CHAPTER I.

The Dolorous Passion of

Our Lord Jesus Christ

From the Meditations of

Anne Catherine Emmerich

Copyright Notice: This ebook was prepared from the 20th edition of

this book, which was published in 1904 by Benziger Brothers in New

York. The copyright for that edition is expired and the text is in the

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PREFACE TO THE FRENCH TRANSLATION.

BY THE ABBE DE CAZALES.

The writer of this Preface was travelling in Germany, when he

chanced to meet with a book, entitled, The History of the Passion of

our Lord Jesus Christ, from the Meditations of Anne Catherine Emmerich,

which appeared to him both interesting and edifying. Its style was

unpretending, its ideas simple, its tone unassuming, its sentiments

unexaggerated, and its every sentence expressive of the most complete

and entire submission to the Church. Yet, at the same time, it would

have been difficult anywhere to meet with a more touching and lifelike

paraphrase of the Gospel narrative. He thought that a book possessing

such qualities deserved to be known on this side the Rhine, and that

there could be no reason why it should not be valued for its own sake,

independent of the somewhat singular source whence it emanated.

Still, the translator has by no means disguised to himself that this

work is written, in the first place, for Christians; that is to say,

for men who have the right to be very diffident in giving credence to

particulars concerning facts which are articles of faith; and although

he is aware that St. Bonaventure and many others, in their paraphrases

of the Gospel history, have mixed up traditional details with those

given in the sacred text, even these examples have not wholly reassured

him. St. Bonaventure professed only to give a paraphrase, whereas these

revelations appear to be something more. It is certain that the holy

maiden herself gave them no higher title than that of dreams, and that

the transcriber of her narratives treats as blasphemous the idea of

regarding them in any degree as equivalent to a fifth Gospel; still it

is evident that the confessors who exhorted Sister Emmerich to relate

what she saw, the celebrated poet who passed four years near her couch,

eagerly transcribing all he heard her say, and the German Bishops, who

encouraged the publication of his book, considered it as something more

than a paraphrase. Some explanations are needful on this head.

The writings of many Saints introduce us into a new, and, if I may

be allowed the expression, a miraculous world. In all ages there have

been revelations about the past, the present, the future, and even

concerning things absolutely inaccessible to the human intellect. In

the present day men are inclined to regard these revelations as simple

hallucinations, or as caused by a sickly condition of body.

The Church, according to the testimony of her most approved writers,

recognises three descriptions of ecstasy; of which the first is simply

natural, and entirely brought about by certain physical tendencies and

a highly imaginative mind; the second divine or angelic, arising from

intercourse held with the supernatural world; and the third produced by

infernal agency. (See, on this head, the work of Cardinal Bona, De

Discretione Spirituum.) Lest we should here write a book instead of a

preface, we will not enter into any development of this doctrine, which

appears to us highly philosophical, and without which no satisfactory

explanation can be given on the subject of the soul of man and its

various states.

The Church directs certain means to be employed to ascertain by what

spirit these ecstasies are produced, according to the maxim of St.

John: 'Try the spirits, if they be of God.' (1 Jn 4:1). When circumstances

or events claiming to be supernatural have been properly examined

according to certain rules, the Church has in all ages made a selection

from them.

Many persons who have been habitually in a state of ecstasy have

been canonised, and their books approved. But this approbation has

seldom amounted to more than a declaration that these books contained

nothing contrary to faith, and that they were likely to promote a

spirit of piety among the faithful. For the Church is only founded on

the word of Christ and on the revelations made to the Apostles.

Whatever may since have been revealed to certain saints possesses

purely a relative value, the reality of which may even be disputed--it

being one of the admirable characteristics of the Church, that, though

inflexibly one in dogma, she allows entire liberty to the human mind in

all besides. Thus, we may believe private revelations, above all, when

those persons to whom they were made have been raised by the Church to

the rank of Saints publicly honoured, invoked, and venerated; but, even

in these cases, we may, without ceasing to be perfectly orthodox,

dispute their authenticity and divine origin. It is the place of reason

to dispute and to select as it sees best.

With regard to the rule for discerning between the good and the evil

spirit, it is no other, according to all theologians, than that of the

Gospel. A fructibus eorum cognoscetis eos. By their fruits you shall

know them. It must be examined in the first place whether the person

who professes to have revelations mistrusts what passes within himself;

whether he would prefer a more common path; whether far from boasting

of the extraordinary graces which he receives, he seeks to hide them,

and only makes them known through obedience; and, finally, whether he

is continually advancing in humility, mortification, and charity. Next,

the revelations themselves must be very closely examined into; it must

be seen whether there is anything in them contrary to faith; whether

they are conformable to Scripture and Apostolic tradition; and whether

they are related in a headstrong spirit, or in a spirit of entire

submission to the Church.

Whoever reads the life of Anne Catherine Emmerich, and her book,

will be satisfied that no fault can be found in any of these respects

either with herself or with her revelations. Her book resembles in many

points the writings of a great number of saints, and her life also

bears the most striking similitude to theirs. To be convinced of this

fact, we need but study the writings or what is related of Saints

Francis of Assisi, Bernard, Bridget, Hildegard, Catherine of Genoa,

Catherine of Sienna, Ignatius, John of the Cross, Teresa, and an

immense number of other holy persons who are less known. So much being

conceded, it is clear that in considering Sister Emmerich to have been

inspired by God's Holy Spirit, we are not ascribing more merit to her

book than is allowed by the Church to all those of the same class. They

are all edifying, and may serve to promote piety, which is their sole

object. We must not exaggerate their importance by holding as an

absolute fact that they proceed from divine inspiration, a favour so

great that its existence in any particular case should not be credited

save with the utmost circumspection.

With regard, however, to our present publication, it may be urged

that, considering the superior talents of the transcriber of Sister

Emmerich's narrations, the language and expressions which he has made use

of may not always have been identical with those which she employed. We

have no hesitation whatever in allowing the force of this argument.

Most fully do we believe in the entire sincerity of M. Clement

Brentano, because we both know and love him, and, besides, his

exemplary piety and the retired life which he leads, secluded from a

world in which it would depend but on himself to hold the highest

place, are guarantees amply sufficient to satisfy any impartial mind of

his sincerity. A poem such as he might publish, if he only pleased,

would cause him to be ranked at once among the most eminent of the

German poets, whereas the office which he has taken upon himself of

secretary to a poor visionary has brought him nothing but contemptuous

raillery. Nevertheless, we have no intention to assert that in giving

the conversations and discourses of Sister Emmerich that order and

coherency in which they were greatly wanting, and writing them down in

his own way, he may not unwittingly have arranged, explained, and

embellished them. But this would not have the effect of destroying the

originality of the recital, or impugning either the sincerity of the

nun, or that of the writer.

The translator professes to be unable to understand how any man can

write for mere writing's sake, and without considering the probable

effects which his work will produce. This book, such as it is, appears

to him to be at once unusually edifying, and highly poetical. It is

perfectly clear that it has, properly speaking, no literary pretensions

whatever. Neither the uneducated maiden whose visions are here relate,

nor the excellent Christian writer who had published them in so entire

a spirit of literary disinterestedness, ever had the remotest idea of

such a thing. And yet there are not, in our opinion, many highly

worked-up compositions calculated to produce an effect in any degree

comparable to that which will be brought about by the perusal of this

unpretending little work. It is our hope that it will make a strong

impression even upon worldlings, and that in many hearts it will

prepare the way for better ideas,--perhaps even for a lasting change of

life.

In the next place, we are not sorry to call public attention in some

degree to all that class of phenomena which preceded the foundation of

the Church, which has since been perpetuated uninterruptedly, and which

too many Christians are disposed to reject altogether, either through

ignorance and want of reflection, or purely through human respect. This

is a field which has hitherto been but little explored historically,

psychologically, and physiologically; and it would be well if

reflecting minds were to bestow upon it a careful and attentive

investigation. To our Christian readers we must remark that this work

has received the approval of ecclesiastical authorities. It has been

prepared for the press under the superintendence of the two late

Bishops of Ratisbonne, Sailer and Wittman. These names are but little

known in France; but in Germany they are identical with learning,

piety, ardent charity, and a life wholly devoted to the maintenance and

propagation of the Catholic faith. Many French priests have given their

opinion that the translation of a book of this character could not but

tend to nourish piety, without, however, countenancing that weakness of

spirit which is disposed to lend more importance in some respects to

private than to general revelations, and consequently to substitute

matters which we are simply permitted to believe, in the place of those

which are of faith.

We feel convinced that no one will take offence at certain details

given on the subject of the outrages which were suffered by our divine

Lord during the course of his passion. Our readers will remember the

words of the psalmist: 'I am a worm and no man; the reproach of men, and

the outcast of the people;' (Ps 22:6) and those of the Apostle: 'Tempted in

all things like as we are, without sin.' (Heb 4:15). Did we stand in need

of a precedent, we should request our readers to remember how plainly

and crudely Bossuet describes the same scenes in the most eloquent of

his four sermons on the Passion of our Lord. On the other hand, there

have been so many grand platonic or rhetorical sentences in the books

published of late years, concerning that abstract entity; on which the

writers have been pleased to bestow the Christian title of the Word, or

Logos, that it may be eminently useful to show the Man-God, the Word

made flesh, in all the reality of his life on earth, of his

humiliation, and of his sufferings. It must be evident that the cause

of truth, and still more that of edification, will not be the losers.

INTRODUCTION

The following meditations will probably rank high among many similar

works which the contemplative love of Jesus has produced; but it is our

duty here plainly to affirm that they have no pretensions whatever to

be regarded as history.1 They are but intended to take one of the

lowest places among those numerous representations of the Passion which

have been given us by pious writers and artists, and to be considered

at the very utmost as the Lenten meditations of a devout nun, related

in all simplicity, and written down in the plainest and most literal

language, from her own dictation. To these meditations, she herself

never attached more than a mere human value, and never related them

except through obedience, and upon the repeated commands of the

directors of her conscience.

The writer of the following pages was introduced to this holy

religious by Count Leopold de Stolberg. (The Count de Stolberg is one

of the most eminent converts whom the Catholic Church has made from

Protestantism. He died in 1819.) Dean Bernard Overberg, her director

extraordinary, and Bishop Michael Sailer, who had often been her

counsellor and consoler, urged her to relate to us in detail all that

she experienced; and the latter, who survived her, took the deepest

interest in the arrangement and publication of the notes taken down

from her dictation. (The Bishop of Ratisbonne, one of the most

celebrated defenders of the faith in Germany.) These illustrious and

holy men, now dead, and whose memory is blessed, were in continual

communion of prayer with Anne Catherine, whom they loved and respected,

on account of the singular graces with which God had favoured her. The

editor of this book received equal encouragement, and met with no less

sympathy in his labours, from the late Bishop of Ratisbonne, Mgr.

Wittman. (Mgr. Wittman was the worthy successor of Sailer, and a man of

eminent sanctity, whose memory is held in veneration by all the

Catholics of the south of Germany.) This holy Bishop, who was so deeply

versed in the ways of Divine grace, and so well acquainted with its

effects on certain souls, both from his private investigations of the

subject, and his own experience, took the most lively interest in all

that concerned Anne Catherine, and on hearing of the work in which the

editor of this book was engaged, he strongly exhorted him to publish

it. 'These things have not been communicated to you for nothing,' would he

often say; 'God had his views in all. Publish something at least of what

you know, for you will thereby benefit many souls.' He at the same time

brought forward various instances from his own experience and that of

others, showing the benefit which had been derived from the study of

works of a similar character. He delighted in calling such privileged

souls as Anne Catherine the marrow of the bones of the Church,

according to the expression of St. John Chrysostom, medulla enim hujus

mundi sunt, and he encouraged the publication of their lives and

writings as far as lay in his power.

The editor of this book being taken by a kind friend to the dying

bed of the holy Bishop, had no reason whatever to expect to be

recognised, as he had only once in his life conversed with him for a

few minutes; nevertheless the dying saint knew him again, and after a

few most kind words blessed and exhorted him to continue his work for

the glory of God.

Encouraged by the approbation of such men, we therefore yield to the

wishes of many virtuous friends in publishing the Meditations on the

Passion, of this humble religious, to whom God granted the favour of

being at times simple, ingenuous, and ignorant as a child, while at

others she was clear sighted, sensible, possessed of a deep insight

into the most mysterious and hidden things, and consumed with burning

and heroic zeal, but ever forgetful of self, deriving her whole

strength from Jesus alone, and steadfast in the most perfect humility

and entire self-abnegation.

We give our readers a slight sketch of her life, intending at some

future day to publish her biography more in full.

The Life Of Anne Catherine Emmerich,

Religious Of The Order Of St. Augustine,

At The Convent Of Agnetenberg, Dulmen, Westphalia.

Venerable Anne Catherine Emmerich2 was born at Flamske, a village

situated about a mile and a half from Coesfeld, in the bishopric of

Munster, on the 8th of September 1774, and was baptised in the church

of St. James at Coesfeld. Her parents, Bernard Emmerich and Anne

Hiller, were poor peasants, but distinguished for their piety and

virtue.

The childhood of Anne Catherine bore a striking resemblance to that

of the Venerable Anne Garzias de St. Barthelemi, of Dominica del

Paradiso, and of several other holy persons born in the same rank of

life as herself. Her angel-guardian used to appear to her as a child;

and when she was taking care of sheep in the fields, the Good Shepherd

himself, under the form of a young shepherd, would frequently come to

her assistance. From childhood she was accustomed to have divine

knowledge imparted to her in visions of all kinds, and was often

favoured by visits from the Mother of God and Queen of Heaven, who,

under the form of a sweet, lovely, and majestic lady, would bring the

Divine Child to be, as it were, her companion, and would assure her

that she loved and would ever protect her. Many of the saints would

also appear to her, and receive from her hands the garlands of flowers

which she had prepared in honour of their festivals. All these favours

and visions surprised the child less than if an earthly princess and

the lords and ladies of her court had come to visit her. Nor was she,

later in life, more surprised at these celestial visits, for her

innocence caused her to feel far more at her ease with our Divine Lord,

his Blessed Mother and the Saints, than she could ever be with even the

most kind and amiable of her earthly companions. The names of Father,

Mother, Brother, and Spouse, appeared to her expressive of the real

connections subsisting between God and man, since the Eternal word had

been pleased to be born of a woman, and so to become our Brother, and

these sacred titles were not mere words in her mouth.

While yet a child, she used to speak with innocent candour and

simplicity of all that she saw, and her listeners would be filled with

admiration at the histories she would relate from Holy Writ; but their

questions and remarks having sometimes disturbed her peace of mind, she

determined to keep silence on such subjects for the future. In her

innocence of heart, she thought that it was not right to talk of things

of this sort, that other persons never did so, and that her speech

should be only Yea, yea, and Nay, nay, or Praise be to Jesus Christ.

The visions with which she was favoured were so like realities, and

appeared to her so sweet and delightful, that she supposed all

Christian children were favoured with the same; and she concluded that

those who never talked on such subjects were only more discreet and

modest than herself, so she resolved to keep silence also, to be like

them.

Almost from her cradle she possessed the gift of distinguishing what

was good or evil, holy or profane, blessed or accursed, in material as

well as in spiritual things, thus resembling St. Sibyllina of Pavia,

Ida of Louvain, Ursula Benincasa, and some other holy souls. In her

earliest childhood she used to bring out of the fields useful herbs,

which no one had ever before discovered to be good for anything, and

plant them near her father's cottage, or in some spot where she was

accustomed to work and play; while on the other hand she would root up

all poisonous plants, and particularly those ever used for

superstitious practices or in dealings with the devil. Were she by

chance in a place where some great crime had been committed, she would

hastily run away, or begin to pray and do penance. She used also to

perceive by intuition when she was in a consecrated spot, return thanks

to God, and be filled with a sweet feeling of peace. When a priest

passed by with the Blessed Sacrament, even at a great distance from her

home or from the place where she was taking care of her flock, she

would feel a strong attraction in the direction whence he was coming,

run to meet him, and be kneeling in the road, adoring the Blessed

Sacrament, long before he could reach the spot.

She knew when any object was consecrated, and experienced a feeling

of disgust and repugnance when in the neighbourhood of old pagan

cemeteries, whereas she was attracted to the sacred remains of the

saints as steel by the magnet. When relics were shown to her, she knew

what saints they had belonged to, and could give not only accounts of

the minutest and hitherto unknown particulars of their lives, but also

histories of the relics themselves, and of the places where they had

been preserved. During her whole life she had continual intercourse

with the souls in purgatory; and all her actions and prayers were

offered for the relief of their sufferings. She was frequently called

upon to assist them, and even reminded in some miraculous manner, if

she chanced to forget them. Often, while yet very young, she used to be

awakened out of her sleep by bands of suffering souls, and to follow

them on cold winter's nights with bare feet, the whole length of the Way

of the Cross to Coesfeld, though the ground was covered with snow.

From her infancy to the day of her death she was indefatigable in

relieving the sick, and in dressing and curing wounds and ulcers, and

she was accustomed to give to the poor every farthing she possessed. So

tender was her conscience, that the slightest sin she fell into caused

her such pain as to make her ill, and absolution then always restored

her immediately to health.

The extraordinary nature of the favours bestowed on her by Almighty

God was no hindrance in the way of her devoting herself to hard labour,

like any other peasant-girl; and we may also be allowed to observe that

a certain degree of the spirit of prophecy is not unusually to be found

among her country men and women. She was taught in the school of

suffering and mortification, and there learned lessons of perfection.

She allowed herself no more sleep or food than was absolutely

necessary; passed whole hours in prayer every night; and in winter

often knelt out of doors on the snow. She slept on the ground on planks

arranged in the form of a cross. Her food and drink consisted of what

was rejected by others; she always kept the best parts even of that for

the poor and sick, and when she did not know of anyone to give them to,

she offered them to God in a spirit of child-like faith, begging him to

give them to some person who was more in need than herself. When there

was anything to be seen or heard which had no reference to God or

religion, she found some excuse for avoiding the spot to which others

were hastening, or, if there, closed her eyes and ears. She was

accustomed to say that useless actions were sinful, and that when we

denied our bodily senses any gratification of this kind, we were amply

repaid by the progress which we made in the interior life, in the same

manner as pruning renders vines and other fruittrees more productive.

From her early youth, and wherever she went, she had frequent

symbolical visions, which showed her in parables, as it were, the

object of her existence, the means of attaining it, and her future

sufferings, together with the dangers and conflicts which she would

have to go through.

She was in her sixteenth year, when one day, whilst at work in the

fields with her parents and sisters, she heard the bell ringing at the

Convent of the Sisters of the Annunciation, at Coesfeld. This sound so

inflamed her secret desire to become a nun, and had so great an effect

upon her, that she fainted away, and remained ill and weak for a long

time after. When in her eighteenth year she was apprenticed at Coesfeld

to a dressmaker, with whom she passed two years, and then returned to

her parents. She asked to be received at the Convents of the

Augustinians at Borken, of the Trappists at Darfeld, and of the Poor

Clares at Munster; but her poverty, and that of these convents, always

presented an insuperable obstacle to her being received. At the age of

twenty, having saved twenty thalers (about 3l. English), which she had

earned by her sewing, she went with this little sum--a perfect fortune for

a poor peasant-girl--to a pious organist of Coesfeld, whose daughter she

had known when she first lived in the town. Her hope was that, by

learning to play on the organ, she might succeed in obtaining

admittance into a convent. But her irresistible desire to serve the

poor and give them everything she possessed left her no time to learn

music, and before long she had so completely stripped herself of

everything, that her good mother was obliged to bring her bread, milk,

and eggs, for her own wants and those of the poor, with whom she shared

everything. Then her mother said: 'Your desire to leave your father and

myself, and enter a convent, gives us much pain; but you are still my

beloved child, and when I look at your vacant seat at home, and reflect

that you have given away all your savings, so as to be now in want, my

heart is filled with sorrow, and I have now brought you enough to keep

you for some time.' Anne Catherine replied: 'Yes, dear mother, it is true

that I have nothing at all left, because it was the holy will of God

that others should be assisted by me; and since I have given all to

him, he will now take care of me, and bestow his divine assistance upon

us all.' She remained some years at Coesfeld, employed in labour, good

works, and prayer, being always guided by the same inward inspirations.

She was docile and submissive as a child in the hands of her

guardian-angel.

Although in this brief sketch of her life we are obliged to omit

many interesting circumstances, there is one which we must not pass

over in silence. When about twenty-four years of age, she received a

favour from our Lord, which has been granted to many persons devoted in

an especial manner to meditation on his painful Passion; namely, to

experience the actual and visible sufferings of his sacred Head, when

crowned with thorns. The following is the account she herself has given

of the circumstances under which so mysterious a favour was bestowed

upon her: 'About four years previous to my admittance into the convent,

consequently in 1798, it happened that I was in the Jesuits' Church at

Coesfeld, at about twelve o'clock in the day, kneeling before a crucifix

and absorbed in meditation, when all on a sudden I felt a strong but

pleasant heat in my head, and I saw my Divine Spouse, under the form of

a young man clothed with light, come towards me from the altar, where

the Blessed Sacrament was preserved in the tabernacle. In his left hand

he held a crown of flowers, in his right hand a crown of thorns, and he

bade me choose which I would have. I chose the crown of thorns; he

placed it on my head, and I pressed it down with both hands. Then he

disappeared, and I returned to myself, feeling, however, violent pain

around my head. I was obliged to leave the church, which was going to

be closed. One of my companions was kneeling by my side, and as I

thought she might have seen what happened to me, I asked her when we

got home whether there was not a wound on my forehead, and spoke to her

in general terms of my vision, and of the violent pain which had

followed it. She could see nothing outwardly, but was not astonished at

what I told her, because she knew that I was sometimes in an

extraordinary state, without her being able to understand the cause.

The next day my forehead and temples were very much swelled, and I

suffered terribly. This pain and swelling often returned, and sometimes

lasted whole days and nights. I did not remark that there was blood on

my head until my companions told me I had better put on a clean cap,

because mine was covered with red spots. I let them think whatever they

liked about it, only taking care to arrange my head dress so as to hide

the blood which flowed from my head, and I continued to observe the

same precaution even after I entered the convent, where only one person

perceived the blood, and she never betrayed my secret.'

Several other contemplative persons, especially devoted to the

passion of our Lord, have been admitted to the privilege of suffering

the torture inflicted by the crown of thorns, after having seen a

vision in which the two crowns were offered them to choose between, for

instance, among others, St. Catherine of Sienna, and Pasithea of

Crogis, a Poor Clare of the same town, who died in 1617.

