, I pray thee, and behold tlie 
 four elements — earth, water, air, and fire, with 
 all the wondrous things which they contain in 
 manifold variety — men, beasts, birds, fishes, and 
 sea-monsters ; and mark how they all cry aloud 
 together. Praise and honour be to the unfathbm- 
 able immensity that is in Thee ! ^Yho is it, 
 Lord, that sustains all this ? Who feeds it all ? 
 It is Thou who i^rovidest for all, each in its o^^^i 
 way ; for great and small, for rich and poor. 
 It is Thou, O God, who doest this. Thou, O 
 God, art God indeed ! 
 
 Come, daughter, thou hast now found thy 
 God, whom thy heart has so long sought after. 
 Look upwards, then, with sparkling eyes and 
 radiant face and bounding heart, and behold 
 Him and embrace Him with the infinite out- 
 stretched arms of thy soul and thy affections, 
 and give thanks and praise to Him, the noble 
 Prince of all creatures. See how, by gazing on 
 this mirror, there springs up speedily, in a soul 
 susceptible of such impressions, an intense in- 
 ward jubilee; for by jubilee is meant a joy 
 which no tongue can tell, but which pours it- 
 
284 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 self with might through heart and soul. Alas ! 
 I feel now within me that, be it painful or 
 pleasant, my soul's closed mouth is opened to 
 thee, and I must needs tell thee, for God's 
 glory, somewhat of my hidden secrets, which 
 I never yet have told to any one. See, I knew 
 a friar preacher who, at the beginning of his 
 conversion, used commonly to receive from God 
 twice every day, morning and evening, dm'ing 
 ten years, an outpouring of grace like this, and 
 it lasted for about the space of two noctmnis.* 
 At these moments he was so utterly absorbed 
 in God, the Eternal Wisdom, that he could not 
 speak of it. Sometimes he would lovingly con- 
 verse with God "s^dthin him, while at other times 
 he would sigh j)iteously, or weep longingly, or 
 again smile silently. It often seemed to him as 
 if he were floating in the air, and s^\dmming 
 between time and eternity in the deep sea of 
 God's unfathomable marvellousness. And liis 
 heart became so full through this, that he would 
 at times lay his hand upon it, as it beat wildly, 
 saying : — Alas, my heart, how will it fare with 
 thee to-day ? One day it seemed to him that 
 the Eternal Father's heart was, in a spiritual 
 and ineffable manner, pressed tenderly, and vnth 
 * About half an hour. 
 
SPIRITUAL JUBILEE. 285 
 
 naught between them, npon his heart, as it lay 
 open over against the Father's heart in longing 
 desire, and it appeared to him that the Father's 
 heart, in a way of love transcending all forms 
 and images, spoke in his heart the uncreated 
 Word, the Eternal Wisdom. Then he began 
 to exclaim joyously in spiritual jubilee : — Be- 
 hold now, my loveliest love ! thus do I lay bare 
 to Thee my heart, and in simplicity and naked- 
 ness with regard to all created things I embrace 
 Thy foi-mless Godhead. Alas, my love ! Thou 
 who art far above all other loves! Earthly 
 lovers, however greatly they may love, must 
 needs bear to be distinct and separate from 
 each other; but Thou, O unfathomable fulness 
 of all love, meltest away into Thy beloved's 
 heart, and, in virtue of Thy being absolutely 
 all in all, pourest Thyself so utterly into the 
 soul's essence that no part of Thee, the loved 
 One, remains outside, and is not lovingly made 
 one with Thy beloved. 
 
 The daughter answered : — Ah, God ! what 
 a great gi-ace it is for any one to be thus caught 
 up into God in jubilee. But I would fain know 
 whether this is the most perfect kind of union 
 or not. The Servitor replied : — No ; it is only 
 a preliminary preparation for arriving at an 
 
286 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 essential mode of being taken up into God. 
 She answered : — What mean yon by essential 
 and non-essential ? He replied : — ^I call him an 
 essential man who, by the good and persevering 
 exercise of all the \drtnes, has so completely 
 mastered them, that the practice of them in their 
 highest j)erfection has become pleasant to him, 
 and that they dwell in him abidingly, as the 
 sunshine in the sun. On the other hand, I call 
 him a non-essential man in whom the light of 
 •\drtue shines in a borrowed, unsteadfast, and 
 imperfect w^ay, as the moonlight in the moon. 
 The sweet abundance of sensible grace which I 
 have just described is such a dainty treat to the 
 spirit of a non-essential man, that he would fain 
 always have it; and as its presence begets in 
 him delight, even so its mthdrawal causes in 
 him undue sadness, as I will now show you by 
 an example. It happened once, when the Ser- 
 vitor had gone into the chapter-house, and his 
 heart was full of heavenly jubilee, that the por- 
 ter came and summoned him to the door to a 
 w^oman who wanted to confess to him. The 
 Servdtor tore himself unmllingly from his inte- 
 rior joys, and, receiving the porter harshly, re- 
 plied, that the woman must send for some one 
 else, as he would not confess her then. Now 
 
WITHDRAWAL OF DIVINE CONSOLATIONS. 287 
 
 she had a burdened and sinful heart, and her 
 message was, that she had a particuLar drawing 
 to seek consolation from him, and that she would 
 confess to no one else. But when she heard 
 that he would not come to her, she began to 
 Aveep from giief of heart, and going aside into 
 a comer, sat do\vn there in wretchedness, and 
 wept long and bitterly. Meanwhile God with- 
 drew very quickly from the Servitor the delights 
 of sensible grace, and his heart became as hard 
 as a flint; and when he sought to know the 
 meaning of this, God answered him : — As thou 
 hast di'iven from thee uncomforted the poor 
 woman with her burdened heart, even so I have 
 withdrawn from thee My divine consolations. 
 The Servitor sighed deeply and beat his breast, 
 and ran vdtli speed to the door, and, as he did 
 not find the woman there, was in great distress. 
 The porter ran about in every direction looking 
 for her, and when at last he fomid her, where 
 she was sitting weeping, he brought her back 
 with him to the door, and the Servitor, receiving 
 her with gi-eat kindness, graciously consoled her 
 repentant heart. Then he went back from her 
 to the chapter-house, and immediately in an in- 
 stant the kind Lord was there again with His 
 divine consolations, just as before. 
 
