LIFE AND DOCTRINE OF SAINT CATHERINE OF GENOA
Of the parents and ancestors of the blessed Catherine, and how
at eight years of age she began to do penance; her gift of prayer, and of her
desire to enter into religion, and her marriage against her will.
Catherine was born at Genoa in
the year 1447. Her parents, Giacopo Fieschi and Francesca di Negro, daughter of
Sigismund, Marquis di Negro, were both of illustrious and noble birth. On
account of his merits, her father (a descendant of Robert, brother of Pope
Innocent IV, who was uncle of another Pontiff, Adrain V) was created Viceroy of
Naples, under King Regnier, in which office he remained until his death.
Although of very noble parentage, and very
delicate and beautiful in person, yet from her earliest years, she despised the
pride of birth, and abhorred luxury; so that when only about eight years of
age, she was inspired with the desire to do penance, and beginning to dislike
the soft indulgence of her bed, she laid herself down humbly to sleep on straw,
with a block of hard wood under her head, in the place of pillows of down.
She had in her chamber that image of our Lord,
which is commonly called "La Pieta," and whenever she entered there, and raised
her eyes to it, a violent pain seized her whole frame, caused by her grief and
love at the thought of what our Lord had suffered for love of us.
She led a very simple life, seldom speaking with
any one, very obedient to her parents, well skilled in the way of the divine
precepts, and zealous in the practice of the virtues.
At the age of twelve, God in his grace bestowed
on her the gift of prayer, and a wonderful communion with out Lord, which
enkindled within her a new flame of deep love, together with a lively sense of
the sufferings he endure in his holy passion, with many other good inclinations
for the things of God.
At the age of thirteen, she was inspired with a
desire for the religious life, and immediately communicated this inspiration to
her spiritual father, who was also confessor to the devout convent of our Lady
of Grace, in which she desired to become a nun, together with her pious sister
Limbania. She earnestly begged the Father to make known her holy desire to the
superiors of the convent above mentioned, and urge that they would deign to
receive her into their company. When this prudent, spiritual father saw and
heard such love for religion in one of so tender and delicate age, he began to
represent to her the austerities of the religious life; the innumerable
temptations of the enemy; the delicacy of her body, and many other things, to
all of which Catherine answered with so much prudence and zeal, that the father
was astonished, for her replies did not appear to him human, but supernatural
and divine; and he therefore promised her that he would lay the matter before
the superiors, which he did on the following day, at the same time
communicating to them the prudent, remarkable answers of his spiritual daughter
to his disclosures concerning the temptations and austerities of the religious
life. After taking his proposal into deliberate consideration the superiors of
the convent replied, that they were not accustomed to receive among them girls
of so tender an age. To this the Father made answer that judgment and devotion
not only supplied the want of age, but were better than years; still, they
judged it inexpedient to receive her as it was contrary to their custom, which
decision greatly afflicted the young girl who still trusted that Almighty God
would not abandon her.
At the age of sixteen, she was married by her
parents to a young Genoese of noble family, named, Giuliano Adorno; and
although this step was contrary to her wishes, yet her great simplicity,
submission, and reverence for her parents gave her patience to endure it.
But God, who in his goodness would not leave his
chosen one to place her affections on the world and the flesh, permitted a
husband to be given her entirely the opposite of herself in his mode of life,
who caused her so much suffering, that for ten years, she could hardly support
life, and by his imprudence she was at length reduced to poverty.
The last five of these ten years she devoted to
external affairs, and feminine amusements, seeking solace for her hard life, as
women are prone to do, in the diversions and vanities of the world, yet not to
a sinful extent; and she did this, because, during the five first years, she
suffered inconsolably from sadness; this was constantly increased by the
opposition of her husband's disposition to her own, which distressed her so
much, that one day, (it was the vigil of St Benedict), having gone into the
church of that saint, in her grief she exclaimed: "Pray to God for me, Oh, St
Benedict, that for three months he may keep me sick in bed." This she said
almost in desperation, not knowing what to do, so great was her distress of
mind; for during the three months before her conversion she was overwhelmed
with mental suffering, and filled with deep disgust for all things belonging to
the world; wherefore, she shunned the society of every one. She was oppressed
with a melancholy quite insupportable to herself, and took no interest in
anything.
But after these ten years she was called by God
and converted in a marvelous manner, as will appear hereafter.
She is wounded with divine love in the presence of her
confessor. Manifestations of the love of God and of her own offences. The Lord
appears to her carrying his cross, and she is taken up three degrees toward
God.
The day following the feast of
St Benedict, Catherine, at the instance of her sister, who was a nun, went to
confession at the convent of the latter, although she had no desire to do so;
but her sister said to her: "At least go to obtain the blessing of our
confessor," for he was indeed a holy man. The moment she knelt before him, she
was wounded so forcibly with the love of God, and received so clear a
revelation of her misery and faults, and of the goodness of God, that she had
well nigh fallen to the ground.
Overpowered by these emotions, and by her sense
of the offences she had committed against her dear Lord, she was so drawn away
by her purified affections from the miseries of the world, that she became
almost beside herself; and without ceasing, internally repented to herself, in
the ardor of love: "No more would, no more sin." And at that moment if she had
possessed a thousand worlds, she would have thrown them all away.
Through the ardent flame of burning love with
which she was enkindled, her good God, by his grace, impressed instantly upon
that soul, and infused into it, all perfection, purging it of all earthly
affections, illuminating it with a divine light by which she was enabled to
perceive with her interior eye, his goodness; and in a word, united her with
himself, and changed and transformed her entirely by the true union of a good
will, inflaming her wholly with his burning love.
The saint while in the presence of her confessor
lost entirely all consciousness through this sweet wound of love, so that she
could not speak; but her confessor was not yet aware of this when he chanced to
be called out, and left her so overwhelmed with grief and love, that she said
to him, with great difficulty, when he returned: "With your consent, father, I
will leave my confession till another time;" and she did so. Returning home,
she was so on fire and wounded with the love which God had interiorly
manifested to her, together with the view of her miseries, that, as if beside
herself, she went into a private chamber, and gave vent to her burning tears
and sighs.
At that moment she was instructed interiorly in
prayer, but her lips could only utter: "oh Love! can it be that you have called
me with so much love, and revealed to me at one view, what no tongue can
describe?" For many days she could only utter herself in sighs, and wonderfully
deep they were; and so great was her contrition for her offences against such
infinite goodness, that if she had not been miraculously supported, her heart
would have broken, and she would have died.
But when our Lord saw this soul still more
interiorly inflamed with his love, and filled with sorrow for her sins, he
appeared to her in spirit, with the cross upon his shoulder, dripping with
blood which she saw was shed wholly for love, and this vision so inflamed her
heart, that she was more than ever lost in love and grief.
This vision made such an impression upon her that
she seemed always to see with her bodily eyes, her bleeding Love, nailed to the
cross. Very plainly too did she see all the offences she had committed against
him, and cried out continually: "Oh Love, no more sin, no more sin!" Her hatred
of herself became so great, that filled with disgust she exclaimed: "Oh Love,
if it be necessary I am prepared to make a public confession of my sins."
After this she made her general confession with
such contrition and compunction, that her soul was at once cleansed of its
sins, for God had pardoned them all, consuming them in the flames of love, with
which he had already wounded her heart; yet, to satisfy justice he led her
through the way of satisfaction, permitting that this contrition and
self-knowledge should continue for nearly fourteen months; and when she had
made satisfaction, relieved her of the sight of her sins so entirely that she
never beheld again the least of them, no more than if they had all been cast
into the depths of the sea.
At that moment of her vocation, when she was
wounded at the feet of her confessor, she seemed to be drawn to the feet of our
Lord Jesus Christ, and in spirit beheld all the graces, means, and ways, by
which the Lord, in his pure love, had brought her to conversion. In this light
she remained for more than a year, relieving her conscience by means of
contrition, confession, and satisfaction.
She felt herself drawn with St. John, to rest on
the bosom of her loving Lord, and there she discovered a sweeter way which
contained in itself many secrets of the bounteous love which was consuming her,
so that she was often beside herself; and in her intense eagerness, her hatred
of self, and her deep contrition, she would lick the earth with her tongue, and
so great was the wain of contrition, and the sweetness of love, that she knew
not what she was doing; but she felt her heart lightened, occupied with
unbounded, poignant grief, and the sweet ardor of love. Thus she remained for
three years or more, melted with love and grief, and with the deep and burning
flames that were consuming her heart.
Then she was drawn to the open wound in the side
of the crucified Lord, and there she was allowed to see the Sacred heart of her
Lord burning with the same flames with which her own was enkindled; at the
sight of this, her heart died within her, and her strength abandoned her. This
impression remained for many years which were spent by her, in continual sighs,
and burning flames, so that her heart and soul were well nigh melted, and she
was constrained to cry out: "I have no longer either soul or heart; but my soul
and my heart are those of my Beloved;" and in him she was wholly absorbed and
transformed.
Finally, her sweet and loving Lord drew her to
himself, and bestowed upon her a caress, by the power of which she was entirely
immersed in that sweet Divinity to which she abandoned herself exteriorly, so
that she exclaimed: "I live no longer, but Christ lives in me." She knew no
longer whether her mere human acts were good or bad, but saw all things in God.
How the desire was given her to receive holy communion, and of
its precious effects in her; of her sufferings when she did not receive, and
how it seemed to her that she had lost faith, and walked by sight.
On the day of the Festival of
the Annunciation of the glorious Virgin Mary, after her conversion, that is,
after her loving wound, her Lord gave her the desire for holy communion, which
she never lost during her whole life; and her Love ordered it in such a way,
that communion was given her, without any care on her part, for she was, in a
wonderful manner, provided with it in one way or another; and without asking,
she was often summoned to receive it, by priests inspired by God to give it to
her.
On one occasion a holy religious said to her:
"You receive communion every day, how are you now satisfied?" and she answered
him simply, explaining her desires and feelings. In order to prove her, he said
to her: "Perhaps there may be something wrong in receiving communion so often:"
and then left her. In consequence of this, Catherine, for fear of doing wrong,
abstained from communion, but with great pain; and the religious, finding that
she thought more of doing wrong, than of the consolation and satisfaction of
communion, directed her to make daily communion, and she returned to her
accustomed way.
Once, when at the point of death, so ill that she
was unable to take any sustenance, she said to her confessor: "If you would
give me my Lord three times only, I should be cured." It was done, and her
health was immediately restored. Before receiving communion, she suffered
severe pains about the heart, and said: "My heart is not like that of others,
for it only rejoices in its Lord; and therefore give him to me." It indeed
seemed that otherwise she could not have lived, and if deprived of communion,
her life would have consumed away in suffering. Of this there are many proofs,
for if, on any day, she happened not to receive, she would pass it in almost
insupportable pain, so that her attendants were filled with compassion for her,
and believed it clearly, to be the will of God, that she should receive
daily.
One day, after communion, God gave her such
consolation, that she lost her consciousness, and the priest could not give her
the ablution until she had been restored to herself, and she then exclaimed:
"Oh, Lord, I do not desire to follow thee for these consolations, but only for
pure love."
Although she did not easily shed tears she awoke
one night weeping, when she had dreamed that she was not to receive on the next
day. But if, for any human reason, she could not have received it, she would
have been patient and confident, saying to her Lord: "If thou wouldst, it could
be given to me."
She said, that at the beginning of her
conversion, when this desire of communion was first given to her, she sometimes
envied the priests who received whenever they wished, without causing remarks
from any one. And it was her special desire, to be able to say the three masses
on Christmas day; so that she envied no one in this world but the priests, and
when she saw the Sacrament in the hands of one of them at the altar, she would
say within herself: "Take it, take it quickly, to your heart, for it is the
Lord of the heart." To receive it, she would have gone miles, and endured
fatigues beyond human power to bear.
When she was at mass she was often so occupied
interiorly with her Lord, that she did not hear a word; but when the time came
to receive communion she accused herself, and would say: "Oh! my Lord, it seems
to me that if I were dead, I should come to life, in order to receive thee, and
if an unconsecrated host were given to me, that I should know it by the taste,
as one knows wine from water." She said this, because, when consecrated, it
sent a certain ray of love into the very depths of her heart.
She also said, that if she had seen the whole
court of heaven, arrayed in such a manner, that there was no difference between
God and the angels, yet the love in her heart would have caused her to know
God, as the dog knows his master: and much sooner, and with less effort,
because love, which is God, himself, instantly and directly finds its end, and
last repose.
At one time, on receiving, she perceived such an
odor and such sweetness, that she believed herself in Paradise, when suddenly
she turned towards her Lord, and humbly said: "O Lord perhaps thou wouldst draw
me to thee by this fragrance? I do not desire it; I desire nothing but thee,
and thee wholly; thou knowest, that from the beginning I have asked of thee the
grace that I might never see visions, nor receive external consolations, for so
clearly do I perceive thy goodness, that I do not seem to walk by faith but by
a true and heartfelt experience."
How she was unable to take food during Lent and Advent, being
sustained by the Blessed Sacrament
Some time after her conversion,
on the day the Annunciation of our Lady, her Love spoke within her, saying,
that he wished her to keep the fast in his company in the desert, and
immediately she became unable to eat, so that she was without food for the body
until Easter, and with the exception of the three fast days, on which she had
the grace to be able to eat, she took nothing during the whole of Lent.
She afterwards ate, as at other times, without
disgust; and in this manner she passed twenty-three Lents and as many Advents,
during which time she took nothing but a tumblerful of water, vinegar, and
pounded salt. When she drank this mixture, it seemed seemed as if it were
thrown upon a red-hot surface, and that it was at once dried up in the great
fire that was burning within her. How wonderful! for no one, however healthy,
could bear a drink of this kind, fasting; but she described the sweetness that
proceeded from her burning heart, as so great, that even this harsh beverage
refreshed her.
This rejection of food, at first, gave her great
trouble, for now knowing the cause, she suspected some deception; but when she,
again and again, forced herself to take food, and her stomach rejected it, all
her family, as well as herself, regarded it as a prodigy; for even when she
attempted to eat, in obedience to her confessor, the result was the same.
This was the more remarkable, because at other
times she could eat and retain her food, even up to the very day when Lent and
Advent began. During the seasons when she could not eat, she practiced pious
works more than at other times, she slept better, and felt stronger and more
active; and she also went to table with the others, to avoid, as far as
possible, all singularity; and even forced herself to taste something, in order
to escape observation; then she would say to herself: "Oh if you knew what I
feel within!" By this she meant the burning and pure love, and union with God,
which those around her could hardly endure, so much were they astonished that
she could not eat; but she paid no heed to them, saying to herself: "If we
regarded the operations of God, we should look at the interior more than the
exterior. Living without food is purely an operation of God, without my will;
but it is nothing to boast of, or to cause surprise, for to him it is as
nothing. The pure light shows us, that we should not regard the manifestations
that God makes of himself for our necessities and his own glory, but only the
pure love with which his divine majesty performs his work in our behalf, and
the soul becoming these pure operations of a love which looks for no good that
we can do, must needs love him purely, without regard to any particular grace
which she receives from him, but looking to him alone, for himself alone, who
is worthy of being loved without measure, and with no reference either to soul
or body."
Of her great penances and mortifications
During the first four years
after she had received the sweet wound from her Lord, she performed many
penances, and mortified all her senses. She deprived her nature of all that it
desired, and obliged it to take what it disliked. She wore hair-cloth, and ate
no meat, nor fruit of any kind, either fresh or dry; and being by nature
courteous and affable, she did great violence to herself, by conversing as
little as possible with her relatives when they visited her, without any
respect to herself or to them; and if any one was surprised by it, she took no
notice.
She practiced great austerity in sleeping, lying
down on sharply pointed things. As soon as she determined to do any thing, she
never felt any temptation to the contrary. The fire within was so great, that
she took no account of exterior things relating to the body, although she
neglected no necessary work; and no temptations except those of her natural
inclinations could affect her. This was the case throughout her whole
after-life. She so resisted her natural inclinations, that they were completely
destroyed. Temptations like insects, could not approach the flames of pure love
enkindled in her heart.
Her eyes were always cast down. During the first
four years of her conversion she spent six hours daily in prayer, for such was
the obedience of her body to the spirit, that it dared not rebel, although it
suffered keenly; and she thus fulfilled in herself the words: cor meum, et
caro meo, exultaverunt in Deum vivum.
During these first four years, the
interior fire that was consuming her produced such extreme hunger, and so
quickly did she digest her food, that she could have devoured iron. She
comprehended that this desire for food was something supernatural. She was also
unable to speak except in so low a tone as scarcely to be understood, so
powerful was her interior feeling.
Most of the time she appeared like one beside
herself, for she neither spoke, nor heard, nor tasted nor valued any thing in
the world; neither did she look at any thing.
Yet she lived in subjection to every one, and was
always more inclined to do the will of others than her own. And it is
remarkable, that although God even in the beginning made her perfect by infused
grace, so that she was at once entirely purified in her affections, illuminated
and peaceful in her intellect, and transformed in all things by his sweet love,
yet it was the will of God, that the divine justice should be observed in the
mortification of all her senses, which, although they were already mortified,
so far as regarded the consent to any natural inclinations, even the slightest,
yet the Lord allowed her to see what these were, and therefore, she very
carefully opposed them.
She was sometimes asked, when practising such
mortifications of all her senses: "Why are you doing this?" And she answered:
"I do not know, but I feel myself interiorly and irresistibly drawn to do so,
and I believe that this is the will of God; but it is not his will that I
should have any object in it." And it seemed indeed to be the truth, for, at
the end of four years, all these mortifications ended, so that if she still
wished to practice them, she could no longer have done so.
At that time, listening one day to a sermon in
which the conversion of Mary Magdalen was narrated, she heard a voice in her
heart saying: "I understand;" and by her correspondence with the preaching, she
perceived her conversion to have been like that of Magdalen.
How she was withdrawn by God from the use of her senses. Of
three rules given her by the Lord, and of certain words chosen from the Our
Father and Hail Mary, and from the whole of the Holy Scripture.
After the four years above
mentioned, her mind became clear and free, and so filled with God that nothing
else ever entered into it. At mass and instructions her bodily senses were
closed; but interiorly, in the divine light, she saw and heard many things,
being wholly absorbed in secret delights; and it was not in her power to do
otherwise.
It is wonderful, that with all this interior
occupation, God did not allow her to depart from the usual order. Whenever it
was needful, she returned to her accustomed mode of life, answered the
questions put to her, and thus she gave no cause of complaint to any one.
She was sometimes so lost in the sense of divine
love, that she was obliged to hide herself, for she was like one dead. In order
to escape such a condition, she endeavored to remain in the company of others,
and said to her Lord: "I wish not, O sweet Love, for that which proceeds from
thee, but for thyself alone!" She wished to love God without soul and without
body, and unsustained by them, with a direct, pure, and sincere, love; but the
more she shunned these consolations, the more her Lord bestowed them upon her.