The writer of these pages may here be allowed to remark that he

himself has, in full daylight, several times seen blood flow down the

forehead and face, and even beyond the linen wrapped round the neck of

Anne Catherine. Her desire to embrace a religious life was at length

gratified. The parents of a young person whom the Augustinian nuns of

Dulmen wished to receive into their order, declared that they would not

give their consent except on condition that Anne Catherine was taken at

the same time. The nuns yielded their assent, though somewhat

reluctantly, on account of their extreme poverty; and on the 13th

November 1802, one week before the feast of the Presentation of the

Blessed Virgin, Anne Catherine entered on her novitiate. At the present

day vocations are not so severely tested as formerly; but in her case,

Providence imposed special trials, for which, rigorous as they were,

she felt she never could be too grateful. Sufferings or privations,

which a soul, either alone or in union with others, imposes upon

herself, for God's greater glory, are easy to bear; but there is one

cross more nearly resembling the cross of Christ than any other, and

that is, lovingly and patiently to submit to unjust punishment,

rebuffs, or accusations. It was the will of God that during her year's

novitiate she should, independently of the will of any creature, be

tried as severely as the most strict mistress of novices could have

done before any mitigations had been allowed in the rules. She learned

to regard her companions as instruments in the hands of God for her

sanctification; and at a later period of her life many other things

appeared to her in the same light. But as it was necessary that her

fervent soul should be constantly tried in the school of the Cross, God

was pleased that she should remain in it all her life.

In many ways her position in the convent was excessively painful.

Not one of her companions, nor even any priest or doctor, could

understand her case. She had learned, when living among poor peasants,

to hide the wonderful gifts which God had bestowed on her; but the case

was altered now that she was in familiar intercourse with a large

number of nuns, who, though certainly good and pious, were filled with

ever-increasing feelings of curiosity, and even of spiritual jealousy

in her regard. Then, the contracted ideas of the community, and the

complete ignorance of the nuns concerning all those exterior phenomena

by which the interior life manifests itself, gave her much to endure,

the more so, as these phenomena displayed themselves in the most

unusual and astonishing manner. She heard everything that was said

against her, even when the speakers were at on end of the convent and

she at the other, and her heart was most deeply wounded as if by

poisoned arrows. Yet she bore all patiently a lovingly without showing

that she knew what was said of her. More than once charity impelled her

to cast herself at the feet of some nun who was particularly prejudiced

against her, and ask her pardon with tears. Then, she was suspected of

listening at the doors, for the private feelings of dislike entertained

against her became known, no one knew how, and the nuns felt

uncomfortable and uneasy, in spite of themselves, when in her company.

Whenever the rule (the minutest point of which was sacred in her

eyes) was neglected in the slightest degree, she beheld in spirit each

infringement, and at times was inspired to fly to the spot where the

rule was being broken by some infringement of the vow of poverty, or

disregards of the hours of silence, and she would then repeat suitable

passages from the rule, without having ever learned them. She thus

became an object of aversion to all those religious who broke the rule;

and her sudden appearance among them had almost the effect of

apparitions. God had bestowed upon her the gift of tears to so great an

extent, that she often passed whole hours in the church weeping over

the sins and ingratitude of men, the sufferings of the Church, the

imperfections of the community, and her own faults. But these tears of

sublime sorrow could be understood by none but God, before whom she

shed them, and men attributed them to mere caprice, a spirit of

discontent, or some other similar cause. Her confessor had enjoined

that she should receive the holy communion more frequently than the

other nuns, because, so ardently did she hunger after the bread of

angels, that she had been more than once near dying. These heavenly

sentiments awakened feelings of jealousy in her sisters, who sometimes

even accused her of hypocrisy.

The favour which had been shown her in her admittance into the

convent, in spite of her poverty, was also made a subject of reproach.

The thought of being thus an occasion of sin to others was most painful

to her, and she continually besought God to permit her to bear herself

the penalty of this want of charity in her regard. About Christmas, of

the year 1802, she had a very severe illness, which began by a violent

pain about her heart.

This pain did not leave her even when she was cured, and she bore it

in silence until the year 1812, when the mark of a cross was imprinted

exteriorly in the same place, as we shall relate further on. Her

weakness and delicate health caused her to be looked upon more as

burdensome than useful to the community; and this, of course, told

against her in all ways, yet she was never weary of working and serving

the others, nor was she ever so happy as at this period of her life--spent

in privations and sufferings of every description.

On the 13th of November 1803, at the age of twenty-nine, she

pronounced her solemn vows, and became the spouse of Jesus Christ, in

the Convent of Agnetenberg, at Dulmen. 'When I had pronounced my vows,' she

says, 'my relations were again extremely kind to me. My father and my

eldest brother brought me two pieces of cloth. My father, a good, but

stern man, and who had been much averse to my entering the convent, had

told me, when we parted, that he would willingly pay for my burial, but

that he would give nothing for the convent; and he kept his word, for

this piece of cloth was the winding sheet used for my spiritual burial

in the convent.'

'I was not thinking of myself,' she says again, 'I was thinking of nothing

but our Lord and my holy vows. My companions could not understand me;

nor could I explain my state to them. God concealed from them many of

the favours which he bestowed upon me, otherwise they would have had

very false ideas concerning me. Notwithstanding all my trials and

sufferings, I was never more rich interiorly, and my soul was perfectly

flooded with happiness. My cell only contained one chair without a

seat, and another without a back; yet in my eyes, it was magnificently

furnished, and when there I often thought myself in Heaven. Frequently

during the night, impelled by love and by the mercy of God, I poured

forth the feelings of my soul by conversing with him on loving and

familiar language, as I had always done from my childhood, and then

those who were watching me would accuse me of irreverence and

disrespect towards God. Once, I happened to say that it appeared to me

that I should be guilty of greater disrespect did I receive the Body of

our Lord without having conversed familiarly with him, and I was

severely reprimanded. Amid all these trials, I yet lived in peace with

God and with all his creatures. When I was working in the garden, the

birds would come and rest on my head and shoulders, and we would

together sing the praises of God. I always beheld my angel-guardian at

my side, and although the devil used frequently to assault and terrify

me in various ways, he was never permitted to do me much harm. My

desire for the Blessed Sacrament was so irresistible, that often at

night I left my cell and went to the church, if it was open; but if

not, I remained at the door or by the walls, even in winter, kneeling

or prostrate, with my arms extended in ecstasy. The convent chaplain,

who was so charitable as to come early to give me the Holy Communion,

used to find me in this state, but as soon as he was come and had

opened the church, I always recovered, and hastened to the holy table,

there to receive my Lord and my God. When I was sacristan, I used all

on a sudden to feel myself ravished in spirit, and ascend to the

highest parts of the church, on to cornices, projecting parts of the

building, and mouldings, where it seemed impossible for any being to

get by human means. Then I cleaned and arranged everything, and it

appeared to me that I was surrounded by blessed spirits, who

transported me about and held me up in their hands. Their presence did

not cause me the least uneasiness, for I had been accustomed to it from

my childhood, and I used to have the most sweet and familiar

intercourse with them. It was only when I was in the company of certain

men that I was really alone; and so great was then my feeling of

loneliness that I could not help crying like a child that has strayed

from home.'

We now proceed to her illnesses, omitting any description of some

other remarkable phenomena of her ecstatic life, only recommending the

reader to compare the accounts we have already given with what is

related of St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi.

Anne Catherine had always been weak and delicate, and yet had been,

from her earliest childhood, in the habit of practising many

mortifications, of fasting and of passing the night in watching and

prayer in the open air. She had been accustomed to continue hard labour

in the fields, at all seasons of the year, and her strength was also

necessarily much tried by the exhausting and supernatural states

through which she so frequently passed. At the convent she continued to

work in the garden and in the house, whilst her spiritual labours and

sufferings were ever on the increase, so that it is by no means

surprising that she was frequently ill; but her illnesses arose from

yet another cause. We have learned, from careful observations made

every day for the space of four years, and also from what she herself

was unwillingly forced to admit, that during the whole course of her

life, and especially during that part of it which she spent at the

convent, when she enjoyed the highest spiritual favours, a great

portion of her illnesses and sufferings came from taking upon herself

the sufferings of others. Sometimes she asked for the illness of a

person who did not bear it patiently, and relieved him of the whole or

of a part of his sufferings, by taking them upon herself; sometimes,

wishing to expiate a sin or put an end to some suffering, she gave

herself up into the hands of God, and he, accepting her sacrifice,

permitted her thus, in union with the merits of his passion, to expiate

the sin by suffering some illness corresponding to it. She had

consequently to bear, not only her own maladies, but those also of

others--to suffer in expiation of the sins of her brethren, and of the

faults and negligences of certain portions of the Christian

community--and, finally, to endure many and various sufferings in

satisfaction for the souls of purgatory. All these sufferings appeared

like real illnesses, which took the most opposite and variable forms,

and she was placed entirely under the care of the doctor, who

endeavoured by earthly remedies to cure illnesses which in reality were

the very sources of her life. She said on this subject--'Repose in suffering

has always appeared to me the most desirable condition possible. The

angels themselves would envy us, were envy not an imperfection. But for

sufferings to bear really meritorious we must patiently and gratefully

accept unsuitable remedies and comforts, and all other additional

trials. I did not myself fully understand my state, nor know what it

was to lead to. In my soul I accepted my different sufferings, but in

my body it was my duty to strive against them. I had given myself

wholly and entirely to my Heavenly Spouse, and his holy will was being

accomplished in me; but I was living on earth, where I was not to rebel

against earthly wisdom and earthly prescriptions. Even had I fully

comprehended my state, and had both time and power to explain it, there

was no one near who would have been able to understand me. A doctor

would simply have concluded that I was entirely mad, and would have

increased his expensive and painful remedies tenfold. I have suffered

much in this way during the whole of my life, and particularly when I

was at the convent, from having unsuitable remedies administered to me.

Often, when my doctors and nurses had reduced me to the last agony, and

that I was near death, God took pity on me, and sent me some

supernatural assistance, which effected an entire cure.'

Four years before the suppression of her convent she went to Flamske

for two days to visit her parents. Whilst there she went once to kneel

and pray for some hours before the miraculous Cross of the Church of

St. Lambert, at Coesfeld. She besought the Almighty to bestow the gifts

of peace and unity upon her convent, offered him the Passion of Jesus

Christ for that intention, and implored him to allow her to feel a

portion of the sufferings which were endured by her Divine Spouse on

the Cross. From the time that she made this prayer her hands and feet

became burning and painful, and she suffered constantly from fever,

which she believed was the cause of the pain in her hands and feet, for

she did not dare to think that her prayer had been granted. Often she

was unable to walk, and the pain in her hands prevented her from

working as usual in the garden. On the 3rd December 1811, the convent

was suppressed, and the church closed. (Under the Government of Jerome

Bonaparte, King of Westphalia.) The nuns dispersed in all directions,

but Anne Catherine remained, poor and ill. A kindhearted servant

belonging to the monastery attended upon her out of charity, and an

aged emigrant priest, who said Mass in the convent, remained also with

her. These three individuals, being the poorest of the Community, did

not leave the convent until the spring of 1812. She was still very

unwell, and could not be moved without great difficulty. The priest

lodged with a poor widow who lived in the neighbourhood, and Anne

Catherine had in the same house a wretched little room on the

ground-floor, which looked on the street. There she lived, in poverty

and sickness, until the autumn of 1813. Her ecstasies in prayer, and

her spiritual intercourse with the invisible world, became more and

more frequent. She was about to be called to a state with which she was

herself but imperfectly acquainted, and in order to enter which she did

nothing but submissively abandon herself to the will of God. Our Lord

was pleased about this time to imprint upon her virginal body the

stigmas of his cross and of his crucifixion, which were to the Jews a

stumbling-block, and to the Gentiles folly, and to many persons who

call themselves Christians, both the one and the other. From her very

earliest childhood she had besought our Lord to impress the marks of

his cross deeply upon her heart, that so she might never forget his

infinite love for men; but she had never thought of receiving any

outward marks. Rejected by the world, she prayed more fervently than

ever for this end. On the 28th of August, the feast of St. Augustine,

the patron of her order, as she was making this prayer in bed, ravished

in ecstasy and her arms stretched forth, she beheld a young man

approach her surrounded with light. It was under this form that her

Divine Spouse usually appeared to her, and he now made upon her body

with his right hand the mark of a common cross. From this time there

was a mark like a cross upon her bosom, consisting of two bands

crossed, about three inches long and one wide. Later the skin often

rose in blisters on this place, as if from a burn, and when these

blisters burst a burning colourless liquid issued from them, sometimes

in such quantities as to soak through several sheets. She was long

without perceiving what the case really was, and only thought that she

was in a strong perspiration. The particular meaning of this mark has

never been known.

Some weeks later, when making the same prayer, she fell into an

ecstasy, and beheld the same apparition, which presented her with a

little cross of the shape described in her accounts of the Passion. She

eagerly received and fervently pressed it to her bosom, and then

returned it. She said that this cross was as soft and white as wax, but

she was not at first aware that it had made an external mark upon her

bosom. A short time after, having gone with her landlady's little girl to

visit an old hermitage near Dulmen, she all on a sudden fell into an

ecstasy, fainted away, and on her recovery was taken home by a poor

peasant woman. The sharp pain which she felt in her chest continued to

increase, and she saw that there was what looked like a cross, about

three inches in length, pressed tightly upon her breast-bone, and

looking red through the skin. As she had spoken about her vision to a

nun with whom she was intimate, her extraordinary state began to be a

good deal talked of. On All Souls' day, 1812, she went out for the last

time, and with much difficulty succeeded in reaching the church. From

that time till the end of the year she seemed to be dying, and received

the last Sacraments. At Christmas a smaller cross appeared on the top

of that upon her chest. It was the same shape as the larger one, so

that the two together formed a double forked cross. Blood flowed from

this cross every Wednesday, so as to leave the impression of its shape

on paper laid over it. After a time this happened on Fridays instead.

In 1814 this flow of blood took place less frequently, but the cross

became as red as fire every Friday. At a later period of her life more

blood flowed from this cross, especially every Good Friday; but no

attention was paid to it. On the 30th March 1821, the writer of these

pages saw this cross of a deep red colour, and bleeding all over. In

its usual state it was colourless, and its position only marked by

slight cracks in the skin... Other Ecstaticas have received similar marks

of the Cross; among others, Catherine of Raconis, Marina de l' Escobar,

Emilia Bichieri, S. Juliani Falconieri, etc.

She received the stigmas on the last days of the year 1812. On the

29th December, about three o'clock in the afternoon, she was lying on her

bed in her little room, extremely ill, but in a state of ecstasy and

with her arms extended, meditating on the sufferings of her Lord, and

beseeching him to allow her to suffer with him. She said five Our

Fathers in honour of the Five Wounds, and felt her whole heart burning

with love. She then saw a light descending towards her, and

distinguished in the midst of it the resplendent form of her crucified

Saviour, whose wounds shone like so many furnaces of light. Her heart

was overflowing with joy and sorrow, and, at the sight of the sacred

wounds, her desire to suffer with her Lord became intensely violent.

Then triple rays, pointed like arrows, of the colour of blood, darted

forth from the hands, feet, and side of the sacred apparition, and

struck her hands, feet, and right side. The triple rays from the side

formed a point like the head of a lance. The moment these rays touched

her, drops of blood flowed from the wounds which they made. Long did

she remain in a state of insensibility, and when she recovered her

senses she did not know who had lowered her outstretched arms. It was

with astonishment that she beheld blood flowing from the palms of her

hands, and felt violent pain in her feet and side. It happened that her

landlady's little daughter came into her room, saw her hands bleeding,

and ran to tell her mother, who with great anxiety asked Anne Catherine

what had happened, but was begged by her not to speak about it. She

felt, after having received the stigmas, that an entire change had

taken place in her body; for the course of her blood seemed to have

changed, and to flow rapidly towards the stigmas. She herself used to

say: 'No words can describe in what manner it flows.'

We are indebted to a curious incident for our knowledge of the

circumstances which we have here related. On the 15th December 1819,

she had a detailed vision of all that had happened to herself, but so

that she thought it concerned some other nun who she imagined must be

living not far off, and who she supposed had experienced the same

things as herself. She related all these details with a very strong

feeling of compassion, humbling herself, without knowing it, before her

own patience and sufferings. It was most touching to hear her say: 'I

ought never to complain anymore, now that I have seen the sufferings of

that poor nun; her heart is surrounded with a crown of thorns, but she

bears it placidly and with a smiling countenance. It is shameful indeed

for me to complain, for she had a far heavier burden to bear than I

have.'

These visions, which she afterwards recognised to be her own

history, were several times repeated, and it is from them that the

circumstances under which she received the stigmas became known.

Otherwise she would not have related so many particulars about what her

humility never permitted her to speak of, and concerning which, when

asked by her spiritual superiors whence her wounds proceeded, the

utmost she said was: 'I hope that they come from the hand of God.'

The limits of this work preclude us from entering upon the subject

of stigmas in general, but we may observe that the Catholic Church has

produced a certain number of persons, St. Francis of Assisi being the

first, who have attained to that degree of contemplative love of Jesus

which is the most sublime effect of union with his sufferings, and is

designated by theologians, Vulnus divinum, Plago amoris viva. There are

known to have been at least fifty. Veronica Giuliani, a Capuchiness,

who died at Citta di Castello in 1727, is the last individual of the

class who has been canonised (on the 26th May 1831). Her biography,

published at Cologne in 1810, gives a description of the state of

persons with stigmas, which in many ways is applicable to Anne

Catherine. Colomba Schanolt, who died at Bamberg in 1787, Magdalen

Lorger, who died at Hadamar in 1806, both Dominicanesses, and Rose

Serra, a Capuchiness at Ozieri in Sardinia, who received the stigmas in

1801, are those of our own times of whom we know the most. Josephine

Kumi, of the Convent of Wesen, near Lake Wallenstadt in Switzerland,

who was still living in 1815, also belonged to this class of persons,

but we are not entirely certain whether she had the stigmas. 3

Anne Catherine being, as we have said, no longer able to walk or

rise from her bed, soon became unable also to eat. Before long she

could take nothing but a little wine and water, and finally only pure

water; sometimes, but very rarely, she managed to swallow the juice of

a cherry or a plum, but she immediately vomited any solid food, taken

in ever so small a quantity. This inability to take food, or rather

this faculty of living for a great length of time upon nothing but

water, we are assured by learned doctors is not quite unexampled in the

history of the sick.

Theologians will be perfectly aware that here are many instances of

contemplative ascetics, and particularly of persons frequently in a

state of ecstasy and who have received the stigmas, remaining long

without taking any other food than the Blessed Sacrament; for instance,

St. Nicholas of Flue, St. Liduvina of Schiedam, St. Catherine of

Sienna, St. Angela of Foligno, and St. Louise de l'Ascension. All the

phenomena exhibited in the person of Anne Catherine remained concealed

even from those who had the most intercourse with her, until the 25th

February 1812, when they were discovered accidentally by one of her old

convent companions. By the end of March, the whole town talked of them.

On the 23rd of March, the physician of the neighbourhood forced her to

undergo an examination. Contrary to his expectation, he was convinced

of the truth, drew up an official report of what he had seen, became

her doctor and her friend, and remained such to her death. On the 28th

of March, commissioners were appointed to examine into her case by the

spiritual authorities of Munster. The consequence of this was that Anne

Catherine was henceforth looked upon kindly by her superiors, and

acquired the friendship of the late Dean Overberg, who from that time

paid her every year a visit of several days' duration, and was her

consoler and spiritual director. The medical counsellor from Druffel,

who was present at this examination in the capacity of doctor, never

ceased to venerate her. In 1814, he published in the Medical Journal of

Salzbourg a detailed account of the phenomena which he had remarked in

the person of Anne Catherine, and to this we refer those of our readers

who desire more particulars upon the subject. On the 4th of April, M.

Garnier, the Commissary-General of the French police, came from Munster

to see her; he inquired minutely into her case, and having learned that

she neither prophesied nor spoke on politics, declared that there was

no occasion for the police to occupy themselves about her. In 1826, he

still spoke of her at Paris with respect and emotion.

On the 22nd of July 1813, Overberg came to see her, with Count de

Stolberg and his family. They remained two days with her, and Stolberg,

in a letter which has been several times printed, bore witness to the

reality of the phenomena observed in Anne Catherine, and gave

expression to his intense veneration for her. He remained her friend as

long as he lived, and the members of his family never ceased

recommending themselves to her prayers. On the 29th of September 1813,

Overberg took the daughter of the Princess Galitzin (who died in 1806)

to visit her, and they saw with their own eyes blood flow copiously

from her stigmas. This distinguished lady repeated her visit, and,

after becoming Princess of Salm, never varied in her sentiments, but,

together with her family, remained in constant communion of prayer with

Anne Catherine. Many other persons in all ranks of life were, in like

manner, consoled and edified by visiting her bed of suffering. On the

23rd of October 1813, she was carried to another lodging, the window of

which looked out upon a garden. The condition of the saintly nun became

day by day more painful. Her stigmas were a source of indescribable

suffering to her, down to the moment of her death. Instead of allowing

her thoughts to dwell upon those graces to the interior presence of

which they bore such miraculous outward testimony, she learned from

them lessons of humility, by considering them as a heavy cross laid

upon her for her sins. Her suffering body itself was to preach Jesus

crucified. It was difficult indeed to be an enigma to all persons, an

object of suspicion to the greatest number, and of respect mingled with

fear to some few, without yielding to sentiments of impatience,

irritability, or pride. Willingly would she have lived in entire

seclusion from the world, but obedience soon compelled her to allow

herself to be examined and to have judgment passed upon her by a vast

number of curious persons. Suffering, as she was, the most excruciating

pains, she was not even allowed to be her own mistress, but was

regarded as something which everyone fancied he had a right to look at

and to pass judgment upon,--often with no good results to anyone, but

greatly to the prejudice of her soul and body, because she was thus

deprived of so much rest and recollection of spirit. There seemed to be

no bounds to what was expected of her, and one fat man, who had some

difficulty in ascending her narrow winding staircase, was heard to

complain that a person like Anne Catherine, who ought to be exposed on

the public road, where everyone could see her, should remained in a

lodging so difficult to reach. In former ages, persons in her state

underwent in private the examination of the spiritual authorities, and

carried out their painful vocation beneath the protecting shadow of

hallowed walls; but our suffering heroine had been cast forth from the

cloister into the world at a time when pride, coldness of heart, and

incredulity were all the vogue; marked with the stigmas of the Passion

of Christ, she was forced to wear her bloody robe in public, under the

eyes of men who scarce believed in the Wounds of Christ, far less in

those which were but their images.

Thus this holy woman, who in her youth had been in the habit of

praying for long hours before pictures of all the stages of Christ's

painful Passion, or before wayside crosses, was herself made like unto

a cross on the public road, insulted by one passer by, bathed in warm

tears of repentance by a second, regarded as a mere physical curiosity

by a third, and venerated by a fourth, whose innocent hands would bring

flowers to lay at her feet.

In 1817 her aged mother came from the country to die by her side.

Anne Catherine showed her all the love she could by comforting and

praying for her, and closing her eyes with her own hands--those hands

marked with the stigmas on the 13th of March of the same year. The

inheritance left to Anne Catherine by her mother was more than

sufficient for one so imbued with the spirit of mortification and

sufferings; and in her turn she left it unimpaired to her friends. It

consisted of these three sayings:--'Lord, thy will, not mine, be done; '

'Lord, give me patience, and then strike hard;' 'Those things which are not

good to put in the pot are at least good to put beneath it.' The meaning

of this last proverb was: If things are not fit to be eaten, they may

at least be burned, in order that food may be cooked; this suffering

does not nourish my heart, but by bearing it patiently, I may at least

increase the fire of divine love, by which alone life can profit us

anything. She often repeated these proverbs, and then thought of her

mother with gratitude. Her father had died some little time before.