288 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 The dauojhter answered : — He may well bear 
 sufferings to whom God gives such rapturous 
 jubilee. The Servitor replied : — Oh ! it had 
 all to be paid for afterwards with gi-eat suffer- 
 ing, as has been already related. At length, 
 however, when all this had passed away, and 
 God's appointed time had come, this same gi'ace 
 of jubilee returned, and was ^^dth him in an 
 abiding manner both at home and abroad, in 
 company and when alone. Ofttimes in the 
 bath or at table the same grace was with him ; 
 but its working was now interior, and no longer 
 broke forth into exterior manifestations. 
 
 Chapter LY. 
 
 An explanation where and how God is. 
 The good daughter said: — Sir, I have now 
 indeed found out what God is ; but I would 
 fain know also where God is. He answered : — 
 Thou shalt hear this. The learned doctors say 
 that God has no ivhere, but that He is all in all. 
 Open then the inward ears of thy soul and give 
 jTood heed. These same doctors tell us in the 
 art of logic, that we come to know what a thing 
 is through its name. Now, one doctor says that 
 
WHERE GOD IS. 289 
 
 being is the first name of God. Turn, then, 
 thine eyes to being in its pure and naked sim- 
 plicity, and take no note of this or that partial 
 being. Consider only being in itself, unmixed 
 with all non-being. For as all non-being is the 
 negation of all-being, even so being in itself is 
 the negation of all non-being. A thing which 
 has yet to be, or which once was, is not now 
 at this moment in actual being. Moreover, 
 we can have no knowledge of mixed being or 
 non-being, unless we take into account that 
 which is all-being. For if we would under- 
 stand what any thing is, the first point which 
 our mind meets with in it is being, and this is a 
 being which is the efficient cause of all things. 
 It is not the partial and particular being of this 
 or that creatui'e; for partial being is always 
 mixed Avith some other element, and has a 
 capacity for receiving something new into it. 
 Therefore, the nameless Divine Being must be in 
 itself a being that is all-being, and that sustains 
 all particular beings by its presence. 
 
 It is a proof of the singular blindness of 
 man's reason, that it cannot examine into that 
 which it contemplates first before every thing, 
 and without which it cannot perceive any thing. 
 It is with the reason as with the eye. When 
 U 
 
290 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 the eye is intent upon observing a variety of 
 coloured objects, it does not notice the light 
 which enables it to see all these objects, and 
 even if it looks at the light, it still does not see 
 it. Thus, too, is it with our soul's eye ; when it 
 looks at this or that particular being, it takes 
 no heed of the being, which is every where one, 
 absolute and simple, and which enables it to 
 apprehend all other beings. Hence a wise doc- 
 tor says, that the eye of our intelligence, owing 
 to its infirmity, is affected towards that being 
 which is in itself the most manifest of all beings, 
 as the eye of a bat or a night-owl towards the 
 bright light of the sun; for particular beings 
 distract and dazzle the mind, so that it cannot 
 see the Divine darkness, which is in itself the 
 brightest of all brightness. 
 
 Open now thy inward eyes and gaze as best 
 thou canst on being in its naked simple purity, 
 and thou vdlt see at once that it comes from no 
 one, and has no before nor after, and no ca- 
 pacity of change, either from within or from 
 without, because it is a simple being. Thou 
 wilt note too that it is the most actual, the most 
 present, and the most perfect of all beings, with- 
 out flaw or alteration, because it is absolutely 
 one in naked simplicity. And this truth is so 
 
WHERE GOD IS. 291 
 
 evident to an enlightened reason, that it is im- 
 possible for it to think otherwise ; for one point 
 proves and implies the other. Thus, because it 
 is a simple being, it must needs be the first of 
 beings, and without origin and everlasting ; and 
 because it is the first and everlasting and simple, 
 it must be the most present. It is at the veiy 
 highest summit of perfection and simplicity, to 
 which nothuig can be added and from which 
 nothing can be taken away. If thou canst un- 
 derstand wdiat I have just told thee about the 
 jDure Godhead, thou w^ilt have been guided a 
 long way into the incomprehensible light of 
 God's hidden truth. This piu'e and simple 
 beinfc is the first and his^hest cause of all beincps 
 w^hich have a cause (created beings), and by its 
 peculiar presence it encloses, as the beginning 
 and end of all things, w^hatever comes into being 
 in time. It is altogether in all things, and alto- 
 gether outside all thmgs. Hence a certain doc- 
 tor says : — God is a circular ring, whose centre 
 is every wdiere and circumference nowhere. 
 
 The maiden answered : — ^Praised be God, I 
 have been shown, as far as can be, what God is 
 and W'here God is. I w^ould fain now learn 
 how, if God is so exceeding simple, He can be 
 at the same time threefold. 
 