Sometimes she was found in a remote place, prostrate on the earth, her face
covered with her hands, so completely lost in the sweetness of divine love,
that she was insensible to the loudest cry.
At other times she would walk back and forth, as
if lost to self, and following the attraction of love.
Sometimes, when she had been thus lifeless for
the space of six hours, she would be aroused suddenly by the voices of persons
calling her, and attend to their smallest wants, for she abandoned as hateful
all right to self. On these occasions she came forth from her retirement, with
a glowing countenance, like a cherub ready to exclaim: "Who will separate me
from the love of God," with all the other words of that glorious apostle.
Her love once said to her interiorly: "My
daughter, observe these three rules, namely: never say I will or I will not.
Never say mine, but always ours. Never excuse yourself, but always accuse
yourself." Moreover he said to her: "When you repeat the `Our Father' take
always for your maxim, Fiat voluntas tua, that is, may his will be done
in everything that may happen to you, whether good or ill; from the `Hail Mary'
take the word Jesus, and may it be implanted in your heart, and it will
be a sweet guide and shield to you in all the necessities of life. And from the
rest of Scripture take always for your support this word, Love, with
which you will go on your way, direct, pure, light, watchful, quick,
enlightened, without erring, yet without a guide or help from any creature; for
love needs no support, being sufficient to do all things without fear; neither
does love ever become weary, for even martyrdom is sweet to it. And, finally,
this love will consume all the inclinations of the soul, and the desires of the
body, for the things of this life."
How even her humanity was affected by the burning fire of this
love; how much she desired to die, and took delight in hearing masses, bells,
and offices, for the dead.
When the use of her senses and
facilities was thus lost, in her spiritual joy she said to her humanity: "Are
you satisfied with being thus fed?" And humanity answered: "Yes," and that she
would sacrifice every enjoyment in this life for it. What must have been the
joys of the soul, if even humanity, so contrary to the spirit, also took
delight in peace and union with God?
This was the case from the beginning, but at
last, that burning, interior flame burst forth, and caused a corresponding
suffering in the body, so that she was often obliged to press her hand upon her
heart for relief. She could not have endured these pains for two successive
days, and after their intensity had passed away, her heart was left melted in a
divine and wonderful sweetness.
God allowed her to remain for some days, in this
state, and then permitted her to be assailed by another and still more violent
attach, so that humanity, rather than take food, would have suffered martyrdom;
therefore, when she looked on the dead, or heard offices and masses, or even a
passing bell, she rejoiced as if she were going to behold that truth which she
experienced in her heart; and she would rather have died than live separated
from those things in which she found her support and consolation.
She became reduced to such a condition, that she
had no rest but when she slept; and then she felt herself freed from prison,
because her attention was not so continually riveted on God. Her desire for
death remained for nearly two years, and she was always asking for it, saying:
"O cruel death, why do you keep me so anxiously waiting for you?" This desire
knew no why, nor how, and it continued until she began to make daily
communion.
Filled with this desire, she addressed death, as
"Gentle death, sweet, gracious, beautiful, strong, rich, precious, death," and
by every other name of honor and dignity that she could call to mind, and then
added: "I find, O death, but one fault in thee, thou art too sparing of thyself
to him who desires thee, and too ready for him who shuns thee; yet I see that
thou dost all things, according to the will of God, which is without fault; but
our irregular appetites do not correspond, for if they did so, they would rest
on the divine will, in peace and silence, as death itself does, and we should
have no more choice than if we were already dead and buried." But she said, it
really seemed, if there were any choice for her, that death was the thing to be
chosen, because thus the soul is secure from ever offering any hindrance to
pure love, and is liberated from the prison of this wretched body and of the
world, which, with all their power, are continually engaging her, in every way,
in their own occupations, while she regards them as her enemies to which she is
outwardly subjected.
When she was performing cruel penances, the
sensitive nature never opposed her, but was entirely obedient; but when
inflamed with love, it was wonderful how restive it became, and how much it
suffered. And for this reason, because in penances the spirit corresponded to
humanity, and strengthened her for her share in the work, but afterwards, the
spirit being separated from visible things, and God operating in it without
means, humanity was left in abandonment, and suffered intolerably without any
help. Humanity is indeed capable of penance, but is not capable of such burning
love.
But everything was regulated by her merciful God,
with the highest wisdom, which enabled the body to endure the most severe
penance, and to live and rejoice in these agonizing flames, without
complaining; and no one can know how severe is this suffering, unless he has
himself experienced it.
How the Saint devoted herself to pious works, and served in a
hospital.
In the beginning of her
conversion she devoted herself to good works, seeking for the poor throughout
the city, under the guidance of the Ladies of Mercy on whom devolved this
charge and who, according to the custom of the city, supplied her with money
and provisions for the poor. She cleansed their houses from the most disgusting
filth, and she would even put it in her mouth, in order to conquer the disgust
it produced. She took home the garments of the poor, covered with dirt and
vermin, and having cleansed them thoroughly, returned them to their owners. It
was remarkable that nothing unclean was ever found upon herself: she also
tended the sick with most devoted affection, speaking to them of their
spiritual as well as of their temporal affairs.
She took charge of the great hospital of Genoa,
where nothing escaped her watchful care, although her incessant occupations
never diminished her affection for God, her sweet Love; neither did this love
ever cause her to neglect her service in the hospital, which was regarded as a
miracle by all who saw her. It is also remarkable that she never made the
mistake of a single farthing, in the accounts of large sums of money which she
was obliged to keep, and, for her own little necessities, she made use of her
own little income.
There was once in the hospital a very pious woman
of the third order of St. Francis, who was dying of a malignant fever. She was
in her agony for eight days, and during that time, Catherine often visited her,
and would say to her: "Call Jesus!" Unable to articulate, she moved her lips so
that it was conjectured that she tried to do so, and Catherine, when she saw
her mouth so filled, as it were, with Jesus, could not restrain herself from
kissing her, and in this way took the fever, and only narrowly escaped death.
This, however, did not diminish her zeal in the service of the hospital, to
which she returned immediately upon her recovery, and devoted herself to it
with great care and diligence.
Of her wonderful knowledge of God and of herself.
This servant of God had an
almost incredible knowledge of herself. She was so purified and enlightened, so
united with and transformed into God, her Love, that what she said seemed to be
uttered not by a human tongue, but rather by one angelic and divine; which
proves the truth that numble souls, thirsting after God, can often grasp what
the mere human intellect can never attain or comprehend. She was accustomed to
say: "If it were possible for me to suffer as much as all the martyrs have
suffered, and even hell itself, for the love of God, and in order to make
satisfaction to him, it would be after all only a sort of injury to God, in
comparison with the love and goodness with which he has created, and redeemed,
and, in a special manner, called me. For man, unassisted by God's grace, is
even worse than the devil, because the devil is a spirit without a body, while
man, without the grace of God, is a devil incarnate. Man has a free will,
which, according to the ordination of God, is in nowise bound, so that he can
do all the evil that he wills; to the devil, this is impossible, since he can
act only by the divine permission; and when man surrenders to him his evil
will, the devil employs it, as the instrument of his temptation."
And hence she said: "I see that whatever is good
in myself, in any other creature, or in the saints, is truly from God; if, on
the other hand, I do any thing evil, it is I alone who do it, nor can I charge
the blame of it upon the devil or upon any other creature; it is purely the
work of my own will, inclination, pride, selfishness, sensuality, and other
evil dispositions, without the help of God I should never do any good thing. So
sure am I of this, that if all the angels of heaven were to tell me I have
something good in me, I should not believe them."
This holy soul knew in what true perfection
consists, and had, moreover a knowledge of all imperfections. There is nothing
surprising in this, for her interior eye was enlightened, her affections
purified, and her heart wholly united to God, her Love, in whom she saw things
wonderful and hidden from human sense. She said, therefore: "So long as any one
can speak of divine things, enjoy and understand them, remember and desire
them, he has not yet arrived in port; yet there are ways and means to guide him
thither. But the creature can know nothing but what God gives him to know from
day to day, nor can he comprehend beyond this, and at each instant remains
satisfied with what he receives. If the creature knew the height to which God
is prepared to raise him in this life, he would never rest, but on the contrary
would feel a certain craving, a vehement desire to reach quickly that ultimate
perfection, and would think himself in hell until he had obtained it."
Even at the beginning of her conversion, this
holy and devout soul, inflamed with divine love, was wont to exclaim: "Oh!
Lord, I desire thee wholly, for in thy clear and strong light I see that the
soul can never be at peace until she has attained her last perfection. Oh,
sweet Lord! if I believed that I should lose one spark of thee, I could no
longer live." Again she said: "It appeared to me, as I noted from time to time,
that the love wherewith I loved my sweet Love, grew greater day by day, and
yet, at each step, I had thought it as perfect as it could be, for love has
this property that it can never perceive in itself the least defect. But as my
vision grew clearer, I beheld in myself many imperfections which, had I seen
them in the beginning, I should have esteemed nothing, not even hell itself,
too great or painful that would have rid me of them. In the beginning they were
hidden from me, for it was the purpose of God to accomplish his work by little
and little, in order to keep me humble, and enable me to remain among my fellow
creatures. And finally, seeing a completed work entirely beyond the creature, I
am compelled to say what before I could not say, and confess how clear it is to
me that all our works are even more imperfect than any creature can fully
understand."
This holy creature was accustomed to use the
words: "Sweetness of God; purity of God," and other beautiful expressions of
the same kind. Sometimes she uttered expressions like these: "I see without
eyes, hear without understanding, feel without feeling, and taste without
tasting. I know neither form nor measure; for without seeing I yet behold an
operation so divine that the words I first used, perfection, purity, and the
like seem to me now mere lies in the presence of the truth. The sun which once
looked so bright is now dark; what was sweet is now bitter, because sweetness
and beauty are spoiled by contact with creatures. Nor can I any longer say: `My
God, my All.' Everything is mine, for all that is God's seems to be wholly
mine. Neither in heaven nor on earth shall I ever again use such words, for I
am mute and lost in God. Nor can I call the saints blessed, nor the blessed
holy, for I see that their sanctity and their beatitude is not theirs, but
exists only in God. I see nothing good or blessed in any creature if it be not
wholly annihilated and absorbed in God, so that he alone may remain in the
creature and the creature in him.
"This is the beatitude that the blessed might
have, and yet they have it not, except in so far as they are dead to themselves
and absorbed in God. They have it not in so far as they remain in themselves
and can say: `I am blessed.' Words are wholly inadequate to express my meaning,
and I reproach myself for using them. I would that every one could understand
me, and I am sure that if I could breathe on creatures, the fire of love
burning within me would inflame them all with divine desire. O thing most
marvelous! So great is my love for God, that beside it all love for the
neighbor seems only hypocrisy. I can no longer condescend to creatures, or if I
do so, it is only with pain, for to me the world seems only to live in vanity."
How impossible it was for vain-glory to enter the mind of this
holy creature. Of the light which hatred of self gave her, and of the value of
our own actions.
Vain-glory could never enter
her mind, for she had seen the truth, and distrusting herself, placed her whole
confidence in God, saying always: "Oh Lord! do with me what thou wilt." She had
so little esteem of herself that it was pleasing to her to be reproved for any
inclination she might have, nor did she ever excuse herself. So clear was the
interior vision of that illuminated mind, and such deep things did she say
concerning perfection that she could hardly be understood except by the most
profound intellects. Among other things she said: "I would not wish to see one
meritorious act attributed to myself, even if it were the means of insuring my
salvation; for I should be worse than a demon, to wish to rob God of his own.
Yet it is needful that we ourselves act, for the divine grace neither vivifies
nor aids that which does not work itself, and grace will not save us without
our cooperation. I repeat it; all works, without the help of grace are dead,
being produced by the creature only; but grace aids all works performed by
those who are not in mortal sin, and makes them worthy of heaven; not those
which are ours solely, but those in which grace cooperates." So jealous was she
for the glory of God, that she was wont to say: "If I could find any good in
any creature, (which, however, is impossible) I would tear it from her, and
restore it all to God."
Of the revelation she had concerning purity of conscience, and
of the opposition of sin to God.
Illuminated by a clear ray from
the true light which shone into this holy soul she spoke admirable things
concerning purity of conscience, saying: "Purity of conscience can endure
nothing but God only; for he alone is spotless, simple, pure: of all things
else, that is, of what is evil, it cannot endure even the smallest spark; this
can neither be understood nor appreciated, if it be not felt." Hence she had
ever in her mouth, as a habit, this word Purity: she had also a
cleanliness and purity most admirable in her speech. She wished that every
conception and emotion of the mind should issue to from it undefiled and pure,
without the least complexity, and thus it was impossible for her to feign a
sympathy she did not feel, or to condole with others out of friendship, except
so far as she really corresponded with them in her heart. The continual
humility, contempt, and hatred of self, in this soul were at this time most
remarkable. When, by the divine permission, she suffered such mental distress
that she could scarcely open her mouth, she would then say: "Oh, Love! let me
remain thus, that I may be submissive; for otherwise it would be impossible
that I should not do something wrong. Oh, how good and admirable is the
knowledge of a soul, which, being all protected, united, and transformed in
God, her felicity, sees clearly, on one side, her own inclination to all that
is evil, and on the other, how she is restrained by God, that she may not
commit actual sin! One thing is certain; namely, that never is the soul so
perfect that it does not need the continual help of God, even though it be
transformed in him. It is true, that the nature of the sweet God is such, that
he never allows these souls to fall, although the soul, left to herself, could
fall if she were not thus restrained. But he only preserves those who never
with their free will consent unto sin; and allows those to fall who do
voluntarily yield assent thereto; for truly, having given us free will, he will
not force it. Consequently, those who fall into sin do so by their own fault,
and not by that of God, who is ever ready to aid the soul even after her fall,
if she will allow herself to be aided, and will correspond to the divine grace
which never ceases to call her, saying: `Turn from evil and do good, and be
converted to me with your whole heart.'"
And therefore she said: "If the soul, fallen into
what sins soever, corresponds to the grace of God and abhors her past sins,
with a resolution and a will to sin no more, he immediately frees her from her
guilt, and holds her so that she may not fall, nor through her own malice be
separated from him, that is, from the observance of his commandments which are
his will; to sin voluntarily, is to be separated from God. And not only is he
ready, on his own part to do all this, but I see clearly with the interior eye,
that the sweet God loves with a pure love the creature that he has created, and
has a hatred for nothing but sin, which is more opposed to him than can be
thought or imagined. I say, God loves his creature with a perfection that
cannot be understood, nor could it be even by an angelic intellect which would
fail to comprehend even its slightest spark. And if God wished to make a soul
understand, it would be necessary to give her an immortal body, since by nature
it could never endure the knowledge. For it is impossible that God and sin,
however slight, should remain together, for such an impediment would prevent
the soul from attaining to his glory. And as a little thing that thou hast in
thine eye will not allow thee to see the sun, and as it is possible to compare
the difference between God and the sun to that between the intellectual vision
and that of the bodily eye, it is plain that the great opposition between the
one and the other can never be truly imagined.
"Wherefore, it is necessary that the soul which
desires to be preserved from sin in this life, and to glorify God in the other,
should be spotless, pure, and simple, and not voluntarily retain a single thing
which is not purged by contrition, confession and satisfaction, because all our
works are imperfect and defective. Whence, if I consider and observe clearly,
with the interior eye, I see that I ought to live entirely detached from self;
Love has wished me to understand this, and in a manner I do understand it, so
that I could not possibly be deceived; and for my part I have so abandoned
myself, that I can regard it only as a demon, or worse, if I may so say."
"After God has given a soul the light in which
she perceives the truth that she cannot even will, and much less work, apart
from him, without always soiling and making turbid the clear waters of his
grace, then she sacrifices all to him, and he takes possession of his creature,
and both inwardly and outwardly occupies her with himself, so that she can do
nothing but as her sweet Love wills. Then the soul, by reason of its union with
God, contradicts Him in nothing, nor does aught but what is pure, upright,
gentle, sweet, and delightful, because God allows nothing to molest it. And
these are the works which please the Lord our God."
Of the great and solicitous care which God operates in divers
ways in order to attract the soul to himself, so that he seems to be in a
manner our servant.--Of the blindness of man.--Of the many ways in which he is
deceived by his own self-will.
"I see that the sweet God is so
solicitous for the welfare of the soul, that no human being could have a like
anxiety to gain the whole world even if he were certain to obtain it by his
efforts; when behold the love he displays in providing us with all possible
aids to lead us into heaven, I am, as it were, forced to say that this sweet
Master appears as if he were our servant. If man could see the care which God
takes of a soul, nothing more would be necessary to amaze and confound him than
to consider that this glorious God, in whom all things have their being, should
have so great a providence over his creatures; yet we, to whom it is a matter
either of salvation or damnation, hold it in light esteem."
"But alas! how can this be so? If we esteem not
that which God esteems, what else should we esteem? O wretched man, where dost
thou lose thyself? What dost thou with that time, so precious, of which thou
hast such need? What with those goods with which thou shouldst buy Paradise?
What with thy body, which was given thee to work for and to serve thy soul?
What with thy soul, whose end is to be united to God by love? All these thou
hast turned towards earth, which produces a seed whose fruits thou wilt eat
with the demons in hell with infinite despair, because, having lost that glory
for which thou wert created, and to which so many inspirations called thee,
thou wilt then see that thou hast failed to secure it through thine own fault
alone.