The writer of these pages became acquainted with her state first

through reading a copy of that letter of Stolberg, to which we have

already alluded, and afterwards through conversation with a friend who

had passed several weeks with her. In September 1818 he was invited by

Bishop Sailer to meet him at the Count de Stolberg's, in Westphalia; and

he went in the first place to Sondermuhlen to see the count, who

introduced him to Overberg, from whom he received a letter addressed to

Anne Catherine's doctor. He paid her his first visit on the 17th of

September 1818; and she allowed him to pass several hours by her side

each day, until the arrival of Sailer. From the very beginning, she

gave him her confidence to a remarkable extent, and this in the most

touching and ingenuous manner. No doubt she was conscious that by

relating without reserve the history of all the trials, joys, and

sorrows of her whole life, she was bestowing a most precious spiritual

alms upon him. She treated him with the most generous hospitality, and

had no hesitation in doing so, because he did not oppress her and alarm

her humility by excessive admiration. She laid open her interior to him

in the same charitable spirit as a pious solitary would in the morning

offer the flowers and fruit which had grown in his garden during the

night to some way-worn traveller, who, having lost his road in the

desert of the world, finds him sitting near his hermitage. Wholly

devoted to her God, she spoke in this open manner as a child would have

done, unsuspectingly, with no feelings of mistrust, and with no selfish

end in view. May God reward her!

Her friend daily wrote down all the observations that he made

concerning her, and all that she told him about her life, whether

interior or exterior. Her words were characterised alternately by the

most childlike simplicity and the most astonishing depth of thought,

and they foreshadowed, as it were, the vast and sublime spectacle which

later was unfolded, when it became evident that the past, the present,

and the future, together with all that pertained to the sanctification,

profanation, and judgment of souls, formed before and within her an

allegorical and historical drama, for which the different events of the

ecclesiastical year furnished subjects, and which it divided into

scenes, so closely linked together were all the prayers and sufferings

which she offered in sacrifice for the Church militant.

On the 22nd of October 1818 Sailer came to see her, and having

remarked that she was lodging at the back of a public house, and that

men were playing at nine-pins under her window, said in the playful yet

thoughtful manner which was peculiar to him: 'See, see; all things are as

they should be--the invalid nun, the spouse of our Lord, is lodging in a

publichouse above the ground where men are playing at nine-pins, like

the soul of man in his body.' His interview with Anne Catherine was most

affecting; it was indeed beautiful to behold these two souls, who were

both on fire with the love of Jesus, and conducted by grace through

such different paths, meet thus at the foot of the Cross, the visible

stamp of which was borne by one of them. On Friday, the 23rd of

October, Sailer remained alone with her during nearly the whole of the

day; he saw blood flow from her head, her hands, and her feet, and he

was able to bestow upon her great consolation in her interior trials.

He most earnestly recommended her to tell everything without reserve to

the writer of these pages, and he came to an understanding upon the

subject with her ordinary director. He heard her confession, gave her

the Holy Communion on Saturday, the 24th, and then continued his

journey to the Count de Stolberg's. On his return, at the beginning of

November, he again passed a day with her. He remained her friend until

death, prayed constantly for her, and asked her prayers whenever he

found himself in trying of difficult positions. The writer of these

pages remained until January. He returned in May 1819, and continued to

watch Anne Catherine almost uninterruptedly until her death.

The saintly maiden continually besought the Almighty to remove the

exterior stigmas, on account of the trouble and fatigue which they

occasioned, and her prayer was granted at the end of seven years.

Towards the conclusion of the year 1819, the blood first flowed less

frequently from her wounds, and then ceased altogether. On the 25th of

December, scabs fell from her feet and hands, and there only remained

white scars, which became red on certain days, but the pain she

suffered was undiminished in the slightest degree. The mark of the

cross, and the wound on her right side, were often to be seen as

before, but not at any stated times. On certain days she always had the

most painful sensations around her head, as though a crown of thorns

were being pressed upon it. On these occasions she could not lean her

head against anything, nor even rest it on her hand, but had to remain

for long hours, sometimes even for whole nights, sitting up in her bed,

supported by cushions, whilst her pallid face, and the irrepressible

groans of pain which escaped her, made her like an awful living

representation of suffering. After she had been in this state, blood

invariably flowed more or less copiously from around her head.

Sometimes her head-dress only was soaked with it, but sometimes the

blood would flow down her face and neck. On Good Friday, April 19th,

1819, all her wounds re-opened and bled, and closed again on the

following days. A most rigorous inquiry into her state was made by some

doctors and naturalists. For that end she was placed alone in a strange

house, where she remained from the 7th to the 29th of August; but this

examination appears to have produced no particular effects in any way.

She was brought back to her own dwelling on the 29th of August, and

from that time until she died she was left in peace, save that she was

occasionally annoyed by private disputes and public insults. On this

subject Overberg wrote her the following words: 'What have you had to

suffer personally of which you can complain? I am addressing a soul

desirous of nothing so much as to become more and more like to her

divine Spouse. Have you not been treated far more gently than was your

adorable Spouse? Should it not be a subject of rejoicing to you,

according to the spirit, to have been assisted to resemble him more

closely, and thus to be more pleasing in his eyes? You had suffered

much with Jesus, but hitherto insults had been for the most part spared

you. With the crown of thorns you had not worn the purple mantle and

the robe of scorn, much less had you yet heard, Away with him! Crucify

him! Crucify him! I cannot doubt but that these sentiments are yours.

Praise be to Jesus Christ.'

On Good Friday, the 30th of March 1820, blood flowed from her head,

feet, hands, chest, and side. It happened that when she fainted, one of

the persons who were with her, knowing that the application of relics

relieved her, placed near her feet a piece of linen in which some were

wrapped, and the blood which came from her wounds reached this piece of

linen after a time. In the evening, when this same piece of linen with

the relics was being placed on her chest and shoulders, in which she

was suffering much, she suddenly exclaimed, while in a state of

ecstasy: 'It is most wonderful, but I see my Heavenly spouse lying in the

tomb in the earthly Jerusalem; and I also see him living in the

heavenly Jerusalem surrounded by adoring saints, and in the midst of

these saints I see a person who is not a saint--a nun. Blood flows from

her head, her side, her hands, and her feet, and the saints are above

the bleeding parts.'

On the 9th February 1821 she fell into an ecstasy at the time of the

funeral of a very holy priest. Blood flowed from her forehead, and the

cross on her breast bled also. Someone asked her, 'What is the matter

with you?' She smiled, and spoke like one awakening from a dream: 'We were

by the side of the body. I have been accustomed lately to hear sacred

music, and the De Profundis made a great impression upon me.' She died

upon the same day three years later. In 1821, a few weeks before

Easter, she told us that it had been said to her during her prayer: 'Take

notice, you will suffer on the real anniversary of the Passion, and not

on the day marked this year in the Ecclesiastical Calendar.' On Friday,

the 30th of March, at ten o'clock in the morning, she sank down

senseless. Her face and bosom were bathed in blood, and her body

appeared covered with bruises like what the blows of a whip would have

inflicted. At twelve o'clock in the day, she stretched herself out in the

form of a cross, and her arms were so extended as to be perfectly

dislocated. A few minutes before two o'clock, drops of blood flowed from

her feet and hands. On Good Friday, the 20th of April, she was simply

in a state of quiet contemplation. This remarkable exception to the

general rule seemed to be an effect of the providence of God, for, at

the hour when her wounds usually bled, a number of curious and

ill-natured individuals came to see her with the intention of causing

her fresh annoyances, by publishing what they saw; but they thus were

made unintentionally to contribute to her peace, by saying that her

wounds had ceased to bleed.

On the 19th of February 1822 she was again warned that she would

suffer on the last Friday of March, and not on Good Friday.

On Friday the 15th, and again on Friday the 29th, the cross on her

bosom and the wound of her side bled. Before the 29th, she more than

once felt as though a stream of fire were flowing rapidly from her

heart to her side, and down her arms and legs to the stigmas, which

looked red and inflamed. On the evening of Thursday the 28th, she fell

into a state of contemplation on the Passion, and remained in it until

Friday evening. Her chest, head, and side bled; all the veins of her

hands were swollen, and there was a painful spot in the centre of them,

which felt damp, although blood did not flow from it. No blood flowed

from the stigmas excepting upon the 3rd of March, the day of the

finding of the holy Cross. She had also a vision of the discovery of

the true cross by St. Helena, and imagined herself to be lying in the

excavation near the cross. Much blood came in the morning from her head

and side, and in the afternoon from her hands and feet, and it seemed

to her as though she were being made the test of whether the cross was

really the Cross of Jesus Christ, and that her blood was testifying to

its identity.

In the year 1823, on Holy Thursday and Good Friday, which came on

the 27th and 28th of March, she had visions of the Passion, during

which blood flowed from all her wounds, causing her intense pain. Amid

these awful sufferings, although ravished in spirit, she was obliged to

speak and give answers concerning all her little household affairs, as

if she had been perfectly strong and well, and she never let fall a

complaint, although nearly dying. This was the last time that her blood

gave testimony to the reality of her union with the sufferings of him

who has delivered himself up wholly and entirely for our salvation.

Most of the phenomena of the ecstatic life which are shown us in the

lives and writings of Saints Bridget, Gertrude, Mechtilde, Hildegarde,

Catherine of Sienna, Catherine of Genoa, Catherine of Bologna, Colomba

da Rieti, Lidwina of Schiedam, Catherine Vanini, Teresa of Jesus, Anne

of St. Bartholomew, Magdalen of Pazzi, Mary Villana, Mary Buonomi,

Marina d' Escobar, Crescentia de Kaufbeuern, and many other nuns of

contemplative orders, are also to be found in the history of the

interior life of Anne Catherine Emmerich. The same path was marked out

for her by God. Did she, like these holy women, attain the end? God

alone knows. Our part is only to pray that such may have been the case,

and we are allowed to hope it. Those among our readers who are not

acquainted with the ecstatic life from the writings of those who have

lived it, will find information on this subject in the Introduction of

Goerres to the writings of Henry Suso, published at Ratisbonne in 1829.

Since many pious Christians, in order to render their life one

perpetual act of adoration, endeavour to see in their daily employments

a symbolical representation of some manner of honouring God, and offer

it to him in union with the merits of Christ, it cannot appear

extraordinary that those holy souls who pass from an active life to one

of suffering and contemplation, should sometimes see their spiritual

labours under the form of those earthly occupations which formerly

filled their days. Then their acts were prayers; now their prayers are

acts; but the form remains the same. It was thus that Anne Catherine,

in her ecstatic life, beheld the series of her prayers for the Church

under the forms of parables bearing reference to agriculture,

gardening, weaving, sowing, or the care of sheep. All these different

occupations were arranged, according to their signification, in the

different periods of the common as well as the ecclesiastical year, and

were pursued under the patronage and with the assistance of the saints

of each day, the special graces of the corresponding feasts of the

Church being also applied to them. The signification of this circles of

symbols had reference to all the active part of her interior life. One

example will help to explain our meaning. When Anne Catherine, while

yet a child, was employed in weeding, she besought God to root up the

cockle from the field of the Church. If her hands were stung by the

nettles, or if she was obliged to do afresh the work of idlers, she

offered to God her pain and her fatigue, and besought him, in the name

of Jesus Christ, that the pastor of souls might not become weary, and

that none of them might cease to labour zealously and diligently. Thus

her manual labour became a prayer.

I will now give a corresponding example of her life of contemplation

and ecstasy. She had been ill several times, and in a state of almost

continual ecstasy, during which she often moaned, and moved her hands

like a person employed in weeding. She complained one morning that her

hands and arms smarted and itched, and on examination they were found

to be covered with blisters, like what would have been produced by the

stinging of nettles. She then begged several persons of her

acquaintance to join their prayers to hers for a certain intention. The

next day her hands were inflamed and painful, as they would have been

after hard work; and when asked the cause, she replied: 'Ah! I have so

many nettles to root up in the vineyard, because those whose duty it

was to do it only pulled off the stems, and I was obliged to draw the

roots with much difficulty out of a stony soil.' The person who had asked

her the question began to blame these careless workmen, but he felt

much confused when she replied: 'You were one of them,--those who only pull

off the stems of the nettles, and leave the roots in the earth, are

persons who pray carelessly.' It was afterwards discovered that she had

been praying for several dioceses which were shown to her under the

figure of vineyards laid waste, and in which labour was needed. The

real inflammation of her hands bore testimony to this symbolical

rooting up of the nettles; and we have, perhaps, reason to hope that

the churches shown to her under the appearances of vineyards

experienced the good effects of her prayer and spiritual labour; for

since the door is opened to those who knock, it must certainly be

opened above all to those who knock with such energy as to cause their

fingers to be wounded.

Similar reactions of the spirit upon the body are often found in the

lives of persons subject to ecstasies, and are by no means contrary to

faith. St. Paula, if we may believe St. Jerome, visited the holy places

in spirit just as if she had visited them bodily; and a like thing

happened to St. Colomba of Rieti and St. Lidwina of Schiedam. The body

of the latter bore tracks of this spiritual journey, as if she had

really travelled; she experienced all the fatigue that a painful

journey would cause: her feet were wounded and covered with marks which

looked as if they had been made by stones or thorns, and finally she

had a sprain from which she long suffered.

She was led on this journey by her guardian angel, who told her that

these corporeal wounds signified that she had been ravished in body and

spirit.

Similar hurts were also to be seen upon the body of Anne Catherine

immediately after some of her visions. Lidwina began her ecstatic

journey by following her good angel to the chapel of the Blessed Virgin

before Schiedam; Anne Catherine began hers by following her angel

guardian either to the chapel which was near her dwelling, or else to

the Way of the Cross of Coesfeld.

Her journeys to the Holy Land were made, according to the accounts

she gave of them, by the most opposite roads; sometimes even she went

all round the earth, when the task spiritually imposed upon her

required it. In the course of these journeys from her home to the most

distant countries, she carried assistance to many persons, exercising

in their regard works of mercy, both corporal and spiritual, and this

was done frequently in parables. At the end of a year she would go over

the same ground again, see the same persons, and give an account of

their spiritual progress or of their relapse into sin. Every part of

this labour always bore some reference to the Church, and to the

kingdom of God upon earth.

The end of these daily pilgrimages which she made in spirit was

invariably the Promised Land, every part of which she examined in

detail, and which she saw sometimes in its present state, and sometimes

as it was at different periods of sacred history; for her

distinguishing characteristic and special privilege was an intuitive

knowledge of the history of the Old and New Testaments, and of that of

the members of the Holy Family, and of all the saints whom she was

contemplating in spirit. She saw the signification of all the festival

days of the ecclesiastical year under both a devotional and a

historical point of view. She saw and described, day by day, with the

minutest detail, and by name, places, persons, festivals, customs, and

miracles, all that happened during the public life of Jesus until the

Ascension, and the history of the Apostles for several weeks after the

Descent of the Holy Ghost. She regarded al her visions not as mere

spiritual enjoyments, but as being, so to speak, fertile fields,

plentifully strewn with the merits of Christ, and which had not as yet

been cultivated; she was often engaged in spirit in praying that the

fruit of such and such sufferings of our Lord might be given to the

Church, and she would beseech God to apply to his Church the merits of

our Saviour which were its inheritance, and of which she would, as it

were, take possession, in its name, with the most touching simplicity

and ingenuousness.

She never considered her visions to have any reference to her

exterior Christian life, nor did she regard them as being of any

historical value. Exteriorly she knew and believed nothing but the

catechism, the common history of the Bible, the gospels for Sundays and

festivals, and the Christian almanac, which to her far-sighted vision

was an inexhaustible mine of hidden riches, since it gave her in a few

pages a guiding thread which led her through all time, and by means of

which she passed from mystery to mystery, and solemnised each with all

the saints, in order to reap the fruits of eternity in time, and to

preserve and distribute them in her pilgrimage around the

ecclesiastical year, that so the will of God might be accomplished on

earth as it is in Heaven. She had never read the Old or the New

Testaments, and when she was tired of relating her visions, she would

sometimes say: 'Read that in the Bible,' and then be astonished to learn

that it was not there; 'for,' she would add, 'people are constantly saying

in these days that you need read nothing but the Bible, which contains

everything, etc., etc.'

The real task of her life was to suffer for the Church and for some

of its members, whose distress was shown her in spirit, or who asked

her prayers without knowing that this poor sick nun had something more

to do for them than to say the Pater noster, but that all their

spiritual and corporal sufferings became her own, and that she had to

endure patiently the most terrible pains, without being assisted, like

the contemplatives of former days, by the sympathising prayers of an

entire community. In the age when she lived, she had no other

assistance than that of medicine. While thus enduring sufferings which

she had taken upon herself for others, she often turned her thoughts to

the corresponding sufferings of the Church, and when thus suffering for

one single person, she would likewise offer all she endured for the

whole Church.

The following is a remarkable instance of the sort: During several

weeks she had every symptom of consumption; violent irritation of the

lungs, excessive perspiration, which soaked her whole bed, a racking

cough, continual expectoration, and a strong continual fever. So

fearful were her sufferings that her death was hourly expected and even

desired. It was remarked that she had to struggle strangely against a

strong temptation to irritability. Did she yield for an instant, she

burst into tears, her sufferings increased tenfold, and she seemed

unable to exist unless she immediately gained pardon in the sacrament

of penance.

She had also to combat a feeling of aversion to a certain person

whom she had not seen for years. She was in despair because this

person, with whom nevertheless she declared she had nothing in common,

was always before her eyes in the most evil dispositions, and she wept

bitterly, and with much anxiety of conscience, saying that she would

not commit sin, that her grief must be evident to all, and other things

which were quite unintelligible to the persons listening to her. Her

illness continued to increase, and she was thought to be on the point

of death. At this moment one of her friends saw her, to his great

surprise, suddenly raise herself up on her bed, and say:

'Repeat with me the prayers for those in their last agony.' He did as

requested, and she answered the Litany in a firm voice. After some

little time, the bell for the agonising was heard, and a person came in

to ask Anne Catherine's prayers for his sister, who was just dead. Anne

Catherine asked for details concerning her illness and death, as if

deeply interested in the subject, and the friend above-mentioned heard

the account given by the new comer of a consumption resembling in the

minutest particulars the illness of Anne Catherine herself. The

deceased woman had at first been in so much pain and so disturbed in

mind that she had seemed quite unable to prepare herself for death; but

during the last fortnight she had been better, had made her peace with

God, having in the first place been reconciled to a person with whom

she was at enmity, and had died in peace, fortified by the last

sacraments, and attended by her former enemy. Anne Catherine gave a

small sum of money for the burial and funeral-service of this person.

Her sweatings, cough, and fever now left her, and she resembled a

person exhausted with fatigue, whose linen has been changed, and who

has been placed on a fresh bed. Her friend said to her, 'When this

fearful illness came upon you, this woman grew better, and her hatred

for another was the only obstacle to her making peace with God. You

took upon yourself, for the time, her feelings of hatred, she died in

good dispositions, and now you seem tolerably well again. Are you still

suffering on her account?' 'No, indeed!' she replied; 'that would be most

unreasonable; but how can any person avoid suffering when even the end

of this little finger is in pain? We are all one body in Christ.' 'By the

goodness of God,' said her friend, 'you are now once more somewhat at ease.'

'Not for very long, though,' she replied with a smile; 'there are other

persons who want my assistance.' Then she turned round on her bed, and

rested awhile.

A very few days later, she began to feel intense pain in all her

limbs, and symptoms of water on the chest manifested themselves. We

discovered the sick person for whom Anne Catherine was suffering, and

we saw that his sufferings suddenly diminished or immensely increased

in exact inverse proportion to those of Anne Catherine.

Thus did charity compel her to take upon herself the illnesses and

even the temptations of others, that they might be able in peace to

prepare themselves for death. She was compelled to suffer in silence,

both to conceal the weaknesses of her neighbour, and not to be regarded

as mad herself; she was obliged to receive all the aid that medicine

could afford her for an illness thus taken voluntarily for the relief

of others, and to be reproached for temptations which were not her own;

finally, it was necessary that she should appear perverted in the eyes

of men; that so those for whom she was suffering might be converted

before God.

One day a friend in deep affliction was sitting by her bedside, when

she suddenly fell into a state of ecstasy, and began to pray aloud: 'O,

my sweet Jesus, permit me to carry that heavy stone!' Her friend asked

her what was the matter. 'I am on my way to Jerusalem,' she replied, 'and I

see a poor man walking along with the greatest difficulty, for there is

a large stone upon his breast, the weight of which nearly crushes him.'

Then again, after a few moments, she exclaimed: 'Give me that heavy

stone, you cannot carry it any farther; give it to me.' All on a sudden

she sank down fainting, as if crushed beneath some heavy burden, and at

the same moment her friend felt himself relieved from the weight of

sorrow which oppressed him, and his heart overflowing with

extraordinary happiness. Seeing her in such a state of suffering, he

asked her what the matter was, and she looking at him with a smile,

replied: 'I cannot remain here any longer. Poor man, you must take back

your burden.' Instantly her friend felt all the weight of his affliction

return to him, whilst she, becoming as well again as before, continued

her journey in spirit to Jerusalem.

We will give one more example of her spiritual exertions. One

morning she gave her friend a little bag containing some rye-flour and

eggs, and pointed out to him a small house where a poor woman, who was

in a consumption, was living with her husband and two little children.

He was to tell her to boil and take them, as when boiled they would be

good for her chest. The friend, on entering the cottage, took the bag

from under his cloak, when the poor mother, who, flushed with fever,

was lying on a mattress between her half-naked children fixed her eyes

bright upon him, and holding out her thin hands, exclaimed: 'O, sir, it

must be God or Sister Emmerich who sends you to me! You are bringing me

some ryeflour and eggs.' Here the poor woman, overcome by her feelings,

burst into tears, and then began to cough so violently that she had to

make a sign to her husband to speak for her. He said that the previous

night Gertrude had been much disturbed, and had talked a great deal in

her sleep, and that on awaking she had told him her dream in these

words: 'I thought that I was standing at the door with you, when the holy

nun came out of the door of the next house, and I told you to look at

her. She stopped in front of us, and said to me: "Ah, Gertrude, you look

very ill; I will send you some rye-flour and eggs, which will relieve

your chest." Then I awoke.' Such was the simple tale of the poor man; he

and his wife both eagerly expressed their gratitude, and the bearer of

Anne Catherine's alms left the house much overcome. He did not tell her

anything of this when he saw her, but a few days after, she sent him

again to the same place with a similar present, and he then asked her

how it was she knew that poor woman? 'You know,' she replied, 'that I pray

every evening for all those who suffer; I should like to go and relieve

them, and I generally dream that I am going from one abode of suffering

to another, and that I assist them to the best of my power. In this way

I went in my dream to that poor woman's house; she was standing at the

door with her husband, and I said to her: "Ah, Gertrude, you look very

ill; I will send you some rye-flour and eggs, which will relieve your

chest." And this I did through you, the next morning.' Both persons had

remained in their beds, and dreamed the same thing, and the dream came

true. St. Augustine, in his City of God, book 18, c. 18, relates a

similar thing of two philosophers, who visited each other in a dream,

and explained some passages of Plato, both remaining asleep in their

own houses.

