COMMENTARIA IN CANTICA CANTICORUM

181AYou demand a work heavy and arduous, and unequal to my strength; not sufficiently attending to what you so insistently, so anxiously ask for, and from whom, since — to confess the truth — I in no way know or feel within myself an understanding so subtle that I might be able to bring to effect what you desire. And indeed the poet is found to have admonished his hearers rather carefully — among whom I sometimes recall that I sat, a boy — that those who write should not be headlong, rashly presuming upon any great matters whatever, but rather circumspect, taking up a matter equal to their own strength: Take up, he says, you who write, a matter equal to your Strength; and turn over long what your shoulders refuse to bear, What they are able to carry. 181BBut if the weighing of one's strength is a narratorial thing in the songs of the heathen, much more is it so in the nuptial and spiritual Song of Songs, which surpasses not only the dirges of the Muses and the empty fables of the poets, but even the hymns of our own men and the songs of the prophets. Furthermore, so many treaters of this work, as many modern as ancient, are to be found, that I do not know whether those who come later could add anything beyond; and since there are very many commentaries of theirs upon this Song, anyone coming later 182Awould seem; not so much to strike out new things as rather to steal what was found before. Nevertheless, whatever I object does not appear to satisfy you, but you wish me to attempt what is not to be had in my knowledge or in my eloquence. And assuredly a spiritual matter weighs down and overweighs heavier shoulders, since spiritual things, according to Paul: « The animal man does not perceive (I Cor. II). » And so, like a man prudent and aware, I put my hand into the fire, or commit myself in a fragile skiff through the deep perils of the sea, trusting in him alone who wills that his own be worn down by labour not in vain, who, being good and merciful, says to those who speak of him and labour for him: « I am here. » With him, I beg, do you also commend me by your prayers, and obtain for me his grace, that I may be able to do what I wish — which, as one just and 182Btruthful, he will not grant to my merits, and, as one compassionate and merciful, he will not deny to your prayers. 102 You men of old know only one moon; In our times another and greater is at hand. The sun, long alone, is amazed at a greater newness, For a new moon brings forth a new sun. If you wish to know better which, or who, I shall unfold it: Christ the sun rises, the moon Mary bears him.

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181CA certain king of kings and lord of things (and if anything worthier or more excellent can be named, whereby his power and powerful excellence may be commended) obtained a region of wondrous and unheard-of greatness, in which he decreed to make no portion divided off for another. It seemed indeed agreeable to his good pleasure that his kingdom should remain undivided to himself; and that none there should be reckoned greater than he, or even his equal, who by an equal power, rebellious and insolent, might be hurried away into an affront. A certain part of that region is held to be loftier, brighter, more honourable, which seems the worthier for his more frequent presence; the other part far lower, more rugged, dark, to its own Lord perhaps not gracious by an equal merit. But in that part over which 182Che presided above, a great order of many princes attended upon him, who had received a command to serve their lord with bowed neck, and with unwearied zeal to modulate praises consonant with him. Wherefore he also made them chief and conspicuous by a wondrous and admirable dignity, and, as it were, by a certain secondary power upon the throne of the kingdom; so that they might preside in excellence over all who lived in the whole kingdom, and might themselves lie subject to their own Lord with worthy reverence. One of them, who seemed to himself not inferior to the rest, who rejoiced in the benefit of comeliness and honour he had found, conceived something lofty and rash against his lord; and seeking greater things, judged that he would be like him. And in this very many out of so great a number of great ones consented with him, who 183Apresumed to think themselves equal to the highest of all; and he at once despoiled them all of the glory conferred upon them, and, despoiled, destined them for the lowest part of that kingdom. For in the highest part he suffered nothing repugnant, nothing unfitting, nothing troublesome, nothing at all dishonourable to linger; but the evil once arisen he presently cast down by a severe judgment, and set the evil ones far from the serene glory of his countenance. But they, being set far off, did not even so cease from malice (Sap. XII), but infected the dwellers of that outermost part with the venom of their own wickedness, and forced them to become rebels against the lord of them all, and drove them by threats and by force, by wiles and by blandishments, into a like injury. For there that highest king, by a counsel which he himself knows, suffered the evil to run wild and grow strong, nor did he at once restrain each evil man with the hastened sickle of punishments; 183Bbut, though he could either by a nod alone forbid that they should be done, or presently avenge each hurtful deed once done, he seemed wondrously patient to forget them as they went on to worse. So in a short time, as much by the prompting of the greater as by the consent of the lesser, that whole lower part of the kingdom is depraved, and all flesh corrupted venerates its king and lord neither out of fear nor out of love; but him whom, being present, it both does not see with the eye and, with a malevolent heart, now does not feel, to his commands (if perchance it sometimes hears them) it does not consent. Sometimes indeed, looking down upon them from on high, he destined his messengers for them, and speaking in many parts and in many ways, called back those who had gone astray through error to better things and to things next to salvation; but very many of them, entangled in the hard and long-lasting bonds of the vices, 183Cwere softened neither by his warnings nor by his promises. Only a very few, to whom the spiritual teaching was made brighter and more pleasing, or whom perhaps natural reason and understanding admonished, had by a sounder counsel a humble regard toward that their King, and, good men among the evil, worshipped the Lord according to place and time. Yet in so many spaces both of places and of times men of this kind were found so rarely that, since — as was said before — all flesh had been corrupted, that king could easily know his own by name everywhere among the nations, whereas the multiplicity of the evil could now be comprehended by no number of men. And this endured not only for many years, but for many ages of years, in which against their king and against his law the 183Dpeople hardened their neck. All of them guilty, and by the merit of their guilt 103 introduced at the last into the eternal darknesses of the prison, save for the fewer who had before been brought back into his grace. But throughout the whole series of times in which the people was found to be held in the aforesaid error, that king had purposed to have mercy on them at the end of times; in the last age to impart his grace more abundantly to the wretched, whom he saw perishing as much through ignorance as through malice. He chose a wondrous and sufficiently marvellous manner of showing mercy; but the reason why he should choose this rather than another cannot be clearly comprehended, save that he saw it more pleasing to his own good pleasure, and for this reason no one rightly wise doubts that it is better. But this mercy which he was to show to the erring people in the last days, and the manner of showing it whereby he was to fulfil it, he willed to be revealed in 184Adiverse nations as well as places and times to very few, whom by an ampler grace he willed to be called seers or prophets. And they, with the eye of the mind unveiled, willing to open the mystery to the rest who did not know it, nevertheless took pains to open it in figures and riddles; and preaching to the peoples the benefits of the aforesaid king that were to come after, they brought forth many things indeed by tongue or by pen, but obscure ones, so that they might neither, after the manner of the envious, wholly conceal the king's grace, and yet might not divulge the holy mystery to the unbelieving who were unworthy of it. But some of them committed these things, understood and foreseen, to a remembering writing, and so transmitted them to those who were to come long after in the succession; that not only those then present, but rather those coming after, might read true things in the Scriptures, which the 184Bunderstanding of those who went before foresaw and did not begrudge to those who should come after. And among those who wrote one after another, a certain man puts himself in the middle, whose knowledge and teaching ecclesiastical authority does not set behind the rest; who, perceiving by a prophetic spirit the secrets of things to come, brought them forth by a wondrous kind of writing to the knowledge of the rest. That highest king of whom we speak, having no end nor beginning of existing, having not by grace but by nature to persist unchangeably; whose strong power it is given to none to have leave to resist, but to whom he wills, and how he wills, a welcome possibility of standing by: he had a Son of the same nature, substance, majesty, coeternal, coequal, of one power through all things. Him he had appointed to send to that depraved and pestilential nation of men, that among them and in the midst of them he might make a lingering dwelling, 184Cand might take from them a certain virgin to himself by a nuptial covenant, whom nevertheless, above the law of marriages, he would keep entire in mind and body as a virgin. For he saw that by the benefit of marriage anger, brawling, hatred, and rivalry are called away far off, and joy, fairness, welcome fellowship, peace, and love are called back; and that to this not two alone, but many thousands together are called together; and that men who are diverse and (what is more wicked) adverse are effectually drawn on to will the same thing and to be unwilling for the same thing. He saw that nations diverse in tongue and in manners, regions sundered from one another by land, by sea, by much distance between, are alike allied by the reconciled marriage of one bridegroom and bride, and that from then on and thereafter they obey, cultivate, love, and venerate one another. Finally, by the benefit 184Dof marriage the longed-for offspring of sons is acquired, and among them a welcome brotherhood of minds thrives; and as both brothers and cousins are multiplied, natural love and affection grows beyond measure, and thus the primal usefulness of the nuptial bond is extended to more. In this way, then, or rather in a far more excellent way, he purposed to call back his enemies, and, taking a bride from among them, willed to turn them into friends; so that when men should render the right of brotherhood to the bridegroom of their sister, they might, having found a fitting degree, advance in loving toward the eternal. For the Father, who was appointing to send the Son to this, and the Son, who loved to obey the sender in all things, is God immortal, impassible, invisible by nature, whom no visible creature could either see or hold visibly; and for this reason, among men, the very Son of God 185Awilled to be received into the virginal bridal chamber of the bride, so that, proceeding thence as a bridegroom, he might be seen and held in nuptial form and habit. And before this should really come to pass, some, as has already been said, foresaw it in the spirit, and left it set down in their writings, some obscurely, some more obscurely. One of them is found to have described the mutual affections of the Bridegroom and the Bride more expressly, and to have woven, as it were, a tale subtle and honourable, spiritual and modest. That man knew that singers, men and women, are employed at temporal marriages, and that by them measures of song and various praises are set forth; that they touch with a taught hand the lyre, the cithara, the symphony, and weave a concordant melody with sackbut, pipe, and psaltery, so that in all these they are found becomingly to rejoice with the nuptial 186Achamber, and to admonish the other guests to rejoice together. Formed wondrously by that form or example, our scribe followed up this notable bridal chamber with epithalamic praise: he composed a new and unheard-of drama after the likeness of the comic poets, who, as they speak, bring on the various persons of the stage. This kind of writing antiquity before him certainly did not know, but from him, as it seems, posterity took it up far below: while the schools of the Greeks that followed after, because they could not sufficiently grasp what he wrote mystically and of what, at least transferred that same manner of writing to their own vanities and follies.

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185B104 Since in this little work he wrote nothing but praises of the Bridegroom and the Bride in concert, he superscribed in the very title Song, or Songs, so that at the very forefront the prudent reader might by that reminder be prepared for the praises of the bridal chamber, and, loving them, might modulate them not by the molodia of the voice, but by the concert of manners. But because many both before and afterwards are found to have brought forth Songs in their writings, yet not to have described the praises of this bridal chamber in them so excellently; for the commendation of these and for their distinction from the unequal rest, he set down here not only Songs, but Songs of songs. For just as both the Holy of holies and the Sabbath of Sabbaths are more eminently exalted above holy things and Sabbaths, and ages of ages are preferred in dignity and glory to ages; so, since in the writings of the ancients 185Cthere is much commendation of Songs, something ampler and far more sacred is promised and contained by the Songs of songs. And lest the writer of this work be unknown to its readers, and, the writer being unknown, the authority of the writing be lessened, he pointedly set himself to make mention of its author, plainly naming Solomon in that same title. Songs, he says, of songs of Solomon. [Vulg. Canticum canticorum Salomonis, singular] This Solomon was held to be a king and a king's son, and for this reason he rightly venerates the highest King, the King's Son; describing with how great a grace of peace his marriage shines out, and with what quiet and glory the noble Bride lies hidden in his bosom. Furthermore, as the Interpreters say, by the name of Solomon peace is signified, and his peaceful kingdom is designated by the testimony of Scripture; whose warfare an Egyptian hand did not succour as though he were weak, 185Dbut rather from Dan even to Beersheba Satan, that is the adversary, did not meet him. « He had, he says, peace on every side round about, from Dan even to Beersheba 186B(III Reg. IV). » And below: « Rest, he says, my God has given me round about, and there is no Satan nor evil encounter (III Reg. V). » [Vulg. 3 Kings 5:4 requiem dedit Dominus Deus meus mihi per circuitum — Migne omits Dominus] By whom is signified he who by his own power made both one, who set himself as a corner-stone to the Jews and to the Gentiles coming from opposite sides (Ephes. V), who, coming from the bosom of the Father, nevertheless did not cast off heavenly things, who coming to the unjust made salvation and justice near to them. He who gathered into one, as by a bond of concord, the earthly and the heavenly, whom not so much the quality of their place as the inequality of their merits had long sundered from one another; when in the bridal chamber of the Bride he celebrated a spiritual marriage, by which he wondrously joined the divine and the human nature in a unity of person. Rightly, therefore, is the describer of this work called Solomon, that is, the peaceable 186C, hinting that a song of this kind is not worthily sung by anyone unquiet, lest anyone think that he has attained the contemplative or theoretic summit of knowledge who has not first been carefully instructed in the moral and the natural. For the more effectual teaching of which, he, being about to write this book, is found to have sent two others before it, and in each to have described each matter with vigilant care; having in the first that which they call ethics or the moral, in the second physics, which they assert is called natural. In the first he teaches the untaught, and composes us to elegance of manners, and while composing them he frequently interposes the Father and the Son; moreover, in the tilulo also he calls himself a king, a king's son, so that both the dignity of a father and a royal fear may compel us. The proverbs, he says, of Solomon the son of David, 186Dking of Israel. In this book he implants a fatherly discipline in the untaught and the little ones, asserting that he who does not hear falls the more heavily into ruin; but that he who understands 187Apossesses his own helm, because an obedient man ought rather to speak victories than to be silent (Prov. XXI). But in the second he teaches a man well composed and endowed with an age now mature, that every creature under the sun lies subject to vanity; and that in the same state no begotten thing abides, but everything that is begotten tends by nature to perishing. 105 And since those things which are of the world are not going to remain in a stable degree, but by an inevitable law their appearance and figure passes away, he probably hints that such things are not to be clung to, but that something else ampler and nearer to salvation is to be sought. But because it is a rare and arduous thing in some manner not to see visible things — that is, to cling to visible things by no affection of the mind — in the title of this book also he called himself a king, a king's son, 187Band, as though by right of command, addressed the assembly, that is, the Church. The words, he says, of the Preacher, the son of David, king of Jerusalem. He willed indeed that those whom the timely sweetness of teaching does not sufficiently allure should be shaken and driven by the untimely authority of a king, and that it should promote them to a more advanced place of natural knowledge, so that they might judge contemptible whatever they know to be unstable by the privilege of a temporal course. In the third volume he makes no mention of royal power, but, that being now buried, he names Solomon simply; showing that they who worthily come to this reading, lulled in the peace that is due, seek the vision of the Bridegroom alone. This reader indeed, having utterly despised what he understands to be transitory, and having learned by every diligent care what is oppressive, now with a freer spirit obtains the contemplative place, 187Cfrom which the presence of the Bridegroom shuts out whatever unfitting and harmful thing comes upon him. In these volumes, then, he comprehends moral, natural, and contemplative knowledge; in the first of which the son lays hold of a father's discipline, not of money; in the second he grasps that all things passing under the sun are vain; in the third, having forgotten what is below, he stretches himself wholly into the divine and the heavenly. In the first every untaught man is formed in good manners by a father's watchfulness; in the second the visible world is disfigured for him by the desert of its mutability; in the third that lower man is reformed with a wiped face, and, brought into the sanctuary, is conformed by a welcome likeness to him whom he sees. In the first Abraham hears him commanding, hastens to go out, is prepared for moral 188Aobedience (Gen. XII); in the second Isaac digs wells, seeks waters, searches out natural things (Gen. XXVI); in the third Jacob sleeps upon a stone, is present among angels, contemplates divine things (Gen. XXVIII); he sees God himself, as he says, face to face, and is saved. In the first he feeds the future bride, still untaught and a little one, with moral precepts, with the rules of discipline, with a saving binding, and shuts her in more strictly and wraps her about; in the second, now grown up, he frees and looses her from the frauds of suitors and from the bonds of deceivers; in the third, now marriageable, the Bridegroom claims her alone for himself alone and joins her to himself, to whose chaste commerce no unchaste person joins himself. Rightly, then, is that first book, the executor of precepts, called ethical or moral; the second, the pursuer of visible things, physical, 188Bnatural; the third, the attainer of invisible things, contemplative, theological, spiritual — the later it is in order, the more principal in a worthier excellence. In it Solomon saw and foresaw that a certain virgin was to be born of the royal stock, one who would please the highest King and his Son far beyond all others; in whom the Son of God would dedicate to himself a temple, a tabernacle, a bridal chamber, that in it he might celebrate a marriage certain to some beforehand, but utterly untried by all. And lest anything honourable or fitting should seem to be lacking to that marriage, he says that with the Bridegroom the friends of the Bridegroom, and with the Bride maidens, are at hand; and so, with four persons as it were speaking to one another, he orders a spiritual epithalamium, by whose frequent approach and withdrawal the nuptial drama is woven. And the virgin whom Solomon sees thus to be loved by the Son 188Cof God, and to be specially chosen for this ministry, or (if it please better) mystery, is she who is noble in birth, notable in manners, beautiful beyond the daughters of men, wise in letters, humble in spirit, glorious in merits; she, I say — that I may at last name her — is Mary, sprung after Solomon from his posterity, who joyfully occupies the first part of this drama. For whereas many before the virgin spoke very many things here and there about a marriage of this kind, and followed out its heraldings and its prior approaches, Solomon in this book brings forward nothing of theirs into the middle, but suddenly brings on the aforesaid virgin speaking.

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[CANT. I.] Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth. Here first there occurs a question to be asked: since in this drama four persons, as it were, are brought on addressing one another — the Bridegroom and the companions of the Bridegroom, the Bride and the maidens who accompany her — why at the beginning the Bride more hastily leaps forth to speak, when that office would seem to be granted to the worthier Bridegroom. But by this it is hinted that the virgin is not darkened by ignorance, but with a learned spirit searches out the words of the preceding prophets; 188Dand just as it is agreed that Solomon as well as the rest foreknew things to come, so did she know the things that had been foretold of her. She knew therefore that in many parts and in many ways God had of old spoken beforehand in the prophets (Hebr. I), and 106 had followed out whatever was necessary for the making of the marriage — he who from the days of Moses and far beyond had foresignified by many figures of things and riddles of words that this was to be, namely, that for the grace of the marriage he would come into the bosom of a virgin. But the virgin wills that all things that foresignify should 189Anow be silent, that figures and riddles should not have place as before, that he who is promised should at last show forth his own presence, and should not any longer hold back the desire of her who awaits him from the sight of him. Because, she says, things promissory do not suffice for a tender love, but the languor grows heavy if things fulfilling are deferred longer than is right; since for obtaining what I love I neither ought nor am able to bring to bear things coercive, I judge it worthy simply to offer words of entreaty. Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth. I have learned, she says, from the report of the Scriptures, that it was once said to Abraham that the nations would rejoice that they were blessed in his seed (Gen. XII); and that this is not held worthy of belief in Isaac his son (Gen. XXI, XXII), but is more effectually fulfilled at the fitting time in mine. Isaac too, begotten of a father now aged, ready, obedient, prepared 189Bfor the victim at a boyish age — what did he designate but this joy of mine, which my God assigned to me before I came to be? But as the world grows old I grieve that he whom I desire does not draw nearer, that he who is to be sent does not more quickly obey him who is to send him, that to me who love and long my joy is not conferred, which I desire the more in that it is not taken away from him who possesses it. I have learned that Jacob, about to sleep, did not put a pillow under his head, but with a stone set beneath slept far sweet (Gen. XXVIII), in which I have no doubt that he is figuratively foresignified who, when the kiss has been given me, shall be cut from the mountain without hands. In Judah the son of Leah, whom the aged father wills to be praised by his brothers (Gen. XLIX), from whom it is certain enough that the Jews are derived both in race and in name, no other seems to me 189Cmore fittingly signified by him than he who confesses God the Father to be Lord of heaven and earth (Luc. X). I have learned of Joseph, whose death is found more pleasing to his brothers than his life (Gen. XXXVII), from the time that, having become a dreamer, he was clothed with a coat of many colours (Gen. XXXIX), whose chastity is read to have been assailed by the threats or the blandishments of a shameless mistress, but the young man leapt over the snares set before him with an unencumbered mind. He it is, as I see, who, when the kiss has been given me, shall be clothed with a new garment varied with virtues, and, proceeding as Bridegroom from the bridal chamber, shall suffer many envious men; who shall flee the malice of the present life as an unchaste harlot, having the cleanness of the highest chastity and of chaste goodness as his handmaid. He it is to whom, as Lord of things, the rest shall bow with bended knee, whom the stars, the sun and the moon, whom kings and 189Dprinces shall adore; who shall sustain with wondrous prudence Egypt labouring more with death than with famine (Gen. XLI), and shall minister the nourishment of life to all who worthily ask. Why should I unfold Moses, Aaron, Joshua, why the order of the judges, why should I name David, why the other kings, why each of the prophets, in whose catalogue not one at all is set down who does not by word or by deed speak beforehand of him whom I desire? But because he sent all these before as certain heralds and timbrel-players, in whose preludes he did not yet give his presence but promised it, now, impatient of delay, I do not accept their heraldings; I weigh all at a low price, since he is not received in presence. My understanding has indeed 190Anow perceived that he is to come, since they promise it, but so great a love of him who is to come has intercepted the desire of me who wait, that whatever promissory thing now creeps up to the understanding or to the memory — as trumpets and flutes, sistra and psalteries, and whatever clatters outside at the door — I now, as it were, loathe, while I wish him alone to be led into the midst, and to be brought into my bridal chamber more sweetly and more laboriously. Let him therefore who is to come not stretch out the delay longer, let him not hold the desire of me who wait in suspense by an intolerable postponement, but let him who was promised of old at last descend as dew upon the fleece, and let him not salute from afar, but show himself nearer to her who longs (Judic. VI). For I wish that he hide himself no longer in the bosom of the Father, that he not from thence dull my ears with a wordy frequency of messengers, but that he flood me — who have long borne it and can bear it 190Bno longer — with an ampler grace, and pour himself wholly into my lap by a full inflowing. For to what does it profit that a soul held in suspense be soothed by so great promises, and that what is promised be experienced with no effect at all, since languor rather leads to death if health be always absent, and the beloved be not at last presented to her who loves by a welcome commerce? Let him therefore kiss me with the kiss of his mouth. He, moved by the heat and the desire of her who asks, although he does not at once fulfil the impatient soul of her who waits, still goes on to send to the virgin a more pleasing messenger, who in private speech should tell that the Lord is nearer. And whereas in many of those who went before there was much holiness, in this one much fortitude was found, in fact as well as in name, who, telling that the most mighty defender of Israel was at hand, 190Cworthily deserved to be reckoned specially by the name of Gabriel. He, sent to the virgin, not forgetful of the excellence of him who sent him, does not stand outside at the door as one hindered by servile chains; but with greater confidence he entered a certain vestibule of the inner bridal chamber, having already professed both by word and by countenance who he is and why he comes. « Hail, he says, full of grace (Luc. I). » The angel marvels that the virgin's secret place is unapproachable even to himself, carefully perceiving that it is not granted save to her Lord alone; and he rejoices to find the place of the bridal chamber so serene that, lying open to God alone, it rejects every stranger. 107 Hail, he says, virgin worthily glad beyond all virgins, now filled with the worthy gifts of all grace: to whom my Lord and the Lord of all has sent me before; nay, I see that he who sent me 190Dis already with thee. « Hail, he says, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. » I thought that I came as a forerunner by the command of him who sends, but the commander has seemed to me to come before his messenger: perhaps because he willed first to find the virgin alone, lest I should seem to approach her, untaught and timid, without him. I judge that the angel, whom the Lord who sent him had already come before, did not find the aforesaid virgin in the forum or in the street, in tumult or in dance; nor did he find her held at last by spindle, needle, comb, wool, flax, nor by servile work, nor at the loom, but at leisure, or rather at a spiritual business, clinging to the Scriptures with an understanding or an affection wholly holy, not carnal. The angel himself therefore reveres her, found thus, and thus intent upon a divine 191Astudy, all witnesses removed; and marvelling at a youth robust not in years but in advances, he gives with much reverence the greeting entrusted for the virgin. « Hail, he says, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women (Luc. I). » Thou, he says, so given over to a leisure or a business so honourable, so modest, oughtest worthily to be declared blessed among all women, or beyond all women; and so great a blessing shall attend thee, full of grace, that neither a first like thee nor a second following shall be made equal to thee. « And when she had heard, he says, she was troubled at his word, and thought what manner of salutation this should be (ibid.). » The virgin, seeing an unwonted appearance of a man, is greatly afraid; and hearing something new, troubled none the less, she shudders, both because a man was not accustomed to be present at her spiritual leisure, and because she had not yet 191Bperceived that she was worthy of so great an excellence. She turns therefore and turns over again what a salutation of this kind portends, what the angel standing by, or the Lord who sends him in, intends, since she does not yet manifestly comprehend the secret of the mystery, and it seems worthy that the virgin fear in all things, lest she offend. And the angel said: « Fear not, Mary, for thou hast found grace with God (ibid.). » Let not a sudden fear, he says, trouble thy girlish mind, since with God thou hast found a saving grace; refuse not with a fearful heart his holy purpose and his good pleasure in thee, since that Lord gives thee the greetings which I, a messenger, bring. And he adds: « Behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and shalt bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus (ibid.). » In thy womb, he says, the Son of God shall celebrate a wondrous marriage, and 191Cthy very womb shall beget eumdum Bridegroom as man, whom thou shalt call Jesus, by the desert of his own goodness; for he shall save his people from sins. And Mary said: « How shall this be done, since I know not a man? » (ibid.) Since I, she says, have decreed that I shall not marry in a carnal wedlock, and thou truly assertest that I shall shortly bring forth a son, by thy leave let me say it, I wish without doubt to know the manner whereby this, as being unfitting, can fittingly come together. I had indeed read, Isaiah writing it, that this marvel was to be; but neither he nor another had said that this was to be in Mary; and because this shoe seems wrapped about with a tangled latchet, thou, to whom perhaps it has been given, I wish that thou make it loosed for me. And the angel 191Danswering said to her: « The Holy Spirit shall come upon thee, and the power of the Most High shall overshadow thee (ibid.). » Know, he says, that thou shalt experience no commerce of a manly coupling, but shalt conceive, by the working of the Holy Spirit, possibly indeed, yet ineffably; because he shall utterly remove from thee whatever unseemly thing is either said or felt, and shall forbid every heat of foulness by interposing himself as a kind of shade. And since the Spirit of God works this begetting holily and wondrously, without doubt that which shall be born shall be holy; and of God there shall arise no other than the Son of God, since in thee God and man are personally made one. And Mary said: « Behold the handmaid of the Lord, be it done to me according to thy word (ibid.). » Having heard the manner in which a marvellous begetting may come to pass, in which God may be born of a 192Avirgin who shall know no commerce with a man, the humble virgin is ready to obey the Lord, and now hopes and loves that what she understands to be holy should come to pass the sooner. Because, she says, it is the Lord whom thou preachest, and I know myself the handmaid of the Lord, I now ask that thy word be fulfilled, and that it be done to me according to it: rejoicing that he, good and merciful, has not despised me, undeserving, but, clement and most high, has looked upon me, cast down and humble. And so, the ministry which thou hast faithfully fulfilled being accomplished, and the mystery which thou hast spoken being understood with a faith sufficiently certain, this thy forannouncing has left me rather in suspense and, as it were, unquiet, nor is anything enough for me if I do not feel him present who sent thee. Let him therefore now send no other in his own stead, and let no messenger promise things to come to a hastening mind, 192Bbut rather let him now at a fitting time present himself to me, let him, present, presently kiss me who am present. Let him kiss me, I say, with the kiss of his mouth. Let this joining, I say, be made in me not by lips, but by two natures coming together, so that both natures may wondrously be of one person; and those whom until now both fault and natural diversity had set far from one another, let an undivided unity of person now league together in firm peace. For I understand that the fulness of the Godhead shall come into my womb, keeping unharmed my seal of virginal chastity; and that in this bridal chamber the Son of God himself, by the sweet kiss of the marriage, shall join in the unity of person two unlike things of natures. God shall indeed become man, the excellence of his own nature 108 not contaminating, not consuming, but powerfully purifying 192Cand assuming the nature of man; and the assumer shall give to the assumed a marvellous and incomparable gift, namely, that the assumed and the assumer may become one by a wondrous conjunction. One, I say, not either God only, or only man, but one God-man; one Christ. Not indeed so that the substance of God be confounded, but so that humanity be assumed into God. This assumption, this joining, whereby God willed to unite man to himself personally, and to strike or to unite a covenant of peace between nature and nature in the womb of the virgin, is in the present passage called by an honourable word a kiss, because peace returned among those at discord is confirmed by a kiss. The virgin therefore wills that in her womb the concord of God and of man be repaired, and that the repaired concord be strengthened by an unshaken covenant, so that he who was God and Son of none but God the Father 192Dmay in a new and wondrous manner become the bridegroom and the son of a mother. Let him become the bridegroom, joining the virgin to himself by a certain conjugal covenant, resting in her bridal chamber, peace having been made by the nuptial kiss; in her, or through her, begetting spiritual sons by a spiritual efficacy, so that both he and she may rejoice in the fruit and offspring of sons. Let him become the son, taking true flesh in her womb, yet keeping her wholly entire, a virgin and unstained; and in her, as God, consecrating all the saints as sons and heirs of God, and, born of her as man, making them his co-heirs. At this benefit, ancient indeed in its promises, modern in fact, the virgin rejoices and exults, and asks that it remain for ever; and considering that by that good an evil both following and long-standing can be destroyed, 193Ashe wills that, when the kiss has been given her, he strike an everlasting pact with her. For she sees that he judges it wholly unfitting and unworthy that peace should not be unshaken when someone has given the sign of peace; and for this reason she wills him to be wrapped in that binding, as it were, which, once confirmed, ought not and cannot be further loosed.

Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth. The mouth of the Lord — so is every holy man or prophet called, through whom he unfolds to men his own thoughts and secrets; through whom he both reveals to us things past and foretells things to come, more sweetly commands good things, more severely forbids evil ones. It is agreed that Moses was of old the mouth of the Lord, to whom God seems to have granted so great a grace that he was held privy to this secret long 193Bbeforehand, and that as a faithful messenger he should speak it as a thing that was to come after. « A prophet, he says, shall God raise up to you from among your brethren, like unto me; him shall you hear (Deut. XVIII). » [Vulg. Deut. 18:15 reads Prophetam de gente tua et de fratribus tuis sicut me suscitabit tibi Dominus Deus tuus: ipsum audies — singular "thy brethren," "thou shalt hear"; the printed plural form is that of Act. 3:22] That David was the mouth of the Lord is doubted by none of the faithful — he who venerates this mystery foreknown by a prophetic spirit; and lest perchance he seem to begrudge to others what he foresees, taking up the psaltery, he modulates praises and Songs to him. « He himself, he says, as a Bridegroom coming forth from his bridal chamber, hath rejoiced as a giant (Psal. XVIII). » That Isaiah's word may be commended with worthy reverence, and that the speech may not be judged contemptible on account of the speaker, in speaking to a people of hard neck, which is not easily moved to faith, in order to allure them or perhaps to terrify them, he sometimes declares himself the mouth of the Lord. « The mouth, he says, of the Lord 193Chath spoken these things (Isa. I); » [Vulg. Isa. 1:20 quia os Domini locutum est, without haec, "these things"] and as Isaiah declares himself to be the mouth of the Lord, so too Jeremiah ought to be believed, and can none the less be said, to be so — men who, at the Spirit's teaching, spoke beforehand of the virgin's childbearing, and followed out the mysteries to come with a foreannouncing word. Isaiah: « Behold, he says, a virgin shall conceive and shall bring forth a son, and you shall call his name Emmanuel (Isa. VII). » [Vulg. et vocabitur nomen ejus Emmanuel, "and his name shall be called"; Migne prints the second person plural vocabitis] Jeremiah: « The Lord, he says, shall make a new thing upon the earth, and a woman shall compass a man (Jer. XXXI). » [Vulg. Jer. 31:22 creavit Dominus novum super terram, "the Lord hath created," a past tense] Finally the angel Gabriel himself is found to be the mouth of the Lord, by whom the virgin, now grown up and marriageable, is approached in person concerning so great a mystery; and lest even a slight darkness of not knowing leave her in suspense, he unfolds both that she is to bring forth and the manner of the bringing forth. Whence the virgin, sufficiently certain, wills now no longer to hear the mouth of the Lord, but, burning 193Dwith love, wills to feel the kiss of the mouth — namely, that she may be cherished by the gracious coming of the Bridegroom, by a firm peace, by an unremoved presence, according to what is announced by the prophet or by the angel, as by the mouth of the Lord. « Be it done to me, she says, according to thy word (Luc. I). » Be it done, that the fulness of grace may render me blessed among women; that the royal beauty of the bridegroom coming may adorn my bridal chamber; that the holiness of the Spirit alone may make my womb fruitful; that he may be mine, the Son of God, salvation, justice, wisdom, fortitude. By this kiss let that bridegroom, well-disposed, incline himself to me; by this let him lay me back — bride, mother, Virgin — in a peaceful bosom, in a gracious embrace; let this soothe me, refresh me, make me serene; let this, claiming me for himself, estrange me from all who come against me. But 194Alet this be done according to thy word, which thou hast brought forth not with thy own mouth but rather with the mouth of the Lord, since thou hast been not thy own mouth but rather the mouth of the Lord; because thou art not reckoned thine own angel, thine own herald, thine own messenger, but his who speaks to me through thee, who makes thee wholly his own, that thou mayest speak. Wherefore I do not say to thee: Kiss me with the kiss of thy mouth, but rather of him: Let him kiss me, I say, with the kiss of his mouth, that he may at last deign to bless me with his own kiss, which to thee, his mouth, it was granted to proclaim with an announcing word. 109

Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth. The Virgin, hearing that, betrothed to the Son of God, she should bring forth God and man, and that in conceiving she should not at all feel a man, her purpose being kept, but that the Holy Spirit, 194Bovershadowing her, should come upon her with an effectual power, with a certain faith and a robust hope, fervent in Spirit or in love, rejoices indeed in the hearing, but wills to rejoice more fully in a more pleasing effect. That spirit therefore of so great grace, of so great peace, so sweet, so kindly, of a power so wondrously effectual; who, warding off far away the injuries of the flesh, strengthens the purpose of chastity, who gives fruitfulness while saving the seal of virginal honour — that Spirit, I say, the virgin longs to be given to her more fully, and by him, as by a kiss, that the gifts promised her be confirmed. Let the voice of the angel cease, she says, who answers me with such great benefits, and let the Son of God himself come nearer, who betroths me, a virgin, to himself alone: let him touch me with his mouth, whose touch shall flood me with much grace; let him deign me with his kiss, let him make me fruitful with his spirit. In a kiss 194Cof the mouth there is not only an outward joining of lips, but a certain breathing forth of what is within is also perceived and felt; and if these be clean and filled with a sweetened savour, the one who kisses pours as it were a sweet spirit into the one kissed. Since therefore the Spirit is belched forth, as it were, from the heart and mouth of the Son (for as the Spirit is preached to proceed from the Father, so also from the Son) — than which secret place none is truly esteemed cleaner and sweeter — rightly does the virgin ask to be kissed by the Bridegroom, that is, by the Son of God, so that she may taste the inward good, the saving Spirit being drawn in and perceived. I long, she says, that he come and stand nearer, in whom I have believed, whom I have loved, that that bridegroom, familiarly admitted into my chamber, may purify me, magnify me, gladden me with a sweet kiss: not that there be, as 194Dis wont, an outward conjunction as of lips, but a certain welcome and sweet inpouring into me of the Spirit of his mouth. Finally, after God had first formed man from the slime of the earth, he breathed, as we read, the breath of life into his face (Gen. II); and just as he is understood to have been made or fashioned as though by the hands of God, so was he animated to live in time by the breath of his mouth. Far below, Elisha, when he wished to raise a dead man, bending himself over him as he lay, willed to apply not only hands to hands but also mouth to mouth, so that, touched by the breath of the living, he might receive a living soul, and that, as the other lay upon him, the dead man might receive not a loss but rather a gain (IV Reg. IV). But far more loftily and much more sacredly does the virgin will the Son of God to be at hand to her; much more sweetly, far 195Amore laboriously does she will him to be present in a kiss — namely, that he impart a kiss, that is, that he make the Spirit of his mouth to be felt, that he touch her with a spirit of fuller grace and efficacy. Thou, she says, my Bridegroom, my God, deign to impart thy presence to me; give the kiss to her who asks, that is, give me to feel thy Spirit; let thy breathing upon me be so useful, so fruitful, and so pleasant, that I may both remain a virgin according to my vow, and yet, conceiving, be fruitful. Breathe upon me, I say, not only that with the rest I may be able to shape labour into a precept, but kiss the virgin, that by a kiss thou mayest give to the virgin, beyond all others, a conception: let thy kiss work wondrous things in me, and work them wondrously, so that both fruitfulness may be preserved to the Bride and virginity to the Mother by a singular privilege. You therefore in this audience, all 195Band each of you who stand by, if you think anything worthily and reverently of the word you have heard: attend to and love both the kiss which the Son of God the Father holds out, and the singular merit and solemn miracle of so great a mother. She, knowing and feeling the sacraments of the nuptial kiss, seeking nothing else, nor content with any other whatever, is bent as it were principally upon obtaining it; and for this reason at the beginning of her speech she asks especially that it be imparted to her, loving to experience its sweetness and its efficacy.

Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth. Let him, she says, whom I love, whom I choose before all, be wondrously joined to me; let an inward sweetness be poured out upon me by his kiss, by his Spirit; by whose help and working let the integrity of my 195Cflesh be fortified, and let the Word be personally united in me to flesh, God to man. See the miracle of the Mother of the Lord. The virgin receives the Bridegroom's kiss, perceives the Spirit of him who kisses; and in the kiss she now conceives as a mother, while by the working of the Spirit she receives what is conceived. And this indeed the angel Gabriel had also preached beforehand, when he announced that the overshadowing Spirit would come upon her (Luc. I); the evangelist Matthew (cap. I) afterwards confirmed it, when, recalling the deed, he commended the virgin mother. « She was found, he says, having in her womb of the Holy Spirit. » And below: « For that which is born in her is of the Holy Spirit (ibid.). » This grace, this efficacy the virgin desires to be given her, when she so pointedly asks to be kissed by the bridegroom: longing in the 195Dkiss not to feel the outward kisses of the Bridegroom, but that his inward Spirit pour forth an effectual grace upon her. In which type, as you know, when we are presented at the altar, and, consecrating the sacred mysteries, are ourselves also consecrated to the Lord — because by the desert of so great 110 an office we are now filled with the Holy Spirit — religion judges it worthy that we who stand by should kiss one another alike. Let us kiss, I say, not that we may mingle lips with lips, but that we may pour back upon others the grace of the Spirit we have received; and let those who stand by that same sacred mystery, humble and intent, become partakers of the sacrament by the working of the Spirit and the designation of the kiss. The virgin therefore wills that the earnest of the nuptial kiss be given her by the Bridegroom; she wills to receive by the Spirit of his mouth a certain 196Acommerce of spiritual efficacy, namely, that both the integrity of her modesty and of her special purpose may remain unviolated, and that her virginal womb may conceive in a new manner and bring forth what it has conceived. This gift, this benefit, this grace that virgin alone deserved to find: that, when she was to conceive, not the knowledge of a man but the inpouring of the Spirit was found to come before her; that by a kiss alone, a virgin alone, alone might bring forth God and man, and that in her childbearing things so diverse, so discordant, should come together in a sounding miracle. But that Bridegroom, feeling the devout impatience of her who burns, does not turn away his ear from the desire and the prayers of her who calls upon him; and that mercy, which is his own, and his ancient counsel he does not hold back with himself any longer, but drawing nearer he presents himself more sweetly to her who loves. He presents himself, I say, and gives the vehemently 196Blonged-for kiss to her who asks; and, the kiss being given, he gives a greater confidence to her who speaks, namely, that she should not at once withdraw as though the business were finished, but that, having once begun to speak, she should now go on confidently. So indeed you also, brethren, know that it sometimes happens when two are seen to come together alike from opposite sides: if the lesser earns to find the favour of the greater, the greater at the beginning deigns to impart a kiss to the lesser. And having received it, the lesser is strengthened with a longer confidence, so that thereafter he may speak out boldly whatever he judges worthy; and he who has felt the other's goodwill in holding out a kiss is rendered now more confident and more ready to speak. And so the virgin, having received the Bridegroom's presence, comforted by the nuptial kiss, knowing that she was to be a mother 196Cby the inpouring of the Spirit in a virginal womb, somewhat more confident, turns herself as it were away from prayers, and turns herself with worthy praises to the Bridegroom now present.

For his breasts are better than wine. [Vulg. ubera tua, "thy breasts" — the second person, which the commentary at once expounds and which the lemma is re-printed with later in this same chapter] Rightly, she says, did I long for thy coming far beyond the time promised; rightly did I ask that the kiss of thy coming be given me, because I knew and perceived — not led by the sense of the flesh, not taught by my own spirit but by the divine — that thy breasts are far better than wine. Since in the Bridegroom's kiss she had felt not the breasts but, as it seems, the lips, and for that reason ought consequently to have commended the lips and not the breasts, what does it mean that here, making no memorial of the lips, no word of them, she makes mention, as though by an erring simplicity, of the breasts? For indeed it is not 196Dbridegrooms' breasts but brides' that are wont to be commended, since it stands fast that children are not suckled at the breasts of men; and as we count worthy of praise those things which we have known to be fruitful, so those same things rightly go without it which remain idle and without fruit. But it is in some manner naturally implanted in every one, that setting aside what is wholly untried by him he turns himself to that which is more familiarly known to him, and takes for his example that which is not uncertain to his art or office. So the sailor, when he speaks, calls all prosperous things gentle breezes, a level sea, a strong sail, oarsmen and a keel; but adverse things, rushing winds, a swelling strait, waters running down into the bilge. The soldier 197Atoo, wordy in almost everything he loves, draws his examples from what belongs to the soldier's office, and scarcely anything sounds in his mouth but lance, sword, shield, helmet or breastplate; and though a degenerate fear sometimes renders these things hostile to him for fighting, yet for speaking they are friendly by familiar use. What, again, do the scholarly clerics speak of but books, or the authors of secular letters? What do the more religious sort bring forward but the testimonies of the divine letters? What, in fine, do we poor men speak of, but the things that have been impressed upon us by poor authors or poor guardians — we, I say, to whom both the dignity of nobles and the abundance of the rich is inaccessible? Therefore, because the things of women are familiarly known to the Virgin, at whose breasts little infants grow to boyhood: 197Bspeaking to the Bridegroom, she assigned to him simply what belongs to women — nay rather, she compared his fruitful grace to breasts. And in this she withdraws us also from the literal sense of the words, hinting that they are big with a spiritual understanding, when she attributes to the Bridegroom what is the easier to find in the bride the closer it lies, and which she knows perfectly well belongs to him only for the sake of the comparison. For thy breasts are better than wine. The Virgin knew indeed, and had read in the books of the ancients, that righteous Job, stripped of his substance, bereft of the offspring of his sons (Job I), wounded with a hard scourge from the sole of the foot to the crown (Job II), and moreover wearied by his wife's most grievous reproach, at last complains, sorely enough and wretchedly enough, and turns it over again, that death coming beforehand at the opportune 197Ctime did not release him from such great evils. Why, says Job, did not I, wretched, die and breathe out my life in the womb; when I came forth from the belly, why did I not at once end my life by a worthy peril; why, to the increase of misery, was I strengthened by the placing of knees under me, why, to the heaping up of the same, was I at last ( 111 ) suckled at breasts (Job III)? » I judge that the breasts at which Job grieves and complains that he was suckled — counting it far better that he should first have been weaned from his mother — poured into him no health-bearing milk, no life-giving nourishment, but the venom of the asp, or the wine wherein is luxury. Of which you have read: « The wine of them is the gall of dragons, and the venom of asps, which is incurable (Deut. XXXII). » That wine, or that venom, is the very persuasion and teaching which the serpentine depravity of the perverse sows abroad and spreads, 197Dwhich makes its hearers drunken and seduces them, and turns them aside and leads them from faith into error, from justice into injustice. Wherefore in Egypt, as the psalm bears witness (Psal. LXXVII), the Lord smote the vines of the wicked, and in his canticle Moses arraigns the vine of the Sodomites (Deut. XXXII); because Egypt and Sodom mix for those who recline at their table a poisonous wine — a form of perversity, a doctrine of malice, the crooked road of injustice. On the other side, in Jeremiah the sons of Jonadab earned praise (Jer. XXXV), who, having heard their father's precept, did not drink wine of this kind, while their minds, not made mad by the sense of seducers nor by a ruinous consent, kept the rule of truth according to their father's mandate as well as 198Ahis example. Heretics have, and false Catholics have, a wicked wine, by which, their mind lost and their foot broken, they fall into diverse errors either of faith or of morals; and in like fashion they corrupt and lead away their little hearers. The Jewish people also has, and the Gentile has, a wine by which each of them, wickedly made drunk, is held fast and darkened in wretched error; and now and then the one drags and goads the other into headlong ruin. Of which sort a certain poet says beautifully: . . . . there met me a procession worth the telling; a drunken old woman was dragging along a drunken old man.

Judaea and the Gentile world are not undeservedly said to have grown old, since it is agreed that each was a people from ancient time, 198Band each of them is found not to have been content with its own ceremonies, but often to have strayed aside into the other's error. Did not the Gentile world, ill drunken, seem to you to be dragging the Jewish people along, when in whatever ways it could it urged them to worship the gods; and that most wretched people was held by a like drunkenness, and followed the leader who went before like an ox led to the slaughter? Elias, seeing a procession of this kind coming to meet him, could not bear it, but either laughing was kindled with anger, or being kindled hastened to deride the same as it met him, so that he might strike the erring leaders with a mocking chastisement that they should not go before, and the straying hearers with a chastising word, that they should not follow after. « Elias, says Scripture, coming to all the people, said: How long do ye halt between two sides? If 198Cthe Lord be God, follow him; but if Baal, follow him (III Reg. XVIII). » And below: « Elias, he says, mocked the prophets of Baal, saying: Cry with a louder voice, for he is a god, and perhaps he is talking, or is in an inn, or on a journey, or at least he sleepeth, that he may be awaked (ibid.). » [Vulg. "he mocked them (illis)"; the naming of the prophets of Baal is not in the received text] Nor are the Jews only seduced by the pestilent persuasion and error of the Gentiles, but the Gentiles too are sometimes drawn into the superstitions and follies of the Jews; and Judaea, grown old in evils, does not allow the wretched Gentile to be loosed from his chain, but, herself ill drunken, goes before him who is drunken, blind before blind, even to the last ditch. Their procession the Lord execrates in the Gospel, not so much in derision as in censure, and threatens them with a woe to come, as terribly as he does truly, so that when they have heard his hard and 198Dtruthful warnings, both the leaders who go before and the followers may be either amended or left without excuse. « Woe to you, he says, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites, who go about the sea and the dry land to make one proselyte; and when he is made, you make him the son of hell twofold more than yourselves (Matth. XXIII). » [Vulg. quia circuitis, "because you go about"] Paul too, beholding a procession of this kind, seemed not to laugh, but, burning with zeal, tenacious of the right, impatient of harm, to shrink from it, so that with a free voice he did not spare even Peter, who seemed the first and the worthier among the apostles, because in this procession he was held to be the one going before in a timid error. For this man was unwilling that that man should be given the turbid wine to drink, and that a crowd equally turbid should follow him ill drunken, lest from this procession not only 199Alaughter, or derision, should be begotten, but the truth of the Gospel too (which is not lawful) should suffer an unworthy peril. « When Cephas was come, he says, to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed (Gal. II). » And below: « When I saw, he says, that they walked not uprightly unto the truth of the Gospel, I said to Cephas before them all: If thou, being a Jew, livest after the manner of the Gentiles and not as do the Jews, how dost thou compel the Gentiles to live as do the Jews (ibid.). » Paul, noting that both the leader and those who came at his heels were made drunk with the cloud of error, and that among them the evangelical truth was not kept purely enough, counting it a grave offence and not bearing that it should go unpunished, broke forth at once into the midst, and with the rod of correction stretched out interrupted that blameworthy procession. And this the same Apostle judged worthy of the telling, 199Band speaking to the Galatians he set it forth again among other matters pleasantly and from memory — perhaps so that not only the Galatians but we too, by his teaching, might know both what the greater owe to us and what we owe to the greater. For the lesser owes no consent to the vices and errors of the greater; but if something grave and intolerable be detected in him, he must needs reprove it out of hatred of the fault, out of zeal for a more gracious justice, taking the more diligent heed that he insert nothing of swelling insolence or rancour. And the greater ought not to disdain the lesser's admonition with a swelling brow, nor to strike back at one who worthily corrects him as though by the privilege of authority; but with a kindly ear to obey the monitor, or rather 112 his admonitions, if only it be clear that they truly 199Cand humbly serve charity. It is beyond doubt over against this wine — by which either Cephas or anyone else goes astray wandering, and in the procession either goes before or follows after, tottering with a lame step — that the Virgin says and asserts the Bridegroom's breasts are better, knowing by experience that they are more pleasing not only to outward hearing but to inward taste as well. The breasts of the Bridegroom are his form and his doctrine, his example and his word, his life and his speech, with which he cherished and nourished his little hearers as with milk, and fed and strengthened the greater as with bread and solid food. For this indeed he was born a child, that he might show himself suited to little ones, and he advanced in age, that he might show himself a man to those further advanced, in all that he did and said leading and teaching the little ones or the greater, according as they made themselves the readier to take in small things or great. « For coming forth from his 199Dchamber, beautiful in form above the sons of men (Psal. XLIV), » [Vulg. Ps. 18:6 tanquam sponsus procedens de thalamo suo is here fused with Ps. 44:3 speciosus forma prae filiis hominum, whose word order is inverted] rich in the incomparable fullness of saving doctrine, he willed first by the merit of his form to please not only the Virgin but us also, and afterward by word and doctrine to teach all who should prove docile. For because we are unwilling to show his word an obedience worthy enough of it — whose face at first we are deservedly compelled to shrink from — Jesus began, as you have read (Act. I), to do and to teach, so that by the enticing appearance, as it were, of his deeds he might call and lead us on attentive and well-disposed, and having sweetly allured us might strongly bring us into his lecture-hall. With the right breast, as it were, in doing great things, he showed himself worthy of commendation, and caught in the snare of his form those who looked 200Athe more diligently; with the left, in saying great things, he makes those whom he already holds learned and blessed hearers, but those who despise him he by no means leaves unpunished, though he teach them. Who would not call these breasts of the Bridegroom better than ruinous wine? Who, unless he be drunk with wine, would contradict the Virgin who asserts it? — since those who are drunk with the wine of the damned, and those who pour it out with them, do not so much run as fall blinded; but those who are drunk with the Bridegroom's breasts, are blessed? « Blessed is he, he says, whom thou shalt instruct, O Lord, and shalt teach him out of thy law (Psal. XCIII). » [Vulg. Beatus homo quem tu erudieris, "Blessed is the man whom thou shalt instruct"]

For thy breasts are better than wine. In the Bridegroom's breast, indeed, the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are laid up, which are utterly hidden from the prudent and the wise of this world; and he who conceals their secrets from so 200Bmany who are somewhat grown, and for so long a time, now reveals them to little ones, coming forth from his chamber by the goodness which is his own. For through the ages that ran their course behind us those incomparable treasures lay hid in him, but when the flesh of the Virgin had been assumed they burst forth marvellously, like swelling nipples out of his breast, and poured forth not dry drops but streams and rivers, and shed themselves with full horn upon all who worthily drew near. Wherefore the Virgin too, after she has received the kiss, does not straightway turn aside from the Bridegroom as though bidding farewell, but leans back upon his breast for the sake of profiting; and applying the drawing-vessel of a pure mind the more capaciously the more greedily, she is given drink, she is filled full with the welcome abundance of the breasts and their flowings. There she thirsts with a deep longing for knowledge, there for wisdom, hidden by a profound counsel 200Cfrom very many, and feels it revealed to her more openly; and now, as she consulted not the angel, so neither the prophets who went before, but leaning alone upon him alone she draws, as Job has it (cap. XXVIII), and draws to herself wisdom out of hidden places. I am deceived, if that disciple of the Bridegroom also, whom he loved, did not understand that wisdom and knowledge flow from his breast, when, placed at the Supper, he acquiesced not so much in the wine and the material feast as he rested with a welcome reclining upon the breast of Jesus, between those very breasts. There he saw the Word abiding in the most secret bosom of God the Father (Joan. I), he saw the Word made flesh in the virginal chamber of the Bride his mother; he saw the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, luminous with a brightness plain to him, dark to the prudent and wise of this world under a certain veil spread over them. 200DHe saw, I say, and did not begrudge to reveal them, not to all but to the faithful, and to commit them to a remembering script with the swift pen of a scribe, so that the understanding hearer might love to aspire to the secrets of that same breast, and from his own poverty of merits to breathe again in the presence of those treasures. To this there came not Porphyry, nor Aristotle, nor Socrates, nor Plato, nor the first, nor the second, nor that third Cato falling from heaven; nor in fine anyone who, blinded by malice, shrank from the newness of grace, holding and retaining the oldness of his own knowledge or wisdom. Whose knowledge is proclaimed by a truthful judgment not to heal but to puff up (I Cor. II), and whose wisdom is judged to be gross foolishness with God; 201Ain which nevertheless they remain fixed, by I know not what sense of the truth, seducing themselves by a certain privilege of antiquity. One of whom says: Let those who make haste — so he says — drink the new must; let the jar pour out for me the ancestral unmixed wine.

Not the must of the new grace from the Bridegroom's shining breast, but choosing rather that the old wine of error be poured out for him from a muddy vessel, whose sweetness seems to him the more acceptable and the more perfect for himself, the more both use has confirmed it and ancestral antiquity has sanctioned it. But that new must, which cannot be borne by old vessels, let those drink who make haste, who love to gaze upon the Bridegroom coming forth from his chamber; who, warned by angels after the manner of the shepherds, come hastening, and him whom they see, 201Bwhom they love 113 they do not press down with silence, but announce with a hasty proclamation (Luc. II). To whom none was found to hasten sooner, none more perfectly, than she who deserved to prepare for him at his coming the chamber of her own womb, who reclining upon his breast drew and felt his knowledge and wisdom to be more gracious, better in sense, in judgment, than the error of the philosophers.

For thy breasts are better than wine. The Bridegroom's breasts may also be called his mercy and his truth, which it is agreed work in a more special way in the Bride and mother virgin; with which the law given through Moses can neither be nor ought to be made equal, though it may be judged good and, in its own time, necessary. 201C« For the law is good, if a man use it lawfully (I Tim. I). » [Vulg. Scimus autem quia bona est lex, "But we know that the law is good"] Yet in the law there is found a certain harshness of wine, which works wrath and does not bestow grace, which will have a tooth taken for a tooth, an eye for an eye (Exod. XXI), the striker struck back and the other cheek not offered (Matth. V, Luc. VI). The law indeed commands many things, commands great things, but it does not bring the obscure into the light; if it brings forth anything vital, it draws a clinging chaff over it, it burdens blind minds, it weighs down hard necks and blunts them, it does not pour in the mildness of grace, the sweetness of the Spirit. The law duly gives or promises temporal things according to desert, it torments the offender, it does not remit the penalties deserved; it works a severe judgment, a heavy justice, it knows not mercy, it is not appeased freely and without price. Who would suck such 201Da grape, and his teeth not be set on edge the harder? Whose taste and palate would not turn the more bitter at such a draught? — where wrath reigns without mercy, and judgment is exercised, whereas mercy is worthily exalted above wrath and judgment? (Jacob. II.) And so the Virgin, marking the commandments of the law which in a manner deceived the people, since without the spirit of grace they laid down hard and unbearable things, praises the Bridegroom's breasts, which received her more graciously and more sweetly: « Me, she says, O Lord, according to the Psalm, me thy mercy and thy truth have upheld (Psal. XXXIX). » [Vulg. misericordia tua et veritas tua semper susceperunt me, "thy mercy and thy truth have always upheld me"] Mercy it is by which the Lord of the heavens willed to enter the nuptial chamber, having an unbegotten Father, and willing to have a virginal 202Amother. Truth it is by which he consummated that will in a happy work, when « the Word was made flesh (Joan. I), » and God as man dwelt marvellously in the virgin. Mercy it is by which he did not compel the world to undergo the penalties it deserved, but for the blotting out of them chose this time, these nuptials, this virgin. Truth it is by which he happily made bright the chosen time by his coming, and by which, the Spirit working, he made the chosen virgin fruitful. « Mercy, he says, and truth have met each other (Psal. LXXXIV). » That the virgin might be made worthy, mercy ran before; that she might become a mother, truth straightway ran to meet her; and there is not, as with us by the desert of guilt, a parting or a running away of the virtues, but in her there is their welcome coming-together, their meeting. Running before, mercy prepared a place for the Bridegroom who was to come, 202Band fencing harmful things far off, adorned the chamber with the flowers of virtues; and when it was adorned, truth likewise presented itself, which ineffably made God man in the virgin according to his purpose. God's mercy, therefore, toward the Virgin is his readier will and affection; and truth is the fulfilling or effecting of that will; since not merits but mercy makes the virgin gracious, and truth renders her, already full of grace, glorious. For you have read what is written and foretold: « For God loveth mercy and truth, the Lord will give grace and glory (Psal. LXXXIII). » In the Virgin God loves to work mercy and truth, when he wills that she who is freely chosen should truly glory of grace, when he purifies her with the incomparable gift of spiritual 202Cgrace, and gladdens her with the singular privilege of a special glory. « He hath regarded, she says, the humility of his handmaid; and from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed (Luc. I). » [Vulg. ecce enim ex hoc, "for behold, from henceforth"] In the regard of humility she would have merciful grace commended; in the proclaiming of blessedness she would have true glory signified, because both the humble handmaid becomes rich in the gifts of grace, and, city of the great King, we worthily say of thee, glorious. Pecte therefore the Virgin says the Bridegroom's breasts are better than wine, because no antiquity whatever ever conferred on any, nor did the censorious harshness of the law bring this with it, that mercy should come into a virgin, that truth should be born so that she might be made full of grace, and might rejoice in an incomparable glory.

For thy breasts are better than wine, fragrant with the best 202Dointments. The Virgin, reclining in the bosom of the Bridegroom, leaning back upon his breast, resting between the breasts, set apart from things outward, acquiescing in things inward and more secret, feels wonders, tastes sweet things — not with the palate but with the experience of a rejoicing heart — and rejoices in her sense to be flooded with the sweet fragrance of sweet things. For the breasts of the Bridegroom hold not a simple drink of milk, but ointments, wondrous confections, the seasonings of medicinal things, which, gathered and compounded 114 of exceedingly precious spices, were foreknown to few and fully shown to none in all the ages or days behind us. The inward abundance of them is not drawn by any little ones and sucklings; but the Bride, 203Aa virgin fuller of grace, greater in advancement, experiences it in his very presence, in whose chamber that compounding or mixture of ointments was itself made — a mixture that would profit her first, far and more amply, but us little ones less and later. For when mercy and truth, as has been said above, had run to meet each other, they prudently and carefully gathered certain spices, as it were, which, brought from opposite quarters, they drove together into one little bundle, and by the perfumer's art reduced them into most sweet ointments. For between God and man an ancient discord was in play, in that the injustice of man was joined by no agreement to the justice of God: and the Bridegroom coming brought justice, gave peace, and made her that went before and her that followed to be joined in a welcome kiss: « Justice, he says, and peace have kissed (Psal. 203BLXXXIV). » For when, by the justice conferred, he made him just who had been unjust, the discord gave way which had long grown old between the just and the unjust, and at once peace succeeding — because in the justified it perceived nothing but what was just — gave and received the kiss of the long-desired justice now found. To God therefore, who is just, the just man had peace, and by a marvellous assumption God was made man: God, I say, assuming, giving his own justice to the assumed, yet with the vigour of his own justice as the assumer not consumed. Further, as mercy and truth meeting each other make a confection or an ointment, so justice and peace kissing each other make none the less a certain seasoning, whereby health, or beyond doubt a healing salve, is given to him whom the Samaritan shall have mercifully lifted 203Conto his beast (Luc. X). In short, in the chamber of the Virgin they came together as in a little mortar, and in a most welcome coming-together compounded an ointment, or ointments useful enough: the Father's precept, the Word's presence, the overshadowing of the Spirit; an obedient ear, a firmer faith, and the flesh of the Virgin. Of these spices in an earthen vessel there is made no rustic confusion, but by a learned hand and the physician's art a certain contusion, and when they have been distributed in fitting number and measure and weight, there are precious ointments, both mitigating pains and restorative of health. The compounding of which is of so great a fragrance, doubtless, or scent, that the Bride, to whom the benefit of a fuller grace is given, is delighted and marvels at the odour-bearing sweetness of the ointments, which are not only 203Dgood, but beyond doubt the best of better ones. For although before the law, and under the law, very many things were found which by the merits of a devout faith are medicinally turned into ointments, which God, ever loving honours, is read to have smelled, and is believed to have been many times delighted with a most welcome odour of sweetness, yet these of which we speak are found by experience to be the best of all that went before, being nearest the chamber, or rather being found to be the chamber itself. Into the earth of that chamber God sent spittle from his own mouth (Joan. IX), and in a manner wonderful enough made clay like none above or below, whose touch and anointing restores the light denied from the ancient time of birth, and whose sweet fragrance ineffably soothes the sense of smell. This sweet fragrance Isaac is believed to have felt beforehand from far off, 204Aand, taught through the Spirit, to have foretold of it in a mystery, when his son Jacob presented himself to him in very good garments, and a most sweet odour of the garments breathed upon his father's nostrils: « Behold, he says, the smell of my son is as the smell of a full field, which the Lord hath blessed (Gen. XVII). » To this field is given the incomparable sanctity of a new blessing, and for this reason, consequently, an unfailing fullness of flowers, and fruits, and odours, which Isaac, perceiving from afar, marvels at exulting; the Virgin, feeling it near at hand and experiencing it in the thing itself, gives thanks ineffably. And from her and through her the sense of that same fragrance, however thin, comes to us, scarcely at last arriving, because it finds us set far off, and having found us has made us as happy as we are glad at its coming — not, however, by our own 204Bmerit, but by the intervention of that same Virgin. For although ointments of this sort were compounded in the virgin, yet they were not held with her within narrow bounds, but with abounding grace they came down to those further off, and anointed us both with an odour-bearing touch and with a health-bearing odour. And in that she says ointments in the plural, not ointment, she hints that in us not one kind of evil singly has been found, but our misery has procured for itself many languors, many infirmities, which the physician at his coming has carried away with medicinal ointments. « Truly, says Isaias, he hath borne our languors, and he hath carried our infirmities (Isa. LIII). » [Vulg. dolores nostros, "our sorrows"] Truly he bore and bore away, carried and carried off our languors, our infirmities, which, being many and various, demanded the touch or 204Cfragrance of no single ointment; but different ones needed different remedies of ointments. But we who, labouring under much sickness, have no leisure for learning what is healthful, whom either dullness of wit or the torpor of loathing presses down, so that we bring little diligence to them; we, I say, know not what infirmity needs what ointment: and having experienced manifold diseases, we are darkened in the knowledge of curing. But that physician of ours, alone presiding within his own workshop, prepares for each sickness a fitting medicine, and by his craftsmanship he does not wish the sick to be present everywhere, nor that the art or the knowledge should pass over to them, but that it should profit them. Nevertheless, so far as anyone may experience in himself 115, for whose healing the physician 204Dloves to impart his care, he seems to have brought forth to us three ointments one after another, and by them to have conferred on us who are sick an opportune remedy.

The first, biting and rough, shook us the more harshly, and, anointing as it were from without, straightway struck a certain heaviness into the inward parts, and troubling and dislodging the disease long grown in, increased it, and presented it, as it were, all at once to sense and to knowledge. And when it was presented, the wicked mind raged and groaned, scarcely bearing itself, while it turns over the newest things and the old, and, pricked and stung, wrapped itself round with hard recollections of iniquities, and rolled itself down among the thorns and briars of thoughts accusing, or even defending, it. Thus the troubled mind began at once to abhor thy foulness, and by the desert of its own vileness 205Ato be the more vehemently displeasing to itself; by the hatred of its own self to bear witness to certain new things and contrary to the old, and by a changed judgment to detest what had pleased it before. This fragrance of the ointment, after the manner of a draught, brought in a shuddering fear, by which, when the passages of the veins had been purged, it led us on to a healthful vomiting, so that, spitting out with free disdain or loathing the former blandishments of the vices, we might truly reckon as losses what before were falsely thought gains. That penitent showed himself touched by this odour, who, labouring in his groaning, washed his bed with tears, whose eye was troubled at the regard of his faults by the Judge's fury, and who confessed by a healthful vomiting that he had grown old among his enemies (Psal. VI). For odour and stench do not agree well together, nor do they abide in one seat, but when, the nostrils being loosed by grace, the odour of the precious 205Bointment is let in, the stench of the vices, impatient of its company, is sent out; and with the greater vehemence this healthful potion is poured in, the larger the flux and the looser the outlet by which the worthless filth goes forth. For that odour is « living and effectual and more piercing than any two-edged sword, and reaching unto the division of the soul and the spirit, of the joints also and the marrow, and a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart (Hebr. IV). » And for this reason, when with the physician's devoted care it has been pressed upon anyone in season, out of season, when it has entered as powerfully as mercifully the wounded borders of the sick man: no passage of the veins, no lurking-place or recess of the marrow, no place at last from the sole of the foot to the crown is inaccessible to it. It runs therefore and runs about, and going round after the manner of the swallow 205Cit ranges everywhere, it searches out all deep and hidden things with a censor's office and keenness, and whatever it finds contrary to life, liable to fault, given over to vanity, it sweeps together with a strong broom, and having swept it together casts it out, preparing a place for health.