"Know for a certainty that if men understood how
terrible is even one solitary sin, they would rather be cast into a heated
furnace, and there remain, living both in soul and body, than to support such a
sight. And if the sea were all fire they would cast themselves therein and
never leave it, if they were certain of meeting the sin on doing so." To many
this will appear a strange saying, but to the saint these things had been shown
as in truth they were, and such a comparison seemed to her but a trifling one;
she added:
"It has happened to me to behold something almost
too shameful to relate, and this is that man seems to live quite merrily in
sin; it astonishes me that a thing so terrible should receive so little
consideration." She said again: "When I see and contemplate what God is, and
what our own misery is, and behold the many ways by which he seeks to exalt us,
I am transported beyond myself with astonishment. On the part of man, I see
such a perversity and rebellion against God, that it seems impossible to bend
his will except by the lure of things greater than those he enjoys here in this
life. This is because the soul loves visible things, and will not renounce one
but with the hope of four. And even with this hope, she would still seek to
escape, if God did not retain her by his exterior and interior graces, without
which man, whose instincts are naturally corrupt, could not be saved; for we
are naturally corrupt, could not be saved; for we are naturally prone to add
actual to original sin, and to continually tend toward earth for our
satisfactions. And as Adam opposed his own will to the divine will, so we must
seek to have the will of God as our only object, and by it to have our own
disposed and annihilated. And as we cannot by ourselves discover our own evil
inclinations, and our secret self-love, nor possibly annihilate our own
self-will, it is very useful to subject our will to that of some other
creature, and to do its bidding for the love of God. And the more we so subject
ourselves for that divine love, so much the more shall we emancipate ourselves
from that evil plague of our self-will which is so subtle and hidden within us,
and works in so many ways, and defends itself by so many pleas that it is like
the very demon. What it cannot effect in one way, it does in another, and this
under many disguises. Now it is known as charity, now as necessity, justice,
perfection, or suffering for God, or seeking for spiritual consolation, or for
health, or as a good example to others, or a condescension to those who seek
our advantage. It is an abyss, so deep and dangerous, that no one but God can
save us from it. And as he sees this more clearly than we, he has great
compassion for us, and never ceases to send us good inspirations and to seek to
liberate us, not by forcing our free-will, but rather by disposing us in so
many loving ways, that the soul, when she comes to understand the great care
which God has taken of her, is forced to exclaim: `O my God, it appears to me
that thou hast nothing else to think of but my salvation! What am I that thou
shouldst so care for me? Thou art God who thus carest for me, and I am nothing
but myself. Can it be possible that I should not esteem what thou esteemest?
that I should not remain ever obedient to thy commandments, and attentive to
all the gracious inspirations thou sendest me by so many ways?'"
How she sees the source of goodness is in God, and how
creatures participate in it.
"I saw," said she, "a sight
which greatly consoled me. I was shown the living source of goodness in God, as
it was when yet alone and unparticipated in by any creature. Then I saw it
begin to communicate itself to the creatures, and it did so to the fair company
of angels, in order to give them the fruition of its own ineffable glory,
demanding no other return from them than that they should recognize themselves
as creatures, created by the supreme goodness, and having their being wholly
from God, apart from whom all things are reduced to pure nonentity. The same
must be said of the soul, which also was created immortal, that it might attain
to beatitude; for if there were no immortality there could be no happiness. And
because the angels were incapable of annihilation, therefore when their pride
and disobedience robed them in the vesture of sin, God deprived them of that
participation in his goodness, which, by his grace, he had ordained to give
them: hence they remained so infernal and terrible that none, even of those who
are specially enlightened by God, can possibly conceive their degradation. He
did not, however, subtract all his mercy from them, for had he done so, they
would be still more malicious, and would have a hell as infinitely immense in
torture as it is in duration.
"God also is patient with man, his creature,
while he remains in this world (although in sin), supporting him by his
goodness, by which we are either tortured, or enabled to endure joyfully all
grievous things, accordingly as he wishes to impart more or less to us. Of this
goodness we sinners participate in this life, because God knows our flesh,
which is the occasion of so much ignorance and weakness; and, therefore, while
we are in this present life, he bears patiently with us, and allures us to him
by hidden communications of his bounty: but, should we die in mortal sin (which
God forbid), then he would deprive us of his mercy, and leave us to ourselves;
yet not altogether so, because in every place he wills that his mercy shall
accompany his justice. And were it possible to find a creature which in no
degree participated in the divine goodness, it would be almost as bad as God is
good.
"This I say, because God showed me somewhat of
his truth, in order that I might know what man is without him; that is, when
the soul is found in mortal sin, at that time, it is so monstrous and horrible
to behold, that it is impossible to imagine anything equally so.
"No one need be surprised at this which I say and
feel, namely, that I can no longer live in myself, that I am with a single
motion of my own proper will, intellect, or memory. Wherefore, whether I speak,
walk, remain quiet, sleep, eat, or do anything else, as if from my own proper
self, I do not feel or know it. All these things are so far removed from me,
that is, from the interior of my heart, that the distance is like that between
heaven and earth; and if any of these things could by any mode enter into me,
and give me such an enjoyment as ordinarily they produce, without doubt, I
should be filled with misery, for I should feel it to be a retrogression from
that which had formerly been shown me, and that it ought to have been
destroyed. In this manner, all my natural inclinations, both of soul and body,
are being consumed; and I know it to be necessary that all that is ours should
waste away until nothing of it can be found; this is on account of its
malignity, which nothing is able to overcome but the infinite goodness of God;
and if it be not hidden and consumed, it will never be possible for us to be
freed from this goad which is more than infernal, and which, so far as we are
concerned, I behold to grow more horrible daily, so that one who was interiorly
enlightened, yet had no confidence in God, would be driven to despair by the
sight; so dreadful are we when compared to God, who, with great love and
solicitude, continually seeks to aid us."
It was still further shown to her in spirit how
all the works of men (especially those which are spiritual), without the aid of
supernatural grace, remain near God, without fruit, and are of little or no
value. She saw also that God never fails to knock at the heart of man in order
to enter therein and justify his works, and that none can ever complain that he
was not called, for God is ever knocking, and not more at the hearts of the
good than at those of the evil.
How she was entirely transformed in God, and hated to say me
or mine.--What pride is.--Of the error of man who seeks for plenty and
happiness on earth, where they cannot be found.--What a misfortune it is to be
without love.
And continuing her discourse,
she said: "I have always seen, and I am ever seeing more and more clearly, that
there is no good except in God, and that all lesser goods which can be found
are such only by participation; but pure and simple love cannot desire to
receive from God anything, however good it may be, which is merely a good of
participation, because God wishes it to be as pure, great, and simple as he is
himself, and if the least thing were wanting to this perfection, love could not
be contented, but would suffer as if in hell. And therefore I say that I cannot
desire any created love, that is, love which can be felt, enjoyed, or
understood. I do not wish love that can pass through the intellect, memory, or
will; because pure love passes all these things and transcends them." She said
also:
"I shall never rest until I am hidden and
enclosed in that divine heart wherein all created forms are lost, and, so lost,
remain thereafter all divine; nothing else can satisfy true, pure, and simple
love. Therefore I have resolved so long as I live to say always to the world
that it may do with my exterior as it wills, but with my interior this cannot
be allowed, because it cannot, it will not occupy itself except in God, nor
could it possibly wish to do otherwise, for he has locked it up within himself
and will discover it to no one.
"Knowing that with all his power he is
continually striving to annihilate this humanity, his creature, both inwardly
and outwardly, in order that when it is entirely destroyed, the soul may issue
with him from the body and thus united ascend to heaven; in my soul, therefore,
I can see no one but God, since I suffer no one else to enter there, and myself
less than any other, because I am my own worst enemy."
"If, however, it happens to be necessary to speak
of myself, I do so on account of the world, which would not understand me
should I name myself otherwise than as men are named, yet inwardly I say: my
self is God, nor is any other self known to me except my God.
"And likewise when I speak of being, I say: all
things which have being, have it from the essence of God by his participation:
but pure love cannot stop to contemplate this general participation coming from
God, nor to consider whether in itself, considered as a creature, it receives
it in the same way as do the other creatures which more or less participate
with God. Pure love cannot endure such comparison; on the contrary, it exclaims
with a great impetus of love; my being is God, not by participation only but by
a true transformation and annihilation of my proper being.
"Now take an example: the elements are not
capable of transformation, for it is their nature to remain fixed, and, because
this is the law of their being, they have not free-will, and it is impossible
for them to vary from their original state. But every one who desires to remain
firm in his own mind must have God as his chief end, who arrests every creature
at that end for which he has created it, otherwise it would be impossible to
detain it; it is insatiable until it has reached its true centre, which is God
himself.
"Now although man is created for the possession
of happiness, yet, having deviated from his true end, his nature has become
deformed and is entirely repugnant to true beatitude. And on this account we
are forced to submit to God this depraved nature of ours which fills our
understanding with so many occupations, and causes us to deviate from the true
path, in order that he may entirely consume it until nothing remains there but
himself; otherwise the soul could never attain stability nor repose, for she
was created for no other end.
"Therefore, whenever God can do so, he attracts
the free-will of man by sweet allurements, and afterwards disposes it in such a
manner that all things may conduce to the annihilation of man's proper being.
So that in God is my being, my me, my strength, my beatitude, my good,
and my delight. I say mine at present because it is not possible to
speak otherwise; but I do not mean by it any such thing as me or
mine, or delight or good, or strength or stability, or beatitude; nor could
I possibly turn my eyes to behold such things in heaven or in earth; and if,
notwithstanding, I sometimes use words which may have the likeness of humility
and of spirituality, in my interior I do not understand them, I do not feel
them. In truth it astonishes me that I speak at all, or use words so far
removed from the truth and from that which I feel. I see clearly that man in
this world deceives himself by admiring and esteeming things which are not, and
neither sees nor esteems the things which are. Listen to what Fra Giacopone
says about this in one of his lauds, that one which commences: O love of
poverty. He says: What appears to thee, is not, so great is that which
is; pride is in heaven; humility condemns itself. He says what appears,
that is, all things visible and created are not and have no true being in
themselves; so great is that which is, namely God, in whom is all true
being. Pride is in heaven; that is, the true greatness is in heaven and
not on earth; humility condemns itself, that is, the affections placed
on things created which are humble and vile, not having in themselves any true
being.
"But let us consider more attentively this matter
namely this human blindness which takes white for black and holds pride for
humility and humility for pride, and from which springs the perverse judgment
which is the cause of all confusion. Let us see what pride may be. I say,
according to what I see with the interior eye, pride is nothing else but
an elevation of the mind to things which surpass man and are above his
dignity, and whenever man abandons that which is, and which knows, and
which is powerful, for that which in truth has neither existence, knowledge,
nor power, this is not pride.
"This degrades him, and it generates that pride
accompanied by presumption, self-esteem, and arrogance which occasions so many
sins against charity for the neighbor; for man believes himself to be such as
he appears in his disordered mind which is so full of miseries. Therefore God
says to this proud man: If thou seekest, according to the nature of the created
soul, for such great things as seem at present to be good and for that
happiness which belongs to earth, know that they are not, they cannot satisfy
nor afford contentment seek rather in heaven, where pride is lawful, and where
it is not placed in things empty and vain, but in those which are really great,
which always remain and which cause a sinless pride; but if thou seekest after
worthless things thou shalt never find them and shalt lost those which thou
shouldst have sought.
"If man's eyes were pure, he would see clearly
that things which pass away so quickly as do those which in this world are
esteemed beautiful, good, and useful, could not truly be said to be so, such
words being suitable only for things which have no end. Hence, man, if he
prides himself upon temporal things, becomes unable to attain those that are
celestial and eternal, degenerates into a vile and humble creature whose
greatness is lost and who is degraded to the condition of the things he has
always sought. Think, alas, what will become of this spirit so generous,
created for the highest dignity and felicity, when it is immersed in the vile
filth of its own depraved desires and held by its own demerits in abominations
which will ever grow worse, but which will never end and which have no remedy?
Alas! what pain, what anguish, and what desperate tears shall then be to this
poor soul!
"We see and know by experience that only two
causes could enable the spirit to remain in a place of torture: one of these is
force, and the other the hope of a great reward for such endurance. What
despair then will not man suffer when the force which detains him in hell shall
never cease, and the pain shall have no remuneration? It is certain that our
spirit was created for love and for felicity and this is what it is constantly
seeking in all things; it can never find satiety in temporal things and yet is
ever hoping that it may there attain it. Finally it deceives itself and loses
that time which is so precious, and which was given it that it might seek God,
the supreme good, in whom may be found the true love and the holy satisfaction
which should be its true satiety and full repose. But what will it do in the
end, when, having lost all its occupations, and discovered all its illusions
and its vain hopes, and lost all its time, it remains deprived of every good,
and, though contrary to its nature, must forever remain forcibly deprived of
all love and felicity? This one thing alone is so painful and terrible to
contemplate that to speak of it makes me tremble with fear.
"By this I comprehend what hell and heaven may
be, because, as I see that man by love becomes one with God, in whom he finds
all happiness, so, on the contrary I see that, deprived of love he remains as
full of woes as he would have of joys (and that is infinitely) if he had not
been so mad. Therefore, although we hear it said that hell is a great
punishment, yet this does not appear to me to express it, nor can its gravity
be truly told or comprehended, neither could it be represented to one as I
understand it; only by the greatness of love in, the true and omnipotent God,
can that which is opposed to it be measured.
"When I consider the blindness of those who, for
the sake of things so vile and little, allow themselves to be stupidly led away
into the abyss of such horrible and infinite woe, all that is within me is
moved by a great compassion. In this connection I recall a possessed person who
was forced by a religious to declare who he was: he cried out with great force:
`I am that wretch who is deprived of love.' He said this with a voice so
piteous and penetrating that inwardly I was filled with pity, especially when I
was hearing those words, Deprived of love."
How contrary to pure love is even the slightest
imperfection.--Of the many means by which God ministers to our salvation.--At
the point of death we shall esteem the opposition made to the divine
inspirations as worse than hell itself.
"I see clearly," said our
saint, "that when pure love sees even the least imperfection in man, if the
mercy of God did not sustain it, it would grind into powder not only the body,
but even the soul itself, were it not immortal, knowing that so long as it is
retained he must be deprived of love. I see that the cause of all these evils
is that we are so blinded by the enormity of our sins that it is impossible to
comprehend, as we should, the extremity of our misery, which is yet supremely
necessary for us to know. When man is reduced to his last agony--and in that
hour all joys flee from him and all evils present themselves without a
remedy--I cannot find words to express the great pain and anguish which will
then overwhelm his soul, and therefore I am silent.
"O unhappy man, in that hour wilt see how much
more solicitous God has been for thy salvation than thou hast been thyself!
Then thy whole life will pass before thine eyes, with all its opportunities for
well-doing and all its rejected inspirations, and in one instant thou wilt
clearly see the whole. Believest thou that thy soul must still live when it
passes from such injustice into the presence of true justice? It is not
possible for me to dwell upon this thought, for I find it so painful; I am
constrained to cry out, Beware, beware, for the matter is of such
infinite importance. If I thought I should be understood I would never say
aught else. When I see men die as the beasts die, without fear, without light,
without grace, and know how serious a thing this is, I should suffer for my
neighbor the greatest pains that I could ever feel, if God did not sustain me.
And when I hear it said that God is good and he will pardon us, and then see
that men cease not from evil-doing, oh, how it grieves me! The infinite
goodness with which God communicates with us, sinners as we are, should
constantly make us love and serve him better; but we, on the contrary, instead
of seeing in his goodness an obligation to please him, convert it into an
excuse for sin which will of a certainty lead in the end to our deeper
condemnation.
"I see that God, so long as man remains in this
life, uses all the ways of mercy for his salvation, and gives him all the
graces necessary to that end, like a benignant and most clement father who
knows only how to do us good; and especially he does so in enduring our sins,
which in his sight are so very great that if unsustained by his goodness, man
would be ground into powder by them.
"But man does not comprehend this, and God
graciously awaits and bears with him until his death; then he resorts to
justice, although not even then is it unmixed with mercy, since in hell man
does not suffer according to his deserts, yet woe be to him who falls therein,
for truly he suffers greatly. And when I see man fix his affections on
creatures, even, as he sometimes does, on a dog or a cat, or any other created
thing, delighting greatly in it, doing all that he can to serve it, unable to
admit into his heart any other love, and as it were, breathing by it, I long to
exterminate these things which hold him thus employed and cause him to lose the
great reward of the love of God which alone can satisfy and make him happy.
"Alas, this one word I will say about the just
and holy ordinance of God, although I know not whether it will be understood.
God has ordained man for beatitude, and that with more love than can possible
be conceived, and all proper means to this result he gives him with infinite
charity, perfection, and purity, so that man does not lose the least atom that
is justly his; and, notwithstanding how many sins he may have committed, God
never ceases to send him all needful inspirations, admonitions, and
chastisements to lead him to that degree of happiness for which he created him
with such heartfelt love. And he does this in such a way that when man shall
behold it after his death, he will well understand that he never suffered
himself to be led by the divine goodness, and that he has lost God solely
through his own fault. Then the opposition he has made to such divine goodness
will torture him more than hell itself; because all the pains of hell, however
great they may be, are as nothing in comparison to the privation of the
beatific vision which is caused by their own resistance.
"This is proved by divine love, which says that
it esteems the smallest imperfection a greater evil than any hell that can be
imagined. What, then, shall be said of that soul which in all things finds
itself opposed to the divine ordinations, except that infinite woe awaits it,
infinite tribulations, dolors, and afflictions, without remedy, without
consolation, and without end, and that it shall be plunged in profound
humiliation and infernal gloom."
That she understood her own nothingness, and therefore would
not speak about herself.--Of her great faith in God.--How willful and malicious
we are in ourselves, and how necessary it is to abandon all to God.
So great was the humility of
this holy soul that she saw her own nothingness most clearly, and would never
speak of herself, neither well nor ill. She said:
"As to the evil, I know well that is all my
own, the good I could not possibly do of myself, for nothing cannot produce
something." Nor would she speak, as is customary, of being wicked, lest her
lower nature might grow confident and presume upon the knowledge of its
incapacity for good: and having such an opinion of herself, instead of desiring
the esteem of others, she cut away even the root of presumption, saying:
"I will never say anything about myself, either
good or bad, lest I should come to esteem myself of some importance: and when I
have sometimes heard myself spoken of by others, especially if I were praised,
I have said inwardly: `If you knew what I am within, you would not speak thus.'
And then, turning to myself, I say: `When thou hearest thyself named, or
listenest to words which perhaps may seem to praise thee, know that they are
not spoken of what is thine; for the only virtue and glory thou hast belong to
God, and thou hast at least in thine earthly and carnal nature no more
conformity with good than has the demon; but when evil is spoken of thee,
remember that all could not be said which is in reality true; thou art unworthy
even to be called worthless, because to speak of thee at all lends thee a
fictitious value.'"
Hence, knowing herself, all the confidence of
this great soul was in God, in whom she was so grounded and established that it
was hardly to be called faith, for she saw herself more secure in the hands of
God, her Love, than if she were actually in possession of all the goods and
felicities which it is possible to desire or to think of having in this world;
and having placed all her trust in God, and given him full control of her, she
covered herself under the mantle of his providential care.
She became such an enemy to herself that nothing
but necessity ever caused her to speak of herself at all, and she would never
do so in particular but would generally say us; and she said: "The
evil nature of man is pleased with being mentioned, and the greatest blow that
can be given it is never to speak of it at all, and never make it of any
account; therefore do not willingly name it in any manner." And to her own
nature she said: "I know thee and rate thee as thou deservest: thou canst
not advocate thy cause with me." And if an angel had come to say a word in
favor of herself, she would not have believed him, so certain was she of her
own malignity.