292 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 The Servitor replied : — Each several bein^, 
 the more simple it is in itself, the more manifold 
 it is in its productive efficacy. That which has 
 nothing gives nothing, and that which has much 
 can give much. Now, I have already spoken of 
 that inflowing and overflowing fountain-head of 
 good which God is in Himself, and of God's 
 unfathomable supernatural goodness Avhich con- 
 strains Him not to keep all this to Himself, but 
 to communicate it joyfully both wdthin and with- 
 out Himself. But the highest and most perfect 
 outpouring of the supreme Good must of neces- 
 sity take place within itself, and this can be 
 none other than a present, interior, substantial, 
 personal, and natural outpouring, necessary, yet 
 without compulsion, alike infinite and perfect. 
 All other outpourings which take place in time 
 and in creatures are but a reflection of the eter- 
 nal outpouring of the unfathomable Divine good- 
 ness. And learned doctors say that, in the 
 outflow of creatures from their primal fountain- 
 head, there is a circular return-movement of the 
 end to the beginning; for as the outflowing of 
 the Person from God is an image and repre- 
 sentation of the origin of creatm'es, so also it 
 foreshadows the flowing back again of creatures 
 into God. 
 
THE TRINITY IN UNITY. 293 
 
 Now, observe the difference between the 
 creature's outpouring and God's outpouring. 
 Inasmuch as a creature is only a partial being, 
 its giving and its outpouring is also partial and in 
 measure. Thus a human father gives his son, 
 when he begets him, only a part of his owti be- 
 ing ; he does not give him wholly and entirely 
 all that he is, for he himself is but a partial good. 
 But since the Divine outpouring is manifestly 
 of a far more inrterior and nobler kind than the 
 creatm-e's outpouring, in proportion to the great- 
 ness of the good which God is in Himself and 
 His immeasurable superiority over all other 
 goods, it follows as a necessary consequence 
 from this that the outpouring must be like the 
 being; and this cannot be unless God pours out 
 His being according to the personal relations. 
 
 If now vdth cleansed eye thou canst look 
 into and gaze upon the most pui'e goodness of 
 the supreme Good, which goodness is of its own 
 nature a present active principle of the natural 
 and spontaneous love Avith which the supreme 
 Good loves itself, thou wilt behold the exuberant 
 supernatm-al outpouring of the Word from the 
 Father, by which act of begetting and speaking 
 all things are spoken forth and produced; and 
 thou wilt see too in the supreme Good and in 
 
294 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 tlie highest outpouring the divine Trinity, Fa- 
 ther, Son, and Holy Ghost, necessarily bui'sting 
 forth. And if it be that from the supreme es- 
 sential goodness the highest and most perfect 
 outpourmg gushes forth, it follows that there 
 must be in the aforenamed Trinity the most 
 supreme and intimate commmiity of being, as 
 well as the most perfect similarity and identity 
 of that being, which the Persons possess in the 
 jubilee of their outpom'ing, Arithout any division 
 or partition of the substance and the almighti- 
 ness of the tlu'ee Persons of the Godliead. 
 
 The maiden exclaimed : — O wonderful ! I 
 swim in the Godhead as an eagle in the air. 
 He answered: — It is impossible to express in 
 words how the Trinity of the Di^-ine Persons 
 
 can subsist in the unitv of one essence. Never- 
 
 t/ 
 
 theless, to say what can be said about it, St. 
 Augustin lays doT^^l that the Father is the foun- 
 tain-head of all the Godhead of the Son and 
 of the Holy Ghost, personaEy and essentially. 
 St. Denys says, that in the Father there is an 
 outflowing of the Godhead, and that this out- 
 floAvmg or stream pours itself out naturally in 
 the outrunning Word, who is the Son by nature. 
 He also pom's Himself out according to the 
 loA^ng bountifulness of the will into the Son, 
 
THE TRINITY IN UNITY. 295 
 
 and the Son in turn pours Himself out accord- 
 ing to the lo\'ingness of the will into the Father, 
 and this is called a reciprocal love, and is the 
 Holy Ghost. The hidden meaning of this is 
 disclosed and proved to us by that bright light 
 the dear St. Thomas, the teacher, who speaks 
 thus: — ^In the outpouiing of the Word from 
 the Father's heart and reason, it must needs be 
 that God, ^^dth His luminous intellect, contem- 
 plates Himself, bending back, as it were, upon 
 His Divine essence; for if the reason of the 
 Father had not the Divine essence for its object, 
 the Word conceived would be a creatm'e and 
 not God, which would be false. But in the way 
 described, the AYord is a Divine being from a 
 Divine being. Again, this backward look upon 
 the Divine essence in the reason of the Father 
 must take place in a manner productive of a 
 natural likeness, otherwise the Word would not 
 be the Son. Here, then, we have unity of 
 essence with diversity of Persons; and, as a 
 good attestation of this distinction, the high- 
 soaring eagle, St. John, has said : — " The Word 
 was in the beginning with God." 
 
 With regard to the outpouring of the Holy 
 Spirit, thou shouldst know that the substance 
 of the Divine intellect is an act of cognition (zVi- 
 
296 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 tellectio), and this, moreover, must have an in- 
 clination for its object under the form in which 
 it has been received into the intellect. This in- 
 clination is the will, and the longing of the will 
 is to seek after pleasure as best it can. Thou 
 shouldst also observe that the object loved is not 
 in the person loving under the likeness of its natu- 
 ral form, as is the case with the object of the in- 
 tellect in the light of the cognition. Now, inas- 
 much as the Word flows out from the looking 
 forth of the Father according to the form of the 
 nature, without confusion of Persons, this outpour- 
 ing of the Father is called a begetting. But since 
 this mode of procession does not occur in the out- 
 flowing of the will and of the love, which is the 
 third Person, who is poured forth like a stream 
 of love by the Father, and also by His express 
 image the Son, from out Uls very inmost depths, 
 therefore this outflomng cannot be termed a Son 
 or begotten. And since this love is in the will 
 after an intellectual or spmtual fashion, like an 
 incHnation or love-bond present inwardly in the 
 lover towards the object of his love, the third 
 Person in the procession, who proceeds accord- 
 ing to the loving manner of the mil, fittingly re- 
 ceives the name of Spirit. But when a man has 
 reached this point he is transformed by the Divine 
 
DIFFERENT VIEWS OF GOD. 297 
 
 light in that mysterious way which they only can 
 understand who have experienced it. 
 