These sufferings, and this peculiar species of active labour, were

like a single ray of light, which enlightened her whole life. Infinite

was the number of spiritual labours and sympathetic sufferings which

came from all parts and entered into her heart--that heart so burning with

love of Jesus Christ. Like St. Catherine of Sienna and some other

ecstatics, she often felt the most profound feeling of conviction that

our Saviour had taken her heart out of her bosom, and placed his own

there instead for a time.

The following fragment will give some idea of the mysterious

symbolism by which she was interiorly directed. During a portion of the

year 1820 she performed many labours in spirit, for several different

parishes; her prayers being represented under the figure of most severe

labour in a vineyard. What we have above related concerning the nettles

is of the same character.

On the 6th of September her heavenly guide said to her: ' "You weeded,

dug around, tied, and pruned the vine; you ground down the weeds so

that they could never spring up anymore; and then you went away

joyfully and rested from your prayers. Prepare now to labour hard from

the feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin to that of St. Michael;

the grapes are ripening and must be well watched." Then he led me,' she

continued, 'to the vineyard of St. Liboire, and showed me the vines at

which I had worked. My labour had been successful, for the grapes were

getting their colour and growing large, and in some parts the red juice

was running down on the ground from them. My guide said to me: "When the

virtues of the good begin to shine forth in public, they have to combat

bravely, to be oppressed, to be tempted, and to suffer persecution. A

hedge must be planted around the vineyard in order that the ripe grapes

may not be destroyed by thieves and wild beasts, i.e. by temptation and

persecution." He then showed me how to build a wall by heaping up stones,

and to raise a thick hedge of thorns all around. As my hands bled from

such severe labour, God, in order to give me strength, permitted me to

see the mysterious signification of the vine, and of several other

fruit trees. Jesus Christ is the true Vine, who is to take root and

grow in us; all useless wood must be cut away, in order not to waste

the sap, which is to become the wine, and in the Most Blessed Sacrament

the Blood of Christ. The pruning of the vine has to be done according

to certain rules which were made known to me. This pruning is, in a

spiritual sense, the cutting off whatever is useless, penance and

mortification, that so the true Vine may grow in us, and bring forth

fruit, in the place of corrupt nature, which only bears wood and

leaves. The pruning is done according to fixed rules, for it is only

required that certain useless shoots should be cut off in man, and to

lop off more would be to mutilate in a guilty manner. No pruning should

ever be done upon the stock which has been planted in humankind through

the Blessed Virgin, and is to remain in it for ever. The true Vine

unites heaven to earth, the Divinity to humanity; and it is the human

part that is to be pruned, that so the divine alone may grow. I saw so

many other things relating to the vine that a book as large as the

Bible could not contain them. One day, when I was suffering acute pain

in my chest, I besought our Lord with groans not to give me a burthen

above my strength to bear; and then my Heavenly Spouse appeared, and

said to me, ... "I have laid thee on my nuptial couch, which is a couch of

suffering; I have given thee suffering and expiation for thy bridal

garments and jewels. Thou must suffer, but I will not forsake thee;

thou art fastened to the Vine, and thou wilt not be lost." Then I was

consoled for all my sufferings. It was likewise explained to me why in

my visions relating to the feasts of the family of Jesus, such, for

instance, as those of St. Anne, St. Joachim, St. Joseph, etc., I always

saw the Church of the festival under the figure of a shoot of the vine.

The same was the case on the festivals of St. Francis of Assisi, St.

Catherine of Sienna, and of all the saints who have had the stigmas.

'The signification of my sufferings in all my limbs was explained to

me in the following vision: I saw a gigantic human body in a horrible

state of mutilation, and raised upwards towards the sky. There were no

fingers or toes on the hands and feet, the body was covered with

frightful wounds, some of which were fresh and bleeding, others covered

with dead flesh or turned into excrescences. The whole of one side was

black, gangrened, and as it were half eaten away. I suffered as though

it had been my own body that was in this state, and then my guide said

to me "This is the body of the Church, the body of all men and thine also."

Then, pointing to each wound, he showed me at the same time some part

of the world; I saw an infinite number of men and nations separated

from the Church, all in their own peculiar way, and I felt pain as

exquisite from this separation as if they had been torn from my body.

Then my guide said to me: "Let thy sufferings teach thee a lesson, and

offer them to God in union with those of Jesus for all who are

separated. Should not one member call upon another, and suffer in order

to cure and unite it once more to the body? When those parts which are

most closely united to the body detach themselves, it is as though the

flesh were torn from around the heart." In my ignorance, I thought that

he was speaking of those brethren who are not in communion with us, but

my guide added: "Who are our brethren? It is not our blood relations who

are the nearest to our hearts, but those who are our brethren in the

blood of Christ--the children of the Church who fall away." He showed me

that the black and gangrened side of the body would soon be cured; that

the putrefied flesh which had collected around the wounds represented

heretics who divide one from the other in proportion as they increase;

that the dead flesh was the figure of all who are spiritually dead, and

who are void of any feeling; and that the ossified parts represented

obstinate and hardened heretics. I saw and felt in this manner every

wound and its signification. The body reached up to heaven. It was the

body of the Bride of Christ, and most painful to behold. I wept

bitterly, but feeling at once deeply grieved and strengthened by sorrow

and compassion, I began again to labour with all my strength.'

Sinking beneath the weight of life and of the task imposed upon her

she often besought God to deliver her, and she then would appear to be

on the very brink of the grave. But each time she would say: 'Lord, not

my will but thine be done! If my prayers and sufferings are useful let

me live a thousand years, but grant that I may die rather than ever

offend thee.' Then she would receive orders to live, and arise, taking up

her cross, once more to bear it in patience and suffering after her

Lord. From time to time the road of life which she was pursuing used to

be shown to her, leading to the top of a mountain on which was a

shining and resplendent city--the heavenly Jerusalem. Often she would

think she had arrived at that blissful abode, which seemed to be quite

near her, and her joy would be great. But all on a sudden she would

discover that she was still separated from it by a valley and then she

would have to descend precipices and follow indirect paths, labouring,

suffering, and performing deeds of charity everywhere. She had to

direct wanderers into the right road, raise up the fallen, sometimes

even carry the paralytic, and drag the unwilling by force, and all

these deeds of charity were as so many fresh weights fastened to her

cross. Then she walked with more difficulty, bending beneath her burden

and sometimes even falling to the ground.

In 1823 she repeated more frequently than usual that she could not

perform her task in her present situation, that she had not strength

for it, and that it was in a peaceful convent that she needed to have

lived and died. She added that God would soon take her to himself, and

that she had besought him to permit her to obtain by her prayers in the

next world what her weakness would not permit her to accomplish in

this. St. Catherine of Sienna, a short time before death, made a

similar prayer.

Anne Catherine had previously had a vision concerning what her

prayers might obtain after death, with regard to things that were not

in existence during her life. The year 1823, the last of which she

completed the whole circle, brought her immense labours. She appeared

desirous to accomplish her entire task, and thus kept the promise which

she had previously made of relating the history of the whole Passion.

It formed the subject of her Lenten meditations during this year, and

of them the present volume is composed. But she did not on this account

take less part in the fundamental mystery of this penitential season,

or in the different mysteries of each of the festival days of the

Church, if indeed the words to take part be sufficient to express the

wonderful manner in which she rendered visible testimony to the mystery

celebrated in each festival by a sudden change in her corporal and

spiritual life. See on this subject the chapter entitled Interruption

of the Pictures of the Passion.

Everyone of the ceremonies and festivals of the Church was to her

far more than the consecration of a remembrance. She beheld in the

historical foundation of each solemnity an act of the Almighty, done in

time for the reparation of fallen humanity. Although these divine acts

appeared to her stamped with the character of eternity, yet she was

well aware that in order for man to profit by them in the bounded and

narrow sphere of time, he must, as it were, take possession of them in

a series of successive moments, and that for this purpose they had to

be repeated and renewed in the Church, in the order established by

Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. All festivals and solemnities were in

her eyes eternal graces which returned at fixed epochs in every

ecclesiastical year, in the same manner as the fruits and harvests of

the earth come in their seasons in the natural year.

Her zeal and gratitude in receiving and treasuring up these graces

were untiring, nor was she less eager and zealous in offering them to

those who neglected their value. In the same manner as her compassion

for her crucified Saviour had pleased God and obtained for her the

privilege of being marked with the stigmas of the Passion as with a

seal of the most perfect love, so all the sufferings of the Church and

of those who were in affliction were repeated in the different states

of her body and soul. And all these wonders took place within her,

unknown to those who were around her; nor was she herself even more

fully conscious of them than is the bee of the effects of its work,

while yet she was tending and cultivating, with all the care of an

industrious and faithful gardener, the fertile garden of the

ecclesiastical year. She lived on its fruits, and distributed them to

others; she strengthened herself and her friends with the flowers and

herbs which she cultivated; or, rather, she herself was in this garden

like a sensitive plant, a sunflower, or some wonderful plant in which,

independent of her own will, were reproduced all the seasons of the

year, all the hours of the day, and all the changes of the atmosphere.

At the end of the ecclesiastical year of 1823, she had for the last

time a vision on the subject of making up the accounts of that year.

The negligences of the Church militant and of her servants were shown

to Anne Catherine, under various symbols; she saw how many graces had

not been cooperated with, or been rejected to a greater or less extent,

and how many had been entirely thrown away. It was made known to her

how our Blessed Redeemer had deposited for each year in the garden of

the Church a complete treasure of his merits, sufficient for every

requirement, and for the expiation of every sin. The strictest account

was to be given of all graces which had been neglected, wasted, or

wholly rejected, and the Church militant was punished for this

negligence of infidelity of her servants by being oppressed by her

enemies, or by temporal humiliations. Revelations of this description

raised to excess her love for the Church, her mother. She passed days

and nights in praying for her, in offering to God the merits of Christ,

with continual groans, and in imploring mercy. Finally, on these

occasions, she gathered together all her courage, and offered to take

upon herself both the fault and the punishment, like a child presenting

itself before the king's throne, in order to suffer the punishment she

had incurred. It was then said to her, 'See how wretched and miserable

thou art thyself; thou who art desirous to satisfy for the sins of

others.' And to her great terror she beheld herself as one mournful mass

of infinite imperfection. But still her love remained undaunted, and

burst forth in these words, 'Yes, I am full of misery and sin; but I am

thy spouse, O my Lord, and my Saviour! My faith in thee and in the

redemption which thou hast brought us covers all my sins as with thy

royal mantle. I will not leave thee until thou hast accepted my

sacrifice, for the superabundant treasure of thy merits is closed to

none of thy faithful servants.' At length her prayer became wonderfully

energetic, and to human ears there was like a dispute and combat with

God, in which she was carried away and urged on by the violence of

love. If her sacrifice was accepted, her energy seemed to abandon her,

and she was left to the repugnance of human nature for suffering. When

she had gone through this trial, by keeping her eyes fixed on her

Redeemer in the Garden of Olives, she next had to endure indescribable

sufferings of every description, bearing them all with wonderful

patience and sweetness. We used to see her remain several days

together, motionless and insensible, looking like a dying lamb. Did we

ask her how she was, she would half open her eyes, and reply with a

sweet smile, 'My sufferings are most salutary.'

At the beginning of Advent, her sufferings were a little soothed by

sweet visions of the preparations made by the Blessed Virgin to leave

her home, and then of her whole journey with St. Joseph to Bethlehem.

She accompanied them each day to the humble inns where they rested for

the night, or went on before them to prepare their lodgings. During

this time she used to take old pieces of linen, and at night, while

sleeping, make them into baby clothes and caps for the children of poor

women, the times of whose confinements were near at hand. The next day

she would be surprised to see all these things neatly arranged in her

drawers. This happened to her every year about the same time, but this

year she had more fatigue and less consolation. Thus, at the hour of

our Saviour's birth, when she was usually perfectly overwhelmed with joy,

she could only crawl with the greatest difficulty to the crib where the

Child Jesus was lying, and bring him no present but myrrh, no offering

but her cross, beneath the weight of which she sank down half dying at

his feet. It seemed as though she were for the last time making up her

earthly accounts with God, and for the last time also offering herself

in the place of a countless number of men who were spiritually and

corporally afflicted. Even the little that is known of the manner in

which she took upon herself the sufferings of others is almost

incomprehensible. She very truly said: 'This year the Child Jesus has

only brought me a cross and instruments of suffering.'

She became each day more and more absorbed in her sufferings, and

although she continued to see Jesus travelling from city to city during

his public life, the utmost she ever said on the subject was, briefly

to name in which direction he was going. Once, she asked suddenly in a

scarcely audible voice, 'What day is it?' When told that it was the 14th of

January, she added: 'Had I but a few days more, I should have related the

entire life of our Saviour, but now it is no longer possible for me to

do so.' These words were the more incomprehensible as she did not appear

to know even which year of the public life of Jesus she was then

contemplating in spirit. In 1820 she had related the history of our

Saviour down to the Ascension, beginning at the 28th of July of the

third year of the public life of Jesus, and had continued down to the

10th of January of the third year of his public life. On the 27th of

April 1823, in consequence of a journey made by the writer, an

interruption of her narrative took place, and lasted down to the 21st

of October. She then took up the tread of her narrative where she had

left it, and continued it to the last weeks of her life. When she spoke

of a few days being wanted her friend himself did not know how far her

narrative went, not having had leisure to arrange what he had written.

After her death he became convinced that if she had been able to speak

during the last fourteen days of her life, she would have brought it

down to the 28th of July of the third year of the public life of our

Lord, consequently to where she had taken it up in 1820.4

Her condition daily became more frightful. She, who usually suffered

in silence, uttered stifled groans, so awful was the anguish she

endured. On the 15th of January she said: 'The Child Jesus brought me

great sufferings at Christmas. I was once more by his manger at

Bethlehem. He was burning with fever, and showed me his sufferings and

those of his mother. They were so poor that they had no food but a

wretched piece of bread. He bestowed still greatest sufferings upon me,

and said to me: "Thou art mine; thou art my spouse; suffer as I suffered,

without asking the reason why." I do not know what my sufferings are to

be, nor how long they will last. I submit blindly to my martyrdom,

whether for life or for death: I only desire that the hidden designs of

God may be accomplished in me. On the other hand, I am calm, and I have

consolations in my sufferings. Even this morning I was very happy.

Blessed be the Name of God!'

Her sufferings continued, if possible, to increase. Sitting up, and

with her eyes closed, she fell from one side to another, while

smothered groans escaped her lips. If she laid down, she was in danger

of being stifled; her breathing was hurried and oppressed, and all her

nerves and muscles were shaken and trembled with anguish. After violent

retching, she suffered terrible pain in her bowels, so much so that it

was feared gangrene must be forming there. Her throat was parched and

burning, her mouth swollen, her cheeks crimson with fever, her hands

white as ivory. The scars of the stigmas shone like silver beneath her

distended skin.

Her pulse gave from 160 to 180 pulsations per minute. Although

unable to speak from her excessive suffering, she bore every duty

perfectly in mind. On the evening of the 26th, she said to her friend,

'Today is the ninth day, you must pay for the wax taper and novena at the

chapel of St. Anne.' She was alluding to a novena which she had asked to

have made for her intention, and she was afraid lest her friends should

forget it. On the 27th, at two o'clock in the afternoon, she received

Extreme Unction, greatly to the relief both of her soul and body. In

the evening her friend, the excellent Cure of H___, prayed at her

bedside, which was an immense comfort to her. She said to him: 'How good

and beautiful all this is!' And again: 'May God be a thousand times praised

and thanked!'

The approach of death did not wholly interrupt the wonderful union

of her life with that of the Church. A friend having visited her on the

1st of February in the evening, had placed himself behind her bed where

she could not see him, and was listening with the utmost compassion to

her low moans and interrupted breathing, when suddenly all became

silent, and he thought that she was dead. At this moment the evening

bell ringing for the matins of the Purification was heard. It was the

opening of this festival which had caused her soul to be ravished in

ecstasy. Although still in a very alarming state, she let some sweet

and loving words concerning the Blessed Virgin escape her lips during

the night and day of the festival. Towards twelve o'clock in the day, she

said in a voice already changed by the near approach of death, 'It was

long since I had felt so well. I have been ill quite a week, have I

not? I feel as though I knew nothing about this world of darkness! O,

what light the Blessed Mother of God showed me! She took me with her,

and how willingly would I have remained with her!' Here she recollected

herself for a moment, and then said, placing her finger on her lip: 'But

I must not speak of these things.' From that time she said that the

slightest word in her praise greatly increased her sufferings.

The following days she was worse. On the 7th, in the evening, being

rather more calm, she said: 'Ah, my sweet Lord Jesus, thanks be to thee

again and again for every part of my life. Lord, thy will and not mine

be done.' On the 8th of February, in the evening, a priest was praying

near her bed, when she gratefully kissed his hand, begged him to assist

at her death and said, 'O Jesus, I live for thee, I die for thee. O Lord,

praise be to thy holy name, I no longer see or hear!' Her friends wished

to change her position, and thus ease her pain a little; but she said, 'I

am on the Cross, it will soon all be over, leave me in peace.' She had

received all the last Sacraments, but she wished to accuse herself once

more in confession of a slight fault which she had already many times

confessed; it was probably of the same nature as a sin which she had

committed in her childhood, of which she often accused herself, and

which consisted in having gone through a hedge into a neighbour's garden,

and coveted some apples which had fallen on the ground. She had only

looked at them; for, thank God, she said, she did not touch them, but

she thought that was a sin against the tenth commandment. The priest

gave her a general absolution; after which she stretched herself out,

and those around her thought that she was dying. A person who had often

given her pain now drew near her bed and asked her pardon. She looked

at him in surprise, and said with the most expressive accent of truth, 'I

have nothing to forgive any living creature.'

During the last days of her life, when her death was momentarily

expected, several of her friends remained constantly in the room

adjoining hers. They were speaking in a low tone, and so that she could

not hear them, of her patience, faith, and other virtues, when all on a

sudden they heard her dying voice saying: 'Ah, for the love of God, do

not praise me--that keeps me here, because I then have to suffer double. O

my God! how many fresh flowers are falling upon me!' She always saw

flowers as the forerunners and figures of sufferings. Then she rejected

all praises, with the most profound conviction of her own unworthiness,

saying: 'God alone is good: everything must be paid, down to the last

farthing. I am poor and loaded with sin, and I can only make up for

having been praised by sufferings united to those of Jesus Christ. Do

not praise me, but let me die in ignominy with Jesus on the cross.'

Boudon, in his life of Father Surin, relates a similar trait of a

dying man, who had been thought to have lost the sense of hearing, but

who energetically rejected a word of praise pronounced by those who

were surrounding his bed.

A few hours before death, for which she was longing, saying, 'O Lord

assist me; come, O Lord Jesus!' a word of praise appeared to detain her,

and she most energetically rejected it by making the following act of

humility: 'I cannot die if so many good persons think well of me through

a mistake; I beg of you to tell them all that I am a wretched sinner!

Would that I could proclaim so as to be heard by all men, how great a

sinner I am! I am far beneath the good thief who was crucified by the

side of Jesus, for he and all his contemporaries had not so terrible an

account as we shall have to render of all the graces which have been

bestowed upon the Church.' After this declaration, she appeared to grow

calm, and she said to the priest who was comforting her: 'I feel now as

peaceful and as much filled with hope and confidence as if I had never

committed a sin.' Her eyes turned lovingly towards the cross which was

placed at the foot of her bed, her breathing became accelerated, she

often drank some liquid; and when the little crucifix was held to her,

she from humility only kissed the feet. A friend who was kneeling by

her bedside in tears, had the comfort of often holding her the water

with which to moisten her lips. As he had laid her hand, on which the

white scar of the wound was most distinctly visible, on the

counterpane, he took hold of that hand, which was already cold, and as

he inwardly wished for some mark of farewell from her, she slightly

pressed his. Her face was calm and serene, bearing an expression of

heavenly gravity, and which can only be compared to that of a valiant

wrestler, who after making unheard of efforts to gain the victory,

sinks back and dies in the very act of seizing the prize. The priest

again read through the prayers for persons in their last agony, and she

then felt an inward inspiration to pray for a pious young friend whose

feast day it was. Eight o'clock struck; she breathed more freely for the

space of a few minutes, and then cried three times with a deep groan: 'O

Lord, assist me: Lord, Lord, come!' The priest rang his bell, and said,

'She is dying.' Several relations and friends who were in the next room

came in and knelt down to pray. She was then holding in her hand a

lighted taper, which the priest was supporting. She breathed forth

several slight sighs, and then her pure soul escaped her chaste lips,

and hastened, clothed in the nuptial garment, to appear in heavenly

hope before the Divine Bridegroom, and be united for ever to that

blessed company of virgins who follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.

Her lifeless body sank gently back on the pillows at halfpast eight

o'clock p.m., on the 9th February 1824.

A person who had taken great interest in her during life wrote as

follows: 'After her death, I drew near to her bed. She was supported by

pillows, and lying on her left side. Some crutches, which had been

prepared for her by her friends on one occasion when she had been able

to take a few turns in the room, were hanging over her head, crossed,

in a corner. Near them hung a little oil painting representing the

death of the Blessed Virgin, which had been given her by the Princess

of Salm. The expression of her countenance was perfectly sublime, and

bore the traces of the spirit of self-sacrifice, the patience and

resignation of her whole life; she looked as though she had died for

the love of Jesus, in the very act of performing some work of charity

for others. Her right hand was resting on the counterpane--that hand on

which God had bestowed the unparalleled favour of being able at once to

recognise by the touch anything that was holy, or that had been

consecrated by the Church--a favour which perhaps no one had ever before

enjoyed to so great an extent--a favour by which the interests of

religion might be inconceivably promoted, provided it was made use of

with discretion, and which surely had not been bestowed upon a poor

ignorant peasant girl merely for her own personal gratification. For

the last time I took in mine the hand marked with a sign so worthy of

our utmost veneration, the hand which was as a spiritual instrument in

the instant recognition of whatever was holy, that it might be honoured

even in a grain of sand--the charitable industrious hand, which had so

often fed the hungry and clothed the naked--this hand was now cold and

lifeless. A great favour had been withdrawn from earth, God had taken

from us the hand of his spouse, who had rendered testimony to, prayed,

and suffered for the truth. It appeared as though it had not been

without meaning, that she had resignedly laid down upon her bed the

hand which was the outward expression of a particular privilege granted

by Divine grace. Fearful of having the strong impression made upon me

by the sight of her countenance diminished by the necessary but

disturbing preparations which were being made around her bed, I

thoughtfully left her room. If, I said to myself--if, like so many holy

solitaries, she had died alone in a grave prepared by her own hands,

her friends--the birds--would have covered her with flowers and leaves; if,

like other religious, she had died among virgins consecrated to God,

and that their tender care and respectful veneration had followed her

to the grave, as was the case, for example, with St. Colomba of Rieti,

it would have been edifying and pleasing to those who loved her; but

doubtless such honours rendered to her lifeless remains would not have

been conformable to her love for Jesus, whom she so much desired to

resemble in death as in life.'