The second ointment, further, breathes more healthfully, gives the odour of a gentler benefit, brings back the hope of living and brings in love as well, so that the sick man, feeling himself relieved by the laying down of a heavy burden, may now hope for better things, and in hope may love to work. At this odour the spirit that languished before revives, and with returning appetite longs for the food of life: refreshed with the food of grace, it rejoices that the necessary strength is restored, and that the hands hanging down and the feeble knees are strengthened (Isa. XXXV). Thereupon, embracing with a ready affection the gift of strengthening grace, he goes out to his 205Dwork, holding welcome the labourer's exercise; and stretches out watchfully to labour the hands unfolded from their torpor, he hears and hearkens, that he may go and bring forth a more gracious fruit. Forgetting the things that are behind, he gives his effort the more attentively to virtue, he chastises his body and worthily brings it into subjection (I Cor. IX); and the things which before seemed bitter or perhaps impossible are, on the contrary, reckoned as easy as they are healthful. Hence he embraces fastings, vigils, continence, patience, and judges it fitting to be ruled and made subject by the counsel of his elders; for love of the right he renounces the pleasures of the flesh — nay, even his own wills — that he may subject his body and himself to God. For God wills this order to be kept in us, that thus, within a just law and the bounds set for them, single things be restrained: 206Aso that the spirit, commanding the flesh, may drive and bring it under itself, while itself obeying its greater is one spirit with God. Who, wretchedly set in the filthy hovel of this body, who, wrapped round with so many stains or snares of malignant spirits, could so set out, loosed from the threats or ambushes of enemies meeting him, if he had not been anointed with this ointment of strengthening grace? Who would not recoil from the entrance at the very bolt of exceeding difficulty thrust against him, or would not fail in his going forward at the manifold onset of impediments; if he were not touched by the odour of this ointment so sweetly, so effectually, that as he began, so also going forward he should not be broken? In fine, whoever rightly examines the course of those who go forward knows that whom the Father loves as a Son, he rebukes and chastises (Hebr. XII); 206Bnor does he wish him to glory in the obtained benefit of the promised inheritance whom he has not first suffered to be scourged with many tribulations of sufferings. But if by the impulse of vices, or of scourges, the just man gives way a little and totters, the odour of this ointment meeting him revives him the more quickly: and so great a sweetness does not endure that he should be crushed and fall into failure, but with a hand set under him it cherishes him and promotes him the more diligently to a fuller advance. Wherefore threatening evils do not draw him back utterly from what he has begun, but grace mercifully fashions his labours and struggles into a precept: and him whom it permits to be cold and to sweat, by the counsel of its own pity it strengthens after the sweat with the health it has promised again, and makes him stronger.

116 The third ointment, however, calms the sea, tempers 206Cwrath, stills the winds by its majesty, with its hand makes serene the turbulent motions of the soul; it levels the road, holds the right hand, steadies the step, and, as though the harbour were already found, makes a man secure and confirms him. For within himself the strong traveller, now in a manner serene, happily estranged from the assault of vices and from any degenerate consent, united by patience, now presumes upon a sure thing, as it were, trustfully and humbly. And though whatever adversities there be murmur behind his back and press upon him, yet they do not withstand him to the face with effectual boldness, while, forgetting the things that are behind, he covets and faints for the courts of God alone (Psal. LXXXIII), and turned to him with his whole affection, longs, as it were, to join face to face. « My face hath sought thee out, he says; thy face, O Lord, will I seek (Psal. XXVI). » 206DTouched by the odour of this ointment, he either does not feel adversities of any kind, or reckons them empty, counts them for nothing, does not consent to them, and burns with so great a longing for the things ahead which he already feels, that with a deaf ear he passes by whatever is discordant and dissenting. Let all things then that can hurt for a time roar and clatter with threats or with blows, let the things that can profit flatter with fraud, with lying, with entreaty, with reward: what will this man do but hold his sure road gladly and bravely, and, as from the brow of a mountain, answer those barking below with that word of the Apostle: « Who shall separate us from the charity of Christ? Tribulation, or distress, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? I am sure that neither death nor life (Rom. VIII). » [Vulg. Rom. 8:35 has an persecutio, "or persecution", before "or the sword"] Since therefore so great a certitude of perseverance confirms him that he cares not what any adverse 207Astrength may clamour: he now seems to obtain the reward laid up for him, which stands promised to those who persevere and abides unfailing. « I have finished, he says, my course, there is laid up for me a crown of justice (II Tim. IV). » And again: « By hope we were saved (Rom. VIII). » Whoever has experienced the odour-bearing sweetness of this ointment becomes not uncertain of things to come as though they were present, and so bravely and so sweetly goes forward from virtue to virtue, that he hopes, and holds the hoped-for salvation already as though given. The first ointment, therefore, purged out the wickedness of the old leaven; the second, by the new gift of a lump, prepared the unleavened of merits; the third confirmed those feasting with the sure privilege of health restored. The first, with a heavy scouring-cloth and a shrewd draught-vessel, turned the house about, and overturned the bilge as well; the second 207Bpoured a strengthening medicine into the sick mind; the third rendered hope more certain, that it should no longer fear fall and ruin. Accordingly the first may be called purgative, the second strengthening, and the third confirming, because by the first every sick man is cleansed of the dregs of his vices; by the second, with a welcome file and labour, the health he wished for is repaired; by the third, the mind is confirmed in its purpose both by a certain humble gladness at present gifts and by a sure confidence of things to come. With these ointments the holy Virgin had felt the Bridegroom's breasts to abound, and had felt that she was not to keep their grace with herself, after the manner of the envious; with the vent closed; but to offer out of doors a most sweet odour to the devout and the humble, and by its benefit to fatten with an abundance of merits minds that were dry before. But because 207Cthe benefit of so great an odour is not reached by human powers, if he that comes is not forestalled by the divine hand and help; the Virgin shows by what gift it may without doubt be reached, so that, this being shown, he who hears and does not love may be held inexcusable.

Thy name is oil poured out. The Bridegroom's name is Jesus, which was named by the Angel before he was conceived in the womb (Luc. I). And who either understood this name more truly, or loved it more sincerely, or preached it more fittingly, than that virgin mother herself, to whom the Angel first announced it: « Behold, he says, thou shalt conceive in thy womb and shalt bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus 207D(ibid.). » Jesus, in the Latin tongue, is called Saving, or Saviour. According to his work is his name also, and he has his name from the thing itself, « for he shall save his people (Matth. I). » Rightly therefore is he called Jesus, who shall be the salvation of the people, whose « name whosoever shall call upon, he shall be saved (Joel. II); because both to him who calls devoutly the right hand of the Lord gives strength, and to him who confesses worthily he is become a hearer unto salvation (Psal. CXVII). This name the Bride calls oil, and eleos in Greek is, in Latin, mercy, because that this Jesus or Saviour willed to be ours, our own justice did not give it to be so, but his mercy; for while our own merit cast us far from his face, he, calling us back, by that mercy which is his own made us safe. Whence the Apostle: Not by the works of justice 208Awhich we have done, he says, but according to his own mercy he saved us (Tit. III). » When God appoints to save the undeserving, after wrath he remembers this mercy; through this name, or for the sake of it — this oil — he has pity on the unworthy and the wretched; by the strength of this name he drives our enemies far off, and, freeing us from vices, restores us to himself as friends. Which he who had long stood wandering in the way of sinners now hopes for, now promises himself, rejoicing at the visitation of grace, knowing that the gifts of God are not of his own repentance, that the calling is not conferred by it, but that the name and the oil of mercy is borne above all the liquors 117 of merits. « For he gave him a name which is above every name, that in the name of Jesus every knee should bow; and every tongue should confess that Jesus is Lord (Philip. II). » [Vulg. donavit illi nomen, "he bestowed on him a name", and the confession runs quia Dominus Iesus Christus in gloria est Dei Patris, "that the Lord Jesus Christ is in the glory of God the Father"] 208BTherefore that penitent says: « For thy name's sake, he says, thou wilt quicken me (Psal. CXLII). » And he adds: « In thy mercy thou wilt destroy my enemies (ibid.). » And in another psalm: « For thy name's sake, O Lord, thou wilt be merciful to my sin (Psal. XXIV). » To which hope, to which assertion, not even the Lord himself gives the lie, but through Isaias, taught by the Spirit, he mercifully foretells it, so that the penitent, hearing this, may presume to be strengthened with a fuller confidence, and may know in what he ought to glory as healthfully as he does truly. « For all they that love thy name shall glory in thee, O Lord (Psal. V). » Of which name, through Isaias: « For my name's sake, he says, I will remove my fury far off (Isa. XLVIII). » For the sake of the name, or of the oil which pours out the dew of mercy, he removes far from those who had deserved it 208Chis judgment and his fury; and if he were not held to be Saviour, if not pitying and merciful, what would every wretched man be, but justly pressed down by his intolerable justice? But what is it that the oil is called poured out? So long as oil is held in a little vessel, either it is not known, or how great its grace and usefulness may be is not felt, because, though the physician who knows all things knows it himself, yet the sick do not, to whose wounds still to be healed he has not applied it. For a time this oil was held as in a sealed vessel, when the Son of God was accounted good indeed and merciful with himself, having in very truth the purpose of pitying in his affection, but not yet fully gladdening the wretched in the effect. In a vessel, as it seems, he willed this oil 208Dto be contained, when by a hidden judgment he would not have mercy on the angels who grew proud, when he neither turned them from their fall by grace going before, nor after their lapse converted them by mercy coming to their aid. But to those who stood he gave to feel this oil, whom he mercifully deigned to keep, lest they should fall along with the others, increasing for them and laying on so effectual a soothing of this oil that from it they received a sure and unswerving firmness for standing. Yet since this is above us, we should perhaps say that it pertained nothing to us, if we too did not feel the benefit of that same oil; nay rather, if he did not more largely and more lavishly incline the open vessel toward us, and, the oil being wholly poured out, incline as it were his whole mercy toward us. For both our necessity and his goodness seemed to require this, that 209Ato a fuller misery a fuller mercy should be conferred; and because there is no distinction but that manifold sin gathers and confounds both Jews and Gentiles (Rom. X), the whole face of this oil should pour itself out on both, that the yoke might rot. Which the Prophet foreseeing in the Spirit and praying for: « May God, he says, have mercy on us, may he make his countenance shine upon us, and may he have mercy on us (Psal. LXVI). » [Vulg. adds et benedicat nobis, "and bless us", between the two clauses] What does he mean by "have mercy," and "have mercy"? He adds: « That we may know thy way upon earth, thy salvation in all nations (ibid.). » Because, he says, we have sinned, both Gentiles and Jews, and there is no distinction, it is needful that this pouring out of the oil should reach to both, that thou mayest graciously call us Jews back to him who is the way, and that we may alike know thy salvation in all nations. 209BOil shut in a little vessel, or in a closet, keeps the holy angels safe; but oil poured out heaps together the scattered handfuls of elect men: and mercy, which to protect the healthy hid itself within the sanctuary of heaven, when the vessel is inclined pours itself out to heal sick men. « O Lord, he says, bow down thy heavens and descend; touch the mountains and they shall smoke (Psal. CXLIII). » He who offers the full vessel of mercy to the angels who stand, inclines the vessel to heal sick men upon earth; and what seemed to be held in it he now pours out with a liberal, even a prodigal hand, and upon those who must be greatly pitied he pours out much mercy. At whose healing touch the harmful swellings go down, the stings are pressed back, the pains of wounds grow gentle; like smoke the vanity of proud minds 209Cvanishes away, and, the disease being driven off, health revives and grows strong.

Thy name is oil poured out. The Bridegroom's name is Christ; and Christ is called anointed, because God anointed him with the oil of gladness above his fellows (Psal. XLIV). Not only anointed, but he may also be called oil, in that by his own power he wipes us clean of the harmful phlegm, and with a sweet grace anoints us who are withered and dry. For the name of Christ, defined with a fitting understanding, teaches that God and man are united in one person, and that one Christ is effected by the wonderful and incomprehensible force of the joining, although the natures of God and of man are far unlike. For as a rational soul and corruptible flesh make one 209Dman, so God assuming and the man assumed render Christ none the less one: and while the unconfused diversity of both natures is held, yet in Christ himself the unity of person is preached. And if the faith of this name be poured out over us by the sprinkler of him who has mercy, if the concretion of the natures, the unconfused unity of the person, be loved by us: because he flows and abounds with much chrism and wonderful charism, he makes us glad outright, while he makes us fruitful with the merits of the virtues. But this oil, or this name, is now no longer shut within the narrow 118 bounds of Judaea, but is poured out among the nations even to the ends of the world, nor does anyone among them rightly think himself to come to salvation 210Awho does not first go forward in strength by the faith of this name. « There is not, he says, any other name under heaven whereby we must be saved (Act. IV). » [Vulg. nec enim aliud nomen est sub caelo datum hominibus, "for there is no other name under heaven given to men"] There is none, therefore, who can hide himself from the true light of this oil, since its ray pours itself out mightily unto the ends of the earth; and it enlightens every man coming into this world (Joan. I), who has not by an obstinate malice made himself unclean. For everyone who has happily obtained by the gift of grace ears to hear knows, and everyone prudently instructed in the faith of this name knows, that Christ is the corner-stone, the coupler of Jews and Gentiles, himself the head of the Church, the one mediator of God and men; our bone and our flesh by a nuptial commerce and a natural fellowship, himself anointed and anointing those near him with spiritual power and grace. 210BWhich oil, or name, he so poured out far and wide both among Jews and among Gentiles, when the love of him spread itself abroad in their hearts: that first among the Jews the apostles truly confessed Christ, and consequently among the Gentiles many were anointed with the same chrism. For when the apostles were asked whom men said the Son of man to be, they answered that the word or judgment of all was not one, and when at the last their own mind about this was more diligently asked, Peter, as much for himself as for the rest, reported in a learned discourse: « Thou art Christ. And he: Blessed art thou, he says, Simon Bar-Jona, because flesh and blood hath not revealed it to thee, but my Father who is in heaven (Matth. XVI). » But after this oil, or name, had flowed mercifully in Judaea, Idumaea also received 210Cthe pouring out of the same: and into it Christ at his coming so stretched out his shoe, that he made them friends whom he found strangers by the desert of error. And when they had received so great a name with a fixed faith and a hope beyond doubt not empty, they were called generally by that same Christ Christians, and whoever was worthy to be contained in the catalogue of the faithful, as he willed to be a Christian, so he willed to be reckoned by the name. Rightly therefore is this name called not poured in but rather poured out, in that it is assigned not to the Jew only, not to the Greek in particular; but though those first glory in the faith of this name, yet neither are those further off held to be shut out from that same glory. For into all the earth the sound of this name has gone (Psal. XVIII), and its pouring out has passed to the ends of the earth, imparting to those far off as to those near 210Dthe benefit of salvation — to those, that is, who have loved to adorn their faith with works. For whoever of the faithful are spread abroad from the rising to the setting, from the north even to the south, are steeped in the Christian name or in the oil of Christ, nor is it shut off from any by land, by sea, or by any space whatever, but it is poured out upon all on whom God has willed to have mercy.

Thy name is oil poured out. The Bridegroom's name is God. A name of this sort the Father is believed to have poured into the Son, when he is said to have begotten him coequal, coeternal with himself, when the unbegotten gave to the begotten to be naturally God, and willed that none but God should be party to this giving. 211AFor as whatever God is, so whatever has been substantially drawn from him, is more fully poured into this one; by no beginning, no end, no place, no time is any one shut out; and from him from whom he has his being, from him it is essentially granted to him — that which to every creature is naturally inaccessible. But he himself who is God poured out his name, in a manner, like oil, when he did not confound the newly-made angels with a cloud of ignorance, but by the bounty of him who had made them they perceived from whom they had been made, and received that the Father and the Son together are inseparably one God. Nor did this pouring out instruct the angels in heavenly places only, but the same instruction passed over to men on earth as well, and the certainty of divine knowledge marked out Judaea, and in Israel there was 211Breceived the greatness of this so illustrious a name (Psal. LXXV). « Adore him, he says, all ye his angels; Sion heard and was glad (Psal. XCVI). » Whom the angels in heaven venerate as God and Lord, his fellow-citizens of Sion on earth also, hearing the name, give thanks; and among that people the name of God is celebrated, the oil is strong when poured, though not yet poured out among the nations with a fuller grace. But when the long-desired fullness of time came, in which the height of the divine counsel was made known to us, the Son, sent from the Father, willed to be made man in the Virgin and of the Virgin, and thus that the name which is God should be more fully published abroad both among the Gentiles and among the Jews. « Let the nations know, he says, that thy name is God (Psal. LXXXII). » [Vulg. Ps. 82:19 Et cognoscant quia nomen tibi Dominus, "And let them know that thy name is Lord"] « And all kings shall adore 211Chim, he says; all nations shall serve him (Psal. LXXI). » [Vulg. omnes reges terrae, "all the kings of the earth"] Whom him? He adds: « His name continueth before the sun (ibid.). » What profit is there in this name? « And in him shall all the tribes of the earth be blessed (ibid.). » What is that name? « Blessed be the Lord God of Israel (Luc. I); and blessed be the name of his majesty. The name of his humility is Man; but the name of his majesty is God (ibid.). » Of which the Apostle: « Who is over all things, God blessed for ever (Rom. IX). » This God, abiding in the bosom of the Father and dwelling in light inaccessible, having from him, or with him, an equality ungranted to angels as to men, willed that before the 119 Virgin's bringing forth his name should be poured among a few, but after the bringing forth should now be poured out with a fuller rush 211Dupon all everywhere. For him whom the nations of the Gentiles knew not, being hidden, and whom few of the Jews, taught by the Spirit, in some fashion perceived, after he had been poured into the womb of the Virgin at the end of the times, he was poured out through the streets and squares after the likeness of water. « I am poured out, he says, like water; and all my bones are scattered (Psal. XXI). » After the manner of water he poured himself out to the common knowledge of all, when his charity spread itself abroad in our hearts, when he scattered abroad the gifts of his graces, gave to the poor, when he gave to men him who strengthens, the bread of angels. Whom therefore Isaias far above calls hidden, we now see, as with the oil poured out, set forth to all: set forth indeed that he may pour the healing oil over the sick, hidden that he may hide us who are healed in the hiding-place 212Aof his face. « Truly, he says, thou art a hidden God (Isa. XLV). The God of Israel, the Saviour. He is hidden, when in the bosom of the Father he hides himself far from human gaze; but set forth, when out of his mother's womb he pours himself out for the salvation of Israel. Hidden, when in God, as God, he veils his face from us; set forth, when he reveals himself as having come to save his people. Upon the hidden the angels ever burn to look; the poured out and set forth men now love to cherish, and those whom, weighed down by the burden of a corruptible body, the desirable hiding does not yet hold, this pouring out of the oil now renders fervent in spirit. Wherefore the Virgin, when she had said: Thy name is oil poured out, subjoined: Therefore, and the rest.

212BTherefore the maidens have loved thee. Because, he says, thou hast poured out thy name like oil, when, coming forth from the bridal chamber, thou didst truly teach that thou art not man only but God also: this teaching they that are taught of God by no means neglected, but with a spirit made new they loved thee whom before they had not known. And these he named maidens, not by error but prudently, and therein designated the affectionate tenderness of those that love, because this age both loves more tenderly, and adorns itself more curiously, and bestirs itself more often — roving in its eyes, restless in its runnings to and fro, not knowing how to stand still, while its eagerness is unfulfilled. Those therefore whom the mould of hurtful eld does not disfigure, whose inward face the wrinkle of former depravity does not furrow, whose eye grows not dim, whose tooth falls not, whose querulous voice does not 212Cgrow hoarse, whose trembling step does not give way, whose spine is not bent with age, but in whom, such things being laid aside, warmth is strong and the vigour of the mind grows young again — these assuredly kindle more vehemently to loving, bear delay more heavily, faint more sweetly, languish more graciously. And indeed maidens, while they desire to obtain the end of their vow, study more curiously to please those whom they love; and that they may render themselves more pleasing to their sight, they strive with utmost care and utmost zeal to be seen more beautiful. Giving therefore their labour either to the keeping or to the getting of beauty, with a mirror set before them they consider the state of their face, and rejoicing in the good things which they weigh to be theirs by nature, what nature has conferred less of, they supply by watchful care. And the more beautiful they 212Dhave offered themselves for pleasing, the more pleasing are they rendered for bearing children, because they who in the eyes of their bridegrooms are delighted with an ampler beauty are more graciously rewarded by those same with a kiss, and made fruitful by an embrace.

One of such women, taking the mirror anxiously in her hand and discerning in it more diligently what she is, brought forth; because the body which is corrupted discolours the beauty of the soul, and the earthly habitation labours to weigh down a mind given over to many things (Sap. IX). And this mind, pressed but perhaps not oppressed, that she may restore it both to righteousness and to salvation, she chastises her body and worthily subjects it to servitude (I Cor. IX); with a view to love she shrinks not from enduring peril, nor death; she wipes away whatever spotted thing she judges to displease the Bridegroom; she wills her forehead to be white, her tender cheeks to flush faintly, her lips to breathe shamefastness, 213Aher words moderation: her whole face, in short, to shine again with a new grace, that she may worthily please him to whom she wills to show herself approved. But when with cleansed brow, with a face so glad, she has shown herself approved and lovable, by the merit of this labour and this love she has not remained unfruitful: but, the Spirit making her fruitful, conceiving in a generative womb, she has borne sons to the Bridegroom by spiritual word and work. To whom she also says: « My little children, of whom I travail in birth again until Christ be formed in you (Gal. IV). » And that: « In Christ Jesus, by the Gospel, I have begotten you (I Cor. IV). » A certain other maiden, when she was fervent, and in that very fervour was pledging herself to remain fixed and steadfast, being not attentive with a judgment worthy enough to her own infirmity, still raw and insufficient, was found a little over-confident: « Lord, 213Bsays Peter, I am ready to go with thee both into prison and into death (Luc. XXII). » And he, whose part it was, as with all else, so also to know Peter himself the better, knowing that he willed indeed what he had said, but was not able: « I tell thee, he says, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day, until thou thrice deny that thou knowest me (ibid.). » And since the denial of the diffident would have come utterly to failure, if the mighty grace of him that has mercy had not set a hand beneath; willing that Peter should not only spring back from his rash lapse, but, being afterwards confirmed, should travail with spiritual sons: « I, he says, have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and thou 120 being once converted, confirm thy brethren (ibid.). » Visited afterward indeed by the regard of divine mercy, and strengthened by the ampler gift of the Spirit breathed upon him, that same Peter grew white-hot to love 213Cmore strongly, to persist more firmly; and by the merit of a stronger love he deserved to hear from the Bridegroom himself: « Simon son of John, lovest thou me more than these? Feed my sheep (Joan. XXI). » [Vulg. John 21:15 reads pasce agnos meos, "feed my lambs"; pasce oves meas belongs to v. 17 — Migne joins the question of v. 15 to the command of v. 17] The apostles therefore, and apostolic men, are not undeservedly named maidens, who in this drama are declared to accompany the Virgin Bride; and what renders them maidens is not fewness of days, not of age, but a more fervent faith, an impatient love, the grace of the newness granted them. For when that error had been driven out which had been widely scattered abroad in Judaea, the Pharisees preaching that Galilee would not bring forth Christ, and that, according to them, it was in no wise worthy to be believed that the carpenter's son, the brother of James, should be Christ (Matth. XIII; Marc. VI) — one who rather among them earned stones 213Dnot for a good work but for blasphemy (Joan X), and because, being man, he confessed himself God by usurpation; when, I say, this error had been driven out, the newness of faith was conferred upon the maidens, and what the Bride had earlier drawn in secret was carried over to the apostles. To me, says the Bride, thy name, O God, thy oil poured itself in, when thy dew poured over my fleece, when thy divinity poured over me, when I beheld within me God entire, the Word of the Father. The Son of God, and I myself, wholly full, loved thee with a plenary affection. But when I was filled, this oil was poured back upon those that are near, and, that it might be able to be received, was poured out upon the maidens; and what was poured into me, since they could not receive it, they neglected; poured out upon themselves, with fervent spirit they loved it. For none followed that same Virgin more familiarly, 214Aor by her mediation more fully attained the knowledge of the Bridegroom, than the apostles, who, both before and after Christ's passion having long conversed with her, heard from her more frequently the mystery of the Word incarnate. These « all, he says, were persevering with one accord in prayer with Mary the mother of Jesus (Act. I). » [Vulg. Acts 1:14 Hi omnes erant perseverantes unanimiter in oratione cum mulieribus, et Maria matre Iesu, et fratribus eius — Migne drops "with the women" and "and his brethren"] One of whom beyond the rest took the care of that same Virgin, and at Christ's command diligently reduced himself to her service; and imparted to her, as a son to a mother, a compliant diligence, and, having received her into his own, served her with the ministry of a provider. But she, having conversed so long a time with John and with the rest, who shall weigh with what affection she embraced them, with what care she strove to teach them the things she had known earlier and more perfectly, and to recount more frequently and more insistently 214Bthe wondrous order both of her conceiving and of her bringing forth? For the things which she saw through, fulfilled in herself by a high and ineffable counsel, she grudged not to those that stood by her, nor to maidens of this sort; but she rejoiced to call them to mind often in their ears, willing that they equally should obtain a share of the grace granted her. Accordingly, when she had said: Therefore the maidens have loved thee, she added: Draw me, etc.

Draw me; after thee we will run in the odour of thy ointments. [Vulg. in odorem unguentorum tuorum, accusative — "toward the odour"; Migne's ablative in odore is the reading Philip expounds throughout] Though the Virgin is raised to so great an excellence that by the gift of grace she is advanced to the Bridegroom's kiss, from this indeed she takes to herself gladness and a spiritual confidence, yet of her own strength she presumes nothing. For as she did not conceive the willing of good by her own merit, so she did not receive the accomplishing of it save from another: 214Cand from him from whom she has all whatsoever she knows to be useful and desirable to her, from him she asks to be drawn after him, to whose service she has devoted herself. For she neither is, nor intends so to be, nimble that she should run before, striving only for this, and judging this to suffice her, that she should run behind; and to this very thing, by her own judgment, she does not prevail unless she be drawn, unless she be not dragged back by the burden of her own infirmity; unless she be driven forward by the sweet Spirit of grace to the things that are before, and not driven back by the wicked spirit to the things that are behind. From him therefore she asks to be drawn after him, not unwilling, but hindered still by the fetter of corruptible flesh, whose fortitude, though it be already perhaps firm enough in a prompt spirit, yet the flesh by a certain natural heaviness is somewhat infirm. 214DHim therefore whom she loves the prompt spirit burns to follow, wishing above all that the flesh may not retard him more than is just, but that, as the virgin's spirit loves to cleave to God, so the flesh may be able to wrest nothing injurious from that same spirit. For a prompter will provokes and lifts up not a few to stronger things, but the same men a carnal infirmity calls back and softens; and by a heavy softness either casts them headlong into failure, or at the least in no wise suffers them to be advanced to perfection. And for wretches of this kind, whom their wretchedness draws back with a softer bond, what is needful but that they be drawn and attracted by a stronger spirit, so that, the softness of him that wickedly draws back being pressed and oppressed, the pitying hand of him that draws on may at length prevail? « Therefore, he says, have I drawn thee, pitying thee (Jer. XXXI.) » There is also that drawing whereby the flesh is not now compelled 215Ato obey, but which is found rather to soothe the spirit itself; a drawing, I say, far sweeter, of a certain inward delight, when the spirit is delighted by the taste and the love of the truth it has tasted. And in place of this the Bride and Mother wills to be held by a grateful longing, and by it to be sweetly moved forward to the things that savour of the spirit; and to be frightened away from their sweetness by no disquietudes of temporal things, but to be wholly swallowed up by the serene face of him whom she loves. And if a face of this kind be shown to one that loves, even for a little, if 121 to it, once shown, an eye purified by right judgment be directed, both the shower and the beholder are bound together by the bond of so great a love that he who loves is drawn on to the beloved by an indissoluble knot. Drawn, I say, not by violence, not by molestation, not by fear, not by hatred of the drawn or of the drawer, but by love; by that drawing whereby 215Bthe nursling is drawn after the nurse, whereby a son follows his father or a daughter her mother — nay, by that drawing whereby he that loves faints away into the beloved, the more graciously as the more sweetly, while he desires to obtain, and insatiably covets to desire. Whereof by Hosea: « I will draw them, he says, in the bonds of charity (Ose. II). » And he that is drawn answers: « My soul hath cleaved after thee (Psal. LXII). » So our Virgin chooses and asks to be drawn after her beloved, that he, namely, may by his grace give effect to the loving and the following; and that with affectionate love the Bride after the Bridegroom, the Mother after the Son, may kindle, and that not flesh to flesh, but the soul to God may the more strongly cleave. For as she recalls that she was weighed down by the loss of a certain death, whose unhappy soul had once cleaved to the pavement, so this Virgin, because after the Bridegroom's 215Ckiss she loves nothing but life, desires to be drawn after him through whom she may live — not unwilling, but eager in affection, fervent in spirit, unencumbered in merits. And since, being thus drawn, thus helped, it is not expedient that she tarry, assuredly she will not follow him that draws her with a limping footstep, but with prompt pace, with agile step, with hastened foot she will run, and to him for whom she sighs she will make speed by an unencumbered road. We will run, she says, in the odour of thy ointments. She says in the plural: We will run; though in the singular she had set before: Draw me. If thou shalt have drawn me to thee by a special affection and grace, that thou mayest make me pleasing and blessed by the nuptial kiss, that thou mayest both cleanse and make fruitful thy bride by a princely spirit, that by a new and untried manner I may rejoice in a virginal childbirth; if me, she says, 215Dthou shalt have thus drawn, then not I alone by a spiritual gift, but with me the maidens shall rejoice by a certain general benefit, so that they may follow me, who run before, more devoutly according to their own measure, and may be declared to run with me together after thee, whom they love. And so give me first, give me chiefly, the kiss; draw me by the bond of charity, grant me to know, grant me to feel the ampler grace of thy goodness; and this shall not profit me only, nor shall I be found to run alone, but we shall run, and all that love shall come to thee alike, though not with equal running. By the example indeed and by the merit of the Virgin, who is found to have run first and more perfectly, the apostles and their successors believe that they have found grace: who, having put off as it were the tunic of a wrinkled eld, grow young like the eagle, not with feathers renewed, but with manners 216Arenewed. The Virgin was drawn and attracted by a certain thong granted to none besides, whereby with a heart utterly untiring she cleaved to the Bridegroom and Author; led upward and carried up, the Holy Spirit overshadowing her so strongly, so sweetly, that she conceives God, nature setting aside the right ingrained in it. And he who is conceived is himself he whose word runs swiftly, who, leaping upon the mountains, skipping over the hills like a giant, outruns all the rest (Cant. II); and to the following of him the Virgin weighs that she must needs be drawn, whom she does not lay hold of save when her native slowness has been laid aside. But who is either found readier to be drawn, or is rendered nimbler for running, than the Virgin, whose flesh is wholly lightened of the load of sin, and by that lightening drawing is wondrously made one with God that draws? And so the Virgin, being thus drawn — which she knows to have been granted to no other 216B— now runs, now advances, now presses on the more hastily to what she has desired: teaching and leading the fervent maidens to perfection, though none, however nimble, comes to an equal advancement. Perhaps for this reason the Virgin asked in the singular that she be drawn, but affirmed her running to be not alone but together with the rest, because in choosing her especially for his Mother the Son of God drew her to himself, yet she did not draw to herself alone the fruit of this work. For from the fact that she was singularly exalted to the prerogative of motherhood, no small profit was conferred upon the maidens that follow; while they studied worthily to imitate that same Virgin, and each according to her own measure ran to love the Bridegroom. « They ran, he says, both together, but John did outrun Peter more swiftly (Joan. XX). » [Vulg. John 20:4 et ille alius discipulus praecucurrit citius Petro — the Vulgate does not name John] And another: 216C« So I run, he says, not as at an uncertainty (II Cor. IX). » We will run, they say, in the odour of thy ointments. The odour of the ointments is the sweetness of spiritual gifts, which when any of the elect have perceived by a keen scenting, not grudging it to the rest but rather rejoicing in their company, they hasten with eager course to come to it, or rather into it, bearing no delay, and scarce deferring to find what they have already sensed beforehand. You know that it belongs to dogs by nature that what they do not even see with their eyes they are granted to sense beforehand with their nostrils; and if they have been worthily trained by hunting use, they run this way and that, they hasten, they bay, they cry out, until they have overtaken it — to such as these Paul says: « So run that ye may obtain (II Cor. IX). » But if any one, keener of nostril, has sensed some anointed thing or ointment, with such greediness 216Dof the odour he has drunk in does he follow the allurement, that neither promises, nor threats, nor death at last, nor life, can call him back from it, and he reckons all things loss that he may gain only the thing he covets. But how great are the ointments, when weighed in their own fullness, where they are kept under key and in a chamber beneath the perfumer's hand — ointments which, before from afar they have been found present and in fullness, so hold men's hearts intent by the sweetness of their odour? How great is the fullness of them that already refreshes those present, whose odour flowing outward so works upon them that drink it in, that it makes them, with the soles of their feet made firm, not only to come but, out of hatred of heavy delay, 122 to run? Who will grant to us, set far off, to sense this odour even a little? Who will bestow a stronger step upon our weakened feet, 217Aupon our enfeebled knees, so that by pitying grace we too may some day be found running, or at the least may step by step follow from afar the maidens that run before? Happy are they to whom the Bride and Mother signifies that she will give her fellowship, with whom she asserts that she will run in the odour of the ointments; who in truth so runs with those same maidens that she runs before them, and, while they still remain outside, herself more swiftly and more familiarly runs within — which, signifying, she subjoins:

The king hath brought me into his storerooms. She who a little before had asked that she be drawn by him whom she loves, now confesses herself drawn and brought into his storerooms; and the grace she has found she does not hide out of envy, nor 217Bdishonour by obscure silence, but to the praise of the Bridegroom and to his glory she makes it manifest to the maidens. For because, burning with an ampler desire, she shone again with ampler merits, the Bridegroom brought her as it were in a snatching into his own secret chamber; and to her, thus brought in, he showed the wondrous abundance of spiritual things, the presence of the ointments, the truth of the gifts promised. Having entered thereupon and beholding the incomparable storehouses of Solomon, she was astounded, and as it were grew stiff at the grace of the new vision; and having no more spirit in her, nor able to contain herself for joy, she ran back outside, announcing the benefit she had deserved to obtain. You, she says, to whom divine grace has already granted that you should run, see that you incur not a blameworthy failure through delay or through toil, but constantly and bravely run to riches that are not uncertain, unknown 217Cperhaps to you, but to me not wholly untried; and he who brought me into his fullness, and has not yet led you to what you have desired — by that counsel which he himself knows — wills indeed that you should rejoice at my present goods, and by my example have a surer confidence of your own. And him the Bride here willed to name not bridegroom, not beloved, but King, willing, as I judge, to designate the royal power of the Bridegroom: to commend his wealth, his riches, the fullness of all things, whereof the storerooms of kings beyond all others are found to overflow. Moreover, that he is powerful no rightly wise man can doubt, since truthful Scripture is found to affirm it by many testimonies: for both he casteth not away the mighty, since he himself also is mighty 217D(Job XXXVI), and: « Whatsoever he would, he hath done (Psal. CXIII), » and power is at hand to him when he shall will (Sap. XII); and that he is rich, the Apostle says: « Who is rich, etc. (Rom. X), » and the Gospel: « There was a certain rich man who had a steward (Luc. XVI); » without doubt signifying God. Finally, who is richer than the Lord, whose « is the earth and the fullness thereof, the world, and they that dwell therein? (Psal. XXIII.) » [Vulg. Ps 23:1 et universi qui habitant in eo, "and all they that dwell therein"] The Bridegroom of the Virgin therefore is not unfittingly called King, by which name both his power and his abundance are commended; who moreover is recorded to have not a storeroom but storerooms, that his store may be taught to be far greater — since it is certain that more things are contained in storerooms than in a storeroom, and that many things are filled up with many, and diverse with diverse abundance. Into 218Amany, then, rather than into one, does the Virgin declare herself brought in, signifying that she has attained the hidden treasures of wisdom and of knowledge. In which she deserves to receive not the spirit of this world, but the Spirit which is of God (I Cor. II), that she may know the things that have been given her by God; and knowing, may venerate, so that when she sees in herself the Word of God, and loves him made flesh, yet having the mind of Christ, she may know him no more according to the flesh (II Cor. V). Moreover the hidden things of the divine wisdom, uncertain to all others, are made certain to the Virgin by an incomparable gift, in an unspeakable manner; and she rejoices to be led into that sanctuary of secrets, whereto the other virgins rejoice to be brought, not with equal step alongside her, but after her. She first, she more perfectly, both received the announcing angel and, according to his word, felt 218Bthe overshadowing Spirit: she knew that in the conceiving she bore no fault, no coition, and that in the bringing forth she uttered no groan according to Eve's law. She knew that he whom she cherishes, whom she embraces according to the natural need of little ones, is the life and the vital nourishment of angels; that he whom she holds in her lap, whom she suckles at a mother's breast, is God from eternity in the hidden bosom of God the Father: she knew herself, by a wondrous newness, the mother of God and man, and herself the nurse of her own nourisher and maker, and of all things. These, perhaps, are the storerooms into which the Bridegroom brought the Virgin Mother, which none but the wise Architect built with his own hand, and which in building he filled with so great a store of spices that the odour, as of the sweetest ointments, may rouse to running all that are slow. There is as it were one storeroom 218Cwhereby the divinity came down into man unconsumed, another storeroom whereby humanity was taken up into God; which two, namely the Word and the flesh, are so joined to each other by a certain wondrous work that in Christ they are both naturally diverse and personally not disjoined. And whosoever seems to understand and take up either of them without the other, if he confesses Christ either man without God or God without man, is seen to have entered one storeroom, as it were, of the King, 123 but to have sprung back from the other either by ignorance or by contumacy. But Mary the Virgin entered not one only, but both alike, who professed him whom she bore to be at once God and man; upon whom she leaned the more devoutly as the more surely, holding in memory, and sweetly calling to mind, 218Dwhat she brought forth, and whom, and in what manner. For she brought forth not man only, but God also, whose wondrous humanity and humanized divinity was indeed uncovered to the Virgin brought within, but for some time was covered to the maidens themselves — who, running in the odour after that Mother and Virgin, shall be brought forward, and into those same storerooms, when the time and their merits shall have agreed, shall be led in. And with these to be led in the Virgin declares that she will rejoice, signifying that through them she will receive an increase of joy; since she who is already secure concerning the gift received by herself, when they too shall have received it, will enjoy an ampler joy for their sakes. This is what she adds: We will exult, etc.

• 219A

We will exult and be glad in thee, mindful of thy breasts above wine. Turned, or rather turned back, to the maidens, she announced her joy to them, and by that announcement invited them to run the more constantly: and this being briefly accomplished, she straightway called back both her word and her face to the Bridegroom, because she judged it sweeter to speak to him than of him. Whoever loves the more tenderly, though he gladly converse with others about him whom he loves, holds it far more grateful to speak to him, if perchance the choice be granted; and speaking of him, he loves to commend him to his hearers, while speaking to him he rejoices to taste his grace. And so the Bride, speaking of the Bridegroom, seems to do it for the sake of the maidens themselves, that she may exhort them, namely, to love him whom she loves; 219Bbecause her love of him is so great that it fears neither rival nor concubine, nor does she count it her own loss if any other be provoked to love him. Nay rather, that joy which, loving, she wills to have in her beloved, she reckons to be made greater if it befall that others also obtain a share in him: and therefore, quickly referring herself to the Bridegroom, with whom she holds it grateful to converse more often, she asserts that she rejoices not over her own advancement alone, but over theirs together with hers. We will exult, she says, and be glad in thee. It does not suffice one that loves to proclaim her joy in a single word, but she doubles it, that by doubling she may be able the more expressly to intimate its abundance; and to the intimating of it, though she seem to unfold the same or like words at some length, yet she will not be able worthily to unfold as much as she feels. Or perhaps in that she says: We will exult, 219Cshe signifies the joy which inwardly she does not hide, which she rather so pours forth outwardly in voice or in any work whatever, that to the eyes of beholders the kind of her love may be shown, so that whoever worthily attends may be kindled to love in like manner. « Thy justice, he says, I have not hid in my heart; thy truth and thy salvation I have declared (Psal. XXXIX). » But because every dissembler sometimes does or says very many things which, though their appearance be good, yet the inner conscience gainsays them, the Virgin adds: And we will be glad in thee; signifying that joy which, God being witness, lies hid in the secret of the heart, when, answering to what is shown outwardly, the heart within grows cheerful. Which the prophet seems to designate in a single verse, and in it to assign, as it were, each to each more distinctly: calling that 219Dgladness which is contained in secret, but that exultation which is exhibited by outward tokens. « For this, he says, my heart hath been glad, and I have exulted under my tongue (Psal. XV). » [Vulg. Ps 15:9 et exsultavit lingua mea, "and my tongue hath rejoiced" — Migne gives the first person and adds sub, the very word the exposition turns on] And elsewhere: « Let the heart of them rejoice that seek the Lord (Psal. CIV). » And that: « Deliver me from blood, O God, thou God of my salvation: and my tongue shall exult thy justice (Psal. L). » From these places it is gathered that between being glad and exulting there is this difference, that to be glad belongs to the heart, to exult to the work; because both by affection and by effect ought every just man to rejoice in him from whom he hopes to obtain both present grace and future glory. Although exultation is sometimes assigned to the heart also, and one is declared not only to be glad but to exult in secret, so that exultation may seem to differ little or nothing from gladness, 220Asince, like the one, so the other is asserted to be inward. « To him, he says, I cried with my mouth: and I exulted under my tongue (Psal. LXV). » [Vulg. Ps 65:17 et exaltavi sub lingua mea, "and I extolled him under my tongue"] Under the tongue, he says, that is, in the heart, as below in this Canticle: « Honey and milk are under thy tongue. » And Anna in her Canticle: « My heart hath exulted in the Lord (I Reg. II). » And this same Virgin Mary in hers: « My spirit hath exulted in my Desalutari (Luc. I). » In that therefore she says: We will exult and be glad, by the doubled word she signifies a heaped-up joy, which she understands that both she and the maidens will receive, and that by the gift of a more bountiful grace they will rejoice as much over things to come as over things present. For to godliness, which deserves to be brought into the aforesaid storerooms, the Author of the storerooms promises the joy of the life which now is and of that which is to come (I Tim. IV); and by the giving of the things promised 220Bhe already bestows the present in the thing, and the good things that follow in hope, whereby, the cloud of sadness being wiped away, the heart of them that seek the Lord is soothed. Moreover in the present he advances knowledge, refreshes and makes serene the conscience; in the future he wholly estranges both from all darkness and from all disquiet: and that reality, 124 and this hope, warns to love, gives to run to him, and grants that he who runs faint not, but rather advance until he come to that same. Accordingly the Bride, saying: We will exult and be glad, subjoins: in thee; so that when, whether from things present or from the good things that follow, exultation or gladness is given us, none of us may glory in himself, but in the Lord; and that, forgetting himself, who has of himself nothing but death and sadness, he may with tender affection call to mind him from whom is life, and — that I may say it better — who is life. Mindful, 220Cshe says, of thy breasts above wine. With thy breasts, she says, thou givest suck, thou nourishest, thou refreshest the thirsty, while thou givest, while thou sustainest with free gifts them that love thee: while thou grantest that they who love thee, having obtained thy grace, be made perfect by a desirable advancement. Who, having relegated their substance and cast away the purse of their own depravity, rejoice in the hundredfold recompense of voluntary poverty; and being by the present benefit and by the milk of the left breast made stronger, are by the gift of the right breast now made more certain of receiving the reward of eternal life. Breasts of this kind are above wine, that is, better than wine, because present perfection and the promise of things to come are offered to the just more profitably and more graciously than are the tribulation and anguish that are inflicted upon any of the wicked, who both in present things are tormented by a wounded conscience and in the future await an irremediable punishment. 220D« Tribulation, says Paul, and anguish upon every soul of man that worketh evil (Rom. II). » And Jeremiah: « With a double destruction, he says, destroy them, O Lord (Jer. XVII). » [Vulg. Jer 17:18 et duplici contritione contere eos, without the vocative] This wine, harder than gall, of a most bitter taste and savour, this deadly cup of the Lord's wrath or fury, all the lost drink, by the merit of a more worthless life — they who do not attain to the Bridegroom's breasts, full of grace and of a more gracious nourishment. « Thou hast drunk, says Isaiah, at the hand of the Lord the cup of his wrath; even to the bottom of the cup thou hast drunk, and thou hast drunk even to the dregs (Isa. LI). » [Vulg. Isa 51:17 usque ad fundum calicis soporis bibisti, "the cup of dead sleep"] And expounding what this cup is, he says below: « There are two things that have come upon thee, wasting and destruction, and famine and the sword (ibid.). » [Vulg. Isa 51:19 inserts quis contristabitur super te? between tibi and vastitas] Than this wine or cup the Bridegroom's breasts are far better, which promise 221Aor exhibit more gracious things both to the Bride and to the maidens, whom by the hand of mercy he sets far from wrath and fury, far from the heavy judgment, and whose longing both present perfection and the recompense that follows satisfies. Or we shall be mindful above wine, that is, we shall be more mindful of the breasts than of the wine. He calls wine, as it seems, the transitory suffering of this life, which upon them that sigh brings the injury of no slight annoyance from the eternal, while the body that is corrupted and the necessary habitation of earthly things weighs down the soul, and presses down the mind with the burden of very many thoughts. And though a weighing-down of this kind is to any just man either destructive or purgative of vices, when God burns and chastises him whom he loves with the heavy but useful cautery of scourges, yet because it pricks, and a draught of this kind grows bitter 221Bin the palate of him that tastes, everyone who burns to draw heavenly things the more sweetly wills that it be set far from him. Whereof the royal Prophet: « Thou hast given us to drink, he says, of the wine of compunction (Psal. LIX). » The harshness of penalties, of which neither the poor man nor the richer is found free and immune, since even an infant of one day experiences it by a heavy law, is a troublesome pricking and a potion suited to healing, bringing in the hateful but plainly fruitful bitterness of discipline; which every wise man, in respect of itself alone, diligently rejects, but in view of the fruit that follows judges must be patiently borne. And though present experience compels him to remember it, yet a more perfect fruit and a sweeter hope warn him to forget it: and he is more gratefully mindful of spiritual goods and of a salvation that will longer endure, than of the bitter potion and 221Cof a compunction that will more quickly pass. Whose grace seems to be attributed not to all, but to very few, whose foot is found worthily set upon a rock; that an unbending uprightness may carry the firmly established man up to the things above, and that by the merit of uprightness he may receive an ampler and more perfect certainty. Therefore there follows: The upright, etc.

The upright love thee. For he who does not go down to the lowest things with bent knee and crooked ham, but hangs himself upon high and arduous things with fervent longing; who is not bowed down according to the promptings of malignant spirits, that to them the wished-for ease of passing over him may be afforded — he assuredly is upright, and is judged to hate what he rejects, and, abhorring the things forbidden, is approved as loving the forbidder. 221DFinally you have: « Ye that love the Lord, hate evil (Psal. XCVI). » He hates evil who does not incline to it the drawing-vessel of his heart, who does not cast down his eyes into the deep, or into the earth (Dan. XIII); who does not bear with an even mind him that exhales a foul smoke from the dunghill of this life, who afflicts the nostrils with its incense, blinds the eyes, discolours the inward face. But by hatred of evil — which he detects to be tending into the deep — loving better things and things agreeable to salvation, he stretches heart, hands, eyes upward; and not only, though pressed and oppressed by a wicked burden, does he not bend down to the lowest things, but, raised up to the things above, he cleaves to them inseparably with his whole longing. And because those things stand and by an unbending uprightness are directed to 125 standing, it is certain that they become upright who are raised up to them by advancing merits; 222Aand as they that make idols or the images of the nations are made like to them (Psal. CXIII), so they are conformed to heavenly things who cleave to their uprightness. And heavenly things, which are also not unfittingly called heaven or the heavens, which are prepared for the Lord as a house or a habitation, a place, a seat, a throne, do truly embrace the Lord himself, and him that sits therein, with affectionate longings, and cannot but love him whom they contemplate ruling mightily and reigning sweetly within them. « Our Father, he says, who art in heaven (Matth. VI). » And: « I have loved, he says, the beauty of thy house, and the place of the habitation of thy glory (Psal. XXV). » And: « The heavens declare the glory of God (Psal. XVIII). » And: « The Lord, in heaven is his seat (Psal. X). » And: « Heaven is my seat (Isa. LXVI). » And many things of this kind you will find, 222Bwhich assert that God dwells in heaven or in the heavens, and presides over seat, place and house with gracious good will: and the mutual gratefulness of the seat and of him that sits is brought about no otherwise than if, grace granting it, uprightness answer to uprightness. For God, being upright, wills to have those like himself, nor to be loved save by those who love to cleave to his uprightness — whom nothing but love makes to cleave to that same uprightness, and nothing but uprightness makes truly to love. Which the Virgin Mother perceiving: The upright, she says, love thee, because they who do not pervert their intention by the desire of the flesh, but with a willing heart turn themselves to him who is supremely good, it is certain that they set out upon a straight way, upon a royal way, and, advancing rightly, obtain the Good which they desire. Finally: « God is good to Israel, to them that are of a right heart (Psal. 222CLXIX). » [Vulg. Ps 72:1 Quam bonus Israel Deus, his qui recto sunt corde — Migne drops the exclamatory Quam, "How good"] For they that follow the serpentine windings and the meanders of a crooked depravity do not taste how sweet, how delightful is the rule of the divine goodness, because to that uprightness which is good, which is just, which is supremely praiseworthy, the crookedness of malice or of injustice neither agrees nor cleaves. But he who with free horror suspends himself from earth and earthly things, and, seeking the things that are above, lays hold of them rather with an upright heart than with his hands, feels indeed that great and greatly praiseworthy is the greatness, equally great and magnificently to be commended the multitude of the divine sweetness — whose sweetness, though report perceives it, yet by an inward sense no man experiences it save he who is found like to the good God by uprightness of heart. And uprightness of this kind 222Dthe Lord seems to set in order by a fitting advancement, and to invite the apostles to it in the Gospel: willing them to be made not only readier to seek after it, but also more certain of the order of that very thing which is to be sought: « Let your loins, he says, be girt about, and lamps burning in your hands: and you like to men who wait for their lord (Luc. XII). » [Vulg. Luke 12:35 praecincti, "girded"; Migne here prints percincti, and prints praecincti himself at 0223B below] This prudent craftsman of a discriminated uprightness, setting things in order, first lays as it were a base, he casts the foundation of the work: and the base being laid, he sets up the firm shaft of the column, and places upon it the capital, the ornament of that same uprightness. By the loins indeed is understood the will or the affection of this life, the concupiscence of the flesh, the acquiring of the will's desire: and for this reason the censure of divine 223Ajustice wills the loins to be girded, since it wills us to be restrained from all things not only that are not lawful, but that are not expedient. And to set aside harmful things, and to abstain from the things of concupiscence, to forbid carnal appetites their completing effect, to restrain loose motions with the strong girdle of chastity — this is a certain solid base, and the beginning of holiness. For whosoever seeks to obtain uprightness of living must first take care to abstain from things unlawful and unprofitable, so that when he has laid the base of the continence that must needs come first, he may confidently set upon it the weight of the fabric that follows. Perhaps for this reason, to that man who laboured with a grievous feebleness of the feet, who sitting at the temple gate begged an alms of them that entered in, Peter, moved with mercy, gave no help of money, because a mighty grace, 223Bhad given the Apostle not gold, nor silver, but by a mighty word he restored soundness to the lame feet, and that man, his soles made firm, walked leaping and glad (Act. III). And rightly did Peter first impart soundness to the feet, and that man consequently, walking with his soles made firm, leapt up; because first the infirmity must needs be brought to an end, and, this base being laid, the fabric rise the more robustly to advancement. Accordingly, when he had said in the Gospel: « Let your loins be girded (Luc. XII), » he subjoined: « And lamps burning in your hands (ibid.). » For when a man has with due horror cast off the works of darkness, in an order just enough there follows the kindling of the lamps, namely that before men his holiness may shine, and that like a pillar of fire the uprightness of his manners and of his justice may stand forth. 223CThe lamp in the hands signifies brightness in works, when upon the base of the continence whereby you abstain from the things that are not expedient, you apply an eminence of works, an uprightness of manners, and after the manner of an unbending column you study to remain steadfast and immovable, and to be pre-eminent in life and manners over all beneath you. But because it does not suffice that a man shine with great works, unless through them he aim to please not men but the Lord, he adds: « And you like to men who wait for their lord (ibid.). » The intention or expectation whereby you do not court a transitory reward, but with ever-wakeful care await your Lord from above, is a certain fortification of the aforesaid uprightness, and like 223Dthe capital of the column, a commendable ornament. For a column is bare and unfitting if it be not 126 adorned by a capital set above it, and insufficient is that uprightness which is not held fast by the expectation of the Lord; whereby, as by a summit, it surpasses and transcends all the things that are of the world, and after the manner of Jacob's ladder lays hold of the heavens from above. Whence Paul: « Our conversation is in heaven, whence also we look for the Saviour (Philipp. III). » There the Apostle asserts that he converses, whence he loves to await the Saviour of himself and of all; and whatsoever is by worthy judgment declared upright and stable, is by this awaiting, as by a certain roofing, brought to completion. Wherein the Bride and Mother, being far more fully instructed and having attained that same uprightness by an ampler advancement, loves the Bridegroom, 224Aand is joined to him in chaste commerce, learning by experience that to her who loves rightly his embrace is not denied. For because, according to the prophet, upright is the Lord our God, and in him no iniquity is held (Deut. XXXII), with a countenance assuredly gracious he beholds the Virgin's equity; and in her the strength of his kingdom holds a realm peaceful enough, whose uprightness agrees with so great an equity of hers. To her indeed the same Prophet says: « The rod of direction, the rod of thy kingdom (Psal. XLIV). » The Virgin herself also is in the Scriptures for this reason, as I judge, called a rod, when she is figured in them by a mystical speech, so that by the name of the rod may be understood not only the flowering beauty of the Virgin, but no less her clean and fruitful uprightness. You know that Aaron's dry rod put forth leaves on the second day (Num. XVII), and, unaided 224Bby natural fomentations, brought forth nuts by a wondrous newness: wherein it is doubtful to none that the uprightness of the Virgin is figured, who, nature standing astonished, and knowing no man, is brought forward to the bearing of a son. Isaiah also, beholding a rod that should come forth from the root of Jesse (Isai. XXI), knew that a Virgin should be born of the stock of Isai; but him who by an incomparable process ascends from her as a flower, he did not weigh what better thing to figure than her son. In this very drama the angelic Spirits marvel, when they behold that same Virgin ascending through the desert like a wand of smoke (Cant. III); namely for this, that the Virgin, forsaking the things that are beneath, stretches herself more freely into the things above, and, treading the earth with her purpose behind her, lays hold of heaven by her longings. But because one comes not to this uprightness 224Csave by file and labour, nor is entrance made into the kingdom of God save through many tribulations, as Scripture testifies (Act. XIV), the Virgin wills that the maidens be not scorched by present annoyances, but in the pressure of temporal things be refreshed by the consideration of spiritual. For the maidens might be moved at this, that she who seems already to have been led to the Bridegroom's kiss, and by her own testimony to have been brought into the storerooms of the King, nevertheless still labours under pressures, is wearied with a wretched burden, and, though she boasts herself beautiful, has her face accused of foulness. Whereupon the Virgin seems anxiously to forestall them, and, that they may weigh each thing worthily, to instruct them more diligently — because both the foulness that appears is to pass away with a swift course, and a beauty unbending in its state remains to follow after.

• 224D

I am black, but comely, daughters of Jerusalem, as the tabernacles of Cedar, as the skin of Solomon. [Vulg. Cant 1:4 sicut pelles Salomonis, plural, "as the curtains of Solomon"] The blackness which fouls and infects the comeliness of this Virgin is the adversity of the present life, which weighs upon her and afflicts her against her will, which does not suffer the joy of the Spirit, the grace of a peace begun, to be brought through to the harbour of a consummated beauty. For upon the Bride, fervent indeed in Spirit and sighing after continual peace, aspiring in the Bridegroom's sight to a perfect beauty, there come fear, peril, the annoyance of hurtful injury, tribulation and anguish, grief of the inward parts, the sword of passion — which upon her face, which sometimes a spiritual gladness, the light of grace, floods over, spread instead a cloud of sadness, a shadowy blackness. For neither to the Virgin herself 225Adid the present life give continual peace and unfailing joy, but she grieved and groaned, harassed by many annoyances, and in the number of her days she brought forth white pebbles in such wise that yet among them very many blackening ones were not lacking. Indeed the heathen, since they distinctly number and weigh their sad and their prosperous days, that they may comprehend with sure knowledge which outweigh which, as with white pebbles they mark the series of prosperous days, so with the blackness of pebbles they mark the sad and adverse. Black therefore is the Virgin, when she feels herself afflicted with temporal annoyances, when she sees him whom she bore crucified by mockers; and him whom she knows to be present to the angelic spirits as their author and Lord, and in the bosom of God the Father to be God in equal glory, made flesh in her and of her, she sees now made subject 225Bto the power of his persecutors, with many assailants and no defender of him at hand. Black is the Mother, when she beholds her own flesh, which she loves not by vice but by nature, hard pressed in her son by an untimely death, when whatever ill he suffers at the Father's bidding, by the circuit of a natural sling, redounds pitiably into the Mother's heart. Black is the Bride, when she hears the Bridegroom, even after he rose from the dead, blasphemed by his own countrymen; when she sees his preachers, the apostles, scourged; when she considers that whatever she herself knows of him, or the holy oracles declare, 127 is a sign which the rebellious and unbelieving contradict. In all which, who shall weigh with what mourning, with what sadness her mind wastes away, with what wrinkles it is drawn together, with what pallor her face withers: since the sorrow which inwardly weighs down 225Cand afflicts the mind, the countenance for the most part displays, and the outward foulness of the flesh sets forth? Which Solomon asserting says: « A sorrowful spirit drieth up the bones (Prov. XVII). » Sadness therefore, the bones being dried up, blackens and disfigures the Virgin, and, joy being set far off, seizes and usurps for itself the first place, nor suffers the present form to rejoice in a fairer one, since the body that is corrupted darkens it with a blacker dye. Nor is it a wonder if the Bride, made more sorrowful, confesses herself black and deformed, since in this she is not unfruitfully made like the Bridegroom whom she loves, who, for that he is weighed down with annoyances while he is held by corruptible flesh, is by the testimony of the Scriptures declared to have no comeliness and no beauty. « There is, he says, no beauty in him, nor comeliness (Isa. LIII), » and: 226A« We have seen him, and there was no sightliness (ibid.). » But he who has no comeliness, no beauty, is understood to be black and deformed; so that the Virgin is not to be accused, if she be conformed to him in blackness, since blackness is to be assigned to neither's ignominy or shame, but the present state of living, given over to wretchedness and toil, renders them deformed. From the bearing of which Christ willed not to be free, but as to all others, so to the Bride and Mother he offered himself for an example, that the Virgin might not herself shrink from seeming black and deformed, but in this also might patiently show herself conformed to the Bridegroom. Finally, below in this epithalamium the Bride says of him: « His locks are black as a raven (Cant. V). » Because therefore he is made swarthy and grows black like a raven, the Virgin in no wise blushes to confess herself black also; but lest anyone 226Bshould reckon that very blackness to be the more grievously burdensome the longer it lasts, having made mention of it the Virgin straightway asserts herself comely. I am black, she says, but comely. Though I suffer penalties, she says, by the merit of human depravity — penalties which in the present furnace are vexed and purged by the cautery of a transitory heaviness — yet beneath this burden a form lies hid, a beauty is nourished, which justice makes glad and an unfailing length makes firm. The body indeed is dead because of sin, but the spirit liveth because of justice (Rom. VIII). [Vulg. Rom 8:10 spiritus vero vivit propter iustificationem, "because of justification" — Philip's exposition below repeats propter justitiam] And though the manifold death of penalties, she says, afflicts my bodily life by the merit of the first sin, and daily fastens me, as I die, upon a heavy gibbet: yet that inner man, rich before God, is renewed from day to day, lives because of justice, is adorned with the merits of the virtues. And the more the present 226Cwretchedness discolours the outer man, so much the more does the love of things to come advance and adorn the inner; to whom both here and now the grace of loving heavenly things gives strength, and, when strength is consummated, promises glory and salvation. « O Lord, says the Prophet, in thy good will thou hast given strength to my comeliness (Psal. XXIX). » He who is beautiful in form above the sons of men, by the privilege of his own will, the brightness of eternal light and the mirror of the divine majesty, by his own will imparted strength also to his Mother and Bride, whose comeliness he himself, who had given it, being King and Lord, desired. To whom also, speaking below, he says: « Show me thy face; thy face is fair (Cant. II). » And she, as she is called black and deformed by suffering temporal evils, so is she called comely or fair 227Aby affectionately loving spiritual things, whose inestimable comeliness so affects her that loves it that it makes the blackness of her that suffers to pass over into whiteness. Therefore the Prophet: « O Lord, he says, I have loved the beauty of thy house (Psal. XXV). » And the Lord in the Gospel to them that love him: « Your sorrow, he says, shall be turned into joy (Joan. XVI). » As therefore affliction renders her black, so love renders the same woman comely: and the former indeed belongs to the present time and is more quickly to have an end, but the latter, though it began in time, yet in no time shall it cease. Whence also the Virgin declared herself to be, not rightly comely and black, but black and comely, because with her blackness held the first place, while it was granted to tribulation to rage against her with looser reins, and both by its coming 227Band by its going to come before the beauty that was to be. Of which John says: « Death shall be no more, nor mourning, nor crying, nor sorrow shall be any more, which former things are passed away (Apoc. XXI). » [Vulg. Apoc 21:4 quia prima abierunt, "for the former things are passed away"] This heap of evils therefore came first to the Virgin's heart, but found in it no dwelling or stable place; nay, as it importunately came before her beauty that was to be, so it was compelled to depart when that later beauty more fully came upon her. The Virgin's beauty is, when with fervent spirit, desiring the face of God, she anxiously wipes with her hand the stains of her inward face; when she clears her eye, cleanses her conscience, makes serene her heart, when with severe judgment she sets far off the assaults of them that clamour against her; when at last with a pure and agile mind she is caught up into ecstasy, when she comes to 227Cthe throne of majesty, unapproachable to the slow and the negligent. Whereof he that sat upon the throne subjoins: « Behold, I make all things new (Apoc. XXI). » The Lord makes new when with the hand of mercy he wipes away the oldness of our inner man, when he knocks upon ignorance, heals the conscience, directs the will; when, the error of falsehood being wiped away, he grants us to speak truth with our neighbour, when he more gently pours in the delight of that same truth, when at last, to confirm the grace of her inward beauty, he hides us from the tumult of men in the hiding of his own face. She therefore who, exposed to threshings and sufferings, reckons herself black and deformed, the same, hidden in the hiding of the divine face, rejoices to be made conformed to it; and her whom the furnace of tribulation 128 renders shadowy, as it were, with its own soot, 227Dthe ray of contemplation by its outpouring makes bright and comely.