And, having this clear knowledge of herself, she
was constrained by it to accept with resignation whatever might befall either
her body or her soul, so that whenever she found in herself any defect or any
pain, she would say quickly: "These things are caused solely by my own evil
nature, and of this I am so certain that I know not how I could produce other
fruits than these which are so hateful. I never could do so if God did not
assist me. But I know well, having been shown by God the imperfections and
malignity of our own inclination, that we can never, except by the help of
divine grace, do anything but evil. Good is as hopeless to us as to the demons,
and even more so, for, unlike them, we have a body and a free-will which ally
themselves to our depravity and do all the evil they can, which is more or less
accordingly as God abandons us to our own control.
"But, for one who desires to approach God, it is
necessary to become the enemy of his enemies; and, as I find nothing that is
worse than myself, nor that is more inimical to him, I am compelled to hold
myself in more aversion than anything else whatever, and will even despise
myself and count it to be worthless. And, on the other hand, I will detach my
spirit from all the goods of both this world and the other, which I will
henceforth regard as if they had no existence. I have implored God neither to
suffer me to rejoice interiorly nor to grieve over any created thing, so that I
may never be seen to shed a single tear. And I have begged him to take away
from me the freedom of my will, so that I may no longer do what pleases me, but
only what is according to his pleasure: all these things I have obtained from
his clemency.
"Now, seeing me thus determined, my self
said to me: `Grant me, at least, the consolation of not hearing myself thus
spoken of: for, whatever I am, it is necessary that I should exist in some
manner. There is no creature which is not suitably provided for according to
its needs, and I also am one of God's creatures.' Then the spirit rose up and
answered: `Thou art indeed a creature of God, but thou art not according to
God, and if thou wishest to be so thou must be first despoiled of all thou hast
previously acquired, first by original sin and afterwards by the actual sins
which thou hast freely multiplied, and which are more odious in the sight of
God than thou couldst believe were it told thee. And when I see thee more
covered with secret sins than a cat is with hairs, I know not where thou
findest courage to say that thou art of God. If I were so mad as to feed thee
according to thy inclinations, which are so corrupt and contrary to the purity
which God requires, I should do two evil and perilous things: one is that I
should never satisfy thee, and the other that thou wouldst every day grow
stronger and wound me more and more acutely; and as I am myself full of evil,
thou wouldst attack me secretly and in an apparently spiritual manner, and then
no one but God could overcome thee. Speak to me no more of thy crafty designs,
for I have determined to disregard thee.
"'Recommend thyself to God that he may aid thee,
and I also will assist thee by his help. Moreover, I will pray him to consume
all thy perverse inclinations and to restore thee again to that primitive
innocence in which he created thee, for otherwise thou canst never be
satisfied: no one can satiate thee but he who created thee and who alone knows
all thy secret desires and can grant them without difficulty. Cease, then, to
seek for other satisfactions, for however abundant may be thy possessions thou
wilt still remain poor and in want; when once thou art justified, all will be
given thee which heaven and earth can afford.
"Know then that I despise thee and would rather
choose to be condemned to hell without thee, than to possess God through thy
means. For a pure mind cannot suffer anything to come between itself and God,
for it desires to possess him entirely and to be as pure and simple as he is
himself. And this being so, how could it endure to be assisted by thee who art
so hideous, and who would always glorify thyself unworthily over thy
achievements? And although I know that such a thing could never be, it fills me
with indignation to find that I have even imagined it or that any mind should
ever conceive it possible!'
"Thus scorned, my self knew not what to
answer, and never more had courage to assert itself: it no longer looked either
at the body or the soul, toward heaven or toward earth; but I saw it remain
always by itself with all its malicious inclinations, and had God permitted it,
it would have done more evil against him than Lucifer himself. Yet, as I saw
that God continually restrained it, this sight gave me no uneasiness, nor did
it ever cause me any torment or suffering. Rather was the effect directly
contrary, for he who loves justice is rejoiced when robbers are punished, and
surely he who, being evil by nature, desires to become good by his own efforts,
is a robber worthy to be punished in hell-fire.
"Hence, when I saw its malignant inclinations
entirely subjected to God and by him executed and annihilated, I was greatly
contented, and the more clearly I saw my own proper wickedness, so much the
greater pleasure did I take in his justice. And truly, it appears to me that if
I could fear anything it would be my own self--which is utterly evil; yet when
I saw it in the hands of God I abandoned it to him with confidence, and never
since then have I felt any fear concerning it; rather, I may say, that I never
think about it and make no more account of it than if it in no way concerned
me.
"I saw others weeping over their perversities and
their evil desires, and forcing themselves to resist them; yet, the more they
strove to remedy their defects the more often did they fall. And when any one
spoke of this to me, I answered `You have woes and you weep over them, and I
have them and I do not weep. You do evil and you lament, and I should do the
same if the almighty God did not assist me. You cannot defend yourself, nor can
I do so either; hence it is necessary that we should yield ourselves to him who
only can deliver us from evil, and he will do for us what is wholly beyond our
power. And in this way we shall find rest from this our evil self, which is
always torturing itself to its own destruction: yet when it is imprisoned by
God, it remains submissive and in silence."
In what manner God deals with one who corresponds with
him.--And how the saint abhorred spiritual delights, and how God cast around
her the chain of pure love.
This holy woman said that when
God disposes a soul to correspond to him with her free will by placing herself
wholly in his hands, he leads her to every perfection; thus has he dealt with
one who, after she was thus called, never more followed her own will, but
always stood waiting interiorly upon the will of God, which she so confidently
felt to be impressed upon her mind that she sometimes said to him: "In all that
I think, speak, or do, I trust in thee that thou wilt not permit me to offend
thee."
The following rule with regard to the intellect
was given to this soul, namely: never to attempt to understand anything in
heaven or on earth and, least of all, the spiritual operations in her self; and
she obeyed so implicitly that she never more observed curiously anything in
herself or in others.
If it were asked in what manner the intellectual
powers were employed, I should answer that all the powers of the soul were
always under the command and in the service of God, and when anything had to be
done, at that instant, and in so far as necessity required, it was given her to
know what she should do, and then the door was closed.
Of the memory she could give no account, for it
seemed as if she were without memory and without intellect. This was not caused
by any voluntary act of hers, but was the result of seeing herself so often and
so suddenly moved to action, that she easily comprehended that it was God who
was operating in her, and she remained occupied in him, and lost to all sense
of time or place and without the will or the ability to do otherwise, except
when God suddenly effected some change in her. Nor was she ever able to
consider anything except what God at the moment proposed to her; in this manner
she was attentive to whatever she was doing so long as necessity required, but
when it was finished all memory of it passed with it.
The same thing was true of her affections, which
were taken from her by her Love even at the beginning, and in such a way that
she could no longer love anything created or uncreated, not even God himself,
at least as he was revealed in those sentiments, in visions, delights, and
spiritual correspondences which all others who beheld them estimated so highly,
but which she on the contrary held in horror and sought to fly from. But the
more she sought to avoid them the more were they given to her, and they
increased in such a manner that her body was often entirely prostrated by them.
Her soul, however, remained pure and serene, as if it were passed beyond such
violence, and were filled with divine sweetness. And when this was over, she
seemed to be improved both in mind and body. Yet she had no desire for such
improvement, and sought for nothing but God, her Love, in comparison with whom
she rejected all, even that which proceeded from him, as being of less value,
or indeed as nothing.
This integrity of the will she held so cautiously
and was always so hidden in God that no illusion, imagination or inspiration
could interpose between them, nor even any truth which was not immediately from
him.
Therefore when God took from her the burden and
the care of herself, her spirit found itself all light and able to do great
things, and the instinct of love which God gave it when it was thus separated
from her proper self, was so swift and great and powerful that she could
satisfy it nowhere but in God. Then God, seeing her so disposed and well
prepared, cast down from heaven one end of the cord of his most upright, pure,
and holy love, and with it held her so closely occupied in him that she readily
understood that she sprang from him and corresponded with him. Yet, in all this
her humanity had no share, and neither felt, saw nor understood it.
Thus she allowed this clear water to flow
descending as from a living fountain; and by means of her love and of her great
purity she saw every little defect which to her appeared offensive: and if it
had been possible for her to tell the great importance of every least
impediment to the divine love, even hearts of adamant would have been ground
into powder by fear of them.
How she did not desire love for God or in God, nor to have any
medium between herself and God.--She could not see how love could be increased
in her.--Of the peace of the soul transformed in God.
This holy Soul said that she
never spoke of these great things to others without its appearing to her
afterwards that she had told a lie--so weak were her words in comparison with
that which she experienced through her pure and upright love. She said,
therefore: "I do not wish a love which may be described as for God, or in God.
I cannot see those words, for and in, without their suggesting to
me that something may intervene between God and me; and that is what pure and
simple love, by reason of its purity and simplicity, is unable to endure. This
purity and simplicity is as great as God is, for it is his own." At another
time she said that she never felt like speaking of this simplicity and purity
of love, as if she had a sensible experience of it, because it is entirely
ineffable and above the capacity of man; yet she had it in such abundance that,
whatever might be alleged or even proved to the contrary, she could not
understand how it could increase within her. This must be understood to mean
that, being always replenished with love, she could neither see nor desire more
than that which at any moment held her satisfied; this, however, did not
prevent love from continually purifying and cleansing this precious and elect
vessel, and from ever increasing and more abundantly filling her.
And to prove this, she said: "Every day I felt
myself lifted above those trifles which this pure love, ever harassing itself
with those penetrating eyes that behold even those smallest imperfections which
to other love appear perfection, was striving to cast out. This work is done by
God, and man himself is not aware of it, nor does he see these imperfections;
on the contrary, because such a sight would be insupportable to him, God shows
him the perfected work as if it were without a flaw. Yet God does not cease
continually to purify him, although he does it in a way not comprehensible to
any intellect. It is written that even the heavens are not pure in the sight of
God, by which it must be understood that such purity is not known, except by
the help of a supernatural light which, without any assistance from man, works
in him after its own pleasure, and ever cleanses him more fully until he is
entirely pure. And this work God does secretly, because, when man yields
himself wholly into the hands of God (which without divine grace he is unable
even to wish to do), he can then see the enormity of even one trifling
imperfection in the sight of God; and afterward, if he could see all those
defects in himself which God is daily removing from him, he would be
overpowered by his despair. Hence it is that these obstacles are gradually
removed without man's cognizance, and God continually operates in us by his
sweet goodness so long as we remain in this present life."
When the good God calls us in this world, he
finds us full of vices and sins, and his first work is to give us the instinct
to practice virtue; then he incites us to desire perfection, and afterwards, by
infused grace, he conducts us to the true annihilation, and finally to the true
transformation. This is the extraordinary road along which God conducts the
soul. But when the soul is thus annihilated and transformed, it no longer
works, or speaks, or wills, or feels, or understands, nor has it in itself any
knowledge, either of that which is internal or external, which could possibly
affect it; and, in all these things God is its director and guide without the
help of any creature.
In this state, the soul is in such peace and
tranquility that it seems to her that both soul and body are immersed in a sea
of the profoundest peace, from which she would not issue for anything that
could happen in this life. She remains immovable, imperturbable, and neither
her humanity nor her spirit feels anything except the sweetest peace, of which
she is so full, that if her flesh, her bones, her nerves were pressed, nothing
would issue from them but peace. And all day long she sings softly to herself
for joy, saying: "Shall I show thee what God is? No one finds peace apart
from him."
And as this process goes on, she is every day
more profoundly plunged, immersed, and transformed in this peace, so that her
humanity is every day more alienated from the world and from all things earthly
and natural; and this in such wise that even the body no longer lives upon
corporal food, and yet neither wastes away nor dies; on the contrary, this
creature remains in health without using the means which are the cause of
health, because it is no longer supported by nature but by an incomprehensible
satiety which overflows into the body. And this is doubtless the reason why
such a creature becomes so marvelous in her aspect, and especially in her
purified eyes, which are like two ardent stars, enkindled in heaven, so that
she appears truly like an angel upon earth.
This love is of so generous and excellent a
spirit that it disdains to lose its time in anything, however beautiful and
precious, except its own purity and splendor, from which issue translucent rays
of ardent and inflamed virtue. Thus is she ever occupied, and all things else
she esteems as no longer appertaining to her.
This work is constantly progressing, and every
day the soul understands more clearly that the end for which man was created
was truly for love, and to delight himself in this pure and holy love. And
therefore when man has, by the assistance of divine grace, arrived at this
desired port of pure love, he can afterwards do nothing (even if he wished or
tried to force himself to do otherwise) but love and enjoy himself: this grace
God gives to man in a manner so admirable and above every human desire or
comprehension that without doubt, being still in this present life, he feels
himself to have been made a partaker of the beatific glory.
Of her earnest answer to a Friar Preacher who told her how
much better he was prepared than herself for the divine love.--Nothing can
hinder divine love, neither can it be deceived.--Also of its various
conditions.
On one occasion a friar
preacher, either to try her, or under some wrong impression, as often happens,
maintained that he was better prepared for the divine love than herself,
alleging as a reason, that on entering religion, he had renounced everything
external and internal, and therefore he was more free and better prepared to
love God than herself; and for many other reasons such as men can adduce, who
are more learned than holy and devout, but especially because she was wedded to
the world, and himself to religion.
When the friar had said many things of this kind,
an ardent flame of pure love seized the blessed Catherine, with which her heart
was so inflamed, that she rose to her feet and fervently exclaimed: "If I
believed that your habit would add one spark to my love, I would not hesitate
to tear it from you, if I could obtain it in no other way. Whatever you merit
more than I, through the renunciation you have made for God's sake, and through
your religious life, which continually enables you to merit, I do not seek to
obtain; these are yours; but that I cannot love God as much as yourself, you
can never make me believe."
She uttered these words with so much fervor and
effect, that her hair burst from the band that confined it, and fell disheveled
over her shoulders, so that, in her burning zeal, she seemed almost beside
herself; and yet so graceful and decorous was her bearing, that all persons
present were amazed, edified, and pleased; and she added: `Love cannot be
checked, and if checked it is not pure and simple love."
When she reached the house, she said, after the
manner in which she was accustomed to speak familiarly with her Lord: "O Love,
who shall prevent me from loving thee? not only in the world as I am" (meaning
the married state), "but even if I should find myself in a camp of soldiers, I
could not be prevented from loving thee. If the world, or if the husband could
impede love, what would such love be but a thing of feeble virtue and mean
capacity? As for me I know by what I have experienced that divine love can be
conquered or impeded by nothing. It conquers all things."
Catherine did not intend to say that the path to
perfect love was as easy to seculars as to religious: but what she said applied
only to perfect and pure love; because such a love breaks through all
restraints and conquers all difficulties.
On being told that she might be deceived by the
devil, she replied: "I cannot believe that a love which has nothing of self in
it can ever be deceived." And God communicated to her interiorly, that she was
in the right, saying to her, that if it were possible for one to love even the
devil with pure love, free from everything pertaining to self, malignant and
odious as he is, he could not harm this soul, for pure love has such virtue
that it would deprive him of his malignity. If, then, pure love has such power
over one so wicked, who can doubt of a soul who possesses it? For if pure and
simple love in any creature could be deceived, God cannot be.
Catherine being on one occasion greatly troubled
and oppressed by her humanity, because she had consented, in order to sustain a
feeble and infirm life, to use things lawful and permitted, God thus instructed
her concerning these things: "I never wish you to turn your eyes towards
anything but love, and there rest, unmoved by any novelty that may present
itself, within and without, but be like one dead to all things; because he who
trusts in me must never doubt himself. For all the reasoning, cogitations,
alternations, and doubts, which man has concerning the spirit, proceed from
that very evil root of self, for pure love transcends all human thoughts, and
will not live in the soul, still less in the body of man according to their
nature, but will do all things above the capacity of that nature, and all that
it thinks and speaks is always above nature."
That God does not wish man to serve him through self-interest
or through fear, but only through faith and love, and therefore he sweetly
attracts his will.--The saint did not desire grace or mercy, but only
justice.--That pure love fears nothing but sin.
This holy Soul being (as may be
inferred from what has been already said) arrived at that state of perfection
where she began to taste the fruition of eternal happiness, and regarding those
who are still deceived by the passions of the present time, and know not how to
hasten from that which is so wholly evil, was moved by compassion, and she
said:
"O man, created in such great dignity, why dost
thou lose thyself in things so vile? If thou shouldst consider well, thou
wouldst easily see that all worldly things which thou desirest are as nothing
when compared to those spiritual goods which God gives thee even in this life,
which is so full of ignorance. Pray that thou mayst come hereafter to that
celestial country in which are things which eye hath not seen nor ear heard,
neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive what God hath
prepared for them that love him!"
If man clearly saw that by well-doing he could
gain eternal life, and could imagine how great the happiness of heaven will be,
he would always persevere in good; and even should he live until the end of the
world, he would never occupy his memory, intellect, or will on any but
celestial things. But God wishes that faith should be meritorious, and not that
man should serve him through self-interest; and therefore he conducts him by
degrees, although he always gives him sufficient knowledge to support his
faith. But afterwards he gives him such aforetaste of eternal glory, that by a
clear and certain perception which he receives at the close of this life, the
faith of the man, thus replenished with heavenly delights almost ceases to be
faith.
On the other hand, if man could know how greatly
he must suffer hereafter for his sins, hold it for certain that for very fear
he would not only abandon all things, but that he would not commit the smallest
sin. But God does not wish to be served through fear, because, if man's heart
were filled with terror, love could find no entrance there. It is through love
that God does not permit man to behold this dreadful sight, although he does in
part discover it to those who are so protected and occupied with that pure love
which casteth out fear that the doors cannot be shut against them. These souls
see in heaven and earth things which tongue cannot express, and they are drawn
by sweet allurements and gentle ways. This is what happens to those who allow
themselves to be led by faith, and who, recognizing the benignant hand of God
in all that befalls them, never reject it, but rather cleave to it strongly and
follow it with joy.
But those who refuse so much goodness and
deliberately persevere in living according to their own desires, will have at
the moment of their death a vision so painful and so terrible, that, having in
themselves even one defect, they will be unable to endure the sight. And,
therefore amazed at such stupidity, the saint exclaimed: "O miserable man, who
will not provide against a fate so unhappy, and caused only by thine own
obstinacy! Thou thinkest not of it, yet know that it will befall thee when it
is too late. In heaven nothing can enter which is defiled, and purgatory must
cleanse thee before thou canst attain eternal felicity."
"God," she said, "leads man by a road
intermediate between these two. He shows him always great tokens of his love,
in order to attract man, who is naturally more inclined to act through love
than fear. Yet he gives him also the motive of fear, that by it he may more
readily abandon his sins. But neither the love nor the fear which God grants
him are so great as to force man towards him, because it is his will
that grace should be accomplished by free-will and faith, by which man does all
that is within his power. The rest God effects by his good inspirations, which,
when once man has yielded his consent, easily incite him to combat his
rebellious nature, and, by the help of the great satisfaction which God
imparts, to hold it at its true value."