 The daughter said : — All, sir, this is indeed 
 a subhme fuhiess of Christian doctrme. Never- 
 theless, there are to be met mth certain intel- 
 lectual men who deny what has been just said 
 about God, and whose view is, that he who 
 would attain to perfect union will find the con- 
 templation of God a hurtful impediment. He 
 should, on the contrary, according to them, 
 divest himself of God and of the spirit, and 
 cast behind him all visions, and turn himself 
 only to the inwardly-shining truth, which he is 
 himself. 
 
 He answered : — This doctrine is false if the 
 words are taken in their ordinary sense. There- 
 fore keep clear of it, and hearken to what the 
 Christian faith teaches on this point. The 
 common view which men take of God is that 
 He is the Lord and Creator of the whole world, 
 who suffers no VN^ickedness to pass unpunished, 
 and no good deed unrewarded. He, then, who 
 commits sin regards God as a terrible God ; as 
 the good Job said, " I have always feared God 
 as shipmen fear the great waves" (Job xxxi. 23). 
 He also who serves God for reward has a great 
 and munificent God, able to recompense him 
 
298 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 abundantly. But a well-exercised and experi- 
 enced man, who by manifold dyings has rid 
 himself of the sinful things which God hates, 
 and who serves God at all times mth burning 
 love, this man loves God in his heart, and not 
 after the afore-mentioned fashion. And he has 
 in a certain sense divested himself of God, and 
 he loves Him as his heart's own loved one; for 
 servile fear has passed from him, as St. Paul 
 says. Thus to the spmtual man God remains 
 truly God and Lord, and yet at the same time 
 he has emptied himself of God, according to the 
 grosser acceptation of the term, for he has at- 
 tained to a more perfect conception of Him. 
 
 Now as to the way in which a man should 
 be divested of the spirit, hearken to the true 
 account of it. When a man at the outset of 
 his interior life bemns to observe that he is a 
 creatm'e composed of body and soul, and that 
 his body is mortal, but that his soul is an ever- 
 lasting spmt, he gives his body and all his 
 animal nature their dismissal, and cleaves to- 
 the spirit, and brings his body into subjection 
 to it; and every thing he does is interiorly in 
 thought directed to this one end, how he may 
 discover the superessential Spirit, and how lay 
 hold of It, and how unite his spirit with It. A 
 
TRUE AND FALSE VISIONS. 299 
 
 man of this kind is called a spiritual and holy 
 man. Now, supposing that all goes right with 
 him, after he has exercised himself in this for 
 a long time, and yet the superessential Sph'it, 
 though ever playing as it were before him, has 
 always eluded his grasp, his created spirit begins 
 at last to realise its own helplessness, to abandon 
 itself by an utter renunciation of self to the 
 everlasting Divine might, and to turn away 
 from itself, with contempt for what comes from 
 the senses, to the immensity of the Supreme 
 Being. In this taking-up of the spirit into God 
 it attains to a forgetfulness and loss of self, of 
 which St. Paul speaks, "I live, but not I" 
 (Gal. ii. 20) ; and of which Christ has said, 
 " Blessed are the poor in spirit" (Matt. ii. 3). 
 Thus it is that a man's spirit, while it remains 
 what it was as to its essence, is nevertheless 
 divested of itself in regard to the possession of 
 itself tlu-ough the senses. 
 
 I w^ll also explain to you the difference 
 between pure truth and doubtful \asions. To 
 gaze without any medium upon the unveiled 
 Godhead is undoubtedly absolute and unmingled 
 truth; and the more intellectual and unima- 
 ginary a vision is, and the more nearly it ap- 
 proaches to the unveiled contemplation, the more 
 
300 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 noble is its character. Some of the prophets 
 had imaginary visions, as Jeremias and others. 
 And such imaginary visions are still often gran- 
 ted to God's intimate friends, sometimes when 
 asleep and sometimes when awake, their out- 
 ward senses being at the time stilled to rest and 
 abstracted. A learned doctor says, that angelic 
 appearances happen to some persons oftener 
 in sleep than when awake, and for this reason : 
 because a man in sleep is in a state of greater 
 quietude mth regard to the multiplicity of his 
 external operations than when awake. But when 
 it is that a vision which takes place in sleep 
 may and ought to be deemed a true vision — as 
 the dream in the Old Testament which King 
 Pharaoh had about the seven fat and seven lean 
 kine, and many similar dreams mentioned in 
 Holy "Writ — and also how the truth of such 
 visions is to be discerned, — for dreams are usu- 
 ally deceptive, though undoubtedly they some- 
 times announce the truth, — all this thou mayest 
 learn from what St. Augustin writes about his 
 holy mother. God, she told him, had given her 
 this gift : that when He showed her any thing 
 in sleep or half-sleep, she received at the same 
 time the inward power of discerning whether it 
 was merely a common dream, which she should 
 
301 
 
 disregard, or an imaginaiy vision, to ■svhich she 
 should attend. Those persons who liave this 
 gift from God can all the better explain to 
 themselves how this is. But no one can com- 
 municate it to another by words. Those only 
 understand it who have had experience of it. 
 
 Chapter LVI. 
 
 Of the very highest flight of a soul experienced in the ways 
 of God. 
 
 The wise daughter said : — There is nothing 
 which I would more gladly learn from Scrip- 
 ture than the answer to this deep and pregnant 
 question, where and how a well-exercised per- 
 son's understanding may arrive at its highest 
 end and aim in the deepest abyss of the God- 
 head, in such a manner that what is actually 
 experienced vrill harmonise with the teaching of 
 Holy Writ? 
 
