Description of the Personal Appearance of the Blessed Virgin.
While these sad events were taking place I was in Jerusalem,
sometimes in one locality and sometimes in another; I was quite
overcome, my sufferings were intense, and I felt as if about to expire.
During the time of the scourging of my adorable Spouse I sat in the
vicinity, in a part which no Jew dared approach, for fear of defiling
himself; but I did not fear defilement, I was only anxious for a drop
of our Lord's blood to fall upon me, to purify me. I felt so completely
heartbroken that I thought I must die as I could not relieve Jesus, and
each blow which he received drew from me such sobs and moans that I
felt quite astonished at not being driven away. When the executioners
took Jesus into the guardhouse, to crown him with thorns, I longed to
follow that I might again contemplate him in his sufferings. Then it
was that the Mother of Jesus, accompanied by the holy women, approached
the pillar and wiped up the blood with which it and the ground around
were saturated. The door of the guardhouse was open, and I heard the
brutal laughter of the heartless men who were busily employed in
finishing off the crown of thorns which they had prepared for our Lord.
I was too much affected to weep, but I endeavoured to drag myself near
to the place where our Lord was to be crowned with thorns.
I once more saw the Blessed Virgin; her countenance was wan and
pale, her eyes red with weeping, but the simple dignity of her
demeanour cannot be described. Notwithstanding her grief and anguish,
notwithstanding the fatigue which she had endured (for she had been
wandering ever since the previous evening through the streets of
Jerusalem, and across the Valley of Josaphat), her appearance was
placid and modest, and not a fold of her dress out of place. She looked
majestically around, and her veil fell gracefully over her shoulders.
She moved quietly, and although her heart was a prey to the most bitter
grief, her countenance was calm and resigned. Her dress was moistened
by the dew which had fallen upon it during the night, and by the tears
which she had shed in such abundance; otherwise it was totally
unsoiled. Her beauty was great, but indescribable, for it was
super-human--a mixture of majesty, sanctity, simplicity, and purity.
The appearance of Mary Magdalen was totally different; she was
taller and more robust, the expression of her countenance showed
greater determination, but its beauty was almost destroyed by the
strong passions which she had so long indulged, and by the violent
repentance and grief she had since felt. It was painful to look upon
her; she was the very picture of despair, her long dishevelled hair was
partly covered by her torn and wet veil, and her appearance was that of
one completely absorbed by woe and almost beside herself from sorrow.
Many of the inhabitants of Magdalum were standing near, gazing at her
with surprise and curiosity, for they had known her in former days,
first in prosperity and afterwards in degradation and consequent
misery. They pointed, they even cast mud upon her, but she saw nothing,
knew nothing, and felt nothing, save her agonising grief.