The same friend later wrote as follows: 'Unfortunately there was no

official post-mortem examination of her body, and none of those

inquiries by which she had been so tormented during life were

instituted after her death. The friends who surrounded her neglected to

examine her body, probably for fear of coming upon some striking

phenomenon, the discovery of which might have caused much annoyance in

various ways. On Wednesday the 11th of February her body was prepared

for burial. A pious female, who would not give up to anyone the task of

rendering her this last mark of affection, described to me as follows

the condition in which she found her: "Her feet were crossed like the

feet of a crucifix. The places of the stigmas were more red than usual.

When we raised her head blood flowed from her nose and mouth. All her

limbs remained flexible and with none of the stiffness of death even

till the coffin was closed." On Friday the 13th of February she was taken

to the grave, followed by the entire population of the place. She

reposes in the cemetery, to the left of the cross, on the side nearest

the hedge. In the grave in front of hers there rests a good old peasant

of Welde, and in the grave behind a poor but virtuous female from

Dernekamp.

On the evening of the day when she was buried, a rich man went, not

to Pilate, but to the cure of the place. He asked for the body of Anne

Catherine, not to place it in a new sepulchre, but to buy it at a high

price for a Dutch doctor. The proposal was rejected as it deserved, but

it appears that the report was spread in the little town that the body

had been taken away, and it is said that the people went in great

numbers to the cemetery to ascertain whether the grave had been robbed.'

To these details we will add the following extract from an account

printed in December 1824, in the Journal of Catholic literature of

Kerz. This account was written by a person with whom we are

unacquainted, but who appears to have been well informed: 'About six or

seven weeks after the death of Anne Catherine Emmerich, a report having

got about that her body had been stolen away, the grave and coffin were

opened in secret, by order of the authorities, in the presence of seven

witnesses. They found with surprise not unmixed with joy that

corruption had not yet begun its work on the body of the pious maiden.

Her features and countenance were smiling like those of a person who is

dreaming sweetly. She looked as though she had but just been placed in

the coffin, nor did her body exhale any corpse-like smell. It is good

to keep the secret of the king, says Jesus the son of Sirach; but it is

also good to reveal to the world the greatness of the mercy of God.'

We have been told that a stone has been placed over her grave. We

lay upon it these pages; may they contribute to immortalise the memory

of a person who has relieved so many pains of soul and body, and that

of the spot where her mortal remains lie awaiting the Day of

Resurrection.

TO THE READER

Whoever compares the following meditations with the short history of

the Last Supper given in the Gospel will discover some slight

differences between them. An explanation should be given of this,

although it can never be sufficiently impressed upon the reader that

these writings have no pretensions whatever to add an iota to Sacred

Scripture as interpreted by the Church.

Sister Emmerich saw the events of the Last Supper take place in the

following order:--The Paschal Lamb was immolated and prepared in the

supper-room; our Lord held a discourse on that occasion--the guests were

dressed as travellers, and ate, standing, the lamb and other food

prescribed by the law--the cup of wine was twice presented to our Lord,

but he did not drink of it the second time; distributing it to his

Apostles with these words: I shall drink no more of the fruit of the

vine, etc. Then they sat down; Jesus spoke of the traitor; Peter feared

lest it should be himself; Judas received from our Lord the piece of

bread dipped, which was the sign that it was he; preparations were made

for the washing of the feet; Peter strove against his feet being

washed; then came the institution of the Holy Eucharist: Judas

communicated, and afterwards left the apartment; the oils were

consecrated, and instructions given concerning them; Peter and the

other Apostles received ordination; our Lord made his final discourse;

Peter protested that he would never abandon him; and then the Supper

concluded. By adopting this order, it appears, at first, as though it

were in contradiction to the passages of St. Matthew (31:29), and of

St. Mark (14:26), in which the words: I will drink no more of the fruit

of the vine, etc., come after the consecration, but in St. Luke, they

come before. On the contrary, all that concerns the traitor Judas comes

here, as in St. Matthew and St. Mark, before the consecration; whereas

in St. Luke, it does not come till afterwards. St. John, who does not

relate the history of the institution of the Holy Eucharist, gives us

to understand that Judas went out immediately after Jesus had given him

the bread; but it appears most probable, from the accounts of the other

Evangelists, that Judas received the Holy Communion under both forms,

and several of the fathers--St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, and St.

Leo the Great--as well as the tradition of the Catholic Church, tell us

expressly that such was the case. Besides, were the order in which St.

John presents events taken literally, he would contradict, not only St.

Matthew and St. Mark, but himself, for it must follow, from verse 10,

chap. 13, that Judas also had his feet washed. Now, the washing of the

feet took place after the eating of the Paschal lamb, and it was

necessarily whilst it was being eaten that Jesus presented the bread to

the traitor. It is plain that the Evangelists here, as in several other

parts of their writings, gave their attention to the sacred narrative

as a whole, and did not consider themselves bound to relate every

detail in precisely the same order, which fully explains the apparent

contradictions of each other, which are to be found in their Gospels.

The following pages will appear to the attentive reader rather a simple

and natural concordance of the Gospels than a history differing in any

point of the slightest importance from that of Scripture.

MEDITATION I.

Preparations for the Pasch

Holy Thursday, the 13th Nisan (29th of March).

Yesterday evening it was that the last great public repast of our

Lord and his friends took place in the house of Simon the Leper, at

Bethania, and Mary Magdalen for the last time anointed the feet of

Jesus with precious ointment. Judas was scandalised upon this occasion,

and hastened forthwith to Jerusalem again to conspire with the

high-priests for the betrayal of Jesus into their hands. After the

repast, Jesus returned to the house of Lazarus, and some of the

Apostles went to the inn situated beyond Bethania. During the night

Nicodemus again came to Lazarus' house, had a long conversation with our

Lord, and returned before daylight to Jerusalem, being accompanied part

of the way by Lazarus.

The disciples had already asked Jesus where he would eat the Pasch.

To-day, before dawn, our Lord sent for Peter, James, and John, spoke to

them at some length concerning all they had to prepare and order at

Jerusalem, and told them that when ascending Mount Sion, they would

meet the man carrying a pitcher of water. They were already well

acquainted with this man, for at the last Pasch, at Bethania, it had

been he who prepared the meal for Jesus, and this is why St. Matthew

says: a certain man. They were to follow him home, and say to him: the

Master saith, My time is near at hand, with thee I make the Pasch with

my disciples (Matt. 26:18). They were than to be shown the supper-room,

and make all necessary preparations.

I saw the Apostles ascending towards Jerusalem, along a ravine, to

the south of the Temple, and in the direction of the north side of

Sion. On the southern side of the mountain on which the Temple stood,

there were some rows of houses; and they walked opposite these houses,

following the stream of an intervening torrent. When they had reached

the summit of Mount Sion, which is higher than the mountain of the

Temple, they turned their steps towards the south, and, just at the

beginning of a small ascent, met the man who had been named to them;

they followed and spoke to him as Jesus had commanded. He was much

gratified by their words, and answered, that a supper had already been

ordered to be prepared at his house (probably by Nicodemus), but that

he had not been aware for whom, and was delighted to learn that it was

for Jesus. This man's name was Heli, and he was the brother-in-law of

Zachary of Hebron, in whose house Jesus had in the preceding year

announced the death of John the Baptist. He had only one son, who was a

Levite, and a friend of St. Luke, before the latter was called by our

Lord, and five daughters, all of whom were unmarried. He went up every

year with his servants for the festival of the Pasch, hired a room and

prepared the Pasch for persons who had no friend in the town to lodge

with. This year he had hired a supper-room which belonged to Nicodemus

and Joseph of Arimathea. He showed the two Apostles its position and

interior arrangement.

MEDITATION II.

The Supper-Room.

On the southern side of Mount Sion, not far from the ruined Castle

of David, and the market held on the ascent leading to that Castle,

there stood, towards the east, an ancient and solid building, between

rows of thick trees, in the midst of a spacious court surrounded by

strong walls. To the right and left of the entrance, other buildings

were to be seen adjoining the wall, particularly to the right, where

stood the dwelling of the major-domo, and close to it the house in

which the Blessed Virgin and the holy women spent most of their time

after the death of Jesus. The supper-room, which was originally larger,

had formerly been inhabited by David's brave captains, who had there

learned the use of arms.

Previous to the building of the Temple, the Ark of the Covenant had

been deposited there for a considerable length of time, and traces of

its presence were still to be found in an underground room. I have also

seen the Prophet Malachy hidden beneath this same roof: he there wrote

his prophecies concerning the Blessed Sacrament and the Sacrifice of

the New Law. Solomon held this house in honour, and performed within

its walls some figurative and symbolical action, which I have

forgotten. When a great part of Jerusalem was destroyed by the

Babylonians, this house was spared. I have seen many other things

concerning this same house, but I only remember what I have now told.

This building was in a very dilapidated state when it became the

property of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, who arranged the

principal building in a very suitable manner, and let it as a

supper-room to strangers coming to Jerusalem for the purpose of

celebrating the festival of the Pasch. Thus it was that our Lord had

made use of it the previous year. Moreover, the house and surrounding

buildings served as warehouses for monuments and other stones, and as

workshops for the labourers; for Joseph of Arimathea possessed valuable

quarries in his own country, from which he had large blocks of stone

brought, that his workmen might fashion them, under his own eye, into

tombs, architectural ornaments, and columns, for sale. Nicodemus had a

share in this business, and used to spend many leisure hours himself in

sculpturing. He worked in the room, or in a subterraneous apartment

which saw beneath it, excepting at the times of the festivals; and this

occupation having brought him into connection with Joseph of Arimathea,

they had become friends, and often joined together in various

transactions.

This morning, whilst Peter and John were conversing with the man who

had hired the supper-room, I saw Nicodemus in the buildings to the left

of the court, where a great many stones which filled up the passages

leading to the supper-room had been placed. A week before, I had seen

several persons engaged in putting the stones on one side, cleaning the

court, and preparing the supper-room for the celebration of the Pasch;

it even appears to me that there were among them some disciples of our

Lord, perhaps Aram and Themein, the cousins of Joseph of Arimathea.

The supper-room, properly so called, was nearly in the centre of the

court; its length was greater than its width; it was surrounded by a

row of low pillars, and if the spaces between the pillars had been

cleared, would have formed a part of the large inner room, for the

whole edifice was, as it were, transparent; only it was usual, except

on special occasions, for the passages to be closed up. The room was

lighted by apertures at the top of the walls. In front, there was first

a vestibule, into which three doors gave entrance; next, the large

inner room, where several lamps hung from the platform; the walls were

ornamented for the festival, half way up, with beautiful matting or

tapestry, and an aperture had been made in the roof, and covered over

with transparent blue gauze.

The back part of this room was separated from the rest by a curtain,

also of blue transparent gauze. This division of the supper-room into

three parts gave a resemblance to the Temple--thus forming the outer

Court, the Holy, and the Holy of Holies. In the last of these

divisions, on both sides, the dresses and other things necessary for

the celebration of the feast were placed. In the centre there was a

species of altar. A stone bench raised on three steps, and of a

rectangular triangular shape, came out of the wall; it must have

constituted the upper part of the oven used for roasting the Paschal

Lamb, for to-day the steps were quite heated during the repast. I

cannot describe in detail all that there was in this part of the room,

but all kinds of arrangements were being made there for preparing the

Paschal Supper. Above this hearth of altar, there was a species of

niche in the wall, in front of which I saw an image of the Paschal

Lamb, with a knife in its throat, and the blood appearing to flow drop

by drop upon the altar; but I do not remember distinctly how that was

done. In a niche in the wall there were three cupboards of various

colours, which turned like our tabernacles, for opening or closing. A

number of vessels used in the celebration of the Pasch were kept in

them; later, the Blessed Sacrament was placed there.

In the rooms at the sides of the supper-room, there were some

couches, on which thick coverlids rolled up were placed, and which

could be used as beds. There were spacious cellars beneath the whole of

this building. The Ark of the Covenant was formerly deposited under the

very spot where the hearth was afterwards built. Five gutters, under

the house, served to convey the refuse to the slope of the hill, on the

upper part of which the house was built. I had preciously seen Jesus

preach and perform miraculous cures there, and the disciples frequently

passed the night in the side rooms.

MEDITATION III.

Arrangements for eating the Paschal Lamb.

When the disciples had spoken to Heli of Hebron, the latter went

back into the house by the court, but they turned to the right, and

hastened down the north side of the hill, through Sion. They passed

over a bridge, and walking along a road covered with brambles, reached

the other side of the ravine, which was in front of the Temple, and of

the row of houses which were to the south of that building. There stood

the house of the aged Simeon, who died in the Temple after the

presentation of our Lord; and his sons, some of whom were disciples of

Jesus in secret, were actually living there. The Apostles spoke to one

of them, a tall dark-complexioned man, who held some office in the

Temple. They went with him to the eastern side of the Temple, through

that part of Ophel by which Jesus made his entry into Jerusalem on

Palm-Sunday, and thence to the cattle-market, which stood in the town,

to the north of the Temple. In the southern part of this market I saw

little enclosures in which some beautiful lambs were gambolling about.

Here it was that lambs for the Pasch were bought. I saw the son of

Simeon enter one of these enclosures; and the lambs gambolled round him

as if they knew him. He chose out four, which were carried to the

supper-room, engaged in preparing the Paschal Lamb.

I saw Peter and John go to several different parts of the town, and

order various things. I saw them also standing opposite the door of a

house situated to the north of Mount Calvary, where the disciples of

Jesus lodged the greatest part of the time, and which belonged to

Seraphia (afterwards called Veronica). Peter and John sent some

disciples from thence to the supper-room, giving them several

commissions, which I have forgotten.

They also went into Seraphia's house, where they had several

arrangements to make. Her husband, who was a member of the council, was

usually absent and engaged in business; but even when he was at home

she saw little of him. She was a woman of about the age of the Blessed

Virgin, and had long been connected with the Holy Family; for when the

Child Jesus remained the three days in Jerusalem after the feast, she

it was who supplied him with food.

The two Apostles took from thence, among other things, the chalice

of which our Lord made use in the institution of the Holy Eucharist.

MEDITATION IV.

The Chalice used at the Last Supper

The chalice which the Apostles brought from Veronica's house was

wonderful and mysterious in its appearance. It had been kept a long

time in the Temple among other precious objects of great antiquity, the

use and origin of which had been forgotten. The same has been in some

degree the case in the Christian Church, where many consecrated jewels

have been forgotten and fallen into disuse with time. Ancient vases and

jewels, buried beneath the Temple, had often been dug up, sold, or

reset. Thus it was that, by God's permission, this holy vessel, which

none had ever been able to melt down on account of its being made of

some unknown material, and which had been found by the priests in the

treasury of the Temple among other objects no longer made use of, had

been sold to some antiquaries. It was bought by Seraphia, was several

times made use of by Jesus in the celebration of festivals, and, from

the day of the Last Supper, became the exclusive property of the holy

Christian community. This vessel was not always the same as when used

by our Lord at his Last Supper, and perhaps it was upon that occasion

that the various pieces which composed it were first put together. The

great chalice stood upon a plate, out of which a species of tablet

could also be drawn, and around it there were six little glasses. The

great chalice contained another smaller vase; above it there was a

small plate, and then came a round cover. A spoon was inserted in the

foot of the chalice, and could be easily drawn out for use. All these

different vessels were covered with fine linen, and, if I am not

mistaken, were wrapped up in a case made of leather. The great chalice

was composed of the cup and of the foot, which last must have been

joined on to it at a later period, for it was of a different material.

The cup was pear-shaped, massive, dark-coloured, and highly polished,

with gold ornaments, and two small handles by which it could be lifted.

The foot was of virgin gold, elaborately worked, ornamented with a

serpent and a small bunch of grapes, and enriched with precious stones.

The chalice was left in the Church of Jerusalem, in the hand of St.

James the Less; and I see that it is still preserved in that town--it will

reappear some day, in the same manner as before. Other Churches took

the little cups which surrounded it; one was taken to Antioch, and

another to Ephesus. They belonged to the patriarchs, who drank some

mysterious beverage out of them when they received or gave a

Benediction, as I have seen many times.

The great chalice had formerly been in the possession of Abraham;

Melchisedech brought it with him from the land of Semiramis to the land

of Canaan, when he was beginning to found some settlements on the spot

where Jerusalem was afterwards built; he made use of it then for

offering sacrifice, when he offered bread and wine in the presence of

Abraham, and he left it in the possession of that holy patriarch. This

same chalice had also been preserved in Noah's Ark.

MEDITATION V.

Jesus goes up to Jerusalem.

In the morning, while the Apostles were engaged at Jerusalem in

preparing for the Pasch, Jesus, who had remained at Bethania, took an

affecting leave of the holy women, of Lazarus, and of his Blessed

Mother, and gave them some final instructions. I saw our Lord

conversing apart with his Mother, and he told her, among other things,

that he had sent Peter, the apostle of faith, and John, the apostle of

love, to prepare for the Pasch at Jerusalem. He said, in speaking of

Magdalen, whose grief was excessive, that her love was great, but still

somewhat human, and that on this account her sorrow made her beside

herself. He spoke also of the schemes of the traitor Judas, and the

Blessed Virgin prayed for him. Judas had again left Bethania to go to

Jerusalem, under pretence of paying some debts that were due. He spent

his whole day in hurrying backwards and forwards from one Pharisee to

another, and making his final agreements with them. He was shown the

soldiers who had been engaged to seize the person of our Divine

Saviour, and he so arranged his journeys to and fro as to be able to

account for his absence. I beheld all his wicked schemes and all his

thoughts. He was naturally active and obliging, but these good

qualities were choked by avarice, ambition, and envy, which passions he

made no effort to control. In our Lord's absence he had even performed

miracles and healed the sick.

When our Lord announced to his Blessed Mother what was going to take

place, she besought him, in the most touching terms, to let her die

with him. But he exhorted her to show more calmness in her sorrow than

the other women, told her that he should rise again, and named the very

spot where he should appear to her. She did not weep much, but her

grief was indescribable, and there was something almost awful in her

look of deep recollection. Our Divine Lord returned thanks, as a loving

Son, for all the love she had borne him, and pressed her to his heart.

He also told her that he would make the Last Supper with her,

spiritually, and named the hour at which she would receive his precious

Body and Blood. Then once more he, in touching language, bade farewell

to all, and gave them different instructions.

About twelve o'clock in the day, Jesus and the nine Apostles went from

Bethania up to Jerusalem, followed by seven disciples, who, with the

exception of Nathaniel and Silas, came from Jerusalem and the

neighbourhood. Among these were John, Mark, and the son of the poor

widow who, the Thursday previous, had offered her mite in the Temple,

whilst Jesus was preaching there. Jesus had taken him into his company

a few days before. The holy women set off later.

Jesus and his companions walked around Mount Olivet, about the

valley of Josaphat, and even as far as Mount Calvary. During the whole

of this walk, he continued giving them instructions. He told the

Apostles, among other things, that until then he had given them his

bread and his wine, but that this day he was going to give them his

Body and Blood, his whole self--all that he had and all that he was. The

countenance of our Lord bore so touching an expression whilst he was

speaking, that his whole soul seemed to breathe forth from his lips,

and he appeared to be languishing with love and desire for the moment

when he should give himself to man. His disciples did not understand

him, but thought that he was speaking of the Paschal Lamb. No words can

give an adequate idea of the love and resignation which were expressed

in these last discourses of our Lord at Bethania, and on his way to

Jerusalem.

The seven disciples who had followed our Lord to Jerusalem did not

go there in his company, but carried the ceremonial habits for the

Pasch to the supper-room, and then returned to the house of Mary, the

mother of Mark. When Peter and John came to the supper-room with the

chalice, all the ceremonial habits were already in the vestibule,

whither they had been brought by his disciples and some companions.

They had also hung the walls with drapery, cleared the higher openings

in the sides, and put up three lamps. Peter and John then went to the

Valley of Josaphat, and summoned our Lord and the twelve Apostles. The

disciples and friends who were also to make their Pasch in the

supperroom, came later.

MEDITATION VI.

The Last Pasch.

Jesus and his disciples ate the Paschal Lamb in the supper-room.

They divided into three groups. Jesus ate the Paschal Lamb with the

twelve Apostles in the supper-room, properly so called; Nathaniel with

twelve other disciples in one of the lateral rooms, and Eliacim (the

son of Cleophas and Mary, the daughter of Heli), who had been a

disciple of John the Baptist, with twelve more, in another side-room.

Three lambs were immolated for them in the Temple, but there was a

fourth lamb which was immolated in the supper-room, and was the one

eaten by Jesus with his Apostles. Judas was not aware of this

circumstance, because being engaged in plotting his betrayal of our

Lord, he only returned a few moments before the repast, and after the

immolation of the lamb had taken place. Most touching was the scene of

the immolation of the lamb to be eaten by Jesus and his Apostles; it

took place in the vestibule of the supper-room. The Apostles and

disciples were present, singing the 118th Psalm. Jesus spoke of a new

period then beginning, and said that the sacrifice of Moses and the

figure of the Paschal Lamb were about to receive their accomplishment,

but that on this very account, the lamb was to be immolated in the same

manner as formerly in Egypt, and that they were really about to go

forth from the house of bondage.

The vessels and necessary instruments were prepared, and then the

attendants brought a beautiful little lamb, decorated with a crown,

which was sent to the Blessed Virgin in the room where she had remained

with the other holy women. The lamb was fastened with its back against

a board by a cord around its body, and reminded me of Jesus tied to the

pillar and scourged. The son of Simeon held the lamb's head; Jesus made a

slight incision in its neck with the point of a knife, which he then

gave to the son of Simeon, that he might complete killing it. Jesus

appeared to inflict the wound with a feeling of repugnance, and he was

quick in his movements, although his countenance was grave, and his

manner such as to inspire respect. The blood flowed into a basin, and

the attendants brought a branch of hyssop, which Jesus dipped in it.

Then he went to the door of the room, stained the sideposts and the

lock with blood, and placed the branch which had been dipped in blood

above the door. He then spoke to the disciples, and told them, among

other things, that the exterminating angel would pass by, that they

would adore in that room without fear or anxiety, when he, the true

Paschal Lamb, should have been immolated--that a new epoch and a new

sacrifice were about to begin, which would last to the end of the world.

They then went to the other side of the room, near the hearth where

the Ark of the Covenant had formerly stood. Fire had already been

lighted there, and Jesus poured some blood upon the hearth,

consecrating it as an altar; and the remainder of the blood and the fat

were thrown on the fire beneath the altar, after which Jesus, followed

by his Apostles, walked round the supper-room, singing some psalms, and

consecrating it as a new Temple. The doors were all closed during this

time. Meanwhile the son of Simeon had completed the preparation of the

lamb. He passed a stake through its body, fastening the front legs on a

cross piece of wood; and stretching the hind ones along the stake. It

bore a strong resemblance to Jesus on the cross, and was placed in the

oven, to be there roasted with the three other lambs brought from the

Temple.