 The Senator drew from Scriptm'e an answer 
 conformable to right reason, and its pui'port ac- 
 cordincj to its hidden meanino; was as follows. 
 Every one who has attained to the true nobility 
 of spiiit ponders in simplicity and inacti\'ity 
 the pregnant word which the Eternal Son 
 
302 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 spoke in tlie Gospel, " Where I am, there also 
 shall My servant be" (John xii. 26). Now he- 
 who has not shrunk from following the Son 
 to that bitter icJiere, on which accordincr to KGs 
 manhood He took post in death upon the cross, 
 has, in vii'tue of this promise, the right and the 
 possibility of enjoying, after a blissful and in- 
 tellectual manner, in time and in eternity, the 
 delightful icJiere of the Son's pure Godhead, so 
 far as this is possible more or less. But where 
 is the wJiere of the Son's pure Godhead ? It is 
 in the form-pregnant light of the divine Unity, 
 — a light which may be termed in its unname- 
 ableness a nothingness; in its inward concen- 
 tration, an essential stillness; in its indwelling 
 outflow, a triune nature ; in its peculiar property, 
 a self-comprehending light; in its uncreated 
 creativeness, an existence which makes things 
 to be. And in the modeless darkness of this 
 light all multiplicity ceases, and the spirit loses 
 itself as self, and comes to an end as regards its 
 own activity. This is the highest aim and the 
 endless ivJiere, in which the spirituality of all 
 spirits finds its end. Ever to lose oneself in 
 this is everlasting bliss. 
 
 Thou must know, moreover, in order to 
 understand this better, that in the form-pregnant 
 
THE soul's highest FLIGHT. 303 
 
 light of the Divine Unity there is an indwelhng 
 outspringing impulse by which the Persons are 
 poured forth out of the almighty and eternal 
 Godhead. For the Trinity of the Persons is in 
 the Unity of the nature, and the Unity of the 
 nature is in the Trinity of the Persons. The 
 Unity has its actuality in the Trinity, and the 
 Trinity has its potentiality in the Unity; ac- 
 cording to what St. Augustin says in his book 
 about the Trinity — namely, that the Trinity 
 of the Persons contains in itself the Unity as 
 Their nature and essence, and hence it is that 
 each Person is God, and according to the sim- 
 plicity of the nature so also is the Godliead. 
 Now the Unity shines forth in the Trinity after 
 a di^-ided fashion; but the Trinity, viewed as 
 tending inwards and as indwelling, shines forth 
 in the Unity after a simple fashion, just as the 
 tliree Persons contain in themselves the Unity 
 after the same simple fashion. The Father is 
 the fountain-head of the Son, and the Son is an 
 outflowing of the Father, gushing forth from 
 Him eternally as regards the PersonaHty, and 
 dwelling in Him as regards the being or essence. 
 The Father and the Son pour forth Their 
 Spu'it; and the Unity, which is the being of 
 the primal fountain-head, is the being of all the 
 
304 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 three Persons. But as to how the Trinity is 
 one, and the Trinity in the Unity of the nature 
 is one, while nevertheless the Trinity comes 
 forth from the Unity, this cannot he expressed 
 in words, omng to the simphcity of that deep 
 abyss. Hither it is, into this intellectual where, 
 that the spirit, spiritualising itself, soars up, now 
 flying on the summitless heights, now swimming 
 in the bottomless depths of the sublime marvels 
 of the Godhead. Nevertheless, the spirit re- 
 tains there its own nature as a spirit, while it 
 enjoys the co-eternal, co-omnipotent, indwelling 
 and outflomng Persons, and high above the 
 clouds and bustle of things below contemplates 
 mth fixed gaze the Divine mars^ellousness. For 
 what greater marvel can there be than the pure 
 Unity, into which the Trinity of the Persons 
 merges itself in simplicity, and in which all 
 the multiplicity of sensible objects ceases. And 
 this is to be miderstood in the sense that the 
 outflowing of the Persons poured forth is al- 
 ways tending back agam into the Unity of 
 the self-same essence, and that all creatures in 
 regard to their indwelling outflow (i. e. their 
 ideal procession) are from eternity in this one 
 essence, and have in it an existence identical 
 with God's life, God's knowledge, and God's 
 
THE soul's highest FLIGHT. 305 
 
 essence, according to the words in the beginning 
 of St. John's Gospel, " That which was made, 
 was in Him life from everlasting."* This pure 
 Unity is a dark stillness and an inactive in- 
 activity, which no one can understand, save he 
 alone whom the Unity in itself illumines. Out 
 of this still inactivity there shines forth freedom 
 \\dthout any admixture of wickedness, for free- 
 dom is the fruit of the new birth of self-anni- 
 hilation ; and there shines forth likewise deep 
 hidden truth without speck of falsehood, and 
 this truth is born of the unveiling of the veiled 
 Divine purity ; for now at length, after the reve- 
 lation of these things, the spirit is unclothed of 
 that dusky light which has hitherto followed it, 
 and in which it has till now viewed objects in 
 a human and earthly way. And it finds that 
 it has now become, strictly speaking, another, 
 and something quite different, from what it till 
 then understood itself to be according to its 
 previous light; as St. Paul has said, "I live, 
 but not I" (Gal. ii. 20) ; and in this manner it 
 is unclothed and simplified in the modeless sim- 
 
 * Quod factum est, in ipso vita erat (Joan. i. 3, 4). Ac- 
 cording to this deeply-suggestive reading, the clause qtwd 
 factum est is referred to the words that follow instead of 
 to those which precede. Many of the Fathers read the 
 passage thus. 
 