As the tabernacles of Cedar, as the skin of Solomon. [Vulg. Cant 1:4 sicut pelles Salomonis, plural, "as the curtains of Solomon"; the whole chapter expounds the singular skin] Because she had called herself black and comely, she shows in what manner she is black and comely. Black, she says, as the tabernacles of Cedar, comely as the skin of Solomon. Cedar is interpreted darkness. Tabernacles are called, not stable houses, but movable huts, which are set up either by shepherds in the pasture or by soldiers on campaign, and, being placed for a time, are not made firm upon a stable foundation; but when it is convenient they are carried elsewhere without loss. The Virgin therefore not unfittingly confesses herself black as the tabernacles of Cedar, hinting that the condition of this life, by whose bonds she is still 228Aheld, grows dark indeed with much dye or cloud of annoyances, and grows bitter with many stings and prickings of sufferings; whose hateful and shadowy bitterness is nevertheless not founded in an abiding state, but passes after the manner of a tent, and, like a guest, does not linger. Affirming which, Job: « After darkness, he says, I hope for light (Job XVII). » And the Lord in the Gospel: « Sorrow, he says, shall be turned into joy (Joan. XVI). » For that which the Virgin grieves at, that which she groans at, that which she suffers of the annoyances of temporal life, passes away and is turned into the light of spiritual joy: nor does she complain so much of the presence of a night that will pass, as she rejoices in the sure hope of a light that will remain the longer. Strengthened by the gift of that hope, she cares little for the momentary pressure, while she conforms a pure and untroubled mind 228Bto the glory that shall come upon her: and, the frost or old age being wiped away, as it were, by which for an hour she is drawn together and sickens, she blossoms again with a glad spirit, and grows young after the manner of an eagle. Whereof Solomon beautifully: « A rejoicing mind, he says, maketh a flourishing age (Prov. XVII). » For whose inner man's age would not flourish, whose broken oldness would not grow young by the benefit of the rock — in whose conscience pure faith, secure hope, and abiding love come together, and all these in all things constantly obey God alone? Accordingly the Virgin is rightly called comely as the skin of Solomon, who, the sense of the flesh being cast off, as it were knows not the annoyances of a passing suffering: whose conscience continual obedience, and whose obedience a cheerful conscience, renders commendable and serene, adorns her countenance, and declares her face a stranger to the filth of dust. 228CA skin indeed is drawn off from a dead animal, is separated from the flesh by a scraper rather of iron than of flesh: but once separated, it knows no more the hurts or sufferings of the body; struck, it does not grieve; an annoyance being inflicted, it does not sicken. Finally it is shown pliant, tractable, and apt for various uses, if only the labour and industry of a prudent craftsman work upon it: and if a careful craftsman love to bestow his pains, it is found the readier to obey in innumerable ways. So too the Virgin is separated from the things that are of the flesh by that strong scraper which is proclaimed to be sharper than any two-edged sword (Hebr. IV) and to reach unto the dividing of the spirit and the soul; and she, drawn and drawn off by that iron, as it were knowing not the affections and afflictions of the body, 228Dloves to forget them, and, being stretched out unto the things that are above, to remember chiefly those. Whom that highest craftsman, designated by the name of Solomon, yet of far ampler benevolence, wisdom and power, drawn off from bodily affection, so fitted to his own spiritual good pleasure, so formed, anointed with the oil of grace, unto all things that were worthy, that no rebellion, no contrariety at all was had in her, but she was rendered, after the manner of a skin, nimble to obey in all things. « Behold, she says, the handmaid of the Lord; be it done unto me according to thy word (Luc. I). » You see that, the message being heard, according to his word the handmaid gives herself over to the Lord, and in nothing does the thing formed gainsay its former, nor the shard the potter; but the throne of Solomon is made subject to the command of him that presides over it, nay, the heaven of heaven, his seat, is stretched at the pleasure of him that sits upon it. 229AFor to this end God stretched out the heaven like a skin, that that prophetic word might stand: « Heaven is my seat (Isa. LXVI); » and that other: « The Lord, in heaven is his seat (Psal. X). » But who more worthily, who can more fittingly be called heaven, than the Virgin who deserved to be adorned with so many stars of virtues, whose varied brightness mitigates the troublesome darknesses of this life, while it calls back the errors of the unskilled multitude to knowledge? She herself brought forth the moon that should shine out for those darkened in the night, when she exalted the Church, that it might show itself luminous to all: when by form and by doctrine she instructed the holy apostles, whose manner of life imparted a necessary light to the dwellings of the lands. Finally the Virgin herself, or that heaven, brought forth the greater luminary, which conferred upon a languishing world a fuller saving 229Bremedy: which, because he is God alone, and no other can be made equal to him, has worthily been called the Sun by a certain singular privilege. So the Virgin alone and no other bore so great an offspring; that wondrous heaven in wondrous wise brought forth the sole Sun, who thus fashions day for them that watch, when by his presence he lights up and floods our air, and thus strikes night into the drowsy, when, the mass of earthly sins being set between, he hides himself. But this Sun alone among all things, and above 129 all things luminous, beautiful in the light of his countenance and in form above the sons of men, if he loves by his grace to make fruitful lands heavy with so great a weight of their own, how much rather does he make heaven abound with ampler gifts? Which heaven he is read to have stretched out like a skin, wherein he seems to have shown its nimble obedience, 229Cbecause the Virgin, who is reckoned comparable to heaven, nay commendable above heaven, in nothing, not even a little, struggles against the good pleasure of him that commands. I indeed, as I see, am not a skin in the Lord's hand, who am found hard and rebellious toward him that calls and commands, who to his voices and warnings give not open ears, but stop them; and if perchance it fall out that I hear, that I may not obey what I have heard, I harden my heart. But if sometimes, being visited, penitent with a softened heart, obedient to his commandments, I promise perseverance in them; when I am now entering upon the correcting of my own manners or of my people's, behold, a wind rushes in, thunders, tempts, destroys, and I break off what I had begun. For that worst tempter heaps up many darts for himself, by whose infliction he either terrifies the mind more roughly, 229Dor more gently soothes and unnerves it: and the flesh leads the vanquished spirit into its own right, and, that I may become wholly flesh, the love of carnal things seduces me. Who therefore shall deliver wretched me from the body of this death? (Rom. VII 24.) Who shall separate me from this flesh by the strong sword of the spirit, that, slaying the flesh and resigning it to the beasts and the birds of Babylon, I may be found skin alone, and be stretched out at the command of Solomon? But if to me, or to any like me, that gift is not yet granted, to whom the bridegroom's chamber and the sanctuary of God still seems unapproachable, yet the true Solomon did not defraud our virgin of that grace, but formed her, after the manner of a skin, to his every pleasure. For her, drawn off from the concupiscence of the flesh and from the hurtful affection of depravity, he lifted up on high by the hand of mercy unto purity: and, 230Athe desires being scraped away, he spread over her, as it were, varied colours and a starry beauty; nay, he brought in the merits of the virtues and heavenly grace. Which truly the virgin willed should not lie hid from the daughters of Jerusalem, not knowing how to grudge to her familiars the grace she had found; so that to those whom the virgin's blackness can trouble, if it be too negligently regarded, both a worthier cause of that same blackness and a briefer duration of it might be shown.

I am black, but comely, daughters of Jerusalem. She names as daughters those whom a little above she named maidens, wherein she designated both their tender affection and their fervent desire; and because daughters, quickened to hear more serenely and to see more studiously, attend more subtly and love more tenderly the praises of a commended beauty: 230BYou, she says, whom no stolid dullness holds back from understanding, attend and see how commendable is my beauty; you whom the confused blindness of Babylon does not darken, but whose eyes the grace of an inward vision enlightens and unveils. Whence also I pointedly call you daughters of Jerusalem, by which name I the more diligently compel you to see, so that when you hear and mark that you are called by such a name, you may know that a name ought not to be empty, but rather to be derived from the thing. You are therefore truly daughters of Jerusalem if you see, if what is darkly said you intelligibly grasp, if what outwardly sounds harsh you reckon as a shell or as chaff, and what within is sweet and vital you long for, as the kernel, the grain, the fine flour. Finally, know that I myself, who invite you to understanding 230Cand suffer you neither to be darkened by ignorance nor to wander in gloom, am rightly called Jerusalem by the merit of seeing, to whom it is plain that these divine mysteries and heavenly sacraments are revealed. And when after the manner of childbearing I lead you out of the darkness of ignorance, when with study and labour I bring you through to the light of truth and knowledge, when with affectionate solicitude I form you by more perfect rules of living, what do I do but, in a mother's stead, conform you to my own bowels, or rather to my own manners? And indeed to one of you the Bridegroom says: « Behold thy mother (Joan. XIX). » Whose daughters you are by doing well, that is, by not considering my blackness with an over-searching attention — whose cause is profitable, and whose end is already near at the door — lest perchance by too much curiosity you run into a present 230Dstumbling-block, if you attend to this only, that I am black, more than is just. Accordingly she says: Do not, etc.

Consider me not, that I am black, because the sun hath discoloured me. [Vulg. Cant 1:5 Nolite me considerare quod fusca sim, "that I am swarthy", and subjunctive; Migne prints nigra sum, black and indicative, which is the reading the chapter expounds] See, she says, that you fix not carnal eyes upon my burdens, that the adversity of a shattered will beget no stumbling-block for you, that your consideration be not childishly astounded at my annoyances, as though it were not fitting that my manner of life should grow bitter with tribulations. Have, I pray, as befits daughters of Jerusalem, understanding, and weigh the cause of this thing rather than the effect; what is seen by all, I will to be as though not seen at all by you, and what lies hid from the unwise, I will that you the more wisely 130 behold. That I am black, that I am sorrowful, 231Athat a cloud of momentary hurt flies about me, that the waters enter even unto my soul and the sword of passion passes through: this the true Sun has done, he by his own counsel has brought me to this, he has spread over my face a dye or blackness of this kind. That Sun, in whose absence a fouler and misshapen night presses in, and all the variety of things is found discoloured and formless; but in whose presence the sky shines, the earth rejoices, its surface is rendered manifold, and the very face of things is made in some sort conformed to what is comely: that Sun, I say, who by the regard of his countenance refreshes and adorns all things, by a certain absence of his own discolours me for a little. For from those who weigh me down he absents himself by a strict judgment, but to me who endure he does not yet present himself for a kiss — perchance that they may advance to the worse by wickedly inflicting 231Bevils, and I on the contrary to the better, by patiently bearing annoyances. Finally, a prudent virgin, in the letter, greedy of preserving or increasing her beauty, sometimes lays a fillet manifoldly upon her face, that under the veil the beauty desired may advance, and may appear of greater grace when it has been nourished under a medicinal covering. And truly her lover (if only his uprightness be not inexperienced in such things) does not despise a virgin whose face is covered, knowing that whence her comeliness for an hour grows dark by the veil drawn over it, thence, when it is afterwards taken away, it shines out the more pleasingly. So I too am black, wrapped in the dye of a certain veil, and while I live in the flesh not yet wholly loosed from annoyances; because that Sun of mine, who 231Cwills me to be still in the hovel of this night, wills me not to be altogether free from its injuries. For the place and the time in the midst of which you still see me are not, by a certain implanted law, of full peace or of rest — which peace not even my Bridegroom himself chose to obtain in them by the privilege of his power, but, as is known to you, willed rather to fear and to be weary (Marc. XIV). And he who, pressed by many discomforts, willed at the last to undergo death, wills that I too, set here, should not lack the same sufferings, which I bear patiently in his memory and love, being sure indeed that he not only wills but consequently also does. For he who does not yet honour my face with a full colour discolours it, as I seem to see, by his delay; and he who wills me to be blackened by a burden that will the sooner 231Dpass away — what he disposes to be done, that very thing I do not refuse to do. Since therefore in this wrestling-school my patience the more fully strives, I pray, daughters, that the consideration of these things scandalize you not, and that you attend not to what I suffer, lest your weakness so take offence, but to who it is that wills me to suffer, the knowledge whereof commends you. Nor is whatever I suffer for his sake worthy of scandal, but it is a greater suffering to lack sufferings apart from him; because he who, ill-happy, is granted to be excluded here from the scourge, grieves as a wretch hereafter not to be included in the number of the elect. But my Bridegroom, who himself also endured to be black in the present, wills that same blackness to be in me as in all his own; who, when the fitting time shall have come, will take away this colour, and will change mourning into joy, the dye into whiteness. Whence 232Awhat was said, The sun hath discoloured me, can be taken for this, which is (he shall discolour) — the past, namely, for the future; because he who made the things that are to come was indeed about to do that in the Virgin which the virgin, being the more sure, asserts him already to have done: for what the Virgin already foreknows to be future concerning her glory, taught by that Spirit whereof she is full, she does not foretell, does not demand, but, secure of its fulfilling, rejoices and affirms it already fulfilled — which faith and hope possess, and only the fact murmurs back as unfulfilled. Do not, she says, judge my blackness worthy of consideration, as though either it hurt while present or could linger longer, because « I passed by, and lo, it was not (Psal. XXXVI), » nor is a trace of it to be found; and for you too it shall now be no more, if you will, to pass by in like manner. For that true Sun who bestowed his light 232Bupon this world, who is risen for us to this end, that he may draw his own out of the deep, will the sooner abolish my dye or blackness with a gracious hand, and will utterly remove wrinkle and spot, grief and every tear. Nay, that I may seem to speak better and far more surely, he has already removed them, has already cherished my sick mind with the wished-for remedy, because by his grace he has already advanced me to such certainty that I hold as done what my understanding has foreknown is to be done next. But as, when he who consoles me by his benefit is set before you, your consideration is not worthily weighed down by the presenting of my blackness, so it is expedient that they who press me hard with their malice should know that their way also shall perish, and that they themselves shall not rise again in the counsel of the just (Psal. I). And who that is rightly wise would weigh or 232Cconsider with heavy care whatever they inflict, whose power is quickly to pass away? and would not rather make little both of them and of the annoyances inflicted by them, when he detects in them nothing firm, nothing stable? 131

The sons of my mother have fought against me, they have set me a keeper in the vineyards: my own vineyard I have not kept. They who ought to have spared her, and to have defended the Virgin from the injuries of others, to run against them that laid hands upon her, to fight back against her assailants, to give their life for her, by their own death to preserve their sister, on the contrary assail her, and rejoice to harass her with persecutions. And, affection being shattered, the law wounded, that right utterly broken which the law of nature has appointed to be kept even among brute beasts, the mother fears not to persecute the daughter, 232Dthe sons the sister: they molest, tear, torture, disembowel; in nothing do they show mercy. Judaea, or the Synagogue, I judge to have stood as the Virgin's mother, who according to the law of the flesh is believed to have borne her, and whom with maternal solicitude she cherished in a tender bosom until the years of advanced youth, and imbued with legal ordinances. But the sons of the mother, in flesh as in manners, are the Jews, blind leaders of the blind, Pharisees more by malice than by knowledge, who, forgetful of the brotherly covenant, the more grievously afflicted their sister when they fastened her son to the cross rather with viperous tongues than with iron nails. Of whom the prophet Amos: « They have not, he says, remembered the covenant of brethren (Amos I). » For of this covenant, whereby brothers ought to be the more affectionately bound to a sister, they, sick with a venomous 233Aperfidy, would not more soundly be mindful; but as though strangers to the stock, set far from nature, they render her rights neither to a sister nor indeed to a human being. And who of sound head would think soundly of Judaea, who is a mother and yet loves not, even as the fables report of Medea, to which mother there was no love of her sons, no care, but, kindled with hatred, she took them out of the way by an untimely death? As Medea, so Judaea strives to render false that argument which nature has woven for the safeguard of a debt of love — an argument which not only the modern loquacity of disputing clerics winnows and affirms, but also the sagacity of the heathen, tried from of old. If she is a mother, they say, she also loves. But because Medea was a mother and yet loved not, she put off, as they say, the nature of a mother rather than neglected it; and since 233Beven a brute beast is held by a natural affection toward its own young, she is convicted not to be a mother who is not softened even by a beast's feeling. For the rest, Solomon, upon whom God bestowed wisdom, the assessor of his own throne, by this argument proves that harlot to be the mother who chose that her own infant be given alive to the lying woman rather than, at the king's word, be cut asunder by the sword that was brought. « She said, he says, whose son was alive, to the king (for her bowels were moved over her son): I beseech thee, my lord, give her the living child, and do not kill it. On the contrary the other said: Let it be neither mine nor thine, but let it be divided. The king answering said: Give this woman the living child, and let it not be slain; for she is its mother (III Reg. III). » And elsewhere it is written: « No man hath hated his own 233Cflesh (Ephes. III). » But Judaea loves to obey neither the testimonies of Scripture nor the commands of nature, but to rage against her daughter with an incredible hardness; and, overstepping the rights of the laws, she spreads abroad and practises a most evil fury of mind, whose sons likewise no more considerate regard restrains from malice. For they are those who, like their mother, neither fear God nor reverence man, who with obstinate malice deny that God is man, and think it does not befit his majesty and deep counsel that he should will and be able to come down to bear our miseries. They indeed assert that the mother of Christ conceived of Joseph, and that she remained a virgin neither in conception nor after childbirth; and whatever is venerably preached either of her integrity 233Dor of her son's majesty is by their testimonies disowned as feigned and frivolous. If a virgin, they say, has borne, she first lay with a man. Whence also they persecute her son not for a good, as they say, work, but for blasphemy (Joan. X), and endeavour to scrape his memory from off the earth: namely because, among those who are mere men, he takes to himself something more, and, being man, himself presumes to make himself God. At the last, malice pressing on, they adjudge the innocent to death, they accuse him as one not paying due reverence to the law and to the king: they shut him in with bonds, smear him with spittle, heap buffets upon him, hand him over to the judge, and the judge to the soldier; an unlovely clamour resounds; and they crucify him, these with clattering tongues, those with nails. And what do all these things do but rave 234Aagainst the Virgin, sound the trumpet furiously, wrestle against the walls of her patience? They assail and storm the tower of her constancy with a heavy ram, they shake it unmoved, but by the interposing of grace they do not take it. And it is to be noted that, although both Gentiles and Jews rage against the Virgin, though Pilate and the soldiers do what the Pharisees demand in words, yet here, where the battle is recounted in a prophetic spirit and in a nuptial song, the Virgin makes mention of her own only, and no mention is made of outsiders. The sons, she says, of my mother. Why this, save because, as you know, by right judgment he troubles the more who dishonours when he ought to have shown deference, who (when in his bosom, as a friend's, rest was to have been hoped for) hands over to the hands of an enemy the one he ought to have cherished? For when an enemy curses, the cursing is 132 borne the more patiently; 234Bwhen foe rages against foe, he deserves either not to be blamed, or not to be blamed harshly; when a stranger does not succour a stranger with generous good will, as he wins no praise, so neither does he incur much reproach. But the man of peace, the man of one mind, the man familiarly known (Psal. LIV) speaks the more unjustly, so that he offends, when a friend or a neighbour draws near against me more harshly, when, instead of loving me, he venomously detracts and assails, when he shows evil for good, hatred for love: whence have I to bear it, whence to be able to act patiently, and not rather to complain that the faithless man rages fraudulently? Being silent therefore about the Gentiles, the Virgin complains of the Jews, and their malice is for the present brought into the midst — who, being the sons of her mother, so grievously offended the Virgin, and repaid her with battle for defence, 234Cwith hindrance for help. But that we may know that the evils which they the more studiously accomplished profited us who are set far off, by the disposing of God's wisdom, and that their malignity and the damage inflicted upon the Virgin was our profit and the increase of a desirable grace, the Virgin adds:

They have set me a keeper in the vineyards, my own vineyard I have not kept. Any soul whatever may rightly be called a vineyard, of which the one seems to be compared to the other by a certain likeness; because as a vineyard or vine is found to consist of many things — of the tendril, the cluster, the shoot — so also the soul is marked out with many powers or virtues. Let not the sons of my mother glory, says the Virgin, that 234Dthey have fulfilled their wickedness upon me, that raging against me they have filled my soul with heavy bitterness, that my vigilance did not keep it against their violences, but that their sword passed through it. For whence they the more violently took away my own soul, thence, not knowing what they did, they transferred me to the keeping of many; and when they brought the graver loss upon my vineyard, they conferred a useful benefit upon you, daughters of Jerusalem. The abandonment or failure of my vineyard is without doubt your advancement in spiritual things; and in that they hurt me for a time, as they reckon, they set for you, to whom I pass over, a necessary keeper. And not unfittingly may there be signified by the name of vineyards not only souls one by one, but by flocks the assemblies 235Aof souls; because as many shoots obtain the name and the yield of the vine, so many souls together make a flock or an assembly, to which the Lord, speaking: « Fear not, he says, little flock (Luc. XII). » And the Prophet: « Thou hast brought a vineyard out of Egypt (Psal. LXXIX). » And elsewhere: « The vineyard of the Lord of Sabaoth is the house of Israel (Isa. V). » [Vulg. Isa 5:7 vinea enim Domini exercituum, "of the Lord of hosts"; Migne prints the Hebraism Sabaoth] The sons therefore of the mother, who brought the aforesaid annoyances upon the Virgin, transferred her, driven from her own vineyard, to many others; because she who was wickedly despised by her brethren and fellow tribesmen was received by many vineyards or assemblies of the Church. But the Virgin did not fortify her own vineyard by her keeping, because that wicked people obeyed neither her warnings nor her examples, but, rejoicing to be left to its own will by a judgment hidden from it, with a hardened neck 235Bran into that curse of Isaiah: « Woe to the sinful nation, to a people heavy with iniquity, to a wicked seed, to wicked sons! » (Isa. I.) Whom perchance both the prophet and the Virgin therefore named sons, and not daughters, because by the masculine name she designated their perverse strength — men mighty and strong against the Virgin's soul, drunk with the wine of the damned, in whose merits they rejoice, and whose penalties also they shall bear: « Woe to you that are mighty, he says, to drink wine, and strong to mingle drunkenness (Isa. V). » And that other: « The strong have sought after my soul (Psal. LIII). » These strong and mighty men, when they drove the Virgin back from the keeping of their own selves, compelled her to pass over to the keeping of our vineyards; and what was worthily taken from them that were nearer, according to their merits, was conferred upon us 235Cthat are further off by the grace of a divine gift. How many assemblies throughout the whole world rejoice today to be fortified by this Virgin's patronage, and their churches to be guarded by her welcome solicitude, who, though they execrate, as is right, the malice of the lost sons, yet give thanks that it was useful and necessary to themselves? But to say nothing of others, brethren, is not this assembly of yours gathered in honour of this Virgin, and are not this place and church dedicated in her name; and do you not rejoice in her keeping and her special patronage, embracing your keeper with a certain affection and spiritual tenderness? Which of you, when he calls her memory to mind, or even when he hears her name, does not rejoice with devotion, does not applaud with devout 235Dobedience, hoping to find her Son placable and propitious if he can come before the mother with due reverence? Happy fault, useful battle, fruitful perversity, whereby a hateful brotherhood rages against our Virgin, whereby, the ragers being left behind, a gracious blessing passes over to us, whereby the Virgin disowns her brothers, reproves her own household, hates her own; sets our vines in order, hedges them with a wall, prunes, digs, and (that I may conclude briefly) keeps us with all diligence. Nevertheless, because in these vineyards too there may sometimes 133 be found men who presume by their evil manners to pull down those same vineyards, the virgin, turned toward the Bridegroom, wills to be more fully taught a beo who are his, that she may beware of those whom she has known not to be reckoned in the number of his own. And so she says: Show me, etc.

• 236A

Show me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou liest in the midday, lest I begin to wander after the flocks of thy companions. Thou, she says, whom I love not in word, not in tongue, not in the mere noise of the lips, but with heart and mind and with all the strength of the inward parts: show where thou feedest, where a welcome refreshment is prepared for thee, where thou findest the food wherewith thy hunger may be filled. « For I was hungry (Matth. XXV), » he says. I know that a prudent shepherd does not tarry in all places, not in all pastures, but prudently searches out which they are, and in which a profit is to be had; and shrinking from and passing by those which he has known not to have the sap of life, he feeds and refreshes in those which he has perceived not to shrink from life. And beautifully she inquires so anxiously not about the food but about the place, 236Bbecause perchance she knows well enough with what fodder he is delighted, holding it certain that his food is cleanness, justice, truth, and other such things as effectually work true holiness. But who knows where this holiness is truly and firmly to be had, unless he be taught by him who teacheth man knowledge, since man knows not what is in man, nor is judgment worthily made concerning another (I Cor. II) — whose face, though it appear, yet whose conscience is not seen? The Virgin therefore wills not to be seduced by the outward face of men, but to be led into the very chamber, as it were, of truth; and to come to the place where the Bridegroom rejoices to find pasture and rest, not by a material foot but by a spiritual eye. Finally Joseph too is sent by his father's solicitude to visit again his brothers in the pastures, 236Cand coming into Sichem, a man being found, most diligently asks where they feed — the boy not understanding that he would be a burden to his elders, and that he would not rejoice, as he had hoped, in the finding he desired. « I seek my brethren, he says; show me where they feed. And the man said to him: They are departed from this place; and I heard them saying: Let us go into Dothaim. Joseph therefore went forward after his brethren, and found them in Dothaim (Gen. XXXVII). » Rightly is Joseph read to have found his envious brothers in Dothaim, to which place they are reported to have come not by chance but of set purpose, knowing perchance that they would there not so much find a life-giving pasture as fulfil a wicked will and a decree of crime. Dothaim is interpreted their green 236Dfodder, or sufficient failing. Their green fodder, that is, the envious men's, is envy itself, which they taste, which they chew over, which grows strong in their minds, which with a pestilent savour grows sweet inwardly in their throats; which is not trodden down by a censor's foot, does not wither by a swift repentance, but with untiring rancour grows green even to the height of crime. For nothing is more welcome to the faithless than to envy their betters, to disparage the absent, sometimes to fawn upon the present; with a feigning countenance (when the power of hurting is not at hand) to smile, and, when the time for hurting has shone out, to hurl the poisoned dart. As therefore in Osee Ephraim feeds on wind, when he vainly desires what he hopes for to come to pass (Osee XII), so every envious man is not 237Aunfittingly recorded to have come into Dothaim, when he is delighted with the poison of spite as with a green fodder. But because Dothaim is also interpreted sufficient failing, whence that wicked man tends the more vehemently toward the effecting of his malice, thence, guilty of the crime, he falls into an ampler failing of conscience; and that damage alone which he loves to inflict upon another plainly suffices for a torment to the man who labours under envy. Which a certain heathen beautifully hints: Than envy, he says, the Sicilian tyrants have found no greater torment. But whoever is agreed to bear in his mind that venomous spite, than which the Sicilians found no heavier torment, he assuredly is convicted of failing from the quiet state of the mind, and a failing of this kind suffices for the death of him that fails. For he who envies is found to hurt himself more 237Bthan his neighbour, and what he attempts to inflict upon another he is found to suffer first; and his own envy, which for the most part is not felt by the other, pulls down the man from whom it proceeds, as the moth a garment. Joseph's brothers therefore, who, as you have read, were found in Dothaim, that is, already forestalled by a certain inward failing and by envy, seeing Joseph and speaking beforehand one with another, run to meet him as he comes, offering to him who knew nothing not a greeting, not a kiss, but hatred. « Behold, they say, the dreamer cometh; come, let us kill him (Gen. XXXVII). » A wicked place, a place execrable and unspeakable, a place to be detested in the judgment of all (of those, at least, who are soundly wise); a place worthily to be named not refreshment but failing, where charity perishes, brotherhood fails, and an accursed spite prevails. 237CBecause therefore many are known to feed in Dothaim and in other places of this kind, and whoever have followed them are struck with some penalty or other, the Virgin, anxious not about the general breadth of the many, asks in what 134 place and in what special solitude the Bridegroom feeds. For she knows that his place is not possessed by many, she knows that in his pastures there are not many lords; she knows likewise that not every pasture is the Bridegroom's, and therefore she desires the more diligently to know which is his.

Show me where thou feedest, where thou liest. I know, she says, that thou feedest not in the covert of the reed, that thy cleanness does not rest in moist places, wherein that Behemoth lies hid in a rest that is welcome to him (Job XL); wherein he cherishes 237Dand promotes his wicked depravities, and by a pestilent feeding brings evil wills into effect. In these indeed thy soul takes no pleasure, thou hast no will in them, as by Isaiah's oracle thou truly assertest concerning the Jews, who, not being subject to thy will, to thy good pleasure, are cast forth from thy refectory, far from thy face. For how dost thou feed where thou dost not yet choose to dwell, where, straitness compelling, thou lovest not to walk more freely, where the appetite of feeding is beaten back by a certain bitterness set against it, when a wicked seed, when a provoking house is found? I am sure that mount Gelboe is not held pleasing to thy pasture, wherein Saul, David's adversary (I Reg. XXXI), fears not to enter 238Abattle, wherein the strong fall and death adjudges Saul and Jonathan to its own laws, upon which no dew, no rain comes, as David complaining curses it. I know likewise that the plain of Sennaar is not offered to thy pasture (Gen. XI), wherein, pride reigning, no reverence is paid to thee, wherein the presumption of an unskilled multitude is struck by the diversity of tongues, and, they being divided one from another, a tower of infinite greatness is not completed. The plain of Mageddo also I judge does not please thee for feeding (II Paral. III), wherein the archers struck the just Josiah unto death: from which that justice which was already glad in the hope of victory, the fortune of the battle being turned, is carried back utterly dead. But hast thou perchance chosen the valley of Tophet as suited to thy pasture (IV Reg. XXIII), which thou hast known to be most delightful in situation, 238Bfoul in sacrilege; wherein the children of Israel paid honour not to thee, their God, but to Moloch, in a wretched superstition, and by a blind rite carried over to him their sons and daughters through the fire? Not thine is the pleasantness of this valley, which pleases not Josiah either, whose pestilent rite that same king's sagacity took away, when those whom the very face of the place and its most delightful beauty invited to sacrilege, the scattered bones of the dead and the heaped foulness of corpses drove back. Because therefore thou feedest not in mountains, plains and valleys of this kind, I ask that thou teach and more diligently show where thou dost feed, if perchance thou art foretold to have other mountains, plains and valleys, in whose lap thou art delighted, feeding or lying down.

The Virgin indeed knows that other mountains are commended in the Scriptures, in which no one is read to perish 238Cbut to be saved, which the Bridegroom himself, loving them and visiting them with a friendly affection, makes worthy of himself and fit for a special pasture. Joel the prophet: « In mount Sion, he says, shall be salvation (Joel. II). » And David: « He chose mount Sion, which he loved (Psal. LXXVII); » and again: « Mount Sion, the city of the great King (Psal. XLVII); » and that other: « The Lord loveth the gates of Sion (Psal. LXXXVI). » And what wonder if that mountain, which the Lord embraces with a benevolent affection, is asserted to offer welcome fodder to him that embraces it, so that the lover is not denied to feed in that which he loves — to whom there is no refreshment at all save where his love is? Therefore perchance John: « I saw, he says, upon mount Sion a Lamb standing (Apoc. XIV). » [Vulg. Apoc 14:1 et ecce Agnus stabat supra montem Sion, a finite verb, "the Lamb was standing"; the exposition immediately following turns on the participle stantem] But standing to what end, unless 238Dfor feeding? For the lamb stands while he feeds; but while he rests, he lies down. But the Virgin, anxious not about one only but about both, asks where the Bridegroom feeds and where he lies down, as though one place were for feeding and another none the less for resting. For the Bridegroom is the Lamb. For of him of whom John elsewhere says: « He that hath the bride is the bridegroom (Joan. III), » of the same he said: « Behold the Lamb of God (Joan. I). » The Bridegroom therefore, or the Lamb, feeds upon a mountain — not upon that which Isaiah names dark (Cap. XIII), nor upon that which Zacharias asserts to be great and to be brought down into a plain before Zorobabel (Cap. IV); but upon mount Sion, which is commended by the merit of seeing, which, having its name from the thing, 239Apast the objects set close at hand, descries things more remotely placed. Of which mountain Isaiah prophesying: « Send forth, he says, the Lamb, O Lord, from the rock of the desert to the mount of the daughter of Sion (Isa. XVI). » [Vulg. Isa 16:1 Emitte agnum, Domine, dominatorem terrae, de petra deserti; the title "the ruler of the earth" is not printed here] Finally through Ezechiel the Lord promises: « Behold I, he says, will feed my sheep (Ezech. XXXIV), » and, determining where he will feed them: « In the mountains, he says, of Israel will I feed them (ibid.). » Israel is interpreted seeing God. Good therefore and rich would I call those mountains to which it is granted to behold God, whose pasture the good Shepherd is found to promise to his sheep; because the saints who are pre-eminent in virtues are lifted up by their merits, who, dwelling in the heavens, are flooded with the light of contemplation: they assuredly refresh God's good pleasure, God's desire, God's will; they offer to his commandment the richness of a manifold 239Bspiritual obedience. « To the saints, he says, who are in his land, he hath made wonderful all my wills in them (Psal. XV). » He hath made wonderful, he says, that is, he fed, cherished, and wonderfully brought through to effect, that I might do in them all things whatsoever I willed, and that their works might be great and wonderful, sought out unto all my wills (Psal. CX). Finally 135 in the Gospel the disciples: « Whither wilt thou, they say, that we go and prepare for thee that thou mayest eat the pasch? » (Marc. XIV.) And he: « The master, he says, of the house will show you a large upper room furnished; there make ready (ibid.). » In that he says an upper room, it is high and eminent; in that it is large, it is broad and sufficient; in that it is furnished, it is fair and alluring. The upper room in which the Bridegroom's refreshment is, is commended by the height of its dignity, 239Cbecause the heaven of heaven is assigned to the Lord, and the earth to the sons of men (Psal. CXIII); and, that it may suffice the more, it is enlarged with a great space, because he is not gladdened by a scanty seat and a niggardly tripod; and, that it may ever allure him, it is spread and fitted with wrought carpets and sweet-smelling flowers, because he that is beautiful above the sons of men spurns things unclean, unseemly and foul. The Bridegroom feeds also in a plain — in that plain, namely, which is levelled by the tearing out of masses of rubble, which, rooting up thorns and briers, is beautified with a pleasant surface; which, the barren frost being wiped away, is made fruitful by a spring-like mildness, laughs with green herbs, and is varied with the manifold colour of flowers. Of which the first and chief says: « I am the flower of the field (Cant. II). » Rich is that plain, nor is it to be negligently passed over in silence; upon whose 239Dface Ezechiel sees many bones (Ezech. XXXVII), and exceedingly dry, which by an ineffable hearing perceived the word of the Lord, and received sinews, flesh and skin by a wonderful joining, and at last, the spirit coming from the four winds, lived again. Finally in the Gospel (Luc. VI) the Bridegroom, coming down from the mountain, stood in a plain place, wherein, because the power of healing and the fullness of grace shone forth, a copious multitude of peoples flowed together to him from every side; and the good Shepherd, marking that it was eager to hear and to be healed, refreshes it with a generous hand with the word of life, with saving fodder. The Bridegroom feeds also in the valleys, which David asserts to abound with corn (Psal. LXIV), and in the valley of Josaphat, which seems to glitter with the grace of humility, while the greater each man is, the more he makes himself less in all things, and he whom his neighbour worthily 240Acommends and lifts up, discolours himself by his own judgment. « When you have done, he says, all good things; say that we are unprofitable servants (Luc. XVII). » [Vulg. Luke 17:10 cum feceritis omnia quae praecepta sunt vobis, "all things that are commanded you"] And that other: « If we judged ourselves, we should not be judged (I Cor. II). » In mountains, plains and valleys of this kind the Bridegroom feeds, because loftiness of life, evenness of manners, and humility of judgment is the Bridegroom's welcome refreshment; which as a prudent craftsman he himself works in his own faithful ones, while he rejoices to bring his wills through to effect in them. « My meat is, he says, to do the will of him that sent me (Joan. IV). »

Show me where thou feedest, where thou liest down in the midday. Having asked where the Bridegroom feeds, the Bride adds the asking where 240Bhe also lies down in the midday; touching upon the custom of shepherds, who, when they have given their labour to the pasture in the first part of the day, at midday turn aside and lie down for the sake of rest. Since therefore foxes are known to have dens, and the birds of heaven nests (Luc. IX), into which very many wretched men, with blind brow and erring foot, tumble down: the Virgin wills to know more surely whither the Son of man chooses to turn aside, and where he would lay back his own head for the sake of quiet. For the season admonishes, when the world is sultry and burns, when with a keener sun the midday sky glows white, that the provident Shepherd should turn aside into the shade and rest, and that the little flock, fleeing to him, should lie hid at ease. The sun is sultry, the heat falls upon the minds of the wicked, when the wicked heap of vices flows together upon them: when avarice, when lust, when 240Cambition lords it over them, when with the burning of such things their inward face is blackened. In this midday therefore, whose heat that world cannot bear to endure, that Holy One to whom nothing unclean pertains, whither he turns aside, where he pauses, where he finds it welcome to find a chamber, I myself, if it might be done, would wish to know, not so much by knowledge as by experience. For when pride lifts us up in the goods either of nature or of grace, when a clinging anger inflames us, envy torments us, lust makes us soft; when prayer is heavy, divine reading is loathed, when the word of the preacher, the ear being closed after the manner of the asp, is not heard: it is to be feared lest, weighed down by this heat and unseasonable distemper, that shepherd, forsaking us, flee away beneath a convenient shade. With a heavy and parching sun the world set in 240Dwickedness was sultry, and with the midday burning Egypt or Ethiopia laboured, when that Holy Spirit overshadowed the incorrupt Virgin, and prepared in her for God the Son of God a welcome covert of shade (Luc. I). The same burning, or distemper, had lain hard enough upon the Pharisees, and with a looser rein had been spread abroad among the Jews, when Christ, forsaking them, turned aside to a few apostles, and gathered them like a hen under the shadow and covering of her wings. But when even unto the cross the Jews and the Gentiles raged against him at midday, and some with the tongue and others with the hand poured forth the venom of a boiling wrath, he himself, not so much with the foot as with the affection, more with the mind than with the eye forsaking those whom he despised, saw standing beside the cross his Mother and the disciple whom he loved (Joan. XIX). And 136 when he had received the vinegar, 241Awhich being tasted rather than drunk he thus fulfilled the mystery, upon these, whom the Spirit overshadowed, he rested the more graciously as he rested the more sweetly; and while the sun was sultry without, whose rage filled him full, bowing his head toward these, and delivering up his spirit, he fell asleep. Thus, no longer bearing the midday and the raging heats of the Crab or of the Lion, at the sixth hour consummating the agony, or the mystery, of the Passion, he turned aside and loved the shade of the Spirit, the serene lying-down of the tomb, to which the stone set against it was no hindrance for one that should rise again. « For he lay down as a lion (Gen. XLIX). » [Vulg. Gen 49:9 requiescens accubuisti ut leo, second person, "resting, thou hast lain down as a lion"] Whom indeed the tomb was able to hold as long as he willed, but, his will fulfilled, he was not held back by the barrier of the stone; nay rather, for rising in the morning the divine power rendered him strong as a lion, and equally for rendering requital at midday to them that raged. 241BNor do I judge it unworthy if we reckon that the same Bridegroom lies down in you also, if we declare that he finds even in us some little rest: since both to serve him and to soothe him is our will, by the gift of his grace, although for them that will the power is not yet wholly free. But if we ourselves, or perchance any others, should judge that it does not sufficiently befit us to ascribe to ourselves that whereto all our betters scarcely avail to come: it is to be feared lest on the contrary we distrust more than is just, and by a degenerate distrust incur an equal peril. Between the two therefore let not Daedalus, but the Father of spirits teach us to fly; let him rule the unknown way, let him be willing to give the grace of journeying, lest we be plunged in mud and dregs while, after the likeness of the earth, we keep to the things nearer to carnal men, 241Cor lest we be pressed down from glory while after the fashion of lehari we foolishly assail the higher things. For the Bridegroom lies down in us, if we are proved to love him, if with diligent zeal we make ourselves ready for his service: if whatever clamours against him and gives offence we hasten to wipe away with broom or with razor, if the secret of our heart, for love's sake, we adorn with the flowers of love. For nothing does he desire more gladly, nothing more eagerly, than to be loved, namely when we truly embrace him with a singular love, when whatever the world offers we cast far away as refuse for his sake, when in the world or in ourselves we love nothing beside himself. Finally John (Cap. XIII) declared that he reclined upon the breast of that same Bridegroom, because he, above the rest, loved him as he reclined: nor is any other, as you know, said to recline 241Din that same place, save he whom Jesus, by frequent testimony, is not silent that he loves. And rightly it is read that not Jesus lay down in John's bosom, but John in Jesus' bosom, because it is believed that we did not love him first, but that he first loved us: and where a man truly understands that he is loved, there he rejoices to recline, and to be delighted with a sweet reclining. For Christ before his passion understood that John was weak, as the rest also were, and that he himself was loved less than sufficiently by the disciple whom he loved, because throughout that time neither John nor Peter either willed or was able to undergo death for him — which, before his Spirit was received after the resurrection, none of them deserved to obtain. But for the rest, Christ was found so to love those whom he chose, and his charity toward them so constrained him as he loved, that for them 242Ahe willingly gave his soul unto death, and those whom he held in his bosom he defended from death by dying. But after his resurrection, appearing to the same disciples, he breathed upon them (Joan. XX), and by a most serene breath assigned to them the pontifical office of binding and loosing, when a little after the vehement Spirit inflamed them with fiery tongues (Act. II), and unbendingly strengthened them against the threats, the entreaties and the bribes of the world; and that death's turn which he first willed to undergo for them, they themselves, not wrapped about with the ropes of avarice but with a prodigal bounty, rendered back. In these, and in such as they, the Bridegroom must not undeservedly be believed to lie down, with whom he finds nothing whereby his rest can be hurt: in whom devotion is vigorous, discipline glows the more devoutly, where the furnace does not smoke, but the whole workshop of love utterly burns. For because the Bridegroom, 242Bas has been said before, desires to be loved, and love is a fire, those whom he beholds to be kindled and to burn with love, in these, as upon a little bed, he wills to lie for the sake of quiet. And on this account he is said not to lie down save at midday, when the sun, nearer to heaven, is removed farther from the earth, when hotter than its wont it sends forth purer rays, when with a greater burning it affrights the broader fields of the aether. And perhaps he feeds in the morning, when the troublesome mist of the nights now withdraws, when the sun, necessary to one that rises to his works, goes before him; when its rolling wheel strains upward with labouring horses, and, knowing not how to stand in one place, does not aim to journey and to advance for itself. Through which space of time the sun affords the day a useful nourishment, whereby the day, cherished and promoted, gradually receives 242Cincrease, until the sun, hastening and arriving at mid-heaven, is fixed, where, now higher in degree, it is compelled either to stand or to descend. So indeed, when to you, brethren, sitting in darkness, the Sun of grace brought the morning light, the night's error being laid aside you hastened to lay hold of discipline; and the more fully he spread out for you his brighter rays, the more gladly you labour and take to yourselves the ampler advances. While therefore with watchings, fasting, sweat and cold you chastise the contrary body, while, devout and humble, you bind your patience with the ropes of obedience, and in regard of the commandments banish your own will; while you labour to work the food which perishes not, but which abides, and with untiring zeal eat the labours of your own hands: assuredly with you the Bridegroom feeds along with you 242D137 and labours, even as the devout lover and getter of wisdom indeed prays: « Give me, he says, wisdom, that she may be with me and may labour with me (Sap. IX). » For in feeding there is indeed a life-giving fruit, but beyond doubt with labour; the labour is a little thing, made bearable by the more welcome fruit: and for this cause, when the just man invites patience along with himself to labour, he loves not so much the labour itself as its better fruit. Accordingly the Virgin desires the more anxiously to know not only where the Bridegroom feeds, but also where he lies down, that she may avail to come to his more welcome state; because, although while he feeds he gives us no middling advance, yet while he lies down and rests he carries us forward to perfection more graciously and more surely. When therefore, the body being chastised, the murmur of the passions lulled asleep, the labour of temporal actions not wholly laid down but for an hour 243Aset aside; when prayer, devotion, the rumination of the reading you have heard makes you serene within, and the grace of the divine vision snatches you up, hung from the earth, as it were on high; when (though hurriedly and for a little) you seem to be present among the angelic spirits, and, beholding after some fashion the glory of the Lord, you say with Peter: « It is good for us to be here (Matth. XVII); » when with the love of such things you are sweetly sultry as with a fire, and a Sun brighter than the sun floods you with the ray of his own brightness: then indeed in you the Bridegroom feeds, and is delighted with a friendly rest, rejoices in such a midday, and day is glad in day, light in light. For as the wicked enemy, the author of evil, the prince of ruined Babylon, loves the deep darkness of night and the cold of the north wind, so the Bridegroom who is God, unfailing light, burning fire, putting the welcome presence of himself 243Bfar from the unlike and the unworthy, lies down and reposes in those whom he perceives to be burned with the fiery torch of divine love, whom, snatched into ecstasy, he beholds to shine with the midday light, and not to be burned up. Who, forgetful of things present, are intent upon heavenly things alone, not content with the dawn or the morning sun and the works of them that are beginning, but are carried up to the perfect day and the fervent midday, one spirit with God, not made perfect only by reason of the flesh's fellowship as yet. Happy is he who, forgetful of the things behind, deserved to be thus stretched out to the things before, and, loathing the morning's mildness, to be thus kindled with the midday's advance and an exceeding fervour; to hold the bridegroom in his bosom, to embrace him with affection as with an arm, to fasten his eyes upon the sun, and not to be turned aside to the carcases of this flesh. Happy, I say, if yet 243Che fears not the fall of this benefit, if the midday of this heat and of this splendour alike inclines not to its setting; if the flesh draws him not back, and the still weaker law of nature, which cannot yet bear the glory of a happiness that shall abide. Happy therefore is that day whose midday goes not down, in whose fiery light the Bridegroom ever abides and reclines: to which whosoever shall have come, he perseveres in it with steadfast step, and, its good being found, affirms that nothing is better, nothing more delightful. In which the holy angels ever behold the face both of the Father and of the Son, and the souls of the saints are not held estranged from the sight of him; which souls, snatched away already from the wicked world and from the prison-house of the flesh, are received with the angels into the quiet chamber of that same Bridegroom. There a fuller and more perfect midday is found, where the day declines not, and 243Dis not ended by the oncoming of evening; and there dawns not save one only day, neither advancing nor failing, whose splendour is not made swarthy, whose splendid heat does not grow lukewarm. Accordingly no man in this life fully receives such a midday, but foretastes it; there he is fully satisfied, where delay, being shorter, does not straiten, where the love of all men toward God burns continual and unremitting, and he himself who is loved gratefully lies down in all and rests. And so upon earth he feeds — in him alone, being accepted, to whose account he sets down justice, he pours in the bounty of grace; with whose good works, as with herbs and flowers, he refreshes his own will; whose manners he accepts, whose equity he loves to see; in whose merits he rejoices, whose virtues he embraces, whose holiness he receives; for whom the morning day and the sun shine with an imperfect light, while he labours and advances, 244Abecause labour is fashioned in a precept (Psal. XCIII). But in the heavens the Bridegroom lies down, where the day rises not with a dim light, but as at midday the sun glows red with an advance already ripe, whose warm splendour, and heat equally splendid, have nothing imperfect, but with unmoving pole, as in a kind of solstice, they stand perfect. In the day therefore the day, light in light, in the sun the sun lies down sweetly and rests, because the just man in the kingdom of his Father shines bright as the sun (Matth. XIII); and the Bridegroom, the sun of justice, receives in him a chamber and a rest welcome to him in this, that it is not straitened in space, not troubled by the assault of annoyance. Accordingly the anxious Virgin not undeservedly asks that it be shown her where he feeds, where he lies down whom she loves with a singular love, that when it has been shown, she may safely and gladly follow thither, lest (if it be shut) 244Bshe be borne wandering after the flocks of the companions.

Lest I begin to wander after the flocks of thy companions. He is Christ's companion who wills to be reckoned by his name, who says that he is his, who chooses to profess his faith; who announces his word, who preaches the way of truth; who joins himself to Christ, either in the reality or in the image of holiness. But because there are many who rejoice not in the true 138 reality, but are coloured with the image, who by affection and by work detest what they build up by word or by countenance: these the Virgin willed to call not a flock but rather flocks, knowing that the singular name is more fittingly attributed to the just. Whence below in the Song: « Thy hair as of goats, thy teeth as a flock of sheep (Cant. VI). » [Vulg. Cant 6:4–5 capilli tui sicut grex caprarum, "thy hair as a flock of goats" — the singular grex Philip's argument turns on is absent from the first clause as printed] And in the Gospel: « Fear not, little flock (Luc. 244CXII). » The flocks therefore of the companions are the multitude of them that believe falsely, in whom there is a show of piety, but no virtue, no strength of works; in whom the ostentation of the Christian religion is apparent, in whom the preaching or the doctrine of Scripture sometimes sounds forth, but the life savours not rightly, the discipline of their manners is not fragrant enough. Who for the most part wound and seduce the consciences of the weak, and, turning aside from the path of justice, lead them into the broad room of error, and by open converse or by hidden counsels or by worse examples corrupt good manners, and either take away from them the narrow way of religion utterly, or at the least break it off for a little. After seducers of this sort the most prudent Virgin wills not to be borne, but to discern wisely who 244Dought to be preferred to whom, lest, if she take Nicolas for Stephen and Judas for John, she be held like to them, or be twofold a daughter of hell. Which evil the Virgin knows to be wrought at the instigation of the malignant spirits, whom iniquity set and removed far from the seat of the heavenly ones, while they beheld not the divine excellence with an eye humble enough, but, affecting an unapproachable likeness, fell from heaven after the manner of lightning. Who, knowing that they shall never return thither whence they had fallen, but that men made of clay shall ascend by the working of grace and by merits, corrupted with malice, envy and are tormented with a wondrous grief, and with utmost straining do hurt to those to whom they behold this grace to be given; since therefore they have an untiring mind for envying, and, according to a certain heathen, a thousand arts of hurting are theirs, as much at midnight 245Aas at midday they stretch out their nets, and either by an arrow in the darkness, or by a midday assault, they seize the incautious and the wretched (Psal. XC). The arrow flying in the darkness, which strikes grievously while it is unknown, is the hidden suggestion whereby our mind is soothed, when, a kind of veil being spread over it, it promises itself either no wound or a venial one, and, as with a little wound, lets in a deadly poison to the wretched heart. But the midday assault is the open malice of the assailant, when the vehement shamelessness of the malignant one pours out all its strength, when it grievously casts us down from the throne of patience, of obedience, of continence, or perchance, when we resist, threatens and sets before us losses, perils and martyrdoms more evidently. But if perchance the malignant spirit find any man stronger, so that he fears not its terrible threats, 245Bnor its keener onset, it lays aside its threats, is silent about perils, brings nothing in violently, but turns itself fraudulently to a certain show of religion: for perceiving that watchings, prayers, abstinence, fasting, the labour of the hands are pleasing to some, it does not resist but presses on, and exhorts them first to abide more strongly in these things; and, lest they be outstripped in them, to guard themselves the more anxiously each against the other; and then, not content with the due time, not to keep the measure regularly appointed. While therefore anyone, fervent in spirit, attempts to be no less than the rest, and does not hold back with the bridle of moderation the loosened horse of desire; while he forestalls the solemn vigils, that he may pray more devoutly or ruminate somewhat more sweetly out of the Scriptures; while he fasts and abstains, lest he should as it were burden his belly with meats that will more quickly pass away; 245Cwhile, being still vigorous in body, he strains beyond the labour of the hands that is due; while for these things, or for the like of these, he stretches himself out with looser reins: there meet him on this side and on that the blasts of vainglory, the love of praise, a presumptuous self-esteem, contempt of others, rash judgment, a harsher and hurtful reproof. For condemning the rest, whom he beholds to keep a looser measure as though they were lukewarm, he now reckons himself, as being more strongly fervent, better than all men; and the more inconsiderately he burns for greater things, the more, hurt by the wind of pride, he withers the more wickedly and is the more foully emptied out. For him whom fervour drives headlong, a vanity brought in beneath receives, and a certain show introduced deceives his conscience, which, feigning a good thing by a false light, blunts and darkens his eyes, while he works the more subtly who transfigures himself into an angel of light. 246ABy whose work this wretched man in no wise reckons himself deluded, but rather as flooded with a kind of ray of the midday sun, in which, while he attends only to the surface as to a conspicuous flower, he hopes for a surer fruit, and does not detect the flaw in the root. Seduced therefore by him, he now wanders after the flocks of the companions, while, as though working well, he is defrauded by the craft of the malignant spirits, whom in some sort he finds to be Christ's companions and fellows, while he reckons that he pleases Christ, and is nevertheless found to please them. After companions of this sort the more prudent Virgin wills not to stray, nor to be defrauded by their midday show of good, but to detect their cunning with a keen-sighted eye, and to find Christ in his own light and in a midday that does not deceive. I will, she says, to find thy light, a true light, 246Buseful and serene, lest, deceived by error, I run after another's light; lest the falling Lucifer falsely take to himself the likeness of Michael, lest Satan offer himself to me in the form and appearance of Gabriel. I will, she says, not to be seduced by the midday assault and demon, not to be led away by their blandishments and deceiving pretence, who lie in calling themselves thy companions, who, rejoicing in the name of angels, enjoy not the angelic blessedness. 139 Lest therefore the aforesaid light and day of these men should flatter me guilefully, show in what man or in what angel a rest welcome to thee is had, which with thyself glows red and flames, not only in the day, but in the midday, being perfect, neither begun in the morning nor growing toward evening by a downward course.

246CHitherto the Bride, the Virgin, has spoken of him and to him whom she more tenderly loves, and has followed out her love and desire in continuous speech: now she takes up silence, yet not omitting speech altogether, but breaking off a little for the sake of hearing. And so let us too in this place take up silence and rest awhile, and at last set an end to this first book, since it also asks that a limit be set to its own length, and our weakness asks that the labour begun be now, at least for a little, laid aside. But to the setting forth of that which the Bridegroom vouchsafed to answer the Virgin, if the day shall have dawned, I will take care to turn back my resting pen; if that Holy Spirit shall vouchsafe to come and teach me in silence what may please him that I should speak rather than be silent.

• 245D

If thou know not thyself, O fairest among women, go forth, and go thy way after the footsteps of the flocks. After the Virgin's many words, wherein she showed the heats of her own mind, wherein she asked that the longed-for kiss be given her and the Bridegroom's chamber be shown her: not hardness, not contempt, nor at length any further bar of silence holds the Bridegroom, but, having diligently heard her vows and prayers, he gives an answer. 246DAnd assuredly the Virgin, who so anxiously wills to be taught where the Bridegroom lies down, he admonishes first that she neglect not to gaze upon herself the more studiously, that, turning to her own things, she be not ignorant of her own beauty, lest perchance, being unknown, it be discoloured by mould or by negligence. For not warily enough does he kindle himself to acquire the rest, who does not attend with the eye of worthy consideration to the things first acquired, and who heaps up with rash labour the riches he has coveted, while he 247Adoes not watch over with diligent care the things laid up long since. As the Poet describes, the hunter errs not a little and offends, who chases what flees and, spurning what is taken, leaves it behind; and the prophet Aggeus showed that he also is none the less to be reproved who put the wages he had gathered into a bag with holes (Agg. I). Accordingly the Bridegroom sends the Virgin first to consider her own beauty, and does not permit her to give the things past over to oblivion: putting her in mind of this very thing, which he counsels her to remember, that she may the more easily be able to incline her ear to his admonitions. O fair one, he says, among women. That that Virgin whom the Son of God chose beforehand for himself from eternity for a mother, in whom, taking flesh at the fitting time, he gathered himself into narrower limbs, of whom he willed to be born, the hedge of her flesh not being broken 247Bby a new manner of birth, whose son he was made, being before the birth and after the birth utterly uncorrupted in chastity: that that Virgin, I say, was beautiful among the rest, that is, before the rest of women — this I judge worthy to be believed, nor is a faith of this sort faulty. For neither is it credible that God, the Son of God, should have chosen a mother swarthy, one-eyed, marked with a scrofulous swelling, or hunchbacked: and not rather one beautiful with a snowy countenance, a rosy colour, pleasing eyes and a full body — so that she who was chosen before the rest of women for a worthier office should not only be uninfected with any foulness, but also, in bodily appearance, fairer than all and perfect. Although the fact that she is called fair among women befits not so much the grace of her countenance and the comeliness of her body, as her perfect manners and that admirable 247Choliness of hers, by which, full of grace by the angel's witness — which is nowhere attested of any other woman — she alone deserved to be made the mother of Christ alone. Regarding a beauty of this sort, the angel says: « Blessed art thou among women (Luc. I). » For she herself is blessed among women, that is, in the midst of women, upon whom by Eve's desert a harsher curse is inflicted, to whom, as to her that first offended, they are by a wretched law conformed, and, being liable to sins, are deformed by their motherly likeness to her. Among whom, wretched and deformed, an ampler beauty was granted to this Virgin, who, having overpassed the old curse and the hereditary law, the Spirit overshadowing her, put far from herself every heat of malice and every stain of sin, and by the merits of innocence and by the beauty of her mind 247Dset herself before all women. And to the increase of her beauty, rejoicing in the wholeness of her body, she is made fruitful in a new kind untried by all; and by an unspeakable birth the virgin brought forth such a son that no other bore, either before or afterward, one mightier or one equal. Accordingly so great and so incomparable a loftiness — what is it but the wondrous and eminent beauty of this Virgin, wherein she was not only not forestalled by the rest of women, but was herself found far fairer and more excellent among them all? To the considering of which the Bridegroom calls her back 140 and leads her again, and does not yet more fully bring her into the longed-for chamber, that she may first know with how great a grace she is adorned, and whence and whither she has come may be recalled by a mindful humility. Thou, he says, who hast now obtained a greater grace than all women, 248Aand, remaining a virgin, art wondrously made the mother of God, while thou findest not what remains and dost not yet come to the thing longed for, attend more diligently to what has already been conferred upon thee by my gift. For since, greedy of things to come, thou dost not yet prevail to obtain them, if thou take care humbly to remember the grace already received, the perception of things present will more solidly confirm thy faith, and faith confirmed will await things to come both the more sweetly and the more securely. But if thou set aside and know not the things which thou already provest as though present, and, while thou graspest at things untried, art found neglectful of the things proved: Go forth — which indeed I say to thee neither counselling nor commanding, but striking fear with threats, and, foreknowing what is to come, foretelling these things. Go forth, he says, that is, thou shalt go forth, and shalt deserve to be flung back from the secret place, thou shalt be made far 248Bfrom the sanctuary into which thou askest to enter, thou shalt be driven from that very welcome chamber which thou willest to be shown thee, and thou shalt seem to go forth when thou art not permitted to go in. So indeed they are said to be blotted out of the book of the living who deserve not to be written with the just in the eternal volume; and by common speech we say that these things are taken away from us which, being hoped or longed for, we know are at last not conferred upon us. And so the Virgin also will complain that she goes forth outside, when by the desert of her ignorance she shall suffer repulse from the entrance, when, forgetful of her own beauty, she shall appear foul and discoloured, when out of the remembrance of things present she shall not have a sure confidence of things to come. But if, O Virgin, thou shalt mindfully consider that thou hast the pledge and earnest of the Spirit, which none of the elect deserved to obtain in that manner at all; thou shalt assuredly know that whatsoever 248Cthou worthily askest is not taken away, nor is the just desire of her that is aflame defrauded, but deferred. For thou who hast received so many and so great things above all women, who without a father didst conceive a Son by the working of the Holy Spirit, who, according to Gabriel, didst find a wondrous and unspeakable grace with God, while thou didst bear him whom thou hadst conceived without coupling and without groaning — what dost thou henceforth by right reckon to be denied thee, if only the time shall come when it shall be worthy to be given? He therefore who has conferred so much, from him await what remains; and if, as for the most part appears, he shall make a delay to thy longing mind, await it again; and lest perchance the delay weigh upon thee, remember what thou hast already received, and by the memory of the things received strengthen thyself unto faith and patience. For in that which thou already holdest thou hast surpassed all the beauty of women, 248Dand with the fair face of thy mind thou hast gone before all the daughters of Eve; and if thou shalt know this, and shalt render worthy thanks to the giver, then, sighing after what remains, thou wilt not give an undue murmur to him that defers. For to this end he defers, that the desire deferred may groan more fervently and more constantly, not that, faith being shaken, it may faint away through impatience; that in the time of delay thou mayest cultivate and adorn thy fair face the more amply, and not more negligently discolour it with the dust of forgetfulness and with a degenerate ignorance. If therefore thou know not thyself, go forth from my company, from my bosom, from me, from the very face at last of him whom thou hast loved: And go thy way after the footsteps of the flocks, which a little before thou didst dread. Go forth, he says, and go thy way. For whoever has gone forth from the sanctuary which he ought to have entered, going on to worse, is now not permitted 249Ato stand, but to go away; and because he feared not to forget himself and the counsel of the one admonishing him, he is compelled to journey far from himself and farther from the one admonishing. And he goes away after the footsteps of the flocks who follows their depravity going before him, who, being lovers of errors and of sects, know not the unity of the faith; or who, living after the manner of beasts, entice and deceive those who follow them, and grievously persecute with their own depraved manners those whom they go before.

And feed thy kids beside the tents of the shepherds. When anyone has gone forth and gone away, having his understanding already darkened, he is said to feed kids, while he brings depraved affections through to their effect, while he cherishes and furthers inconstancy of mind, wantonness of manners, bodily uncleanness, and loves to lead an animal 249Blife. He perhaps feeds lambs who, strengthened by the spirit of pitying grace, has harmless acts, clean and simple thoughts, whose fruit and whose whiteness that highest Shepherd approves and loves, and to the feeding of them he admonishes his lover: « If thou lovest me, he says, feed my lambs (Joan. XXI). » [Vulg. John 21:15 Simon Ioannis, diligis me plus his? … Pasce agnos meos — a question in the received text, printed here as a condition; Migne gives the interrogative form of the same verse at 0254B] But he feeds kids who, with corrupted mind, with seduced spirit, with lost will, does evil things, rejoices in malice, is weighed down by equity; and follows after those things which the just judge judges to be set on the left hand (Matth. XXV), that upon them the avenging angel with his ministers may harshly rage. Kids of this sort he is said to feed, not in the tents of the shepherds, from whose fellowship he is barred by his own urgent malice, whom their life does not entice, whose works do not delight but offend him, nor 249Cdoes he love to imitate what they set forth in doctrine and in manners. And because he is not found to dwell in the tents of the shepherds, in which the voice of exultation and of salvation alike is heard, he at least remains near, nor are pastures found farther off, while 141 he holds the name of Christ, no other baptism, the sacraments in common. And so, shrinking from virtue, he glories in the show of piety, and, not holding the reality, is visibly overshadowed by the sacrament of faith; and on this account he is recorded to feed, not within, but beside the tents of the shepherds, because, although he be in some sort without, yet the appearance of the thing is neighbour to it. Shepherds are all the perfect, who follow out the right faith not so much in name as in works, who, washed once in the laver of regeneration, 249Dare often washed again with devout tears, who devoutly celebrate the sacraments of the Church unto their own salvation, since they obtain not so much the outward form of them as the power. In which tents they correct their own depravities into straightness, they subject their own wills to the divine good pleasure; and with discreet governance they rule their affections as they do their works, and day by day pass on to ampler advances. But in these men do not dwell, though they draw somewhat near to them, they who destroy the faith by their works, while they do not forsake the sacraments of the faith, who, not having the power, are adorned with its outward title; and they imitate as shepherds those whom they shall have seen to be good, not in the reality, but in name. But perhaps to some it will seem hard and austere that the Bridegroom addresses the Virgin Mother thus, that to her who has spoken beforehand of sweet things and loves him tenderly he thus threatens at the very beginning 250Aof his answer; since it is certain that after the aforesaid kiss she does not thus go forth from him or go away, and accordingly that things so heavy and so superfluous do not befit one that kisses or loves. For although it can more fittingly be assigned to any soul, or even to the Church, to whom, when she offends, Christ judges it useful now to promise and now to threaten: yet the beauty of this one is believed to be especially the more constant, in whom God is made man, and the fulness of the Godhead dwells bodily. I judge it worthy therefore that we should see a little more attentively how the Bridegroom loves to answer like for like to the Virgin who has spoken beforehand in the language of love; and how, having already perceived beforehand her prayers, her vows, her untiring desire, he, returning praises for praises, has not dissented from her desire.