The Paschal Lambs of the Jews were all immolated in the vestibule of

the Temple, but in different parts, according as the persons who were

to eat them were rich, or poor, or strangers.5 The Paschal Lamb

belonging to Jesus was not immolated in the Temple, but everything else

was done strictly according to the law. Jesus again addressed his

disciples, saying that the lamb was but a figure, that he himself would

next day be the true Paschal Lamb, together with other things which I

have forgotten.

When Jesus had finished his instructions concerning the Paschal Lamb

and its signification, the time being come, and Judas also returned,

the tables were set out. The disciples put on travelling dresses which

were in the vestibule, different shoes, a white robe resembling a

shirt, and a cloak, which was short in front and longer behind, their

sleeves were large and turned back, and they girded up their clothes

around the waist. Each party went to their own table; and two sets of

disciples in the side rooms, and our Lord and his Apostles in the

supper-room. They held staves in their hands, and went two and two to

the table, where they remained standing, each in his own place, with

the stave resting on his arms, and his hands upraised.

The table was narrow, and about half a foot higher than the knees of

a man; in shape it resembled a horseshoe, and opposite Jesus, in the

inner part of the half-circle, there was a space left vacant, that the

attendants might be able to set down the dishes. As far as I can

remember, John, James the Greater, and James the Less sat on the

right-hand of Jesus; after them Bartholomew, and then, round the

corner, Thomas and Judas Iscariot. Peter, Andrew, and Thaddeus sat on

the left of Jesus; next came Simon, and then (round the corner) Matthew

and Philip.

The Paschal Lamb was placed on a dish in the centre of the table.

Its head rested on its front legs, which were fastened to a

cross-stick, its hind legs being stretched out, and the dish was

garnished with garlic. By the side there was a dish with the Paschal

roast meat, then came a plate with green vegetables balanced against

each other, and another plate with small bundles of bitter herbs, which

had the appearance of aromatic herbs. Opposite Jesus there was also one

dish with different herbs, and a second containing a brown-coloured

sauce of beverage. The guest had before them some round loaves instead

of plates, and they used ivory knives.

After the prayer, the major-domo laid the knife for cutting the lamb

on the table before Jesus, who placed a cup of wine before him, and

filled six other cups, each one of which stood between two Apostles.

Jesus blessed the wine and drank, and the Apostles drank two together

out of one cup. Then our Lord proceeded to cut up the lamb; his

Apostles presented their pieces of bread in turn, and each received his

share. They ate it in haste, separating the flesh from the bone, by

means of their ivory knives, and the bones were afterwards burnt. They

also ate the garlic and green herbs in haste, dipping them in the

sauce. All this time they remained standing, only leaning slightly on

the backs of their seats. Jesus brake one of the loaves of unleavened

bread, covered up a part of it, and divided the remainder among his

Apostles. Another cup of wine was brought, but Jesus drank not of it:

'Take this,' he said, 'and divide it among you, for I will not drink from

henceforth of the fruit of the vine, until that day when I shall drink

it with you new in the kingdom of my Father' (Matt. 26:29). When they had

drunk the wine, they sang a hymn; then Jesus prayed or taught, and they

again washed their hands. After this they sat down.

Our Lord cut up another lamb which was carried to the holy women in

one of the buildings of the court, where they were seated at table. The

Apostles ate some more vegetables and lettuce. The countenance of our

Divine Saviour bore an indescribable expression of serenity and

recollection, greater than I had ever before seen. He bade the Apostles

forget all their cares. The Blessed Virgin also, as she sat at table

with the other women, looked most placid and calm. When the other women

came up, and took hold of her veil to make her turn round and speak to

them, her every movement expressed the sweetest self-control and

placidity of spirit.

At first Jesus conversed lovingly and calmly with his disciples, but

after a while he became grave and sad: 'Amen, amen, I say to you, that

one of you is about to betray me:' he said, he that dippeth his hand with

me in the dish' (Matt. 26:21.23). Jesus was then distributing the

lettuce, of which there was only one dish, to those Apostles who were

by his side, and he had given Judas, who was nearly opposite to him,

the office of distributing it to the others. When Jesus spoke of a

traitor, an expression which filled all the Apostles with fear, he

said: 'he that dippeth his hand with me in the dish,' which means: 'one of

the twelve who are eating and drinking with me--one of those with whom I

am eating bread.' He did not plainly point out Judas to the others by

these words; for to dip the hand in the same dish was an expression

used to signify the most friendly and intimate intercourse. He was

desirous, however, to give a warning to Judas, who was then really

dipping his hand in the dish with our Saviour, to distribute the

lettuce. Jesus continued to speak: 'The Son of Man indeed goeth,' he said,

'as it is written of him: but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man

shall be betrayed: It were better for him if that man had not been born.'

The Apostles were very much troubled, and each one of them

exclaimed: 'Lord, is it I?' for they were all perfectly aware that they did

not entirely understand his words. Peter leaned towards John, behind

Jesus, and made him a sign to ask our Lord who the traitor was to be,

for, having so often been reproved by our Lord, he trembled lest it

should be himself who was referred to. John was seated at the right

hand of Jesus, and as all were leaning on their left arms, using the

right to eat, his head was close to the bosom of Jesus. He leaned then

on his breast and said: 'Lord, who is it?' I did not see Jesus say to him

with his lips: 'He it is to whom I shall reach bread dipped.' I do not know

whether he whispered it to him, but John knew it, when Jesus having

dipped the bread, which was covered with lettuce, gave it tenderly to

Judas, who also asked: 'Is it I, Lord?' Jesus looked at him with love, and

answered him in general terms. Among the Jews, to give bread dipped was

a mark of friendship and confidence; Jesus on this occasion gave Judas

the morsel, in order thus to warn him, without making known his guilt

to the others. But the heart of Judas burned with anger, and during the

whole time of the repast, I saw a frightful little figure seated at his

feet, and sometimes ascending to his heart. I did not see John repeat

to Peter what he had learned from Jesus, but he set his fears at rest

by a look.

MEDITATION VII.

The Washing of the Feet.

They arose from table, and whilst they were arranging their clothes,

as they usually did before making their solemn prayer, the major-domo

came in with two servants to take away the table. Jesus, standing in

the midst of his Apostles, spoke to them long, in a most solemn manner.

I could not repeat exactly his whole discourse, but I remember he spoke

of his kingdom, of his going to his Father, of what he would leave them

now that he was about to be taken away, etc. He also gave them some

instructions concerning penance, the confession of sin, repentance, and

justification.

I felt that these instructions referred to the washing of the feet,

and I saw that all the Apostles acknowledged their sins and repented of

them, with the exception of Judas. This discourse was long and solemn.

When it was concluded, Jesus sent John and James the Less to fetch

water from the vestibule, and he told the Apostles to arrange the seats

in a half circle. He went himself into the vestibule, where he girded

himself with a towel. During this time, the Apostles spoke among

themselves, and began speculating as to which of them would be the

greatest, for our Lord having expressly announced that he was about to

leave them and that his kingdom was near at hand, they felt

strengthened anew in their idea that he had secret plans, and that he

was referring to some earthly triumph which would be theirs at the last

moment.

Meanwhile Jesus, in the vestibule, told John to take a basin, and

James a pitcher filled with water, with which they followed him into

the room, where the major-domo had placed another empty basin.

Jesus, on returning to his disciples in so humble a manner,

addressed them a few words of reproach on the subject of the dispute

which had arisen between them, and said among other things, that he

himself was their servant, and that they were to sit down, for him to

wash their feet. They sat down, therefore, in the same order as they

had sat at table. Jesus went from one to the other, poured water from

the basin which John carried on the feet of each, and then, taking the

end of the towel wherewith he was girded, wiped them. Most loving and

tender was the manner of our Lord while thus humbling himself at the

feet of his Apostles.

Peter, when his turn came, endeavoured through humility to prevent

Jesus from washing his feet: 'Lord,' he exclaimed, 'dost thou wash my feet?'

Jesus answered: 'What I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know

hereafter.' It appeared to me that he said to him privately: 'Simon, thou

hast merited for my Father to reveal to thee who I am, whence I come,

and whither I am going, thou alone hast expressly confessed it,

therefore upon thee will I build my Church, and the gates of hell shall

not prevail against it. My power will remain with thy successors to the

end of the world.'

Jesus showed him to the other Apostles, and said, that when he

should be no more present among them, Peter was to fill his place in

their regard. Peter said: 'Thou shalt never wash my feet!' Our Lord

replied: 'If I wash thee not, thou shalt have no part with me.' Then Peter

exclaimed: 'Lord, not only my feet, but also my hands and my head.' Jesus

replied: 'He that is washed, needeth not but to wash his feet, but is

clean wholly. And you are clean, but not all.'

By these last words he referred to Judas. He had spoken of the

washing of the feet as signifying purification from daily faults,

because the feet, which are continually in contact with the earth, are

also continually liable to be soiled, unless great care is taken.

This washing of the feet was spiritual, and served as a species of

absolution. Peter, in his zeal, saw nothing in it but too great an act

of abasement on the part of his Master; he knew not that to save him

Jesus would the very next day humble himself even to the ignominious

death of the cross.

When Jesus washed the feet of Judas, it was in the most loving and

affecting manner; he bent his sacred face even on to the feet of the

traitor; and in a low voice bade him now at least enter into himself,

for that he had been a faithless traitor for the last year. Judas

appeared to be anxious to pay no heed whatever to his words, and spoke

to John, upon which Peter became angry, and exclaimed: 'Judas, the Master

speaks to thee!' Then Judas made our Lord some vague, evasive reply, such

as, 'Heaven forbid, Lord!' The others had not remarked that Jesus was

speaking to Judas, for this words were uttered in a low voice, in order

not to be heard by them, and besides, they were engaged in putting on

their shoes. Nothing in the whole course of the Passion grieved Jesus

so deeply as the treason of Judas.

Jesus finally washed the feet of John and James.

He then spoke again on the subject of humility, telling them that he

that was the greatest among them was to be as their servant, and that

henceforth they were to wash one another's feet. Then he put on his

garments, and the Apostles let down their clothes, which they had

girded up before eating the Paschal Lamb.

MEDITATION VIII.

Institution of the Holy Eucharist.

By command of our Lord, the major-domo had again laid out the table,

which he had raised a little; then, having placed it once more in the

middle of the room, he stood one urn filled with wine, and another with

water underneath it. Peter and John went into the part of the room near

the hearth, to get the chalice which they had brought from Seraphia's

house, and which was still wrapped up in its covering. They carried it

between them as if they had been carrying a tabernacle, and placed it

on the table before Jesus. An oval plate stood there, with three fine

white azymous loaves, placed on a piece of linen, by the side of the

half loaf which Jesus had set aside during the Paschal meal, also a jar

containing wine and water, and three boxes, one filled with thick oil,

a second with liquid oil, and the third empty.

In earlier times, it had been the practice for all at table to eat

of the same loaf and drink of the same cup at the end of the meal,

thereby to express their friendship and brotherly love, and to welcome

and bid farewell to each other. I think Scripture must contain

something upon this subject.

On the day of the Last Supper, Jesus raised this custom (which had

hitherto been no more than a symbolical and figurative rite) to the

dignity of the holiest of sacraments. One of the charges brought before

Caiphas, on occasion of the treason of Judas, was, that Jesus had

introduced a novelty into the Paschal ceremonies, but Nicodemus proved

from Scripture that it was an ancient practice.

Jesus was seated between Peter and John, the doors were closed, and

everything was done in the most mysterious and imposing manner. When

the chalice was taken out of its covering, Jesus prayed, and spoke to

his Apostles with the utmost solemnity. I saw him giving them an

explanation of the Supper, and of the entire ceremony, and I was

forcibly reminded of a priest teaching others to say Mass.

He then drew a species of shelf with grooves from the boars on which

the jars stood, and taking a piece of white linen with which the

chalice was covered, spread it over the board and shelf. I then saw him

lift a round plate, which he placed on this same shelf, off the top of

the chalice. He next took the azymous loaves from beneath the linen

with which they were covered and placed them before him on the board;

then he took out of the chalice a smaller vase, and ranged the six

little glasses on each side of it. Then he blessed the bread and also

the oil, to the best of my belief after which he lifted up the paten

with the loaves upon it, in his two hands, raised his eyes, prayed,

offered, and replaced the paten on the table, covering it up again. He

then took the chalice, had some wine poured into it by Peter, and some

water, which he first blessed, by John, adding to it a little more

water, which he poured into a small spoon, and after this he blessed

the chalice, raised it up with a prayer, made the oblation, and

replaced it on the table.

John and Peter poured some water on his hands, which he held over

the plate on which the azymous loaves had been placed; then he took a

little of the water which had been poured on his hands, in the spoon

that he had taken out of the lower part of the chalice, and poured it

on theirs. After this, the vase was passed round the table, and all the

Apostles washed their hands in it. I do not remember whether this was

the precise order in which these ceremonies were performed; all I know

is, that they reminded me in a striking manner of the holy sacrifice of

the Mass.

Meanwhile, our Divine Lord became more and more tender and loving in

his demeanour; he told his Apostles that he was about to give them all

that he had, namely, his entire self, and he looked as though perfectly

transformed by love. I saw him becoming transparent, until he resembled

a luminous shadow. He broke the bread into several pieces, which he

laid together on the paten, and then took a corner of the first piece

and dripped it into the chalice. At the moment when he was doing this, I

seemed to see the Blessed Virgin receiving the Holy Sacrament in a

spiritual manner, although she was not present in the supper-room. I do

not know how it was done, but I thought I saw her enter without

touching the ground, and come before our Lord to receive the Holy

Eucharist; after which I saw her no more. Jesus had told her in the

morning, at Bethania, that he would keep the Pasch with her

spiritually, and he had named the hour at which she was to betake

herself to prayer, in order to receive it in spirit.

Again he prayed and taught; his words came forth from his lips like

fire and light, and entered into each of the Apostles, with the

exception of Judas. He took the paten with the pieces of bread (I do

not know whether he had placed it on the chalice) and said: 'Take and

eat; this is my Body which is given for you.' He stretched forth his

right hand as if to bless, and, whilst he did so, a brilliant light

came from him, his words were luminous, the bread entered the mouths of

the Apostles as a brilliant substance, and light seemed to penetrate

and surround them all, Judas alone remaining dark. Jesus presented the

bread first to Peter, next to John and then he made a sign to Judas to

approach.6 Judas was thus the third who received the Adorable

Sacrament, but the words of our Lord appeared to turn aside from the

mouth of the traitor, and come back to their Divine Author. So

perturbed was I in spirit at this sight, that my feelings cannot be

described. Jesus said to him: 'That which thou dost, do quickly.' He then

administered the Blessed Sacrament to the other Apostles, who

approached two and two.

Jesus raised the chalice by its two handles to a level with his

face, and pronounced the words of consecration. Whilst doing so, he

appeared wholly transfigured, as it were transparent, and as though

entirely passing into what he was going to give his Apostles. He made

Peter and John drink from the chalice which he held in his hand, and

then placed it again on the table. John poured the Divine Blood from

the chalice into the smaller glasses, and Peter presented them to the

Apostles, two of whom drank together out of the same cup. I think, but

am not quite certain, that Judas also partook of the chalice; he did

not return to his place, but immediately left the supper-room, and the

other Apostles thought that Jesus had given him some commission to do.

He left without praying or making any thanksgiving, and hence you may

perceive how sinful it is to neglect returning thanks either after

receiving our daily food, or after partaking of the Life-Giving Bread

of Angels. During the entire meal, I had seen a frightful little

figure, with one foot like a dried bone, remaining close to Judas, but

when he had reached the door, I beheld three devils pressing round him;

one entered into his mouth, the second urged him on, and the third

preceded him. It was night, and they seemed to be lighting him, whilst

he hurried onward like a madman.

Our Lord poured a few drops of the Precious Blood remaining in the

chalice into the little vase of which I have already spoken, and then

placed his fingers over the chalice, while Peter and John poured water

and wine upon them. This done, he caused them to drink again from the

chalice, and what remained of its contents was poured into the smaller

glasses, and distributed to the other Apostles. Then Jesus wiped the

chalice, put into it the little vase containing the remainder of the

Divine Blood, and placed over it the paten with the fragments of the

consecrated bread, after which he again put on the cover, wrapped up

the chalice, and stood it in the midst of the six small cups. I saw the

Apostles receive in communion these remains of the Adorable Sacrament,

after the Resurrection.

I do not remember seeing our Lord himself eat and drink of the

consecrated elements, neither did I see Melchisedech, when offering the

bread and wine, taste of them himself. It was made known to me why

priests partake of them, although Jesus did not.

Here Sister Emmerich looked suddenly up, and appeared to be

listening. Some explanation was given her on this subject, but the

following words were all that she could repeat to us: 'If the office of

distributing it had been given to angels, they would not have partaken,

but if priests did not partake, the Blessed Eucharist would be lost--it is

through their participation that it is preserved.'

There was an indescribable solemnity and order in all the actions of

Jesus during the institution of the Holy Eucharist, and his every

movement was most majestic. I saw the Apostles noting things down in

the little rolls of parchment which they carried on their persons.

Several times during the ceremonies I remarked that they bowed to each

other, in the same way that our priests do.

MEDITATION IX.

Private Instruction and Consecrations.

Jesus gave his Apostles some private instructions; he told them how

they were to preserve the Blessed Sacrament in memory of him, even to

the end of the world; he taught them the necessary forms for making use

of and communicating it, and in what manner they were, by degrees, to

teach and publish this mystery; finally he told them when they were to

receive what remained of the consecrated Elements, when to give some to

the Blessed Virgin, and how to consecrate, themselves, after he should

have sent them the Divine Comforter. He then spoke concerning the

priesthood, the sacred unction, and the preparation of the Chrism and

Holy Oils.7 He had there three boxes, two of which contained a mixture

of oil and balm. He taught them how to make this mixture, what parts of

the body were to be anointed with them, and upon what occasions. I

remember, among other things, that he mentioned a case in which the

Holy Eucharist could not be administered; perhaps what he said had

reference to Extreme Unction, for my recollections on this point are

not very clear. He spoke of different kinds of anointing, and in

particular of that of kings, and he said that even wicked kings who

were anointed, derived from it especial powers. He put ointment and oil

in the empty box, and mixed them together, but I cannot say for certain

whether it was at this moment, or at the time of the consecration of

the bread, that he blessed the oil.

I then saw Jesus anoint Peter and John, on whose hands he had

already poured the water which had flowed on his own, and two whom he

had given to drink out of the chalice. Then he laid his hands on their

shoulders and heads, while they, on their part, joined their hands and

crossed their thumbs, bowing down profoundly before him--I am not sure

whether they did not even kneel. He anointed the thumb and fore-finger

of each of their hands, and marked a cross on their heads with Chrism.

He said also that this would remain with them unto the end of the world.

James the Less, Andrew, James the Greater, and Bartholomew, were

also consecrated. I saw likewise that on Peter's bosom he crossed a sort

of stole worn round the neck, whilst on the others he simply placed it

crosswise, from the right shoulder to the left side. I do not know

whether this was done at the time of the institution of the Blessed

Sacrament, or only for the anointing.

I understood that Jesus communicated to them by this unction

something essential and supernatural, beyond my power to describe. He

told them that when they should have received the Holy Spirit they were

to consecrate the bread and wine, and anoint the other Apostles. It was

made known to me then that, on the day of Pentecost, Peter and John

imposed their hands upon the other Apostles, and a week later upon

several of the disciples. After the Resurrection, John gave the

Adorable Sacrament for the first time to the Blessed Virgin. It is a

festival no longer kept in the Church on earth, but I see it celebrated

in the Church triumphant. For the first few days after Pentecost I saw

only Peter and John consecrate the Blessed Eucharist, but after that

the others also consecrated.

Our Lord next proceeded to bless fire in a brass vessel, and care

was taken that it should not go out, but it was kept near the spot

where the Blessed Sacrament had been deposited, in one division of the

ancient Paschal hearth, and fire was always taken from it when needed

for spiritual purposes.

All that Jesus did upon this occasion was done in private, and

taught equally in private. The Church has retained all that was

essential of these secret instructions, and, under the inspiration of

the Holy Ghost, developed and adapted them to all her requirements.

Whether Peter and John were both consecrated bishops, or Peter alone

as bishop and John as priest, or to what dignity the other four

Apostles were raised, I cannot pretend to say. But the different ways

in which our Lord arranged the Apostles' stoles appear to indicate

different degrees of consecration.

When these holy ceremonies were concluded, the chalice (near which

the blessed Chrism also stood) was re-covered, and the Adorable

Sacrament carried by Peter and John into the back part of the room,

which was divided off by a curtain, and from thenceforth became the

Sanctuary. The spot where the Blessed Sacrament was deposited was not

very far above the Paschal stove. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus

took care of the Sanctuary and of the supper-room during the absence of

the Apostles.

Jesus again instructed his Apostles for a considerable length of

time, and also prayed several times. He frequently appeared to be

conversing with his Heavenly Father, and to be overflowing with

enthusiasm and love. The Apostles also were full of joy and zeal, and

asked him various questions which he forthwith answered. The scriptures

must contain much of this last discourse and conversation. He told

Peter and John different things to be made known later to the other

Apostles, who in their turn were to communicate them to the disciples

and holy women, according to the capacity of each for such knowledge.

He had a private conversation with John, whom he told that his life

would be longer than the lives of the others. He spoke to him also

concerning seven Churches, some crowns and angels, and instructed him

in the meaning of certain mysterious figures, which signified, to the

best of my belief, different epochs. The other Apostles were slightly

jealous of this confidential communication being made to John.

Jesus spoke also of the traitor. 'Now he is doing this or that,' he

said, and I, in fact, saw Judas doing exactly as he said of him. As

Peter was vehemently protesting that he would always remain faithful,

our Lord said to him: 'Simon, Simon, behold Satan hath desired to have

you that he may sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for thee that thy

faith fail not: and thou being once converted, confirm thy brethren.'

Again, our Lord, said, that whither he was going they could not

follow him, when Peter exclaimed: 'Lord, I am ready to go with thee both

into prison and to death.' And Jesus replied: 'Amen, amen, I say to thee,

before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice.'

Jesus, while making known to his Apostles that trying times were at

hand for them, said: 'When I sent you without purse, or scrip, or shoes,

did you want anything?' They answered: 'Nothing.' 'But now,' he continued,

'he that hath a purse let him take it, and likewise a scrip, and he that

hath not, let him sell his coat and buy a sword. For I say to you, that

this that is written must yet be fulfilled in me: AND WITH THE WICKED WAS

HE RECKONED. For the things concerning me have an end.' The Apostles only

understood his words in a carnal sense, and Peter showed him two

swords, which were short and thick, like cleavers. Jesus said: 'It is

enough: let us go hence.' Then they sang the thanksgiving hymn, put the

table on one side, and went into the vestibule.