And therefore she said: "When I see that God is
ever ready to give us all the interior and exterior aids necessary for our
salvation, and that he observes our deeds solely for our own good; when, on the
other hand, I see man continually occupied in useless things, contrary to
himself and of no value; and that at the hour of death God will say to him:
`What is there, O man, that I could have done for thee which I have not
done?' and that man will clearly know this to be true; I believe that he
will have to render a stricter account for this than for all other sins, and I
am amazed and cannot understand how man can be so mad as to neglect a thing of
such vast and extreme importance."
The vision which she had of all this was not
represented to her mind in a manner so weak as that in which it is here
recounted, but so clearly that it seemed to her that she could see and touch
it. And doubtless he who should behold such a sight would rather choose death
itself than offend God voluntarily, even in the least degree. This, however,
did not cause her such wonder when she considered the great evils from which
men are freed and the eternal joys to which they are destined and sweetly
guided. Therefore she held herself in great aversion and did not hesitate to
say: "In this life I desire neither grace nor mercy, but only justice and
vengeance upon the evil-doer." She said this with much earnestness, because
she saw that the mercy and goodness of God toward his elect infinitely surpass
their gratitude toward him and their sorrow for their sins, and therefore she
could not endure that her own offences against her Love should go
unpunished.
This appeared to be the reason why she cared
little about gaining plenary indulgences; not that she did not hold them in
great reverence and devotion, or esteem them of great value, but that for her
own part she would rather be chastised and receive the just punishment assigned
her, than by this satisfaction be released in the sight of God. The Offended
seemed to her to be of such goodness, and the offender so much opposed to him
in all things, that she could not endure to see anything which was not
subjected to the divine justice, that so it might be well chastised. And,
therefore, to abandon all hope of escaping this righteous pain she did not seek
for plenary indulgences nor even recommend herself to the prayers of others, in
order that she might be ever subject, and be punished and condemned as she had
deserved.
What has just been said can be comprehended in
the state of perfection to which the saint had been raised, and in which, being
as it were secure of victory, she desired to combat purely for the greater
glory of her Lord, and, like a valiant soldier, neither sought for nor desired
any assistance. And being unable to support the sight of an offence against
God, she said to him:
"My Love, I can endure all things else, but to
have offended thee is a thing so dreadful and unbearable to me that I pray thee
to let me suffer anything else than to see that I have done so. The insults
that I have offered thee I am sorry to have offered, nor can I ever consent to
offend thee more. At the hour of death show me rather all the demons with all
their plains, for I would think it nothing in comparison with the sight of one
offense against thee, however slight; though nothing could be slight which
displeased thine infinite majesty.
"I know for certain that if the soul which truly
loves, should behold in herself one thing which separated her from God, her
Spouse, her body would be ground into powder. This I know by means of the
extreme and unspeakable torments which I suffer from the interior fire which
burns within me; and hence, I conclude that love cannot endure even the least
opposition, nor will it remain with any one who does not first remove all
obstacles and impediments in order to remain with it in peace and perfect quiet."
How she was disposed toward God and toward her neighbor.--What
pure and simple love is.
This holy Soul was so regulated
by God, that in all that was necessary and reasonable she satisfied every one;
and although she was entirely employed in serving her sweet Love, yet she was
never willing to displease her neighbor either in word or deed, but on the
contrary always assisted him as far as she was able. She said, however, to her
Lord: "Thou hast commanded me to love my neighbor, and I am unable to love
any one but thee, or to admit any partner with thee: how then shall I obey
thee?" And interiorly he responded thus: "He who loves me loves also all
whom I love. It suffices that for the welfare of the neighbor thou shouldst do
all that is necessary for his soul and body. Such a love as this is sure to be
without passion; because it is not in himself but in God that the neighbor
should be loved."
Speaking afterwards on this subject, she said:
"Before God created man, love was pure and simple, free from all taint of
self-interest, and needing no restraint. And in creating man, God was moved by
no other cause except his pure love. In all that he did for him he had no other
motive or object. And as his love allows nothing to prevent it from doing all
possible good to its beloved, and attends to nothing which is not necessary to
that end, so the love of man should return to God all that it receives from
him; and then, having no respect to anything but love, it will fear nothing,
because it never seeks its own advantage."
She said again: "Not only is pure love incapable
of suffering, but it cannot even comprehend what suffering or pain can be, nor
understand the wicked actions which it sees others do. And, were it possible
for it to feel all the pains which are felt by the devils and the damned souls,
it could never say that they were pains; because, in order to feel or
comprehend pain, it truly is necessary to be without this love.
"The true and pure love is of such force that it
cannot be diverted from its object, nor can it see or feel anything else. Hence
it is useless toil to try to make such creatures employ themselves in the
things of this world, for with regard to them they are as insensible as if they
were dead.
"It is impossible to describe this love in words
or figures which will not, in comparison with the reality, seem entirely false.
This only can be understood, namely, that the human intellect is unable to
comprehend it. And to him who seeks to know what it is that I know and feel, I
can only reply that it transcends all utterance."
Of her vocation, which was like that of St. Paul.--That she
was freed from suffering by her great love.--How terrible is man without
grace.--How great is the stain of even one slight defect, and still more that
of a sin.
The vocation and the
correspondence of this holy Soul were like those of the glorious apostle St.
Paul; that is, that in one instant (as was narrated in the beginning), she was
made perfect. And this was evident, because in that instant and ever thereafter
she proceeded not like a beginner but like one already perfect; for this reason
she never knew how to give any account of the way to obtain perfection, because
she herself had never attained it by acquired virtues, but simply by infused
grace, which instantaneously wrought in her such effects as usually require the
uninterrupted exercises of a whole life.
And being thus transformed in God, the fire of
love which burned in her purified heart was as great at the beginning as at the
end of her conversion--which was a miraculous thing. She said that after she
was called and wounded with love she never experienced any suffering, either
interior or exterior, either from the world, the devil, or the flesh, or from
any other cause. This was the effect of her interior transformation in God, so
that although many adversities befell her, nevertheless she never found her
will opposed to them, but on the contrary she received all things as from God,
and, thus mingled with his love, nothing failed to please her. Her humanity,
too, was so subjected to the spirit that it never rebelled, although it was
obliged to perform many penances; so that in her was fulfilled that saying:
My heart and my flesh have rejoiced in the living God (Psalm
lxxxiii).
And therefore she said: "When I see the greatness
of the spiritual operation, and behold how important is any offence against God
or his grace, I find it impossible to conceive of any other suffering or any
other hell, than to have sinned against him. All other pains which it is
possible to endure in this life, are consolations in comparison with this; just
as, on the other hand, all things inferior to God which may seem to have a sort
of goodness are yet, in comparison with him, only evil; this however, I know
well, will hardly be understood by him who does not know it by experience.
"On the other hand, I know not how man can be so
blind as not to see that unless God sustains us by his grace, we are full of
sorrow, bitterness, wrath, discontent, and woe, even in this present life,
where, however, we are never entirely abandoned by him, no matter how great our
sins may be. For, if a man could possibly live this mortal life, when entirely
forsaken by God (excepting only the divine justice, failing which he would be
annihilated,) I am certain that whoever beheld such a being would die. And not
only he who beheld him, but he who, though far removed from him, should learn
of his existence and comprehend the misery of his state, would also be deprived
of life. To be abandoned by God is a thing too terrible and vast for human
words to express, or human intellects to comprehend.
"Alas! with how many perils is man surrounded in
this life! When I consider of what great importance are spiritual life and
death, if God did not sustain me I believe that I should die. If I could have
any desire, it would be that of expressing all that I feel and know concerning
this; and if it were granted me to demonstrate what I wish by martyrdom, I do
not believe I could find any torments which I would not joyfully undergo, if so
I might warn man of the importance of this truth.
"When I beheld that vision in which I saw the
magnitude of the stain of even one least sin against God, I know not why I did
not die. I said: `I no longer marvel that hell is so horrible, since it was
made for sin; for even hell (as I have seen it) I do not believe to be really
proportionate to the dreadfulness of sin; on the contrary, it seems to me that
even in hell God is very merciful, since I have beheld the terrible stain
caused by but one venial sin. And what, in comparison to that, would be a
mortal sin? And then so many mortal sins? Surely, if any one could behold all
this, even if he were immortal, anguish would once more make him mortal. Even
that slight and solitary vision which I beheld, and which lasted but an
instant, if it had continued but a little longer would have destroyed my body
had it been made of adamant.'
"But all that I can say concerning it seems false
beside what I truly comprehend. For this vision brought me so near death that
my blood congealed and my whole body was so enfeebled that I seemed to be
passing beyond this life; but the goodness of God desired that I should live to
narrate it.
"And afterwards I said: `I no longer wonder that
purgatory is as terrible as hell, since one is to punish and the other to
cleanse: both of them are made for sin, which is so horrible that both its
punishment and its purgation must needs correspond with it in horror.' Man
could understand this if he considered his evil inclinations, and how wretched
he is when left to himself. But God does not permit this vision to be seen
except by those who are, as it were, confirmed in grace, and even these he
allows to see only so much as will be for their own good and that of others.
And he shows them also that goodness which rescues man from these great and
incomprehensible perils to which he is subject,, although he beholds them not;
but God knows them and their importance, and therefore the great love he bears
us moves him to compassion, and so long as we are in this life he never ceases
to incite us to well-doing, in order that we may not be more deeply plunged
into evil."
From this may be seen how it was that the
conversion of this Soul was accomplished, like that of St. Paul, who, rapt into
heaven, beheld the glory of the just, while St. Catherine beheld the pains
which sinners have merited by their crimes, how full of abomination they are,
and how earnestly to be fled from.
Of self-love and of divine love, and of their
conditions.
This illuminated Soul said that
she saw a vision of self-love, and beheld that its master and lord was the
demon; and she said that self-hate would be a better name for it, because it
makes man do all the evil that it wills, and in the end precipitates him into
hell. She beheld it in man, as it were by essence, both spiritually and
corporally, and in each of these ways it seemed so entirely incorporated with
him that it appeared to her almost impossible that he should be purified in
this life.
She said also: "The true self-love has these
properties: First, it cares not whether it injures either its own soul and body
or those of its neighbor, nor does it value the goods and reputation of either
itself or others; for the sake of accomplishing its ends it is as rigorous with
itself as with others, and will submit to no possible contradiction. When it
has resolved upon any action, it remains unmoved by either promises or threats,
how great soever they may be, but perseveres in its course, caring neither for
slavery nor poverty, for infamy nor weakness, for purgatory, death, nor hell,
for it is so blind that it cannot see these things or recognize their
importance. If one should say to man that if he would abandon his self-love he
would acquire riches, gain health, possess in this world all that heart can
desire, and be certain of heaven hereafter, he would yet repel them all,
because his heart is unable to value any good, either temporal or eternal,
which does not bear the impress of self-love; everything else he despises and
counts for nothing, while to this he becomes a slave, going wherever it wills,
and so submissive that he has no other choice. He neither speaks, thinks, nor
understands aught else. If he is called mad and foolish, he cares nothing for
it, nor is he offended by the derision or others. He has shut his eyes and
closed his ears to all else, and holds them as if they were not."
She said moreover: "Self-love is so subtle a
robber that it commits its thefts, even upon God himself, without fear or
shame, employing his goods as if they were its own, and assigning as a reason
that it cannot live without them. And this robbery is hidden under so many
veils of apparent good that it can hardly be detected except by the penetrating
light of true love, which always desires to remain uncovered and bare, both in
heaven and earth, because it has nothing shameful to conceal.
"And, therefore, self-love never understands the
nature of pure love; for pure love sees not how the things which it knows as
they are in truth could possibly be possessed or appropriated; nothing would
displease it so much as to find anything which it could call its own; the
reason of this is that pure love sees not, nor can it ever see, anything but
truth itself, which, being by its nature communicable to all, can never be
monopolized by any. Self-love, on the other hand, is in itself an obstacle to
truth, and neither believes it nor beholds it, but rather, confiding in itself,
holds truth as an enemy and an alien.
"But the spiritual self-love is much more
perilous than the corporal, for it is bitter poison whose antidote is hard to
find. It is yet more artfully veiled, and passes sometimes as sanctity or
necessity, or again, as charity or pity, hiding itself beneath almost infinite
disguises, the sight of which causes my heart almost to faint within me.
"Behold also what blindness self-love occasions
between God and man, and know that no evil can be so great as this; yet man
does not perceive it, but seems to hold it as salutary, and to rejoice over
what ought rather to make him weep.
"There is no doubt that, if man could perceive
the many difficulties thrown by self-love in the way of his own good, he would
no longer allow himself to be deceived by it; and its malignity is the more to
be dreaded because it is so powerful that were but one grain of it in the world
would be sufficient to corrupt all mankind. Wherefore I conclude that self-love
is the root of all evils which exist in this world and in the other. Behold
Lucifer, whose present state is the result of following the suggestions of his
self-love; and in ourselves it seems to me even worse. Our father Adam has so
contaminated us that to my eyes the evil appears almost incurable, for it so
penetrates our veins, our nerves, our bones, that we can neither say nor think
nor do anything which is not full of the poison of this love--not even those
thoughts and deeds which are directed toward the purification of the spirit.
"For so great and hopeless an infirmity no remedy
can be found but God, and if he does not heal us in this world by his grace,
our defects must needs be cleansed hereafter by the fire of purgatory; it being
necessary, before it is possible for us to behold the pure face of God, that we
should be freed from all our stains. And, therefore, when I see how rigorous
and severe is this purgation, and that it is not in man's power to escape from
self-love, or to see and understand the dangers of its hidden venom as it is
necessary that he should, I long to cry out in a voice that should even pierce
the heavens, `God help me, God help me,' and continue this cry so long as life
remains to me.
"Consider, then, that if this love is of such
force that it makes man regardless of life or death, heaven or hell, how
incomparably greater must that divine love be, which God himself infuses by his
great goodness into our hearts. This love, unlike the other, has an eye not
only to the welfare of our souls and bodies, but to those of our neighbor, and
is careful to preserve his honor and his goods. It is benignant and gentle in
all things and to all men; it renounces its self-will, and accepts instead the
will of God, to whom it always submits. God, moreover, by his incomparable
love, so inflames, purifies, illuminates, and fortifies its will that it no
longer fears anything but sin, because that alone displeases God; and,
therefore, rather than commit the least sin, it would choose to undergo the
most atrocious torments that can be imagined.
"This is one of the effects of the divine love
which gives man such liberty, peace, and contentment that he seems almost to
enjoy heaven while yet in this life, and is so absorbed that he can neither
speak, nor think, nor desire aught beside.
"This divine love, which thus separates us from
the world and from ourselves in order to unite us to God, is our only true and
proper love. When, then, it has been thus infused into our hearts, what more
can we desire in this world or in the other? Death becomes a thing longed
after, and hell loses its terrors for the soul which loves; for it dreads
nothing but sin, which alone can separate it from its beloved. Oh, if men, and
especially those who love, could only know how great and heavy a thing it is to
offend God, they would know it to be the greatest hell that could be suffered:
he who has once enjoyed this sweet and gentle love, and lost it through any
fault of his, would suffer agonies like those of the condemned souls, and
esteem no toils too great by which he might once more regain it. Long
experience has taught me that the love of God is our life, our bliss, and our
repose, and that self-love is continual weariness, misery, and death both in
this world and in the other."
Concerning the three ways which God takes to purify the
creature.
This holy Soul said: "I see
three ways which God takes when he wishes to purify the creature.
"The first is when he gives it a love so stripped
of all things that, even if it desired, it could neither see nor wish for
anything but this love, which by reason of its poverty and simplicity, is able
to detect every vestige of self-love; and, seeing the truth it can never be
self-deceived, but is reduced to such despair of itself that it is unable to
say or do anything which could afford it either corporal or spiritual
consolation. And thus, by degrees, its self-love is destroyed, since it is
certain that he who eats not, dies. Notwithstanding this, however, so great is
the evil of self-love that it clings to man almost to the end of his life. I
have seen this in myself, for, from time to time I have found many natural
desires destroyed within me which had previously seemed to me very good and
perfect; but when they were thus removed I saw that they had been depraved and
faulty, and in accordance with those spiritual and bodily infirmities which,
being hidden from me, I had not supposed myself to possess. And this is why it
is necessary to attain such a subtlety of spiritual vision, in order that all
which at first appears to us perfection may in the end be known as
imperfections, robberies, and woes; all this is clearly revealed in that mirror
of truth, pure love, in which all things appears distorted which to us had
seemed upright.
"The second mode which I beheld, and which
pleased me more than the first, is that in which God gives man a mind occupied
with great suffering; for that makes him know himself, and how abject and vile
he is. This vision of his own misery keeps him in great poverty, and deprives
him of all things which could afford him any savor of good; thus his self-love
is not able to nourish itself, and from lack of nourishment it wastes away
until at last man understands that if God did not hold his hand, giving him his
being, and removing from him this hateful vision, he could never issue from
this hell. And when God is pleased to take away this vision of his utter
hopelessness in himself, afterwards he remains in great peace and
consolation.
"The third mode, which is still more excellent
than either of these, is when God gives his creature a mind so occupied in him,
that neither interiorly nor exteriorly is it able to think of anything but God,
and those things which are his. Even the works which it performs it does not
think of or hold in any esteem, except in so far as they are necessary to the
love of God; and hence it seems like one dead to the world, for it is unable to
delight itself in anything or to understand anything, even if it wished to do
so, either in heaven or on earth; there is given to it also such a poverty of
spirit that it knows neither what it has nor what it does, nor does it make any
provision for what it should do, either with regard to God or to the world, for
itself or for its neighbor, because it is not shown how it may do so, but is
always held by God in union with him and in sweet confusion.
"In this way the soul remains rich, yet poor,
unable to appropriate anything, or to nourish itself, because it is necessary
that it should be lost and annihilated in itself, and thus find itself in God,
in whom, in truth, it was from the beginning although it knew not how it was
so.
"There is also the religious life, of which I
will say nothing further, because all must pass through one of these three ways
of which I have been speaking, and also because it has been sufficiently
treated of by others."
The manner in which the saint was medically treated for bodily
infirmity, when her suffering was from spiritual fire, and of other accidents
that befell her.
The perfection of this saint,
thus illuminated by God, the true light, could not be understood, for it did
not manifest itself by outward acts but all her perfection was in the interior
of her soul, in the view of herself and of her God, with whom she was united in
an extraordinary manner, and also in secret interior conversations, some of
which she repeated twice (although she could poorly utter them in words), not
as they actually took place within, for they were unutterable, and she could
only express them by similitudes.