 X 
 
306 LIFE or BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 plicity of the Divine essence, which makes its 
 light to shine into all things in simplicity and 
 stillness. In this simple and modeless contem- 
 plation the spirit takes no note of the permanent 
 distinction of the Persons, viewed as separate. 
 For, as Christian doctrine teaches, it is not the 
 Person of the Father, taken by itself, which 
 produces bliss, nor the Person of the Son, taken 
 by itself, nor the Person of the Holy Ghost, 
 taken by itself; but it is the three Persons, in- 
 dwelling in the Unity of the essence, that is 
 eternal bliss. And this is the being itself of 
 the Persons by nature, and it is that Avhich 
 gives being to creatures by grace, and it con- 
 tains in itself the form and idea of all thinfics 
 in simplicity and essentially. Now, just as this 
 form-pregnant light subsists as being, even so 
 all things subsist in it according to their essen- 
 tial being, and not according to their accidental 
 character ; and since, moreover, it poui's itself 
 as light into all things, therefore its property is 
 to subsist as lio-ht. And hence it is that all 
 things shine forth in this absolute being in inte- 
 rior stillness, without detriment to its simplicity. 
 This intellectual icherej in which, as has 
 been just set forth, the tried servant of God 
 should dwell with the eternal Son, may be re- 
 
THE soul's highest FLIGHT. 307 
 
 garded as the essentially existing unnameable 
 Xotliingness. And here it is that the spirit 
 arrives at the naught of the Unity; and this 
 Unity is termed naught because the spirit can- 
 not discover any mode of being under which to 
 frame a conception of what it is. Nevertheless 
 the spirit clearly feels that it is contained by 
 another, quite different from what it' is itself; 
 for which reason that which contains it deserves 
 more properly the name of something than 
 naught, though it seems to the spirit naught 
 because it cannot find any mode of conceiving 
 what it is. Now when the spirit, by the loss 
 of its self-consciousness, has in very truth esta- 
 blished its abode in this glorious and dazzling 
 obscurity, it is set free from every obstacle to 
 union and from all its individual properties, 
 as St. Bernard says ; and this takes place less 
 or more according as the spirit remains in the 
 body or goes out of it when it passes away out 
 of itself into God. And this loss of the spirit's 
 self is after that Diidne manner in which all 
 things, so to speak, have come to be for it, as 
 the Scripture says (1 Cor. xv. 28). 
 
 In this merging of itself in God the spirit 
 passes away, and yet not wholly; for it receives 
 indeed some attributes of the Godhead, but it 
 
308 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 does not become God by nature. Wliat befalls it 
 is all of grace, for it is still a something wliich 
 lias been created out of nothing, and continues 
 to be this everlastingly. Thus much then we 
 may say : T\nben the spiiit has passed away out 
 of itself and has been taken up into God, it is 
 rid of that wondering doubt which it felt while 
 losinc]^ itself, and it ceases to exist in reo;ard to 
 the sense, so far as its OAvn knowledge of itself 
 is concerned. For, to use ordinary language, 
 the spirit is drawn upwards by the might of the 
 all-luminous Divine essence above its natui*al 
 capacity into the purity of the Divine naught, 
 in which it is unclothed of all created modes, 
 though without ceasmg to retain its o■s^^l proper 
 mode of existence as a creature. This modeless 
 mode is the being of the Persons, which they 
 contain within Them as then' nature in absolute 
 simplicity and perfection. And it is by gazing 
 upon this that the spirit is divested of itself, as 
 has been said ; and this takes place in the naught 
 of the Unity, when the spirit ceases to be conscious 
 of its own proper name and existence, in the 
 perfect knowledge of this naught to which it has 
 attained; for in it the spirit loses itself in a forget- 
 fulness of self and all things ; and this happens 
 to it the moment it turns awav from itself and 
 
THE soul's highest FLIGHT. 309 
 
 all created things to the pui'ity of the uncreated 
 naught. On this wild mountain range of the 
 Divine where, there is an abyss, perceptible to all 
 pure spirits, disporting itself, so to speak, before 
 them, and opening itself out to their gaze, — here 
 it is they enter into the hidden depths of that 
 which is unnameable and into that wild estrange- 
 ment ; and this is the fathomless abyss of all 
 creatm-es, which naught but itself can fathom, 
 and which lies hid from all that is not God, save 
 only from those to whom God pleases to reveal 
 it. And these persons must seek it in detach- 
 ment, and in a certain sense they must behold 
 it ^^dth God Himself; according to the words of 
 Scripture, "We shall know then, even as we 
 ai'e known" (1 Cor. xiii. 12 ; 1 John iii. 2). 
 
 The spirit has not this knowledge from its 
 own self, for the Unity in the Trinity draws it 
 up into Itself — that is to say, into the spirit's 
 true supernatural dwelling-place, in which it 
 dwells above itself in that wliich has di^awn it 
 up thither. Here the spirit dies, and yet is all 
 alive in the marvels of the Godliead. The 
 dying of the spirit consists in this ; that when 
 it has passed away into God it no longer takes 
 note of any distinction between individual ex- 
 istences; nevertheless, as regards the outpour- 
 
310 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 iiig of the Persons and of creatures, it holds 
 firmly the distinction between the tliree Per- 
 sons, and also the separate existence of every 
 creature, as is explained in the Servitor s short 
 treatise concerning Truth. Observ-e, moreover, 
 that when the spirit has passed out of itself in 
 the way described above, there shines forth out 
 of the Unity a simple light, and this modeless 
 light streams out from the three Persons into the 
 purity of the spirit. ^"Vlien this light falls upon 
 the spirit, it sinks down out of itself and all that 
 belongs to self, the activity of all its powers 
 comes to an end, and it is divested of its opera- 
 tions and its self-existence. This arises from 
 the entering of the spirit into God, when it has 
 passed away out of itself as regards the sense, 
 and is lost in the stillness of the glorious dazzling 
 obscurity and of the naked simple Unity. It is 
 in this modeless ichere that the highest bliss is 
 to be found. 
 