There, Jesus found his Mother, Mary of Cleophas, and Magdalen, who

earnestly besought him not to go to Mount Olivet, for a report has

spread that his enemies were seeking to lay hands on him. But Jesus

comforted them in few words, and hastened onward--it being then about nine

o'clock. They went down the road by which Peter and John had come to the

supper-room, and directed their steps towards Mount Olivet.

I have always seen the Pasch and the institution of the Blessed

Sacrament take place in the order related above. But my feelings were

each time so strongly excited and my emotion so great, that I could not

give much attention to all the details, but now I have seen them more

distinctly. No words can describe how painful and exhausting is such a

sight as that of beholding the hidden recesses of hearts, the love and

constancy of our Saviour, and to know at the same time all that is

going to befall him. How would it be possible to observe all that is

merely external! The heart is overflowing with admiration, gratitude,

and love--the blindness of men seems perfectly incomprehensible--and the

soul is overwhelmed with sorrow at the thought of the ingratitude of the

whole world, and of her own sins!

The eating of the Paschal Lamb was performed by Jesus rapidly, and

in entire conformity with all the legal ordinances. The Pharisees were

in the habit of adding some minute and superstitious ceremonies.

THE PASSION.

"If thou knowest not how to meditate on high and heavenly things,

rest on the Passion of Christ, and willingly dwell in his sacred

wounds. For, if thou fly devoutly to the wounds and precious stigmas of

Jesus, thou shalt feel great comfort in tribulation."--Imitation of Christ,

book 2, chapter 1.

INTRODUCTION.

On the evening of the 18th of February, 1823, a friend of Sister

Emmerich went up to the bed, where she was lying apparently asleep; and

being much struck by the beautiful and mournful expression of her

countenance, felt himself inwardly inspired to raise his heart

fervently to God, and offer the Passion of Christ to the Eternal

Father, in union with the sufferings of all those who have carried

their cross after him. While making this short prayer, he chanced to

fix his eyes for a moment upon the stigmatised hands of Sister

Emmerich. She immediately hid them under the counterpane, starting as

if someone had given her a blow. He felt surprised at this, and asked

her, 'What has happened to you?' 'Many things,' she answered in an expressive

tone. Whilst he was considering what her meaning could be, she appeared

to be asleep. At the end of about a quarter of an hour, she suddenly

started up with all the eagerness of a person having a violent struggle

with another, stretched out both her arms, clenching her hand, as if to

repel an enemy standing on the left side of her bed, and exclaimed in

an indignant voice: 'What do you mean by this contract of Magdalum?' Then

she continued to speak with the warmth of a person who is being

questioned during a quarrel--'Yes, it is that accursed spirit--the liar from

the beginning--Satan, who is reproaching him about the Magdalum contract,

and other things of the same nature, and says that he spent all that

money upon himself.' When asked, 'Who has spent money? Who is being spoken

to in that way?' she replied, 'Jesus, my adorable Spouse, on Mount Olivet.'

Then she again turned to the left, with menacing gestures, and

exclaimed, 'What meanest thou, O father of lies, with thy Magdalum

contract? Did he not deliver twenty-seven poor prisoners at Thirza,

with the money derived from the sale of Magdalum? I saw him, and thou

darest to say that he has brought confusion into the whole estate,

driven out its inhabitants, and squandered the money for which it was

sold? But thy time is come, accursed spirit! Thou wilt be chained, and

his heel will crush thy head.'

Here she was interrupted by the entrance of another person; her

friends thought that she was in delirium, and pitied her. The following

morning she owned that the previous night she had imagined herself to

be following our Saviour to the Garden of Olives, after the institution

of the Blessed Eucharist, but that just at that moment someone having

looked at the stigmas on her hands with a degree of veneration, she

felt so horrified at this being done in the presence of our Lord, that

she hastily hid them, with a feeling of pain. She then related her

vision of what took place in the Garden of Olives, and as she continued

her narrations the following days, the friend who was listening to her

was enabled to connect the different scenes of the Passion together.

But as, during Lent, she was also celebrating the combats of our Lord

with Satan in the desert, she had to endure in her own person many

sufferings and temptations. Hence there were a few pauses in the

history of the Passion, which were, however, easily filled up by means

of some later communications.

She usually spoke in common German, but when in a state of ecstasy,

her language became much purer, and her narrations partook at once of

child-like simplicity and dignified inspiration. Her friend wrote down

all that she had said, directly he returned to his own apartments; for

it was seldom that he could so much as even take notes in her presence.

The Giver of all good gifts bestowed upon him memory, zeal, and

strength to bear much trouble and fatigue, so that he has been enabled

to bring this work to a conclusion. His conscience tells him that he

has done his best, and he humbly begs the reader, if satisfied with the

result of his labours, to bestow upon him the alms of an occasional

prayer.

CHAPTER I.

Jesus in the Garden of Olives.

When Jesus left the supper-room with the eleven Apostles, after the

institution of the Adorable Sacrament of the Altar, his soul was deeply

oppressed and his sorrow on the increase. He led the eleven, by an

unfrequented path, to the Valley of Josaphat. As they left the house, I

saw the moon, which was not yet quite at the full, rising in front of

the mountain.

Our Divine Lord; as he wandered with his Apostles about the valley,

told them that here he should one day return to judge the world, but

not in a state of poverty and humiliation, as he then was, and that men

would tremble with fear, and cry: 'Mountains, fall upon us!' His disciples

did not understand him, and thought, by no means for the first time

that night, that weakness and exhaustion had affected his brain. He

said to them again: 'All you shall be scandalised in me this night. For

it is written: I WILL STRIKE THE SHEPHERD, AND THE SHEEP OF THE FLOCK

SHALL BE DISPERSED. But after I shall be risen again, I will go before

you into Galilee.'

The Apostles were still in some degree animated by the spirit of

enthusiasm and devotion with which their reception of the Blessed

Sacrament and the solemn and affecting words of Jesus had inspired

them. They eagerly crowded round him, and expressed their love in a

thousand different ways, earnestly protesting that they would never

abandon him. But as Jesus continued to talk in the same strain, Peter

exclaimed: 'Although all shall be scandalised in thee, I will never be

scandalised!' and our Lord answered him: 'Amen, I say to thee, that in this

night, before the cock crow, thou wilt deny me thrice.' But Peter still

insisted, saying: 'Yea, though I should die with thee, I will not deny

thee.' And the others all said the same. They walked onward and stopped,

by turns, for the sadness of our Divine Lord continued to increase. The

Apostles tried to comfort him by human arguments, assuring him that

what he foresaw would not come to pass. They tired themselves in these

vain efforts, began to doubt, and were assailed by temptation.

They crossed the brook Cedron, not by the bridge where, a few hours

later, Jesus was taken prisoner, but by another, for they had left the

direct road. Gethsemani, whither they were going, was about a mile and

a half distant from the supper-hall, for it was three quarters of a

mile from the supper-hall to the Valley of Josaphat, and about as far

from thence to Gethsemani. The place called Gethsemani (where latterly

Jesus had several times passed the night with his disciples) was a

large garden, surrounded by a hedge, and containing only some fruit

trees and flowers, while outside there stood a few deserted unclosed

buildings.

The Apostles and several others persons had keys of this garden,

which was used sometimes as a pleasure ground, and sometimes as a place

of retirement for prayer. Some arbours made of leaves and branches had

been raised there, and eight of the Apostles remained in them, and were

later joined by others of the disciples. The Garden of Olives was

separated by a road from that of Gethsemani, and was open, surrounded

only by an earthern wall, and smaller than the Garden of Gethsemani.

There were caverns, terraces, and many olive-trees to be seen in this

garden, and it was easy to find there a suitable spot for prayer and

meditation. It was to the wildest part that Jesus went to pray.

It was about nine o'clock when Jesus reached Gethsemani with his

disciples. The moon had risen, and already gave light in the sky,

although the earth was still dark. Jesus was most sorrowful, and told

his Apostles that danger was at hand. The disciples felt uneasy, and he

told eight of those who were following him, to remain in the Garden of

Gethsemani whilst he went on to pray. He took with him Peter, James,

and John, and going on a little further, entered into the Garden of

Olives. No words can describe the sorrow which then oppressed his soul,

for the time of trial was near. John asked him how it was that he, who

had hitherto always consoled them, would now be so dejected? 'My soul is

sorrowful even unto death,' was his reply. And he beheld sufferings and

temptations surrounding him on all sides, and drawing nearer and

nearer, under the forms of frightful figures borne on clouds. Then it

was that he said to the three Apostles: 'Stay you here and watch with me.

Pray, lest ye enter into temptation.' Jesus went a few steps to the left,

down a hill, and concealed himself beneath a rock, in a grotto about

six feet deep, while the Apostles remained in a species of hollow

above. The earth sank gradually the further you entered this grotto,

and the plants which were hanging from the rock screened its interior

like a curtain from persons outside.

When Jesus left his disciples, I saw a number of frightful figures

surrounding him in an ever-narrowing circle.

His sorrow and anguish of soul continued to increase, and he was

trembling all over when he entered the grotto to pray, like a wayworn

traveller hurriedly seeking shelter from a sudden storm, but the awful

visions pursued him even there, and became more and more clear and

distinct. Alas! this small cavern appeared to contain the awful picture

of all the sins which had been or were to be committed from the fall of

Adam to the end of the world, and of the punishment which they

deserved. It was here, on Mount Olivet, that Adam and Eve took refuge

when drive out of Paradise to wander homeless on earth, and they had

wept and bewailed themselves in this very grotto.

I felt that Jesus, in delivering himself up to Divine Justice in

satisfaction for the sins of the world, caused his divinity to return,

in some sort, into the bosom of the Holy Trinity, concentrated himself,

so to speak, in his pure, loving and innocent humanity, and strong only

in his ineffable love, gave it up to anguish and suffering.

He fell on his face, overwhelmed with unspeakable sorrow, and all

the sins of the world displayed themselves before him, under countless

forms and in all their real deformity. He took them all upon himself,

and in his prayer offered his own adorable Person to the justice of his

Heavenly Father, in payment for so awful a debt. But Satan, who was

enthroned amid all these horrors, and even filled with diabolical joy

at the sight of them, let loose his fury against Jesus, and displayed

before the eyes of his soul increasingly awful visions, at the same

time addressing his adorable humanity in words such as these: 'Takest

thou even this sin upon thyself? Art thou willing to bear its penalty?

Art thou prepared to satisfy for all these sins?'

And now a long ray of light, like a luminous path in the air

descended from Heaven; it was a procession of angels who came up to

Jesus and strengthened and re-invigorated him. The remainder of the

grotto was filled with frightful visions of our crimes; Jesus took them

all upon himself, but that adorable Heart, which was so filled with the

most perfect love for God and man, was flooded with anguish, and

overwhelmed beneath the weight of so many abominable crimes. When this

huge mass of iniquities, like the waves of a fathomless ocean, has

passed over his soul, Satan brought forward innumerable temptations, as

he had formerly done in the desert, even daring to adduce various

accusations against him. 'And takest thou all these things upon thyself,'

he exclaimed, 'thou who art not unspotted thyself?' then he laid to the

charge of our Lord, with infernal impudence, a host of imaginary

crimes. He reproached him with the faults of his disciples, the

scandals which they had caused, and the disturbances which he had

occasioned in the world by giving up ancient customs. No Pharisee,

however wily and severe, could have surpassed Satan on this occasion;

he reproached Jesus with having been the cause of the massacre of the

Innocents, as well as of the sufferings of his parents in Egypt, with

not having saved John the Baptist from death, with having brought

disunion into families, protected men of despicable character, refused

to cure various sick persons, injured the inhabitants of Gergesa by

permitting men possessed by the devil to overturn their vats,8 and

demons to make swine cast themselves into the sea; with having deserted

his family, and squandered the property of others; in one word Satan,

in the hopes of causing Jesus to waver, suggested to him every thought

by which he would have tempted at the hour of death an ordinary mortal

who might have performed all these actions without a superhuman

intention; for it was hidden from him that Jesus was the Son of God,

and he tempted him only as the most just of men. Our Divine Saviour

permitted his humanity thus to preponderate over his divinity, for he

was pleased to endure even those temptations with which holy souls are

assailed at the hour of death concerning the merit of their good works.

That he might drink the chalice of suffering even to the dregs, he

permitted the evil spirit to tempt his sacred humanity, as he would

have tempted a man who should wish to attribute to his good works some

special value in themselves, over and above what they might have by

their union with the merits of our Saviour. There was not an action out

of which he did not contrive to frame some accusation, and he

reproached Jesus, among other things, with having spent the price of

the property of Mary Magdalen at Magdalum, which he had received from

Lazarus.

Among the sins of the world which Jesus took upon himself, I saw

also my own; and a stream, in which I distinctly beheld each of my

faults, appeared to flow towards me from out of the temptations with

which he was encircled. During this time my eyes were fixed upon my

Heavenly Spouse; with him I wept and prayed, and with him I turned

towards the consoling angels. Ah, truly did our dear Lord writhe like a

worm beneath the weight of his anguish and sufferings!

Whilst Satan was pouring forth his accusations against Jesus, it was

with difficulty that I could restrain my indignation, but when he spoke

of the sale of Magdalen's property, I could no longer keep silence, and

exclaimed: 'How canst thou reproach him with the sale of this property as

with a crime? Did I not myself see our Lord spend the sum which was

given him by Lazarus in works of mercy, and deliver twenty-eight

debtors imprisoned at Thirza?'

At first Jesus looked calm, as he kneeled down and prayed, but after

a time his soul became terrified at the sight of the innumerable crimes

of men, and of their ingratitude towards God, and his anguish was so

great that the trembled and shuddered as he exclaimed: 'Father, if it is

possible, let this chalice pass from me! Father, all things are

possible to thee, remove this chalice from me!' But the next moment he

added: 'Nevertheless, not my will but thine be done.' His will and that of

his Father were one, but now that his love had ordained that he should

be left to all the weakness of his human nature, he trembled at the

prospect of death.

I saw the cavern in which he was kneeling filled with frightful

figures; I saw all the sins, wickedness, vices, and ingratitude of

mankind torturing and crushing him to the earth; the horror of death

and terror which he felt as man at the sight of the expiatory

sufferings about to come upon him, surrounded and assailed his Divine

Person under the forms of hideous spectres. He fell from side to side,

clasping his hands; his body was covered with a cold sweat, and he

trembled and shuddered. He then arose, but his knees were shaking and

apparently scarcely able to support him; his countenance was pale, and

quite altered in appearance, his lips white, and his hair standing on

end. It was about half-past ten o'clock when he arose from his knees,

and, bathed in a cold sweat, directed his trembling, weak footsteps

towards his three Apostles. With difficulty did he ascend the left side

of the cavern, and reach a spot where the ground was level, and where

they were sleeping, exhausted with fatigue, sorrow and anxiety. He came

to them, like a man overwhelmed with bitter sorrow, whom terror urges

to seek his friends, but like also to a good shepherd, who, when warned

of the approach of danger, hastens to visit his flock, the safety of

which is threatened; for he well knew that they also were being tried

by suffering and temptation. The terrible visions never left him, even

while he was thus seeking his disciples. When he found that they were

asleep, he clasped his hands and fell down on his knees beside them,

overcome with sorrow and anxiety, and said: 'Simon, sleepest thou?' They

awoke, and raised him up, and he, in his desolation of spirit, said to

them: 'What? Could you not watch one hour with me?' When they looked at

him, and saw him pale and exhausted, scarcely able to support himself,

bathed in sweat, trembling and shuddering,--when they heard how changed

and almost inaudible his voice had become, they did not know what to

think, and had he not been still surrounded by a well-known halo of

light, they would never have recognised him as Jesus. John said to him:

'Master, what has befallen thee? Must I call the other disciples? Ought

we to take to flight?' Jesus answered him: 'Were I to live, teach, and

perform miracles for thirty-three years longer, that would not suffice

for the accomplishment of what must be fulfilled before this time

tomorrow. Call not the eight; I did not bring them hither, because they

could not see me thus agonising without being scandalised; they would

yield to temptation, forget much of the past, and lose their confidence

in me. But you, who have seen the Son of Man transfigured, may also see

him under a cloud, and in dereliction of spirit; nevertheless, watch

and pray, lest ye fall into temptation, for the spirit indeed is

willing, but the flesh is weak.'

By these words he sought at once to encourage them to persevere,

and to make known to them the combat which his human nature was

sustaining against death, together with the cause of his weakness. In

his overwhelming sorrow, he remained with them nearly a quarter of an

hour, and spoke to them again. He then returned to the grotto, his

mental sufferings being still on the increase, while his disciples, on

their part, stretched forth their hands towards him, wept, and embraced

each other, asking, 'What can it be? What is happening to him? He appears

to be in a state of complete desolation.' After this, they covered their

heads, and began to pray, sorrowfully and anxiously.

About an hour and a half had passed since Jesus entered the Garden

of Olives. It is true that Scripture tells us he said, 'Could you not

watch one hour with me?' but his words should not be taken literally, nor

according to our way of counting time. The three Apostles who were with

Jesus had prayed at first, but then they had fallen asleep, for

temptation had come upon them by reason of their want of trust in God.

The other eight, who had remained outside the garden, did not sleep,

for our Lord's last words, so expressive of suffering and sadness, had

filled their hearts with sinister forebodings, and they wandered about

Mount Olivet, trying to find some place of refuge in case of danger.

The town of Jerusalem was very quiet; the Jews were in their houses,

engaged in preparing for the feast, but I saw, here and there, some of

the friends and disciples of Jesus walking to and fro, with anxious

countenances, conversing earnestly together, and evidently expecting

some great event. The Mother of our Lord, Magdalen, Martha, Mary of

Cleophas, Mary Salome, and Salome had gone from the supper-hall to the

house of Mary, the mother of Mark. Mary was alarmed at the reports

which were spreading, and wished to return to the town with her

friends, in order to hear something of Jesus. Lazarus, Nicodemus,

Joseph of Arimathea, and some relations from Hebron, came to see and

endeavour to tranquillise her, for as they were aware, either from

their own knowledge or from what the disciples had told them, of the

mournful predictions which Jesus had made in the supper-room, they had

made inquiries of some Pharisees of their acquaintance, and had not

been able to hear that any conspiracy was on foot for the time against

our Lord. Being utterly ignorant of the treason of Judas, they assured

Mary that the danger could not yet be very great, and that the enemies

of Jesus would not make any attempt upon his person, at least until the

festival was over. Mary told them how restless and disturbed in mind

Judas had latterly appeared, and how abruptly he had left the

supper-room. She felt no doubt of his having gone to betray our Lord,

for she had often warned him that he was a son of perdition. The holy

women then returned to the house of Mary, the mother of Mark.

When Jesus, unrelieved of all the weight of his sufferings, returned

to the grotto, he fell prostrate, with his face on the ground and his

arms extended, and prayed to his Eternal Father; but his soul had to

sustain a second interior combat, which lasted three-quarters of an

hour. Angels came and showed him, in a series of visions, all the

sufferings that he was to endure in order to expiate sin; how great was

the beauty of man, the image of God, before the fall, and how that

beauty was changed and obliterated when sin entered the world. He

beheld how all sins originated in that of Adam, the signification and

essence of concupiscence, its terrible effect on the powers of the

soul, and likewise the signification and essence of all the sufferings

entailed by concupiscence. They showed him the satisfaction which he

would have to offer to Divine Justice, and how it would consist of a

degree of suffering in his soul and body which would comprehend all the

sufferings due to the concupiscence of all mankind, since the debt of

the whole human race had to be paid by that humanity which alone was

sinless--the humanity of the Son of God. The angels showed him all these

things under different forms, and I felt what they were saying,

although I heard no voice. No tongue can describe what anguish and what

horror overwhelmed the soul of Jesus at the sight of so terrible an

expiation--his sufferings were so great, indeed, that a bloody sweat

issued forth from all the pores of this sacred body.

Whilst the adorable humanity of Christ was thus crushed to the earth

beneath this awful weight of suffering, the angels appeared filled with

compassion; there was a pause, and I perceived that they were earnestly

desiring to console him, and praying to that effect before the throne

of God. For one instant there appeared to be, as it were, a struggle

between the mercy and justice of God and that love which was

sacrificing itself. I was permitted to see an image of God, not, as

before, seated on a throne, but under a luminous form. I beheld the

divine nature of the Son in the Person of the Father, and, as it were,

withdrawn in his bosom; the Person of the Holy Ghost proceeded from the

Father and the Son, it was, so to speak, between them, and yet the

whole formed only one God--but these things are indescribable.

All this was more an inward perception than a vision under distinct

forms, and it appeared to me that the Divine Will of our Lord withdrew

in some sort into the Eternal Father, in order to permit all those

sufferings which his human will besought his Father to spare him, to

weigh upon his humanity alone. I saw this at the time when the angels,

filled with compassion, were desiring to console Jesus, who, in fact,

was slightly relieved at that moment. Then all disappeared, and the

angels retired from our Lord, whose soul was about to sustain fresh

assaults.

When our Redeemer, on Mount Olivet, was pleased to experience and

overcome that violent repugnance of human nature to suffering and death

which constitutes a portion of all sufferings, the tempter was

permitted to do to him what he does to all men who desire to sacrifice

themselves in a holy cause. In the first portion of the agony, Satan

displayed before the eyes of our Lord the enormity of that debt of sin

which he was going to pay, and was even bold and malicious enough to

seek faults in the very works of our Saviour himself. In the second

agony, Jesus beheld, to its fullest extent and in all its bitterness,

the expiatory suffering which would be required to satisfy Divine

Justice. This was displayed to him by angels; for it belongs not to

Satan to show that expiation is possible, and the father of lies and

despair never exhibits the works of Divine Mercy before men. Jesus

having victoriously resisted all these assaults by his entire and

absolute submission to the will of his Heavenly Father, a succession of

new and terrifying visions were presented before his eyes, and that

feeling of doubt and anxiety which a man on the point of making some

great sacrifice always experiences, arose in the soul of our Lord, as

he asked himself the tremendous question: 'And what good will result from

this sacrifice?' Then a most awful picture of the future was displayed

before his eyes and overwhelmed his tender heart with anguish.

When God had created the first Adam, he cast a deep sleep upon him,

opened his side, and took one of his ribs, of which he made Eve, his

wife and the mother of all the living. Then he brought her to Adam, who

exclaimed: 'This now is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh... Wherefore

a man shall leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and

they shall be two in one flesh.' That was the marriage of which it is

written: 'This is a great Sacrament. I speak in Christ and in the Church.'