• 250B

If thou know not thyself, O fair one among women, go forth and go thy way after the footsteps of the flocks. [Vulg. Cant 1:7 o pulcherrima inter mulieres, superlative, "O fairest among women" — the same head lemma is printed pulcherrima at 0245D] The Bridegroom, not willing to promote the Virgin by degrees to advances, teaches her how she may deserve to obtain the grace of advancing: namely, if the things she has so obtained she so lay up with herself, as in a hidden place, that the guileful enemy may not lay his pitchy hand upon them even for a little. For he often lays a hurtful touch upon the better goods of a greater grace of holiness, when he pours over them a ruin, the wicked mist of a darkening vanity; when either with the heavy blast of pride he overwhelms and hardens a mind endowed with gifts, or at the least with a light breeze he somewhat darkens the beauty of a tender face. For it is difficult for any Virgin to behold herself endowed with the better gifts, and either not to be shaken by the battering-ram of proud 250Cvanity, or not to be moved by a blast however slight: to feel herself excellent in form and praiseworthy in countenance, and never with a bent mind to consent to one that praises her the more often. Whence it is necessary that she who wills not to be touched by pride should not set a mirror before herself, lest, when she has seen herself fair, she should perhaps set herself before the rest: nay rather, that she may not consent even for a little to the flattering deceiver, she should offer her face, unknown to herself, to be known by her chaste lover only. And so the chaste lover, willing that the Virgin should please none but himself, wills that she should not have knowledge of her own face; he wills that the Virgin should not know herself, should not marvel at her own beauty, lest, marvelling or praising, she should glory in herself rather than in the Lord. That angel would have been held happy, if 250Din some sort he had not known himself, when in the delights of paradise he outstripped Lucifer in splendour; happy, I say, if he had not been proud of the things he had received, and, being founded by God, had not thought himself God's equal. Far better, far more happily, Abraham knew not himself, when, as though not knowing himself, he sought divine converse, when, forgetful that he was held great in merits and more illustrious in life, by a prudent counsel he confessed himself to be nothing but dust and ashes. « I will speak, he says, to my Lord, whereas I am dust and ashes (Gen. XVIII). » Happy also king David, who, because he wills not to know the letter of the law which he had learned, setting little by his own, deserves to enter into the power of the Lord; and, not establishing his own, serves God's justice with bowed neck, and, forgetful of his own things, remembers only the things that are the Lord's. 251A« Because I have not known letters, he says, I will enter into the powers of the Lord; O Lord, I will be mindful of thy justice only (Psal. LXX). » On the contrary, that wretched Nabuchodonosor, who put not the knowledge of himself away from himself, who knew himself rich, most powerful, endowed with various successes, who attended more to himself commanding than to him through whom kings command, and, beholding himself great, set little by the author of his own greatness. « Is not this, he says, the great Babylon, which I have built in the strength of my might, and in the glory of my beauty? » (Dan. IV.) But if anyone shall object that some are found to have gone over their own illustrious works, in which nevertheless Scripture does not judge that they were reprehensible: let him attend to the time, let him discern the cause 142 and in whom this is found to be done; and let him know when 251Band why it is found to be as lawful as it is necessary. For when anyone perceives that he is the more grievously constrained to suffer or to do evils, if he wills to be plucked out of them by prudent counsel, as feet out of a snare, he can, nay he ought, lovingly to recount the goods which he has already obtained, that by the memory of better things he may be able to remove the evils that press upon him. Hence it is that Job, when he was shaken with so great a weight of evils and with their number at once, and was urged by his wife's insistence to curse God at last, calls back to memory and goes over the goods which he had already received; and the heap of evils did not wrap him, who was mindful of good things, in the stains of impatience. « The heart of the widow, he says, I comforted, and I was clad with justice: and I clothed myself with it as with a garment. I was an eye to the blind, and a foot to the lame; I was the father of the poor. And when I sat 251Cas a king with his army standing about him, yet I was a comforter of them that mourned (Job XXIX). But now the younger in time deride me (Job. XXX). » And above: « If we have received good things at the hand of the Lord, why should we not endure evils? » (Job. II.) [Vulg. Job 2:10 si bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare non suscipiamus? — Dei becomes Domini, and "receive" becomes "endure"] The good man did not think his own good things worthy to be pressed down in silence, when so great a manifoldness of evils straitened him on every side, so that the sweet remembrance of good things might render light the burden of the pressure that lay upon him — as long afterward the Scripture of a certain Wise Man admonished: « In the day of evils, he says, be not unmindful of good things (Eccli. XI). » To this end avails, as I judge, that saying which the letters of the Gentiles so favourably extolled, and, as worthy of memory, handed on in writing to posterity, which 251Dsome assert that one of the seven wise men of Greece uttered, while others rather affirm that Apollo answered it in an elegant oracle: « Know, he says, thyself, O man. » Because the wise men of the world knew that man consists of a rational soul and a body, of which they asserted that he has the one in common with the gods and the other in common with the beasts, those of them whose doctrine was sounder preferred reason to the body, and by that judgment, detracting from the beasts, they deferred (as was more fitting) to the gods. And so they willed that man should be ruled by reason going before, and that the bestial flesh should be subjected to the rational spirit; and, the spirit being carried up, that man should be taken away from among the beasts, and, if not in place, at least in merit, be transferred into the fellowship of the gods. 252AFor to this end, and on this account, they reckoned man to have been made, and that this difference lies naturally between man and beast: that the beast freely gapes after earthly things, while man is bidden to aspire to heavenly things — which the uplifted face given to man also seems to indicate. Of this thing Apollo wills that man should prudently be mindful: to know whence he comes, and whither by reason's desert he ought to journey; to forget what is beneath and behind him, as though given over to sleep; to wake up, by the nimbleness of his powers, to that which is before. But because very many turn aside and stray from the path of reason, who after the manner of beasts are plunged in the filth of earthly action, who entangle and wrap their hands in grievous offences, who cast their feet into voluntary sins and do not absolve themselves from the crimes laid against them, of whom scarcely any is found who lives according to man, 252Bnay, according to the philosopher, is found to live as a swine or an ass: therefore the seer cries out, does not permit the tripod to be silent, the oracle sounds, a censorial voice sends forth its doctrine: Great Apollo thunders, and, the lightning being loosed, wills to be feared; he wills that horse and mule, swine and ass be frightened away from error and ignorance; he wills that all the better sort be admonished to honest knowledge, and that his own hearers be advanced to the understanding of reason's excellence. « Know, he says, thyself, O man. » Of which sentence Paul was not unaware, when he was constrained to suffer grievous things, when, tenderly compassionating the weakness and the scandal of the Corinthians, he was set afire, lest he should be weighed down more than is just with another's load, or perhaps that he might seem worthier to be heard by them that were weighed down: he has recourse to knowledge, professes that he knows himself a man — one who serves not 252Cthe flesh, but who glories to be grafted into heaven. « I know, he says, a man in Christ caught up even to the third heaven; and I know such a man, whether in the body or out of the body, I know not, God knoweth, that he was caught up into paradise, and heard secret words which it is not lawful for a man to utter (II Cor. XII). » And he added: « For such a one will I glory (ibid.). » Do you see that Paul knows himself to be a man lifted up to the third heaven, to visit paradise, and to glory for so great a grace? To this end, namely, that the Corinthians should not defer more to false apostles, and prefer guileful teachers to his doctrine and his merits. Otherwise, if this cause or necessity, or one like to it, had not been, which forced a wise man to this as it were unwisdom, 252Dassuredly he would have remembered that saying of the Gospel spoken to his fellow-apostles, and would have held it, as worthy of memory, in speech as in conscience: « When you shall have done all good things, say that we are unprofitable servants (Luc. XVII). » [Vulg. Luke 17:10 cum feceritis omnia quae praecepta sunt vobis, "all things that are commanded you" — Philip's gloss immediately below expounds omnia bona] In which saying it is given to be understood that no one is proved to do all good things, unless the saying of this be added to the rest of his good things: and he does not colour the heap of his good things with a surface worthy enough, who is not ignorant of it for the sake of avoiding vanity. That therefore you may know the Bride to be perfectly holy and humble, the Bridegroom teaches that this ignorance is in her, who, while she hastens to the rest which the son does not yet give but promises, does not commit the things which she already obtains to a boastful 253Amemory. If thou know not, he says, thyself, O fair one. For in that he says Si, it is not a dubitative but an affirmative conjunction; as that poet: « Ye gods, if there be any piety in heaven. » And so the Bridegroom says: If thou know not thyself, O fair one — which indeed is difficult, but yet 143 is a man — Go forth. But go forth whence and whither, save from thy contemplation to thy work? Go forth from the consideration of thy own beauty to the forming of the beauty of others; as though neglectful of thyself, be anxious for very many: form the disciples, teach the apostles the things which thou hast more perfectly known of me; stoop to John, whom as a son thou, a mother, hast received. Go forth, I say, and go thy way after the footsteps of the flocks. They who preside over flocks walk after their footsteps, and are known to have the care of them before 253Btheir eyes; lest any should stray, lest any should sit down weary, they lead their watchful eyes about, they rejoice with the healthier, and every weak one they carry back upon their shoulders or lead home. It is therefore a mark of power to preside over flocks, and the apostles are admonished to sit beside the Virgin as she presides, that the Virgin may command them, and as a mother may bear the care of all, and that they may hear their mother, as the Gospel affirms. « Woman, he says, behold thy son (Joan. XIX); » and to the disciple: « Behold thy mother (ibid.). » For when the care of John is delegated to the Virgin Mother, the care of the rest is not, as I judge, banished from her; but what is more specially assigned to one for the sake of a certain mystery is designated as generally necessary for all. For neither does John alone receive Mary and venerate her whom he has received, nor does the Virgin 253Cembrace John alone with the affection of a devout care, but, loving all, she is zealous to show herself useful to all, to show herself pre-eminent in doctrine and imitable by all. « All, he says, were with one mind continuing in prayer with Mary the mother of Jesus (Act. I). » [Vulg. Acts 1:14 hi omnes erant perseverantes unanimiter in oratione cum mulieribus, et Maria matre Iesu, et fratribus eius — "with the women" and "and his brethren" are absent] And so the Virgin is admonished to go away after their footsteps, that she may search out their goings with a diligent eye, that she may investigate the more anxiously what they do, whither they tend, by what way they pass; that she may advance what is worthy of praise, and may not pass over the wanderer either, but chastise him. The flocks are the apostles, and they who are gathered to them by faith and by works, who, imbued with the evangelical sacraments, are separated from the error of the ignorant, who, venerating the Virgin and believing her word, sighing after the eternal pasture, hold in contempt the things that are of the world. 253DTo whom it is said through Ezechiel: « And you, my flocks, saith the Lord (Ezech. XXXIV). » Whom perhaps he therefore willed to call flocks in the plural number, because the apostles, being bidden to preach the word of the Gospel to the nations that should believe, being divided one from another under the Spirit's leading, chose diverse parts of the world, in which by their zeal in preaching they gathered many flocks and assemblies of men, and many churches. Who, although they are diverse in place, in time, and in the merit of their virtues, yet, while they all come to the catholic faith and the evangelical doctrine, many flocks are brought back into one, and very many into one Church: and all are united in the undivided sacrament of faith and of baptism.

And feed thy kids beside the tents of the shepherds. He calls the apostles kids, who, although it is not denied that by the Virgin's word and 254Aexample they advance to a great holiness, yet, while they live a mortal life and are held in the prison-house of the flesh, according to the Bridegroom's counsel confess themselves unprofitable servants, and, being ignorant of their own justice, confess their sins with a humble voice (Luc. XVII). One of whom: « If we shall say, he says, that we have no sin, we seduce ourselves, and the truth is not in us (I Joan. I). » And another: « In many things, he says, we all offend (Jac. III). » Those therefore whom the whiteness of conscience, the beauty of innocence, the simplicity of manners, the eminent holiness of merits render lambs, the same the confession of sin with fear makes kids, while as yet a man knows not whether he be worthy of hatred or of love. Accordingly, when any just men are called lambs, and innocence merits their praises, 254Bwhich are not held worthy to be commended save by Christ's gift: he says « my », as he pointed out long afterward to Peter, when to him that loved he assigned the care of them that love. « Simon son of John, lovest thou me? feed my lambs (Joan. XXI). » But when he wills them, by the desert of sin, to be reckoned by the name of kids — whom James and John assert are not held to be without sin — he says « thy », that he may lay upon the Virgin an ampler care of them, whereby she may keep watch over the healing of them, and the Virgin may carry them forward to a better state. As it was said to Moses: « Go down, thy people hath sinned (Exod. XXXII). » Or because, as the lambs by the Gospel's testimony obtain the right hand, so the kids are known to be set at the Bridegroom's left (Matth. XXV): by the kids he wills, not unfittingly, all the Virgin's acts to be signified, that is, whatever 254Cin this life the Virgin is bidden to work in time. For the chastising of herself, care for others, preaching or doctrine, sweats and colds, watchings, fasting, discipline are indeed Christ's gifts, but they seem to pertain to his left hand, because, not fixed with a steadfast step, they quickly deserve to obtain an end. Yet if they be fed, they also make an increase; not as it is in Osee: « Foolish Ephraim feedeth the wind (Ose. XII), » [Vulg. Hos 12:1 Ephraim pascit ventum, with no stultus, "foolish"] but let the Bride take care to feed beside the tents of the shepherds, that is, that she conform herself to the precepts of the Scriptures and to their authors. The shepherds are Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Moses and David, the patriarchs and the prophets, of whom some are found to have laboured, in the letter, in the feeding of flocks, and all of them to have kept watch far more anxiously in ruling and correcting 254Dmanners. And 144 perhaps such shepherds therefore choose to dwell in tents, because they teach and love to hasten from virtue to virtue; and nothing present suffices them as they stretch toward a greater advance, until, that which is in part being done away, they come at last to the perfect. Beside whose tents, and according to whose doctrine and example, the Virgin is bidden to rule and direct her own acts, that she may follow the rule of the Scriptures, which the long series of the prophets long ago set forth as a thing to be known and held. For although the Virgin Mother by a certain special grace already goes before those same authors, yet in time their authority goes before her, nor is it an injury if she be invited to their form and commendable doctrine, that vidilicet she may follow by 255Aexample those whom she now seems to excel in merits. But whence the Virgin has this, that she may prevail to do what she is admonished, that, not knowing herself, she may go forth, and, going away, may rejoice to feed the kids — this the Bridegroom shows her, that she may glory in the Lord alone, and, knowing not her own face, may marvel at his face alone. Therefore he adds: To my cavalry, etc.

To my cavalry in the chariots of Pharaoh have I likened thee, my friend. He calls her friend, whose mind accords utterly with what it hears, whose converse now disagrees from the commandments not even a little, who is so zealous to do and to accomplish all things that are commanded, that, loving him who commanded, she may deserve to be loved by him. As it is written in the Gospel: « You are my friends, if you do 255Bthe things that I command you (Joan. XV). » Further, that she might become a friend, he likened her to his own cavalry in the chariots of Pharaoh. He alludes to a thing done, he touches the history, which describes that the children of Israel passed over the depths of the sea with a dry footprint, but that the chariots of Pharaoh and his whole army utterly perished. But in what respect the Virgin Mother is held like to this people, it is fitting to see; for a likeness of this sort seems not to have a fitness worthy enough, especially since in that passage the people of Israel is not found to have had horses, and there was no cavalry, seeing that it is agreed that horses and horsemen were lacking to it. For of Pharaoh it is written: « The horse and the rider he hath cast into the sea (Exod. XV), » [Vulg. Exod 15:1 equum et ascensorem deiecit in mare, "he hath thrown down"; the verb printed here is that of Exod 15:4, quoted two lines below] and below: « Pharaoh's chariots and his army 255Che hath cast into the sea (ibid.). » But when the children of Israel passed over, no mention is made of horses or of chariots, nor do they escape Pharaoh's threats by such a defence, lest anyone should reckon that what the hand of God alone willed wondrously to work was worthily to be assigned to horses or to chariots. Finally the sea, though perhaps by a ship, yet is not crossed by a horse or by a rolling wheel; and in that passage the people experienced neither a ship nor a vehicle, but, the waves being divided and standing on this side and on that after the manner of a wall, they pass over with dry foot, not about to feel the onset of the Egyptians any more. And so for no other cause is it rightly called a cavalry, save that God sat upon it spiritually, and as ruler mercifully presided over the subject people; and that people was the chariot, or the four-horse car, of him that presided, and he willed to be the leader and charioteer of the car 255Dthat bore him beneath. To whom Moses says: « Thou hast been a leader, he says, in thy mercy to the people which thou hast redeemed (Exod. XV). » And Habacuc: « Thou who ridest upon thy horses, and thy chariots are salvation (Habac. III). » Such a cavalry, he says, as I made my own in the chariots of Pharaoh, that is, above all the chariots of Pharaoh, and made over to my own service, when I set it free, being led out of Egypt, from among the hands of its pursuers: so by a deep mystery I bound thee to a certain wondrous ministry, when I blessed thee, my chosen mother and Bride, among women, that is, above all women. For all the motions, all the onsets which the flesh suggests, which the enervated mind heaps up, all the crowds of vices which Egypt, ruinously depraved, sends forth and sends in, I drowned and quenched with the flood of the water that bore them down, and I wiped away thy stains by the benefit of the grace 256Athat washed them clean. And, the enemies being quenched, thee, assigned the more freely to my service, made over with a willing neck to a light and sweet yoke, I, a mighty horseman, a skilled charioteer, lead through the midst of the sea, and, the waves being removed on this side and on that, I bring thee through to the solid land of the living. There stands on the right hand and on the left the overhanging height of the waters, which an invisible strength holds fixed after the manner of a wall; they are astounded and marvel that they are held by a new and unwonted kind of thing, that a way is given to the four-horse car, and that the slipping waves are not feared. For so, turning and dwelling in the midst of sinners, attending on this side to the foolishness of the Gentiles, on that to the scandals of the Jews (I Cor. I), thou drawest upon thyself from their malice no fault, no sin; thou art not broken by reproaches, thou dost not forsake the way shown thee beforehand. And not only does the heap of the overhanging wave 256Bnot press or oppress thy head, but neither does a passing stream so much as touch the feet of thee that walkest; nay rather, with dry foot, with clean footprint, with unspotted life, thou passest by the way of this world, unassailed by any touch of the vices. But endowed with so great a gift, how art thou not a friend — thou whose converse in a world so unclean is so chaste, who wast made the keeper of my mind, the sharer of a spiritual secret, a true mother, knowing nothing of the marriage bed? But that in conceiving she knew not the marriage bed, nay rather that from that time and thenceforward no touch of Venus 145 hurt her virgin mind, the Bridegroom seems to intimate in the words that follow, whereby he willed the more evidently to commend her chastity.

Thy cheeks are beautiful as the turtledove's. In the cheeks 256Cit is agreed that the Virgin's beauty appears the more, in which a snowy colour is found to blush faintly beneath; nay, whiteness and redness seem to envy one another, while each strives to hold alone the surface of the cheeks. Or, if it please better — nay, because it does please — when whiteness pours itself over the whole face with a large bounty, and redness overspreads itself upon the cheeks with a thin sprinkling: they smile upon one another, and there comes to be a certain friendly fellowship of colours, while out of the snowy the rosy, and out of the rosy the snowy, is made the more pleasing. And so the cheeks are coloured with the Virgin's commendable comeliness, which are adorned by a grace in them not confounded but diffused; in which the ruddy colour, or the sanguine redness, is joined to whiteness, and the one does not disdain the other, but with a throat ever a vida is satisfied. The Virgin's whiteness 256Dis the cleanness of her flesh and her virginal integrity, which no stain, no bodily corruption harms; which, being the more safely fortified, grows not foul at the robber's violent onset, being the more diligently shut in, grows not pale when the blast blows more harshly. But the redness which is becomingly coupled to the snowy colour is the fervour or the heat wherewith the inward mind rejoices to burn; which, since as in a furnace it can scarcely contain itself within, seems to appear without in works as upon the cheeks. For how greatly the Virgin burns inwardly with spiritual love, she cannot fully express without by bodily work; but out of the abundance which her inward conscience comprehends, a kind of ruddy spark shows itself without upon her face. By this redness and whiteness I judge the Virgin's cheeks to be called beautiful, whose beauty her lover 257Adelights to gaze upon; and the beauty which, by the grace of humility, he wills to be unknown by the Virgin, as was said before, he himself, not grudging, loves to impart to her in fitting praises.

Nor is it to be thought that he brings any hurt to that beauty in that he makes mention of the turtledove among her praises, because the turtledove, though it be believed to be of no merit and of no holiness, yet affords a type of modesty and a pattern of a modest chastity. For having obtained one mate it knows no other thereafter, and keeping faith to that one alone it blushes to know another: and if perchance that one be lost, not even so does it wish to have another; it grieves as a widower, nor will it sit upon a green branch. How great a love, how great a faith, how great a desire of chastity, how holy and imitable an appearance of chaste honesty does it set forth, in that as one present so one absent it loves 257Bsingularly whom it has chosen, into whose fellowship it once brought itself back with faith for a go-between? To which turtledove can she better, can she more worthily be compared than that Virgin of virgins in whom God willed to be made flesh, when already she was caught up with her whole desire to love him singularly, so that, abhorring every man, she was troubled even at an angel's entering? And when her son was born, no concupiscence of man harmed the mother none the more, but the bearer clave to him she bore, the Bride to the Bridegroom, with a love not to be loosed, in such wise that no carnal onset should thereafter bring loss to her chaste spirit, nor should she thereafter feel any blandishment of another love; cleaving to heaven alone, she knew not the frail pavement, and so loved the flesh in her son as the sacrament in the Bridegroom. To the Bridegroom indeed with firm faith 257Cshe loves to cleave, and to show herself to him as a chaste virgin to her one husband, in whose bodily presence for some time she rejoices, and in whose spiritual love and commerce she is proclaimed blessed. « Blessed art thou that hast believed, » says Elisabeth (Luc. I)! But when he was as it were lost — that is, when, dying and rising again, he disdained human fellowship, and returned thither whence he had come, that is, to the Father's right hand — she, abhorring the public gaze, with chaste heart and modest face, remains a widow, groaning after the manner of the turtledove. And because she had not the Bridegroom, whose presence had been green and delightful, keeping faith to him absent she now sat upon no wood but a dry one; nor did another Bridegroom preside over her with a like privilege, though another perhaps stood by her as a son by the grace of ministering. Wherefore, as I judge, 257Dwhen Christ, set upon the cross, commended his mother the Virgin to John who stood by, and carefully made over the disciple to her service, he expressly did not say: Woman, behold thy bridegroom; and to the disciple: behold thy bride, but he said: « Woman, behold thy son; and to the disciple: behold thy mother (Joan. XIX). » For in many sons a mother's fruitfulness, with wedded faith unharmed, is commended, but in many bridegrooms chastity is accused of intemperance: and therefore, that the Virgin might be kept for one husband even in his absence, no other Bridegroom, but another son, stood by her in the present. Finally the other John, greater than whom there hath not risen among them that are born of women, understood this mystery, as he plainly shows to all; who, though he might be believed to be the Christ, who was the Virgin's own Bridegroom, yet the more evidently declares that he is not the Christ, is not 258Athe Bridegroom. « You yourselves, he says, bear me witness, that I said, I am not the Christ. He that hath the Bride is the Bridegroom. But the friend of the Bridegroom, who standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth with joy because of the Bridegroom's voice (Joan. III). » You see that John, loving 146 to measure himself with a worthy eye of consideration, while others lied concerning him, himself prudently chose not to lie; and knowing his own bounds, does not assert himself to be the Bridegroom but the friend, lest by usurping a falsehood he should rather make himself an enemy. And so to the Virgin there is no Bridegroom but Christ, who in her womb celebrated wondrous and incomparable nuptials, and made her fruitful not by male coition but by the divine Spirit, by whose presence the same Virgin ever grows green, and at his greenness the loving virgin grows glad. 258BFor so long as the bridegroom is with her, she cannot but rejoice, in whom she sees that her own flesh has no stain of flesh; who in the bridal chamber of her womb was made one flesh with her, in a union having indeed no vice, but opportune for the salvation of all. And because such, so spiritual a commerce felt nothing contrary in the joining, assuredly it brought no vice into what was conceived; and Christ was born not, like the rest, a son of wrath also by nature, but he lived with clean flesh, to die by an impulse not necessary but voluntary. Finally, about to die: « If in the green wood, he says, they do these things, what shall be done in the dry? » (Luc. XXIII.) The Bridegroom calls himself the green wood, whose root in the conceiving is not gnawed by a hidden little worm, whose stem, that is, his life, is not held by rottenness, however slight; the spreading of his words 258Cas of branches withers not at a hurtful blast, but, to conclude briefly, the whole substance grows green with an inborn vigour. To whom that better applies which Paul says: « And if the root be holy, so are the branches (Rom. XIII). » Rightly then is any other man called dry wood, whose conceiving is not sufficiently purified, and whose conversation is assailed by vices; who of himself or by himself germinates not, is not made fruitful with a just germ, unless, by the Bridegroom's bounty, the dew of divine grace be poured upon him from above. Therefore the Virgin, so long as the Bridegroom is with her, rejoices in green wood, but when he is absent she reckons every wood dry; nor does she find another wherein the turtledove's foot may rest even a little, which withers not at the touch, whether original or actual, of vices. 258DShowing therefore that she grieves for the Bridegroom's absence, while she neither has him whom she loves nor wishes to have another in a like place, she sits in the dry, and groaning she shows herself a widow, and both by her posture and by her groaning represents the form of the turtledove. Nor is it to be thought that from this her beauty is deprived of its grace, in that a widow's sadness compels her to sit and to groan, because as worthily in the Bridegroom's presence the Bride's face grows glad, so it is not foreign to grace if in his absence it wastes away. And so he rightly commended the Virgin's cheeks as beautiful like the turtledove's, to whom, both present and absent, the Virgin kept the faith she owed, who, knowing him alone to be a man endowed with a deity united to him, gave herself wholly and devoutly to him with modest chastity. To whom the Bridegroom subjoins:

• 259A

Thy neck, as necklaces. The Bridegroom, praising the Virgin, uses comparisons unheard of, and, as the first face of them pretends, not sufficiently choice for expressing the likeness, since neither cheeks seem to suit a turtledove nor a neck a necklace, unless a careful reader take pains to find the hidden fitness. A band is knotted to the neck, that he who has been bound may be held, and, being held, may be led away hence thither, thence elsewhere, otherwise, at the pleasure of him that holds him; and if the leader-away be malevolent, he that is led away is wretchedly taken captive, and, his liberty lost, is made bondsman to the rule of the stronger. Whereby the pitying Lord once perceived a certain Virgin pressed and oppressed, who, deceived and enticed, at the first despised not fraudulent blandishments; 259Bbut afterwards, offering her neck to the bands, she took no care that she was led to ignominy, and, forgetting her inborn liberty, turned herself aside to a hurtful servitude. Seeing her and pitying her, the Lord invites her back to that which was lost, warns her not to suffer herself to be held any longer by another band, and, that she who with the loose bar of shamefastness let the corrupter in may be loosed from his band, bids her hear a chaste and saving monitor. « Loose, he says, the bands of thy neck, O captive daughter of Sion (Isa. LII). » Thou, he says, who once wast worthily called daughter of Sion, when, seeing God with the mind, thou wast seen of him with a kindly return; from thy neck, whereon no precious stone, no gold now glitters, no necklace, but a corrupt mind, the heat of the flesh, a youthful desire has defiled it; loose, I pray, the bands, that what is foul, prostituted to an unpermitted baseness, 259Cmay be wiped clean with a strong hand and be restored, set free, to honesty. With that filth the neck of this our Virgin, whom we have in hand, was not fouled, nor grew hard with a stubborn neck, with an untamed heart; but the Bridegroom rubbed it clean with a soothing voice and a soft hand, and upon it, rubbed clean and made smooth, laid a light burden and a sweet yoke. Whereof also you have received a commandment: « Take up my yoke upon you, and learn of me, because I am meek and humble of heart (Matth. XI). » The Virgin's neck therefore is her meek humility, a humble meekness accustomed to the laws of obedience; whose form or example the Bridegroom himself willed to afford, when, obedient to the Father, God willed to appear as man in a virgin's womb. Whose obedience the Virgin understood to be worthy enough and to be imitated, and, a lover of this pattern, 259Dlifted not up her neck swellingly, but hearing with the hearing she bore the yoke — not that which Adam laid heavy upon his sons, but that which, being light and sweet, more graciously eased the neck of her that bore it. 147 For as, according to the heathen, that appearance is no honour but a burden which will hurt the wearer, so on the other side that appearance is no burden but an honour which will adorn; and assuredly Christ's yoke burdens not him that loves it, but honours him, dishonours not the neck of him that obeys, but adorns it. How great a comeliness of mind seems to you to shine out in the Virgin's words, how great necklaces — not dewlaps — to hang from her neck; who, at the angel's word whereby she is forewarned that she shall bear God, confesses herself not a noblewoman of royal stock but a lowly handmaid? Nor indeed was it new and sudden for her to obey 260Athe divine warnings, who for very many days before had been accustomed to serve God; so that with faithful purpose she vowed herself to remain a Virgin also, for which nevertheless she had neither a commandment in the Scriptures nor a pattern among her forerunners. By the teaching of his Spirit alone, who graciously presided within, she was disposing to keep her chastity unviolated; and she deserved not to be cheated of her hope and desire, nay — what is greater and more wonderful — to be made fruitful, such a purpose abiding. But by a new kind she both remained Virgin and was fruitful, whereas before and after neither has she who was Virgin been fruitful, nor has she who was fruitful remained Virgin: of so great a prerogative she willed to speak or to think nothing lofty, nothing unseemly, nor to dissent from him whom she knew as a Master meek and humble of heart. And so no man so bore the light burden and the sweet yoke, 260Bno other so conformed himself to the obedient Bridegroom, as she who furnished him with the garment of her own flesh, whose obedient neck seems, to them that consider worthily, an ornament.

Finally it is she who is found so to be beneath Christ the head, that there is no doubt she is above the rest of the body; and she seems to hold the middle place between the head and the body, nor can the Bridegroom's sons reach to the Bridegroom save with the Mother between. When she, the Bride, is present to us, it is good to cleave to him, but when she is absent the members cannot cohere with the head; to us set far below, the Son of God has come down through her, to whom our infirmity ascends not save through her. She first, she more blessed, receives a great munos, whereby many and diverse are made as it were one; whereby the two 260Cwalls have been united by one faith, by one baptism, and, running together to Christ, have leaned upon him personally. Finally she commends us to the Bridegroom and Son by her intercession between, invites us to pray, admonishes him to attend; the Bridegroom's mother and handmaid, the empress of us all, she joins the disjoined, holds fast the joined, a mighty and effectual mediatrix. For seeing us dry, and that we have no wine at the wedding, and knowing that without wine the wedding pleases not worthily enough; pitying them that were to perish of thirst, she hastens anxiously to come before them, and confidently to approach the Son for the failing of the wine. The Mother of Jesus, he says, saith to him: « They have no wine (Joan. II). » And perceiving that the humble intercession of a loving prayer is not made void, but comes to profit for us, nay for all that sat at meat, she says to the servants: 260D« Whatsoever he shall say to you, do (ibid). » And when they, according to the Virgin's word, inclined their ear to the command, the waterpots are filled with water, and clarified wine is rendered: by a thing worthy of a miracle our tastelessness is turned into savour, torpid cold into fire, a more negligent contempt into love. A good neck, a good intercession, a good mediatrix at last, who joins those whom Eve, the hurtful separatrix, had disjoined; who invites the Son to bounty and us to obedience, and brings it about that we omit not to render service, nor he to confer benefit. Nor is it beside the point that the Bridegroom praises that same neck as necklaces, which bear the ensigns of matronly wealth and of honourable chastity; which, made of gold and stones with learned art, 261Awith a preeminent appearance adorn the neck, cover the breast, and close the double hem of the garment. You know that by gold understanding and wisdom are for the most part signified, and by stones virtues and works are figured; and the craftsman sets the stones in the gold and orders them diligently, when he works strong things and disposes his works wisely. And rightly did the Bridegroom mark out the Virgin's neck by the comparison of necklaces, because the humble meekness wherewith the Virgin obeyed to bear the yoke the more sweetly the longer she bore it, or the prerogative of merit whereby, being nearer to the head, she went before the remaining members of the body, whereby she interceded with the Bridegroom as an effectual mediatrix for his sons; glitters with the gold of wisdom, is made solid with the stones of works, and is adorned by the craftsman's hand with a worthy coupling of virtues. For who more strongly, who more wisely bore the yoke that is sweet to him that loves it, who loved 261Bmore fervently, who obeyed more graciously him that sweetly disposes all things, than the Virgin in whom the Word coeternal with the Father, the Wisdom of God, willed so to be clothed with flesh that, remaining what he was, he vouchsafed to be found in habit as a man? (Philip. II.) But the Virgin's prerogative, strengthened by the gift of this mystery, closed like a golden necklace the hem of her garment from above; since it confers upon the Virgin not only comeliness but also defence, that within the bosom of the flesh she may not feel the fraudulent robber. For as from the mind, so also from the flesh the Virgin drove back everything hurtful; nay, the shameless robber knocked not at the bosom of her rest, seeing and envying that it was fortified from above with wondrous grace, so that no entrance could anywhere be found for any malevolent one. And for this cause perhaps the Bridegroom named not a necklace but necklaces, 261Cwherein he signified a manifold, or at least a twofold, prerogative of grace: namely that whereby the Virgin's Spirit faints with tender love toward her salvation, and that whereby the flesh, now tamed, lusts nothing against the spirit. In 148 Paul, as he says (Rom. VII), two laws struggle against one another, whose spirit as well as flesh work not more fully the things that they will; serving the law of God with the mind, he is believed already to have one necklace, but with the flesh serving the law of sin he prevails not yet to obtain the other. By how much therefore Paul is the more wretched, who is still snatched into diverse things, whose Spirit wills the things that are above, and whose insolent flesh wills the contrary; by so much is the Virgin the more blessed, to whom a twin necklace is already given, whose Spirit cleaves to God, whose flesh wrestles not 261Dagainst the Spirit. Blessed, I say, is she who, fortified with necklaces, admits no unchaste robber, who keeps the enemy far from the doors of her virginal modesty, who suffers not even the shameless dogs, the vices of the flesh, so much as to bark at her gate, from which the loving Bridegroom willed to make her chamber serene. Nevertheless he did not so utterly banish the other assaults from that same chamber, nor deny some kind of access to them that rushed in harshly; wherein, although the cruel malignity of him that brings them deserves to be reproved, yet the humility of her that suffers them contracts not guilt to itself in like measure. Wherefore the Bridegroom says:

We will make thee muraenulae of gold, vermiculated with silver. The muraenula is a fish which, nourished in the waters, bears many times to be beaten and driven on by their billowy flood, 262Ayet rejoices not to be driven to death by the impulse of the water; shaken by the tempest it fears not to be swallowed into the deep, and, putting its tail (as is said) in its mouth, it folds itself into a round; taken by the fisherman's art it enriches the tables of them that feast, and by a pleasing savour invites us to the desire of it. Such a fish the Bridegroom perhaps seems to promise to the Virgin, were it not more manifestly shown in the promising; for he utterly forbids us the understanding according to the letter, when he says that this same fish is of gold or of silver. Finally he does not say: We will give thee — which could be understood of eating — but: We will make for thee, which is understood of having; because the fisherman indeed gives muraenulae but does not make them, whereas the Bridegroom not only gives his own gifts but also makes them. For his are the 262Bgifts, whose author makes them precious.

And so in the estate of this life, not stable but billowy, in this sea exceeding horrible, and, when faith is lost, full of shipwreck, the Virgin feels herself beaten with many annoyances and tribulations, but not weighed down unto failing and impatience. For the Bridegroom works in her a certain fortitude as it were of fishes, whereby, standing in the midst of the waters, she is not loosened by the manifold inundation; and, having called upon him for whose love she burns, by whose inextinguishable heat she is held, she dreads not the flood, is not swallowed up by the deeper waters. « Save me, O God, he says, for the waters are come in even unto my soul (Psal. LXVIII). » And worthily thereafter: « Let not the deep swallow me up (ibid.). » The restless depth of the waves, the flowing manifoldness of tribulations, cannot wonder enough 262Cthat they hasten to be gathered against the Virgin as with a battle-line drawn up; and yet by no assault, by no onset do they prevail to break her that resists, that persists unharmed among the waves after the manner of fishes. They drive, they drive not out; they wrench, they wrench not away; they shake, they shake her not out of the state of solid firmness; they are astonished, beholding the Virgin of so great a weight; whom, as a new grace, an incomparable beauty, an unheard-of prosperity does not lift up, so a hard tribulation, the persecution of the malignant, the flowing heap of waters does not soften. For abiding in the flesh, she was in spirit not carnal but golden, that is, rich with the gold and treasure of spiritual wisdom; retaining in herself nothing soft, nothing fluid, nothing of unskilled dullness, but solid and shining, of grave understanding, 262Dof an exquisite treasure of fortitude. For in the furnace of tribulations, at the smell of the fire, she was not caught beforehand after the manner of chaff, nor was she found like hay, nor like stubble, but like the finest gold (I Cor. III); and her, being prudent, whom the inundation of waters sank not into the depth of the sea, the furnace of fire befouled not with soot but wiped clean. For the greatness of tribulations found in her no scruple, no stumbling-block whereto any hurtful or unseemly baseness might cleave, but when floods and fires passed in emulation through her or over her, the floods assuredly found her a muraenula, and the fire found her golden.

But in that the Bridegroom declared that he would make not a muraenula but muraenulae, he signified, as I judge, not one virtue but very many, which the good 263Acraftsman forged with the learned hand of his power, and, compacted with wondrous workmanship, prepared for the Virgin's adornment and defence. Further, the muraenula, bringing its tail back to its mouth, is then seen to make of itself a circle or a ring, when the end of a virtue begun with good intent is bent back to its beginning; when the Virgin's patience, for the sake of him whom she loves, chooses to bear whatsoever grievous things, and no adversity prevails to remove cam from her purpose. But another muraenula may be called her obedience, whereby, from the time that she was saluted by the angel, she is found so given over to the heavenly commands that, according to Gabriel's word, the Spirit working, being faithfully joined to one Bridegroom and rejecting every other, she was intending to please him alone who sees in secret. And who can speak or think of that muraenula anything that shall seem to you sufficiently to befit her praises, 263Bwhen, namely, with no man for a go-between, the angel's word is made to her — he calling her blessed among women, 149 she declaring herself a handmaid; he pledging that she, unknown of man, shall now be the mother of the Lord who is present (Luc. I), she, yielding faith, yet answering herself humble; bearing a new man who with God in the beginning was God (Joan. I), she, uttering nothing lofty, nothing swollen, remains abject and humble? There is also a greater and a more excellent one: that muraenula which is named love, or charity, which, sitting upon a throne, holds princedom over the rest with a kind of royal sceptre; which, preeminent above the dignity of faith and hope, brought over them with a noble sovereignty, proceeds the more effectually, rejoices the more securely, being led into the Bridegroom's very chamber. Out of muraenulae of this kind, as out of certain meshes, a cord 263Cor a chain is woven together, more solid indeed than gold and a stranger to the filth of the dust; forged in the furnace of tribulation by the learned hand of the goldsmith, reduced neither by the waters into softness nor by the smoky fire into ashes. Does it not seem to you that Paul compacted diverse muraenulae, and wove them, being compacted, into one cord or little chain, to which the pressure of tribulation stood as furnace and anvil, out of which by a wondrous workmanship came forth the golden graciousness of the muraenulae? « Knowing, he says, that tribulation worketh patience, and patience trial, and trial hope, and hope confoundeth not, because the charity of God is poured forth in our hearts (Rom. V). » You see therefore that out of the furnace and the anvil of tribulation the bronze of patience is brought forth, which constitutes the root 263Dand immovable foundation of the cord or chain; whereupon leans the loftiness of the virtues that follow, which the beauty preeminent in the gold of charity consummates. And this is charity unfeigned, and a worthily commendable connexion of virtues, which the pleasing mingling of silver vermiculates and adorns; when the cord of muraenulae is so laboriously knit together that a vermiculation of silver is found inwoven in it. Vermilion, which is a red colour, or the little worm which is of one colour with vermilion, signifies Christ's passion, whereof mention must needs be made in all things that we do, so that when we think that we serve him, obey him, love him, we may diligently call to mind those things which he unworthily suffered for us. His garment indeed grew red for us, as Isaias testifies (Isa. LXIII), and his raiment was fouled as of them that tread in the winepress; 264Ain whose type you know that a commandment was of old promulgated, that a red heifer should be sacrificed for sins (Num. XIX). The red heifer is he who says in the Psalm: « But I am a worm and no man; the reproach of men, and the outcast of the people (Psal. XXI). » Of this worm and this outcast, of this reproach, he ought the more diligently to be mindful who desires the more perfectly to obtain the muraenulae promised to the Virgin, because the golden connexion of virtues gives not sufficient adornment if the red little worm and the silver be not inwoven. Finally the little worm is bent back into a ring and a manifold circle, that in it the worthy perfection of the aforesaid remembrance may be figured; and being cut off and divided into two separate parts it still lives, signifying him who, being struck upon the wood of the cross, slept a little while, but straightway waking 264B« now dieth no more, death shall no more have dominion over him (Rom. VI). » In whose faith and love and rightly to be loved remembrance the Virgin lived, when the persecutor harshly fixed the sword not so much in his body as in her soul; and when the Son's death came even unto the Mother's tender heart, yet the Mother's faith and love found not death. Was not he dead who escaped death by a timid denial (Marc. XIV), and he who, shaken with fear, leaving the linen cloth, fled naked; and they who, all forsaking him, entered the more hastily upon flight, and held the signification neither of the little worm nor of the silver. For silver, being bright and sonorous, is said to hold the form of speech, whose chastity in the furnace, whose testing in the fire, fears not to render a voice; which, having nothing of lead, nothing of tin, grows not dark 264Cin the burning, but, passing through unharmed, grows glad more brightly and more sonorously. You have it that the word of the Lord is a chaste word, silver tried by the fire, proved of the earth, purified seven times (Psal. XI). [Vulg. Ps 11:7 Eloquia Domini, eloquia casta, plural, "The words of the Lord are pure words"; the singular eloquium is the word Philip goes on to expound of Peter and of John] And by Isaias; « If thou pass through the fire, he says, thou shalt not be burnt; and the flame shall not hurt thee (Isa. XLIII). » [Vulg. Isa 43:2 cum ambulaveris in igne, non combureris, et flamma non ardebit in te, "when thou shalt walk in the fire, thou shalt not be burnt, and the flame shall not burn in thee"] Peter's speech in the fire is found not sonorous, but sordid after the manner of lead (Marc. XIV); and John's speech is found not bright enough, since the one answered not a good word, a truthful word, to them that upbraided him; the other, taking to flight, hid himself under silence; having read, but neglected, that which is written: « Take not the word of truth utterly out of my mouth (Psal. CXVIII). » And again: « And I shall answer a word to them that upbraid 264Dme (ibid.). » But the Virgin, embracing Christ's passion diligently with the arms of faith, presses not down her love of him negligently under silence; but what she, believing, loves, she evidently preaches when the time requires, as truly loving, so confidently bringing forth the word of faith. Worthily therefore is she given the special adornment of muraenulae, which are vermiculated and adorned with approved silver, since to her perfected virtues the Bridegroom interposes a diligent remembrance of his own passion; which the Virgin puts not off, both to carry through in her manners and to bring forth in her words. Such an adornment the Bridegroom asserts that he has not made for the Virgin but will make, showing that in this life that gift is not present to her but future, because while the Virgin labours and sweats and strives strongly in the contest, not 265Athe completing of the wayfaring, not joy, the receiving of it for her, but the promise gives of the crown. For here, as upon an anvil, the mesh is beaten, a promissory perfection is drawn out, and, grace prospering, it is bent back that it may become completive, that the tail 150 may cleave to the head, that the end may be conformed to the beginning, and that the perfective conforming may be made firm with a stable rivet. In type of this Moses commands the head and the tail of the animal to be offered, hinting that a spiritual conversation should bend back the end to the beginning, that the mesh may be made whole, that the ring be made, that the muraenula be rounded again, that an action well begun be consummated with a like ending. Which, because while the Virgin lives here she obtains it not yet more fully but awaits it, to her that awaits the Bridegroom casts up no fear or distrust; but rather comforts her expectant mind with hope, cherishes it with a promise, makes it secure; asserting that he will do whatsoever 265Bbefits her perfection. Nor let it move any that he says not: Muraenulae of gold I will make for thee, but we will make. For although here the Son alone seems to speak or to promise, yet he alone works not the effect of the promised gift, but it is agreed that the Father works with the son, and the holy Spirit equally, whom it is certain are separated from one another neither in nature nor in work. « My Father, he says, worketh, and I work (Joan. V). » And again: « Whatsoever things the Father doth, these the Son also doth in like manner (ibid.), » and there is no doubt but that the Holy Spirit doth them also. Of whom the Son says in the Gospel: « We will come, he says, and will make our abode with him (Joan. XIV). » The same, speaking to his virgin Bride: Muraenulae, he says, of gold we will make thee, vermiculated with silver. And she:

• 265C

While the king was in his repose, my nard gave forth its odour. The praises being uttered wherewith the Bridegroom commended the Virgin's cheeks and neck, the promise of the muraenulae being made whereby he comforted her girlish mind, he now seems as it were to give place and to withdraw from the Virgin's sight; but not going far from her mouth and her love, he is held fast by her grateful remembrance. For the Virgin, turning to those maidens who tarry with her, who with anxious hearing await their mutual discourses, rejoices to speak of the Bridegroom and to commend his excellence, and to proclaim what his excellent benevolence has conferred upon her. While the King was, she says, in his repose. My Bridegroom, she says, is not base-born, not 265Dplebeian, not of a viler impotence, but the son of the highest king, and himself a king of no lesser excellence; from the Father's session, from the royal seat, from the hiding of an unapproachable greatness, where the angels see his face and unwearied desire it; he willed to come hither to the earth for the salvation of perishing souls, and rested in my bridal chamber with the delightful love of the nuptials: in my womb, I say, that King gladly reposed, and such a repose pleased him well enough that reposed therein; and whereas in the foxes' holes and in the birds' nests he had no pleasing rest for himself, he complained not that he had found anything in me that should displease his repose. But reposing there he filled me wondrously with his grace, while, keeping me a virgin, he abolished the Virgin's barrenness; and his effectual fire burned me up for a holocaust, and not the reek of flesh but a most sweet odour of ointments filled the whole 266Ahouse. For when in this his repose that majesty more sweetly leaned back its head, and God the Son of God inclined himself into my womb to take flesh; my virtue received no mean increase, a larger advance of grace, and was made as nard, fragrant within with vigour, giving without a fitting odour.

Nard, according to the letter, is a lowly herb, of a hot nature, of a richer juice, thick with leaves, mighty in odour, fit for the compounding of spices. By which not unfitly is figured the virtue of the virgin Mother, which before the Bridegroom's coming seemed small and known to God alone; but when he was present it gave the sweetness of its odour far and wide, pouring out to them that were without the benefit of an ampler knowledge. While the Bridegroom reposed in 266Bthe Virgin's womb, the just Joseph wonders at an unknown mystery, but, the Angel revealing it, he smells the magnificence of the sacrament (Matth. I); understanding that the Virgin was not corrupted, nor had conceived of another womb, but had received a wondrous conception by the gift of the Holy Spirit. This odour Elisabeth seems none the less to have perceived with a prophetic nostril, when the Virgin, already great with child, is read to have gone up into the hill country, at whose saluting voice the little John leaped in the womb (Luc. I); and with great dancing the whole dwelling of the mountain resounded like a ringing echo. For Elisabeth felt, and the infant in her womb felt, the repose of the incarnate Word, and smelled the sweet fragrance of this precious nard; the priest with his voice, the infant with his motion, applaud the Virgin as she comes, they extol her as she salutes them, they render worthy service 266Cto her that goes before them: « Whence is this to me, says the priest, that the mother of my Lord should come to me (ibid.). » And he adds concerning the Son: « For behold, as soon as the voice of thy salutation was made in mine ears, the infant in my womb leaped for joy (ibid.). » With whom rejoicing the Virgin great with child so loves to rejoice together, that yet, like nard, she is found to remain humble, and, being fuller in grace and richer in an ampler merit, the young woman ministers with dutiful diligence to the elder. For she willed to tarry three months with the priest, holding it fitting to converse for that time with the aged matron, to take care of her, to bring 151 help, to sit the more anxiously by her as she travailed, to have compassion on her pains, to still her groans, to show a pleasing solace. Nor did the Virgin afford to the woman in childbed only the solace 266Dof an attendant, but, as some think, she performed as it were the office of a midwife; not that the Virgin, being unskilled, had been accustomed to such a ministry, but that, being meek, she might show a ready mind toward the woman in childbed; and that, first holding and beholding the child as he was born, she might render him better, whom she knew to be the prophet of the Most High, the forerunner of Christ who was to be born (ibid.). Elisabeth sees the Virgin's humility, and considering it she marvels; with the Spirit of prophecy she smells the humble excellence of this nard: she sees that wondrous bush, to be proclaimed to all ages, burn unharmed (Exod. III), and the nard, hot by nature, nay fervent in spirit, not consumed; she feels that a richer juice is in the humble nard, that in the Virgin's womb a purer fount of mercy gushes up; she sees the humble nard 267Amade thick with leaves, and the Virgin abound in words of modesty, in saving doctrine. Of all which, although the Virgin's nard shows not yet a fuller effect, yet little by little it gives an odour to some that have sound nostrils, so that even with a slight perception they may perceive how great a virtue is in the Virgin, how great a grace of virtue, and how great a hope of health there is for the sick in the aromatic nard. For whoever shall have felt in himself a disease or a languor, if with greedy nostril, if with due love he shall have perceived this odour; not only shall he not grieve to be weighed down, nor to fall away into failing, but he shall rather rejoice to be assuaged and to pass over into advancement.

Finally the very odour of the nard is found to receive an advance, when with the process of time the Virgin imparts a greater knowledge of herself; when, after the birth of the Son, who advanced in wisdom 267Band in age, she is known to be his mother with the incorrupt chastity of a Virgin (Luc. II). For when the Word in flesh, God in man, was conversant among men, and by many was called man only, whether out of ignorance or out of malice; yet very many knew him with a truthful judgment to be God and man, and believed that as before the birth so after the birth his Mother was a Virgin. While therefore the king was in his repose, that is, when God, being great in man, showed himself as lowly, and, hidden from the unbelieving, lying secret from them that were without, appeared only to his own chamber-servants, my nard gave forth its odour, that is, my light under the bushel, my virtue in the dark, lay not hid, but became known to Peter as well as to the rest that had a true faith. Whence to him asking: « Whom do men say that the Son of man is (Matth. 267CXVI); » and again: « But whom do you say that I am (ibid.). » Peter answered: « Thou art Christ the Son of the living God (ibid.). » He, asking concerning himself, called himself my Son of man. Peter, having drawn in the odour of the nard, affirmed him the Son of the living God; understanding that my Christ is so held to be a virgin's son, that rightly he is proclaimed the Son not also of a man, but of God. This odour the Gentiles perceive not with sound nostril, nor the Jews, who, not knowing me a virgin, deny him to be the Son of God; and derogating from the Mother, to whom a Father was altogether wanting for the joining, they weigh not the unspeakable begetting both of the begetter and of the begotten. Therefore with stopped nostrils, with blind sight, with deaf hearing, with impious hands they afflict me, who, the odour not being perceived, 267Dcrucify Christ as a mere man; whose unsound judgment the centurion rightly contradicts, when, having seen the earthquake, he says that Christ is the Son of God: « Indeed, he says, this was the Son of God (Matth. XXVII). »

But much more amply did my nard smell sweet, my virtue shine out, when the King reposed upon the royal throne and upon the seat of rest; wherein, removed from earthly things, he found a more pleasing place, and, far from the envious, suffered neither injury nor labour. For dwelling in this world and set in a life subject to death, wherein he seemed as it were forsaken by the divine protection, he suffered so many and so great things, walking through the straits of a harder path, that this is rightly judged a dwelling not of rest but of labour. Wherein: « God, my God, he says, why hast thou forsaken me? (Matth. XXVII.) » And whereof: « I have laboured, he says, with bearing 268A(Isa. I). » And Jeremias: « O Lord, he says, thou hast given them a shield of heart, thy labour (Thren. III). » [Vulg. Lam 3:65 Dabis eis scutum cordis, laborem tuum, "Thou wilt give them a shield of heart" — future, and with no vocative] But when, dying, he had fulfilled the laborious journey, death being triumphed over, and rising again immortal had ascended to the heavens whence he had come: he sat at the right hand of majesty on high, being made now so much better than the angels, by how much he obtained above them a hereditary name (Hebr. I). When upon this seat or royal throne that King possessed the peace that was owing to him, and, reposing in the Father's session, rejoiced with a coeternal glory; the virgin's nard was found to smell more copiously and more fruitfully, and virginal fruitfulness to shine out the more graciously the more richly. For when the Spirit was sent and came down in fiery tongues, when suddenly a vehement sound came from heaven upon the disciples (Act. II), the blindness of ignorance and the strait 268Bof fear are driven far from them, and they utter as prudently as confidently the things they had known of Christ. For assuredly the Virgin had recounted to them in a long series from of old concerning the Bridegroom's kiss and the nuptial covenant, and, the law of the body not being observed, concerning the bodily conceiving and birth; and how he that assumed and he that was assumed had been united personally, the one not degenerating in what he assumed, the other not consumed by the glory of him that assumed: God and true man, Christ had advanced in wisdom and in age, and at last both laid down and took up his own soul with a free power. These things and much more, which it is not easy to recount in the present place (especially since they are so many that they can scarcely be contained in a book), the virgin through many years before took pains many times to explain to many, whom the same Bridegroom willed 152 to attach the more familiarly to himself. All which, 268Cbecause when the Spirit was sent from the heavens they were more fully understood, were with a fuller understanding the more gratefully received; and the things which, while the Bridegroom was labouring and mortal, had pleased less being covered, now that he is immortal and reposing in rest, please more amply being uncovered. The virgin's nard therefore gives to the faithful its own odour, that is, the odour fitting to it, when her virtue and holiness show a fuller knowledge of themselves; when, the Bridegroom reposing at the right hand of the divine majesty, the knowledge of the aforesaid truth becomes more fully known and grows the more sweetly sweet. I wonder whether that woman was not seen to signify this very thing, who willed to present a pound of ointment of precious spikenard to Christ as he reclined (Joan. XII), which with due reverence she poured upon his feet, and with a larger bounty upon his head, 268Dand that happy house of Simon was wholly filled with the odour. Whereof Jesus himself, bearing witness: « She hath wrought, he says, a good work upon me (Matth. XXI). » Truly a good work, nor can a better easily be found, when Jesus, reclining among his guests, rejoices that his feet and his head are anointed with spikenard; that his humanity is not pressed down under the silence of ignorance, that the summit of his divinity is lifted up by the proclaiming of a fuller knowledge. Which our virgin took pains to commend not so much by her words as by her manners, to proclaim it commendable as much by living as by speaking, lest she should seem, like a wordy soldier, to dispute of war and victory, who, being delicate, willed not to bear the burdens of the camp, the encounters of such things. Therefore she subjoins:

• 269A

A bundle of myrrh is my beloved to me; he shall abide between my breasts. Myrrh is a bitter spice, according to the judgment of physicians, wherewith, if a man diligently anoint the bodies of the dead, its bitterness gives to the corpses so effectual a remedy that for length of days they feel no corruption of worm or of rottenness. By the name of myrrh therefore the virgin's Bridegroom is rightly figured, with whose bitter bundle her conscience is not weighed down; but what is reckoned heavy and most bitter by another that loves not, is judged by her that is greedy of salvation to be by so much the sweetest as it is the more saving. The bitterness of myrrh is the Bridegroom's word or commandment, whose first taste, as it were, some are found so to abhor, and its first face, its very hearing, so to displease them, 269Bthat with hardened heart they not only choose not to consent, but hasten to spring back further from it as from a thing hurtful and contrary to themselves. You know that when Christ in the Gospel was speaking of perfection to a certain young man, and was exhorting him to the contempt of riches and to a voluntary poverty; he spat out the savour offered him as sad and bitter, and held not what he heard, proclaiming himself covetous more by deed than by word: « When the young man, he says, had heard the word, he went away sad; for he had great possessions (Matth. XIX). » Elsewhere, when Jesus had said: « He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood, abideth in me and I in him: many, he says, of his disciples, hearing it, said: This saying is hard, who can hear it? From that time many of his disciples went, he says, 269Cback: and walked no more with him (Joan. VI). » You see that these give not faith to what they hear, that they bear not a hard word as it were the bitterness of myrrh; that they have no profitable consent with such an adversary, but with a lost mind abhor that saving commandment. « Be, he says, at agreement with thy adversary, whilst thou art in the way with him (Matth. V). » But the Virgin whom we have in hand spat not out such a commandment, but bore the bitterness of myrrh with a willing mind; and what the ill-delicate reckon the sharper with a hurt palate, she with a better counsel and a concordant Spirit loves to hold the more pleasing. Wherefore also she named of that same myrrh not a bundle but a little bundle, wherein she signified the sweet, if I may so say, 269Dbitterness of the divine commandment; which presses not, weighs not down the neck or the shoulders of her that bears it, but increases love in her, and love makes light the yoke of him that lays it on. For whatsoever she judges necessary for herself in this life, she rejoices to accomplish and to carry through not as Simon under compulsion, but for the bridegroom's love; and with that little bundle she embalms her own flesh, and takes pains to make it firm with an abiding estate, while whatever she bears in the flesh she loves to commend wholly to her beloved. Our labour indeed, the labour of us wretched ones, or our wretched action, rots away as often as Christ's love grows cold in us; and if perchance the ready Spirit burns with love of him, myrrh is a bitter bundle to us, when either the flesh grows weak or waxes insolent against the Spirit. For neither can we utterly break our own wills, nor wholly banish 270Athe pleasures of the world or of the body; and we unhappy ones bear such a burden with much labour, while by turns fear is overcome by hope, and hope again by fear. But the virgin embraces her beloved so tenderly, so sweetly, and her conscience is so delighted with the love of him that is sweet, that whatever of bitterness she is compelled to bear in the present, she counts it light and very little for the love of him whom she already tastes, and shall taste more fully hereafter. Therefore she says: To me the beloved, she says, my own to me; though others, she says, seem 153 to bear a hard bundle, who have not yet deserved to obtain a concord of the flesh and of the Spirit: to me nevertheless my beloved has willed already to show himself a little bundle, to me who, the wrestling of the flesh being lulled to sleep, have been granted to cleave to his continual embraces. For the Virgin, considering that he whom she loves 270Bis a King, and therefore that he is powerful, rich, noble; cares not if at any time hard things clamour without, since within, in his embrace, she rejoices already secure. For him whom a little before she calls a King: « While he was, she says, King in his repose (Cant. I), » she now loves to name her beloved, that she may show that she loves one not weak, not poor, not base-born; upon whose embrace she hangs herself with fervent affection, and whatever is beneath or behind she little esteems with a worthy disdain. Wherefore, when she had said: A bundle of myrrh is my beloved to me, she adds: Between my breasts, etc.

He shall abide between my breasts. Good is this Bundle, and to be desired not moderately by her that loves, which 270Cbows not the back or the shoulder, nor brings disgust upon her that bears it; but with a pleasing sweetness abides between her breasts, where we discern that what is loved is not so much borne up as held and pressed close. Not so is he of whom it is written: « He turned his back away from the burdens (Psal. LXXX). » And you have read that the shepherd carries the lost and found sheep back to the flock upon his shoulders (Luc. XV). Of which the same, complaining, says: « I have laboured with bearing (Isa. I). » But the Virgin, bearing the aforesaid little bundle of myrrh, thinks not that she labours, nor says that she carries that little bundle upon her back or her shoulder, but, by a new manner of speaking, that he gladly abides between her breasts, where the seat of the heart is said to be and love to hold princedom. And the Virgin's breasts seem 270Dto figure her twofold love, whereby, namely, the Virgin loves to love the Bridegroom as God and man: God as Creator and Lord of the whole creation, man as her son by the grace of a wonderful and unspeakable begetting. To whom that rightly applies which was said by the Prophet: « The God of my heart, and God is my portion (Psal. LXXII). » Finally there is none who knows not that a mother embraces her son between her breasts, whom, from the very fact that she is a mother, she is proved by a certain law of nature to love: and the Virgin, for love's sake, compared her Son to a little bundle, whom the prophetic word, by the merit of his humility, named a boy or a little one. « A little one, he says, is born to us (Isa. IX). » That little one sweetly abides between his mother's breasts, whom, not by nature but by a prevailing grace, 271Athe mother strongly embraces: and with unremitted love she holds the more firmly, on this side God, on that man, nay her son wholly and at once, and lets him not go; she loves, and by no impulse of bitterness leaves off loving. Of whom she says below: « I held him, and I will not let him go (Cant. III). » Nor does the mother embrace only her son, but the Bride embraces the Bridegroom the more tenderly, and as she, so he rejoices in a mutual embrace; who, when he kisses her, as was said in the beginning of the drama, assuredly abides the more sweetly between her breasts. For in a kiss (if indeed it be consummated the more greedily and the more sincerely), as mouth is said to be joined to mouth, so breast to breast; nor is the love of them that kiss proved to advance to a nicety, if the kiss given with the mouth be not made firm with a pleasing embrace. Rightly therefore does the Virgin assert that the Bridegroom abides between her breasts, 271Bthat is, that a tender love is confirmed with the glue of an embrace; which, lest after the manner of others it be reckoned brief and perfunctory, the Bridegroom is said never to be disgusted with, but to make a tarrying therein. Between my breasts, she says, he shall abide. Whereof she subjoins: A cluster, etc.

A cluster of Cyprus is my Beloved to me, in the vineyards of Engaddi. Wonderful and much to be loved is this beloved, whose excellence my understanding, or the understanding of one like me, does not grasp; yet, that it may in some way grasp him, I hear him named now myrrh, now a cluster, knowing nevertheless that he is none of these things, but that he is figured by these names. A cluster is a fruit which, with the process of time and ripeness obtained, is fit for eating, and afterwards, being pressed in the press, strains out the liquor of wine for drinking. By which 271Cname the Virgin's Bridegroom is not undeservedly called, whose knowledge is ripened in the heart of them that rightly believe by a fitting advance; and, being ripened, he himself is eaten with the greedy affection of them that love him, and by that spiritual food the life of them that eat is spiritually quickened. Asserting which in the Gospel: « He that eateth me, he says, he also shall live by me (Joan. VI). » Happy is he who both wills and is able to purchase this food, his substance being sold, and to prepare the greedy jaws of his heart for such a viand: to repair with its so sweet taste the withered strength within, and, the care of the flesh being cast off, to strengthen the Spirit with diligent zeal. Happy, I say, is he in whose conscience the knowledge of this cluster grows ripe, whose appetite burns for it, in whose jaws it grows sweet, who, loving to anoint his palate 271Dwith a pleasing savour, feels its vital juice 154 pass through to his inward vitals. Which having passed through, the flesh withers, the spirit is made fat, the outward man faints away, the inward is renewed: the sense of the flesh subsides, the spirit receives increase, and when the one is as it were dead the other stretches the more hastily toward its issue. For being no longer content to eat the cluster with famished jaws, after the vital food he desires to drink off a fruitful cup; nor does the eating he has desired seem sufficient enough for him, if it be not seasoned with a sweeter wine and a more pleasing draught. And so with the roasting press of devotion and of love he presses strongly the cluster now ripe, throws out the grape-stones, and strains the wine that shall please the more graciously: and he who until then had as it were eaten with some labour, drinks the more sweetly and grows the more fully glad, while he feels nothing contrary in love. For food seems in a manner to be changed into 272Adrink, and the cluster into wine, while a man is found so sweetly to be made drunken with divine love that, forgetting things present, he is held by the desire of things to come alone, and, knowing no sadness, seems already to enjoy that joy of his Lord.

Whose sweetness the most blessed Virgin foretasted more fully than all, and with whose wine or love she burned far more vehemently; especially when, after the Son's death (which, being seen, the Mother could not but grieve at), his flesh was found to flower again by the benefit of the resurrection. For she who, while he was dying, tasted the sad bitterness of a certain myrrh, when the same rose again exulted the more sweetly, as one that had drunk wine; and that her joy may be clearly known to be more excellent than the rest. The cluster whereof the discourse is, is not unfittingly commended from its place: A cluster, she says, of Cyprus 272Bis my beloved to me. Cyprus is an island, before the rest that lie about it, rather first than second, as they say. who have seen it, so fruitful of the very best wine that not only is its fruitfulness held pleasing and sufficient for itself, but from thence also wine is carried over into other regions by the merit of its own. Whose cluster is found fairer to look upon, more pleasing to eat, sweeter to drink, when at the ripe season it makes trial of the winepress of them that tread; and as it seems to smile upon the sight, so also upon the taste, and the mind of him that loves it rejoices to answer it as it plays before him. Rightly therefore did the virgin will to call her beloved a cluster of Cyprus, who vouchsafed to present so great a joy to her that loved him, that, the mourning being wiped away which the passion of him that died had brought, she was rendered as it were drunken with the most sweet taste of him that rose again. Who, although to many others he was a cluster 272Cthat they might rejoice, and that by the grace of him that rose again they might have hope of rising again in flesh and in spirit, yet the virgin asserts that to her he was nothing but a cluster of Cyprus, to whom the Bridegroom is believed to have afforded an ampler and a more perfect joy. For the virgin had known both that the Son's death would profit for the blotting out of vices, and that his resurrection would bestow the merit of justification; and in both, while others variously distrusted, she distrusted not, and by how much the more firmly she believed and the more robustly she loved, by so much the more amply did she rejoice. Worthily therefore did she understand him in whom she believed, whom she loved, to be in a manner comparable to a cluster of Cyprus, whose love grows ripe with her by an incomparable advance, and, being tasted the more fully and the more sweetly, makes her grow glad the more strongly and the more joyfully. But that this cluster may be commended with a yet ampler grace, mention of the vineyards of Engaddi 272Dis not kept silent; and although Cyprus once named seemed sufficient and enough, Engaddus is added, that nothing may be able to be lacking to the commendation.

A cluster, she says, of Cyprus is my beloved to me, in the vineyards of Engaddi. As it seems, she says that a cluster of Cyprus is in the vineyards of Engaddi, which saying the truth of the matter contradicts according to the letter; because Engaddus is known to be far more remote from Cyprus, and neither custom nor necessity is found for clusters to be carried over from vineyards into vineyards. For if a man should labour to carry clusters from vineyards into vineyards, he is accused of a certain ineptitude in the judgment of the prudent; as if, his senses being lost, he should carry wood into the wood, or pour waters into the fullest sea, when that ought rather to be carried thither where most certainly it does not abound. Finally 273AEngaddus is said not to have vineyards, but certain little trees, which it is agreed are better than vines; which, if they be pricked with a learned hand at the opportune season, are known to sweat oil, nay the liquor of balsam. And because their owners till such little trees with much diligence, that like vines they may be made readier to produce liquor; idco perhaps the divine word called them vineyards, whereby it signified them both as subject to tillage and as rich in a precious liquor. Because therefore a cluster of Cyprus is not to be found in these vineyards or little trees, nor can what has been said fit according to the letter, it is necessary that in this word a spiritual understanding be sought, which, as you have already received, holds the greater princedom in this drama. In the tree or the little tree the virgin's Bridegroom is not unfittingly figured, who, if 273Bhe be pricked by the touch and love of them that worthily believe, sweats oil, gives the liquor of a precious balsam, brings forth much grace to her that loves, and pours back a more pleasing spirit. « Therefore, he says, I love them that love me (Prov. VIII). » [Vulg. Prov 8:17 Ego diligentes me diligo — the emphatic pronoun "I", not the connective "therefore"] And in the Gospel: « Somebody, he says, hath touched me: for I have felt power going forth from me (Luc. VIII). » [Vulg. Luke 8:46 nam ego novi virtutem de me exiisse, "for I know that virtue is gone out from me"] This Bridegroom, when he is touched with the pleasing affection of one that loves, pours back the sacred balsam, the power of an overflowing spirit; he brings forth that which stills diseases and by its presence keeps off all hurt, he brings forth that unction which, error as well as ignorance being driven out, teaches concerning all things. And this benefit seems to be intimated by the very name of the place, if any man shall have turned it over or been able to search it out more expressly, because Engaddus is interpreted the fount of the kid, or to the eyes of temptation, whose 273C155 interpretation serves the mystery of so great a matter. The kid is reprobated in the law, which is sent out into the desert by the ministers (Levit. XVI), and in the Gospel the same is set on the left hand by the merit of sin (Matth. XXV); and for this cause, by him, sin or the sinner is not unfittingly figured, who by his own merit is reprobated by him who loves nothing but justices. But the fount of the kid is the Spirit himself, whose infusion washes sin, cleanses the sinner, renders the flesh of Naaman the leper purer than a boy's (IV Reg. V), changes the kid into a lamb, giving the merit of an innocent life (Joan. IV), and becomes in him that has drunk a rich fount, a fount of water springing up. The same Spirit is also not undeservedly called the eye of temptation, by whose light and grace temptation is foreseen 273Dfar off; who, teaching man knowledge, forming wisdom, directing the understanding, the darkness of night being wiped away, leads him on to the perfect day. The cluster of Cyprus in the vineyards of Engaddi therefore is this our virgin's beloved, because the love and joy wherewith her mind is affected is made solid in Christ himself, worthily in his own Spirit; and loving him in him, she rejoices of him and not of another. To her indeed he is a fruit-bearing tree, a medicinal balsam, a vital fount, a laver of injustice, the light of knowledge, a spiritual eye; and whatever is judged necessary either for the driving off of evils or for the obtaining of goods, is truly proclaimed to be had in him and from him. And lest we be judged wholly strangers to that benefit, although we are in no wise made equal to so great a merit of this virgin, with the sacrament of holy 274Abaptism we have received certain visible things in token of things invisible. For we are anointed with oil in figure of the heavenly medicine, whereby, torpor being driven far off, we are prepared for an agile discipline, that our spirit, anointed with the divine spirit, may be held the stronger in the wrestling, and may the more readily slip out of the adversary's hand or snare. Afterwards we are washed throughout with the clean fount of visible water, that we may be spiritually cleansed from the filth not so much of the flesh as of the soul; and that we may exchange the rough motions of the kid for all meekness, and reserve in ourselves nothing on the left hand, nothing worthy of judgment. Thirdly a light is kindled for us, that our eye may not grow dim, that when it has foreseen whatever things are hurtful it may either forbid or chastise them; that, not being ignorant of Satan's cunning devices — what, namely, they feign, what they intend — it may walk honestly as in the day, 274Band darkness may not overtake it. So his own baptizer instructs the strenuous athlete, when he is newly girded for the contest, more by significations than by speech; that when he has received a lively understanding of the things which have been said, he may with the utmost effort, with grace, take pains to come through to their effect. In all which the virgin is believed to be equal to none, not second, but far before the rest she enjoys, rejoicing, the Bridegroom's love; and to her by a special privilege that saying worthily belongs which we know to be as yet forbidden to us, our merits requiring it. A cluster, she says, of Cyprus is my beloved to me, in the vineyards of Engaddi. After the virgin had spoken these things of her beloved to the maidens, and had mystically set forth what of patience, what of joy she has in him; he, as it were turning himself back to her, delays not to answer the more graciously, 274Cpraising and commending what he understands, and loves, to be preeminent in her.