 The maiden exclaimed : — Oh, wonderful ! 
 But how is one to enter into it? He answered: 
 — I leave the answer of this question to that 
 bright light St. Denys, who speaks thus to his 
 disciple : If thou w^ouldst enter into the hidden 
 mysteriousness, momit boldly upwards ; and 
 disregarding thy outer and inner senses, and 
 
THE soul's highest FLIGHT. 311 
 
 the workings of thy reason in itself, and all 
 things visible and invisible, and all that is and 
 is not, mount upwards to the simple Unity. 
 Into this thou must press forward without 
 knowing it, even into that silence which is 
 above all being and above all science, with the 
 pui'ity and simplicity of a mind utterly abstracted 
 from every creature, right into the very splen- 
 dours of the Divine darkness. Here thou must 
 let go every hold, and part with every thing 
 created ; for in the superessential Trinity of 
 the God-transcending Godhead, on that mys- 
 terious, incomprehensible, all-dazzhng pinnacle 
 of pinnacles, marvellous things are heard from 
 out the low whispering silence, and marvellous 
 things are felt, new and yet unchangeable, amid 
 the splendours of that dark obscurity, which is 
 the fulness of light and glory manifested, where- 
 in all that is shines forth, and which fills to 
 overflomng the sightless mind of the beholder 
 wdth its incomprehensible, invisible, and efful- 
 gent luminousness. 
 
312 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Chapter LVII. 
 
 The conclusion of the contents of this book in a few simple 
 words. 
 
 The daughter said: — Ah, sir, you speak 
 with so much Christian learning, both from 
 your o\\Ti experience and fr^om Holy Writ, 
 concerning the mystery of the pure Godhead, 
 and the flowing forth and the flowing in again 
 of the spirit, could you not draw out for me 
 this mysterious teaching, as you understand 
 it, under the form of a similitude, that I may 
 be the better able to comprehend it? And I 
 should also be very glad if you would gather 
 together in a short discourse, and illustrate by 
 figures, all the sublime doctrines which you 
 have handled at length, that they may be more 
 firmly fixed in my weak mind. 
 
 He answered ; — How can one express in 
 figures Avhat has no figure, and set forth in 
 words what has no mode of being, seeing that 
 it is above the ken of sense and human reason ? 
 For every thing to which it may be likened 
 is a thousand times more unlike than like it. 
 Nevertheless, in order to expel from your ima- 
 gination figures by figures, I will try, so far as 
 
CONCLUSION. 313 
 
 is possible, to image forth for you in similitudes 
 these form-transcending thoughts, as in truth 
 they may be termed, and thus conclude a long 
 discoui'se in a few words. 
 
 Hearken then. It is said by a learned doc- 
 tor that God, in regard to His Godhead, is Uke 
 a very wide ring, whose centre is every where, 
 and circumference nowhere. Now picture to 
 your imagination what follows. If a stone is 
 Hung with violence into the centre of a sheet 
 of still water, a ring is formed in the water, and 
 this ring by its own might makes a second ring, 
 and the second makes a thu'd; and in proportion 
 to the force of the first fling will be the breadth 
 and width of the circles ; and the force of the 
 fling might be even great enough to pass beyond 
 the limit of the water. Imagine now that the 
 first ring represents the infinite might of the 
 Di\dne nature in the Father. This ^^I'oduces a 
 second ring like it, according to the Person, and 
 this ring is the Son. And the two produce the 
 third, which is the Spirit of both, co-eternal and 
 co-omnipotent with them. Thus the three cir- 
 cles signify Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. In 
 this deep abyss, the Divine nature in the Father 
 is everlastingly speaking forth and begetting the 
 Word as to the personality, and dwelling in Him 
 
314 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 as to the essence — that self-same Word, I mean, 
 who has taken upon Him human natui'e. If any 
 one wishes to picture this to his imagination, let 
 him figure to himself a man, from the depths of 
 whose heart a form like the man's own springs 
 forth, yet in such a way as to be always gazing 
 fixedly upon and retmniing back again into him 
 out of whom he sprang. This spiritual super- 
 essential begetting of the Divine Word is the 
 full and entire cause of the bringing forth of all 
 creatui'es and spirits into their natural state of 
 existence. The supreme superessential Spirit 
 has ennobled man, by illuminating him with 
 a ray from His eternal Godhead; and this is 
 God's image in the rational soul, which also is 
 everlasting. Hence from out the great ring, 
 which represents the eternal Godhead, there flow 
 forth, to carry on the metaphor, little rings, which 
 may be taken to signify the high nobility of 
 rational creatures. 
 
 Now there are some persons who, to their 
 own hurt, turn away from this nobility of their 
 reason, and, plastering over the radiant image 
 of God within them, turn themselves to the 
 bodily pleasures of this world ; and when they 
 fancy that they possess the joy which they are 
 pursuing, stern death comes and puts an end to 
 
CONCLUSIOX. 315 
 
 them. But a man who acts confonnably to 
 reason turns away from the bright spark of his 
 soul to that wliich is eternal, and out of which 
 the spark came forth; and he gives all creatures 
 their dismissal, and cleaves to the eternal Truth 
 alone. 
 