The state of this soul was not passive, as it is
wont to be with others, forso profound was her sense of the importance of what
she saw, that it inflamed her heart to such a degree that she fell dangerously
ill. It is easy to perceive from this, how far such a creature was removed from
the common experience. Usually, men hardly feel any compunction for the sins
they have committed, and of venial offences they scarcely make any account; but
the body of the saint was almost rent in pieces when it was given her to see
the greatness of even a venial sin, and if God had discovered to her one of
these sins in herself, she certainly would have fallen dead.
Her sufferings were often so great that recourse
was had to medical treatment, and letting of blood was ordered to relieve the
burning fire of the spirit and restore the power of speech, but with little
effect. Medicines were also administered when she seemed near her end, but they
increased her suffering, although she took them in obedience. It then began to
be understood that God was the author of these things, and she was left to
struggle with her attacks without medicine, but it required great care and
watchfulness to preserve her life. The devoted attendants who surrounded her
were confounded, and she would sometimes say, in a voice scarcely audible: "Now
my heart seems as if in ashes, I am consuming with love." At other times, to
relieve her humanity, she would go into a solitary apartment, and there cast
herself upon the ground, crying: "O love, I can bear no more;" and, writhing in
agony, the house would resound with her cries and lamentations.
Sometimes, when walking in the garden, she would
address the plants and trees, saying: "Are you not creatures created by my God?
are you not obedient to him?" And thus discoursing, she would obtain some
relief to her sufferings, but if she perceived she was overheard, she suddenly
stopped, and answered any one who spoke to her according to the necessities of
the affairs of human life.
Of the three things to which she could not consent, and of
those which she could not refrain from desiring.
This soul had so close a union
with God, and her free-will was brought into such subjection, that she felt no
resistance nor choice, having conquered all things, more than humanity can
comprehend; yet she said there were three things to two of which she could not
consent, and a third which she could not but desire.
In the first place she could not consent to, nor
commit any, even the smallest, sin. For having the greatest horror of sin, and
having attained, through the sight of her own misery, to the greatest
simplicity, she did not perceive it in others, and could not comprehend how men
could consent to it, particularly to mortal sin; and if perchance she saw with
her own eyes some inexcusable sin, still she could not understand that there
could be in man the malice of sin, believing that others honored God as she
honored him.
Secondly, and this, although obscure to the
imperfect intellect, was clear to her, she could not unite with the will of God
in suffering so cruel a passion, and she would rather have endured all the
pains of all the souls in hell, than that her Love should suffer such
punishment.
The third thing, and it was this that she could
not refrain from desiring, was holy communion; for the holy communion is
nothing but God himself. And in this she testified the great reverence and
honor in which she held priests, namely, by affirming that if the priest had
not been willing to give her communion, she would have taken it patiently, and
not persisted; but wishing to receive communion, she could not say that she did
not wish it.
Of the sweetness of the divine precepts, and the advantage of
temporal adversity.
All things took place in this
holy soul in the order of true love; and she sometimes said to her Lord: "O
Love! If others are bound to keep thy commandments, I am bound to keep them by
a tenfold obligation, because they are sweet and full of love. Thou dost not
command things that lead to evil; but to him who obeys thou givest great peace,
love, and union with thyself. This cannot be understood by one who has not
experienced it; for the divine precepts, although they are contrary to
sensuality, are yet in accordance with the spirit which, by its nature, seeks
separation from all the bodily senses, by union with God, to which union I find
every other love of things inferior to God to be a hindrance."
She saw that all things are necessary which God
ordains, who is only waiting to consume interiorly and exteriorly all our
corrupt affections, and that all wrongs, injuries, contempt, sickness, poverty,
abandonment of relatives and friends, the temptations of the devil,
mortifications, and all else contrary to humanity, are especially needful to
us, that we may combat with them, till at length gaining through them the
victory, our corrupt affections may be extinguished, until adversity appears to
us no longer bitter, but sweet.
Whoever believes that anything good or bad can
befall him, which can separate him from God, shows that he is not yet strong in
divine charity; for man should fear nothing but to offend God, and all beside
should be to him as if it were not. For herself, she said, that she seemed to
see in her heart a ray of love proceeding from God, binding them together with
a golden thread, and had no fear that it would ever be loosed; and this had
been the case ever since her conversion. Her sweet Lord gave her such
confidence that when she was moved to pray for anything, something within
seemed to say: "Command, for love can do it." Indeed she had every thing she
asked, with all possible certainty.
She was wont to say: "The love of God is our
proper love, for we are created for that alone; the love, on the contrary, for
everything beside, ought in truth to be termed hatred, since it deprives us of
our proper love, which is God. Love then God, who loves thee, and leave him who
does not love thee, namely, everything beneath God; for all things are enemies
to that true love. Oh! that I could make this truth be felt as I myself feel
it: I am certain that there is no creature who would not love Him; so that if
the sea were the food of love, there are no men or women, who would not drown
themselves in it, and those who were at a distance from it would always be
drawing nearer to it, that they might plunge into it; for every pleasure, when
compared to it, is pain, and such riches does it confer on a man, that all
beside should seem to him but misery.
"It makes him so light that he does not feel the
earth beneath his feet; his affections are so fixed on things above that he
loses all sense of suffering here below, and he is so free, that there is
nothing to keep him from the presence of God. If you asked me: `What dost thou
feel?' I should answer thee: `What eye could not see, nor ear hear;' but I am
ashamed to speak of it in my poor language, for I am certain that all I can say
of God, is not of God, but only fragments that fall from his table.'"
The process of annihilation of man in God illustrated by the
figure of the eating of bread.--Of her interior and exterior.
"Take a loaf," said the saint,
"and eat it, and after you have eaten it, its substance goes to the nutriment
of the body, and what is superfluous passes away; for if nature retained it,
having no need of it, the body would die. Now if that bread should say to the
body: Why do you deprive me of my existence, for by my nature I am not
satisfied to be thus reduced to nothingness? If I could, I would defend myself
from thee, for it is natural for every creature to preserve itself,--the body
would answer: Bread, thy being is designed for my support, which is more worthy
than thee, and hence thou shouldst be more content with the end for which thou
wast created, than with thy own being; for if it were not for thy end, thy
being would have no value but to be thrown aside, as something worthless and
dead. It is thy end which gives thee a dignity to which thou canst not attain
but by means of thy annihilation. If thou wouldst live for thy end, thou
wouldst care for thy being, but wouldst say: Quickly, quickly, take me from
myself, and let me attain my end for which I am created."
This soul became so detached, both exteriorly and
interiorly, that she could no longer perform her accustomed exercises, for she
had lost all vigor of mind and body. She had no desire to confess; but going to
confession, as usual, she found that she had no part in any sin; and when she
attempted to mention her offences generally, it seemed to her that she was
deceiving; and through her entire detachment she was in possession of the
greatest peace, of which she was never divested.
The saint urged to give an idea of her state.
Of free-will this blessed one
said, that when she considered carefully her vocation, she saw such great
things effected by God in her, that it almost seemed as if she had been forced
by him, for she could nowhere see her own consent, but rather it seemed to her
that she had resisted, especially in the beginning, and the sense of this had
inflamed her with a burning love. But generally, when speaking of it, she said:
"God first arouses man from sin, then with the light of faith illuminates the
intellect, and afterwards, with a certain satisfaction and zeal, inflames the
will. And Almighty God does this in an instant, although we tell it in many
words, and measure it by time."
When the saint was sometimes urged by her
spiritual children to give them an idea of her state in words, she would tell
them it was impossible, but on one occasion she allowed a religious to
interpret it, in order to gratify his desire to understand it better, which he
did to her great satisfaction and joy; wherefore, with a benignant countenance,
she exclaimed: "Oh my dear child, it is as you have said, and hearing you I
feel that it is thus. You have said all that can be said, but the effect is
incomprehensible." Then the religious said to her: "Oh mother, cannot you ask
of God, your Love, some little drops of it for your children?" and she answered
joyfully: "I see this sweet Love so gracious to his children, that I can ask
nothing for them, but that I may present them in his presence."
This creature became at length like a cherub to
look upon, so that she gave great consolation to every one who beheld her; and
those who visited her found it hard to leave her. When she was about
sixty-three years of age, her heart was inflamed anew with a ray of love. This
dart was so powerful and penetrating, that she felt as if severely wounded in
the region of the heart, and she suffered great bodily pain. After some days
she was again inflamed with love, and it always seemed to her that the last
wound was the greatest.
Of her compunction for having desired death, every desire
being an imperfection.--She relates her conversion to one of her spiritual
children.
In the year 1507, while present
at the office for the dead, she felt a desire to die. It was a desire of the
soul that it might quit the body and be united with God. The body also desired
it, that it might be freed from the torment which it suffered from the flames
of love in the soul; these however, were only natural desires, to which her
will gave no consent.
And as her desire was inspired by her Love who
wished to purify her, and not from her will, as soon as she felt it, she
suddenly exclaimed: "O Love, I desire nothing but thee, and in thy own way: but
if it please thee, who dost not wish that I should die, neither that I should
desire death, let me at least be present at the death and burial of others,
that I may see in them that blessedness that is not bestowed on me." Love
consented to this, and for some time she was present at the death and burial of
all those who died in the hospital, without any desire to die herself. And by
degrees, the union of love increasing in that purified heart, she lost the
desire to see others die, but still, whenever she spoke of death, she seemed
filled with a new and joyful emotion.
At one time when she fell into ecstasies, and
appeared as if dead, the persons around her, who did not understand her state,
believed her to be suffering from what is commonly called vertigo. She herself,
through humility and a desire to be unnoticed, on speaking of it to a
religious, also called it vertigo: but the religious answered: "Mother, you
need not use concealment with me: I entreat you for the honor and glory of God,
to choose some person who will be satisfactory to you, and narrate to him the
graces with which God has favored you, that when you are gone these graces may
not remain hidden and unknown, and the praise and glory of God arising from
them be lost." To which she answered: "It shall be as you wish, if it is the
will of my sweet Love;" and she would choose no other than himself who had
given her this counsel, although she knew it would be impossible for her to
narrate the smallest part of those interior communications between God and the
soul; and of the exterior, she had experienced almost nothing.
At another time, in conversation with the same
religious, she began to narrate her conversion and many other things, as well
as she could, which have been faithfully collected and introduced into the
present volume.
How the saint left the whole care of herself to Love; and what
means Love employed to purify her from her imperfections.
When Love had taken upon
himself the care and control of everything, he never more abandoned it. "And
I," said the saint, "gave the keys of the house to Love, with full power to do
all that was necessary, and I took no heed of body or soul, friends, relatives,
or the world; but of all that the law of pure love requires I took care that
the least part should not be wanting. And when I saw Love accepting the charge,
and producing the effect, I turned towards him, and was occupied in watching
this, his work. And he made me look upon many things as unjust and imperfect,
which before had appeared to myself and others as just and perfect, and in
everything was found defects. If I spoke of spiritual things, Love suddenly
checked me, telling me that I must not speak, but let the flame burn on within,
no word and no act escaping which should serve to refresh either soul or
body.
"One day I asked my confessor if I should try to
eat, that I might not cause any injury to the soul or body. Love answered me
within, and my confessor from without: `Who is this who speaks of eating or not
eating, under the form of a motive? Be silent, for I know you, and you cannot
deceive me.' Finding his eye so acute and powerful, I gave up all to him,
asking God to do with me what seemed to him good; to strip me of all things and
clothe me with his simple, pure, powerful, great, and burning love.
"And then Love exclaimed: `It is my will to leave
every one naked, naked; neither will I have anything above me nor under me. And
be it known to you, that such is my nature and condition, that I convert and
change into myself all souls that can be changed, despoiling them of self.'
Love will be alone. If another should be in his company, the gates of heaven
would be closed against him, for they are open only to pure Love. Let each one,
then, leave himself to be guided by Love, that he may be conducted to that end
which pure Love desires all to attain.
"Pure Love draws the soul to himself in a variety
of ways, and when he sees her occupied with any affection, he marks all things
that she loves as his enemies, and consumes them without sparing herself or her
body; and although the nature of Love would destroy them by one blow, yet
seeing the weakness of man, he cuts away little by little, and silently; for we
cling so firmly to the object of our love, which we esteem beautiful, good, and
just, that we will listen to nothing that opposes us; therefore Love says: `I
will put my hand to the work, for with words I can do nothing; I will destroy
all things that thou lovest, by death, infirmity, or poverty; by hatred and
discord; by detraction, scandal, lies, and infamy; by relatives, by friends,
and by thyself, till thou knowest not what to do, finding thyself cast out from
all things that constituted thy delight, and receiving from them only pain and
confusion; neither dost thou understand these operations of divine Love, all of
which seem contrary to reason, both as regards God and the world; therefore
thou dost cry and lament, striving and hoping to escape from this distress, and
thou wilt never escape from it.'
"When divine Love has kept a soul thus in
suspense, and, as it were, desperate, and disgusted with all things that before
she loved, then he shows her himself with his divinely joyful and radiant
countenance, and as soon as the soul perceives it, naked and destitute she
casts herself into his hands, crying: `O blind one, what didst thou seek? what
hast thou desired! here are all the delights thou hast sought! O divine Love,
how sweetly hast thou deceived me in order to strip me of all self-love and
clothe me with pure love abounding with every delight! Now that I see the
truth, I have nothing to lament but my ignorance.'"
How well regulated was the saint in all things.--Of the
opposition of her spirit to humanity, and how humanity tormented her.
With this blessed soul
everything was so well ordered, that wherever she had control, or could offer a
remedy, she never could endure any disorder; and she could neither live nor
converse with persons who were not well regulated, especially if they were
those who appeared to have entered with herself the way of perfection; and when
she saw them countenancing any imperfection, and taking part in any of those
things which she had learned to abhor, she left their company.
She was very compassionate to all creatures,
although merciless to their defects, so that when an animal was killed, or a
tree cut down, she could hardly bear to see them lose the life that God had
given them, but she would have been very severe in rooting out the evil from
one who had brought it upon himself by sin.
She could not see her own sins, or realize that
she must sometimes commit them, neither could she believe that others would
sin; and so entire was the peace of her mind, that it seemed to substitute for
bodily sleep. Such repose was, however, more refreshing to her body than
natural sleep, for sleep takes off the mind from God. She was so restrained
interiorly, that she was wont to say: "If I uttered a word, breathed a sigh, or
cast a glance towards any person who could understand me, my humanity would be
well content, as a thirsty person when given a drink." Meaning by this that
when she was pierced by the arrows of divine love, she lost all feeling and
remained motionless, until God, as it often happened, relieved her from this
occupation.
So opposite and repugnant was the spirit to
humanity, that when humanity wept, the spirit laughed, and held her in such
subjection as to reprove her, not only for every unnecessary action, but for
every word, not permitting those around to offer her any alleviation in her
trials, seeming ever lovingly to mock her by exciting her desires for these
things with which she was accustomed to console herself, allowing her to taste
all things, and then suddenly destroying all relish for them, till by degrees
she had none left for any earthly thing, and could find no exterior or interior
nourishment, and in this desolation a secret longing would come over her to
hide herself, and weep, and lament.
Sometimes she would cast herself into the hedge
of rose trees in the garden, and seize the thorns with both hands, without
feeling the pain, so entire was the occupation of her mind. She would bite and
burn her hands, to relieve the interior suffering that consumed her, and the
most extreme external pain she esteemed as nothing. Her body was often so
deserted by the spirit, that without any resistance on her part four persons
could not move her from her seat. All these things were not done voluntarily,
but by a spontaneous impulse; neither did she find any consolation upon the
earth, but was constrained to shun those things without which others cannot
live.
She found no solace except in her confessor, with
whom she had an interior and exterior correspondence. But he, too, was taken
from her, and her sufferings greatly increased, because there was nothing to
which she could have recourse either in Heaven or on earth, and she was wont to
say: "I am in this world like one who is away from home, who has left all his
relatives and friends, and finds himself in a foreign land; when having
accomplished the business for which he was sent he is ready to leave and go
home, where his heart and mind are; for so ardent is his love of his own
country, that a day of absence seems a year."
She felt herself every day more and more
restrained, like one who is confined at first within the walls of a city; then
in a house without a garden, now in a hall, now in a chamber, then again in an
antechamber; sometimes in a dimly lighted, remote apartment, then in a dark
prison, her hands tied, her feet chained, her eyes bandaged, and without food;
for no one could speak with her and she was left without hope of release but by
death; she had no consolation but the knowledge that it is a merciful God who
does all this in his love; and with this she was satisfied.
On one occasion, hearing some one repeat the
words: "Arise, arise, ye dead, and come to judgment;" she cried aloud, in the
excess of love: "Would that I could come now, now;" and all who heard her were
astonished. With that burning love in her heart, it seemed to her that she
could pass through the most searching judgment; for she saw nothing in herself
for that judgment to condemn; she even took pleasure in the thought of it, for
she earnestly desired to see the infinitely powerful and just judge, who makes
all things tremble, except pure and simple love.
How an evil spirit, that had possession of one of her
spiritual daughters, named her Catherine Serafina.
This holy soul had, in the
house with her, a spiritual daughter who was tormented by the devil, who
frequently attacked her, even throwing her upon the ground, and by this
violence driving her almost to desperation. This evil spirit even entered into
her mind, and prevented her from thinking of divine things, so that it seemed
to her that she was separated from God, and lost. She was beside herself, and
fell so entirely under his diabolical will, that she became almost a demon
herself. She was insupportable to herself, and found no peace except in the
presence of her spiritual mother; for when they were together, at a glance they
understood each other, one having the spirit of God, and the other its
opposite.
One day this afflicted creature, vexed by the
unclean spirit, knelt at the feet of the blessed Catherine, in the presence of
their confessor; and the devil through her said: "We are both slaves by
reason of that pure love that thou hast in thy heart." and then, enraged
with himself for having uttered these words, cast her upon the ground, winding
about like a serpent. When she had risen from the ground, the confessor said:
"What is the name of this woman, tell me," and the evil spirit answered:
Catherine, and would say no more. Then the confessor said: "Tell me her
surname, is it Adorno or Fieschi?" and he would not answer; but the confessor
insisted, and he at length said: Catherine Serafina, but he uttered
these words struggling with great agony.
This afflicted being possessed a powerful
intellect, and she lived in virginity. The Lord, perhaps, sent this affliction
upon her to keep her humble. She died a holy death, but the evil spirit never
left her until the very last moment.
The blessed Catherine, while reflecting on the
opposition between pure love and the evil spirit, was accustomed to say that
man did not consider the difference, and did not appreciate extreme love as he
ought, "For truly," she added, "he who does not know precious stones, does not
value them."
And, filled with compassion for the blindness of
man, she said: "If by taking my blood and giving it to man to drink, I could
make known to him this truth, I would give it all for love of him. I cannot
endure the thought that man, created for the good that I see and know, should
lose it
Catherine persevered in this way for about
twenty-five years, instructed and directed by God alone, by a wonderful, divine
operation. Afterwards, perhaps on account of the approach of old age and her
extreme weakness, the Lord sent a director who took charge of her soul and of
her bodily health; a spiritual person of holy life, in every way fitted for
such a charge, to whom God gave the light and grace to know his designs in
regard to her. He was chosen rector of the hospital where she lived, he heard
her confessions, said mass for her, and gave her communion, whenever he could
do so.