Behold thou art fair, my friend, behold thou art fair: thine eyes are of doves. Thou, he says, who before all women art a friend to me, an enemy of all malice, of all foulness. Behold, that is, not only with all the just in the life that follows, but far more praiseworthily than all the rest in the present: Behold, I say, thou art fair, strong with a certain singular beauty, wherewith none of women, neither earlier nor later, can be compared. For it is fitting that he who is beautiful in form above the sons of men should have to himself such a one as by a singular grace displays a special beauty, whose face no unworthy and degenerate foulness may darken, but 274Dlove may conform her, the beloved, to him by whom she is loved. But when he had said: Behold thou art fair, my friend; what is it that he repeated: Behold thou art fair? What means this, fair and fair? Perhaps he repeated it to this end, that none should doubt of the aforesaid beauty, but that the assertion following might confirm the testimony set before; because it is both proclaimed that every word stands in the mouth of two witnesses (II Cor. XIII), and it is recorded that the authority of the law and of the prophets hangs upon two precepts (Matth. XX). Some say that he therefore called the virgin fair twice, that he might mark her as having had a double beauty; who, conceiving and bearing, wondrously continues a Virgin, and in so great a prerogative truly avers herself humble, whereas for the most part 275Aany woman is found either humble, but corrupted, or somewhat prouder, if perchance she has been uncorrupted. Worthily therefore fair, whom no hurt of integrity has disfigured, and again fair, whom an incomparable humility has adorned; so that the little flower of virginity renders her that is humble in spirit the brighter, and one humble in spirit renders her that is bright with the virginal flower the fairer. But I (not prejudging those who, it is agreed, have irreproachably thought this) judge that the Bridegroom, by repeating, expressed something proper to a lover, who, tenderly loving him by whom he rejoices to be loved, says pleasing things, and it does not suffice him to say once 156 what is loved. For the force of love has this familiar and proper to itself, that when it has enticed a man with the bond of a dearer affection, it stirs him up to speak gracious things of that which he loves, and, 275Bunless they be repeated, the same things do not seem to him fruitful enough. Love admonishes the lover to speak the more willingly, and, that he may express his affection, to repeat the word the more often; nor does this reading seem to the lover to be required more than is right, even if, according to the poet, it has been ten times repeated. Whence David also, when he would markedly express the love which he had had toward his son, and could not press down with silence the grief of his death, went mourning and with covered head, forgetful of the royal dignity, and speaking of his son repeated the same speech the more often: « Absalom my son, my son Absalom (II Reg. XVIII). » The same in the Psalm: « God, my God (Psal. XCII). » And elsewhere: « May God, our God, bless us; may God bless us (Psal. LXVI). » You see that to speak once what pleases 275Ca lover is not thought sufficient, but the tenderer affection rejoices to repeat what it had said; because whatever can be said, he that is given over to love does not yet esteem it enough, in comparison with that which he grasps in his mind, inexpressible in words. For this cause the Bridegroom, setting himself to address the Virgin with soothing words — in that, as you have heard, he willed to call her fair a second time — strove by the repetition not so much to commend her beauty (which is great) as to intimate to his hearers the affection wherewith he is held toward her. But because very much beauty shines out in the eyes of girls, in her praise he asserts that she has the eyes of doves, which he wills to be understood, as I judge, not those of this head, not carnal, but the spiritual ones of that inner man. 275DDoves have certain properties implanted in them from nature, which generation transfers by an unspeakable law from the former to those that follow; wherein they are reported to differ far from the other birds, upon whom these gifts of nature are not all of them bestowed upon all. For they are said to have seven natures, or powers of nature, whereby they both seek what is useful and are kept back from what is hurtful; which to set forth by name and to compare with the virtues of holiness (being perhaps about to speak of them at another time) I now defer for brevity's sake. Finally the Holy Spirit was seen to appear in a dove (Luc. III), intimating to us that he has no small likeness with her, since he himself is found marked with seven principal gifts, and she is marked, as has been said before, with the pleasing sevenfold of nature. When therefore the Bridegroom declares the Virgin's eyes to be 276Aof doves, he commends in her the seven gifts of graces; not the perishing light of the head, but the beholding powers of the mind, discerning of just and unjust rather than of days and nights. And rightly does he praise her whom he considers, thus conformed to his own Spirit, to have the sevenfold grace of virtues; from whom driving far off the drowsiness of the flesh and womanish torpors, he bestowed on her spiritual watchfulness and dove-like eyes. Indeed the Spirit himself rested more abundantly upon none of women than upon that same Virgin, in whom he rested sevenfold, since what bodily doves obtain figuratively from nature, he gave the whole of it to her in spirit, in truth rather than in figure. Whence rejoicing, and not ungrateful for the Bridegroom's praises received, she calls him also fair, with a praise nonetheless 276Bdoubled; and she rejoices to render the like to her praiser, and thus by an answering praise their mutual love is strengthened.

Behold thou art fair, my beloved, and comely. Because thy holiness has bestowed beauty upon me, my heart being cleansed, from this I have known that in thee also there is much beauty; for if deformity held me while my eye was not yet wiped clean, thy bright form would in no wise appear to me. But now, marked after the manner of doves with spiritual eyes, I attend more keenly how polished thy face is: and I see that there is in thee a form fairer than the sons of men, whom very many see only as not having beauty or comeliness. For the raven-like sight, which is pressed hard with a foul blackness, 276Cbeholds thee only as deformed, only as a man; and, held by error, it assigns thee to a judgment unworthy enough, while it says that thou art John, or Elias, or one of them of former times (Matth. XVI). But to me, whose faith is not shattered, whose sight is not raven-like, but to whom the sevenfold grace and the dove-like form are at hand: far off is thy mortality of infirmity, far off is foulness, and the incomparable beauty of both natures shines sweetly forth. Thou assuredly art fair with a wonderful and singular Godhead, endowed with a substantial unity together with the Father and the Spirit: having with them the same natural excellence, a coeternal greatness, a coequal kingdom and power. Wherein none of the gods is found like to thee, nor is any other God marked with so great a prerogative 276Dof beauty; because, although the personal distinction gives to understand that the Father is one and the Holy Spirit another, yet the natural substance renders him one God, and not another. Whatever therefore of beauty the Father and the Spirit are known to have, my beloved, I perceive with sure faith to shine back in thee: and this it is that entices me to love thee and to choose thee as my beloved, to follow thee, and not to desist, until I attain and come through to what is perfect; and because the loftiness of thy divine beauty is not hidden from me in the 157 present, the wonderful beauty of thy humanity also pleases me not slightly: whereby thou art so held a man among men, mortal among them that are dead in sin, that although thou sufferest the penalty, yet thou art not burdened with the guilt of mortals. Which comeliness none of the sons of Adam has deserved to obtain from 277Anature, because no man's conception, no man's begetting lacked a fault; but a singular cleanness, a special excellence, adorned thee alone, whom alone, conceived of the divine Spirit, a virginal womb brought forth. But this thou dost not manifest sooner, nor more fully, to any of men than to me, my beloved; whom thou dost so honour with a singular merit that I bring thee forth, God and man, in sure truth: mother of the Bridegroom, Bride of the son, with a wondrous and incomparable chastity. To me therefore thou art fair, to me especially thou shinest forth comely, who art made known both as God in man, and as a man Holy above men; whom, as Son, the equality of nature conforms to God the Father, and whom, as man, the law of sin and the general conception of men does not darken. Fair, I say, thou art, because thou art the brightness of eternal light, the mirror without spot of the divine majesty, the splendour of the Father's 277Bglory, the figure of his substance, the image of truth (Hebr. I); light of light, the rising sun, bringing to the world the morning day, day of day, lying down at noon, knowing no evening setting. When, caught up in ecstasy and lifted in the Spirit above visible things, I consider thee so fair with the cleared edge of my mind, then, as if forgetful of myself, I cannot not love thee, whom I behold to be such; I burn to commend thee, my beloved, and thy beauty.

Behold thou art fair, my beloved. Nor does the wonderful beauty of thy Godhead alone please me, which thy loftiness, coequal with the Father and the Spirit, obtains; but thou hast also kindled me not slightly with that comeliness wherewith, abounding in grace, thou, the lofty one, didst descend to lowly things. 277CFor no small comeliness is that wherewith, girding thyself, thou art strongly clothed, when by the Father thou wast set over Sion his holy mount (Psal. II); when, taking flesh in me and personally made one with it, thou didst come forth as a Bridegroom out of the chamber (Psal. XVIII), marked with humility in power. In which flesh, above the law of the flesh, thou didst not feel the vices of the flesh, but, conceived of the Spirit, didst flower with an inborn vigour; and, suffering the penalty of the flesh, thou didst fail in the sight of them that persecuted thee, but in the sight of the faithful thou didst perfect the saving mystery for the world. For it was needful that, living in the flesh under penalty, thou shouldest teach us, shouldest show thyself a master of living as much by thy manners as by thy words; that with anvil and hammer thou shouldest forge the rule of the Gospel, and, suffering death in 277Dthe flesh, shouldest triumph over the devil, the author of death. But being given over to death, thou didst rise on the third day, and, made immortal, strengthening faith, didst give hope: to the heavens whence thou hadst come thou didst carry up the substance of our flesh, and, the Spirit being given to thine own, thou didst raise their minds thither. Who, worthily considering that thou wast able so to be born and to live, to die and to rise again, and that thou didst will by a deep counsel, as man, to do these things for men, would not be amazed, would not wonder, would not love this comeliness, would not greedily embrace so mighty, so kindly a giver? Which, although it be hidden from others, from whom, their guilt requiring it, grace of this kind is either taken away, or, being to be given hereafter, is now deferred by a hidden judgment; yet to me in the present the order of this matter is declared, to me it is open, to me it is pleasing, what thy Godhead 278Aworks in man. Behold, I say, thou art fair, my beloved, and comely. Behold, that is, in evidence to me is the beauty of thy majesty; to the opened eye of faith the excellence of the Godhead presents itself, which by its bounteous gift floods the understanding of my mind, and, the understanding being made clear, gives the effect of an indissoluble love. Behold again, the saving dispensation of thy humanity is not hidden from me: the conception, the nativity, the converse of a singular merit; the power, the cleanness, the patience, the praise of the doctrine, the flashing of miracles, the integrity of manners, the perfection of discipline. In all which thou, a man, art adorned above men, and with a singular comeliness art compared neither to a prophet nor to an apostle: and therefore I love thee before all, thee alone I choose, my beloved, although as yet, while life is lived here, imperfectly (as I seem to see). But 278Bthat imperfection may not trouble me more than is right, I desire that thy presence may manifest itself to me more nearly; and lest I should seem to invite the fair and comely one to foul things, I have taken pains to prepare a place fitting for a lover.

Our little bed is flowering; the beams of our houses are of cedar, our panelled ceilings of cypress. Because the noble Virgin has found a fair and comely lover, she does not after a rustic fashion call him forth to labour, for delicate love knows not to be worn down by degenerate toil or torment, but loves quiet and leisure, and rejoices in a kiss or in a joining. As yet unversed in this, that 158 lover, a rude one, seems to have stood forth, nor did his love afford him rest worthy enough: who asks that she whom he loves be given him for this, that they may be able to labour together, 278Cbut not yet rejoice to keep holiday. « Her have I loved, and have sought her out, he says, and have sought to take her to me for a spouse; and I became a lover of her beauty (Sap. VIII). » And below: « Send her out of the seat of thy greatness, that she may be with me and may labour with me; and that I may know what is acceptable with thee, for she knoweth all things and understandeth (Sap. IX). » This man saw that it was as yet fitting for him to labour, and that Wisdom, whom he loves, should labour together with him, that by the common toil the lover, as yet less wise, might be taught, and, when he had been taught, might be carried forward to the rest of the little bed. Finally that woman whose praiseworthy fortitude is commended is recorded to put her hand to the neck, and to take hold of the spindle with her fingers; and she seems to be made gracious to her husband, in that she has not eaten 278Dher bread idle (Prov. XXXI). But our Virgin, far surpassing both this woman and that lover, obtains now quiet, not tumult; leisure now, not labour; and offers not a wrestling-school to a contender, but a little bed to a lover, which she has taken pains to adorn and to make ready with a more cultivated ornament. The Virgin's little bed is the secret place of her heart, which she tills and cleanses with a diligent hand and care, lest anything unseemly and unbecoming should appear to the Bridegroom at his coming; and, that she may afford a sweet repose to his so great dignity, she props it and fills it with the pleasing softness of a careful workmanship. And because, besides the softness laid beneath, a noble lover rejoices also in comeliness, the Virgin, not unskilled in the matter, adorns the little bed with a pleasing flower; and, the flower of a wondrous chastity being scattered with much diligence, she renders that same little bed as it were a little garden of delight. 279AFor lest any man, hearing of the Virgin's little bed and taking it ill, should doubt of the profit, and should stray from the path of holiness by a gross and carnal understanding, the Virgin declares it adorned with gathered flowers; and the flowers are chastity, and the repute of that same chastity. For virginal chastity adorns her secret knowledge after the manner of a flower, and renders the little bed pleasing, pouring out the grace of comeliness and of odour; because it is that which is preeminent by an excellent virtue and merit, and which, that it may offer itself as a pattern, shines out with an eminent fame or name. Wherein nothing bodily, nothing bestial is understood, nothing given over to sin, but the whole utterly spiritual; because the drama, or the song, or the nuptial epithalamium flowers with mystical words, having nothing of hay or of flesh. But although that thing thus flowers and avails which love has more diligently prepared, 279Byet the Virgin named it not a bed, but rather a little bed; by which name she fulfilled that law well enough known to her, whereby she was wont to hold to lowly things as much in word as in deed. Wherefore also, she says, I call that same little bed not properly mine, but in common ours, and (which is worthy of praise) I do not presumptuously assign it to myself; because, although I was found obediently to consent to him that called and helped me, yet both his preventing grace and his following mercy willed to impart the efficacy. Not mine therefore, but ours ought the little bed rightly to be called, which it is agreed is prepared by the work and diligence of both of us; which thou with the hand of grace, and I with that of labour and industry, have made serene — thou by benefit, I by exercise; thou with the flowers of virtues, I with the flowers of manners, have adorned it. Whereof I willed to make 279Cso marked a mention to this end, that, called forth by its beauty, thou mayest vouchsafe to come to its dwelling; and that, far from the tumult wherein I know thou art not often present, I may rejoice — than which is nothing better — to be with thee in the flowering secret place. For although for the sake of the brethren and of neighbours it is needful to speak and to go out, yet, that I may behold thee, it is much more pleasing to enter into silence, and in the leisure of quiet to be soothed by thy presence, to enjoy a mutual embrace, to experience the fruit of love, the joy of the Spirit. To the deserving whereof our houses also seem to emulate my zeal, and with however slow a foot to follow me as I rest in the little bed; which, although they are not yet able to be advanced to this, that they should become a little bed, yet are already found to deserve no slight grace. And in this I rejoice, yea 279Dand I shall rejoice, because thou pleasest not only when thy presence is now held in the little bed, but when, according to the Prophet (Psal. XLVII), it shall be known to be in the houses; to which, namely, in beams of cedar thou givest an incorruptible firmness, in panelled ceilings of cypress a lasting ornament nonetheless.

The beams of our houses are of cedar; our panelled ceilings of cypress. By houses he means the churches of the faithful, the congregations of the just, the assemblies of the cloister, in which all the simpler sort can be reckoned stones, but the greater and more prudent are more fittingly called beams and panelled ceilings. The beams, set in order over the building after the manner of a vault, and distributed from either side of it one against another, below indeed 280Aembrace the breadth of the building with arms as it were outstretched; but above, with heads as it were joined, they are knit together with a solid nail. But the panelled ceilings are laid beneath the height of the beams, and are stretched out from one wall to the other in a spread length; and they confine and bind those same walls with a certain binding as it were, lest by a hurtful shock they should decline from their straightness or 159 stature. By the name of beams the order of prelates is not unfittingly figured, whom, hung up from earthly things, the loftiness of their merits commends; who, bearing the troubles of showers and of winds, that is, the hard assaults of the lost, cover and protect from these the tender manners of their subjects. Who, raised toward the things above, all narrow themselves to the beholding of that one thing necessary, and, bound the more strongly by the nail of love, 280Bwhile they see, cleave the more augustly, and taste the more sweetly; judging it better to be with Christ (Philip. I), while they contemplate his excellence, but yet deeming it needful to live in the flesh for the brethren's sake. Who therefore lift themselves up with a subtle desire to relish the things that are above, and condescend with kindly care to visit their neighbours; and, gathering them under their wings, they cherish and protect them as a hen, and, having quickened them to the virtues, fortify them by examples and by doctrine. And these indeed, that they may be commended by a worthier merit of virtues, are declared beams of Cedar, whose part they bear; because Cedars, as they say, incorruptible and tall by nature, are strong with so great an odour that serpents are said to shrink from it. Those therefore are worthily found to be advanced to the height of prelacy 280Cwho, lofty in merits, love to behold heaven with desire; whose works are ever strong with a steadfast virtue, that they may not rot; whose repute is so great that all the malevolent shudder at it. Nor is it far from prelates that the Cedar is said not to be burned up by fire, bearing the figure of those who are not to perish in the burning of the passions; whose wonderful fortitude knows not to be broken by the concupiscence of the flesh, nor does their most sweet odour turn to ashes at the odour of fires. But the panelled ceilings, which are also said to be of cypress, signify those whose discipline is strong and preeminent among the rest; by whose strong work and obedience of a perfect will a pattern of persevering is given to the lesser ones gathered in the Church. The Cypress too is itself declared incorruptible and odour-bearing, 280Dand moreover it is without knots, and no scruple is found in it; rightly signifying him who, readier and smoother by a divine gift rather than by nature, obeying without delay, never kicks back at the joining. For in some men the virtue of obedience is so knotty, so teeming with murmuring, so scrupulous with so many complainings, that a command as it comes does not walk before it upon a smoother way, but for the most part stumbles into contempt or into a graver wrath. But those to whom it is given to be strong with the smoothness of the cypress, being without knots and polished, rejoice in the discipline of obedience; they love whatever the discretion or doctrine of prelates shall command, nor does a sudden fall of impatience set itself against the command. By these as beams and panelled ceilings spiritual houses go forward, are covered, are fortified, and avoid ruinous 281Aand carnal falls; their holy and wonderful beauty is strong, because, according to that which was said, holiness becometh the house of the Lord (Psal. XCII). But the Virgin willed to declare these houses ours to this end, that she might show that she has fellowship with the Bridegroom before the rest; because what is the Bridegroom's, the Bride reckons ours by nuptial right, and as Christ, so also the Virgin is careful for the spiritual profit of us all. Marking therefore that not only she herself but her own also have profited spiritually, and that prelates and subjects have come to the likeness of the cedar and the cypress, she exults and invites the Bridegroom to rejoice in these also, and, leaving the restless, to be delighted with the pleasing rest of the houses. And he:

281B[CAP. II.] I am the flower of the field, and the lily of the valleys. If the Bride's little bed, he says, is green with flower, glows with a virginal comeliness; if it shines and is fragrant with spiritual adornment and beauty; if, rich with a royal culture, it seems to smile upon them that worthily consider it — what has it that it may truly assert it has not from another? For neither has it of itself that it should be glowing with a flowering comeliness, nor does he flower whom the Bride declares flowering, save by a flower; and for this cause let him that flowers not glory in himself, but in the flower, since assuredly he has not of himself that he should flower, but of the flower. But if whosoever flowers desires to know more attentively whence he flowers, lest a foul ignorance should discolour the comely and flowering one: I am God, the Son in the Father, the light dwelling in light inaccessible. I, I say, have been made the flower of the field, having an unwearied beauty. The root of Jesse has budded, and 281Ca flower has come forth from the root, nor did it will to lie hid in a chamber under a bushel, or in a bed under a coverlet; but it was made the flower of the field, that it might be made known more plainly to all, and that whosoever knows not one so conspicuous might not be worthy to be excused. For I who from eternity was God hidden, that I might not be seen, coming down from this mountain, the field received me that I might be held; nor did I enter the gates and walls of cities, nor again did I climb a steep mountain, lest either I might be unknown, or might not be the more easily laid hold of by him that knows. For if the strong man went up to the mountain, the weak would remain excused; but in a city the citizen would keep off the stranger; 160 and thus, injury prevailing, the one would plead that the other was the readier, and Habacuc (cap. I) would accuse me of silence, the wicked devouring one juster than himself. I 281Dtherefore willed to be a flower in the field and not in a farm, which assuredly the countryman claims for himself by hereditary right; which he breaks up with the plough, furrows with the share, digs zealously with the hoe, because it answers fruitfully to nothing but the work of hands. But the field is properly assigned to no man, it knows not the tiller's hand, it is sown without its surface being broken; but quickened by the sun, drenched with heavenly rain or dew, it grows warm and buds, and with the process of a fitting time it laughs with flower. Nor is it unfitting if the Virgin of Virgins be asserted to be signified by this field, in whom no man, no carnal commerce, works anything; but, her flesh being whole, a spiritual rain coming down as upon a fleece, she is made fruitful and buds, and rejoices in a flowering or snowy comeliness. For this field, which no greedy workman has hurt, no rustic hand has ploughed; 282Ano hurtful swelling has raised it up, but a diffused humility has levelled it; I am the flower, coming forth assuredly not by human zeal, not by tillage, but brought forth by a heavenly gift, endowed with an incomparable birth. I am the flower wherewith the pleasing levelness of this field is adorned, nor does it flower of itself, but by my gift is thus blessed; and therefore, although the Virgin worthily rejoices at so great a benefit, yet let her glory in me and not in herself, in the flower and not in her that flowers. For although the flower does not send forth fruit as soon as it is born, yet, being about to give it at the opportune season, it already promises it; and as no other flower is found mightier than mine, or than me, so neither does any man make trial of a better fruit in another. But lest I should seem to have mercifully provided for the Virgin alone, and to have grudged my mercy to any lesser ones, I who was made the flower of the field, 282Bendowing the Bride with a special privilege, have flowered in the valleys also — with much indeed, but not with an equal benefit.

And the lily of the valleys. Valleys, nay deep valleys, which on this side and on that are overshadowed by neighbouring mountains, and, lest they wither with thirst, are watered by waters flowing down on either hand, seem to me to signify the humble and the lowly, whom the love of discipline keeps unwearied under the laws of their elders. Who, since they bring back nothing lofty or swollen from an indolent Maecenas, judge themselves unprofitable servants with a humble holiness, and bow their ear the more diligently to the admonitions of the Scriptures and to either Testament, desiring to abound rather in plenty of merits than of corn. Christ confesses himself the lily of deep valleys of this kind, 282Cbecause, though he is the more exalted, yet he is declared to look upon lowly things (Psal. CXII); nor does his Spirit rest save upon the humble and the meek, whose conscience shines again with a clean humility and a humble cleanness (Isa. LXVI). And worthily enough did he will to be named a lily, signifying thereby what he came to work among the valleys and for the valleys' sake; that he might not darken the cause of his coming to them that rightly attend, whom, when he has rendered them taught, he may the more effectually conform to himself. The lily is girt about in a round with whiter leaves, after the likeness of a valley, having within it something red in the depth: in its leaves indeed showing itself seemly and bright, but in the red representing the appearance of blood. The whiteness of the lily figured the cleanness of the flesh assumed, which neither 282Dthe conception before nor the converse after blackened; but, though begotten of flesh, it knew not the flesh's own poison, and by the merit of virtues, as with a snowy splendour, it shone. But that red thing bears before it the pleasing memory of the passion, whereby, his blood being shed, he washed away the handwriting of the covenant formerly entered into, which our first parents wretchedly made with the author of sin, when at his will they touched the forbidden tree. Christ therefore is a lily, when he glows with the merit of an innocent life, when in the flesh he is not held by the stain or the glue of a cleaving vice; when the malice of men assails and accuses him as man, and he as man refuses not to suffer hard and bitter things for men. He is the lily of the valleys, when to the abject and the humble he gives an example and a grace of living, commends innocence, 283Aimplants a love of continence; when, having first suffered grievous things, he calls them forth to the virtue of suffering, teaching great things, doing greater, and proclaiming the time of doing. But if it be said that what is red within the lily holds the appearance of fire, « and God is a fire, » as it is certain that Scripture declares (Deut. IV); that redness, as I see, hedged about with a snowy splendour, is God in man, covered ooopertus with the robe of clean flesh. In whose wrapping he hid himself from the wise and the prudent, but revealed himself to the little ones and the humble that behold with faith (Luc. X); who so look upon the covering or whiteness of the assumed flesh without, that they look within upon the fiery redness also of the hidden Godhead. Of whom Peter: « Thou art, he says, Christ the Son of the living God (Matth. XVI). » And Nathanael: « Rabbi, thou art the Son of God, thou art the king 283Bof Israel (Joan. I). » And the centurion: « Indeed this was the Son of God (Marc. XV). » Christ so made himself the lily of these valleys, when he disclosed himself to his humble ones not only as man, but as God within man; to whom his innocent humanity was so shown with a clean whiteness, that they discerned also the hidden Godhead with an unoffended faith. Whom, after he had taught them what they must faithfully think concerning himself, repeating the Virgin's praises, he invites the more diligently 161 to see how she imitates the Bridegroom amid the troubles of this life, while rest is not yet full, nor unfailing peace obtained.

As the lily among thorns, so is my friend among the daughters. Although, as you have heard, I said that I am the lily of the valleys, 283Cyet know further that I am among more grievous thorns; by which I suffer myself to be touched the more often, to be pricked the more troublesomely; but, touched and pricked, I lose not my due state or whiteness. After this pattern my friend has her converse among the evils of this world, and by a wonderful power the light is proved to shine in the darkness; and the darkness poured about her does not darken her flowering light, nor do threatening thistles thresh out her unbroken beauty. She rises like a lily among thorns, and grows; among dark things she shines, among rough things she grows meek; driven by the blowing wind she seems to feel some workings, but she sustains no hurts of whiteness or of odour. I deem the grievous thorns to be the cares and anxieties of this life, wherewith the minds of the just (while life is lived here) are harassed; they groan and 283Dlong that, being more fully freed from them, they may at last with Christ rejoice in the fruit of peace obtained. Thorns are nonetheless the Jews and the Gentiles alike, who, aged in malice, childish in lost sense, execrating the faith, wrapped in grosser darkness, persecuted Christ and his Mother with a grievous hatred. Among whom the Son and the Mother flowered after the likeness of a lily, and alike kept their whiteness unhurt and their own odour, while, contracting to themselves nothing of guilt from their malice, with unconquered patience they spurn the detracting tongues. Nay, by how much the more the life of the malignant grows dark with a foul soot, by so much the more does the holiness of these, worthily considered, shine forth; nor has the undefiled beauty of the lily less of comeliness and grace, if beside it be seen the rough foulness 284Aof the thorns. The lily among thorns therefore has an ampler title of praise, since, while those grow dark, this retains a more pleasing form; because while both Gentiles and Jews rage with serpentine tongue against the Lord and against his Christ (Psal. II), Christ, the flower and the lily, grows meek in manners, and shines with miracles and doctrine. To which flower and lily the virgin takes pains the more diligently to be made like, loving and desiring to glory in so great a likeness; and as among thorns the lily is made beautiful with a splendid comeliness, so the Bride among the daughters is adorned by the merit of virtues. By daughters he means those who, lacking manly rigour and a masculine spirit, are torpid with a womanish softness, sleep with a feminine drowsiness; feeble for honest work, effectual for what is soft and hurtful, crafty in flattering, treacherous 284Bor shameless in detracting. Who, seeing or hearing of the Mother rejoicing in her son, clothed with a lost sense deny her to be either a virgin or fruitful; and, endowed as she is with a singular gift, they measure her carnally according to the common law of all, while they lie that she brought forth in no other way than the manner made trial of by other women. But him whom she bore they deem the son of Joseph, and testify that he has very many brethren (though he is an only one); they know not that he is man begotten of a human being without a Father, shrinking from what they hear, that he is God, the Son of God, without a mother. Among these and their blasphemies the virgin is not broken, does not wither, but her mind is strengthened by faith, and, flowering, grows young with the joy of the Spirit; she embraces that tender and unfading flower of the root, and imitates its comeliness with a zeal not so much of steps as of advances 284C. Finally, according to Solomon: « A joyful mind maketh a flowering age (Prov. XVII). » As therefore the son, a flower and a lily rising among thorns, yet feels not the thorns, since he consents not to their malice by a like affection; so the mother and friend, having her converse among the daughters, knows not the darkness of the daughters, but, a daughter of light, shines, not having the works of darkness. Nay, that more may be said, not only do the thorns bring no harm to the lily, but the lily confers very much ornament upon the thorns; and the singular whiteness which in the lily, by a natural benefit, spreads itself abroad, pours over no small grace upon the nearer thorns. Did not the lily pour out an incomparable benefit on every side, when Christ poured forth devout prayers for them that persecuted him? when with the hand of mercy he scraped away the foulness 284Dof the thorns, and turned the buckthorn into a flower, and the prickles into fruit? « Father, he says, pardon them, for they know not what they do (Luc. XXIII). » [Vulg. Luke 23:34 Pater, dimitte illis: non enim sciunt quid faciunt — Migne prints ignosce for dimitte, and quia nesciunt for non enim sciunt] Drenched as with dew by this prayer, the roughness of the thorns grows meek, the inward dryness yields, benevolence grows green; after a new manner the little branch buds and puts forth leaves and flowers, and the little flower grows glad to imitate the lily, if but with a slight whiteness. Who knows not that thorns once dry sometimes flower out by the gift of the summer season, and that in them not so much the old prickles as fresh little flowers stand out; which, standing by the lily, though far unequal in greatness or comeliness, yet rejoice in a whiteness in some sort like, and in a nearer neighbourhood? To us therefore drawing near to Christ the beauty of the lily 285Acontracts to itself nothing of foulness, but our foulness acquires from it no small grace for itself; and while the pleasantness of the lily thus admits us, 162 as the fulness of a planted garden, our solitude, once dry, now at last flowering, rejoices exceedingly. Foreseeing which, Isaias: « The desert and the pathless land shall be glad, he says, and the solitude shall exult; and it shall bud as the lily (Isa. XXXV). » [Vulg. Isa. 35:1 florebit quasi lilium, "shall blossom as the lily"] Our mind is not undeservedly called a desert and a pathless land, when, forsaken by God, it is not inhabited by citizens of virtues or of works, when the kindly author walks not in it, loves not to behold it, marking that solitude to be beset by the prickles of vices as by thorns. But when divine grace as a spring mildness shall visit it, and shall call the white lily within the garden's plantings, assuredly it shall be glad, it shall exult with the gift of a new bounty 285B, because, joined to the lily, it shall bud as a lily. For shrinking from the buckthorn, which the roughness of thorns was to bring forth — because a punishment fiercely raging awaits thorny manners — it shall bring forth sweet little flowers rivalling the lily in whiteness, and shall exult in the hope of fruit, having the first-fruits budding. Among thorns of this kind that white lily — nay, the brightness of eternal light — works wondrously, and rejoices to turn rough things into a plain, and the prickle into a flower; being about, by that goodness which is his own, one day to bring the matter to this, that the flower may bring forth fruit, and that he may rejoice in the fruit he shall enjoy. So also the friend is rightly believed to have her converse among the daughters, to bear care of them, to work their salvation the more anxiously; and those who were once wandering in mind, lifted up in eyes, shameless in tongue, barren of works, vouchsafing them at length her fellowship, she renders agile and fruitful. 285CFor those whom she admits within the noble council-chamber of her hearing, she suffers not to remain barren as they stand by her; but instructing them with a word, fortifying them beforehand with a pattern, helping them with her intercession, she invites them to love, urges them to work, and gladdens them concerning the outcome. And thus those who once by the merit of their life had been daughters of Babylon, having entered into Jerusalem she renders daughters of vision; among whom, rejoicing, she sees the Bridegroom, loves to embrace him, and, as he the Bride, so she loves to venerate him with worthy praises. Whence she says: As, etc.

As the apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved among the sons. The Bride, hearing herself praised with the Bridegroom's worthy praises — from whom she has it that she is worthy to be honoured 285Dwith the heraldings of praise — lest she should seem ungrateful, hastens to render the like to her praiser, not being ignorant that reciprocal praises are pleasing to a lover. Whom she rightly enough willed to compare to an apple tree, which it is agreed shines out among the trees of the wood not so much more loftily as more excellently; for since the trees of the woods bring forth no fruit that can be suited to human eating, in the apple tree there is good fruit to be found, the best refreshment. For Christ is a tree whose strength sustains no harm, whose leaf yields not to a wind raging the more harshly (Psal. I); whose all things prosper, and in its time it shall give fruit, wherewith it now invites those that hunger, and hereafter shall satisfy them. Christ is the tree of life to all who strongly lay hold on him, who hang themselves up with a strong desire to take his fruit; who strive not to lay hold with a wandering sense on whatever other things 286Ashall meet them, since they mark not that from these hang the fruit of life, the health-bearing apples. I believe all men can be named trees of the wood, who, though they have the leaves of words, lack without doubt the saving fruit; because in them there is not salvation, there is not life, there is not an unfailing force of nature, but a certain barrenness of virtues, a guilt of the flesh by the fault of their begetting. For there is not so anything in them, as also from them, that is vital, commendable, gracious; there is not anything in one man that is saving to himself, fruitful to the rest; because whatever is in any man — if yet anything worthy and necessary be found in any man — whosoever truly makes trial knows it to be not of his own, but of Christ's. But Christ, a man among men, is not unfittingly compared to an apple tree, who, conceived 286Bof the Spirit, is not accused of a barren nature; whose root is harmless, whose thicker shade hides us from the hurtful heat, whose fruit is more wholesome, whose most sweet odour spreads itself far abroad. Finally these three things can alike be found in the apple tree, nor is there another in the woods that rejoices to mark itself in like manner with these three; but in the apple tree especially shade, fruit, and odour are coupled by a natural binding, and from him who is God and man they proceed with a spiritual abundance. With which he refreshes, feeds, and soothes those who received him, who, piety being received, deserved to be called and to be sons; who, because they betook themselves from darkness to the light of faith, by a happy change passed over from trees of the wood into sons of God. Whom Christ marking, sons of God and heirs, is not confounded to call them brethren, to love them as coheirs 286C(Matth. XXV), that among many brethren he himself, the firstborn, may stand out with a princely honour, and that he who was once the only son may rejoice in a number of sons now plural. For he himself, God of God, was born the Father's only-begotten; but born man of a virgin, likewise his Mother's only-begotten; but, taking counsel for the elect, he opened the bosom of grace more bountifully, and those whom nature had denied him he made brethren by the benefit of adoption. Such brethren or sons the Son of God and of man himself so excels, as the fruit-bearing apple tree surpasses the trees of the woods; because both the fruitfulness of the apple tree 163 is set before their unfruitfulness, and no man whatsoever (however just he may have been) is compared to Christ. Understanding which, Peter, when the centurion deferred to him more than was right, and gave to a mere man what religious devotion owes to Christ 286D, did not rashly usurp to himself what he knew was not his own, but declared who he was, how barren, how unlike the apple tree. « Cornelius, he says, falling down at his feet, adored him. But Peter lifted him up, saying: Rise, I myself also am a man, even as thou art (Act. X). » [Vulg. Acts 10:26 reads Petrus vero elevavit eum, and the verse ends "I myself also am a man"; the added clause "even as thou art" is not in the received text] And below: « Announcing, he says, peace by Jesus Christ; he is the Lord of all (ibid.). » You see that Peter neither wills nor endures to be adored by Cornelius, showing that a mere man ought not to be so honoured; giving to understand that this privilege is owed to Jesus Christ, that he alone, a man among men, should be venerated with divine obeisance. I deem that neither does an angel will such obeisance to be shown to himself, and, though greater than man, yet he is found to reverence man; in whom he now perceives 287Asomething new and untried by all generations past, hidden from the ages, uncovered in the fulness of our time. Whence, when John, rejoicing that very many things were shown him by the angel, and willing to venerate the shower of them with a worthy obeisance of humility, as he thought, fell at his feet, willing to show him the honour owed to greater ones, the angel, measuring himself worthily, was seen to shrink from it. « After I had heard, he says, and seen, I fell down to adore at the feet of the angel who showed me these things, and he said to me: See thou do it not (Apoc. XXII). » And above: « I fell down, he says, before his feet, to adore him, and he said to me: See thou do it not, for I am thy fellow-servant, and of thy brethren that have the testimony of Jesus. Adore God (Apoc. XIX). » The angel wills not 287Bto be made equal to Christ, the servant to the Lord, nor the unfruitfulness of the woods to be compared to the fruitful tree; but as the apple tree is agreed to be preeminent among the trees of the wood, so the angel knows Christ to be preeminent among the sons. Finally the angels too are sometimes named sons in the Scriptures, who are proclaimed always to see the face of God the Father; and according to Job the sons of God are read to have come to stand before the Lord, among whom that wicked angel Satan also is read to have been present (Job I). Moses also: « He appointed, he says, the bounds of the peoples, according to the number of the children of Israel (Deut. XXXII). » calling the children of Israel angels. Which another translation more evidently intimates, saying: « He set the bounds of the nations, according to the number of the angels of God. » For by some it is believed that God chose out of the nations as many to be saved 287Cas there are found angels to have remained when the others fell; so that as many sons out of men may be prepared for him to see him, as are contained equally as sons among the angels that already see. But among these sons the Bride's Beloved is preeminent as an apple tree, because as in a mere man, so also in an angel there is no salvation; but in Christ, who, though less than the angels by reason indeed of the suffering of death, yet is far more exalted by reason of the union of God and man. Therefore when the angel had said to John. « See thou do it not, » he adds the cause, saying: « Thy fellow-servant his own, and of thy brethren that have the testimony of Jesus, adore God. » I, he says, am worthily the servant not only of God, but of God made man; the fellow-servant of thee and of them who by faith and by work bear testimony to Jesus; nor does it befit a servant to take away from his Lord his own 287Drights, since rather every creature ought to defer to the Creator. Do thou therefore adore not an angel, but God — God, who took not hold of an angel that he might save an angel, but took hold of the seed of Abraham that he might make him safe; God, who, emptying himself and taking the form of a servant (Philip. II), was found in habit as a man; according to which manhood, although he was found less than the angels, yet he is reckoned not much less, but a little less, if what Scripture declares be taken with an undeviating sense. « Thou hast made him a little less than the angels, says David (Psal. VIII). » And Paul: « Him, he says, who was made a little lower than the angels by reason of the suffering of death (Hebr. II). » Christ assuredly consists of God and man, but man of soul and 288Abody; and the soul is the greater part of man — greater, I say, not in bulk, but in dignity and excellence, in that man was made in the soul to the image and likeness of God. But the body is the lesser, that is, the inferior part of man, according to which part Christ is found less than the angels, in that the angel's nature is not clothed with the wrapping of flesh that must die; but that immortal Spirit, strong in understanding, endowed with reason, may remain in that which it was made without the hurt of death. The spirit of man also is declared to be of the same or of a like nature, itself also endowed with reason, having a beginning, and not held by the narrowness of an end; but, poured into a body which is begotten corrupted with an original fault, by a wondrous and pitiable enough law it is weighed down by that body's deserts. Whence you have read: 288B« The body that is corrupted weigheth down the soul; and the earthly habitation presseth down the sense that museth upon many things (Sap. IX). » The soul therefore, which is of the same or of a like nature with the angel (for creatures of this kind are as it were of one genus by the merit of reason), first indeed discolours its native beauty from the fellowship of the flesh, but afterwards, by the assent of the will, slips into the ruin of vices. But because the flesh of Christ, conceived of the Spirit, contracted no original fault to itself, it drew not the soul poured into it to a guilt which it had not known; but as both the conception and the converse kept the one unpolluted, so creation and the Creator's condescension rendered the other free from every 164 stain. But the soul, whose nature immortality, understanding, and reason so ennoble, and which neither 288Ca prevailing incorporation nor any defilement dishonours — such a soul as Christ is to be believed to have assumed into a personal unity with himself, nor is he that assumed believed to have consumed the dignity of that which was assumed — than such a soul, I say, neither an angel nor any creature whatsoever is greater; he alone is greater, to whom, as Creator, no creature can be made equal. According to which soul Christ ought not to be esteemed less than the angels, which soul, strong with an inborn dignity, could be depraved by no vice; and although the maker did not confer this not-being-able upon the thing made in the making, yet in assuming he conferred it upon this soul by assuming. For what neither an angel nor a soul obtains by the privilege of its condition, by force of nature, the Creator conferred upon the creature to whom he willed, when he willed; and he who had first conferred upon the angels that none could fall further, or fear it, 288Dafterwards gave to the soul which he assumed, that a holy confirmation should equally remain in its footing. It remains therefore that Christ be asserted less than the angels according to the flesh only, which, as was said before, is judged the other, the lesser or inferior part of man; and therefore he is rightly read to be made less, not much less than the angels, lest it should seem to be according to the whole man, but a little less, that mention may be known to be made of the flesh alone. But guilt has made us wretches much less than the angels, whose flesh conception and whose soul incorporation has so infected, that, guilty on both sides, we deservedly accuse our begetting, held by a hard law, in that the fault has been turned into nature. Whence Paul: « We are, he says, by nature children of wrath (Ephes. II). » [Vulg. Eph. 2:3 et eramus natura filii irae, past tense: "and we were by nature children of wrath"] And 289Aalthough the burden of guilt did not weigh down the good angels, but grace better confirmed them who were well created, yet among them, as also among men, Christ is to be believed to be preeminent, and, as the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so to obtain the primacy among sons of this kind. The angels indeed venerate Christ not as God only, but as God made man, in whom they contemplate the fruit of salvation and the protecting shade; through whom they see, and do not envy, that men pressed and oppressed by the heavy bundle of damnable offences are converted and return to the saving excellence of merits. Which neither crops, nor a ram, nor a calf, nor finally man or angel could work, nor was there another name given wherein we should be saved; but life so complains of faintness, and health of loss, that for 289Bfruit or for healing every creature is ineffectual. Because therefore the barren wood did not give life, fruit, the efficacy of a mighty medicine, nor the craft of any workshop; and to a sick world they that promise are already hateful by the merit of their delay: there arose the tree of life, a fruit-bearing apple tree, in the midst of paradise. Whose sweeter shade, driving far off incitements, whose fruit freely refreshing those whom oppressive hunger had hurt, not only brought man back to the fellowship of the angel once lost, but also raised human nature above the angelic dignity. For the angel beholds our nature now made one with God in Christ, and, considering its fruit, worthily confesses himself barren; because he who was not able to restore either a falling fellow-angel or a lost man ought not to have compared himself to Christ, who was able 289Cto do all things that he willed. Marking which, the Virgin rightly: As the apple tree, she says, among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved among the sons. Whereof she subjoins:

Under the shadow of him whom I had desired, I sat; and his fruit was sweet to my throat. If, she says, I have wished to commend my beloved, as you have heard, if I have wished to compare him with a fruitful apple tree among barren trees, do not think me uncertain of the things I set before you, and abounding in words but untried in things worthy of praise: by experiment I have learned that this apple tree is useful, that it is good; I have felt how great a refuge is in it, how great a refreshment, how great a salvation; because under its shadow it has been granted me not 289Donly to be, but to sit, to flee the harmful heats, to obtain the grace of quiet. A good quiet, which the hand not of wrath pursuing but of grace loving has fashioned; over which not dark death, but the spreading apple tree has cast the shade of its boughs and leaves; in which the sinner is not buried in the tomb of despair or of ignorance, but the just mind is soothed with a sweet refreshment by the benefit of advancement. Wretched is that people which long willed to sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, forgetful of heavenly things, to cleave carnally to earthly; which, not knowing the living life, grew dark with the dim death of crimes, of which shadow the body is the death without end that is to follow. For sin, whereby the soul is pierced through as by a sword, and is found to be made further off from him who is life, is the first death of the soul, sadder in the time to come, 290Apleasant now; but the eternal damnation which justly follows is the second death. And that indeed is a death, and the shadow going before of the death that follows; but this is both a death and the truth of the shadow that went before. Although it may befall us to be in the first of them, it is not of counsel that we should sit, that is, that we should obtain a lost quiet with no regard to repenting. For he who sits in the shadow, and does not fear to forestall the death that is to come, when she coming hastens to find him 165 torpid, and whom she has found in the dark and as it were in her own right, she binds, and holds him, cast into prison, by the unloosable force of her binding. Yet nevertheless the vehement spirit, having pity on some, terrifies them and shakes them with a sudden sound; and the Dayspring, visiting from on high, floods them with the morning light; and when they have been led forth out of sleep and out of the shadow, harsh and nightlong, of a hard peril, a glad day receives them, 290Band a shadow sweeter and of the daytime. Now the day is faith enlightening: the virtue of hope is the sweeter shadow, in the foreknowing of the vision; in which, though it be good to be, and better to live, it is best to sit, until at last it be granted to obtain the full light more fully. He is in the shadow of the daytime who knows that not only present things but also things that follow have being; who sees through a glass that which it is agreed is not yet visibly at hand; who with undoubting faith understands that the invisible God is; who believes him to be a rewarder of them that hope in him. Paul: « It behoveth, he says, him that cometh to God to believe that he is; and that to them that seek him he be a rewarder (Hebr. XI). » Without this faith no one shall please God, nor is that conscience worthy whose knowledge shall not hold God; because he also that is ignorant, as you have read, is read to be ignored, and in truth 290Che who is not known cannot be accepted by one who does not know him (I Cor. XIV). Therefore the Prophet: « He believed, for which cause he also spoke (Psal. CXV). » [Vulg. Ps. 115:1 Credidi propter quod locutus sum, first person — "I have believed, therefore have I spoken"] Thou art thyself my God. Without faith, therefore, no one can be just; nay, that I may say more, he who has not believed ought not even to be said to be; and he who is not, consequently is not in the shadow either. Of such it is written: « Deliver not thy kingdom to them that are not (Esther. XIV). » [Vulg. sceptrum tuum, "thy sceptre," and with the vocative Domine] He is rightly said not to be, who knows not that God is, to whom, though he has been made, he by whom he was made is not yet known; who with blinded mind is driven far from the desert of existing, not having yet attained that faith which is the shadow, or the beginning, of subsisting. Of which Paul: « If only, he says, we hold the beginning of his substance firm unto the end 290D(Hebr. III). » He therefore who has faith, holding firmly that God is, both is, and is in the shadow; but it is not enough to be there. Nay, he must labour, who is already agreed to be by the merit of faith, that living in it he may deserve also to be just. For to be in faith is not yet to be just; but to live by faith, or to live in faith, is reckoned for justice, since a dead faith, even though it does not love, does work. For love is the life of faith, and therefore not he who believes, but he who loving believes, is proved to live; and living in faith he is worthily praised, and is proclaimed commendable for justice. Whence by Habacuc: « My just man, he says, liveth by his own faith (Habac. II). » [Vulg. Hab. 2:4 iustus autem in fide sua vivet, "the just man shall live in his faith," without meus; the possessive with ex is the wording of Heb. 10:38] Even one that is not just will be in faith, but none save the just shall live in faith; because he too is in faith who says: « Lord, Lord (Matth. VII), » and yet it is not 291Aopened to him; and he lives in faith who, doing the will of the Lord, is heard. And because faith is not the presence of the thing wished for, but the substance of the thing to be hoped for and, as was said before, the shadow of the vision (Hebr. II), the just, whom their own merits do not yet admit to that same vision, promise themselves meanwhile not so much to be as to live in its shadow. « In his shadow, they say, we shall live among the Gentiles (Thren. IV). » [Vulg. umbra tua, "in thy shadow," second person] In the shadow the just shall live, when in faith they shall love to work, when justly, piously, holily they shall give diligence to their converse; when it shall be given them with a living faith to rejoice among the Gentiles, that is, among men, to whom it is not yet given to glory in the vision found among the angels. They shall live indeed in the shadow, when him whom it is agreed was made flesh in the womb of the Virgin they shall hold with firm faith to have been born God before the ages; 291Bwhen him who was found a man to suffer hard things for men they shall love as being God, coeternal with and altogether like to the majesty of the Father. Lastly they shall live, when, as though the things which that man willed to endure unworthily among men were put behind them, they shall understand and shall love God blessed unto the ages to be pre-eminent above all things; when, leaving behind what any animal men can see and hold, they shall have before their eyes chiefly that which none but the spiritual deserve to have (ibid.). Therefore they set this first: The Spirit before our face, Christ the Lord. Christ the Lord is held to be a spirit before our face then, when our faith beholds him now not according to the flesh but according to the spirit; when, understanding that his flesh alone 291Cprofits nothing, it knows him who quickeneth to be God, a spirit (Joan. VI). For the very many things that are preached of him according to the flesh, they who still savour the flesh embrace too childishly; and the hinder parts of Christ they do not put last, but with faith injured, not knowing the order, they put them first. When Peter heard the nearness of his Passion preached, he was found to embrace the flesh a little more tenderly than the spirit; and before his face he had Christ indeed, but a man about to die, not a spirit raising up, not the God of life about to give the dead back again. « Far be it, he says, from thee (Matth. XVI), » this shall not be, thou shalt not die. And he: « Go, he says, behind; thou savourest not the things that are of God (ibid.). » [Vulg. Matt. 16:23 Vade post me, Satana, and the name is not omitted; retro is the word of Mark 8:33] Therefore Paul, removing his hearers from the things that are man's, wishes them to be made readier for the things that are 291DGod's, understanding that the things of the flesh are by right judgment to be set behind, and that God and the things that are his are to be set before the face. « That you may walk, he says, worthily of God (I Thess. II). » And elsewhere: « And if we have known Christ according to the flesh, yet now we know him so no longer (II Cor. V). » In this shadow, or faith, in which it is granted even to the unjust to be, but to live, as was said before, to none save the just, there is indeed much labour, while it is lived in with fear; for wretched man knows not whether he be worthy of hatred or of love (Eccle. IX). But the virgin Mother, who before all found grace with God, keeps sabbath in it, obtains a happy jubilee; and not only lives (which is common to all that labour) but, as one secure, 166 sits, which she obtains as her own by resting. For she it 292Ais upon whom that Holy Spirit came, in whom the power of the Most High found out for itself a pleasing rest; and setting her far from fault or from fear by the veiling of the shadow, he conferred upon her, in love alone, a peaceful sitting. Under the shadow, she says, of him whom I had desired, I sat. With desire she had desired that God the Son of God should come unto her, that a grace untried by all should come before her childbearing as it came before the conception; that kissing her, whom he had kissed, he should fortify her with the seal of chastity, and should keep, as her mind, so also her flesh, with the virgin flower unhurt. Which being received, the Virgin, now knowing neither fault nor fear, sits as it were upon a throne under the shadow of a more gracious refreshing; and while the rest labour below, whom the want of merits still cramps, she in the great furnished upper room already tastes an unspeakable sweetness. And his fruit, she says, 292Bwas sweet to my throat. The fruit of the shadow, or of the overshadowing Spirit, is the eternal sweetness, which the Virgin's palate already feels and her inward mind more sweetly tastes; but that savour is still held as it were in the throat, while the belly gapes for it, and its greed is not filled. In this life assuredly whatever of the sweetness from above is foretasted, whatever of the divine and incorporeal the mind beset with flesh experiences, is still as it were in the tasting, whereby the desire of the taster is soothed; it has not yet come to the belly, where perfect satiety is found. Therefore rightly the Virgin, to show that she has attained no little sweetness, and that so long as we live here every sweetness is unfinished, his fruit, she says, was sweet to my throat; not yet 292Cto my belly, because both for the present she rejoices to be delighted with a most sweet tasting, and looks to be satisfied unto perfection, when his glory shall have appeared. And whoever tries the office of eating a little more attentively knows that food in the throat is indeed not yet swallowed, but is being swallowed; and that the swallowing is so near that it cannot, or scarcely can, be called back outward to the mouth, so that the eater reckons as eaten what he has felt to be already turning in his throat. So too the Virgin, while she is still engaged in this life under the law of mortals, is kindled with a love so sweet beyond other mortals, that the fruit of love, or of the beloved, already grows sweet in her throat, and, confidence prevailing, no threatening fear grows bitter there. For she has already so experienced that highest thing, that desirable good of the world to come, that, reaching out to what is perfect, 292Dshe is not uncertain of the remainder of that same good; and she already holds in her throat what we, still far unequal, hunger after; what we, still needy, scarcely foretaste on the tip of the tongue or on the lips. For neither we nor the like of us have yet been brought so far as to rejoice more fully, being led into that sanctuary of God; whereof the virgin, still living in the flesh, takes to herself no small confidence, and what is to be more fully hereafter she already confidently presumes as though it were done.

The king brought me into the wine storeroom: he set charity in order in me. [Vulg. Cant. 2:4 introduxit me in cellam vinariam: no rex, and cellam, "wine cellar," for the printed cellariam] Whom he names king, and why, I recall that I said above, when the Virgin remembered that she had been brought into the king's storerooms; which, though they are worthily reckoned filled with many riches, are nevertheless not 293Arecorded to be storerooms of wine. But now the Virgin declares that she is brought into the wine cellar, hinting that with the passing of time she is led on to an advancement of conscience; wherein she not only rejoices already over the gift of grace received, but is made drunk with an incomparable gladness as with abundance of wine. For if that most excellent cup of which you have read (Psal. XXII) makes drunk any just men you please, so that, the Spirit falling from heaven, it makes them talkative as men wet with new wine (Act. II) — of what merit do we judge the virgin to be, in whose womb God hid himself, and to whom, brought in, the whole wine cellar pours itself out more graciously? How could she who was brought in fail to have a mind made drunken, for whom no narrower cup, no wisdom mingled wine in a bowl, but an overflowing cellar, a house of wine, put forth a spreading richness and flooded her more richly 293Bas the rush of a river floods a city? For the Most High, willing that his own proper tabernacle should be adorned, that a holy place holier than the rest should be graced with worthy virtues, did not bring out little gifts to her with a grudging hand from his inner sanctuary, but more graciously brought her in within the secret places of his sanctuary. Where the one beloved is joined to the one lover alone, and out of that fountain, or in it, draws waters with a fuller joy (Isa. XII); by which, washed, she is made white; by which, drinking, she more sweetly grows glad, is made drunk with joy, and warms mightily as with wine. But this drunkenness does not disturb the mind, does not confound the virgin soul, does not darken the memory, does not take away knowledge but pours it in; it thinks no evil, deals not perversely, loves equity, stirs up no anger, brings in no hatred, nourishes love, 293Csets charity in order (I Cor. XIII): He set, she says, charity in order in me. Of no small merit is she, of no small holiness in fine, in whom not only charity but also the order of charity is pre-eminent; and while in very many others love is diffused, in her especially the diffusion abides unconfused. For most men, though they love, yet do not keep order in loving, but either darkened by ignorance or weighed down by a heavier negligence, 167 love more what should have been loved less, or less what should have been loved more, or set in the last place what was worthily to be set first. But the Virgin, prudently taught in all these things, and hindered by no stains of negligence from fulfilling what she knew, loves herself, as is worthy, in the Lord, 293Dloves, as it is written, every neighbour as herself (Matth. XXII). And among those whom faith or nature makes neighbours, whom the authority of the written law commands to be loved with measure, the prudent Virgin knows how to discern whom she should embrace with less and whom with more love, to whom she should defer less, whom she should reverence with greater diligence. And lastly, in Christ also, whom she conceived of the Holy Spirit and brought forth, in whom a personal unity coupled God and man, the true Mother so loved both with a discerning judgment that charity did not err, which that same Son set in order in her. For first she loved God, whom she knew to be the Creator of things heavenly and earthly, and the most orderly lover of the things he had created, united to true flesh and in a wondrous manner made man — she loved him with her whole heart, 294Awith all her strength, without measure. For in this love no measure whatever is bidden to be kept, and no bound; and how much God is to be loved, no writer has taught, nor Holy Scripture; but whoever is found to have expressed the manner of loving more subtly is seen to have taught not how much, but out of how much, he ought to be loved. « Out of thy whole, he says, heart, and out of thy whole soul, and out of all thy strength (Luc. X). » This is the measure — if measure it be — wherewith the Virgin mother rejoices to love God in Christ; the depth whereof human speech cannot clearly express; the sweetness whereof, though a more fervent soul may somehow experience it, yet one who may unfold it in words is not easily to be found. Out of all therefore that she had, that she could, she loved in her Son; to the incarnate deity she applied 294Bher mightier power, her readier affection; to every creature whatsoever she preferred the Creator with worthy reverence, and held God united to man more pleasing than all things. But the man, whom she knew to be her own virgin flesh, conceived without man, born without any groan of his mother, and by nature and natural binding to be her own neighbour, she loved as herself, as she had read it worthy to do. For since no man hates his own flesh (Ephes. V), as you recollect that you have read, although he may know that some fault or other has been present to that same flesh — how greatly must we believe that the Virgin mother loved the Son, in whom fault had nothing, and nature was astonished to have lost its ingrown right? For the Virgin in conceiving bore no embrace, no coupling; in bearing she felt no pain of body, no wounding; 294Cthe original guilt, which of old had been turned as it were into nature, being driven far off grieved, and could by no means take hold of such a begetting. Of old the law of sin was wont to come before every woman about to bear, and drove both mother and son like tributaries to the usury; upon all alike that were born it stamped the striking of its own coinage, nor was there any so happy as to escape this pressure. The Virgin alone, bringing forth in wondrous manner a singular firstborn, in conceiving and in bearing did not undergo the general sentence; she rejoiced to have such a neighbour, nay, such a Son, in whom the injury of the origin could obtain nothing of its own. This neighbour therefore the Virgin reete loves as herself, and, if it be lawful to believe it, she must be said 294Dto love him more than herself, because she judges that so great a man, above every man, is to be loved, and to be embraced more tenderly and more eagerly than herself as well as than all others. And what by the Spirit's teaching she understands, and understanding loves, must be done, by the working of that same Spirit she is not powerless or ineffectual to fulfil; and therefore the Son, the man whom in a manner unspeakable she brought forth out of herself, as she understands that he is to be loved, so she can love, and does love, more than herself. We wretched ones assuredly either cannot grasp with the understanding the things that are perfect and highest, or, for fulfilling them, have not a perfect and effectual grace; and therefore perhaps God, pitying our infirmities and ourselves, commands us for the time to love any man as ourselves. But the Virgin, full of God, rich with the gift of a fuller grace, 295Ais carried up into the hill country and to a step of loftier merit; and the man whom she knew to be born of her materially, hindered by no stains of origin, clean in flesh and by the Spirit united in kind to God who is inaccessible to all, she loves above all whom she understands to be endowed with sparer merits and grace, holding it worthy not only not to prefer herself to him, but not even to compare herself with him in love. This order of loving he who is loved himself inspired, and in the loving Mother he set a chief charity in order, so that her whom in his own birth the Son had wondrously granted to be both a virgin and fruitful, he might in a manner no less wondrous render, if not equal in merits, at least second. For inferior to Christ alone, she is pre-eminent above all the rest in the light of holiness; but holiness is made bright by nothing save the excellence 295Bof charity, which, the more subtly and expressly it grasps the necessary order, the more perfectly and effectually it shows itself Christ's neighbour. This benefit Christ works in the wine cellar, into which the Virgin, being brought, rejoices to burn with the fire of charity; judging nothing more gracious, nothing more delightful, than to be aflame; nothing in the present more wholesome than to be smitten, or to languish, with the heat of charity. Whereof she adds: Stay me up, etc. 168

Stay me up with flowers, compass me about with apples, for I languish with love. They who love unlawful things, and are not yet reckoned to have possession of them, are declared to sicken and to pine away by the putting off of their desire; and their 295Cruined mind runs into the troubles of languishing, if the fulfilment of their vow does not come to the aid of their wretched will. Whence Ammon, who greatly loved Thamar the sister of Absalon, when he could not yet fulfil what he had evilly coveted, fell sick; and despairing that the wickedness he sought after could be brought to effect, he went day by day, wasted with leanness, toward his failing. « It came to pass, he says, that Ammon the son of David greatly loved Thamar the sister of Absalon, and pined away for her exceedingly, so that he fell sick for the love of her. To whom Jonadab: Why, said he, art thou thus wasted with leanness, O son of the king, day by day? And Ammon said: « I love Thamar the sister of Absalon (II Reg. XIII). » If he sickens and pines away who is weighed down by an unlawful love, if he who is pressed by the desire of Venus is wasted day by day, how are we to believe that the Virgin mother, loving 295Dthe Bridegroom, sickens, she who fails toward her salvation not by the incest of Venus but by the heat of a chaste wound? For she loves, and in loving, as by a wound, she slips into a kind of failing, while she does not yet lay hold, and yet so strains the edge of her mind toward what is perfect that, not content with what she has, she pours out her whole desire upon what is to be had, and as though she obtained nothing, so she burns to cleave to the things to be obtained. Reaching therefore toward what she wishes for, and not yet feeling it consummated, she languishes and fails, and cannot obtain what she desires; she seeks after it and awaits it, and still complains that she has not the effect of it. What is healthier than this languishing, what more languid than this health, could the Virgin experience, at least in this life, who, unwilling that anything savouring of earth should be found within her mind, wished to cleave with unbending embraces to God alone, 296Aand was still constrained, perhaps for the sake of others, to remain here? She wished, and was not able, unbreakably to enjoy God, to be loosed from the heavy body, not to be worn down by labour, to rejoice in jubilee; judging it good to enjoy invisible goods, when as yet, so it seems, she must needs be held by things visible. And so to one thus willing and not able, her converse in the flesh is somewhat burdensome, yet assuredly to the maidens who are to be nourished it is not a little fruitful; because the example and teaching of the Virgin profited the holy apostles, while through her among them the order of life and the discipline of manners flourished. And she, marking that she is put off from that which she loves the more, wishes some consolations to be brought to her waiting; and the maidens who live with her she invites to advancement, that seeing it she may bear her own unfinished state, as it were, more patiently. 296BIf, she says, the presence of a perfect rest does not yet receive me, if faith cannot yet pass over into the rule of vision; if impossibility languishes, because possibility is not yet consummated; if I am afflicted with groaning so long as imperfection is not healed by perfection; I wish at least that you meanwhile be advanced to fitting profits, and by my word as well as by my example deserve the same blessedness along with me. If that highest and discerning provider of things wills me to be here longer, if by a deep counsel he wills my presence to profit you; if he puts me off from glory, I do not accuse the good pleasure of him who puts me off, and so long as it shall please him I do not refuse the labour laid upon me. Do you meanwhile, while there is time, come together to the bed, as it were, of my sickness, and stay me up with spring flowers, 296Cthat is, with your good affections, as I labour under a desire deferred; put far from you the old dryness, the harshness of winter; and with a flowering diversion and a springtime solace warm again one who is languid with the heat of love. For it will be no small consolation, no slight refreshment, to one who burns; it will be reckoned a poultice, or oil, or a binding, to one who is sick, if, the winter frost being driven far off, you flower with the beauty of spring; if after the flowers of affections you bring forth the riper fruits of works. A good tree indeed is graced in the welcome season of spring with the flowers of its beauty, and not content with that grace is afterwards laden with the fruit of works; wherewith the country husbandman, who had laboured in it, seeing himself compassed about, rejoices that the labour he bestowed is repaid with a fruitful gift. So 296Dthe Virgin also wills that the maidens who are with her hold the place of a good tree, and, set in the garden of the Bridegroom, wills them to flower with faith and desire; and with the passing of time to abound in good works, stayed up and compassed about wherewith she may await the Bridegroom the more richly, the longer she awaits him. For the more shall deserve to profit by her word and example, and shall be held in her company when the Bridegroom shall have come, the richer and the more festive shall she herself appear to him at his coming; and not only for her own merits, but for theirs also, shall she obtain a greater glory. Rightly therefore she desires and demands to be stayed up with flowers and compassed about with apples, since she does not yet know God face to face; that meanwhile she may rejoice over the advancement of those whom she instructs, and, when the time shall have come, may glory the more over them and with them. And she asks not only to be stayed up 297Awith flowers, but also to be compassed about with apples, because with a flower and no fruit no hungry man can be filled; and although the latter of these necessarily comes after the former, yet the flower is a pleasant plaything to the sight, but assuredly is found not sufficient for the eating. And indeed, 169 as without virtue the appearance of piety is not fruitful, so faith without work is read and understood to be idle (Jacob II); and affection does not suffice, which, if it have time and place, is not brought through to effect; and a good understanding is to all, not to them that have understanding, but to them that do it (Psal. CX). Stay therefore me, she says, up with flowers, compass me about with apples, that I may rejoice when I have heard you say: « We ought to obey God rather than men (Act. V). » And this: « We cannot but speak the things which we have heard and seen (Act. IV). » Let me rejoice too when I have felt 297Byou going rejoicing from the presence of the council (Act. V), because you were accounted worthy to suffer reproach for the name of Jesus. Stay me up, I say, for I languish with love, not with an injury of the head, not with a palsy of the limbs, but with love; not with the straitness of a fever, not with any trouble of the body, but with love; than which nothing more burning, nothing more vehement, can anyone experience, while what is loved is tasted, and is seen and not held, is believed to be present and is ardently sought, and cannot be found. But wherein both his presence may be felt and his absence grieved over, she straightway subjoins; and the good will of him who is present, and the delay of him who is absent, she thus sets forth in a single little verse:

His left hand is under my head; and his right hand shall embrace 297Cme. The left hand of the Bridegroom under the head of the Bride shows him present, but the right hand that shall embrace rather than embraces hints that he is absent; so that while a sad complaint is drawn out over his absence, there is good cause to rejoice over his presence, such as it is. For when he had said, His left hand is under my head, he subjoined, and his right hand shall embrace me, not: embraces me: hinting thereby that the benefit of the left hand is already held in present possession, but that the present embrace of the right hand is not yet had. And because the Virgin had said that she languished with the burning of love, that it may agree with her languishing she hints by the words that follow that she is lying down, since she declares the left hand not to be laid upon her head but placed under it; and it is certain that a comforting hand is placed under one who lies, not under one who stands. And so in the Gospel the servant of the Centurion 297Dis declared to lie; and if you ask the cause, it is that he is palsied and tormented. For whom that same Centurion hastens by a messenger sent to come before the Lord, praying that he would deign with his most mighty word to help him as he lay. « Lord, he says, my servant lieth at home (Matth. VIII). » Why does he lie? Palsied, he says, and grievously tormented. What wilt thou have done for thee? « I am not, he says, worthy that thou shouldst enter under my roof; but only say the word, and my servant shall be healed (ibid.). » Elsewhere too we read that a very great multitude lay in five porches, and no cause is put in but the various sickness of their bodies; who wait for an angel to come down into the pool after the accustomed manner to move the water, so that he who has come down first after the moving of the water may, his body being washed, feel the healing. 298A« In these, » he says, porches, « there lay a great multitude. » Why it lay, he sets forth: « Of them that languished. » Why in the porches, he adds: « Of them that waited for the moving of the water (Joan. V). » If therefore the multitude, if the Centurion's servant are declared to lie, in that they are held by languishing or by palsy, it is not out of tune that of the Virgin, who declares that she languishes by the violence of love, it should be understood also that she lies, which belongs to one who languishes. And to her languishing and lying the Bridegroom does not absent himself longer, but the beloved presents himself to his beloved with a welcome kindness; and lest love should languish too hardly, and languishing bear a harder delay, he puts his left hand under her head, softer than a pillow or any couch. The left hand of the Bridegroom (as some assert) is temporal prosperity, strength, riches, beauty, birth, learning in letters; and whatever 298Bin this world seems for a time to smile upon us, which no man can obtain unless God give it. Which things are for that reason quite fitly called the left hand, because in this present life such things are not denied to the evil as well as to the good; and those things above all are sought after with all their striving, which are set at the left hand of the strict Judge in that true and severe judgment. All which things the Bridegroom, being present, puts under the head of the Bride, when he sets her holy mind above all things transitory; and what every perverse man with corrupt judgment reckons the highest allurements, the Virgin presses down and despises, judging them loss for Christ. For as the man who craves such things exults and dances in the getting of them, so — nay, far otherwise — the wise Virgin rejoices in the despising of them; and whereby she pleases the Bridegroom, in that at his regard, as at a head 298Cset over her, she spurns all the rest, thereby the other displeases him, while he lays himself down under those same transitory things. But the right hand of the Bridegroom is that more fruitful and living sweetness of grace which the animal man, blinded in heart, does not perceive; but he alone knows it, nay the Spirit of him, immortal, to whom the spiritual unction gives the understanding which it teaches for knowledge. This therefore the Virgin, set as yet in this body, already tastes; but lest she take it in with a widened bosom, the presence of the flesh cramps it for her; this she perceives, and having perceived it rejoices to be greatly delighted; she is delighted and hungers, and hungering is not yet able to be filled. This delight assuredly has here a beginning but not an end; it pours itself into them that love, to them that desire it it 170 promises an end; but to them that worthily persevere it gives that 298Dend whose beginning knows no trouble, whose consummation knows no end. Beholding which the Prophet: « Delights, he says, at thy right hand even to the end (Psal. LI). » Which right hand, since to one who loves and waits it is not yet more fully conferred, but the present life, as it were the left hand, the more troublesome as it is the longer, is set before it: this she feels and does not consent to, but by the excellence of her mind rises above the enjoyment of it; that other she hopes for, and affirms as to come, which, though not in time, yet by its own worth is already preferred. His right hand, she says, shall embrace me. He who has not wholly denied me his presence or his coming, while he has brought into contempt those temporal things which are given by him, shall be seen to present himself to me far more fully and far more delightfully, when his right hand and unfailing life shall deign to embrace me.