 Attend, likemse, to the right and orderly 
 way in which the flowing back again of the 
 sph'it into God should take place, as set forth 
 in the following instruction: — The first thing 
 which a man should do is to turn away entirely 
 and with all his might from the pleasures of the 
 world, and from sinful practices, to God, ^^dth 
 persevering prayer, seclusion, and wtuous dis- 
 creet exercises, in order thus to bring his body 
 into subjection to the spirit. The second thing 
 is to offer himself willingly and patiently to bear 
 the countless multitude of contradictions which 
 may come upon him from God or creatm'es. 
 The third thing is to take the sufferings of 
 Clirist crucified as the model on which to form 
 himself, and to copy Him in His sweet teach- 
 ing, gentle walk, and pure life, which He pro- 
 posed to us as our example, and in this manner 
 to press onwards through Him. The fourth thing 
 to be done is to divest himself of exterior occu- 
 pations, and to establish himself in a stillness 
 
316 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 and repose of soul by an energetic detachment 
 from all things, as if he were dead to himself, 
 and could not guide himself, and had no other 
 thought but for the honour and glory of Christ 
 and His Heavenly Father. To this he should 
 add an humble bearing towards all men, whether 
 friends or foes. After a man has passed through 
 these exercises, the next point at which he ar- 
 rives is, that his outward senses, which until 
 then were much too actively employed on ex- 
 terior objects, cease from action; and his spirit's 
 highest powers, dying to their natural opera- 
 tion, acquire a supernatui^al sensitiveness. 
 
 Here it is that the spirit, having parted with 
 every thing of nature which had clung to it, 
 presses further in through the ring, which signi- 
 fies the eternal Godhead, and arrives at spiritual 
 perfection. The sublimest wealth of the spirit 
 in its own proper form consists in this : that 
 being now freed from the weight of sin, it soars 
 upwards in the might of God into its divinely 
 illuminated reason, where it enjoys a perpetual 
 influx of heavenly consolations. It can now 
 behold the secret relations of things, and inter- 
 pret them according to reason with true dis- 
 crimination, and it is duly set free from bondage 
 by the Son in the Son. It still, however, con- 
 
CONCLUSION. 317 
 
 tinues to view things in their outflow from God, 
 and to contemplate them as existing each one in 
 its own proper nature. This may be called the 
 transport of the spirit, for it is now lifted up 
 above time and place, and has passed away by 
 intense loving contemplation into God. Now, 
 he who can clear a way for himself still further, 
 and to whom God is pleased to give great and 
 special help by drawing him away mightily from 
 creatures, as He did to St. Paul, and may pos- 
 sibly still do to others, according to what St. 
 Bernard says — this man finds his created spirit 
 seized upon by the superessential Spirit, and 
 drawn into that w^hicli it never could have at- 
 tained to in its own strength. This entry of the 
 spirit into God strips it of all images, forms, and 
 multiplicity, and it loses consciousness of itself 
 and all things, and becomes merged with the 
 three Persons in the abyss of their indwelling 
 simplicity, and enjoys there its highest and 
 truest bliss. Here all striving and seeking 
 cease, for the beginning and the end have be- 
 come one, and the spirit, being divested of itself, 
 has become one wdth them, as is explained else- 
 where with the help of figures.* But as to how 
 a man can pass away in this life, either perma- 
 * In the Treatise on Truth. 
 
318 LIFE OF BLESSED HEXRY SUSO. 
 
 nently or transiently, and how, while he is still 
 in time, he can be caught np above time, more 
 or less, and be drawn out of himself and trans- 
 ported into the formless Unity — all this I have 
 already set forth with the necessary distinctions. 
 And now, daughter, remember that all these 
 figures and images, wdth their interpretations, 
 are as remote from and unlike the formless 
 Truth as a black Moor is milike the beautiful 
 sun ; and this comes from the formless and in- 
 comprehensible-simplicity of the Truth. 
 
 The maiden looked upwards, and said: — 
 Praised be the eternal Truth for the beautiful 
 instruction which I have received from your 
 wise words concerning the first entry of a be- 
 ginner into the interior life, the hindrances 
 which he will meet with as he advances, the 
 things which he will have to avoid, his suifer- 
 ings and his exercises, as well as the hidden 
 mystery of the pure and absolute Truth, accord- 
 ing to the good distinctions which you have 
 laid dovm.. Glory be to God eternally for this. 
 
 Now, when this holy maiden had been thus 
 nobly guided by her spiritual father, with the 
 help of good distinctions and in accordance with 
 the whole Christian truth, along all the ways 
 which end in supreme bhss, and when she had 
 
CONCLUSION. 319 
 
 well mastered it, as far as is possible in this life, 
 he wi'ote to her in his last letter thus : — Come 
 now, daughter; give creatures their dismissal, 
 and leave off thy questionings. Give ear, and 
 listen for thyself to what God will say within 
 thee. Thou mayest well rejoice that thou hast 
 obtained that which to many a one is wanting. 
 Painfully as thou hast earned it, all this is now 
 past and over. Henceforth there is nothing 
 more for thee to do except to possess Divine 
 peace in still repose, and joyfully to await the 
 moment when thou shalt pass away from this 
 life into the fulness of everlasting bliss. 
 
 It came to pass soon afterwards that the holy 
 maiden died; and her end was a blessed one, 
 even as her life had been.* After her death she 
 appeared in a vision to her spiritual father clad 
 in snow-white garments, shining with a dazzling 
 brightness, and full of heavenly joy. She drew 
 nigh to him, and showed him in what noble 
 fashion she had passed away into the pm'e God- 
 head. He saw and heard this with delight, and 
 the vision filled his soul with heavenly consola- 
 tion. When he came to himself again, he 
 sighed deeply, and thought within himself: — 
 
 * Elizabeth Stiiglin died in the convent of Thoss, near 
 Winterthur, a.d. 13G0, five years before her spiritual father. 
 
320 LIFE OF BLESSED HENRY SUSO. 
 
 Ah, God! how blessed is the man who strives 
 after Thee alone ! He may well be content to 
 suffer whose sufferings Thou rewardest thus. 
 God help us to rejoice in this maiden and in 
 all His dear friends, and to enjoy His Divine 
 countenance eternally. Amen. 
 
 THE EISD. 
 
 Loxnc^: 
 
 EOBSON AND SON, GREAT KORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, 
 PANCUAS ROAD, N.W. 
 
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