Jesus Christ, the second Adam, was pleased also to let sleep come upon

him--the sleep of death on the cross, and he was also pleased to let his

side be opened, in order that the second Eve, his virgin Spouse, the

Church, the mother of all the living, might be formed from it. It was

his will to give her the blood of redemption, the water of

purification, and his spirit--the three which render testimony on earth--and

to bestow upon her also the holy Sacraments, in order that she might be

pure, holy, and undefiled; he was to be her head, and we were to be her

members, under submission to the head, the bone of his bones, and the

flesh of his flesh. In taking human nature, that he might suffer death

for us, he had also left his Eternal Father, to cleave to his Spouse,

the Church, and he became one flesh with her, by feeding her with the

Adorable Sacrament of the Altar, in which he unites himself unceasingly

with us. He had been pleased to remain on earth with his Church, until

we shall all be united together by him within her fold, and he has

said: 'The gates of hell shall never prevail against her.' To satisfy his

unspeakable love for sinners, our Lord had become man and a brother of

these same sinners, that so he might take upon himself the punishment

due to all their crimes. He had contemplated with deep sorrow the

greatness of this debt and the unspeakable sufferings by which it was

to be acquitted. Yet he had most joyfully given himself up to the will

of his Heavenly Father as a victim of expiation. Now, however, he beheld

all the future sufferings, combats, and wounds of his heavenly Spouse;

in one word, he beheld the ingratitude of men.

The soul of Jesus beheld all the future sufferings of his Apostles,

disciples, and friends; after which he saw the primitive Church,

numbering but few souls in her fold at first, and then in proportion as

her numbers increased, disturbed by heresies and schisms breaking out

among her children, who repeated the sin of Adam by pride and

disobedience. He saw the tepidity, malice and corruption of an infinite

number of Christians, the lies and deceptions of proud teachers, all

the sacrileges of wicked priests, the fatal consequences of each sin,

and the abomination of desolation in the kingdom of God, in the

sanctuary of those ungrateful human beings whom he was about to redeem

with his blood at the cost of unspeakable sufferings.

The scandals of all ages, down to the present day and even to the

end of the world--every species of error, deception, mad fanaticism,

obstinacy and malice--were displayed before his eyes, and he beheld, as it

were floating before him, all the apostates, heresiarchs, and pretended

reformers, who deceive men by an appearance of sanctity. The corrupters

and the corrupted of all ages outraged and tormented him for not having

been crucified after their fashion, or for not having suffered

precisely as they settled or imagined he should have done. They vied

with each other in tearing the seamless robe of his Church; many

illtreated, insulted, and denied him, and many turned contemptuously

away, shaking their heads at him, avoiding his compassionate embrace,

and hurrying on to the abyss where they were finally swallowed up. He

saw countless numbers of other men who did not dare openly to deny him,

but who passed on in disgust at the sight of the wounds of his Church,

as the Levite passed by the poor man who had fallen among robbers. Like

unto cowardly and faithless children, who desert their mother in the

middle of the night, at the sight of the thieves and robbers to whom

their negligence or their malice has opened the door, they fled from

his wounded Spouse. He beheld all these men, sometimes separated from

the True Vine, and taking their rest amid the wild fruit trees,

sometimes like lost sheep, left to the mercy of the wolves, led by base

hirelings into bad pasturages, and refusing to enter the fold of the

Good Shepherd who gave his life for his sheep. They were wandering

homeless in the desert in the midst of the sand blown about by the

wind, and were obstinately determined not to see his City placed upon a

hill, which could not be hidden, the House of his Spouse, his Church

built upon a rock, and with which he had promised to remain to the end

of ages. They built upon the sand wretched tenements, which they were

continually pulling down and rebuilding, but in which there was neither

altar nor sacrifice; they had weathercocks on their roofs, and their

doctrines changed with the wind, consequently they were for ever in

opposition one with the other. They never could come to a mutual

understanding, and were forever unsettled, often destroying their own

dwellings and hurling the fragments against the Corner-Stone of the

Church, which always remained unshaken.

As there was nothing but darkness in the dwelling of these men, many

among them, instead of directing their steps towards the Candle placed

on the Candlestick in the House of the Spouse of Christ, wandered with

closed eyes around the gardens of the Church, sustaining life only by

inhaling the sweet odours which were diffused from them far and near,

stretching forth their hands towards shadowy idols, and following

wandering stars which led them to wells where there was no water. Even

when on the very brink of the precipice, they refused to listen to the

voice of the Spouse calling them, and, though dying with hunger,

derided, insulted, and mocked at those servants and messengers who were

sent to invite them to the Nuptial Feast. They obstinately refused to

enter the garden, because they feared the thorns of the hedge, although

they had neither wheat with which to satisfy their hunger nor wine to

quench their thirst, but were simply intoxicated with pride and

self-esteem, and being blinded by their own false lights, persisted in

asserting that the Church of the Word made flesh was invisible. Jesus

beheld them all, he wept over them, and was pleased to suffer for all

those who do not see him and who will not carry their crosses after him

in his City built upon a hill--his Church founded upon a rock, to which he

has given himself in the Holy Eucharist, and against which the gates of

Hell will never prevail.

Bearing a prominent place in these mournful visions which were

beheld by the soul of Jesus, I saw Satan, who dragged away and

strangled a multitude of men redeemed by the blood of Christ and

sanctified by the unction of his Sacrament. Our Divine Saviour beheld

with bitterest anguish the ingratitude and corruption of the Christians

of the first and of all succeeding ages, even to the end of the world,

and during the whole of this time the voice of the tempter was

incessantly repeating: 'Canst thou resolve to suffer for such ungrateful

reprobates?' while the various apparitions succeeded each other with

intense rapidity, and so violently weighed down and crushed the soul of

Jesus, that his sacred humanity was overwhelmed with unspeakable

anguish. Jesus--the Anointed of the Lord--the Son of Man struggled and

writhed as he fell on his knees, with clasped hands, as it were

annihilated beneath the weight of his suffering. So violent was the

struggle which then took place between his human will and his

repugnance to suffer so much for such an ungrateful race, that from

every pore of his sacred body there burst forth large drops of blood,

which fell trickling on to the ground. In his bitter agony, he looked

around, as though seeking help, and appeared to take Heaven, earth, and

the stars of the firmament to witness of his sufferings.

Jesus, in his anguish of spirit, raised his voice, and gave

utterance to several cries of pain. The three Apostles awoke, listened,

and were desirous of approaching him, but Peter detained James and

John, saying: 'Stay you here; I will join him.' Then I saw Peter hastily

run forward and enter the grotto. 'Master,' he exclaimed, 'what has befallen

thee?' But at the sight of Jesus, thus bathed in his own blood, and

sinking to the ground beneath the weight of mortal fear and anguish, he

drew back, and paused for a moment, overcome with terror. Jesus made

him no answer, and appeared unconscious of his presence. Peter returned

to the other two, and told them that the Lord had not answered him

except by groans and sighs. They became more and more sorrowful after

this, covered their heads, and sat down to weep and pray.

I then returned to my Heavenly Spouse in his most bitter agony. The

frightful visions of the future ingratitude of the men whose debt to

Divine Justice he was taking upon himself, continued to become more and

more vivid and tremendous. Several times I heard him exclaim: 'O my

Father, can I possibly suffer for so ungrateful a race? O my Father, if

this chalice may not pass from me, but I must drink it, thy will be

done!'

Amid all these apparitions, Satan held a conspicuous place, under

various forms, which represented different species of sins. Sometimes

he appeared under the form of a gigantic black figure, sometimes under

those of a tiger, a fox, a wolf, a dragon, or a serpent. Not, however,

that he really took any of these shapes, but merely some one of their

characteristics, joined with other hideous forms. None of these

frightful apparitions entirely resembled any creature, but were symbols

of abomination, discord, contradiction, and sin--in one word, were

demoniacal to the fullest extent. These diabolical figures urged on,

dragged, and tore to pieces, before the very eyes of Jesus, countless

numbers of those men for whose redemption he was entering upon the

painful way of the Cross. At first I but seldom saw the serpent: soon,

however, it made its appearance, with a crown upon its head. This

odious reptile was of gigantic size, apparently possessed of unbounded

strength, and led forward countless legions of the enemies of Jesus in

every age and of every nation. Being armed with all kinds of

destructive weapons, they sometimes tore one another in pieces, and

then renewed their attacks upon our Saviour with redoubled rage. It was

indeed an awful sight; for they heaped upon him the most fearful

outrages, cursing, striking, wounding, and tearing him in pieces. Their

weapons, swords, and spears flew about in the air, crossing and

recrossing continually in all directions, like the flails of threshers

in an immense barn; and the rage of each of these fiends seemed

exclusively directed against Jesus--that grain of heavenly wheat descended

to the earth to die there, in order to feed men eternally with the

Bread of Life.

Thus exposed to the fury of these hellish bands, some of which

appeared to me wholly composed of blind men, Jesus was as much wounded

and bruised as if their blows had been real. I saw him stagger from

side to side, sometimes raising himself up, and sometimes falling

again, while the serpent, in the midst of the crowds whom it was

unceasingly leading forward against Jesus, struck the ground with its

tail, and tore to pieces or swallowed all whom it thus knocked to the

ground.

It was made known to me that these apparitions were all those

persons who in divers ways insult and outrage Jesus, really and truly

present in the Holy Sacrament. I recognised among them all those who in

any way profane the Blessed Eucharist. I beheld with horror all the

outrages thus offered to our Lord, whether by neglect, irreverence, and

omission of what was due to him; by open contempt, abuse, and the most

awful sacrileges; by the worship of worldly idols; by spiritual

darkness and false knowledge; or, finally, by error, incredulity,

fanaticism, hatred, and open persecution. Among these men I saw many

who were blind, paralysed, deaf, and dumb, and even children;--blind men

who would not see the truth; paralytic men who would not advance,

according to its directions, on the road leading to eternal live; deaf

men who refused to listen to its warnings and threats; dumb men who

would never use their voices in its defence; and, finally, children who

were led astray by following parents and teachers filled with the love

of the world and forgetfulness of God, who were fed on earthly

luxuries, drunk with false wisdom, and loathing all that pertained to

religion. Among the latter, the sight of whom grieved me especially,

because Jesus so loved children, I saw many irreverent, ill-behaved

acolytes, who did not honour our Lord in the holy ceremonies in which

they took a part. I beheld with terror that many priests, some of whom

even fancied themselves full of faith and piety, also outraged Jesus in

the Adorable Sacrament. I saw many who believed and taught the doctrine

of the Real Presence, but did not sufficiently take it to heart, for

they forgot and neglected the palace, throne, and seat of the Living

God, that is to say, the church, the altar, the tabernacle, the

chalice, the monstrance, the vases and ornaments; in one word, all that

is used in his worship, or to adorn his house.

Entire neglect reigned everywhere, all things were left to moulder

away in dust and filth, and the worship of God was, if not inwardly

profaned, at least outwardly dishonoured. Nor did this arise from real

poverty, but from indifference, sloth, preoccupation of mind about vain

earthly concerns, and often also from egotism and spiritual death; for

I saw neglect of this kind in churches the pastors and congregations of

which were rich, or at east tolerably well off. I saw many others in

which worldly, tasteless, unsuitable ornaments had replaced the

magnificent adornments of a more pious age.

I saw that often the poorest of men were better lodged in their

cottages than the Master of heaven and earth in his churches. Ah, how

deeply did the inhospitality of men grieve Jesus, who had given himself

to them to be their Food! Truly, there is no need to be rich in order

to receive him who rewards a hundredfold the glass of cold water given

to the thirsty; but how shameful is not our conduct when in giving

drink to the Divine Lord, who thirst for our souls, we give him

corrupted water in a filthy glass! In consequence of all this neglect,

I saw the weak scandalised, the Adorable Sacrament profaned, the

churches deserted, and the priests despised. This state of impurity and

negligence extended even to the souls of the faithful, who left the

tabernacle of their hearts unprepared and uncleansed when Jesus was

about to enter them, exactly the same as they left his tabernacle on

the altar.

Were I to speak for an entire year, I would never detail all the

insults offered to Jesus in the Adorable Sacrament which were made

known to me in this way. I saw their authors assault Jesus in bands,

and strike him with different arms, corresponding to their various

offences. I saw irreverent Christians of all ages, careless or

sacrilegious priests, crowds of tepid and unworthy communicants, wicked

soldiers profaning the sacred vessels, and servants of the devil making

use of the Holy Eucharist in the frightful mysteries of hellish

worship. Among these bands I saw a great number of theologians, who had

been drawn into heresy by their sins, attacking Jesus in the Holy

Sacrament of his Church, and snatching out of his Heart, by their

seductive words and promises, a number of souls for whom he had shed

his blood. Ah! it was indeed an awful sight, for I saw the Church as

the body of Christ; and all these bands of men, who were separating

themselves from the Church, mangled and tore off whole pieces of his

living flesh. Alas! he looked at them in the most touching manner, and

lamented that they should thus cause their own eternal loss. He had

given his own divine Self to us for our Food in the Holy Sacrament, in

order to unite in one body--that of the Church, his Spouse--men who were to

an infinite extent divided and separated from each other; and now he

beheld himself torn and rent in twain in that very body; for his

principal work of love, the Holy Communion, in which men should have

been made wholly one, was become, by the malice of false teachers, the

subject of separation. I beheld whole nations thus snatched out of his

bosom, and deprived of any participation in the treasure of graces left

to the Church. Finally, I saw all who were separated from the Church

plunged into the depths of infidelity, superstition, heresy, and false

worldly philosophy; and they gave vent to their fierce rage by joining

together in large bodies to attack the Church, being urged on by the

serpent which was disporting itself in the midst of them. Alas! it was

as though Jesus himself had been torn in a thousand pieces!

So great was my horror and terror, that my Heavenly Spouse appeared

to me, and mercifully placed his hand upon my heart, saying: 'No one has

yet seen all these things, and thy heart would burst with sorrow if I

did not give thee strength.'

I saw the blood flowing in large drops down the pale face of our

Saviour, his hair matted together, and his beard bloody and entangled.

After the vision which I have last described, he fled, so to speak, out

of the cave, and returned to his disciples. But he tottered as he

walked; his appearance was that of a man covered with wounds and

bending beneath a heavy burden, and he stumbled at every step.

When he came up to the three Apostles, they were not lying down

asleep as they had been the first time, but their heads were covered,

and they had sunk down on their knees, in an attitude often assumed by

the people of that country when in sorrow or desiring to pray. They had

fallen asleep, overpowered by grief and fatigue. Jesus, trembling and

groaning, drew nigh to them, and they awoke.

But when, by the light of the moon, they saw him standing before

them, his face pale and bloody, and his hair in disorder, their weary

eyes did not at the first moment recognise him, for he was

indescribably changed. He clasped his hands together, upon which they

arose and lovingly supported him in their arms, and he told them in

sorrowful accents that the next day he should be put to death,--that in

one hour's time he should be seized, led before a tribunal, maltreated,

outraged, scourged, and finally put to a most cruel death. He besought

them to console his Mother, and also Magdalen. They made no reply, for

they knew not what to say, so greatly had his appearance and language

alarmed them, and they even thought his mind must be wandering. When he

desired to return to the grotto, he had not strength to walk. I saw

John and James lead him back, and return when he had entered the

grotto. It was then about a quarter-past eleven.

During this agony of Jesus, I saw the Blessed Virgin also

overwhelmed with sorrow and anguish of soul, in the house of Mary, the

mother of Mark. She was with Magdalen and Mary in the garden belonging

to the house, and almost prostrate from grief, with her whole body

bowed down as she knelt. She fainted several times, for she beheld in

spirit different portions of the agony of Jesus. She had sent some

messengers to make inquiries concerning him, but her deep anxiety would

not suffer her to await their return, and she went with Magdalen and

Salome as far as the Valley of Josaphat. She walked along with her head

veiled, and her arms frequently stretched forth towards Mount Olivet;

for she beheld in spirit Jesus bathed in a bloody sweat, and her

gestures were as though she wished with her extended hands to wipe the

face of her Son. I saw these interior movements of her soul towards

Jesus, who thought of her, and turned his eyes in her direction, as if

to seek her assistance. I beheld the spiritual communication which they

had with each other, under the form of rays passing to and fro between

them. Our Divine Lord thought also of Magdalen, was touched by her

distress, and therefore recommended his Apostles to console her; for he

knew that her love for his adorable Person was greater than that felt

for him by any one save his Blessed Mother, and he foresaw that she

would suffer much for his sake, and never offend him more.

About this time, the eight Apostles returned to the arbour of

Gethsemani, and after talking together for some time, ended by going to

sleep. They were wavering, discouraged, and sorely tempted. They had

each been seeking for a place of refuge in case of danger, and they

anxiously asked one another, 'What shall we do when they have put him to

death? We have left all to follow him; we are poor and the offscouring

of the world, we gave ourselves up entirely to his service, and now he

is so sorrowful and so defected himself, that he can afford us no

consolation.' The other disciples had at first wandered about in various

directions, but then, having heard something concerning the awful

prophecies which Jesus had made, they had nearly all retired to

Bethphage.

I saw Jesus still praying in the grotto, struggling against the

repugnance to suffering which belonged to human nature, and abandoning

himself wholly to the will of this Eternal Father. Here the abyss

opened before him, and he had a vision of the first part of Limbo. He

saw Adam and Eve, the patriarchs, prophets, and just men, the parents

of his Mother, and John the Baptist, awaiting his arrival in the lower

world with such intense longing, that the sight strengthened and gave

fresh courage to his loving heart. His death was to open Heaven to

these captives,--his death was to deliver them out of that prison in which

they were languishing in eager hope! When Jesus had, with deep emotion,

looked upon these saints of antiquity, angels presented to him all the

bands of saints of future ages, who, joining their labours to the

merits of his Passion, were, through him, to be united to his Heavenly

Father. Most beautiful and consoling was this vision, in which he

beheld the salvation and sanctification flowing forth in ceaseless

streams from the fountain of redemption opened by his death.

The Apostles, disciples, virgins, and holy women, the martyrs,

confessors, hermits, popes, and bishops, and large bands of religious

of both sexes--in one word, the entire army of the blessed--appeared before

him. All bore on their heads triumphal crowns, and the flowers of their

crowns differed in form, in colour, in odour, and in perfection,

according to the difference of the sufferings, labours and victories

which had procured them eternal glory. Their whole life, and all their

actions, merits, and power, as well as all the glory of their triumph,

came solely from their union with the merits of Jesus Christ.

The reciprocal influence exercised by these saints upon each other,

and the manner in which they all drank from one sole Fountain--the

Adorable Sacrament and the Passion of our Lord--formed a most touching and

wonderful spectacle. Nothing about them was devoid of deep meaning,--their

works, martyrdom, victories, appearance, and dress,--all, though

indescribably varied, was confused together in infinite harmony and

unity; and this unity in diversity was produced by the rays of one

single Sun, by the Passion of the Lord, of the Word made flesh, in whom

was life, the light of men, which shined in darkness, and the darkness

did not comprehend it.

The army of the future saints passed before the soul of our Lord,

which was thus placed between the desiring patriarchs, and the

triumphant band of the future blessed, and these two armies joining

together, and completing one another, so to speak, surrounded the

loving Heart of our Saviour as with a crown of victory. This most

affecting and consoling spectacle bestowed a degree of strength and

comfort upon the soul of Jesus. Ah! He so loved his brethren and

creatures that, to accomplish the redemption of one single soul, he

would have accepted with joy all the sufferings to which he was now

devoting himself. As these visions referred to the future, they were

diffused to a certain height in the air.

But these consoling visions faded away, and the angels displayed

before him the scenes of his Passion quite close to the earth, because

it was near at hand. I beheld every scene distinctly portrayed, from

the kiss of Judas to the last words of Jesus on the cross, and I saw in

this single vision all that I see in my meditations on the Passion. The

treason of Judas, the flight of the disciples, the insults which were

offered our Lord before Annas and Caiphas, Peter's denial, the tribunal

of Pilate, Herod's mockery, the scourging and crowning with thorns, the

condemnation to death, the carrying of the cross, the linen cloth

presented by Veronica, the crucifixion, the insults of the Pharisees,

the sorrows of Mary, of Magdalen, and of John, the wound of the lance

in his side, after death;--in one word, every part of the Passion was

shown to him in the minutest detail. He accepted all voluntarily,

submitting to everything for the love of man. He saw also and felt the

sufferings endured at that moment by his Mother, whose interior union

with his agony was so entire that she had fainted in the arms of her

two friends.

When the visions of the Passion were concluded, Jesus fell on his

face like one at the point of death; the angels disappeared, and the

bloody sweat became more copious, so that I saw it had soaked his

garment. Entire darkness reigned in the cavern, when I beheld an angel

descent to Jesus. This angel was of higher stature than any whom I had

before beheld, and his form was also more distinct and more resembling

that of a man. He was clothed like a priest in a long floating garment,

and bore before him, in his hands, a small vase, in shape resembling

the chalice used at the Last Supper. At the top of this chalice, there

was a small oval body, about the size of a bean, and which diffused a

reddish light. The angel, without touching the earth with his feet,

stretched forth his right hand to Jesus, who arose, when he placed the

mysterious food in his mouth, and gave him to drink from the luminous

chalice. Then he disappeared.

Jesus having freely accepted the chalice of his sufferings, and

received new strength, remained some minutes longer in the grotto,

absorbed in calm meditation, and returning thanks to his Heavenly

Father. He was still in deep affliction of spirit, but supernaturally

comforted to such a degree as to be able to go to his disciples without

tottering as he walked, or bending beneath the weight of his

sufferings. His countenance was still pale and altered, but his step

was firm and determined. He had wiped his face with a linen cloth, and

rearranged his hair, which hung about his shoulders, matted together

and damp with blood.

When Jesus came to his disciples, they were lying, as before,

against the wall of the terrace, asleep, and with their heads covered.

Our Lord told them that then was not the time for sleep, but that they

should arise and pray: 'Behold the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man

shall be betrayed into the hand of sinners,' he said: 'Arise, let us go,

behold he is at hand that will betray me. It were better for him, if

that man had not been born.' The Apostles arose in much alarm, and looked

round with anxiety. When they had somewhat recovered themselves, Peter

said warmly: 'Lord, I will call the others, that so we may defend thee.'

But Jesus pointed out to them at some distance in the valley, on the

other side of the Brook of Cedron, a band of armed men, who were

advancing with torches, and he said that one of their number had

betrayed him. He spoke calmly, exhorted them to console his Mother, and

said: 'Let us go to meet them--I shall deliver myself up without resistance

into the hands of my enemies.' He then left the Garden of Olives with the

three Apostles, and went to meet the archers on the road which led from

that garden to Gethsemani.

When the Blessed Virgin, under the care of Magdalen and Salome,

recovered her senses, some disciples, who had seen the soldiers

approaching, conducted her back to the house of Mary, the mother of

Mark. The archers took a shorter road than that which Jesus followed

when he left the supper-room.

The grotto in which Jesus had this day prayed was not the one where

he usually prayed on Mount Olivet. He commonly went to a cabin at a

greater distance off, where, one day, after having cursed the barren

fig-tree, he had prayed in great affliction of spirit, with his arms

stretched out, and leaning against a rock.

The traces of his body and hands remained impressed on the stone,

and were honoured later. But it was not known on what occasion the

miracle had taken place. I have several times seen similar impressions

left upon the stone, either by the Prophets of the Old Testament, or by

Jesus, Mary, or some of the Apostles, and I have also seen those made

by the body of St. Catherine on Mount Sinai. These impressions do not

seem deep, but resemble what would be made upon a thick piece of dough,

if a person leaned his hand upon it.