299AThere are those who would have another sense found in the left hand set beneath: namely that there are signified the spiritual things which divine grace wills to bestow upon the Bride; wherewith, while she lives here, the Bridegroom loves to mark her out, and to soothe with their sweet refreshment one who labours under the sun. For because she confessed that she languished with the heat of love, and, held by languishing, seemed, as was said above, to lie; and that the languor of one lying down should not, with the delay pressing, sink into weariness, the Bridegroom puts his left hand under her head, that upon it she may lay herself down in her languor. The Virgin grieves indeed that the sight of her Maker is not yet more fully granted her; she wishes to be dissolved, for that sight is inaccessible to all mortals; under the heavy delay her inner mind languishes and lies down as though wearied; and firm faith, a surer hope, an unwearied charity put themselves beneath her. The welcome fellowship of these virtues, 299Bor their fellowly grace, their present carefulness, their faithful keeping, their spiritual consolation, when it does not suffice that the Virgin be compassed about with flowers or apples, fulfil for her languid mind, for her head as if wearied, the office of a bolster. While the time weighs upon me, she says, while the days are evil, let me here rest a little; while I languish with love, while I lie in languor, let me lie hid in your lap. Here is my rest, here my dwelling, until at last I grow old in a hundredfold, not of years but of merits; and when that is fulfilled, let the long languor give way — I shall be made young as the eagle. For from that time and thenceforth, after the poet's manner, I shall count my years like Nestor upon my right hand; nay, passing over from the left to the right, after the Prophet, I shall watch from the morning; in the morning I shall stand watching, and shall contemplate him whom I have desired, or rather my own desire; and under his right hand, 299Cwhen his own glory appears, I shall be satisfied (Psal. XVI). Then no longer shall the left hand, that is, the consolation of present virtues, be put under my languid head, but the right hand and the eternal sight of God shall be conferred in fulness; which shall embrace me standing and seeing with dearer arms, shall surround me wholly, and nothing anywhere shall be left languid. But meanwhile, while I await the coming glory of that right hand, I will not despise the grace already present, nor the solace of the left; but lying hid in it I shall be glad according to the place and the time; and when faith shall have passed into vision, and hope into the thing itself, I shall glory. And the Bridegroom, considering the Virgin so provoked with love, and lulled asleep in the soft lap of the left hand under the hope of the right, speaks thus: I adjure, etc.

• 299D

I help you, O daughters of Hierusalem, that you stir not up, nor make the beloved to awake, till she herself will. [Vulg. Cant. 2:7 opens "I adjure you" (adiuro, with r); the printed Adjuvo means "I help." Migne prints the adjuring form both in the tag that closes the preceding chapter at col. 0299C and when the verse returns at 0302A] The Bridegroom, speaking to the maidens, shapes himself to our manners, and after the manner of men calls them to witness rather hardly, and adjures them; knowing that negligence or forgetfulness sometimes shuts and stops the ears of the weak, and that the transgression of commandments does not go long unpunished. Warning them therefore lest he be thought to command negligently, and lest they should not take diligent care to keep a commandment as though it were a very light one, he binds them more hardly and puts in an oath, that upon those in whom infirmity works sloth the sacrament may strike fear. I will not, he says, that the beloved, under whose head I have put the spiritual left hand, to whom, resting in grace, I have given to look for the eternal glory; I will not, he says, that you call her back 300Ato business or to temporal care, until she herself shall have seen that the same care is made wholesome for you. For she knows better when she ought to be free for spiritual leisure or for spiritual business, when she should take counsel for you by word and by temporal foresight; when she should read more devoutly, pray more urgently, meditate more closely, when she should turn herself back to you, of whom she is not held forgetful. And when she shall have seen her return and her presence to be needful for you, she who assuredly loves not so much to be set forth to you as to profit you, she will do a kind of injury to her spiritual leisure, and will change necessary acts into voluntary ones. I will therefore that you bear evenly with her return to you until she will it; for she will will it when she shall have seen a fitting time to press upon you: knowing that your business must not be utterly let go, and that her own leisure 300Bmust indeed be held to chiefly, yet must sometimes be broken off. They who in the Church are set over the rest in care and office are instructed by this teaching, if they will attend to it more diligently: namely that with the highest zeal they should give diligence to spiritual leisure, and should not leap back from it at the blandishments and enticements of things temporal. For the most part we are so hindered toward spiritual things by such cords of 171 negligence, and are found so lukewarm, or rather so cold, toward them, that we make more haste to run about, to hear, to see, to be full of words, judging nothing more grievous, nothing more troublesome, than to sit, to read, to write, to meditate. And, to heap up the evil, if we have seen any unwilling to cleave to worldly business, spurning running about, speaking more sparingly, abhorring rumours; giving their labour to reading, sweating more gladly at meditation, and, if they have understood anything, committing it to a remembering writing: 300Cthese, with drawn-in lip, hooked nostril, and lifted brow, we mock at; and, since stones are lacking, with a slanderous tongue we stone them. Why is this? unless because we do not hear the warnings of the Bridegroom wherewith he adjures the daughters of Hierusalem, or rather, hearing them, with malice running to meet us we in no wise obey; doubtless drawing upon ourselves the wrath of him who, a Judge more severe, hates and pursues them that detract! « The man that detracted, he says, against his neighbour, him did I persecute (Psal. C). » Yet nevertheless it is proper to those who are seen to preside over the rest in the Church, not to lord it over the clergy, but to show themselves a pattern to their subjects; not to entangle the mind with outward cares or with worldly business, but with a mind bent down to serve spiritual studies; not to be present willingly at the causes of men of the courts, nor at the 300Dcontentions of worldly men, but to be at hand with a fitting purpose for the study of letters and for spiritual leisure. Let their whole will betake itself to those better things; let necessity, not pleasure, bring them back to these lower ones: in the former let them be hidden, that they may diligently draw the hidden things of wisdom; to the latter let them be brought back, patiently, for the sake of their brethren and neighbours. But they who wish to detract from such men, and to draw them back from their spiritual purpose, let them fear the warnings of the Bridegroom, whereby both the Bride is helped and the daughters of Hierusalem are adjured; because their studies will not be hurt by our envious murmuring, and the indignation and the animadversion of the strict Judge will pursue persequenter the wicked detractors. But what is this, that the daughters of Hierusalem are adjured by the roes and the harts of the fields, as though such animals were known 301Ato be feared or loved, so that by a mention made of them more diligently those women might be more attentively moved to hold the bidding they have heard? And who would believe that the commandment of one so adjuring should be kept the more carefully, and not rather be reckoned useless and altogether frivolous, since the reverence of any oath scarcely holds a man, if that by which he is adjured is reckoned of no weight or moment? But in this play, although carnal and contemptible things seem to be named, yet in them a sounder understanding loves to search out spiritual things; and abhorring what the literal surface sounds and clamours, it holds great only that which the spiritual content shows to them that seek it. To the roe, then, as men say, this is implanted by nature, that she is not content with plains and valleys for her pasture; but she seeks the lofty tops of the mountains 301Bwith the utmost care, as though nowhere else she would find a sufficiency to please her. The wide breadth of the fields, the low and sunken valleys, granted from the beginning by the laws of nature to all cattle everywhere, she passes by with a kind of disdain; she goes to rocks inaccessible to the rest, and there she loves to feed delightfully, to take leaps confidently, to make unwearied stay. Whereby, not unfittingly, that virtue can be figuratively signified which, not content with transitory goods, is zealous to gaze upon the highest and heavenly things; which, going beyond those things in which the common infirmity of many is seen to linger, both wills and is able more graciously to embrace certain steep places inaccessible to lesser men. Which, forgetting the troubles of the present life as things put behind it, engrafted among the companies of the angels, nay, going forth in desire beyond the angels, 301Chaving climbed above the flatness of things below, is caught up by the love of things above, and hanging from the highest peaks is fed with the sweetness of things eternal. But the hart, which with hunger and a fitting greed devours serpents and venom, which the other animals abhor and judge alien from their food, signifies that virtue of the mind which loves to swallow up deadly sins, and to bring an eating diligence to the destroying of them. For there are some who do not indeed reach the excellence of contemplating, but who gird themselves with a strong sword to destroy vices; who, as it were the food of bread, devour the people of the lost, and by a wholesome eating bring to nothing the force of offences. And when the fraud of them that assail has stuck in these men like an arrow, they compel it by an art quickly sought out to leap back; and they do not suffer the hurtful iron long to have mastery in the wound, 301Dbut when it is drawn out they grow strong again by a saving medicine. But because it is agreed that this virtue belongs to men that are humble, whom it is agreed to be not rough with wickedness but smooth with the good will of their manners; who, though they have done great things, yet say that they are unprofitable servants: therefore he says harts of the fields, namely such as strongly embrace the broad commandment of the twofold love, and run the way of the commandments when they are enlarged in heart and mind. And lastly, when harts set themselves to pass through 302Athe deeps of waters, in that very passage they so set themselves before one another in order that the head of the one that follows is laid upon the haunches of the one that goes before, and that same one in like manner puts itself under another that follows. But he who has set himself before them all, and is stayed up by no forerunner, when he is hindered by weariness from bearing the labour of swimming and of carrying, leaving him who is placed beneath, hastens to betake himself to the last place, whom he knows to be still free and not bearing another that follows. So, bearing one another's burdens in turn, they busy themselves to fulfil the law of Christ (Galat. VI); imitating a building in which stone loves to hold up stone; whose holding up the affection of charity works, 172 by whose strong ship they are drawn out of shipwreck and led to the harbour of their will. I adjure you, he says, daughters of Jerusalem, 302Bby the roes and the harts of the fields. You, he says, whom it beseems to be daughters of Hierusalem, that is of peace, without which the sight of God can in no wise be present to you, by those virtues whereby you both tread down vices and love rewards, I will adjure you, that you presume not, by a counsel led astray, to go against the sounder desire of the Virgin. By those virtues, I say, which are lifted higher in searching out and contemplating God, and by those likewise which are stretched more widely into the love of a neighbour, I adjure you, lest you be found to assail with troubles a neighbour who is at rest, and to fight against God, in whose left hand she reclines. For this rest of hers is useful and welcome to her who rests, and not unwelcome to me who know more fully what is expedient for whom; and therefore I will both that she, while it is time, give diligence to quiet, and that you who are weaker be kept from 302Cmurmuring or from judging. Who will grant me not only that I stir not up nor make to awake any that sleep, nor be found guilty of the commandment by rashly judging them that rest; but that I too may rest in the left hand of the Bridegroom which gives its grace, and may lie hid from the heat and the whirlwind and the rain in the hiding place of his tabernacle? For happy am I if I may so deserve to die, so to sleep; if the Bridegroom deign to soothe me with the benefit of this death, with the grace of this sleep; if the daughters of Hierusalem be forbidden to hinder this, so that I be not compelled to leap back either to the troubles of life or to the watchings of guilt (Num. XXIII). Happy am I, I say, if my soul, dying the death of the just and fainting, may long for the courts of the Lord (Psal. LXXXIII); if it may fall asleep either in the left hand of the Bridegroom or at least on the knees of the Bride; if it may learn by experiment how sweet 302Dthat sleep was to the Virgin, how delightful — she from whose kiss the first book took its beginning, and in whose sleep let this second receive its end. For I judge it worthy that for the present my pen should not hasten to pursue the rest, but that, while the Bride sleeps, it too should lay itself down a little; and when she shall have willed to awake, and charity shall constrain her, watchful, to speak, my pen shall gird itself again, so far as its strength allows, to a labour interrupted rather than laid down.

• 303A

The voice of my beloved. Rightly did the Bridegroom will to warn the daughters of Hierusalem under an oath, that they should not presume to remove the beloved from her sleep or her leisure until she willed it, knowing that she, when the fitting time should come, would more suitably wake up and betake herself to those whom charity compels her to remember. And she, having tasted the slumber wherein she deserved to fall asleep in his left hand, does not wish to pass over in silence the savour she drank there; but for the sake of her neighbours, breaking off a little what she had begun, she is roused, she wakes, she reports to us what she has perceived. But first she shows that she has heard the Bridegroom speaking, and has caught the voice of the speaker as one well known; who, careful for her sleep, not only puts his left hand under the head of her that sleeps, but also with a terrible oath 303Bsets himself against the troubles that come.

The voice of my beloved. This voice, I say, which in leisure and sweet silence makes me serene; which keeps outward troubles away from the calm chamber of her that rests; which thunders and adjures, and drives far off importunate assaults; which satisfies in part, though not wholly, the desire of her that sleeps: this voice, I say, is beyond doubt his whom I have loved, whom in cherishing me, in defending me, I have already often known to be gracious to me. I recognize him whom I love, I feel his voice now present, I perceive by the hearing that he loves and does not neglect one who loves; his voice sounds for me, speaks of me, and favouring me grants me a defence, and to you who are set beneath grants a teaching neither useless nor contemptible. His voice declares 303Cme his beloved, plainly hints that my will pleases him, teaches you discipline, teaches also knowledge, teaches goodness too (Psal. CXII); it admits me into the chamber, or rather into a kind of porch, of a welcome peace, and suffers me to sleep a little; to you who wait it 173 is not silent as to what it inwardly judges to be expedient. I therefore, the friend of the Bridegroom, stand and rejoice because of the voice of the Bridegroom (Joan. III), and shall rejoice the more when he shall have appeared who is heard; and would that, until I see him, I might not see death. But when will he come? Why does he weave delays? Thinkest thou, shall I see him? Would that he might rend the heavens and come (Isa. LXIV). I wish indeed that the herald should no longer speak before him, that the forerunner should no longer go before; but that he himself who speaks should come nearer, that my heart may see 303Dand rejoice that the word of that prophecy is fulfilled, which with a truthful heralding he uttered by the mouth of Isaias: « I myself, he says, that spoke, behold I am here (Isa. LII). » Yet nevertheless, so far as I seem to myself to forebode, nay so far as I seem already to feel, behold he comes; he has found out the way of prudence, the manner of journeying, the fitting time; and he whom I desire, for whom I sigh, whom I embrace with unceasing vows, behold he comes with a rush, and is already nearer, at the doors.

• 304A

Behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping over the hills. The Virgin burns to look more nearly upon him whom she loves, seeing and not envying that his presence is not held unprofitable; and him whom she first perceives to be coming she announces to any that will hear, that at the word of her who announces the hearer may run up and run to meet him that comes. For neither is she moved with envy if abundance of him be given to others also, if the beloved in his coming offer himself to be seen by the rest also, that he may be loved; whose love reconciles lovers and puts into them a spiritual consent, so that if any signa burn the sooner, she may not fear to have an emulator, not a rival. Therefore here too the virgin hides not the presence or the coming of her beloved, but announces it to the daughters, wishing that it may come to the profit of all — him whom for this cause she proclaimed a little above to be gracious in beauty, 304Bthat she might consequently show him fruitful not to herself alone but to the rest also. She says above: « Behold thou art fair, my beloved, and comely (Can. I). » And a little after: « As the apple tree among the trees of the woods; so is my beloved (Can. II). » But whom there, announcing him fair, she plainly intimates to be not absent, why here does she proclaim him coming as though he were not present, since there she did not say that after his presence was granted he had withdrawn, so that she must needs say that he had drawn near again? But, as is known to one that has experience, it is a property of lovers or of love, that he who loves and desires to be held by the bond of a straiter affection should sometimes withdraw himself, that he may draw his beloved after him and be anxiously sought; and sometimes return, that he may caress her and be the more eagerly held. Now he both goes and returns, and is said to be to us now absent, now present, 304Che whom a sounder faith believes never, nowhere not to be at hand; because he who is always and everywhere present by the privilege of an uncircumscribed majesty is yet called absent when he withholds, and present when he bestows upon us the grace of his goodness. Now therefore the Virgin rejoices and announces that he is coming, marking that in his coming there is no delay, that he finds no obstacle; but that, leaping upon the mountains, he passes over the hills that meet him, that so he may be seen to reach the appointed place by a swift advance. But the Virgin, speaking mystically, willed to call the good angels mountains, who, it is certain, shine with the excellence of a primal holiness; who, created sublime, fell not by the blast of pride nor by the impulse of avarice, but by the merit of persevering, or by grace alone, 304Dadvanced to an unswerving firmness. In whom God leaps, when he keeps not the hidden things of his counsel with himself alone, but shows himself to them wonderful in his counsels over the sons of men; when what he purposes to work among men in the process of time he vouchsafes upon his heavenly throne to reveal all at once to the angels. For the salvation of men, which God willed to work in the midst of the earth, distributing it through diverse places and times by a saving dispensation and providence, he willed that the angels in heaven should 305Afirst know all at once, that by their ministry he might afterward impart his benefits to the earth. « Are they not all, he says, ministering spirits, sent to minister for them who receive the inheritance of salvation? (Hebr. I.) » God therefore, coming to the Virgin, in whom he works a wonderful mystery, leaps first in the angels, to whom a swift and full knowledge is presented; he makes known to Gabriel the things which he, being instructed, may afterward carry to Mary: God wove the prophecy for the angel all at once, but the angel for the Virgin in order: « Hail, he says, full of grace; behold thou shalt conceive and bring forth a son (Luc. I), » etc. God leaps also in the angels, when not by himself but through them he undertakes to instruct us, to give warnings of salvation, to impart any benefit whatsoever; and when, to teach us or to rule us, 305Bthey are found to go forth suddenly or to leap, he may be said to do this, whom, it is agreed, they that do it obey. « I heard, saith Daniel, the voice of a man between Ulai; and he cried and said: Gabriel, make this man to understand the vision (Dan. VIII). » And to Mary asking: « How shall this be done, because I know not man (Luc. I)? » the angel says: « The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee (ibid.). » But whether God be asserted to leap in the angels, that is, to the angels, or perchance to men through the angels, that he may bestow upon them with an abundant gift his own presence and the presence of his own; yet he skips over the hills, when he baulks them of the grace of that same gift and enlightens them not with the knowledge of himself by a like benefit. But the hills are the demons, 174 who, it is agreed, are borne above earthly men 305Cby the privilege of nature, yet by the desert of their fault are not to be reckoned with the spirits above; who, having fallen from among them, grow great no more upon an equal summit, and having slipped down to men, swell against them the more wickedly. From whom God hides the mystery hidden from the ages; he reveals not the grace of his coming, the mystery of great godliness; but passing them by, whose good nature the depravity of pride dishonours, he manifests himself and his own wisdom to better ones, whether angels or men: « Wisdom, saith Paul, we speak among the perfect; which none of the princes of this world knew (I Cor. II). » And to Micheas, prophesying more truly, Sedecias the son of Chanaan said: « Hath then the Spirit of the Lord left me, and spoken to thee? (III Reg. XXII.) » Plainly it is so. The Spirit of truth leaves and skips over 305Dthe proud and the lying, but the humble in spirit he saves, and teaches them by the gift and presence of his goodness; to these he hastens as a giant rejoicing and suffers himself to be felt more present; those, given over to forgetfulness, he flies past with a light bound and admits them not to the knowledge of himself. Nor is it repugnant to a fitting sense if the Virgin also be said to have mountains and hills in herself, that her loftiness may be commended in spiritual goods and in temporal; of which the spiritual are rightly compared to mountains, and the temporal to hills, which, though great, are yet not equal to the spiritual. The mountains indeed in the Virgin are chiefly the gifts of those virtues by which, or for which, we know it to have been granted to the same Virgin that she should worthily be pre-eminent above the rest in the Church upon a lofty height, and worthily 306Aplease him who is truly called the mountain of mountains. Her love is a mountain, her humility a mountain, the integrity of her chaste purity is a mountain, in which the Bridegroom leaps, that is, shows himself present by the magnificence of his divine majesty; into which, according to the angel's word, the fulness of grace (Luc. I) wholly pours itself, that in these the incomparable loftiness of the Bride may stand out and rejoice. But that her love was much — not one to whom, offending, indulgence forgave more, but one to whom, loving, the grace of the beloved committed more — she herself intimated a little above in this drama, saying: « His left hand is under my head, and his right hand shall embrace me (Can. II). » And she set the merit before it: « Because I languish with love (ibid.) » But her humility, of what excellence, of what merit it is to be believed, she herself also shows, and no doubt at all is to be had, that that regard of God 306Bchose her that he might look upon her, or that the Virgin believed herself chosen, so that she answered concerning it the more confidently: « Because he hath regarded the humility of his handmaid (Luc. II). » Lastly, the integrity of her purity, as in the flesh so also in the heart, was not hidden from Isaias, and an angel long after confirmed the old prophecy; and since nothing like it was heard before nor after, it is agreed that it was fortified beforehand by the excellence of a singular holiness: « Behold, they say, a Virgin shall conceive and bear a son (Isa. VII; Luc. X). » Mountains of this kind he, coming and leaping, willed to take away from the virgin and to bestow, and the same the Virgin took pains to render back and to offer to the bestower: in these he rendered himself present to her with a bounteous hand, with full grace; in the same she rendered herself pleasing to him beyond all women (Psal. XLIV). Lastly, 306Cthe daughters of Tyre are read to entreat the King's countenance with gifts, and here he is presented in the mountains, that is, in most lofty vul gifts; and seeing these his own gifts and his own presents, by which as by singular things he exalted the Virgin, rendered back to himself, he gave himself wholly to them, as it were, with a gracious leap. But the hills which he, leaping, is said to skip over are those gifts of the Bridegroom which, though great, he willed to impart to the Virgin; yet in these the sum of religion, the perfection of life, does not consist, but a comeliness shines forth which, being fitting to the person, does not attend religion as an inseparable companion. For beauty, birth, knowledge, which flourished in the Virgin with a certain excellence, were suitable to comeliness, but were not so necessary to salvation that without them it is not sometimes found among some that the supper is led, nor does any man's holiness, in their absence, 306Ddespair of being brought into the joy of its Lord. But the Bridegroom, willing that nothing comely, as nothing necessary, should be lacking to the Virgin, granted her to be holy in inward goods and elegant in outward: to those bringing himself wholly, nor forsaking them, since they were to abide with a stable footing; these regarding in passing, inasmuch as by the privilege of nature they were to pass away. Passing these by, or skipping over them, he despised them not with disdain or hatred; but, them, shining with a transitory bloom, he beheld not with a fixed gaze; comparing with better things those which present grace exalted and the end has injured, he rather transferred himself to those, and clave not to these that have an end. The elegance of the countenance has an end, the beauty of the body is not held by a stable thong, the glory of parents passes, the line of descent is not long held for a great thing; prophecy shall cease, as you have read (I Cor. VIII), knowledge 307Ashall be destroyed; these things and the like of them he who gives them abhors not, but beholds as one passing by. For not chiefly for these is the Virgin proclaimed commendable, but rather for those things which an incomparable holiness works; in which, as upon mountains, he in his coming wills to leap, and these, of unequal merit, to skip over as hills. He indeed is the highest bestower of goods and the lover of all that he bestows, in whom all equity and no iniquity is found; distributing many things to his own, he measures not all by one measure or weight, but discerns each severally and imparts to each a worthy diligence. Wherefore also the Virgin subjoins concerning him: He is like, etc. 175

My beloved is like to a roe and to the fawn of harts. 307BVery many are not led with a fitting subtlety to that which must be done, but are either held by negligence or seduced by ignorance; and when the foot cleaves too slow, or the understanding that goes before is darkened, they do not desire what is worthy, or do not lead it to prosperous outcomes. Which kind of pestilence I judge untried by none among men, but from the first parent it has been inevitably implanted in all his posterity, so that for the most part they either see not, or are not able to go thither where they might rejoice to find life and light, both their own and their people's. For what befell the first parent, first offending, by vice alone and not by nature, is in us that come after, far more wretched, both by vice and by nature; and by a law wretched enough we now either will not, or cannot, deliver ourselves from stains of this sort; and Paul is all too 307Ctruthful: « By nature, » saith he, « we are children of wrath (Ephes. II). » [Vulg. Eph. 2:3 et eramus natura filii irae, past tense — "and we WERE by nature children of wrath"] Would that thou wert, Paul, a man not having a spirit, and wert rather speaking a lie (Michae. II); would that thou wert not led by another law of the flesh against the law of the spirit; although thou, now rightly willing but not yet more fully able, reckonest that there is no condemnation to thee, because whatsoever thou so willest and canst not yet fully do, God accounts as done! But I, wretched, far inferior to Paul, whose eye grows dark, whose spirit languishes and with languor bends toward its end — a vicious nature working, a natural vice prevailing — bound by the law of the flesh, obey not the spiritual law. When therefore someone reads me the new Gospel, presses upon me the old prophecy; when upon the ten-stringed psaltery David more often sounds his psalmody; when 307DPaul goads me, urging me with harder warnings to go forward, that worthily following those set over me I may likewise go before those set under me: I, of a hard neck, what am I but an ass at the lyre, and, the goad availing nothing, an ox heavy with natural weight standing toward wrath? For taking up the psalm and the harmony of Holy Scripture, the new as well as the old, and being bidden to give the timbrel, to render a concordant symphony, I know not how but to bray, to make an ill-sweet melody sound harshly; I will not follow Debbora (Judic. V), nor imitate Moses or Mary (Exod. XV). Unhappy man that I am, upon whose soul the body that is corrupted has pressed this brand, whose sense, intent upon many things, the earthly habitation has so weighed down (Sap. IX); whom an asinine dullness makes blunt 308Aand stolid, and a sluggish sickness like a good man's makes slow and going backward. Over against him, happy is that man, conceived of the Spirit, whose mind the burden of the flesh blunts not, whose willing — never anything but good — no impossibility beats back; who with a sagacious understanding contemplates things uncertain and hidden from the rest, and with an effectual power works whatsoever he will. A happy man, I say, who knows not the dullness of the ass nor the sloth of the ox, who alone by an inborn power grows effectually strong both toward subtle things and toward remote; who prevails for both, having a sight likened to the roe's, and like also to the fawn who with swift course passes more speedily to what he desires — as they report who have known the various natures of beasts. For there is in diverse creatures much diversity of natures: the roe, though slower than the hart, 308Byet sees more sharply, and what may suit or perchance may not suit her as she feeds, she beholds and discerns more subtly. Lastly, she is said to have within her a certain humour, wherewith if a man prudently anoint the eye, it shall be sharpened to see the better; and so not only does she prevail by the sharpness of a readier sight, but the anointing of this inward humour gives to us also the grace of seeing. Who is worthily like to her, save he to whom every will speaks and the hidden thing of the heart lies open, that Bridegroom and beloved of the Virgin, from whom nothing is hid; who with a strict and sharp scrutiny judges and discerns the causes of all, and far removes and severs the evil from the best, the good from the worst? He indeed, alone a man among men, beholds the eastern regions and the western at once, and from beholding them is hindered neither by distance nor by obstacle; 308Cwhom in the searching of things a false appearance seduces not, and whom neither error nor forgetfulness draws away from a true judgment. Lastly, in him is found that humour fitted for medicine, as he knows far better who makes trial of it not so much by knowing as by feeling; which if any man, more greedy of seeing, pour diligently upon his eye, blindness is removed, and blearedness spreads no cloud over the sight. The humour is the Spirit of Christ, the water of wisdom, the fountain of water springing up, the virtue going out from him for the healing of the poor woman that besought it (Luc. VIII); his is that water of Siloe, wherein he who had not sinned that he should be made blind washed, not without fruit, his own eyes first smeared with spittle (Joan. IX). But the fawn of harts is borne over the level of the fields with a rapid course, and is preferred not only to roes but to harts riper in age; and while a fitting 308Dstrength is at hand for him, an agile body, an age still younger, he spurns barriers, overtops the thickets, leaps the hedges, knows no bounds. So indeed he cares not, fears not the bite of dogs, the snares of them that lie in wait, the traps that meet him, but outflies whatsoever pursuers; and when he is believed present, sooner than one can say it he absents himself; when he is reckoned absent, by a sudden coming he presents himself. To him this beloved of the Virgin is not unfittingly likened, who, being God, is not weighed down by the burden of the flesh he has taken, but wills and is able to leap over all things that displease 176, and to come to whatsoever he will, straightway when he will. He runs past the cords stretched for a snare (Psal. CXXXIX), he past the stumbling-block set beside him; he ran not, with slipping or slippery foot, upon the snare hidden 309Ain the way wherein he walked (Psal. CXLI); he outruns with far mightier merits the fathers of whom he was born according to the flesh; from us that are slower he is now withdrawn according to his own will, now runs to meet us. But he is withdrawn when with a sight like the roe's he regards us not so much in the face as in the secret of the conscience, and detects hearts ill-wounded and reins hardly framed; when he considers us empty of merits, heavy with vices, ungracious in manners, and for this cause judges us unworthy of his presence, that is, of his grace; whose present grace when we feel not within us, and, while he watches, sleep heavily under the shadow of vices; when we reckon that he the more negligently forgets our excesses, that, being intent elsewhere, he journeys further off — 309Bthen, we not foreseeing it, sudden as a fawn he presently runs upon us, punishes vices, condemns the vicious, if yet mercy run not before judgment. Very often too, when, our vices being cast off, as we think, we sweat at better pursuits, and for these rightly look for the blessed hope and the propitious coming of the Lord, our understanding growing dark we set bitter for sweet and darkness for light, and cleaving to the goods we know more than is just, we chastise not worthily enough the evils we know not. And so, when offending in many things we feel not our own ignorance, being beyond doubt uncertain whether we be worthy of love or of hatred (Eccle. IX), suddenly this fawn rushes swift and flies down from on high, and the subtle eye of the roe searches our Jerusalem with lamps 309C(Soph. I). He searches, I say, the hidden things of a mind darkened by certain ignorances; bringing in light, he scatters the heavy darkness of her that is whitewashed; and seeing clearly whatever unseemly thing is pressed down by our blindness, he accounts the justices which we think ours as the cloth of a menstruous woman (Isa. LXIV). He strikes therefore, and striking that which was thought worthy of reward — what is it but that this fawn is suddenly presented to us, who was as it were absent and set far off while he spared, while he deferred the reward falsely hoped for? Who sometimes, pitying our error, draws back the avenging sword into the scabbard, and godly admonishes us to lay hold of saving discipline (Psal. II), that we, foolish and seduced, may not look for a reward in place of punishment, but, according to Jeremias, may search out our ways 309Dwith an anxious inquiry (Thren. III). But because searching is torpid in the dark and more effectual with lamps, he himself is at hand as a roe, enlightening wonderfully from the everlasting mountains; and he pours that humour of his Spirit upon our inward eyes, that they may see made plain whatever hurtful thing hides itself in our conscience. Which being overturned and wiped away, when we now rejoice in our own cleanness, him by whose gift and grace we work in us so magnificent a work we love to love, and will thenceforth to have him more gracious, to mingle discourse with him, to deserve him propitious, to feel him nearer. Who, feeling us to love and consenting to the vows of lovers, affords us a certain abundance of himself, caresses us with gifts, assails us not with strokes; and, whatever heavy thing out of the past troubles us being put far away, that we may taste how 310Asweet he is, he manifests his sweetness to them that desire him. And while he is thought to be as it were at hand before the eyes and now to be felt in the hands, he withdraws himself like a fawn and wills to be sought the more ardently; he absents himself without forsaking, not as inflicting a penalty, but he marks whether an intemperate love hangs itself upon desire of the absent. Who, if he shall have seen us held by a tender love, burning toward the absent, refreshed by nothing present; burning with desire, nothing held more pleasing to us than himself: suffers not that we be tormented longer by his absence. For him whom, not seeing, we believe to have gone away into a far country, suddenly coming he again shows himself near; and those whose desire, now sound, he beholds from on high as a roe, he guards us, humbled as we are, by his sudden coming, after the manner of a fawn. Therefore perhaps he deserved to be called here not a hart but 310Bthe fawn of harts, who also willed by Isaias to be proclaimed a child and a little man (Isa. IX); because he who, high above all gods, containing all things in himself, hides himself, by a humble condescension pours himself into the humble in spirit (Psal. XCV). Which, because it is known to none better than to the Virgin (for every unworthy man grieves that he has not had trial enough of this gift), therefore the Virgin rightly and confidently testifies this, and bears witness that he is that one like to a roe or to a fawn. But if any of the hearers desires more curiously to know whither he — who, like to a roe and to a fawn, is said to come leaping and skipping — hastens so, and where at last he has fixed his step, let him hear that he is there where the Virgin said that he stayed his step.

310CLo, he himself standeth behind our wall, looking in through the windows, looking forth through the lattices. He, more sweetly desired, longer awaited, though he has come, has not yet, as I seem to see, arrived; but drawing near to the Bride, whose love he knew was cherished by no other remedy, he stands behind the wall, willing rather to be known than to be seen. The wall in this place is not undeservedly named the present life 177, which is built of hours and days, of months and years, as of stones set beside or above one another; within whose straits, while we are for a time confined, we either know not God, or do not yet contemplate his face. Whence to Moses: « Man shall not see me and live (Exod. XXXIII). » That is: no man set within the prison of this time, 310Dwithin the enclosures of this life (though he be of great merit, of a mind more diligently polished), shall see me in my nature, in the glory of my nature — which glory shall appear beyond this wall to them that go forth to be satisfied. The obscurity of the present life therefore admits not the vision of so great a glory; within its darkness that face permits not itself to be seen: no man bearing flesh wrapped in the prison-house of time sees the brightness of God, freed from temporal mists. Which John beholding says: « No man hath seen God at any time (I Joan. IV). » At any time, that is, in time; while, that is to say, the creature is subject to vanity, that is, to transitory time, it sees not God himself in his own form or nature; although sometimes it knows, yea and feels, him to be near, to stir it up to pray, 311Ato be at hand for prayers to be heard And notably the Virgin says not: Lo, he himself standeth within the wall, but behind our wall. This wall of ours indeed belongs to time, ever tending toward its setting and oppressive likewise of them that tend with it; it grows dark within with certain darknesses of its own, as being of the evening: no dawn rising, no morning sun receives it. Set within its bounds we see not the Bridegroom's face, the glory of Christ, but beyond it, that is, after we shall have passed its bounds; when, its threshold crossed, we shall know nothing transitory any more, then shall we come to the morning after the evening, to the light after the darkness. Whence David also: « In the morning I will stand before thee and will see (Psal. V). » And Job: « After darkness, he says, I hope for light (Job. XVII). » Fairly again the Virgin said behind the wall, not mine, but ours. For although 311Bthe Virgin, fuller of an ampler grace, is now free of our guilts, yet this wall of the present life is common to us all; wherein it is not now fault, nor flesh heavy with fault, that withdraws the Virgin (as it seems) from the truth that is to be seen, but that the creature itself is still subject to the aforesaid vanity. We indeed, far beneath the Virgin, weighed down with the burden of faults, darkened with carnal allurements and with thicker darkness: as many motions, as many affections as we bear in us that oppress the inward spirit, so many dividing ramparts do we set between ourselves and God. But the Virgin, who, full of grace, is no longer pressed by the urgency of such things, but is held still under time by the present life alone, unwilling indeed and against her will, asserts that not many walls now, but rather one, stands between; and this one she says is not her own but common 311Cto all. For she who by the excellence of grace has put many ramparts or walls far from herself has not at once cast off, according to her will and desire, the one that is as much hers as all men's; and she who, living with us, yet consented not to have our faults any longer, felt life itself, as a wall, heavy and set against her. For willingly she wished to see face to face him whom she loved, but that law written with an iron pen held her back from her desire, which, promulgated by God to Moses, and to men through Moses many ages before, then and now and henceforth remains confirmed by an indelible writing: « Man, he says, shall not see me, and live (Exod. XXXIII). »

Lo, says the Virgin, I understand that the Bridegroom 311Dstands behind our wall, who, however near he draw, wills not to show himself clearly to them that live here; and though he be far perchance from any others, between whom it is agreed that many walls are interposed, lo — that is, hard by — he stands to me, who feel that nothing but one is set against me. But he stands that he may attend me with diligent solicitude, and show himself a ready helper to me that desire to go forth; that he may comfort me while I tarry, reach a hand to me as I strive, console me with things present, and promise better things to me as I follow after. Lastly, when Stephen endures the stones and the reproaches of the Jews, grieving not so much for himself as suffering with the malice of the lost (Act. VII), urgent in prayer he was rapt into a sweet ecstasy, and sees Jesus standing — not granted to the wretched stoners. Jesus indeed was standing, that he might give strength to him that wrestled, hope 312Aof victory to him that was to die; reaching a hand to him that trusted, that he might loose the wall for him that was to go forth, receive him going forth, and snatch him received from the turbulent conversation of the world, he thenceforth sitting down in the beauty of peace, to sit in an opulent rest. So, while the Virgin is held by the wall of the present life alone, the Bridegroom is said to stand as it were outside, behind that wall, that he may exhort her who is to go forth to stand meanwhile upon her own watch, and that she, standing and constant with manly fortitude, may await him as the keeper of her going forth. But meanwhile, while the Virgin endures delay, set within this wall, desiring indeed to be dissolved but not yet more fully loosed, the Bridegroom is recorded to look in through the windows and to look forth through the lattices; bearing care of the Virgin, he consoles her by the regard of his grace. Lest the house 312Bbe ill-blind and its inward part dark, through the windows and lattices a gracious light is poured within. And windows and lattices seem to me to differ from one another in this, that windows are stretched out lengthwise, while lattices show a round form like an eye. Through the oblong windows therefore the Bridegroom is then seen to look within, when the Bride's sojourning, wherein she is somewhat long detained within the wall, he renders luminous by a long-suffering hope and a constant 178 patience, without the grace of which light nothing is more worthy of hatred, nothing more wearisome. David, oppressed with weariness: « Alas, he says, that my sojourning is prolonged (Psal. CXIX). » Filled with joyful light: « Thou art, he says, my patience, O Lord; my hope from my youth 312C(Psal. LXX). » But through the lattices the Bridegroom looks within, when by his unconfused grace the Virgin more subtly looks about upon her own acts; and finding not among things transitory where she may suffer her foot to rest (Gen. VIII), she fixes the eyes of her mind upon him whom with a sounder desire she awaits. He looks forth through the lattices, when, putting far from the Bride the affections and motions of the animal soul, he pours into her — or, pouring in, enlightens — spiritual eyes, with which the Virgin, made circumspect, not only cleaves not to things present, regards not greedily the things that shall pass away, but with her pupils made clear sees and loves the more eagerly the things that shall abide without end. Into which eyes the vision of God pours itself, not only cleansing but also preserving cleanness, and through them consequently diffuses itself through the whole building, as it were; whose smooth and round perfection, opened outward with a more august 312Dbosom and wider within, renders all things uncovered by the light poured in (Ezech. XL et XLI). I wonder if the prudent builder of the Church did not look upon this very thing, who that part of her which he understood to be worthier in merits, building it round, willed to name a lattice, wherein he willed the Holy of holies and the altar to be more significantly placed. Which part deserves first to receive the grace of the divine regard, and being first sanctified is not held by the disease of avarice; but with bosom open and filled with the surpassing light of the mysteries, it pours back upon the whole Church everywhere, like an eye, the benefit of the sacrament. Whence there especially tapers or lamps are kindled, which are shown more expressly to signify the grace of the aforesaid light; from which that vision of God is understood to be presented there first, and from them to be spread abroad to the rest, 313Aas by a scattered light. So he who, standing behind the wall, suffers not himself yet to be seen, loves to behold his beloved through the windows and the lattices; and seeing and not seen, that yet he may not be unknown, he wills his own voice as he speaks to be heard as from an oracle.

And my beloved speaketh to me. To me, I say, who am still held within the wall, even against my will, and, if now not by other things, yet hindered by the stains of the present life; he who, standing behind the wall, awaits me willing and not yet able to go forth, and meanwhile looks within through the windows and the lattices with eyes of mercy, adds also, to the heaping up of the benefit, that he should speak, and with gracious discourse pursue the sweet lines of love. And rightly is speech said to follow sight consequently; 313Bfor her whom we have chanced to see as beloved we straightway wish also to address, and, as the trumpet exhorts them that fight, and the goad or spur the horse let go, so to exhort her by a pleasing word to a greater vigilance of love. The Bridegroom therefore speaks, and rejoices to soothe her with his address; he insinuates his own will to her, and teaches the humble one to obey, to confess herself a handmaid — most of all after hearing Gabriel's salutation — and to hold in memory that saying of Samuel which she knew to have been written long before: « Speak, he says, Lord, for thy servant heareth (I Reg. III). » To this handmaid therefore the Lord, nay rather the beloved, speaks, to the Bride that hears; and the Bride, loving and watchful, gives an open ear to him that speaks; he by speaking gives joy and gladness to her hearing (Psal. L), she is humbled by hearing the Bridegroom's voice the more gratefully. And worthily the more gratefully, because he will not, like an adversary, speak hurtful 313Cor sad things, but his benevolence will pursue sweet things and useful; because he who loves and is loved rages not, is not angry against his beloved, but reaches out peace to her — though not yet a perfect peace, the wall being as it were interposed. But what peace he reaches out, or what peaceable thing he speaks to her, lest it be long hidden from you, is declared in the following verse.

Arise, make haste, my friend, my dove, my comely one, and come. Here first it may be objected, why he who a little above warned the maidens not to trouble her, not to raise her up, until she would, as she rested between the left hand and the right, now, as though forgetful of what he had warned, provokes her to rise, and urges also 313Dthat she make haste, as though it were no longer to be deferred. But he who, restraining the daughters of Jerusalem, whose eyes are not opened to this, yet left the Virgin's rising (as you know) to her own will, himself knows far more amply what and when is fitting or expedient for holiness; from whom the Virgin also has it that she prudently spends either leisure or business upon the truth. To whom, when the Bridegroom breathes in, after the quiet of leisure, the will for business; when he stirs up and rouses her charity to the care of her neighbours, he urges her slowness with a sweet goad to a work now necessary, namely that « hearing, she may say: Come (Apoc. VI), » and, being taught, may teach the truth. What does he say or enjoin to her but, Arise and make haste? That is: as in 179 leisure, so in business obey me speedily? 314AThou, he says, who liest hidden sweetly above the left hand and beneath the right, who within the wall growest glad not vainly at my regard: arise, break off for a little the unfruitful embraces of sweet leisure; go out quickly into the streets and lanes, and admit hither the lame and the weak (Luc. XIV). And because thou willest this when I will, and willest not when I will not, I may rightly have called thee my friend, marking thee an enemy to all wills that displease me. With which saying not only the present truth of the Canticles, but also the truthful maxim of the heathen worthily accords: To will the same thing, he says, and not to will the same thing, that at last is firm friendship. And thou art a friend, since thou willest to feel with me in all things, privy to my secrets, and to keep the will of my mind; thou art none the less a dove, since thou aspirest not to the things of the world 314Bthat are present, but for the absence of things eternal groanest inconsolably and sighest. For although thou sometimes willingly exposest thyself to the instructing of thy neighbours, yet thou puttest not after it that desire wherewith thou burnest toward me (Luc. XI); and coming to these many things, thou lettest not go that one thing necessary, but only for a little breakest off the leisure of being free and of contemplating. And because thou excellest with a fitting discretion, in both thou drawest to thyself from both praise or merit in all things, and in none of them showest thyself unshapely, but comely — and by the desert of this comeliness mine, that is, not moderately pleasing to me. Thou therefore, my friend, dove, my comely one; arise, make haste, and come. Arise from leisure, gird thyself bravely to labour; make haste, obey without delay, lest the neediness of thy neighbours 314Cfind thee too slow; and come — not to go far from me after the footsteps of the flocks, after the flocks of the companions, but labouring with me standing by, without any loss or damage. For lest, when thou hast risen and made haste, thou desist as it were impatient from what thou hast begun, I will be at hand, comforting thee and framing labour in commandment (Psal. XCIII); nor will I forsake thee, when thy strength shall have failed, as one set far off: to me, when thou shalt come to me labouring, thou shalt find thyself near (Rom. XIII). Arise, because it is now the hour for thee to rise from sleep; make haste, because God loveth a cheerful giver (II Cor. IX); and come, because I am with thee, saith the Lord. But that it is the hour, he consequently declares, saying: Now the winter, etc.

• 314D

For now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers have appeared in our land; the time of pruning is come. While it is winter and the earth is hard-bound with cold frost, while its surface is pressed by the snow poured over it and its face is not truly coloured; while with looser reins the north wind rejoices to rage through the fields of this air, and the south wind appears not, and Favonius defers to come: assuredly the husbandman hastens not to go out to his work and to set forth the plough; he sits at home, is at leisure for himself, rejoices in the fire, and fattens himself with richer feasts. Likewise, while it is rain, the showers flowing down long and unseasonably, and pools or standing waters now occupy the fields lately dry; while from the high mountains 315Athe torrents cast themselves down with fury, and the rivers exceed their channels and wander far this way and that; while the crops are overwhelmed, houses float, trees are torn up, and the waters of the flood, unchecked, are driven back by no command and by no obstacle: what ploughman would go out to move the oxen to the yoke? What husbandman would set to the vine the hook that shall cut away things hurtful or superfluous? But when a mightier hand harshly rebukes these things and beats them back, and, the air being made clear, a vernal sweetness pours itself upon the lands; when the more grievous importunity of rain and winter is now wiped away, and, the cloud wiped away, their own face has returned to things: then at last the ploughman grows glad, and the mind for working returns; a man goes out to the vineyard, because it is the fitting time of pruning. That is our winter, when we are held by a hard coldness of mind, when 315Bby ignorance or negligence we are hindered from loving God; when the wicked spirit like the north wind hardens us with a continual blast, and the world set in wickedness conforms us to its own malice. But our rain is when the flux of carnal affections pours itself into our minds, and their nerveless softness diffuses itself everywhere with a billowy onset, and a great inundation is found to exceed measure and to overstep the mark, while it is neither restrained by the channel of discipline nor forestalled by the opposing hand of justice. For then, after the manner of a torrent, passion rages, the filth of vices roars, it drowns and suffocates the mind and renders it ignorant of the commandments; and if any good thing had been sown and conceived in hope or in the blade, the water of the flood snatches it away, the Egyptian river carries it off, a bitter death overwhelms it. Lastly the mind, now lost, stretches itself out 315C180 to the seeking of unlawful things abroad, and draws to its own uses whatever it finds softer and sweeter; it is soothed with the sweetness of foods, with the soft touch of women, and savours nothing but flesh, and whatever thus flatters the wretched flesh. But if the divine grace vouchsafe at some time to have pity on calamities so great, to look with eyes of mercy upon the aforesaid hardness of mind, so that it will that the mind, long pressed by a hurtful frost, be loosed at last by the warmth of the Spirit, and that we be absolved from the desert of death by the benefit of indulgence: then the tenacious and harder winter, oppressive to the wretched until then, its estate being shaken and lost, is now made a thing that passes. It passes, I say, and in its passing greenness and a revived temperateness return; the south wind comes, Favonius breathes, a vernal sweetness follows, and a summer one; there laughs 315Dthe beauty of flowers, promising the fruits that follow; the vine rejoices in the hook that prunes away useless shoots. The same grace blowing, the air is made clear, the great inundation of rains is thinned; the flood is dried up, the river is called back within its bounds; discipline not vainly enjoins frugality upon them that exult and continence upon them that run riot; and, the rheum of vices being dried up, the inward workshop of the mind is graced with virtues. Which being cleansed and made fruitful by an inward gift, not only does the down-flowing rain go away and depart, but a new comeliness of the earth, a certain new face, now comes on; and where the winter has passed and the rain has gone and appears not, there the flower of good works — that is, the hope of a reward to come — now appears. And because the Bridegroom willed to impart such grace to the daughters of Jerusalem, namely that, the rubble 316Aof a perverse will being torn out, they should now desire to come to an ampler advance, he exhorts the Virgin, rejoicing in leisure, to go to meet them and to succour them, showing at what time and with what preceding fitness this may be worthily and profitably done. Arise, he says, for now the winter is past — that hardness, namely, which could for a while hinder the minds of hearers, that they should neither hear the word of God nor, having heard it, love to obey; which cast itself upon them with a heavy hand and a hard command, and made the down-flowing waters, hardened with cold, to stand still; which cast over the earth cold snows as a heavy cloak, and, the burden pressing long, slew the tender sheep. This hardness assuredly was found to have held Peter with a heavy hoof, when he answered that he knew not the man whom he had known (Marc. XIV); and a servant or a maid dealt him a buffet of fear, that he might not even 316Bbe able to speak the truth; and lest the disciple should help his master, the slothful man held his hand under his armpit (Prov. XIX). You remember, as I think, what the truth of the Gospel affirms: that when Peter was denying and warming himself, it was cold (Joan. XVII); and therefore at that time the Virgin is not commanded to rise to speak, but by pitying grace he that denied is first looked upon, that he may weep. For he wept bitterly, feeling himself held by a hard cold (Luc. XXIII), and that the fire at which he stood was not held fit enough to drive it away; but that same winter having passed by the regard of pitying grace, Mary is sent to Peter to announce the power of him that rose again (Marc. XVI). Lastly, do not a great rain, many waters, the malice of the time or of the day, seem to you to have held John 316Cthe son of Zebedee, so that, his spirit as it were suffocated and the rigour of chastity bent, he was hastening to embrace the soft coupling of the flesh, the nuptials of a pleasure that must perish? But most of all a great rain, a great cleanness suffocated him, when Peter, the more confident, thrice denied his master as the passion drew near (Marc. XIV); and he none the less, terrified by love of this life at the passion aforesaid, hurried headlong, fled naked, the linen cloth left behind. And truly he is of no slight fault, and swerves and offends not a little, who in the flood of the passions leaves behind the love of heavenly things, cleaner than a linen cloth; wherewith no man can be more honourably, none more usefully clothed, if only Christ, after his own pattern, shall have granted us to be buried in it. « He wrapped him, he says, in a clean 316Dlinen cloth, and laid him in the sepulchre (Matth. XXVII). » But love of self and contempt of the linen cloth stripped John as he fled; hatred of the Master, the disease of avarice, the guilt of crime unnerved Judas; all at last the water bore away, the flood injured, guilt drowned — but while the rest escaped by grace, Judas, being lost, emerged not. For he, suffocated by distrust, hanged himself with a noosed throat; John laid hold of the citadel of grace, the summit of seeing, because Christ, suffering on the cross, banished the care of Judas far from his benevolence, but loving John committed the care of him to his mother the Virgin: « Woman, he says, behold thy son (Joan. XIX). » After therefore he willed by faith in the rising Christ to remove far off the troubles of winter and of rain, and that a liberating grace should appear more eminently in those whom he had chosen, 317Ahe anxiously invited the Virgin not to be slothful to rise, to make haste, to come, because it is now the time of speaking, when the earth, that is, is not held by the aforesaid rain or winter. Nor only has so great an inclemency gone and departed, but a vernal sweetness, a flowery beauty, a hope of fruits has come on; in our land the flowers of obedience, of patience, of continence now shine forth; yet a little while, and they shall bring forth the desired fruit. It is not therefore to be deferred but that meanwhile the hook and a purging admonition be brought forth, to cut back diligently the springing shoots of negligence (Sap. IV); let it scrape away ignorance, instruct faith, prune manners, that with worthy solicitude it may render them readier to bring forth fruit. For when the time of vintage, the day of fruits, shall dawn, there shall be no more pruning; 317Bboth the basket and the mattock shall rest — which, the winter being run out, now more fittingly present themselves, when a new greenness springs. flowers of many kinds show themselves in the earth. 181 The flowers, he says, have appeared in our land, the time of pruning is come. And he adds: the voice, etc.

The voice of the turtle is heard in our land, the fig tree hath put forth her green figs: the vineyards in flower have yielded their sweet smell. The voice of the turtle is not raised, according to musicians, among the high notes, nor is it pleasant to their ears; it sings not over-sweetly, as, according to a certain heathen, the nightingale does; but it dwells among the low notes, mournful with a certain suppressed groan, unwelcome to them that rejoice, 317Cgracious to them that would mourn. Such a voice that querulous man seems to imitate who harshly complains that his sojourning on earth is prolonged; who, cleaving not to things present and refusing to be consoled in them, groaning for the absence of things to come, ceases not to lament. « Woe is me, he says, that my sojourning is prolonged (Psal. CXIX). » And that other: « Weeping she hath wept in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks: there is none to comfort her (Thren. I). » If you remember, this voice was heard in the disciples, when — their tender love, their hope provoked by a deferred desire — they dispute among themselves, and sigh, and complain after the manner of a turtle, and among the complainers much doubt and various discourses are exchanged. « What are these discourses, says he, that you hold one with another as you walk, and are sad? (Luc. 317DXXIV.) » And they: « We hoped, they say, that it was he that should have redeemed Israel (ibid.). » When therefore the voice of this turtle is now heard in the land, rightly is the virgin's solicitude summoned to the advancing of the faith, that she may know that her preaching is not found empty nor ineffectual, which is thus forerun by so devout a groan, by so groaning a spirit. Lastly, the turtle loves to dwell in the mountains and in the more secret places; it rejoices not in the assembly of birds, nor in the public place, nor in the throng of the people; holding the form of that spiritual wisdom which neither the wandering multitude of the market-place nor the animal man perceives. Of which Job: « Wisdom, he says, is drawn out of secret places (Job XXVIII). » And David: « The uncertain and hidden things of thy wisdom, he says, thou hast made manifest to me (Psal. L). » And Paul: « We speak, he says, the wisdom of God 318Ain a mystery, which is hidden (I Cor. II). » Paul, who knew himself a debtor to the wise as also to the foolish, speaking among the perfect draws wisdom out of secret places; and he whom the dullness of the men of the market-place, or a dull ignorance, troubles not, manifests the uncertain and hidden things of wisdom to them that likewise have ears. It is therefore the voice of the turtle which, hiding from the darkened crowds the hidden or uncertain things of wisdom, renders them uncovered to the eyes or ears of very few indeed; which, veiling the secret from the multitude — the secret of Isaias, the prophecy of Elisabeth, the oracle of Zachary — whispers sweetly to those only who, having received the Spirit, hasten to the hill country, whose ears of hearing the crafty asp stops not. Lastly, that woman seemed to utter the voice of the turtle who rejoiced that she had seen the Lord 318Bwhen he rose from the dead; and him whom she alone had alone seen, her desire now fulfilled, she announced not to the crowds in the street but to the apostles in secret: « Mary Magdalen came, he says, telling the disciples: I have seen the Lord, and these things he said to me (Joan. XX). » But Mark: « Jesus rising, he says, early the first day of the week, appeared first to Mary Magdalen; and she going told them that had been with him (Marc. XVI). » Those disciples also tarry in the secret of excellence after the manner of a turtle, who in the absence of Thomas Didymus rejoiced to see the Lord; and when they tell it to him on his return, thinking that he would likewise rejoice at such news, he, distrusting, asserts that he will not believe unless he shall have seen. Nor is it repugnant if you will to declare the same Lord also a turtle, 318Cwho, rising from the dead, willed to appear both to the women and to the disciples; whom, wholly hidden from the crowds that rejoice in the forum or the street, Galilee offered in secret to be seen by none but his own. Whose turtle's voice I deem beyond doubt to be that whereby he made himself known to his own as being at hand, that they might believe; which, removed further from the hardened hearing of the malignant, he brought only to those whom he found held by the begun affection of them that love. « Peace be to you, he says, it is I (Luc. XXIV). » Good is that voice of the turtle, a voice from the high mountains, a secret voice, which the roaring crowd, accustomed to the suits and tumults of the forum, does not grasp; which none know but a few, whose ear worthily hears, whose eye is not darkened by obstinacy, whose vigorous understanding 318Dmore anxiously searches out the secrets of wisdom. Of which voice it is written: « His voice shall not be heard in the streets (Isa. XLII). » [Vulg. Isa. 42:2 nec audietur vox ejus foris, "neither shall his voice be heard abroad"; in plateis is the wording of Matt. 12:19] Which voice assuredly, after it sounded to the torrae and was heard by the disciples, the earth, hindered before by a hard cold, opened glad bosoms, growing green with a new temperateness, so that it is now worthy to be called ours — which, cursed in the first man, deserved to be blessed when the second rose again. For her whom of old the Lord strictly forbade to sin, and whom, having transgressed the prohibition, he more harshly cursed in wrath and fury: the same, rising from the dead, he blessed with his own regard, with his own grace, and, renewed by his gifts, called ours by the desert of newness. 182

The voice of the turtle is heard in our land. She who once, 319Awhen she sinned, made herself over to another's dominion and usurped for herself a new God and another possessor, after she has been breathed upon by a new spirit and is made free of the wanderings aforesaid, is rightly called ours — the common possession, that is, of them both. For those whose spirit is one, whose flesh is one, must be said to have nothing thenceforth that is not common; but what is the bride's the bridegroom claims to himself fittingly enough, since he wills to hold even what is his own not as proper to himself but to share it with her, that they may rejoice to have all things together in common. « Our Father who is in heaven (Matth. VI). » [Vulg. qui es in caelis, second person, "who art in heaven"] If, I say, I call the Father who is in heaven not properly mine but in common ours, rightly, O bride, do I call the land also not thine but rather ours; because, as by gift 319BI gave thee to be made partaker of my things, so by the giver's bounty — mine rather than thine — am I partaker of thine. Otherwise, if the land were held to be thine only and not rather ours, perhaps the voice of the turtle aforesaid would not be heard in it, and the fig tree would not put forth those green figs of hers which she put forth when the turtle was heard; and, these not being put forth, she would not bring on after them the other fruits of the later season. Almost all trees, of whatever differing kind or shape, have this as it were proper to themselves, have this implanted in them by nature: that a tree which is to put forth its fruits in the ripe season rejoices first in a certain passing offspring of blossoms. Whereof it is written: « In the morning let it flourish and pass away (Psal. LXXXIX). » But when the tree has been widowed of its passing flower, by nature's working it is made fruitful by the access of fruits that follows; and whatever it grieved for before, 319Cwhatever loss it bore when stripped by the falling of the flower, it makes good with a new joy and exchanges for a better abundance. But the fig tree is found unlike the rest in this, nor is the plenty of fruits in her forerun by the grace of a flower; but while others are in blossom she is said to put forth her first fruits, transitory ones, as others succeed them in the course of time. So indeed the fig tree becomes fruitful by a manner unusual to all, rich with no foregoing flower in a first plenty of fruits and in a second; of which the green figs that come first are not of that grace, not of that savour, which those have that follow — the later they are in season, the better beyond doubt in juice. Yet sometimes among those green figs which are said to forerun the rest it is possible to find some, though very few, 319Dwhich both go before and yet yield not place or time to those that are to succeed, but, while the others fall, stand longer and remain with those that are to come. For a green fig is sometimes found to be born between two little branches, and is guarded as it were by the careful standing-about of its neighbours; and, resting in the angle and drawing juice and nourishment to itself from this side and that, not only does it not fall, but is brought to a fuller yield than the rest. For neither are its coevals that fall accounted its equals in grace, nor do the last that come after deserve beyond doubt to be matched with it; but it deserves to be set before both these and those in scent and in savour, fit for the food of nobles, worthy to be set on no table unless a king's. Not unfittingly can the fig tree be named the Jewish people, which, when it heard Christ commend 320Aheavenly things and teach that earthly things are not to be loved, being steeped in the sacred letters straightway put forth men that would believe, but that would not abide in the word of faith with any steadfastness of works. Who, brought forth in haste and taking on an appearance of godliness, but denying the power of it and lacking the weight of truth, fell before their time at the first blast of the wind, or, while the wind was not yet blowing, dropped off heavy with their own weight. And perhaps such men are not undeservedly called green figs, who by a sense grosser than their body wickedly despise things hidden and subtle; who, according to Paul's (Ephes. IV) word, having their understanding darkened by grossness, do indeed believe for a time, but in the time of temptation fall away into failure. Gross enough — nay, more than enough — I judge those to have been who are read to have stood by 320BChrist as he spoke in the Gospel; and when he discoursed mystically of the eating of his flesh and the drinking of his blood, and affirmed that none had eternal life in themselves save those who should eat, they, from whose sides an over-gross fat seemed to hang, not taking in the mystery, were found to shrink from the mystic word. « This is a hard saying, say they, who can hear it? » (Joan. VI.) When by the hardness of this saying those rude ones are wretchedly shaken, and, not solid in the truth, endure the blast of the north wind, bearing ill a plain stumbling-block in a somewhat obscure word, they plainly fall, like green figs, before their time. « From this time, he says, many went back; and now they walked not with him (Joan. VI). » But when these had withdrawn, do not think that of that same people 320Cthere were thereafter none who would hear Christ. and be present among his hearers; for he sent before him afterwards seventy-two others into every place whither he knew he was himself to come, and by taking these out of that people he did not permit the fig tree to remain wholly barren. Lastly Judas the traitor, who for a while followed the Master among the apostles and at the last pursued him even to betrayal and to an incurable hatred, when he found himself fallen into the deep like a green fig by his own weight, bearing himself back on high far worse, hanged himself with a noose. But lest the Apostle's place should long 183 be held empty, and by one man's fall the due perfection of the consecrated number be defrauded, Matthias, as you have read, was chosen an apostle by the casting of the lot, and so neither 320Ddid the fig tree stand empty nor the number of twelve imperfect. But if this seems to any hearers small and insufficient, if a careful reader thinks that something here holds a scruple in it, let him betake himself to those of that people who afterwards believed at Peter's word, and who, now three thousand and now five thousand, filled up the number of them that fell away. Of whom there is no doubt but that, the later they are in time, the more worthily they ought to be called better than Judas and the apostates aforesaid; and that their evening succession and conversion pleased Christ far more than the morning withdrawal and headlong fall of the others. But those green figs which, when the rest were falling, remained — very few indeed — and, not slipping away with them that slipped, endured even with them that followed after, may rightly be understood of the apostles, who are chosen by Christ among 321Athe first and perhaps first of all, and are driven from him neither by entreaty, nor by price, nor by the violence of threats. And when the good Master set himself to question them more closely, whether they too would go when the others were going back, Peter, the readier to speak, hid not what he purposed, but before the rest (as their first and chief) answered thus: « Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life: and we have believed and have known that thou art Christ the Son of God (Joan. VI). » Peter therefore lies hid between two little branches, that is, between the Law and the Gospel, and, taking nourishment to himself from this side and that, grows strong to persevere bravely; resting on the border of both, he leans sweetly upon either, and, carefully supported by the one, turns not away at all from the other. For he understands 321Bthat the old law prefigures the new by signs and riddles; that the new makes the old understood and does not darken it; that the old does not prejudge the new but runs before it; that the new is not against the old but runs to meet it. The lawgiver and the giver of the Gospel seem to Peter not to be at odds one with the other, since the law foretells Christ, and Christ wills not to destroy the law but to fulfil it; and in him, as in a corner, the old is joined to the new law by a certain fitness, upon which Peter, firmly leaning, is guarded by a double defence. Whereof he himself says: « We have the more firm prophetical word, whereunto you do well to attend, as to a lamp shining in a dark [ alias caliginoso] place (II Petr. I). » This of the old. What of the new? « Do penance, says he, and be every one of you baptized in the name of Jesus Christ (Act. II). » 321CTo Peter therefore and to his fellow-apostles, who first believed in Christ, and who, when some withdrew, remained with him in his temptations, that same Christ willed to impart so great a ripeness of manners and so great a sweetness of grace that it is certain they go before both their coevals and those that came after in the merit of their living. To this order no order, to an apostle no other man could compare himself, nor — as some judge — could any, earlier or later, set himself before them in life and merits; but they become so sweet in scent, and by the ripeness of their works so ripe, that both present and future men might worthily enough yield to them. And since the fig tree has put forth such as these — not so much to be preferred to the evil as assuredly better than the good, greater after the manner of mountains, grosser in the abundance of their merits — rightly is the Bride 321Dinvited not to put off the visiting of such any longer, but sometimes to set the business of her neighbours before her own special leisure. The Bridegroom wills that the Virgin, absent too long, be not burdensome to the apostles who are as yet maidens, but that, graciously speaking to them, she confer manifest things upon their hidden ones; that she strengthen their faith, instruct their rude understanding, advance their beginning affections and lead them to perfection. He wills, I say, that the Virgin labour with watchful solicitude, that the rude apostles may be able to lay their head each under his own vine and under his own fig tree; and that, while the present iniquity passes by and the day dawns more fully upon them, each may rest meanwhile under the mighty 322Ahand of Christ, under the shadow of the Holy Spirit. And that the Virgin's care may labour patiently upon those same maidens and may hope for fruit near at hand if she persevere diligently: the flowering vineyards, he says, have already yielded their scent; they that have already flowered in the first season will give autumn grapes. By the vineyards I judge are meant the souls of individual men now converted to the faith, in whom the calling of God who has mercy works the grace of merits, and which, growing green by an infused mildness, now plainly put forth their flower. The flower, not yet rich in fruit, gives meanwhile its scent. And as the flower by its presence renders the vineyard's place pleasant, so the flower's scent makes that same place cleaner and serene, while it suffers neither serpent nor creeping thing to remain in it, nor venom, but by a certain undivided force renders it 322Ba stranger to all these. A good flower, I would say, and a good scent that, wherewith a recent conversion so adorns the soul that first it drives far off whatever inwardly dishonours her; so that at her first fruits the beholder's eye worthily grows glad hila rescat, and venomous envy, not enduring her good scent, takes fright. The wicked will not, or cannot, look with an even mind upon the good, and a juster place cannot be possessed by two masters; but when the fresh flower and the comely scent pour themselves out with a large bounty, guilt flees, the poison is shut out, iniquity hides itself afar off. Lastly, scent and stench are harshly opposed one to the other, and agree not well, nor do they abide in one lodging; but when virtue worthily flowers and the report of it sweetly grows strong, vice is brought to nothing, and whatever is evilly foul vanishes away. When Simon 322CPeter, flowering with a summer 184 grace, gave forth his scent far and wide, and with a large munificence published the new rule of having nothing of one's own, some who wished to be fed with that good scent in a clean conscience sold their possessions and laid the prices of them at the apostle's feet (Act. V). But Ananias and Sapphira, who laboured with a venomous fraud and a lost mind, who burned with the disease of avarice as with inward fevers, being unwilling to aspire freely to the height of apostolic poverty, were forced at the scent of this word wretchedly to expire. So Peter, so the brethren who had come together, shine forth with a new flower, that, shining before men, they may fill the whole house with the scent; and so great a strictness is found to prevail in the Church that neither 322Dwill nor can Simon Magus endure Peter, nor Nicolas Stephen. Good vineyards indeed, which flowered so at that time; very happy souls, which put forth so prevailing a scent, in whose fellowship the serpent of envy and a poisoning fraud abide not, and the stinking malignity of the lost withstands not the health-bearing scent. « They were not able, he says, to resist the wisdom and the Spirit that spoke (Act. VI). » But our vineyards now, since the days are evil, grow dull in no small measure; virtue is darker, love feeble, merits languish the more negligently; within the cloisters of our 323Aconscience a disease creeps on that thrives to our hurt, and it discolours the flowers above while it plucks us at the tender root. For us therefore the holy Virgin tarries all too long, as I see; for us she sleeps, is at leisure for herself, delights in her own rest; lying upon the Bridegroom's left hand she gazes upon his right, forgetting us perhaps, and rejoices to take care of herself alone. Who shall rouse her? Who shall say to her: « Arise, why sleepest thou? » (Psal. XLIII.) For because languor and sloth have loosed us from labour and watching, and the enemy, beholding us, has now mocked our torpor and our sabbaths, the Virgin has not revisited us who are full of leaves but thin in flower and scent, and long since, our faults requiring it, she has ceased to revisit us. But if she shall see our flower flower again, and shall perceive the scent, she will not refuse to rise and to spend a more gracious diligence upon us; 323Band she who was found mercifully to succour her own maidens will deign to impart a fuller mercy to us who are far more wretched. For she is not wanting to those to whom she shall see that her Bridegroom also is not wanting, to whom she shall know his present grace so to be at hand that they both lack not the scent and will not deny that same scent to their neighbours, but give freely to the rest what was freely given to themselves. For those who, not having virtue, take to themselves the appearance of virtue, who study not to obtain the grace of living well but presume upon it, bestow a scent not their own but rather another's, while they contrive to give to others the form of a virtue presumed rather than received. But those souls that rejoice that they truly have the gift of some virtue, and will not have it hidden under a bushel but appear to their neighbours' eyes, 323Cif from it they hunt after their own glory as displayers rather than the glory of the beholders, are more truly said not to give their scent but to sell it. Passing over in silence, therefore, those who are convicted of giving another's scent or of selling their own, and making mention of those who are known to give their own scent like flowering vineyards, he admonishes the Virgin to rise to them and to hasten with a watchful care; and lest, being admonished, she delay, he loves to repeat this very thing.