This priest, at the request of some spiritual
persons who were devoted to the saint, wrote most of the present work, having
urged and induced her to relate the extraordinary graces which God had
conferred upon her, especially as this religious, by long intercourse, well
understood the order of her life. The first time that she made her confession
to him, she said: "Father, I know not where I am, as to my soul or my body. I
wish to confess, but I do not see any offence that I have committed." And the
faults that she enumerated did not seem to her sins of thought, word, or deed;
for she was like a child who, when in his childishness he ignorantly does
something which he is told is wrong, suddenly changes color, and blushes, but
not because he is sensible to the fault.
She sometimes said to her confessor: "I do not
know how to make my confession, for I have not enough exterior or interior
feeling to be able to accuse myself of having said those things on account of
which I feel some stings of conscience. I would not fail to make my confession,
and I do not know whom I am to accuse of my sins; I would accuse myself, but I
cannot."
When God was effecting anything within her that
troubled her, she submitted it entirely to her confessor, and conferred with
him; and he, by the divine light and grace, understood the whole, giving her
such replies that he seemed to feel what she felt. This was a great consolation
to her, so that she spoke to him with entire confidence, and could not be
satisfied until she had discovered to him all she felt. When she was prevented
from communicating to him anything that was upon her mind, she felt as if in
burning flames, but after she had spoken of it to her father, she was tranquil
and satisfied.
It was a great consolation to her that he could
understand her by a glance, when she could not speak, allaying the violence of
the burning fire within, and strengthening her exhausted frame. The interior
action was so intense that it became necessary to divert her mind by external
things, and that diversion was torture to her, for it did violence to her
heart. At one time, having been in a weak state for several days, she took the
hand of her confessor and raised it to her face, and the odor of it penetrated
her heart with such a fulness of exterior and interior sweetness that it seemed
supernatural.
The confessor asking her what was the nature of
that odor, she answered that it was an odor that God had sent to comfort the
soul and body in their sufferings; that it was so penetrating and sweet that it
seemed as if it could bring the dead to life, and she added: "Since God grants
it to me, I shall console myself with it so long as it pleases him." The
confessor, believing that as it was given through him he too could perceive it,
raised his own hand to smell the fragrance of it, but there was none there, and
it was told him that God does not give his good things to those who seek them,
but only bestows them in cases of necessity, and for some great spiritual
result.
The saint also said that she was permitted to see
that this odor was a drop of the beatitude that the body with its senses will
enjoy in heaven, through the humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ; by which every
one will be satisfied eternally in body as well as soul. Her body and soul were
strengthened and refreshed for several days by the impression and remembrance
of this odor.
On one occasion she said to her confessor, who
was sometimes absent from her: "It seems to me that God has given you the care
of me alone, and that you ought not to attend to any one else; for I have
persevered during the twenty-five years in the spiritual life without the help
of any creature, but now that I cannot endure such interior and exterior
conflicts, God has sent you to me. If you know how terribly I suffer when you
are absent, you would rather remain with me in my trials, than go in search of
any recreation; and yet I would not ask you not to go."
And indeed it appeared as if every remedy and
relief that God allowed to her soul and body was given her by this confessor,
who, at the moment provided her with thoughts and words, which were suited to
her necessities, so that he was amazed at them himself, and when the occasion
for them was past, no remembrance of them remained.
And because this continual intercourse and close
familiarity roused some to murmur who did not understand the necessity for
them, the confessor withdrew and was absent for three days, to ascertain
whether this necessity was wholly divine without any human mixture, and to
relieve himself from every scruple; but he repented making the trial, on
account of the severe sufferings of the saint. Moreover, he was in secret
reproved by God for his incredulity, when he had been so long a witness to so
many supernatural signs, one of which would have been sufficient to convert a
Jew; and after this his scruples never returned.
The saint continued for many years in this state
of dependence on her confessor, and by the grace of God, through all his
attendance upon her, in his fatigues and trials, his health never failed. When
she concealed from him any interior operation, it was intimated to him by some
divine inspiration, and he would say to her: "You have such and such a thing on
your mind, and you wish to deny it to me, but God will not permit you." At
these words she was greatly surprised, and acknowledged that they were true,
and afterwards was freed from her sufferings. Sometimes she would say to her
confessor: "What do you think is in my mind?" and although he knew nothing of
it, yet at that moment words were given him, and he told her the whole.
Treatment of the saint by her husband, and how she obtained
salvation of his soul from God, and also that of Sister Tommasa Fiesca, her
companion.
As we have mentioned before,
this creature, so favored by God, was married at the age of sixteen to Guiliano
Adorno, who, although of a noble family, was of a perverse and stubborn temper,
and conducted his affairs so badly, that he was reduced to poverty; yet she was
always obedient, and patient with his whims and eccentricities, but at the same
time she suffered so much from him that with difficulty she preserved her
health, and became to reduced and wasted, that she was a most pitiable object.
She lived in a solitary house, alone, to satisfy him, and never went out except
to attend mass, and then return as quickly as possible, for she would endure
anything rather than give pain to others.
Almighty God, seeing that this soul could be
brought to great perfection, enabled her to support all this, without
murmuring, in silence, and with the greatest patience. For the first few years
she was kept in such subjection that she knew nothing of what was going on in
the world; but, during the five following she sought to divert herself from the
great vexations which her husband caused her, by associating with other ladies,
and occupying herself with the affairs of the world as they did.
But she was soon after called by the Lord, and
left this way of life, never to return to it again; and, by the goodness of
God, she was permitted to live with her husband, as a sister with a brother.
Her husband became a member of the third order of St. Francis, and finally was
visited by a severe illness, which he bore so impatiently that his wife became
greatly distressed for the salvation of his soul. As his end approached, she
withdrew into a retired apartment, and there, with tears and sobs, implored her
sweet Love to save him, saying, "O Love, I beg of thee this soul: I pray thee
give it to me, for thou canst do it." Persevering in this for the space of half
an hour, an interior voice at length assured her that she was heard, and
returning to her husband's chamber, she found him so calm and changed, that, by
every word and act, he manifested his submission to the divine will.
This miracle was made known by the blessed one
herself to a spiritual child of hers after the death of her husband. "My son,"
said she, "Giuliano is gone: you know his eccentricity, which caused me so much
suffering during his life, but before he passed away, my sweet Love assured me
of his salvation." It was plain that God had caused her to say this, that the
miracle might be made known; for, afterwards, Catherine seemed to regret that
she had spoken on the subject, but the person being very prudent, made no
remark and began to talk of other things. After her husband had passed away in
holy peace, and was buried, her friends would say to her that she was relieved
from great trials, and to human reason she indeed appeared to be released from
great oppression, but she answered that she was not conscious of it, that all
things were the same to her, and that she only cared to do the will of God.
She also lost some of her brothers and sisters
but so closely was she united with the sweet will of God, that she did not
suffer any more than if they had not been her own kindred. And on account of
this she could not understand why one of her companions of the same house of
Fieschi as herself, and married as she was, should leave the world by degrees,
for fear of turning back. After the death of her husband, this person became a
nun in a convent of the Observantines of St. Dominic, called also St.
Silvester; and twenty years after her profession, she was transferred to
another convent of the same order, called the New Monastery, that she might
reform it by introducing a stricter observance. She was called Sister Tommasa,
was full of prudence and sanctity, and attained great perfection. She was
superior of that monastery, and so burning was her zeal, that she was
accustomed to write, compose, paint, and practice various devout exercises, in
order to mitigate its violence. She wrote a treatise on the Apocalypse, and
upon Dionysius the Areopagite, and other beautiful, devout, and edifying
pieces. She painted with her own hand many holy countenances; the most
remarkable is one of Piety, representing a certain very holy mystery, when the
priest is consecrating at the altar. She wrought very delicately with her
needle many pious subjects, among which is still seen in her first monastery,
God the Father, surrounded by angels, with Christ and other figures of saints
worked with great skill and dignity.
Many things are told of this mother's devout life
and exemplary conversation, so full of the fervor of divine love, by the nuns
of her first and second convents, as well as by pious seculars who were her
friends; also how happily she passed from this life praising the Lord. Her
death took place in the year 1534, when she was more than 86 years of age. As
we have mentioned, the blessed Catherine wondered how (when she was yet in the
world) she could make such slow progress in contempt of the world; but she
herself, on the other hand, said that Catherine, for so she called her,
considered her desperate; and that it would be a dreadful mortification to her
if she should turn back; Catherine was more surprised at this thought of
turning back, and could not understand it. "If I should turn back," she said,
"I should not only wish my eyes to be put out, but that every kind of
punishment and insult should be inflicted on me."
The wonderful designs of God are manifested in
these two women, belonging to the same period, and both married; one of whom
was converted by infused grace and at once made perfect, while the other
arrived at perfection by virtue slowly acquired.
How a person, hopelessly ill, was cured by the prayers of the
saint.
A man named Marco dal Sale, who
was suffering from a cancer of his nose, after trying every remedy that could
be devised by the skill of physicians, and finding no relief, became almost
desperately impatient. His wife Argentina, seeing his condition, went to the
hospital where the holy Catherine lived, and begged her to visit her sick
husband, and pray the Lord for him; and the saint, as if under obedience,
complied.
This blessed soul was so obedient, that if an ant
had come to ask her to perform some act of mercy, she would at once have
followed it. Catherine, having arrived at the house of the sick man, somewhat
consoled him by a few humble and devout words. Returning afterwards to the
hospital with Argentina, they entered a church called St. Mary of Grace, and
there kneeling, Catherine was moved to pray for the sick man. Having finished
her prayer, she returned with Argentina to the hospital, and when the latter
had taken eave of her and gone home, she found her husband so changed, that
from a demon he had almost become an angel, and, turning to Argentina, he
exclaimed with joy and tenderness; "Oh! Argentina, tell me who is that holy
soul whom you have brought here?" and Argentina answered: "It is Madonna
Catherine Adorno, whose life is most perfect." The sick man then implored her,
by the love of God, that she would bring her there again. The next day she
complied with is request, and having related to St. Catherine what occurred,
brought her home with her again.
She knew, however, beforehand, the condition of
this sick man, in the answer to her secret prayer; for she never made a special
prayer except when interiorly moved to it by her Love, by which also she knew
that it was favorably heard. When she entered the room the sick man saluted
her, and continued weeping for some time, then said: "The reasons why I have
asked you to come here again are, first, to thank you for your charity towards
me, and then to ask of you one more favor, which I pray you not to deny me.
After you left me, our Lord Jesus Christ himself appeared visibly to me, under
the form in which he appeared to Magdalene in the garden, gave me his most holy
blessing, pardoned my sins, and said that he appeared to me, because on
Ascension Day I was to go to him; therefore, I pray you, most kind mother, that
you may be pleased to accept Argentina as your spiritual daughter, retaining
her always near you; and I pray you, Argentina, to consent to this." Both
answered him joyfully that they were content. After Catherine had gone, the
sick man sent for an Augustinian Father from a monastery called the
Consolation, and having carefully made his confession and received communion,
summoned a notary and his relatives, and arranged all his affairs, satisfying
every one. They all thought that his sufferings had turned his head, and told
him to be comforted, that he would soon recover and that there was no need of
his attending to these things; but he was too wise to be influenced by their
persuasions. The vigil of the Ascension having arrived, he sent again for his
confessor, again made his confession, and received holy communion; then he
received extreme unction with recommendation of the soul, all with great
devotion, in preparation for his journey. Night coming on, he said to his
confessor: "Return to your monastery, and when the time comes, I will send for
you. Every one having gone, he was left alone with his wife, and turning
towards her with the crucifix in his hand, said: "Argentina! I leave you this
for your spouse, prepare to suffer, for I assure you that you will have to do
so," which she indeed did, both mentally and from long continued bodily
infirmity. He passed the night in exhorting and encouraging her to give herself
entirely to God, to be willing to endure suffering, which is the ladder of
ascent to heaven. When it was day, he said: "Argentina, God be with you, for
the hour is come," and having uttered these words, he expired, and his spirit
knocked at the window of his confessor's cell, crying: Ecce Homo; which
when the confessor heard, he knew that Marco had passed to his Lord.
After the burial of Marco, the blessed Catherine
received Argentina as her spiritual daughter, according to her promise, and
this by a divine dispensation, for, if she had not had such a spiritual child,
she could not have lived in the state of abstraction in which she was often
thrown by the burning fires of her sweet Love. As she loved this daughter of
hers very much, she took her with her whenever she went out; and one day when
they were passing the before-mentioned church, Our Lady of Grace, she entered,
and after making her devotions, she said to Argentina: "This is the place where
grace was obtained for your husband." The Lord permitted her to say this, that
the miracle might be made known for our edification.
Continuing an account of her extraordinary way of life, and
her wonderful condition for some time before her death.
For nearly nine years before
her death, the saint suffered from a malady not understood by physicians or by
any one else. It was not a bodily infirmity; neither did it seem to her a
spiritual operation; and it was very difficult on the part of those who
attended her to know how to treat it. Medicine was of no avail, still less the
support obtained from bodily sustenance; but at length a way was found to
control it.
She was greatly debilitated, so that at times she
appeared to be near her end. For a year before her death she did not eat in a
week what another would require for one meal, and for the last six months she
only took a little broth, refusing everything else.
She never omitted holy communion, except when
absolutely unable to receive it, and in that case she suffered more from the
deprivation than from all her infirmities: indeed, it seemed as if she could
not live without this most holy sacrament. The vehemence of her spirit became
at length so great that it shattered her bodily frame from head to foot; so
that there was not a limb or nerve that was not tormented by her inward fires.
She threw off blood and other s ubstances, so that it was thought that she
retained nothing even of the very little she ate; and for the last two weeks
she took nothing but the most holy communion. She could not sleep, her
suffering was so intense, and her screams were dreadful.
The burning interior and exterior flames
prevented her from moving or being moved. Her sufferings banished from her all
friends and spiritual persons who could offer her any relief, so that she
remained in perfect interior and exterior solitude. And she suffered, too, in
another way. Her humanity would sometimes crave food so extremely, that it
would make any effort to obtain it; and when it was offered, the appetite was
gone and she could not taste it, but remained patient in her hunger.
She was so entirely abandoned to her sufferings,
that she appeared as if transfixed to the cross, with no desire but for the
blessed sacrament. On the other hand, she was so happy, and uttered such
burning words of divine love, that all around her wept from emotion. Many
persons came from a distance to see her, and speak with her, and recommended
themselves to her, believing that they had been a creature more divine than
human, as in truth she was. They beheld heaven in her soul, and purgatory in
her agonized body.
She saw the condition of the souls in purgatory
in the mirror of her humanity and of her mind, and therefore spoke of it so
clearly. She seemed to stand on a wall separating this life from the other,
that she might relate in one what she saw suffered in the other.
We are told of St. Ignatius, that after his
martyrdom his heart was opened, and on it was found inscribed, in letters of
gold, the sweet name of Jesus, and who can doubt that if the heart of
this loving servant of God had been opened, some wonderful mark would have been
found upon it. The burning flames within even changed the color of the flesh
about her heart, and if fire was applied to her body, she did not feel it, so
much more powerful was the interior flame. But there is this difference between
material fire and the flames of divine love, that the one consumes and
destroys, while the other sustains and strengthens.
How the sufferings she was to endure were revealed to her in
spirit; and how dreadful they were to her humanity.--Seeing an image of the
woman of Samaria, she asked of God that water.--Of a difference that arose
between the spirit and humanity, and of other wonderful things.
Many graces were bestowed on
this soul chosen of God, and many divine works were accomplished in her, during
the year before she passed from this life to the Lord. And as things which take
place suddenly cause greater terror, God revealed to her, at a glance, the
order of his operations, and that she must die in great suffering, and made
manifest to her this suffering, even her death. When humanity heard this she
became almost frantic, and it seemed as if the soul must leave the body, for
she could not utter a word.
When this terrible picture was removed, this holy
soul uttered words of such ardent and inflamed love, that all present trembled
at them; and although they were not understood by them, yet they were filled
with wonder at beholding such an effect. While the revelation was taking place,
the soul remained as lifeless as the body, having no sensibility to anything
spiritual, being like one dead. She could not speak of this spiritual sight,
neither give any idea of it, but her gestures and motions appeared so wonderful
as to strike with awe and astonishment every beholder.
Her confessor was filled with dread at these
things, considering the strict account to be rendered to God at the hour of
death, when nothing is excused. What he beheld, remained impressed on his mind,
and preyed upon it for many days.
When the spirit was occupied intently with divine
Love, and heeded not whether humanity lived or died, so long as the soul could
remain with God, humanity expostulated, saying: "You cannot continue in this
way, and live. God does not design that I should yet die; and, certainly, you
would do nothing but by the divine will. As I must live, whether you will or
not, you must quit this burning flame, and condescend to bear with me, so long
as it may please God; although I am sure that at any rate you will make me
suffer enough; for every day you are gaining power, and becoming more intent on
accomplishing your purpose, and in the end you will surely conquer."
When the spirit found itself obliged to yield
somewhat to humanity, if it had not been restrained by a divine power, it would
have reduced that body to dust, to obtain the liberty to be entirely occupied
with itself; and the body, on its side, would rather have endured a thousand
deaths than suffer so much from the oppression of the spirit; and in its
distress it would often exclaim: "Oh, wretched that I am! to be engaged in so
frightful a conflict;" then, addressing the spirit it would say: "I know that
you cannot endure me, because I hold you bound on earth, in exile, and deprived
of the fruition of the unbounded love of God; but I cannot sustain this fire of
the love of God, rather would I endure any other torture than one day in its
burning flames."
The spirit gradually consumed the human part, and
reduced it to such exterior and interior weakness that it could no longer
complain or make any of its former demonstrations. And the blessed one could
sometimes only utter such words as these: Love of God, Sweetness of God,
Purity of God. At another time she would be continually repeating:
Charity, union, and peace; and sometimes only one word: God, God.
At last she said nothing, for all her powers were confined within. On one
occasion her heart was kindled by so burning a flame of love, that she could
not endure it, and turning to a picture of the Samaritan woman at the well, she
cried out: "O Lord, I pray thee, give me a drop of that water which thou givest
to the Samaritan," and instantly a drop of that divine water was given to her,
which refreshed her more than human tongue can describe.