Arise, he says, my friend, my Bride, and come, my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the hollows of the dry-stone wall. [Vulg. speciosa mea, "my beautiful one", in the slot that here names the Bride] [Vulg. in caverna maceriae, singular] It suffices not for a lover to admonish once her whom he loves, but he repeats it and presses it home, willing that she be not sluggish to fulfil what he admonishes; and, that he may the more move to willingness her who knows nothing of the body, he studies to soothe her 323Dwith caresses and with caressing names. Her, therefore, whom he named friend, dove, comely one when he said Arise the first time, he named none the less friend and dove when he said arise a second time — inserting the name of Bride, which I do not recall that he named anywhere above, though he is found to have called her otherwise often enough. Because to the Bride, who loves leisure and to cleave to the Bridegroom's embraces, nothing is harder than to turn the mind's edge back from him to public acts, therefore, when the Bridegroom admonishes her, and repeats it, that she be drawn a little away from what she loves the more, he casts upon her that name by which he knows her to be the more held to obedience. For the Bridegroom and the Bride seem to be bound by a certain sacred or consecrated mystery in such a way, and he to set her a bound which it is not lawful to pass, 324Anamely that the Bridegroom shall bear the care, shall command as the powerful one, shall write the law; and the bride shall lend her ear, shall be obedient oltemperet to his words, shall love his command and subscribe to it. When therefore the Virgin hears herself called bride the more insistently, remembering not so much the burden as the honour by which she loves to be bound to him that calls her, she understands that she ought not to withstand the Bridegroom even in a little thing, but always to reckon his good pleasure the merit of her own salvation. For he does not desert her when he invites her to give an example abroad to others, when he suggests that she interrupt for an hour her pleasant leisure of contemplating; he does not envy her advancement when he wills her work to be seen by those who stand about, but he wills them to profit who shall have loved to behold her good works. 185 For he wills her holiness to be so set forth to them that behold 324Bthat she may rejoice, being set forth, not to be exposed to winds and whirlwinds; he wills her so to go forth into public and to be shown to the rest, even against her will, that she may nevertheless feel herself fortified by the watchful care of him that commands. This perhaps is what he says: My dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the hollows of the dry-stone wall. I will, he says, that the Bride be sometimes shown to the maidens, that they may be able and may rejoice to be strengthened by a needful example; but that she be none the less kept within the clefts of the rock, and that the hawk's onset and hostile ambushes be barred far away. The rock (it is well enough known) is called Christ in figure, which at the touch of Moses, at the striking of the mystic rod, yields a fountain, pours out water, and gives streams with a large bounty: the people, ill parched with thirst, drink, and their beasts. The clefts of which rock are called Christ's 324Cwounds, his passion, his death; faith in these and love of these bestow a health-bearing defence, and in the mindful diligence of them, or the diligent memory of them, whosoever shall lie hid in hope and in silence shall neither be crushed by things present nor dread the troubles to come. Nor do I think it absurd if the law and grace, mercy and truth, justice and peace, and any like things be named Christ's clefts, which, opened and found out, guard us from the onset of them that work malice: in which, that is, if any man shall have lain hid in a worthy understanding of them, they both carry him up to profit and free him from hurtful failing. But a dry-stone wall is called a plain heap of stones which, stretched out after the manner of a hedge, is not bound with mortar between, but, compacted by a slight work for the keeping 324Dof vineyards, hedges them in and frees them from the harmful onset of beasts. And this wall may be called that fellowship of angels which was long ago ordained by the Creator's command for the keeping of the elect; which, to stand the more firmly, needs no binding of law nor of Gospel, and for which the squaring of its first condition, confirmed by grace, suffices. Whose hollows and inward little dwellings, as it were, or recesses — which whosoever has worthily entered the vineyards finds standing open — are the care and the love which the angels are seen to show to men, whom, being like doves, they will to keep from malignant onsets. To the Virgin therefore, who is invited to revisit the flowering vineyards, that, putting off her leisure for an hour, she may bestow the form of manners upon them that behold her, he himself who invites promises the clefts of life and 325Athe hollows of the wall, that the dove, relying on such a defence, may with confidence fulfil what is commanded. Thou, he says, whose devotion of mind burns to be at leisure and to see, arise and hasten, and let no fear hold thee back; because, although thy mind, gaping after secrecy, as it were hates the public, yet there is no cause for thee to fear, whom the rock now guards in its own clefts. A good rock, which is opened by the careful hand of them that dig, which when opened imparts a health-bearing defence to the digger, which the Bride too deserved to open, not with a mattock but with desire, and to find in it not a deceitful confidence but a faithful keeping. She indeed, impatient of degenerate labour, disdained to dig the earth, and, strong in a praiseworthy pride, sought not to be plunged in muddy desires, as did that wicked servant who, having received his Lord's talent and being over-anxious 325Babout the loss of it, dug the ground and covered it over, and would not return it with usury. « He went his way, he says, and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money (Matth. XXV); » and below: « Being afraid, he says, I went and hid thy talent in the earth: behold, thou hast that which is thine (ibid.). » Far happier had this man been if he had not given his pains to this labour, if he had not with soft negligence dug the muddy earth, if he had answered his greedy lord more graciously with a doubled interest, and had so deserved to be hidden in the rock and not to be cast into the exterior darkness: « The unprofitable servant, he says, cast ye out into the exterior darkness (Matth. XXV). » Lastly, they who digged the hands and feet of Christ and pierced his side with a lance, given over to nothing but the earth, came not to the solid rock; cleaving to softer things, plunged the more negligently into the deep, not knowing the first 325Ccommandment, they held not the second that is like it. The Virgin therefore, although she knew most perfectly the Word made flesh from the womb, yet knows his excellence no longer according to the flesh; but she is exalted upon the rock, sets her foot upon the solid rock, and, a dove nesting in the clefts of the rock, orders and disposes her young. Set upon the rock, or rather in the clefts of the rock, she avoids the ravening onsets and remains safe from ambushes; standing in the mouth of the cleft she rejoices to behold the flowering vineyards, and, that they may profit the more, she endures to be seen by them. Worthily therefore are the hollows of the dry-stone wall not closed to that same Virgin, but are spread the wider with an open recess to receive her; and they suffer her not, while she provides for the vineyards, to labour under the open sky in heat and rain, 325Dbut the angels standing about omit not to take care of her. Lastly, from of old there have stood open hollows in this wall, from the time when the angels fell thence in a ruinous fall; which hollows the prudent architect willed not to patch up out of those same stones, but willed that in the room of them that fell men should enter in by grace and by merits. And since the broken wall waits to be repaired by men, it loves to be opened to none more than to the Bride; and it puts forth to her all its approaches, all its openings, that the virgin may freely enter in by whichever she shall see will profit her. To her, thus having refuge in the clefts of the rock and in the hollows of the dry-stone wall, and, fortified by this defence, now fearing no onsets of them that work malice, the Bridegroom, adding to speak, 326Awills that her face be shown to him — curious perhaps to know whether anything reprehensible can be found in her. 186

Show me thy face, let thy voice sound in my ears: for thy voice is sweet, and thy face comely. After the Virgin, and dove, is said to be in the hollows of the dry-stone wall and in the clefts of the rock — not so much groaning, I judge, as glad with a safe defence — she is admonished to offer her face, nourished by so great benefits, to be seen by the Bridegroom, desired for the merit of its comeliness. For the Bridegroom judges that nothing now remains in her which, when offered, ought to displease the beholder, since with a mind secure her face grows cheerful as at a continual banquet, and her inward purity shines out the more manifestly 326Bupon the surface of it. Whereat Solomon hints: « A joyful mind, he says, maketh a flourishing age: a sorrowful spirit drieth up the bones (Prov. XVII). » When therefore the mind languishes with sadness and the soul sickens, the bones are consequently dried and the face wastes away; conscious of its own deformity it blushes to go out in public, and, though it perhaps desires it, dreads to be seen by him that loves it. But the Virgin — whose foulness, if any there was before; whose mind now rejoices; the beauty of whose conscience now flowers — when she has heard the Bridegroom's voice will not draw over herself the cloak of a degenerate shamefastness, but will show her form, which indeed shines out the more in the face. Adam, conscious of his sin, withdrew straightway into sad darkness, and, deformed with a sad face, came not forth to meet God who called him, knowing that the stains of filth 326Cwhich sad guilt had brought upon his face would not please God, who is read to be a lover of beauty. But the Virgin's face, which the Bridegroom so anxiously wills to be shown to him, knowing that she is not foul nor to be reproved for a sordid foulness — her face is her conscience, strong with a certain singular grace, to which no woman can be preferred, nor indeed can any other be made her equal. For she both seeks leisure the more ardently, and, when it is found, knows how to rejoice in it more sweetly than the rest, and bears the business laid upon her the more soundly the more patiently she bears it; she knows not how to halt now on this path and now on that, but so walks that she runs to the commandment, not overstepping the bounds set for her. A conscience of such a kind shows itself in nothing save to the Bridegroom, and to him confidently; at the voice of him that commands it regards nothing as its own; when a difficulty 326Dis set before it, it holds out no cloak of excuse; but whatever he commands, this conscience lays hold of with outstretched hands. And the Bridegroom expressly demands that this face be shown to him, because he recognizes neither the Virgin nor any other man save by the face; and the purer he shall see it, its soot wiped away, the more he rejoices to have a fuller knowledge of her. Because it is given thee to excel in manifold goods, I will that from the perceiving of these present things thou have such confidence that thou fear not to appear to me face to face, and to exhibit thy conscience conspicuous to my gaze. And when it shall show itself to me the more securely the more purely it does so, consequently thy voice also shall sound 327Ain my ears; because, thy face being presented, thou dost rightly close thy mouth no longer, but thanksgiving and the voice of praise break forth confidently. For when the face has been seen, so serene by the privilege of grace, the pleasant voice no longer holds itself within the cloisters of silence; but as the face is worthily to be gazed on and comely to the sight, so the voice is rendered sweet and sonorous to the hearing. For she who by the desert of her imperfection still either fears the Bridegroom or offends him, and therefore shows not a secure face to him that asks it, or perhaps refuses it, her voice as yet breaks not forth sufficiently harmonious in his ears; and the averted face interrupts the sound of it, lest it grow sweet. The Bridegroom therefore wills the Virgin's voice to sound in his ears — a voice which an exceeding sweetness is found to commend, and which, sweet and delightful in the concord of a sweeter sound, sounds among the voices of women 327Bas the swan's voice among the clamour of geese. No woman indeed so puts forth her hands to the commandments, nor consequently is any woman's exultation or confession so acceptable; none's face shines with so great a grace or comeliness, and therefore none's voice resounds with a sweeter melody. Thy voice, he says, is sweet, and thy face comely. Therefore, he says, my ear wills to hear thy voice with open bosom, because that voice is found to soothe this ear with a concordant sound; and of her whose seen face pleases by the merit of so great a beauty, the voice, concordant with the face already seen, heaps up grace. A good order, that first the face of the inward conscience be adorned, and so the voice, worthily sounding, be preached as commendable; because the praise or the teaching of one whose face, for its foulness, does not yet deserve to be shown, is not seen to sound sweetly enough. And perhaps anyone's 327Cface has in silence a certain grace and is praised, when, namely, he lives justly and neither has he opportunity nor does necessity require that he speak; when he presents himself more secretly to God with a clean face of the heart, and does not display this very thing outwardly by the proclamation of a voice. But a clamorous voice never profits, and sometimes hinders, if a beautiful face has not gone before the voice; because praise in the mouth of a sinner is not, as we read, precious, and the declaring of justice, joined with a hatred of discipline, is none the less hateful (Eccli. XV). But the Virgin, who is led to a greater advancement than the rest, whom the Bridegroom and Son willed to be led to perfection, both flowered with a comely face, advancing into a wondrous virtue, and sounded forth in teaching and in example, worthily 187 unto the salvation of them that heard. Whose inward face desires to be shown to us today also, 327Dwhile she loves us, while she admonishes us by example, speaks to us, cries out to us; in both she is zealous, takes counsel for us, favours us, and, no longer anxious for herself, trembles for us, fears for us. But if our eye grows dim, and our ear (like the asps') grows deaf, and if her face is hidden from us and her voice grows hoarse, none the less is the Virgin's comeliness believed to have flowered in the Bridegroom's eyes both now and then, and her praising and exulting voice to have sounded sweetly in those same ears. Therefore perhaps he says expressly: Show me thy face; let thy voice sound in my ears. Though, he says, thou show not thy face to them that would see it, though thou bestow not the benefit of thy voice on them that stop their ears, to me 328Anevertheless thy face also is shown, who cannot but see my own gifts, and thy voice sounds in my ears, to which I judge it worthy to lend them. But that the Virgin's presence might not be idle to them that stood about, but might become fruitful to the maidens that worthily beheld her, the Bridegroom willed that whatever was hurtful be removed from them, that they might deserve to behold her more fruitfully when she revisited them. Therefore he adds: Catch us, etc.

Catch us the little foxes that destroy the vines; for our vineyard hath flourished. Whom, save his own dogs, does the Bridegroom seem to invite to catch the little foxes, lest those seducing little beasts dare to lurk within the vineyards, which in the dogs' absence they are found to gnaw, to hurt, to destroy — so that it is needful that the dogs 328Bbe found careful to catch them? Those therefore whom the Bridegroom has already set over the keeping of the vines, whom, being set over the churches, he has made skilled in hunting whatever is hurtful, he admonishes to be watchful, and with a keen search to pursue the deceitful little beasts, to press on and not to desist until they catch what they hunt. Of such by Jeremias: « I will send, he says, many hunters, and they shall hunt them (Jer. XVI). » And in the psalm: « The tongue of thy dogs (Psal. LXVII). » These dogs, to whom the Bridegroom willed to join the care of us, stand by us as we begin, and ward off loss or damage; they press on carefully, that the evils that threaten us may cease at their very rising, before they grow the harder 328Cupon our negligence or our ignorance. For sometimes our present manner of life burdens us with more secret faults, whose soft seduction thrusts itself in privily after the manner of a fox; and, running craftily through blind windings, it wills to be unknown, and to destroy us, ill provided as we are, the more freely the more hiddenly. And when our elders meet us with their teaching, instruct the ignorant, reprove the wandering with discipline; when they show whence temptation comes and whither it proceeds, what destruction, or what death at last, follows upon which suggestion; when they rebuke fresh diseases with a censorious tongue: then, like provident dogs, they catch the little foxes in us. Whence they also who are bidden to do this the more carefully and do not care, who, slothful to hunt, shape their negligence to sleep, are called by Isaias — as by another dog — « dumb dogs (Isa. LI), » 328Dsleeping and loving dreams, set in the place of watchmen. And indeed that same care lies upon us also far more heavily: that we should study to be found watchful in the same catching, and should pursue the foxes within our very selves with a careful search, until we prudently reach their lurking-places by a hunter's scent. And when we have come thither, we ought, according to the poet, to crush the evil seeds of the disease while they are new; and, according to the Prophet (Psal. CXXXVI), to dash our little ones against the rock; lest, either by ignorance drawing a veil or by negligence drawing us away, we be seduced into a byway of error, and be led into deadly falls and into the snares of temptations. For sometimes a crafty temptation feigns itself either nothing at all or a very little thing, and so flatters a negligent mind 329Awith a fraudulent enticement that, while it annuls or makes light of what is felt beforehand in secret with concupiscence, it afterwards causes to be despised the actual consent given to it. And when the seduced mind attends not with a sufficiently diligent eye how the canker creeps, what the wickedness conceived intends, the very destruction of the vineyard plainly shows that the fox, little before, which brought itself in secretly, has done no small hurt. Such little foxes therefore, which thrust themselves fraudulently into our minds, we are bidden to watch, to hunt, to catch diligently; that what at first lay hid as in a chamber, decently under a cloak, may break out and come forth, and rejoice at last to be shown shamelessly. « Some, as it is written, are glad when they have done evil, and rejoice in most wicked things (Prov. II). » 329BBut some say (if indeed your diligence has committed to memory what it heard) that this present little book, which Solomon, as was said before, set in order after the manner of a drama, contains in itself the words of no more than four persons, as it were, who speak of nuptial love and of the spiritual chastity of the marriage. For the Bride and the maidens, the Bridegroom and the Bridegroom's companions are brought in as four persons, who for the weaving of the drama are led forth as from the wings into the midst, that the speech may pass from these to those in turn, 188 and that by an alternating speech the epithalamial drama may be satisfied. The Bridegroom therefore, who above spoke now to the Bride, now to the maidens, and with gracious diligence pursued what befits the Bride, seems here to turn his speech now to his companions, 329Cthat he may exhort them, as they attend the nuptials, to the catching of the foxes. And they say that the Bridegroom's companions are the holy angels, who, it is agreed, are certainly present at these nuptials — as you know that Gabriel was sent to the Virgin in the beginning, and that neither he nor the rest are wanting to the ministry of men. In these nuptials indeed no small care presses the Bridegroom, that he provide for the Virgin, and for them that attend him, things that shall profit: that the Virgin first and more excellently may rejoice in the nuptial chamber, and secondly that the maidens lack not spiritual advancement. It was said far above that by the name of maidens are figured the apostles and apostolic men, who are seen more especially to attend the Virgin Mother of the Bridegroom with a handmaid's affection, while they love to venerate her childbearing 329Dwith an assiduous wonder and a solid faith, and to imitate her fruitfulness by bearing sons also, not by coition but by the spirit. These shepherds and teachers the Bridegroom wills not to be burdened beyond their power by the onset of malignant spirits, but to be freed by the kindly affection and patronage of the angels, that the vineyards may not wither in the flower of their first season by the fraud of the foxes, but by the care of the good spirits may grow strong unto the late fruit. The Bridegroom therefore admonishes the good spirits, who in this epithalamium are the companions, to be careful and to strive after the nuptial advancements; to stand nearer to them, and worthily to take care of those whose destruction or hurt the careful Virgin wills not. For the Virgin has much care for the maidens 330Aor apostles, whose manner of life will profit herself indeed most of all, and others much; from whom the angels' solicitude is bidden diligently to ward off things hurtful — a solicitude that by this zeal or ministry will please both the Bridegroom and the Bride in no small measure. To whom the Bridegroom, speaking, says: Catch, etc.

Catch us the little foxes that destroy the vines. You, he says, angels, whom flesh has not made equal to men, nor guilt to the evil spirits, whom pride or disobedience has not cast out from the Creator's face; who abide and remain with me from the beginning unto perpetuity as companions, glorious by a likeness received, not made equal by an eternal greatness: I will that you be diligently present to us, that is, 330Bto me and to the Bride as we celebrate our nuptials, and that whatever strives to withstand be by you made ineffectual and weak. For since some no longer run with open violence upon a level path, they glide in by blind windings and whisper venomous frauds; and, detracting from the Virgin, they labour to resist her wishes, while what she asserts of Christ they discolour with a dissuading guile. They dissuade, lest either the hidden divinity of Christ be seen by the eye of faith, or, when faith has seen it, lest it be firmly loved in the mind; and they strike a hard buffet of ignorance or of fear into those who will deny, or they graft in the love of visible things into those who will neglect the faith of things invisible. Who are these but wicked demons, learned in malice, full of fraud, who love nothing holy, who seek nothing worthy of praise; who, 330Cwhen violence is wanting to them, have the love and the skill of seducing, and, according to a certain heathen, have a thousand arts of hurting and more than that? These, by the cunning of a wondrous art, not by any right of power or of virtue, seduce Judas Iscariot, greedy of money rather than of salvation; and lest he love his master; they dissuade him with manifold guile, and persuade him to become a traitor guilty of hatred. « When the devil, he says, had put it into the heart that Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon, should betray him (Joan. XIII). » These shake with the thunder of fear, a little after, unto denying, that Simon Peter who a little before had promised himself a lot for standing fast; and the sudden denier would have perished within the crafty jaws of the beasts, had not the powerful prayer of his pitying Master come to his aid: « Simon, he says, behold Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you 330Das wheat: but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not (Luc. XXII). » Nor only before Christ's resurrection did the cunning of them that work malice cut short the number of the apostles, but after the resurrection also it prepared a snare for the chosen deacons; into which, though it drew not Stephen, full of faith and of spirit, nor the five that remained, yet it brought in the seventh, Nicolas the newcomer, unto a new heresy. Whose fraudulent cunning the Bridegroom rightly designated by the name of foxes — creatures which nature has not armed with much strength, but has fortified with so great a craft, with so great a refuge of divers frauds, 331Athat they are said in the Gospel to have manifold retreats of burrows among us: « The foxes, he says, have holes (Luc. IX). » The demons have hidden retreats and dark lurking-holes; they have runs past tracking and winding footprints, so that no simple man easily sets his foot to track them out, since either he cannot see them, or, if perchance he has seen them, straightway loses them. Sometimes the fox, when the necessity of hunger seems to press her hard, running to the refuge of fraud, feigns to lie dead; and when the birds have come near, hoping to have their food in the dead carcase, 189 she seizes them unawares, rejoicing to win a victory over the living. So that wicked spirit, who is ever found to hunger after our ruin, when with open nets he cannot ensnare 331Bany of the winged (for, as Holy Scripture recalls (Prov. I), and the truth of them that have proved it affirms, in vain is the net cast before the eyes of them that have wings), feigns himself dead and of no strength at all against the just; he yields, and as it were now grants them to prevail unto the good things they shall have willed. And they, when they judge that they stand as though they should thenceforth not fall, rejoicing together in a long advancement and now secure by much practice, come sometimes to this carrion of the world, seeking a little too immoderately after the things that pass, believing that nothing hurtful is in them, but rather things that shall profit for necessary uses. But that wicked one, holding it in memory that by the ancient law it is forbidden that carrion be touched (Levit. II), and seeing the just now held guilty of the written law, if even but a little; judging that the incautious appetites of temporal things are of his own right, wickedly 331Creviving on a sudden, lays a strong hand upon the birds that are to perish. So indeed they who thought that they were catching, and turning what they caught to their own uses, are found to be caught, and, being alive, to lie beneath the dead; because, while the living covet a little too incautiously the carrion of faults, that carrion, as it were dead, revives strongly and truly unto the ruin of the living. That Samson, more prudently execrating the fraudulent foxes, laid hold of them alive, and held no fewer than three hundred; and, binding them two by two, with their heads free and their tails bound, and fire set beneath their tails, he wove a mystery worthy of praise (Judic. XV). This prudent Samson, who is also said to be strong of arm, who by a prudent fortitude is believed to have carried away the gates of death, is the beloved of this our 331DVirgin of whom our discourse is, whom the truthful understanding of faith preaches to be God and man. Who took not one fox, not two only, but three hundred together, because he detected all the malice of all the malignant spirits; who so is man that as God also he regards all things circumspectly, and nothing appears imperfectly to his sight. By the number of a hundred, as you know, any perfection is figured, and the hundredfold perfection is not unfittingly recorded to be tripled: since, for that which the malignant spirits have suggested to us, however slightly, unto affection, and for what by word and what by deed they have drawn to any effect whatever, this sterner judge gathers them all with a hooked hand unto perfection, and, preparing fire for them all, drags them all to a miserable failing. And indeed now, as with head unbound 332Aand mouth free, the wicked spirits rave; but their hinder parts are bound indissolubly; and when at the end of things the possibility of raging is forbidden them, fire being rendered to their deserts, an unfailing labour of suffering presses them hard. Whereof in the Gospel: « Everlasting fire, he says, which was prepared for the devil and his angels (Matth. XXV). » And Paul: « Whose consummation, he says, is unto burning (Hebr. VI). » But in the meantime, while that consummation is still deferred, while the last burning is not yet brought upon the foxes bound together, the Bridegroom wills to admonish his companions, that is the good angels, the more diligently, that they be willing to apply diligence to the catching of the evil ones. For because men, assailed by demons and filled with many miseries, do not stand if the ministering spirits resist not the ambushes of the hurtful, 332Bthe good come near and detect the frauds of the evil, and, when they are detected, show them beforehand to men, that they may carefully beware. For to this end are the ministering spirits set over men, to this end appointed to their care and keeping: that what men cannot do, being slower by nature and by negligence, these — whom both nature and merit have made far keener — may foresee, may forestall, may forewarn men and help them to beware; lest at any time the enemies exult and insult and say, "We have prevailed to hurt." Man indeed, the weaker, willing to build or to rebuild the walls of an inward holiness, to restore Jerusalem, to repair the breaches of a city long since overthrown, has many who assail and hinder the unremitting labour of one so pressing on; who, when 332Cthey see, envy, and, to say the least, deride the watchful insistence of the labourer. Who, when they observe that of himself he is not strong enough for the building, and scarcely escapes with unhurt footstep the mockery or the pressure of his enemies, despise the work begun, and assert that it cannot be brought to perfection, but that the foxes will lightly pass over the unfinished work with a derisive leap. Whence in Esdras, Tobias the Ammonite: « If a fox go up, he says, he shall leap over their stone wall (II Esdr. IV). » And it is added: « Hear, O our God, for we are made a reproach: cover not their iniquity, and let not their sin be blotted out from before thy face, because they have mocked them that build (ibid.). » You see the wicked rivals mocking the labour of them that build, and, while these advance, already rejoicing 332Din the future leap of the foxes; to whose mockery, or to whose leap already presumed upon, the weakness of those men makes no full resistance, if the skilful keeping of the angels stands not by them as they labour. Because therefore the diligence of the just labours at restoring the building of the mind, and the mockery or oppression of them that work malice sometimes discolours the work begun, the Bridegroom admonishes his companions the more insistently and urges them on, whose stronger care more fully searches out the frauds of the assailants. You, he says, who can forestall with nimble sight the cunning of the envious spirits, catch us the foxes that think to leap over the wall of them that build; lest the unseemly leap of those foxes dishonour what these men build, or lest any fraud of the enemies 190 discolour the reforming of the city. Who say says Isaias, « to my soul: 333ABow down, that we may pass over (Isa. LI). » [Vulg. animae tuae, "to thy soul" — in Isaias the words are spoken to Jerusalem, not to the speaker] Against which Nahum the prophet also: « He shall not add again, he says, that Belial pass through thee (Nahum. I). » Who shall grant that Belial add not again to pass through us, nor that the fox, holding the work of the building in contempt, leap over it — unless the Bridegroom's companions, who are commanded to succour men in this, and to forestall with prudent watchfulness the derisive leaps or assaults? Let them therefore catch us the foxes while they are found to be little and as yet weak, lest they grow great and pass over the wall, which, being low, can easily be leapt; and if they be granted to try its lowness with a free leap, growing worse and worse they will hasten to destroy our vineyards. And since these vineyards flower and hope to be advanced to fruit by the summer's mildness, it is needful that the little foxes be removed further off, 333Bor that their frauds be so detected by a worthy providence that (even if they will) they may not be able to have power to hurt them that advance.

For our vineyard hath flourished. He who a little before named (vineyards) consequently names a single (vineyard), though rather in counting the passage is wont to be made from the singular number to the plural; hinting by this that the souls to which the Bridegroom willed to give a saving life he gathers, by the union of faith and of consent, into one people's assembly. « We, say they, are his people, and the sheep of his pasture (Psal. XCIX). » And they call themselves (a people), that the singleness of faith may be commended, and they call themselves (sheep), that the diversity of the many may be shown; because a timely unity gathers many either into a bundle or into a handful, 333Cand one Lord, one faith, makes them one people. And that a unity of this kind may be seen to be the more expressly commended, in those apostles whom Christ willed to be gathered into one (Act. IV) the love of possessing all things together so put far off whatever stood importunately in the way, that there was one soul to them all and one heart to them all (Act. II). This vineyard perhaps is said in a special manner to have flowered, into which the Bridegroom is read to have poured his Spirit on the fiftieth day; which, rich with a new gift and burning with the love of a new holiness, put forth new and unheard-of blossoms of a voluntary poverty. Whereof it was foretold: « The vineyard of the Lord of Sabaoth is the house of Israel (Isa. V). » Rightly is the vineyard of the Lord of Sabaoth, putting forth wondrous flowers and about to put forth fruits equally wondrous, called the house of Israel — a house beyond doubt not darkened 333Dby blindness; a house seeing God in hope in the present and about to see him again hereafter; rejoicing much in that faith, and about to rejoice far more in the sight. Within the enclosures of this vineyard it is fitting that little foxes be not admitted, or, if perchance they have been admitted, that they be not suffered to remain longer; but that, when they have destroyed by a hidden avarice Ananias and Sapphira (Act. V), as yet weakly tender, they be caught the sooner, lest they go on and fulfil the coveted malice of their fraud. For the Bridegroom's companions, faithfully standing by Peter and showing the hidden bite of the little fox in the false brethren, suffer not her venomous snares to be spread everywhere among the rest; and the seducing foxes grieve that their purpose is broken and their frauds detected. For those over whose salvation 334Athe angels have perceived themselves to be set, and of whom they have learned that the Bridegroom truly has care, these they will not, nor do they suffer them, to be given over to the earth and to be the portions of foxes (Psal. LXII), but they forewarn them and help them not to lie under their frauds. At this tempere therefore the foxes are not undeservedly called little, while they are easily kept from ravening by the ministry of the angels; which foxes, when the end of the times shall have come, will grow great more maliciously, when, namely, with their strength unbridled, the more briefly they have to rage the more freely they shall grow hot for it (Apoc. XX). Then the angelic solicitude, as though not sufficing, will call them to a greater audience, and our own Samson, setting fire beneath, will bind the tails of them all; and the loosing of the foxes will hasten to rage into the harvests of the aliens, that the works both of these and of those may deserve to perish in one 334Bburning. For then the wicked spirits shall perish by a fire that destroys but does not consume, and evil men also shall none the less wretchedly perish by an immortal death; those, their hinder parts indissolubly bound together, shall not return to the liberty of wickedness; and of these, as of the aliens, the harvests — both their works and the hope of their works — shall perish. And because the Bridegroom in his benevolence wills this to be kept far from the vineyards, and wills the angels to be employed in keeping it off while the time is fitting, the Bride rejoices, and loves to answer her loving Bridegroom in like manner the more, the more she sees him to be the readier toward her maidens. Whereof she adds: The beloved, etc.

My beloved to me, and I to him, who feedeth among the lilies, 334Cuntil the day breathe, and the shadows be bowed down. What does she mean, that when the beloved here speaks of her beloved, this utterance of hers seems somewhat unfinished; 191 nor is any fuller sense found in it, unless something be understood from without for the finding of it? But what she who speaks would more truly, what more certainly, have understood, cannot easily, as I judge, be found out to the clear — least of all by those who, it is agreed, are hindered by a fog of mind, nor do they deserve that the hidden things of Holy Scripture be opened to them. Since therefore I am slender in understanding and abound not in merits, I myself, and no other, so hide for myself the supplement of this word, that I may neither arraign her that speaks nor weaken her word with a wandering sense; so that, if I shall have said anything there, I may rather conjecture than affirm. A little above, the 334DVirgin, saying: My beloved to me, added: « speaketh, » and « My beloved, she says, speaketh to me; » nor does that construction seem beset by the cloud of a thing understood: which, being furnished with the necessary parts, was found plainly sufficient. But now, saying: My beloved to me, she did not add either what he does or that he speaks, so that which of these she would have understood is left doubtful; and the more uncertain that is, so much the more freely is it granted to anyone to find whatever he shall have seen fittingly to suit the present place. In short, unrestrained love, scarcely bearing its own incitements, often finds no words more fully expressive of its own affections; and therefore its utterance is sometimes found to hang in suspense, or, that I may say more, defective through a scanty furniture. For when with its whole desire it stretches itself toward that for which it burns, 335Agaping after him alone to hold him, it makes little of all the rest; and if perchance it make a word about him, it heeds not time, mood, or order, and while it desires the whole, it strives not to express the whole in a word. Hence that woman in the Gospel, when what she loved had been taken away, knowing nothing but to weep, holding in her mind him alone whose sepulchre she grieved to see appear empty, seeing someone on a sudden and with a straying eye reckoning him the gardener, not much mindful of grammar, fearing no Priscian: « Lord, she says if thou hast taken him away, tell me; and I will take him away (Joan. XX). » She who had said nothing of him before sets him down all too heedlessly, and does not set out by any worthy preceding word to whom she refers him; thinking it enough for the hearer that she herself fully thinks and fully feels, even though her half-full outward utterance does 335Bnot more fully agree with the full sense of the same. Nor is it to be wondered at if hidden love, when for the showing of itself it requires another's help, thinks a half-full utterance sufficient enough for itself; which is for the most part wordy by a sigh, for the most part even by desire alone, and despairs not of being heard, though it speak not with a full noise of words. Our Virgin therefore, diligently weighing the grace of this love, and not repaying with abundant speech the abundance of it which she has received, shuts up within the hidden place of her heart wondrous motions in an unexplainable manner, and, breathing them out but thinly, so applauds him with fewer words that by speaking she both makes this love known to the hearer, and, the furniture of words being cut short, leaves the hearer in suspense. My beloved, she says, to me, and I to him. He, I say, gives me what is his, and I give him what is 335Cmine, that both his may be mine and mine his: and thus we may have our things alike, and, as the laws of espousal require, may rejoice that all things are common to us. And if a sense of this kind can be believed to shine out more fittingly in these words, the Bride seems to answer the Bridegroom to that which he had said; who, commanding the foxes to be taken because the vineyard had flowered, called it ours, and did not show by the words that followed whence this commendable community had come to be. For he did not say: My vineyard or thine, but: « our vineyard hath flourished. » Which word the prudent Virgin, marking it diligently with a busy ear, and turning herself again — the Bridegroom as it were withdrawing — to the aforesaid maidens, rejoices to speak of him, and with fewer words to intimate whence this 335Dcommunity is which the Bridegroom would designate. That it might be called, she says, not his, not mine, but rather « our vineyard, » a mutual bestowal wrought it, whereby the two are alike friends: because he of his own condescension regarded me, a lowly handmaid; my lowliness despised not the grace of him that regarded me; he loved me, perchance not by my merit but by his own good pleasure; my faith, being beloved, understood that he was worthily to be loved for his merits. The Word, disposing to be made flesh, poured himself into my handmaid's womb; taking flesh in me from me, he flooded me with his grace: I offered mine own self, I bestowed my flesh, I bound myself over to obedience, I fixed beforehand no manner, no bound, no order for the good pleasure of him that commanded; with my flesh, which in assuming he so exempted from every fault, he bought or redeemed for himself that vineyard which is said to have flowered; and 336Ashe who, while yet she withered, is bought or redeemed by our flesh, is, now that she is loved in flower, expressly also said to be ours. If the patriarchs of old, who were, it is agreed, of one father one after another — although, as you remember, not all begotten of one mother (Gen. XXIX, XXX) — say of Joseph, the last but one, « For he is our brother and our flesh (Gen. XXXVII); » how much more may the Mother of the Bridegroom, the Bride of the son, say, our flesh? and of the vinca which is redeemed by this flesh, does the son likewise say « ours? » My beloved, she says, to me: he gave what was his, whose benefit, whose mercy in all things goes before me; and I to him: I offered what was mine by a worthy return, that thenceforth the community both of things and of words might be kindly toward us. He too gives me warnings, or a command, to arise, and I offer him 336Ba ready little ear for hearing; he exhorts and diligently admonishes that I arise and make haste; I, resigning leisure to him, patiently endure labour. My beloved is to me — what? what but loving or beloved? 192 and I render to him — what? what but the gifts of a like diligence or affection? that the love of him who is first and far the chief may be the first-begun, and mine no repayment that follows save by his own bounty. My beloved gives me a commandment, gives none the less a blessing with the commandment; I to him a nimble running along the way of his commandments with an enlarged heart; he to me help, I to him compliance; he to me good will, I to him obedience; he gives to me what is of grace, what is of love, I to him what is of reverence, what is of honour. To me my beloved bestows a saving gift upon one in need; I 336Crender to him that requires it a willing affection; and he who, being great God and mighty in power, willed to be born man of me, rejoices to be fed not so much between my breasts as among the lilies. He who of old fed the patriarch Jacob from his youth, who much more lately satisfied five thousand men out of five loaves (Matth. XIV) — whence is he so needy, or so careless of his own power, as to be fed, since to be fed seems a mark not of power but of need? In short, when he had fasted forty days and forty nights, afterwards he was hungry (Matth. IV). To whom that wicked devil, setting stones before him that he might tempt him, did not suggest that he should change them by a word into lilies, thinking that he hungered after the fashion of other men, not by a voluntary but by a necessary failing, and that therefore 336Dloaves rather than lilies suited one that hungered. Thou, he says, whose jaws, as I perceive, are empty with a wearying fast, say that these stones become loaves by an effectual power; because, while hunger fasts with the loaves withdrawn, the appearance of lilies (though perchance to the eyes) is not seasonable to the jaws. Although sometimes the eyes too seem to suffer their own hunger, when namely they itch for seeing and are not strong enough to contain themselves; and when the uncovered appearance of the thing coveted is indulged them, their curiosity is not unfittingly said to be fed. This perhaps is what the Virgin asserts, that the Bridegroom is fed among the lilies, because to his eyes the thing wished for gives its answer not so much by word as by appearance; and the gracious greediness and hotter burning of lovers is fed not by the taste, not by the savour, but by the sight or the scent of lilies. For which cause 337Ahe is expressly recorded to be fed, not with lilies, but among the lilies; among which, dwelling and conversing, he rejoices in their fragrant comeliness; and as the Virgin, languishing with love, wills to be stayed up with apples or with flowers, so does he will to be soothed among the lilies by their pleasing bounty. And what shines white more gladly or breathes more sweetly than, in the Bride the mother, virginal integrity, faith purifying the heart, the fruitfulness of matronly modesty; cleanness, innocence, spiritual love, sweetness of manners, the form of justice, the excellence of a special merit? Among which the Bridegroom walks as on a spacious path, and, seeing and smiling, is fed with a gracious sight; he is delighted with the comeliness and the scent of excellent merits, and, being himself the flower and the lily, rejoices in the likeness he has found. For he confesses himself the flower of the field and the lily of the valleys, and in the Bride 337Bthe Virgin he beholds also the burgeoning grace of the lily; and thus he shows himself fed between the two with a certain joy, while by a subtle running to and fro he now presents himself more fully to the Virgin, now, referring himself to his own, renders himself incomprehensible and absents himself: for neither in the bosom of the father, grudging us. does he continually hide himself, nor in the mother's lap does he pour himself back with a continual good will, as it were; but going forth from him, he now runs out to her with a humble condescension, and withdrawing himself from her, he now runs back to his inaccessible throne. His running out is from the father, says Ambrose; his running back is to the father. This will of the Bridegroom, whereby he is found now absent from the Virgin, now more present; whereby he is discovered to be at hand now above man, now beyond man — 337Cthe Virgin, loving and beloved, finds by experience to abide with him as his own, while the shadows still remain, and one comes not to the grace of the following day.

Who feedeth among the lilies, until the day breathe, and the shadows be bowed down. For when, the night being bowed down, nothing dark, nothing hurtful in us shall any longer run in upon us, and at the morning's rising a gentler breeze shall breathe and an unfailing light shall meet us; the Bridegroom perhaps will then no longer run about among the lilies for the sake of feeding, since, being once seen by us, he will not run back again to his own to be hidden. For from that time, and thenceforward, he shall not be fed between the one lily and the other, nor shall he be shown either forsaking the one or referring himself to the other; but he shall so be in the one that he is continually presented to the other — nay, so in both that 337Dhe is absent from neither even for a little. « I, he says, in the Father, and the Father in me (Joan. XIV); » and below, of the Spirit: « He shall abide, he says, with you, and shall be in you (ibid.). » Therefore God in God, God abiding in himself, containing all things, shall be for ever; and none the less shall God be all things in all; and he who now breathes when he wills, in what manner he wills, and where he wills, then breathes upon all, flooding them with a light of the day, or rather of long continuance. For to whom, while it is lived here, that holy spirit worthily breathes; into whom by his kindly bounty he breathes himself not only unto life but unto a living life — upon him a brighter day then breathes with an unspeakable increase, against which the ancient night, the importunity of the shadows, thenceforward 338Aconspires not; for God is a day, a day that a setting 193 knows not, one day, whose breathing now, and whose breathing upon us then still more, is no moderately seasonable thing. A day at whose fuller breathing the shadows are bowed down, the darknesses of the night give place, wicked spirits, or spiritual wickednesses, are driven out from among those above and pressed down even to those below. Unhappy indeed are those shadows, which, when the day breathes, are compelled to be bowed down, and, their neck being shattered, to be weighed down with infernal punishments: their power of raging lost, but not the straitness of suffering, they execrate their own heavy substance, or their eternal wretchedness of existing in evil. Far happier were they, if they might deserve to be brought to nothing, if, as of a wicked power, so also they might utterly be deprived of substance; because for a wicked man, or a wicked angel, it will be better now not to be, 338Bthan always to be in so great a misery — not of doing hurt, but of suffering. But shadows of this kind, the confusion of darkness, the obscure voice, the power of malignant spirits which shall at last more fully receive what it wickedly wrought, impatient of the day that breathes, is heavily bowed down under a hard burden, and is irremediably assigned to the avenging fire and the living worm. But meanwhile, while the consummation of the world, the last end of things, is deferred, or while the term of her days is not yet at hand for the aforesaid Virgin, the bridegroom is found to go and to come again, and not to abide unmoved; and the beloved grants not to her that loves him a fuller abundance of himself. Now, drawn far nearer to heaven as it were, he wills to be sought by the Virgin; now, drawing near to earth, he suffers himself to be felt hastily and for a little: 338Cthere he seems more present, and hence to be farther off; but thence to return, when he wills to be at hand nearest to the Virgin. Therefore he is not unfittingly said to converse among the lilies, and to delight in his running out and his running back after the manner of things unstable: to be fed between two shores, and to be turned to neither of them with a fixed footprint: now absent, now present, to go away the more quickly, and straightway to return. To whom the Virgin subjoins: Return, etc.

Return, my beloved: be thou like to a roe and to the fawn of harts, upon the mountains of Bethel. [Vulg. Bether; and Vulg. sets the vocative after the imperative] She who in the preceding chapter spoke of the Bridegroom to the maidens, or was perhaps set alone with herself in the secret chamber of her mind, did not pursue any longer the tenor of speaking she had proposed, but makes an apostrophe to him by whom she 338Dbelieves herself to be forsaken. Love is found insufficient, and consequently impatient too; it wills not to be without him whom it has once found pleasing, once most sweet; and whatever is offered or bestowed upon her that greedily sighs, apart from him, she despises with a worthy disdain, nor does anything suffice her, until she refer herself to him. Since therefore she is not yet able to enjoy him by beholding his face more fully, she wills often to make an apostrophe to him in speaking; and when she speaks of him she is straightway compelled to be turned back to him with a word of entreaty, that by him whom she desires to see she may by that very desire be worthy at least to be seen. But because, her own mortality standing in the way, she feels him more often to withdraw or to turn aside, she asks him nothing more anxiously 339Athan to return: that returning, and marking with what love the tender Virgin is held, he may bestow upon her that loves him his grace and a more bountiful abundance of himself. But that he may not set about either to go farther away or to tarry longer, the Virgin thinks it fitting to interpose a merit with her asking, so that, even if perchance he dispose not to hear her prayers the sooner, yet, compelled by his own equity, he may not put after it the merit of her that asks. Return, she says, my beloved. For if, she says, I were entreating some great thing of one whom I love not, I should not wonder to suffer a repulse and to be defrauded of my desire; but when I pour out prayers, when I spread out suppliant hands to my beloved, whence hast thou this hardness, that what I ask thou bringest not to effect? For who is so severe, so austere, that if he weigh that he is tenderly loved he would not repay like with like by a ready good will; and that, being beloved, he would not bestow upon her that loves him 339Bthe benefit she has asked, so that, being over-hard, he offend not against the rights or the laws of love? True and sincere love turns not its ear away for long; to him that gives what is pleasing and wished for it denies not the like, it deals not out the contrary: for her whom it purely loves it is held and moved with much care; it embraces her that loves, and answers a tender affection with usury. In short, by the testimony of Holy Scripture thou hast said that thou lovest him that loves thee (Prov. VIII); nay, some also (as they that have proved it declare) thou hast loved before ever they loved (I Joan. IV); and since thou art laudably proclaimed to love first, with no merits going before, who would not judge it hard, if thou spurnest the prayers of them that well deserve? But it is certain that she who loves deserves to be loved, and that she who is worthy to be loved consequently deserves not to be defrauded of a just desire: 339Cespecially when she goes not hunting, after the fashion of certain carnal folk, after the things that are her own, but entreats thee alone, and only for thine own sake, to become present. Return, my beloved. Thou, she says, by whose love I am held, in regard of whom all other things are vile to me, by whose absence I am weighed down while things present prick or bite me; thou who, when thou art believed to be at hand, suddenly turnest thyself away, inflicting in cutiens to the rude and inexperienced a burden scarce to be borne: turn thyself, I beseech thee, that thou mayest show thyself well-disposed to her that calls thee back; nay (that I may say more) return, that thou mayest present thyself to her that loves thee with the sweetness she has wished. Render, I say, the more gladly what gladly and more often thou hast already given; render to her that loves thee what she has deserved, thou who lovedst her when she had not yet deserved it: repeat 194 now of debt what before thou didst bestow freely, 339Dor rather return at last, bestowing what thou hast promised to them that love thee. For thou hast promised that, the course of life being finished, thou shouldest be seen face to face (I Cor. XIII); that they who see should be satisfied with fulness, and, being satisfied, should not be held by loathing: that we, glad in thy presence, should not thenceforth be weighed down by absence; that, pressed by no trouble, we should always rejoice with thee in thy glory. To this therefore I will and I ask that thou return, my beloved: that what I have somewhat tasted and seen imperfectly through a glass, I may now, the barrier of the flesh being taken away and mortality utterly banished, hold and see more perfectly with unveiled face. But because a fervent desire is not filled full by the bounty of things present, and love unfilled is not held patient enough to await things absent, the Virgin asks that not only he whom she loves should return, but that returning he should be held like 340Ato a roe and to the fawn of harts. « Be thou like, she says, to a roe and to the fawn of harts (supra IV). » The roe, as you know from what was said above, has this natural power in her eyes, that she quickly discerns and distinguishes what pasture suits her, and even in her running judges what is useful to her, what fitting to be eaten, and what unfitting and therefore by its own desert to be spat out. But the fawn of harts, whom both a younger age and a stronger nature support, is borne along with a swift running and is on a sudden present where he wills; and he so rejoices that the privilege of speed is his, that among the other wild beasts he seems to have not so much feet as winged feet. When therefore the Virgin asks that the bridegroom be like to animals of this kind, she shows that a confident and secure conscience is not wanting to her — a conscience which 340Bat the present time neither ignorance nor negligence accuses; and, willing that this be quickly repaid to her, she refuses not to be looked upon beforehand. Thou, she says, whose presence my loving mind covets, at whose return my conscience in no wise trembles: search out and look through with what desire, with what instancy I strive after thee; with what affection, with what love, putting present things after, I await thee alone as him that is to come. Be thou like to a roe, that thou mayest search my inward parts the more diligently, and mayest not be loath to sift or to discern what good, what better thing I put after or put before: and when thou shalt have known for certain what each single virtue in me deserves, let thy justice be held swift as a fawn to render what it has deserved. For receiving the benefit of the reward I am indeed so hasty that the scrutiny that goes before, and a sudden sifting, do not 340Caffright me; and with so great a burning do I desire the nimble good will of the fawn to come, that I refuse not to feel beforehand the subtle watchfulness of the roe. For I know that the grace of the fawn comes not to me unto a fuller gladness, if the truth of the roe go not before to sift my inward conscience; nor shall the glad coming of the one fulfil my desire, if the true sifting of the other shall not first judge it worthy to be fulfilled. « Judge therefore and discern my cause » not only « from the nation that is not holy (Psal. XLII), » which is in no wise compared with me, but also from the holy nation, whose holiness, compared with mine, is not equal — which perchance, dreading the scrutiny, wills so to be clothed with the glory that is to come upon it, 340Dthat it be not first compelled to prove the winnowing-fan of sifting. For not knowing whether she be worthy of hatred or of love (Eccle. IX), she serves in fear, and exults before the Lord with trembling: now lifting herself toward him she grows glad with the hope of the gift she wishes for; now referring herself to herself, she greatly fears a scrutiny as severe as it is true. « Who knoweth, she says, if he will turn and forgive, and leave a blessing behind him? » (Joel. II.) But the Virgin knows beyond doubt that her beloved is turned, and confidently asks that, being turned, he return also; and she wills that her inward parts be marked by the subtle gaze of him that returns, holding it certain that the steadfast building of her mind is overthrown by no battering-ram whatever. In her therefore in whom the keen eye of the roe shall have found nothing that is not his own, in her consequently shall the good will of the fawn give his own leap; and whose 341Aconscience the judgment that runs before shall approve, her cleanness shall the swift grace of him that repays reward. For the roe too loves to gaze more subtly and more discerningly, and the fawn wills to be seen glad and well-disposed by the nimbleness of his running; and both rejoice to be borne over the ridges of the mountains, the summits of the virtues — he to be borne after, repaying just things; she, subtly considering all things, to be borne before. Upon the mountains, she says, of Bethel. As they say who reckon that they have the knowledge of the Hebrew names — which we have either not deserved at all or have obtained but scantily — Beth is a house, and el is interpreted God; and Bethel is named in the Latin tongue the house of God. And the house of God is not unfittingly judged to be the inward conscience of the Virgin, namely a spiritual bride-chamber, which is made ready for God the Son of God, which the presence of the divine majesty chose to inhabit, 341Badorning and honouring it with the excellence of a wondrous holiness. Which house or habitation is rightly called mountainous, plentiful not in rough and unequal ridges but in the various merits of the virtues; from whose height the flatness of us that are beneath is far removed, and among men the bridegroom alone is declared worthily to overtop it. He indeed, like to a roe or to the fawn of harts, is borne above; to whose excellence the height of any mountains whatever is not compared; who upon the mountains of the Virgin and the steep places of her notable merits is both the subtle knower of them and the nimble renderer of rewards. And while the wished-for glory of rewards does not yet meet the Virgin — which she knows does not meet her, if the giver's worthy 341Cconsideration run not before — the Virgin wishes and asks that he whom she loves tarry no longer, 195 but, returning the sooner, be made like to a roe and to the fawn of harts, so that upon the mountains of the merits and the virtues of her virginal conscience the inspection may run before, and a friendly repayment follow. For that repayer is the hart of friendship and the colt of graces. Who, although he condescends to hear the Virgin's affectionate prayers, yet does not straightway hearken unto effect to her desire; and seeing the Virgin, he wills not yet to be seen face to face, but after the manner of lovers withdraws himself and is hidden, and wills to be sought — of whom she subjoins: In the little bed, etc.

[CAP. III.] In my little bed through the nights I sought him whom 341Dmy soul loveth. I sought him, and found him not. The little bed here, as I judge, may be called a certain straitness of mind, in which the will or the intention of her that loves gathers and binds itself together, when namely she wills with the highest desire to please him whom she loves, to speak with him alone, to cleave to his close embraces. Burning with which purpose, while she wills to leap back from these things of sense, to be turned away from earthly things, and to feel only him that is invisible — as it were ignorant of the flesh, drunken with the love of the Bridegroom whom she foretastes, one spirit with him — she straitens herself as in a short little bed. Against which, her who commits not herself to a like straitness, who with a loosened mind lets in lost affections, the truth-telling speech of Isaiah accuses and reproves — nay rather, through 342AIsaiah, the truthful spirit of prophecy. « Thou hast received, he says, an adulterer; thou hast enlarged thy couch (Isa. LVII). » The prophetic speech, saying that the shameless woman has received an adulterer, adds to show that she is no friend to a sufficiently narrow solitude, who has not reduced the breadth of her couch to a short little bed, nor forced herself within close bounds, her little bed being shortened. For she enlarged her couch when she poured her lost mind abroad, and received another, or rather an adulterer, when she poured in the pandering of sin; when, dissolved with nerveless softness, her feet parted, she was defiled in an enlarged couch with unlawful lovers. But the Virgin, ignorant of the aforesaid breadth, shutting herself up in a certain straitness of mind, and shutting in with her none other beside him with whom she is one spirit, sought him whom 342Bshe loved in this little bed with herself, hoping him to be at hand — she who admitted no other at all. In short, she had read in the Psalm: « The Lord is nigh unto all that call upon him (Psal. CXLIV); » the Virgin therefore seeks the bridegroom, but the night blunts the sight of her that seeks — a night which pours itself with a darkened face over her that wills to find the sought one; and, it being poured over, the light that is sought pours not out its full rays, but, its brightness being called back, hides itself as it were under a cloak. Not one voice, but very many set themselves against the Virgin that seeks, and, that the sought one may not be found, interpose a troublesome wall; and for this cause the virgin rightly makes mention not so much of a night as of nights, by whose opposing she perceives that the choice is as yet denied her. A night is the difficulty of seeking, a night the delay of finding; a night is the trouble of deferring, a night the misery 342Cof enduring. A night is the unfulfilment of spiritual desire; a night is the flesh that is to die, even though the conversation be now not carnal; a night, in fine, is the burdensome presence of this life, however polished with labours or with the virtues of one that labours. Through these nights the Virgin asserts that she sought the bridegroom, and that, since he met her not in the first as one that would remain, she departed not from her purpose; and that although she sought again, yet she has not yet found him according to her liking — proving by experience that there has been no full agreement of light with these darknesses. Through the nights, she says, I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, and found him not. Therefore, when the Virgin sought the bridegroom, she was not strong enough to find him, because a somewhat dark night seemed to forestall her that sought — nay, a throng of nights seemed as by agreement 342Dto come together, striving and straining to hinder the hands and the eyes of her that sought. For although the Virgin bravely restrains herself from other occupations, and, straitened in her little bed, girds herself the more anxiously for seeking, yet she reaches not to that inaccessible light of the Bridegroom, so long as the throng of the aforesaid nights thrusts itself against her endeavour. Whence the same Bridegroom: « You shall seek me, he says, and shall not find me; and where I am, you cannot come (Joan. VII). » The Son is indeed in the bosom, in the session, at the right hand of God the Father, of co-equal glory, of one substance, of the same majesty: co-eternal with the Eternal, equal to the Invisible, inhabiting also an inaccessible light, ungranted not only to any of us, but even to his Mother 343Awhile she lived here. For to the throne of glory, in which the Son abides in the Father and the Father in the Son, neither John, nor James, nor in fine the Virgin mother came; and as to them the right hand or the left is not given for sitting together, so neither to the Mother, who by the law of mortals is the handmaid of the Son's humanity. Although therefore the Bridegroom is here sought, whether by their desire or by his Mother's, yet he is not found at the right hand, or in the glory of God the Father; and, he being not taken away but deferred, she seems to have entered upon a counsel, and, either speaking to herself alone or perhaps to the maidens, to have said: I will arise, etc. 196

I will arise, and will go about the city: through the lanes and the streets I will seek him whom my soul loveth. Because, straitened in my little bed, I cannot find him whom I love, I will arise; 343Band I will set about to go round the breadth of the city; I will arise from the leisure and diligence of contemplating, and will gird myself to the zeal and the business of working. Nor will I imitate Dinah (Gen. XXXIV); I will not go forth to see the women abroad; I will not buy a farm, nor go into the country for secular business; but I will go round the fortified city within its circuit, and will enter in unto the heart of Jerusalem for the sake of calling away and of strengthening. I will not assign my nights to fault, nor to the body, nor to leisure, but for the speaking of good I will lift up my hands in the nights (Psal. CXXXIII); and him whom I love I will seek the more diligently through the lanes and the streets — him whom I cannot find in my little bed — if perchance I may be strong enough to find him among them. For sometimes the profit which we feel not in leisure we find more bountifully in the business of speaking; 343Cand when we impart the due care to our brethren and our neighbours, he is the more present at hand whom by this office we obey. I judge those to be called lanes whom the straightness of faith and the certainty of a long-suffering hope directs; but streets, those whom the sweeter breadth of an advanced charity receives; through whom the Virgin asserts that she will seek the Bridegroom, because, imparting care to them, she reckons that she shall please him. For because the Bridegroom had above invited her to arise, « arise, he says, make haste, my friend, » that is, that thou mayest visit thy neighbours again for teaching: the Virgin, obeying his warnings, breaks off for a little the leisure she had taken up, and promises both to arise and to seek the Bridegroom through the lanes and the streets. For the Virgin loves with a worthy care to visit again and to go round those who are contained within the religious circuit of the fortified city, who within the enclosures of the Church confess themselves fellow-citizens of the saints and 343Dof the household of God — removing by her intervention whatever is hurtful, and bestowing by her example the things that shall profit. And she walks through the lanes and the streets in that same city when she helps and instructs those that are upright in faith, long-suffering in hope, diffused in charity, and busies herself to promote them to better things, that she may deserve more amply to please him to whom she has approved herself. For thus is he both sought by them that love him and wills to be sought, and wills that they who seek should earn the grace of him that is sought. Thus, through those that are narrow and subtle in understanding, and enlarged in knowledge, the anxiety of them that seek is exercised; and though they profit not yet enough for the finding, they are at least promoted to a greater merit. Thus, I say, through the men of the Church, as through the lanes and the streets of the city, he wills his own face to be sought, but that face, being invisible, 344Anot yet to be found through visible men; because, although by giving the grace of seeking he wills a greater merit to be acquired, yet he wills not that they who seek should as yet prove the wished-for fulness of the thing sought. When therefore Isaiah cries: « Seek ye the Lord while he may be found (Isa. LV), » he seems not, as I judge, to mean this, that they who seek can find here to the full him whom they sought; but rather that they who study to bring a watchful diligence to the seeking can at the present time obtain, not the reward of merit, but the merit of the reward. They therefore who have as yet to live by faith, in hope of what is to come, seek the Lord God, being about to find him not at once but afterwards; through the nights they seek the day, being about to enjoy his presence not at once, nor to come to full joy until the day shall have shone forth. For through the nights, although a worthy 344Bzeal is bestowed upon the seeking, yet not the light, but the merit of finding the light is found; and in the presence of the nights it is a fitting time for seeking, and, the merit being found, there remains the reward to be obtained. For who would reckon to find the day through the nights, since, unless the nights give place, the more welcome day refuses to come; and since the presence of the nights can be called nothing else than the absence of the sun, and since, when the sun rises, it is agreed that flight is straightway proclaimed to the nights? While the night is indeed present, the sun sends not forth his shining orb, and, the darkness remaining, he suffers not his own face to be seen; but, hastening to his rising, he sends the day-star before as a herald, by which token he promises himself not present, but coming the sooner. But that day-star (by which messenger the coming sun is preceded) 344Cis found by them that seek while the nights are still at hand; and when it is found, the very darknesses of the nights already grow thin, but they wholly vanish not save when the sun is risen. While therefore through the nights the absent sun is sought, sometimes the day-star shows itself, which intends not to show the sun while the nights are still present, but instructs them that seek whither they should tend, whither they should direct the eye that is to find, namely from what quarter they should hope for the presence of the sun that is to come. For so long as a deep night holds and oppresses the world, and an unclean dregs presses hard upon the consciences of us wretched men, who knows (the day-star not yet seen) whence the sun has to rise, since, with no forerunner, not even the way to him can be found? But when he that seeks the sun beholds the day-star going before, taught by that foreteller he is now held by a certain assurance that 344Dthe presence of the sun is not far from him that foretells it, but that, because the night comes between, his face is not yet seen. And so he that seeks a light through the nights finds a light, but a light of the night, being about by this light to find a light afterwards, but a light of the day; and this near day, this sun that is to come, who wills his own presence to be deferred, 197 wills the day-star to be borne before, that men may come to it more surely. This does he that asks receive, this does he that seeks find, this is the door that is unbarred to him that knocks: to him that seeks the sun for a reward, the way is first shown as a day-star; first, I say, of grace is merit given to him that labours, and so, as of merit, the sun is given, nay shall be given, for a reward to him that waits. For the bridegroom does not give the reward at once, as he gives the merit, even though perchance every man set the good wine before that which is worse 345A(Joan. II) — but he is the true sun, who alone above all things deserves to be loved; and he wills indeed to be seen, and, unless the day-star be sent before, he is not seen. Therefore perhaps, when the Gospel had said: « Every one that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth (Matth. VII), » marking that the benefit of merit is given in the present, it showed that another thing remained to be given in what follows: « And to him that knocketh, it says, it shall be opened (ibid.). » He who by asking, it says, and by seeking rejoices that the merit going before is imparted to him, shall by knocking — that is, by pressing on — rejoice that the door is afterwards opened to him; because he who through the nights is advanced by grace together with merit, as by a day-star, shall, the sun's palace being opened, enjoy to the full the glory of the full light. A little above, when it said, ask, seek, knock, subjoining words answering to each, it bestowed nothing in the present, but brought forth (using the future tense) 345Bwords of promise: leaving us in suspense whether they should be fulfilled within the nights, that is in this time, or should pass over all at once to the wished-for presence of the eternal sun. « Ask, it says, and you shall receive; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you (ibid.). » [Vulg. Matt. 7:7 dabitur vobis, "it shall be given you"; the reading printed here is the wording of John 16:24] But lest it be long doubtful that nothing is not bestowed in the nights upon the desire of us that ask, and that nothing likewise is not deferred until the day dawn and the sun rise rather than the day-star, it straightway added: « For every one that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth (ibid.). » This is of the present time. For it says not, he shall receive and he shall find, but « He beginneth and findeth. And to him that knocketh, it says, it shall be opened. » This is of the sun that is to come. For it says not, « to him that knocketh » it is opened, but « it shall be opened, » that it may distinguish between that which is granted us to obtain in the present, and that which 345Cis promised to be granted much better in what follows. So to Jacob, who asked and sought not Lia for a wife but Rachel (Gen. XXIX), the father, keeping the custom of the country, gave Lia before Rachel; in the marriage he set the elder-born first — not indeed of equal beauty, but fruitful — promising that entrance to the second should be given the young man afterwards. In like manner the Virgin also, seeking through the nights, through the lanes and the streets, him whom she had known to be beautiful above all, first receives, first finds the fruitful gift of merit; but because she now pants not so much after merit as after the reward, not so much after labour as after rest, she is believed to have found nothing so long as he reveals not his face. Therefore she repeats: I sought, etc.