Sometimes the conflict between humanity and the
spirit was so great that the soul found herself, as it were, suspended in the
air, drawn up by her intense desire to reach heaven, and yet attached to earth
by her human and inferior part. At length the superior part so far conquered
the inferior, that the latter became more and more detached from earth, and
although at first this seemed strange to humanity, and she was discontented,
yet she soon began to lose all attraction for earth, and to enjoy these things
which the spiritual part enjoyed, till at length the attraction of the spirit
so far prevailed, that the two became reconciled and were satisfied with the
same food, although the human part did not entirely forget the earth; but she
was ever receiving such tidings from heaven that she became constantly more
firm, more persevering, more joyful and satisfied, so as by degrees to attain
repose. This drawing of the spiritual part towards heaven was a means of
purification, and the higher she ascended, the more she became detached from
all things natural, awaiting the moment when she would leave the body at death,
as the moment when she would leave purgatory for heaven; for God in his grace
makes the body of some persons their purgatory.
This holy soul continually suffered more and more
from the favors of divine love; sometimes for five or six days she could hardly
breathe, so great was the vehemence of this inward fire; and every attack was
more violent than the last, obliging her to conceal herself from all creatures,
to avoid their observation and wonder at her extraordinary condition. Her body
trembled like a leaf during these attacks, although her soul was in perfect
peace; sometimes even blood would flow from her nose, and she was so reduced
that, for several days, her strength would not return, and it was only restored
to prepare her for a fresh attack.
How the spirit deprived her of her confessor, who concealed
himself where he could witness her peace of mind in the midst of these
tortures.--She had visions of angels.--Of the experiments tried by various
physicians.--Of one who had come from England.--Of further divine
operations.
On the 10th of January, 1510,
during one of these attacks, all need of her confessor vanished from her mind,
and she had no more desire to see him, either for the support and consolation
of her body or her soul. She kept this thought secret for many hours, but
expressed the contrary. This thought came from the spirit, who wished to deal
with humanity without any intervention, and believed that the confessor, who
thought she must do and say all she wished to do and say, might influence her
too much, knowing, as she did, that all was by the ordinance of God.
When the confessor was removed, humanity was left
desolate upon the earth, and could hardly endure herself, consuming away and
yet living, because it was not God's time for her to die. The confessor at one
time concealed himself to watch the operations of God in this soul. She locked
herself into her chamber, alone; and, in her agony poured out her lamentations
to her Lord, exclaiming: "O Lord! what dost thou wish me to do in this world?
All my interior and exterior senses are lost. I find nothing in myself like
other creatures, but I am like one dead; no creature understands me. I am
alone, unknown, poor, naked, strange, and opposed to all the world; neither do
I know what the world is, and therefore I can no longer dwell with creatures on
the earth." She uttered these and many such expressions so piteously, that they
would have melted the stones with compassion. The confessor, who was concealed
and heard them all, was so moved that he was obliged to discover himself, and
drawing near, spoke to her (for God had given him the grace), in such a manner
that she remained consoled in body and mind for many days.
The sufferings of this blessed soul increased in
violence, and her attacks became more frequent, and were sometimes too
agonizing for human eyes to behold. She seemed writhing in flames of fire, and
could not be kept upon her bed. Sometimes these tortures would continue for a
day and night, without ceasing, and it seemed as if every moment must be her
last. She lost sight and speech, but by signs asked that extreme unction might
be given her, for she believed herself dying; but she lived to endure great
sufferings, for through all that she had hitherto endured, she had remained in
communication with God, and experienced great peace and interior joy in the
midst of them; but now it was ordered that for a season she should be deprived
of this divine communication, and should be left naked and desolate, with
nothing to hold her to life but the conviction that this was the will of God
concerning her. She would sometimes exclaim in her desolation: "It is now
nearly thirty-five years, O my Lord, since I have asked anything of thee for
myself; but now, most earnestly do I implore thee not to separate thyself from
me. Thou well knowest, O Lord, that I could not endure it."
She said this because, from the time she was
first called by God, her mind had always been in union with him, and at peace,
and hence the separation appeared dreadful to her; her soul became more
resigned, but humanity more tortured, at every fresh attack. When she was able
to speak, her words appeared flames of divine love, and so penetrated the
hearts of those who heard them, that they were deeply moved, and filled with
astonishment.
On one occasion she had four excruciating attacks
in one night. So great was the distress of her nerves, that from her head to
her feet there was not a spot free from suffering; she cried aloud in her
agony, and those around her implored God to have mercy on her, but she could
find no relief, and yet she said, during a pause: "Tongue cannot tell, nor
imagination conceive the peace of mind that I enjoy, but as to the human part,
all the sufferings that man could inflict are nothing to the pains I endure;
and in these operations the spirit and humanity are both watching to observe
the doings of God. It is not the spirit, but humanity that cries out in
agony."
In the intervals of this suffering, her body
appeared in health, and free from any feverish affection. She laughed and spoke
like a person in health, and told others that they must not be troubled on her
account, for she was happy, but that they must strive to do right, for the ways
of God were very strait.
She had at this time many visions of angels, and
sometimes she was seen laughing with them. She smiled without speaking, and, as
has been related, she beheld the joy of the angels, who consoled her and showed
her the preparation for her future triumph. She also beheld the devils, but
with little fear, for she was secure in her perfect union with God, which
drives out all fear.
About four months before her death, after all the
attempts of numerous physicians for her relief, another, more extraordinary,
was made. Several medical men were summoned, who examined this suffering
creature, investigated all the symptoms of her malady, and afterward came to
the conclusion that it was supernatural, and no remedy of medical science could
reach it. This she had often said herself, and refused to take the medicines
prescribed her. But when the physicians persevered in their prescriptions, she
took them in spirit of obedience, although with great pain and injury to
herself, until the physicians themselves came to the above mentioned
conclusion.
But there arrived from England a Genoese named
Boerio, who had been for many years physician to the king of that country. He
was surprised, when he heard of the fame of this holy lady, that she should
speak of her infirmity as not natural and requiring no medical remedy. Hardly
believing this report to be true, he obtained permission to visit her, and
reproved her for the scandal she caused by rejecting medical aid, even accusing
her of hypocrisy. To all this she humbly answered: "It grieves me much to be
the cause of scandal to any one, and if any remedy can be found for my disease,
I am ready to make use of it." The physician, availing himself of her consent
and obedience, applied various remedies, but at the end of twenty days, finding
herself no better, she told him that she had submitted to his treatment in
order to remove all scandal from his eyes, and from the eyes of others, but now
he must leave the care of her soul to herself. For it was thus that the Holy
Spirit (who worked and spoke through her) wished to confound the too great
confidence of physicians in their science. After this Boerio held her in great
reverence, calling her mother, and often visited her.
Of the many visions which the saint beheld in her last
days.--Of her acute sufferings.--How she could taste nothing but the blessed
sacrament, and suffered in herself the pains of the passion of our Lord.
During the last days of her
life, her acute sufferings still continuing, this blessed soul received
impressions in accordance with the divine operations in the saint whose day was
celebrated.
On the evening of St. Lawrence's day her body
appeared to her in flames like his, and on the following day God visited her by
drawing her upwards, towards himself. She remained immovable for more than an
hour, with her eyes fixed on the ceiling of her chamber. She did not speak, but
often smiled in sign of her interior joy. On returning to herself she told
those around, who questioned her, that the Lord had showed her one spark of the
joys of eternal life, and that her joy was so great that she could not restrain
her smiles, and repeated only these words: "Lord, do with me all that seemeth
good to thee," which showed that the time was approaching when she was to pass
from the fires of purgatory into that blessed life. Her sufferings were
constantly increasing, followed by the sweetest consolation, until the vigil of
the Assumption, when they became so great that all those around her believed
her passing away to her Lord. When she was about receiving communion, she
addressed many beautiful words to the holy sacrament, and to the persons
present: words of burning love from the interior fire of her heart, so fervent
and pious that every one wept with devotion.
The following day and the succeeding night she
passed in torture, and received extreme unction at her own request, with great
elevation. The next day she was in a state of such spiritual joy, that it burst
forth in her countenance, which was radiant with smiles, to the admiration of
those who beheld it. When the vision had passed, she answered to their
inquiries that she had seen some most beautiful countenances, beaming with joy,
so that she could not contain her delight; but the impression remained with her
for seven days, so that she appeared better. The cause was manifestly
supernatural, the change from death to life taking place so suddenly, and then
again her return continually to a worse condition, as she was drawing nearer to
her end.
An attack so severe followed this vision that she
lost the use of her left hand and side, and a finger of the other hand. She lay
speechless for several hours, with her eyes closed, and could not swallow,
though the persons about her attempted to give her nourishment; but the divine
work going on within her was to be accomplished without human aid.
Her thirst was always so great that it seemed to
her she could drink all the water of the sea, and yet she could not swallow the
smallest drop, or take refreshment from any created thing. She would sometimes
attempt to taste of fruit, but as soon as it touched her lips she rejected
it.
On the night of the vigil of St. Bartholomew, she
had a demoniacal vision, which threw her into great distress of body and mind.
Being unable to speak, she motioned to have the sign of the cross made on her
heart, and blessed herself; and by this it was understood that she was
suffering from a temptation of the devil. She made a sign that a surplice,
stole, and holy water should be brought her; this being done, in half an hour
she was relieved. Oh! how wretched are those sinners who are carelessly
awaiting this terrible presence, and a torment as terrible, it being so
dreadful where there is no sin!
About the 25th of August, some liquid was offered
her, which she took in obedience, but it caused her to scream from the distress
it gave her. She afterwards fell into a state of great weakness, and asked to
have the windows opened that she might see the sky. As night came on, she had a
great many candles lighted, and then, as well as she could, she sang the
Veni Creator Spiritus. When it was finished, she lay with her eyes upturned
towards heaven, making signs, which led those about her to believe that she saw
wonderful things.
Her countenance was radiant with joy, and she
seemed just about to breathe her last; but recovering herself, she repeated
again and again: "Let us go;" adding, "no more earth, no more earth." When
questioned as to what she had seen, she answered that she could not describe
those things, but they were very pleasant.
On the 27th of the same month, she seemed as if
left without any life of her own, and resting with her spirit alone in God. She
dismissed every one from her apartment, saying: "Let no one enter this room
except those who are absolutely needed." She held no more conversation with
creatures, except so far as necessity required, and when she had need of any
service, she said only, "Do this in charity." This was contrary to her usual
habit, for she was accustomed to speak always with entire confidence and
frankness to every one; and always expressed great gratitude for any service
done her. But at this time she could not look upon any service as done to
herself, but only for the love of God. This state she continued in for two
days.
On the 28th of August, the feast of St.
Augustine, her sufferings were very great, and for some months before her
death, she appeared to suffer much more on feast days, especially on those of
our Lady, and of the apostles and martyrs. Often she cried aloud in her agony;
but her silent sufferings were the greatest, when her tongue and lips were so
parched with the burning fire within that she could not move them or speak. At
such times if any one touched a hair of her head, or even the edge of the bed
or the bed clothes, she would scream as if she had been wounded.
When she was unable to swallow the smallest
morsel of food, or a drop of liquid, she could always receive holy communion;
and sometimes when her confessor found her in such a state that he feared to
give it to her, she would make a sign, with a joyful countenance, that she was
not afraid, and often, on receiving her face was glowing and radiant with joy,
like a seraph.
Sometimes she extended her arms as if stretched
on the cross, and it seemed as if the stigmata were interiorly impressed on
her, although they did not appear outwardly. On one occasion fresh water was
brought her to cool her hands, and after bathing the palms, it became boiling
hot, so as to heat even the stand of the cup, which had a very long stem. She
also suffered greatly at this time in her feet.
As the burning fire within increased, her
thoughts and imagination were filled with different sins, which she had never
before thought of these, however, did not cause her any compunction but the
remembrance of them gave her great pain. Her attendants, seeing her extreme
weakness, and that she had not taken food for so long a time, on the 10th of
the month of September assembled ten physicians, in order to ascertain if
medical science could invent any remedy for her sufferings. After the most
careful investigation of her case, they decided that her condition was produced
wholly by supernatural causes, and was beyond the reach of medical skill, for
all her bodily organs were in good order and showed no sign of infirmity; and
they took their leave, lost in wonder and recommending themselves to her
prayers.
On the 12th, she again received holy communion,
but took no food; she also made a will naming the place in which she wished to
be buried; then she lay alternately like one dead, motionless and speechless,
or groaning with the internal flames that were consuming her and which raged so
fiercely that black blood flowed from her mouth. Her body was covered with
black stripes. After these attacks she became more and more exhausted, and on
one occasion, having her eyes raised to the ceiling and fixed, she made so many
signs to those around that they inquired of her what she saw, and she answered,
"Drive away that beast;" but they could understand nothing more.
In what manner, and at what time, she passed from this life to
the Lord.--Many persons saw that blessed soul, under different forms, and in
different ways, unite itself with God.--What happened to her confessor when he
was celebrating the Mass of the Martyrs.
At length, on the 14th of
September she had so violent a bleeding that her body seemed deprived of every
drop of moisture. All the blood remaining within had been dried up by the fire
that was consuming her. Her pulse was hardly perceptible, but her mind was
clear. During the night she talked freely, and received communion as usual,
continuing in the same state until seven o'clock on the following evening.
On Saturday night, as the morning of Sunday was
approaching, she was asked if she wished to receive communion, to which she
answered, "Not yet," when she found that it was not the usual hour. Then,
raising the finger of her right hand to heaven, she wished, it would seem, to
show that she was going to make her communion in heaven, there to unite herself
wholly with her Love, and triumph with him forever; and, as hitherto she had
been separated from all earthly things, seeing that her hour had now come, she
knew that she should need no more communions on earth; and at that moment this
blessed soul peacefully and gently expired, saying, "Into thy hands, O Lord, I
commend my spirit," and took flight to her sweet and long-desired Love.
After her death that yellow tint which before was
only seen about the region of the heart, diffused itself over her whole body,
which signified that the divine fire had gradually consumed her whole humanity,
which was preserved alive in the flesh until every, even the last particle was
consumed; and then, free from every pain, she went forth from this purgatory,
beatified, to take her place, as we must believe, in the choir of the Seraphim.
For so purified was she by the divine fire in this life, it would seem that the
Lord must have exalted her to such a glorious elevation.
This, her most happy transit, took place in the
year 1510, on Saturday night, December 14th, as the hour of Sunday was
approaching when she usually received communion. Among the persons present was
one of her spiritual daughters, who saw the soul depart swiftly, and fly to
God, without hindrance; and this sight gave her great consolation, and so much
light, that she addressed those about her in words of burning love, exclaiming:
"Oh! how narrow is the way by which we must pass, to arrive, without hindrance,
at our home."
Another spiritual daughter of the saint, who, by
divine permission, was tormented by an evil spirit, suffered dreadfully at that
hour, and the spirit being forced to declare the cause, said that he had seen
that soul unite herself with God.
Her faithful physician was asleep, and awoke as
she departed, hearing a voice saying to him, "Rest in God, for I am now going
to Paradise." At these words he called his wife, and told her that the Lady
Catherine had died just at that moment, and it was found to be so.
Another person, who was praying, saw at the same
hour Catherine ascending to heaven on a white cloud, and being very spiritual
and devout, he experienced such joy and consolation at the sight, that he was
like one beside himself, and although at a distance, he was as certain of her
death and glory as if he had been present.
A holy, religious lady also saw her in her sleep,
clothed in white, with a girdle about her waist. She told her companion that
she had seen the soul of the blessed Catherine going to heaven, and in the
morning, to her great joy, she found that it was so.
Another religious was at that hour rapt in
spirit, and saw Catherine so beautiful, joyful, and content, that she believed
herself in Paradise. She called her by her name, and told her many things which
prepared her to suffer for the love of God, and determined her to change her
life, which she did; and she was after heard to speak of the comfort she
received from the memory of that vision.
It would be a long history to relate all the
other persons who had the same vision, in various places, and under various
circumstances. Her confessor had no notice of her death, on that night, nor the
following: but the next day but one, happening to celebrate the mass for many
martyrs, and not thinking, at the time, of that blessed soul, he had such a
clear vision of her martyrdom, that he knew every word he uttered was
appropriate to her sufferings; and his heart was so wounded with compassion and
devotion, that he burst into tears, and was hardly able to continue the mass;
but in the midst of his weeping he experienced great interior joy and
satisfaction at the divine disposal and her repose.
All present at that mass--and they were friends
of the blessed Catherine--could not restrain their weeping, so that the
confessor himself was overwhelmed with astonishment, and could, with
difficulty, finish the service. After it was concluded, he retired, and
indulged his tears to relieve the oppression of his heart. So clearly was the
great suffering of that chosen soul revealed to his mind, that all he had seen
of it with his bodily eyes and known by long experience, seemed as nothing to
the reality, and if God had not helped him, he would have died of grief.
Of her burial, and how the body was preserved in the midst of
great moisture and putrefaction.--How many prayers were granted by her
intercession, and a person restored to health.--Of the order she gave to have
her heart opened, which was not done.
The body of this saint was
interred in the principal hospital of the city of Genoa, in which, for many
years, she had served the sick. It was first put in a beautiful wooden case,
near the wall under which it was not noticed that an aqueduct passed. It
remained there nearly a year, and when it was disinterred, the tow laid around
the body was filled and covered with large worms that had been generated by the
moisture produced by the water; but not one had touched the holy body, which
was entire from head to foot, and the flesh dried rather than consumed.
Crowds of people flocked to see this wonderful
sight, so that it was found necessary to expose it for eight days. But as some
depredations had been committed on it, it was enclosed in a chapel where it
might be seen and not touched. It caused great surprise when the cloths that
wrapped it, and even the wood of the coffin, were seen to be destroyed and
spoiled, and the body uncorrupted and without a stain.
Many were graciously heard who recommended
themselves to her, and among others a friend of hers, who was sick, obtained
the favor of restoration to health. Her infirmity confined her to her bed, but
having had a vision of the happy state of the blessed soul, she directed that
she should be carried into the church and placed near the body. On applying the
cloths that were about it to the place where her pains were most severe, and
commending herself to the saint, she was instantly cured, and returned to her
house alone, without any assistance. For this great favor received, she caused
a mass of our Lady to be offered at each anniversary, and another on the
Festival of the Assumption, and left provision at her death that these masses
should be perpetual.
At present the blessed Catherine is held in great
devotion, in consideration of her holy life, illuminated with such peculiar
graces. She directed, some months before her death, that her body should be
opened and the heart examined, to see if it were not wholly consumed by love,
yet her friends did not venture to do it.
That holy body was placed in a marble sepulcher,
erected in the church of the hospital; but it was afterwards removed to a less
conspicuous tomb, on account of the inconvenience caused by the number of
persons coming to visit it.
It remains for us to pray our most merciful Lord,
that by the intercession of this blessed soul, he may bestow on us the
abundance of his love, that we may all advance from virtue to virtue, and at
length be united in eternal bliss with Him who liveth and reigneth
eternally.