• 345D

I sought him, and found him not. Behold, now for the third time the Virgin asserts that she has sought him whom she loves, and complains that she has not yet found the sought one according to her liking; and, he being not found, she is not broken by labour, she despairs not of her purpose, but perseveres in the hope of finding and in the zeal of seeking. It belongs to one that loves to seek once, and again, and many times over, what is loved; if delay come between, not to desist from what is hoped for; and if she be hardly used while that which is sought comes not the sooner, yet let her not faint: to a desire too long deferred hope comes to the rescue. The Virgin therefore seeks to behold the face of him whom she loves, and nothing suffices her that seeks so long as she perceives herself hindered from her desire; and, not content with her little bed (in which a girl's modesty might worthily seem able 346Ato be kept), she goes about the city, walks through the lanes, and now shrinks not from being found in the midst of the streets. So great a love urges her, an unrestrained burning so kindles her — a burning that is a despiser of persons and heeds not what befits whom; which, when once it has blazed up, cares no longer for the judgment of reason, and conforms to its own unrestraint those whom it has made to burn. The virgin, blazing with that unrestraint the more delightfully the more strongly, called back by no fear of the night, dreading no public place that grudges virgins their way, seeks him whom she loves; and, not content to seek once, while she repeats it and hastens hither and thither, she is found by them that meet her.

The watchmen who keep the city found me. While she goes about wandering and is carried anxiously round, 346Bwhile she runs to and fro and keeps seeking, and the presence of the sought one is not offered; they to whom the care or the keeping of the city is committed, who keep watch upon the walls with the vigilant anxiety of charity, come and find that she grows not sluggish with a degenerate sleep — and, loving, rejoice at her watchings and at the Virgin's anxious love. For to this end the companions of the Bridegroom, lofty in angelic dignity, upheld by a wondrous grace and stable in their own holiness, are sent into ministry, and watch over our city, that they may both see the progress of them that love and may cherish it with a ready will. These therefore find her, and rejoice that the Virgin is found; 198 they consider her that loves, and marvel at the greatness of her love; and they who had known very many lovers to be commended in a long line behind, see, and grudge not, 346Cthat the bridegroom is now more loved by the Virgin. For reckoning over in order, upwards, the citizens and household of that city, to whom it was given to have loved the bestower of grace, the author of truth, they weigh that in all of them the grace of loving was less, and they rejoice that the Virgin has found none among mortals her equal in loving. And expressly the watchmen were not found by the Virgin, but the Virgin by the watchmen: because the anxiety of the watchmen is bent upon the city to this end, that it may seek out the more diligently who receives a falling away and who a progress in holiness, and that the good will of an affectionate charity may grieve with the one and rejoice with the other. But the Virgin, as she sought not men, so neither did she seek angels; but with the highest desire she busied herself to find the Lord of the angels; and therefore, if she perceives any perchance to come to meet her, 346Dshe declares rather that she is found by them than that she finds them. And when her finders would perhaps have accosted her, being found, and asked whence and whither she was going, or what she meant to find, she, forgetful of the female sex, hastens to forestall them that were about to speak, and, impatient of love, to open her desire to them

Have you seen him whom my soul loveth? The Virgin should more modestly have waited in silence while those spoke first whom she knew to hold an ampler degree of dignity, until the angels that met her should set about to admonish the woman beforehand, and, they speaking first, she thus admonished should answer. But love, being more immoderate, knows not how to use measure or governance; it fears not sex, not order, not to overpass the bounds; 347Ait seems with a certain haughtiness of mind to forget the rights of all laws, thinking it just to remember unceasingly him alone whom it loves: « Lord, she says, I will be mindful of thy justice only (Psal. LXX). » Holding him therefore alone in an unswerving memory — him by whose grace he loves the undeserving, and by whose justice the deserving — when she feels the angels to be at hand for the keeping of the city, to admonish the imperfect and not to fail the more perfect, she reckons their presence not enough for her, until she shall have found him whom she believes to be far above the angels. For this cause, not enduring to be accosted by those same who watch zealously over the care of the citizens, she rather accosts them inquisitively; and love, stronger than fire, not knowing how to be contained under the embers of ash, breaks into flame more evidently and wills to be seen by them that stand about. And since she is held slower to be silent and readier 347Bto speak, she fans him alone upon her lips, and is wordy about no other — him, I say, whom she loves, whom, being beloved, she seeks the more ardently to find; and since she finds him not yet, she wills at least to hear news of him the more inquisitively. You, she says, to whom it is given always to behold the face of the father, whom it is agreed are hindered from beholding neither by fault, nor by flesh, nor by any trouble whatever: him whom I love, whom I desire to find, you have not seen — have you seen in God the Father the Son who is equally God? Has that happiness been bestowed upon you his companions which to me, his betrothed, is thus far denied by a heavy law — namely, that with a keen eye you may behold my Bridegroom in his glory, who to mine, the eye of his mother and his Bride, endures not yet to be seen? Him, I beseech you, with whom you have found so happy a grace — if it please you, if it seem fitting, 347Csay whether you have seen him; and to me that burn either show him upon whom you desire to look, or at least declare with a comforting word your own vision of him. For it will be no small comfort to me if you declare that you have seen him, the grace of seeing whom I have not yet deserved to find; because I am not one to grieve that any others, happy men, have come before, whither I, far slower, rejoice not yet to have come. Say, I say, whether you have seen him — nay, since you have seen him, declare it laudably; commend with a saving doctrine what you have more fully perceived of him; because I judge it worthy that an ear be given to you that teach, who have deserved to contemplate his face (while we are still in the dark). You indeed, with jaws that labour not with hunger, but blessed, unwearyingly desiring, 347Dyet — loathing being driven far off — satisfied, eat in his kingdom the living bread, the incorruptible nourishment; refreshed with the fatness whereof you know no trouble at all (Matth. XVIII). And though you are now at hand to us that labour on the earth, for the sake of comforting, yet you are always present at his table and his banquet; and while through the importunate nights a fasting hunger presses us, in the courts of that Lord there is given you a full refreshing, one day.

The angels are not brought in to answer the Virgin's questions, perhaps because the Virgin would not endure the delay of answering, whose burning mind every deferring now troubles; and for this cause she makes plain what, impatient of delay, she did. 199

• 348A

When I had a little passed by them, I found him whom my soul loveth. She perceives that he whom she loves is not any one of the angels, nor can be shown by an angel, since he abides far above the excellence of the angels; holding it for certain that the Bridegroom and son so veils his own face, which is God's, that none sees it save he to whom the same son shall have willed to reveal it. Unwilling therefore to linger any longer among these, nor to await their answers with an anxious hearing, the Virgin hastens to pass by the more quickly to the seeking of the Bridegroom, whom she could not find save by passing by. Or perhaps, as has been said before, the watchmen, questioned concerning the Bridegroom — not torpid with ignorance, but the readier and the freer for answering — are not silent that they had seen him in his own glory, 348Blest they should seem to have grudged the seeker her affections or her advances. They teach the Virgin, therefore, that he whom she loves is not to be seen with them, but is to be sought far beyond with a loving vigilance, and that a passing-by must be made by her that seeks (that she may be able to see); which done, the beloved is to be shown to her that loves according to the good pleasure of him that shows. O Virgin, they say, we both rejoice in seeing him whom thou lovest, and what we have seen and heard, this we testify; and (if thou truly desirest that the sight of him should likewise strengthen thee) it behoves thee not to stand, not to cleave, but rather to pass by. Discerning that the nature of every creature is mutable — having indeed a beginning, though not likewise about to have an end — pass thou by, and thou shalt find him of another and unlike nature, which knows no change nor shadow of a vicissitude to come. 348CThese things, or the like of them, the watchmen perhaps answered the Virgin, and promised her the finding of him whom she so loves; but the Virgin, in more haste, did not rehearse their words in order, but set forth more compendiously what she herself had done: When I had passed by, she says, them, I found him whom my soul loveth. By the words of comfort of those, she says, by whom I was found while I sought my beloved, I was for a while detained; but burning insatiably, and not content with such solace, I was stretched out with looser reins toward that which lies beyond. For seeing that the angels did not supply me my desideriam, and that the keepers of the city had not the effectual grace of supplying it, I passed on, considering whether the cherubim and seraphim, and the spirits of a worthier excellence, might confer 348Dupon me in my burning the gift of a fuller sufficiency. For as there are angels who, sent for the ministry of salvation, minister to the heirs, so perhaps there are others more worthy, who, since they are not sent by the Lord, stand by him; and by however much they are set over these lower and ministering ones, by so much are they laid beneath him to whom they rejoice unceasingly to stand by. I passed the angels, therefore, when I ascended to those worthier spirits. I passed quite by when I marked that neither sort could become the fulfillers of my desire; when I understood that among the angels not the order only but the nature is unavailing, and that no creature at all suffices for my desire. I passed by when I marked that the watchmen, or the angels, had been made. I passed quite by in considering that they had been made not by themselves but by another; and that he who had made them is so the author of these and of all things that he himself has, for his own part, no creator at all — 349Aneither himself nor any other whatsoever. I passed by when it was truly given me to know this: that the angels, being made, can do nothing at all without him who made them. I passed quite by in considering that he who is the maker can do all things through himself, who alone suffices me for all things in giving himself. But thus to pass the watchmen, or rather to pass them quite by — what is it but to find him whom my soul loveth? who cannot be more fully found unless the creature be passed over, which none but one passing quite by is worthily able to prove. So then, passing quite by the watchmen, I thus found him whom I love, and thus came to the excellence of him who is not made but maker; I found that the Creator far surpasses every creature, and that therefore nothing besides him ought to be loved. But when the Virgin says 349Bthat she has found him whom she loves, what is it that she premises — that she had a little passed by the watchmen — when she seems to have passed not a little but very much, indeed all things, she who rejoices to have found him who is far above all things? But because, while she is held by the law of mortals, by the bond of a heavier flesh, however far she advance in the ardour of a purer desire, she yet finds not the Bridegroom save only by the eye of faith or of love, she rightly says "a little," in respect of a fuller grace. For though by zeal and grace she cleanses and advances her understanding, and by a marvellous advance, going beyond the angels, comes to her beloved: yet because this coming, while life is lived here, has something imperfect in it, the eye of faith thinks itself carried over by a small passage, as it were. Great indeed might this passage rightly be called, if she now weighed 349Cthat she was gainsaid by no burden of the flesh; if she exulted greatly not in faith but in fact, not in hope but in sight; if she enjoyed the Bridegroom's face, and no disturbance called her back from that enjoying. Great would the passage be, if she saw herself despoiled of her inborn mortality, and, clothed upon with glory, worthily exalted above the angels; sitting on the Bridegroom's throne by a royal right and no wrong, and, Bride and mother, cleaving to the son by a certain singular privilege. But meanwhile, while 200 no such fact or sight is granted, she embraces in faith and hope him whom she loves; and him for the finding of whom she says that she had a little passed by the watchmen, she declares that, once found, she held with a most firm bond.

I held him, nor will I let him go, till I bring him 349Dinto my mother's house, and into the chamber of her that bore me. The Virgin, as was said before, sought the Bridegroom with a renewed purpose, nor found him whom she sought until she had passed quite by the watchmen set between; because so long as any other seems to be interposed between the seeker and the sought, he that is sought does not sufficiently endure to expose himself to the seeker's desire. When therefore she was seen to pass the watchmen with a lynx's eye, she rejoiced to find more clear-sightedly him whom she sought — so far, at least, as it is given to a living man to prevail; nay, above the rest of men she deserved to obtain this grace of prevailing. The Virgin found that he could not be found in purity by a living man, that the invisible could not be seen, the insensible not perceived; and the more subtly she apprehended in contemplation that he 350Ais incomprehensible, so much the more strongly she loves ama, and she intends not to love anything beside him. Thus him whom she judges to be tracked not by the foot but by affection, once tracked she finds not with the eye but with a keen understanding: she holds him not with bolts, not with glue, not with a chain, but with love; she binds him not with an iron fastening but with a stronger embrace. She holds him, I say, and binds him, and slackens not the hands greedy of holding; she interrupts not her love, not her affection, not the intent zeal of advancing; him long desired she lets into the chamber of her secret heart, rejoices in the presence of him let in, and, once he is present, suffers him to withdraw no further. Some indeed are found to have held him at times, and to have drawn him to their will with certain bonds; but he seems to be admitted within their holds in such wise that, as though 350Bimpatient of delay, he at last demands to be let go. « I see, he says to Moses, that this people is stiff-necked: let me alone, that my fury may be kindled against them, and that I may destroy them (Exod. XXXII). » The just Lord, whose eye sees and approves equity, cursing the people's hardness and the perverse depravity of idolatry, purposes to be grievously kindled against that same people, to be indignant with the sinners, and to execute swift vengeance upon them. He wills to unbridle his fury more harshly against the idolaters; but Moses withstands him, and strives to bridle him in his raging (Jud. X); he holds him whom he loves and knows to obey now and then the prayers of them that love; he curbs him in his anger, and suffers him not to rage against the guilty according to his purpose: « Either forgive them this trespass, he says, or if thou do not, blot me 350Cout of thy book which thou hast written (Exod. XXXII). » God does not, after our manner, often turn the stylus; he does not overturn the marks once ploughed in, as though led by repentance; him whom, enrolled among the eternal citizens, his grace has already decreed to save, he has not afterwards scraped away, nor blotted out of the book of the living. Moses therefore, asking either that he himself be blotted out of the book which God had already written, or that God himself have mercy on the people and remit the trespass, by that which he knows in no way to befit the divine equity provokes that equity to what he judges more fitly expedient; and he holds it the more firmly and as it were binds it, even against its will, lest, incontinent of the fury conceived, it put forth a hand to vengeance. But that equity, which is thus held in check, wills therefore, as it seems, to be let go unto vengeance, because its justice wills nothing 350Dto be remitted unpunished; and Moses thinks that so great a guilt will be avenged by the just death of them all, if the avenging hand endures not to be forestalled by the softened countenance of mercy. Lest therefore he so rage against them that all be utterly blotted out, they are helped not by their own merits but by Moses's; who wills not to hear the Lord asking to be let go, but, holding him more firmly bound, compels him by his prayers mercifully to obey. Long before, a man is read to wrestle with Jacob, who is found to be called now a man, now an angel, now even the Lord; who, marking that his wrestler could not easily be overcome: « Let me go, he says, for the morning riseth (Gen. XXXII). » And he: « I will not let thee go, he says, unless thou bless me (ibid.). » God, with whom Jacob strongly wrestles, he wills not to let go unless 351Ahe be redeemed at a price, unless the vanquished bestow upon the victor the grace of a blessing, without which the victor himself rejoices in no victory. « And he blessed him, he says, in the same place (Gen. XXXII). » That he may deserve to be let go, he reaches out the gift demanded, and the Lord renders him that lets him go heaped with grace; and so at last, the liberty he had demanded being received, he is let go, and he that lets him go rejoices in the newness of the wished-for gift. But the Virgin rejoices not now in the gifts given but in the giver; she wills no other benefit than to enjoy his more bountiful presence: to hold him whom she loves, not to be drawn away from his embraces, not to be induced at any price to let him go. I will not, she says, that the grace of him whom I hold come to me in such wise that, the gift once received, the giver of the gift now withdraw; nor that the beloved's blessing be so presented to her he loves, 351Bthat he whom I love absent himself when he has blessed. For I love the things that are his only for his own sake, and whatsoever he shall have given me suffices not without 201 himself; nay, if these be denied to me that love, and he give himself to the rest, content with him alone I shall sleep in peace in the selfsame. Nor do I hold, or will I hold, him of whom we speak for myself alone, but I will provide that others too may hold him with me; for I will not, by the disease of avarice, begrudge others their profit, but the more I advance, the more shall I rejoice with the rest as they advance. I will hold therefore him whom I hold, nor will I let him go, until, when I bring [him] into my mother's house, nay, and into her chamber, I let him in; that the good which the daughter has already deserved first and more fully to feel, she that bore her may thereafter rejoice to find for herself. The mother, or she that bore this Virgin, is Judaea, who her whom she had first 351Cborne in flesh by the pain of one bringing forth; afterwards begot to the worship of the one God by the sacraments of the law. Therefore perhaps she is called mother and she that bore her alike, that by the repeated name a twofold begetting may seem to be signified; to which begetter she that is begotten promises to render a benefit. And she renders it when she lets her beloved into her house or chamber. Judaea's house is faith, whereby she knew the Father and the Son, and the Spirit of both, to be God; by which faith she removed herself from the deserts and the fellowship of unbelievers; lying hid and at rest under the shadow of this covering as one secure, not about to feel the sun's importunate heats, nor the whirlwind, nor the rain. With such a roofing the unbelief of the Gentiles is not defended; it is covered by no shade, no rooftree, no tiles of faith; but is found free in the fields or under the 351Dopen sky like a wild ass; it knows no house, it endures not to be applauded, it is hedged in by no wall or dike. When therefore foul weather comes, when snow, hail, ice, the spirit of storms, when at last some power of darkness comes upon her, it rejoices to snatch her at once, finding her wandering and uncovered; and she, like chaff fixed by no weight, is tossed about. But Judaea, shut in her house, fortified as by the strength of a castle, rejoicing in a lofty rooftree and marked with certain bulwarks, puts far from her the heavy threats of the air by a strong repulse, and in the hiding-place of faith, her head laid down, now makes her conscience serene. For when the winds rush down, the heaven thunders, the air rages — which is wont to rage threateningly and over-stubbornly in our parts — she thinks nothing more serene than to be covered the more constantly by the defence of faith, 352Aif only the defence rest upon a stable foundation. For the architect, gathering a heap of timbers and stones into a structure, if he be worthily anxious or fearful of loss, digging deep, is busy to find the rock upon which he may be able to establish the building with a firm footing. Otherwise the house itself, raised aloft upon loftier columns and finished with marvellous labour and workmanship in the eyes of the beholders — by however much it be greater and more elaborate, yet because it rests not upon a firmer rock, by so much the more does it lie subject, at the beating of the floods and the driving of the winds, to a heavier ruin. That therefore Judaea's house, that is, her faith, may take a worthy support, the Virgin, providing for her mother, promises to bring in a foundation; she promises, that is, to bring in that rock which is Christ, which by its own firmness suffers not the building set upon it 352Bto fall. God indeed, as you have read, had been known of old in Judaea (Psal. LXXV), whose stretched-out shoe Idumaea did not yet know, because in those days he imparted some sort of knowledge of himself to the hearts of believers, but did not in their eyes clothe himself personally in visible flesh. But when the new grace, when the fullness of time was at hand, when the strength of God, condescending to the weak, willed to be made weak, the Virgin, fruitful by the Spirit, bore God incarnate, and brought forth to men, shod, him who is invisible in his godhead. And she, understanding for certain that none would thenceforth come to salvation save those who should believe Christ to be the wisdom and the power of God — Christ, I say, begotten before the day-star out of the womb of God the Father, but in the end 352Cof times made man out of the womb of his own mother — took the utmost care that this knowledge of the matter should be conferred upon Judaea, and that the building of faith should be made firm upon this as upon a foundation. Holding him therefore, the Virgin promises that she will not slacken her greedy hands until she shall make him known more firmly to her own nation to be held; until she shall present him newly born to the believing shepherds, and afterwards, as he grows, commend him to the slower apostles. For in these the faith of the Jews is instructed by Mary's words and merits; lest the deserted house fall, it is stayed up by her help and her work; she bearing him and setting forth her offspring more truly, Judaea receives and honours Christ, believes the man to be God, and loves and adores him whom she believes. This is perhaps what this Virgin's promise signifies, when mention is welcomely made 352Dnot only of the house but also of the chamber: namely, that Judaea in the apostles will rejoice both to believe in Christ and to love him, and by the Virgin's intervention will obtain this twofold benefit. The house, as being wider, receives without distinction the many that flow in; but the remote chamber more secretly admits only them that love; and therefore the house denotes the faith which we see to be common to very many, but the chamber the love which you know to be proper to the elect. It is not enough therefore for the Virgin that she so preaches Christ to Judaea that he be believed, but she takes the utmost care that he be likewise loved by her, while she declares him both God born of God before the ages without a mother, and newly made truly man of herself without a father. To which believing and loving she leads her by her own warnings as well as merits, and brings Christ 353Ainto her house and chamber; nor does she cease from her zeal until she see her own poor desire heard, and rejoice that her beloved is found in the secret place of them that love. When he is found she envies not, she pines not as a rival, but breathes again from her 202 labour and recovers from her sickness; while, burning with charity, she grows glad at the good things of them that advance, and in that reclining, as it were, rests with a glad conscience — to whose rest the Bridegroom, favouring it, says: I adjure you, etc.

I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes and the harts of the fields, that you stir not up, nor make the beloved to awake, till she herself will. The Bridegroom warns the apostles, and those who are seen to have believed alike out of Judaea, and by the Virgin's word and care to have received Christ in the secret place of faith; 353Bhe warns them, I say, not to make light of the grace once received, and not, in contempt of things present, to reach out to their former things, or perhaps to things worse than the former. For if their faith, if their love be more grievously shaken, they will break in upon her sleep, striking harshly upon the Virgin's ear; and from the joy of that rest which the Virgin willed to obtain from their conduct she will be compelled unwilling to awake to troubles. The Bridegroom warns them therefore, lest among the apostles the treachery of Judas thunder harshly; lest the doctrine of Nicolas, discordant from the rest, sound ill; lest, at the hearing of the mystical discourse, many of the disciples be struck with scandal, and, going back, walk no more with him, their purpose harshly broken. And not only these apostates, or any of the like who truly cleaved not to Christ, but the fear 353Cof the elect also wounded the Virgin's ears not slightly; Peter's denial, John's stripping, the flight of them all made a grievous din, and compelled the resting Virgin to be roused to her watches. The Bridegroom therefore, tenderly solicitous for the Virgin whom he loved, warns those whom he perceived to be troubled by fear of their persecutors, that they faint not from the form and doctrine which the Virgin had given them, or, if they faint, may perhaps the sooner come to themselves. Daughters, he says, of Jerusalem, it is not fitting that you should will what you do not yet find her to will who forewarns you; nor is it free to you to will anything hurtful or unseemly, until she also will it, who, it is agreed, 354Anever wills at all, the apostles indeed, grace forsaking them, willed against the prohibition, when they were not able to resist to the utmost the fault that met them; but she willed nothing of the sort, who was worthily able to withstand the faults that met her, and for this cause she was found to be roused from a pleasing rest not by her own din but by her own people's. Yet afterwards, rightly mindful of him that adjures them, and visited more fully by the presence of the strengthening Spirit, they are made comely by a secret chamber, as it were, of conduct and of merits, into which they rejoice that the Bridegroom is brought by the Virgin's help and work. And when he is brought in, the Virgin herself also grows glad not slightly, and rests in the sleep she had chosen before, in their conduct; from which the Bridegroom's diligence forbids her to be roused, lest she be afflicted by a punishment whose fault she is not held to share. Above, therefore, when with these same words 354Bthe Bridegroom willed to adjure the daughters of Jerusalem, that they should not presume to rouse the Bride resting amid the Bridegroom's embraces, the Virgin is shown to rejoice in her own advances, or over her own, which she is proclaimed to have gained for herself by grace and merits. But here, when the same adjuration is found to be repeated, the Virgin is found to rejoice over the merits of others, whose solicitude is addressed by the Bridegroom's diligence, that they repel not the grace which is found so welcome to the Virgin's desire. There the Virgin is delighted with a welcome rest amid the Bridegroom's embraces; here she rejoices that the Bridegroom rests in her neighbours' chamber; there she falls asleep in her own advances, here in her neighbours'; and in either sleep, holding the Bridegroom, she longs for his courts. But because there the same verse is in some fashion expounded, I have not thought it necessary that 354Cthe same exposition be repeated here; lest, if what was said before be said again in the present place, a superfluous repetition breed weariness in the hearer. As therefore the second book of this work took its end there, where the Virgin leaned herself upon the Bridegroom's left hand for the sake of rest, so here also I deem it worthy that a close or term be set to the present book, where the Bride rejoices that the Bridegroom is brought into her mother's house or chamber; that where it is granted the Bride to be lulled asleep by delicate advances, there our stylus may rejoice to be repaired by silence as by sleep.

• 353D

Who is she that goeth up by the desert, as a little rod of smoke of spices, of myrrhoe, and of frankincense, and of all the powder of the perfumer? Thus far in this drama the beloved and the Virgin have spoken to one another and of one another, and have pursued in alternating speech what belonged to love and to grace; nor do any others seem to be brought in to speak, 203 although the maidens and the companions alike have been brought in to hear. But now the Bridegroom, by a more ample benefit, gives to the companions, to whom he had given place and grace to hear, room 354Dto speak, that the marriage-song may be made more pleasant to them, when they too shall alike have given their fellow's token in it. The companions, therefore — that is, the angels who are said to stand by the Bridegroom at such a wedding, who, though they minister to men, are not for that kept from his face — marking with what affection the Bridegroom is held toward the virgin, by what grace, by what merit the virgin is advanced above all women, are fixed fast, are astonished, and are not worthily able to wonder, nor do they find with what praises they can fitly venerate her. An affectionate devotion indeed admonishes them that they say something; 355Athe consideration of a magnitude to be wondered at calls them back that they say nothing; for whatever they say seems to themselves little and insufficient, and yet they think themselves worthy to be reproved if they say nothing at all. A marvellous abundance of matter for speech makes them poor indeed, and the poverty by no means satisfies their great desire; yet they speak, that they may awaken susciten in us the affection of hearing, and give us hearers some sort of confidence of speaking. For none of us would attempt to speak the praises of so great a Virgin, if the excellence of the angels, as not sufficiently conscious of itself, utterly refused them; but by the pattern and solicitude of those who are ministering spirits we too are admonished to venerate the Virgin with such praises as we can. For they too show themselves to do this very thing, so far as possibility avails them, not so far as the Virgin's dignity requires; 355Bthey who do not yet sufficiently apprehend how great the Virgin's merits are, and therefore intend not to express them to the utmost in words or in praises, but wonder, and, wondering, ask who she is whom they so mark as wonderful. Who, they say, is this? We turn over, they say, the roll of women present or foregoing from of old, from the time when Eve, who was made first, gave her consent to the enemy; to many of whom the gifts of divers graces have been granted; the beauty of the inner mind, by the hands of grace as well as of industry, and cultivated — none of these can we find like to her, but she is found to outgo them all by an ineffable grace. Who then is this, to whom alone a special excellence is given, that no woman before her, none after her, is her equal; that she seems now 355Cnot even to need our patronage, nay, to surpass angels as well as men, not by nature but by grace? Who is this that walks not with bended knee after the manner of a delicate woman, but with a strong and unwearied step goes manfully forward; who takes an arduous way untried by feminine paces, and, laying hold of the ladder which Jacob scarcely deserved to see, climbs bravely through the desert? The desert, as I see, is a way and a manner of life set apart, which the multitude knows not and no common hoof treads; which is not touched by mire, not besprinkled with the dust of the streets; which fault does not defile, nor any superfluity of chaff cover. Jacob, when a stone set beneath him was seen to hold up his head, lulled in a mystical sleep, scarcely deserved to see 355Dsuch a ladder (Gen., XXVIII); which, as it appeared to him, being forbidden to them that live after the manner of men, is left to angels alone, ascending and descending. For the angels descend, meeting the Virgin's advances with a favouring joy. And they ascend, running before praeccurrentes with festal praises her that advances: hastening to meet the Lord who leans upon the ladder, and asking who is this that hastens to outgo in merits the angels who are her betters in nature. Who is this, they say, to whom a virginal fruitfulness, or a fruitful virginity, has been granted, unapproached in all ages past by angels as by men; who, living in a body wrapped about with the necessities of death, runs through a life liable to vices in an unpolluted course? 356AFor she goeth up as a little rod of smoke, which, though it rise subtle and slender from below, lifting itself into the thin airs is itself made thin; so advancing on high that it commits itself to the secret of the clouds, and, as it were emptying itself, admits not the eyes of the beholders. The Virgin assuredly, though begotten of earthly parents, yet, the earthly dregs being scraped away, made thin by the zeal of discipline, has gone forward to so great a height of merits above men that she is rightly declared to have gone beyond the capacity of them that wonder at her. Advancing thus, she gives far and wide a most sweet odour, the teaching of justice, a more gracious rule of discipline; she bestows her suffrages, she rejoices to show benevolence, which things to them that worthily consider seem to smell like spices. Therefore perhaps the smoke, to whose little rod the advancing Virgin is compared eomparatur, 356Bis recorded to come forth not from the pit of the abyss but from spices; for whose compounding a multiplicity of kinds has been gathered, and they have been compounded of myrrh and of frankincense and of all the powder of the perfumer, Myrrh gives a marvellous remedy to the bodies of the dead, and by a certain natural force removes corruption from flesh that is flowing and soft: frankincense burnt up with fire is offered to God in sacrifices, and by its smoky odour the devotion of them that sacrifice is commended. Myrrh therefore, as it seems, is like to that virtue whereby the Virgin worthily subjects her body to servitude, that by fastings, watchings, cleannesses vicious corruption may be put far off, and, the laws of nature being restrained, nothing in it may rot away soft or flowing. But by frankincense the Virgin's humble devotion, or devout humility, is figured; which, when in the censer of the mind it is burnt up 204 by the fire 356Cof the holy Spirit, melted into love, is directed like smoke to things above; nay, after the manner of a little rod, drawing itself into a narrow compass, hastens the more intently to things eternal. But by the powder of the perfumer, of which a whole heap, as it were, is added on top, the whole company of the remaining virtues is expressed; which that perfumer, by whom the medicinal health of all was found out, exquisitely heaping together and prudently pounding, reduces into pigments. Of all which, agreeing to a saving medicine, heaped together and bruised in the Virgin's heart as in a little mortar of discipliuae, the smoke is directed in the perfumer's sight, the odour breathes forth — to the worthy wondering at which the companions' consideration scarcely aspires. Who then is this, with whom a multiplicity of ears of corn, as it were, has gathered itself into 356Da handful, nay, with whom the whole company of kinds has forced itself together in her little mortar, whose merits are bruised like powder by a most subtle examination, and are borne before the perfumer like smoke, nay, like a little rod of smoke, in a marvellous ascent? From these, borne and offered, that same perfumer turns not away, but in her that offers them, as upon a little bed, reclines himself with a welcome benevolence; and he encloses that same little bed with a rampart of strength, whereby he shuts out from it, and far off, whatsoever is unseemly, whatsoever is hurtful. Of which the companions subjoin: Behold the little bed, etc.

Behold the little bed of Solomon: threescore valiant ones compass it about, 357Aof the most valiant of Israel. Him whom I had called the perfumer they seem to name Solomon; who, being the author and lover of peace, willed to prepare for himself a little bed in which, hidden from the tumult of men, he might lay down his head for rest's sake, and truly show himself peaceable not in name only but in fact. And his little bed, I judge, may be said to be the Virgin herself, who for love's sake is found so given over to Solomon's service that she suffers no stranger to take rest in her, and admits not the crafty enemy, even for a moment, within the containing of her narrow mind; for which cause she too deserved to be called not a bed but a little bed, that by this diminutive a certain narrowness of hers might seem to be designated — she who, not being stretched out to take another likewise, strives to please the bridegroom alone, and is content with him alone 357Bwhom she lawfully loves. To whom that prophecy of Isaias worthily agrees, and prophecies uttered at divers times agree together, showing to every one that loves that a certain narrowness of mind befits him — that a lover embraces not many, serves not two masters. « The bed is straitened, he says, so that one must fall out: and the short covering cannot cover both (Isa. XXVIII.) » The bed of the mind is assuredly straitened in commendable wise when it purposes to lie open and to please none but the lawful one; when it has not settled in itself a dwelling, a place, a space for another; when the other is compelled to fall, or perhaps, terrified, comes not near from afar. Lastly, the covering of virginal modesty, which dissoluteness has not woven, which superfluity does not warp, draws itself close about the lawful one; the other is by no means covered by it, 357Cnor does the Bridegroom accept a portion in common with an adulterer, nor does he suffer him to make his dwelling with him under the same covering. Whence her who straitened not the little bed nor shortened the covering, but, an adulterer being invited, wickedly widened all — her the bridegroom himself is found by the same Isaias more grievously to accuse, and to refuse the unworthy fellowship both of the adulteress and of the adulterer. « Thou hast enlarged thy couch, he says, thou hast received an adulterer (Isai. LVII.) » But the Virgin, her bed being straitened, admitted the stain of no adulterer; her covering being shortened, she suffered no crafty one to be covered; but she removed from the narrow rest of her mind whatsoever is contrary to her, and, keeping faith with the bridegroom, devoted herself wholly and singularly to him. Her therefore, who by zeal with 357Dgrace both willed and was able to show herself a little bed, so that enemies and rivals are of necessity compelled to shrink away, Solomon, loving peace and yet having care of battles, fortifies with an armed soldiery, and by a strong defence makes secure. Who assuredly, girt about not with walls, not with towers, not with material bulwarks, but with certain valiant ones, threescore in mystical number, abides undaunted under the provident hand of the aforesaid Solomon, while the keepers help her and the enemies bring in nothing of hurtful injury. But the keepers, who deserve to be called nothing but valiant, are the spiritual virtues by which it is agreed the Virgin is strengthened; which stand by her not on one side only without the other; themselves prudently 358Adisposed, they stand round about her in an ordered circuit. Whose perfection is figured in the number sixty, which is completed of six and ten multiplied one by the other; of which the six denotes the perfection of works or labours, and the ten the perfect consequence of rewards. For because God the creator of all fulfilled his works in six days, who, as you know it is written, rested on the seventh day from the works which he had wrought (Gen. II), rightly is the perfection of working designated by the six, in the fuller obtaining of which one labours through the whole space of days. There are those who hold that the six is not to be judged perfect for this reason, that God willed his works to be completed in it, but that the primordial works were once made in six days for this reason, 205 that God knew this to be the first perfect number, 358Bso that from the perfection of the number God might commend his works, and, they being completed in a perfect number, might show them to be no less perfect. And by the ten the perfection of the reward is rightly said to be designated, because the householder bids that very sum be given to them that labour in the vineyard; and whosoever has been faithfully held by the labour enjoined, with a view to obedience, is content with this number added at the end of time. The six therefore is taken ten times, or the ten six times, and they make sixty, when the Virgin is strongly girt both with the labour of the day's burden and with the sure hope of the reward to come; when she rejoices to give her pains to perfect works in the present, and altogether fears nothing, doubts nothing concerning what follows. But why either the six or the ten ought, according to the arithmeticians, to be judged perfect, and by what perfection also the sixty 358Cis found to be commended — because I have undertaken to set that forth more fully in the Response on Obedience, I have willed here for brevity's sake to pass it by in silence. For those seem not yet more fully to obtain the six who, working great things, cannot fulfil greater; who, if perhaps in avoiding wicked works they are circumspect providently enough, are yet in word less perfect than they ought to be. « He that sinneth not, he says, in word, the same is a perfect man (Jacob. III). » [Vulg. James 3:2 si quis in verbo non offendit, "if any man offend not in word"] Some also, though they keep their ways that they offend not with a slippery tongue, and already hold the six, yet do not yet draw near sufficiently to the ten; because, though they hope that they will receive a reward for their labour, they do not yet fully know whether they be worthy of hatred or of love. 358DThe merits and advances of all these, defective, so to speak (for none of the like has deserved in this life to obtain complete ones), the holy Virgin is found to pass by, nay, far to surpass, by grace as by merits; and, still dwelling with us, she is so compassed by the mystical sixty that the observance of works and labours renders her perfect, and a wholly sure expectation of things to come makes her secure. And beautifully do they that compass her about deserve to be called valiant ones of the most valiant of Israel, because among all the virtues whose merits seek to contemplate God, those are agreed to be valiant and to be commended for especial valour by which the Virgin is compassed, and, being compassed, loves to be preserved.

• 359A

All holding swords, and most expert in war. With how great valour, with how great care these compass the Virgin about, the armour shows as well as the mystical number; lest, if they come or come together to defend her unarmed, the more numerous they are, the more blameworthy they be, and by a just judgment be made void. Each one therefore holds and draws a twice-sharpened sword, so that if perhaps some robber shall have sought to cross the appointed bound, his presumption, at once beaten back, may utterly vanish, or rather, at the sight of the sword, he may leap far back in terror. This sword is not of iron, wherewith wicked criminals are sensibly struck, but it is the sword of the spirit, which the Apostle declares to be the word of God; for the word of God is proclaimed living and effectual and more piercing than any sword, 359Bwhereby the recesses of the soul and the inward conscience are pierced (Heb. IV). The sword is the faithful testimony, the lucid precept, the book of the law, which the priest Joiada willed to give into the hand of Joas the king (II Paral. XXIII), that he might show to all that the knowledge of the divine law befits a king; nay, that a king ought not so much to know the law as to hold it in his hand, that is, in work. They gave, he says, into the king's hand the law to be held, and made him king. Therefore the threescore are recorded not to have but to hold swords, because it is not they that have who forthwith also hold, but they that hold are not denied to have; and it profits little, or nothing, to have a sword in the sheath, if the hand — that is, the discipline of works — draw it not forth. All the valiant ones therefore who are said to compass the Virgin about hold swords, obey the word, are exercised 359Cin worthy works, and by so great a defence render the Virgin strong and secure, so that, the enemies being beaten back afar, she suffers neither injury nor loss. And they that so defend her are assuredly most expert in war, whose learning is not new by advance rather than by time; because to know, and not yet to do, the things that are right, is a bare doctrine, rude and, as of a new time, imperfect. For understanding gives advance not to them that have understanding but to them that do it — advance not only of knowledge but of conscience; and as conscience without knowledge is not sufficiently instructed, so knowledge without conscience is found rude and more imperfect. They therefore ought to be called not only expert but most expert, who obey the word for the waging of wars, 359Dand lend their hand to the sword; whose solicitude so goes forth to repel the enemies' assaults that it is a terror to all, while the hand withdraws not from the sword. Concerning which sword it is subjoined: Every man's, etc.

Every man's sword upon his thigh, because of fears in the night. 206 The companions diligently consider and more attentively wonder in what manner or order those threescore work the protection of the Virgin; and how provident, how sagacious they are for protecting her, and how they are held effectual not by valour only but by prudence of purpose. For each one, not laying down the sword once received, but setting upon his thigh the sword he is said to hold in his hand, is so held solicitous to war down from without whatever things may hurt, that he be not 360Anegligent of himself, but that a diligent care of himself hold him. The thigh signifies the flesh, which is propagated from the thigh; and the flesh is weak, and is proved to fail naturally; and therefore by the thigh, or the flesh, is signified the weakness or defect which our firmness or advance incurs, as it were, from nature. For a man's virtue, to however great a magnitude it be raised aloft, has not of itself that it should be strengthened in its purpose; but if, grace forsaking it, it be relaxed a little from diligence, it is not held with a steady step, as though its wings were lost. Virtue therefore is seen to set its sword upon its thigh when, by the lucid word of the Lord, which is said to be more piercing than any sword, it worthily restrains and chastises its own weakness, and by the rigour of the word makes firm what it naturally searches out to be unavailing. It holds the sword upon the thigh when it worthily watches and strains over the guard 360Bof itself, apprehending itself not only weak, but naturally weak; and for this cause, the more solicitous, it so guards itself against defect and ruin that it presses down the very causes of defect, as it were the thigh, with the discipline of the verb. Thus assuredly, watching and straining to remove whatever things are hurtful, the Virgin's virtue rejoices not to fear from fears in the night; and all that the crafty enemy or a dark temptation strives to contrive, her learned and terrible circumspection renders utterly idle. Marking which, the angels, who are called the friends and companions of the Bridegroom, as was said before, wonder ineffably at this little bed of Solomon and at the guard of it; and they go on to commend it with yet other words, esteeming as little enough whatever they utter in the Virgin's praise.

• 360C

King Solomon made him a ferculum of the wood of Libam, the pillars thereof he made of silver, the reclining-place of gold: the ascent of purple, the midst he strewed with charity, for the daughters of Jerusalem. That which they had called a little bed, they call also a ferculum, whereon many fercula are borne to Solomon, and to him that feasts is set the food which perisheth not, but which endureth. The ferculum, then, is the Virgin, through whom the souls of the saints are found to be commended to God, and by her prayers and merits to be raised to the Bridegroom's banquet; whom for this very end the Bridegroom willed to be prepared for himself, that through her they might deserve those things which of themselves they could not be presented. For although the souls of the saints are marked with divers virtues, and, after the manner of a banquet, 360Dare seasoned with a manifold savour of graces, yet they lie far from Solomon's banquet as though utterly forsaken, if they be not helped by the Virgin's intervention as by a table of offering. Therefore the Bride herself is rightly called the mediatrix of us all, herself the mother is not unfitly called the empress; because, entreating the bridegroom, commanding the son, she turns his fury into favour and his wrath into most sweet love, and by the little meal of her prayer converts us, bitter, into sweetness. They therefore who before were hateful with a wild bitterness, being taken up upon the ferculum, are made gracious by the merit of her that takes them up; nor is there any that deserves to please at Solomon's banquet, save him whom Solomon rejoices to have offered to him by the Virgin as from a table of propitiation. For of so great merit is the aforesaid ferculum or table, that whosoever have had its propitiation more diligently bestowed upon them 361Apresent themselves confidently at Solomon's banquet, while they that are strangers to the table absent themselves consequently from the banquet also. For it is made of the wood of Libanus. Libanus is a mountain which a conspicuous height lifts up, which its surface adorns, which the beauty of groves clothes; whose trees a tall greatness rears up, a wondrous appearance graces, an unrottable strength makes firm. And Libanus is interpreted a whitening, signifying Christ, who is the brightness of eternal light, and is prepared as the mountain of the house of the Lord: whose good tree is proved to bring forth no fruit but good; whose trees, planted beside the waters of Siloe, dry not up, are not stripped of their leaves in autumn, wither not in winter, but grow young again with an untiring length and an unrottable strength. Of this wood the companions assert the ferculum to be framed, so that 361Bthe work may rightly be seen to be commended, as it were, from its material; because the Virgin's sanctity is compacted out of Christ's virtues, and, unto the profit of us all, is brought into a table and a ferculum. And because mighty Solomon so compacted her of strong and unrottable material, she felt no worm, she admitted no rot, but drove it away; she was not hurt by the hammer, by the age of time not broken asunder, but the wholeness of her strength remained, and remained still, uncorrupted. But that this same table might not swerve from Solomon's presence, that it might never nor anywhere lean aside on any part, the same Solomon willed it to rest upon a noble stay, setting under it not unstable tripods, but pillars 207 immovable, of silver. For an eminent height presented the virginal table to Solomon, 361Cand the silver and unbending straightness of the pillars held it unmoved, whose lucid manners, whose ringing repute, whose temperance of mouth, whose force of speech Solomon's benevolence accepted and made firm. Silver, making itself conspicuous by splendour, and giving a ring at a fitting touch, is wrought into pillars, and that which is laid upon it stands defended; since the Virgin, remaining a Virgin, brought forth the Word of the Father by the power of the Most High, and leaned firmly not upon her own strength but upon his. In her also a reclining-place of gold is said to be found, because nowhere did our Solomon seem to find a rest more welcome to him, where he might will or be able to lay down his head, and to bow the excellency of the Godhead to the taking of flesh. And this is not unfitly said to be, not of lead, but 361Drather of gold, because among all metals nothing is held better than gold; which is also dearer in price, and heavier in weight, and stronger under the hammer, so that of it the reclining-place is deservedly said to have been made. By the gold I judge the Virgin's love to be figured, which it is certain holds the first place among her other virtues; because, though faith and hope and very many others are worthy to be commended, yet none of them can deservedly be compared to love. Which love is so weighed down, balanced by its own weight, that it slips not away to the right or the left side by a swaying mobility, runs not hither and thither, wavers not, breaks not out to the loving of any other, embraces the bridegroom alone, and lets no third break off the embrace of the two. In fine, she desires to cleave to the bridegroom with a desire so strong, with a firmness so solid, that 362Ashe is not broken by adversities, nor does she give way under the hammer of tribulation; and when Peter cracked, and John sprang back, and all fled, not bearing the raging hammer, the Virgin alone stood fast, nor ceased to love the bridegroom dying under the eyes of the bride. Such a reclining-place, then, did Solomon frame for himself in the Virgin, which a love heavy and solid and to be compared with none commended, whereon the framer himself laid down his head away from the trouble of men; and, as one about to refresh them, invited us also to the same feast. But that same reclining-place is not easily found by such as we are, whereto there is no coming save with labour, save with very great effort: whereto (as is known to him that has tried it) he attains not more fully, save he that, being about to ascend, girds himself with a worthy strength. For there are steps or stairs by which the ascent is made to 362Bthe reclining-place, whereon no mean labour was bestowed by the Virgin; and because, rightly considering, she knew them to be not dark with soot but purple, by them she advanced herself, with an honourable likeness, even to the top. In the times of the ancients purple belonged to kings alone, which by its form or colour showed forth the royal dignity, so that when the common people observed that none was clothed in purple save the prince, they might be admonished to reverence him that was marked with royal signs. Because, therefore, to the reclining-place, wherein a welcome rest is granted to Solomon, one comes not by a presumptuous leap, but by an ascent of purple; the most prudent Virgin, when she desired to come to so great a merit, clothed herself in royal purple that she might be shown a queen. And she showed herself a queen by fitting tokens, 362Cwhen she eagerly took upon her a discipline of a new kind, when she first dared to enter, consecrated by the chaste purpose of her mind, the path of virginal continence untried through all the ages behind her. She showed herself a queen when she put on over her the purple, that is, virtue, whereby she brought upon her most tender body a hard servitude; when she gave her blood, not poured out by the hand of the executioner, but consecrating to God alone the vessel of her virginal body, unpierced; she was zealous to distinguish herself a queen not with womanly but with purple garments, when by loftiness of mind she chose not to feel the enticements of the body, to have dominion over her own flesh — which (as I judge) is sufficiently known to none who, a runaway from the school, has shown himself untried in this exercise. The Virgin therefore, not confounded with a womanish softness, 362Dbut red and steeped in the martyrdom of a royal passion, came and attained to this, that she should be made the reclining-place of Solomon; and by an ascent that was none other than purple she advanced to so excellent a merit, that Solomon, reclining upon her, might take his food with an untiring hunger. But the midst of this ferculum Solomon strewed not with tapestries out of Egypt, nor with the passing newness of flowers, but by a counsel far better, with charity; that there might nowhere at all appear in it anything which the eye of him that reclined, being greedy of comeliness, would abhor. For to all the virtues whereby the Virgin is rendered chief and marked out, agreeing with the aforesaid ferculum by excellent and worthy merits, there is of necessity superadded the ornament of charity woven in, without which all the rest become as useless refuse. For nothing 363Asufficient can be laid in the aforesaid ferculum whereon it is not needful that a diffused charity be laid above: nay, all the things set round about are not worthily bound together, if their midst be not filled up with the cement of charity. In the midst of all things, therefore, charity is of necessity placed, that thence a kind of nourishment may be diffused to all that are set around; that all things rightly done may be held by a binding of this sort, lest they leap asunder one from another, and that, if perchance anything have settled amiss, it may have a sufficient covering. « For charity is also the bond of perfection (Col. IV); » and it « covereth a multitude of sins (I Petr. IV). » And this indeed I judge to have been said not so much for the Virgin's sake as for the daughters of Jerusalem, to whom it had been granted to be present 208 while the bridegroom and the bride discoursed together; lest, when they heard 363Bpillars of silver, a reclining-place of gold, an ascent of purple proclaimed, they should not presume to think that they could reach to those things: and should seem to be driven back far off from that ferculum, by no likeness, not even a slight one, to be held near it. But when they hear that in the midst of those things charity is found, by whose welcome veil the manifoldness of sins is covered, they do not doubt that they too may belong to that ferculum, if they love, and choose to cleave more lovingly to him that loves. For although in that ferculum many things are recorded to be set which are not sufficiently to be matched with such as we are, but more especially with the Virgin, yet that charity is declared to be set in the midst of them is without doubt not held alien from the daughters of Jerusalem; but it profits and heals their mediocrity not mediocrely, 363Cto whom in this both an easiness of drawing near and a not ineffectual hope of going forward is afforded. For such a ferculum did Solomon, the bridegroom, the bride, Christ the Virgin, will to set forth for himself, one that should deserve to be pre-eminent above all by the excellence of her virtues; and yet should not seem to forbid the daughters of Jerusalem from following after her, who, though not altogether in all things, yet at least for love's sake would cleave to her footsteps. But that they may cleave and may see in whom they ought to rejoice, the companions or angels who speak seem to admonish them: and they turn toward them, perhaps not so much their countenance as their speech, that, being thereby forewarned, they may hasten anxiously to see Solomon.

363DGo forth, ye daughters of Sion, and see king Solomon in the diadem wherewith his mother crowned him, in the day of his espousal, and in the day of the gladness of his heart. Because the companions had foretold that the Virgin was now the little bed, now the ferculum of Solomon, and had described the one as adorned with much strength and the other with much beauty, lest in this they should seem to have bestowed more upon the bride than upon the bridegroom, and, in commending the Virgin, to have paid Solomon less than was due, they invite the daughters of Sion to the study of a larger understanding, that they may attentively consider what of glory or of honour the things aforesaid have brought to Solomon. Wherefore they take pains expressly to forewarn them to go forth, namely lest they should be willing to remain either in their own hovels of vices or in the darknesses of ignorance; because they are not fit 364Afor seeing whose life is entangled in vices, or whose understanding is hindered by a mist poured over it. You therefore, they say, whom we invite the more diligently to see, know that in the things which are behind you must not remain any longer; and for this cause we will that you go out from the dark, from the wicked wrapping, and that you free the feet of your going out from the spots that hinder them. Go out therefore from the hovel of a life that darkens the understanding, go out from the midst of a dim-eyed ignorance; go out from the gross and rustic understanding of dim-sighted peoples, advance into daughters, have a solicitude concerning your advance. Go forth, and by going forth be worthily made daughters that gaze; with an anxious hand cleanse your eyes that labour with bleariness: with a mirror, as it were, set before you, wipe away the spots of your face, and after the manner of girls bestow care upon the beauty that is to be obtained. 364BBy this going forth and advance out of the inward negligence of a blameworthy workshop, by this zeal of gazing and by the mirror of discipline, you shall obtain that vision which is necessary for you, whereby it shall be given you to see Solomon in his diadem. Solomon, I say, the king, whom none can see in his own comeliness save the saints, with face indeed washed and with a cleaner eye — they who burn with a girl's solicitude to obtain beauty, who with a cleansed eye are able to gaze upon things inaccessible to the dim-sighted. Solomon's diadem is the passibility of the flesh, wherewith the undefiled virginity of his mother crowned him, when the Lord did a new thing, and a woman compassed a man, according to the prophecy of Jeremias (Jer. XXXI) — a Virgin nevertheless conceiving and bearing, by the testimony none the less of Isaias (Isa. VII). Which flesh, or 364Cpassibility of the flesh, is not undeservedly honoured with the name of a diadem; because, although in the eyes of the dim-sighted it is reckoned a dishonour or an ignominy, yet whosoever rightly understands that base things of any kind are unworthy of Solomon, and, understanding, loves to know what end there is in a passion of this sort — how great a contest there is in the flesh, how great the profit in the contest — assuredly attributes to it a name not of ignominy but of honour, not of dishonour but of a crown. « We see, saith Paul, Jesus, for the passion of death crowned with glory and honour (Hebr. II). » To this crown the Virgin mother ministered the material in her womb; the Spirit, the craftsman, wrought with a learned hand the material so ministered, and wove it into a round with a work so perfect that it incomparably overtops gold, stone, or amber. The Jew, beholding this, esteems it nothing but thorns and toil; 364Dthe unbeliever, considering it, thinks it to have no beauty nor comeliness: the cleansed eye beholds him beautiful in form above the sons of men, not only because he is God, but because, being man, he is not held by the debts of men. 209 To him indeed the material of flesh is naturally common with men, but that same community is free of carnal vices; and by the power of this mystery he admits us personally into the unity of himself, and, when once we are joined to him, suffers us not to be divided from him. Which the round perfection of the diadem beautifully signifies, whose wholeness no division at all breaks asunder; whence also the diadem, taking division away, is said to signify, because whosoever is contained within the compass of this crown knows not to be divided. In this crown therefore, that is, in 365Ahis flesh, he couples and joins us to himself, and, as partakers of the contest, disjoins us not from honour and glory; which glory the mother is said in a manner to have imparted to Solomon, when the Virgin is believed to have conceived God-man in her womb. Who should not render praises to the Virgin, who should not make worthy mention of her — who crowned Solomon not with gold, not with stone, but with her own flesh; who conferred upon the king that whereof he might will and be able to glory, wherein he might conquer and be worthy to be crowned by the merit of victory? Which assuredly they record to have been done in the day of his espousal, and by that deed they intimate that night or mist is far away, because the espousal there present brought no darkness into the bridal chamber, whereon a hallowed day and a hallowing light shone. For when the Bridegroom had entered, an incomparable light arose, 365Band no other is admitted, and the gate lies open to none without; but with equal consent they close every approach against all that come upon them, and the companions or angels dance and clap festively before the doors. In a bright day therefore the mystical espousal is celebrated, the chaste Virgin is coupled to one man by a spiritual commerce; the woman compasses the man, Solomon is crowned with a diadem, and to God, by nature immortal, the nature of mortals is personally united. But in this day, wherein the Virgin's Creator was made her Bridegroom, who shall tell what or how great was the gladness of her heart, when in her womb our humanity was taken up into God, and, the Spirit overshadowing, was not consumed by fellowship with him that took it up? How great was the gladness of her heart is not ours 365Cto utter or to feel, who have not deserved to enter into a sanctuary so sacred and so secret; she herself, to whom God willed to open it more fully and more perfectly, could scarce blurt out even a little of the joy conceived in her heart. « My spirit hath rejoiced, she says, in God my Saviour (Luc. I). » Whatsoever therefore is done in the Virgin without doubt knows no night; upon her, as she crowns the king, day is poured in, light grows bright, and with a splendour diurnal, or rather diuturnal, the mother's spirit is made glad — for the worthy taking whereof our eye, the eye of the weak, grows not clear. For neither is this that Bersabee whom David, Urias not knowing it, defiled by adultery, but Mary, the flower of Virgins, whom, singular as she was, the holy Spirit took upon him to make fruitful; nor is this that Solomon who is reported to have reigned from Dan even to Bersabee forty 365Dyears, but Christ, of whose kingdom the end, of whose empire the term, is not had. Whose glory of flesh, whose diadem, no Jew, no Gentile, no accursed man whatsoever can worthily weigh — who, though a Christian in name he whitens himself with the appearance of piety, yet, denying the power thereof, grows dark with a poverty of merits. Therefore the Companions or angels, to whom by the merit of felicity it had been given already to see, lest they should seem to grudge to others the benefit they had received, think it not to be hidden under a bushel, not to be covered with silence, but they invite the daughters of Sion to prepare themselves with fervour and zeal for seeing. For in this praise is rendered not only to Solomon but to the Virgin also, 366Aand the glory conferred upon the crowned is not taken away from her that crowns: nay, whatsoever the taking of flesh seems to work in the son that is worthy of glory is poured back upon Mary, of whom the same son willed to be incarnate. For which cause the Bridegroom turns not his presence long away from her, but after the words of the companions turns himself again to her praises, that he may show himself to be so crowned with a diadem, so beautiful in glory, that it may stand plain that the beauty of the crown is not wanting to her that crowns him either.

[CAP. IV.] How fair art thou, my friend, how fair art thou, thine eyes are of doves, without that which lieth hid within. Because these words, as you may remember, are set down further back. and in the second book of this work are in some fashion expounded; they are not to be expounded again in this place 366Bor at this time, but the solicitude of the readers is to be sent back to the aforesaid book. Yet in these words, as I see, somewhat is found changed, and this praise of the virgin is here forestalled by another particle; because there it was said: Behold thou art fair, behold thou art fair; but here; How fair art thou, how fair. There ecce is said, namely the showing of one that confirms; but here quam is set, namely the heightening of one that wonders there is understood only a testification that shows forth beauty, here a wonder that expresses much beauty. How fair art thou, he says, my friend, how fair. How greatly, he says, art thou fair, with how great a beauty art thou adorned, thou who art my 210 friend, and art proved the sharer of my secret; who can utter it with a voluble tongue, with a passing sound, or what hearer can take it in even if it be 366Cuttered? For the more tenacious confirming of this there avails that which is here subjoined, which had not yet been said, and therefore was not expounded above; wherein it is intimated both that the Virgin's beauty is great, and that in that same beauty there is no crafty foulness: Without that, he says, which lieth hid within. There are some who have at hand an outward beauty, a fair surface, and a sheep-like one, but within the ravening of a wolf, a serpentine guile; and what lies open without is made comely by an overlaid hypocrisy, but what lies hid within is dark with a malicious foulness. There are others who, though they be not whitened without with a fraudulent hypocrisy, though a venomous assiduity infect them not within yet, while they are held in the body, are so 366Dpenally weighed down by a certain law of sin that sometimes, will they nill they, they slip into a fault, even a slight one; and because not whatsoever of evil our thought conceives can straightway appear to others, since even from us there most often lies hid that which in us deserves by its own desert to displease; when the Bridegroom says the Virgin to be without that which lieth hid within, he proves her free not only from evident faults, but from hidden faults also. Who is he among the saints that should glory that he is without that which lieth hid, and not rather, not understanding his own offences, pray to be cleansed from his hidden ones? who is he, I say, that, not anxious about hidden things, would serve the Lord in fear, fearing because not knowing whether he be worthy of hatred 367Aor of love? (Eccle. IX.) The Virgin therefore, who was by no means conscious to herself of offences, and yet had not been ignorant of her own hidden things, the Bridegroom rightly avers to be fair once and again — in whom, as without, so also within, there was nothing unseemly. Whose beauty he pursues part by part, subjoining Thy hairs, etc.

Thy hairs are as a flock of goats, which are come up from mount Galaath. Thy teeth as a flock of the shorn which are come up from the washing. [Vulg. Cant. 4:1–2 has the plural greges in both clauses; the singular is the Vulgate's own reading at the parallel Cant. 6:4–5] By the hairs I judge that the senses of the body may be figured, which, coming forth from within, seek to be spread abroad without, and, liberty being received, are found to wander more widely than is just, unless perchance they be called back by censure and by the governance of rule. Whence Job also: 367B« I made a covenant with my occulis (Job XXXI); » And David: « Turn away, he says, mine eyes that they may not see vanity (Psal. CXVIII). » And so of the rest. But that the hairs may worthily persevere unto the adorning of the head, they are fixed by the root in that same head and cleave to it; otherwise, when they are plucked up from the root, the welcome head of hair no longer remains, and, the hair being struck off, baldness dishonours the head. So also the senses of the body, which are all placed in the head, obtain their powers in it and work chiefly in it; if, the head being troubled, they be driven back as from their own seat, not only the head itself but the remaining members also are widowed of the greatest honour. But if, the head being sound, they have stood solid and tenacious as in a root, and have been effectual enough to fulfil their natural office, 367Cthen, after the manner of hairs sometimes straying too far, they are loosened by a wandering licence, if they be not restrained by a hand laid upon them and by a law set over them. The Virgin's hairs, therefore, a certain force of nature, as it were, renders well rooted, and the regular fitness of a binding renders them chastened without; when with a subtle providence she renders her senses solid in affection, and with a mighty censure restrains them from a dissolute effect; when in her heart she sets a measure to sensual affections, and upon them as they come forth without straightway lays the fillets of discipline. Her hairs also the Virgin worthily brings under censure, when she holds the senses of the inward mind more diligently under measure; when she suffers not those senses, by which she ought to perceive the things that are spiritual and vital, to consent by a wandering licence to things transitory and deadly. Senses of this kind, 367Dwhether bodily or none the less spiritual, the Bridegroom compares — that we, little ones, we who are still animal in our senses, may the more easily grasp what is said — to goats, which are the beasts of country folk, which are fed upon crags and on the very tops of the mountains above. And rightly did the Bridegroom will to compare the Virgin's senses to goats, because the Virgin, despising the lower things, loves to aspire to the highest alone; and though with a swifter leap she apprehends, in contemplating and in loving, things inaccessible to us, yet after a rustic manner she regards herself as lowly and base-born. « He hath regarded, she says, the humility of his handmaid (Luc. I). » And expressly he compared the Virgin's hairs not to goats but to a flock of goats, wherein he invited the diligent hearer to understand the gathering together of the senses; because no wandering running to and fro, 368Ano stealthy loosening drove them apart one from another, but a chaste confederation so brought them into a flock, under the shepherd's care and staff, that no wild beast would dare to break in upon any one of them, but, with hunger wearying it, would stand stupefied with jaws open and untried. But that goats of this kind may be yet more commended, they are declared not to come down but to come up from mount Galaath; whereas rather, as from the plain to the heights of 211 the mountain an ascent is made, so from the mountain to the level places there is, by the proper signification of the words, a descent. « Coming down, he says, from the mountain, Jesus stood in a plain place (Luc. VI). » [Vulg. Luc. 6:17 descendens cum illis, "coming down with them"; the received text names no mountain in this clause] And of Moses: « Moses went up into the mountain, and was there forty days (Exod. XXIV). » And below, the Lord to Moses: « Go down, he says, thy people hath sinned (Exod. XXXII). » Since therefore of a mountain 368Bnot an ascent but a descent may more rightly be spoken, what does it mean that the aforesaid goats are recorded not to come down but to come up from mount Galaath — unless that great advances of the hairs, that is, of the senses, are indicated, to which that literal context, being referred, to find a worthy fitness, which does not seem literally to fit material goats? For it was not the holy Spirit's care to dispute concerning the ascent of goats, but to demonstrate the Virgin's advances by likenesses of this kind to us that are weaker; who takes pains to set out from mountain to mountain, that is, into virtue from virtue, for the sake of spiritual pasture, and to obtain not the ridges of the mountains but the heights of advances. Whence also this mountain, of which the discourse is, is named Galaath, which the judgment of the Hebrews declares to be interpreted a heap of testimony; 368Cbecause when Laban, the fury of his threats and of his stubborn anger being appeased, was disposing to enter a covenant of peace with his kinsman Jacob, they raised a heap of stones, the stones being gathered by an equal hand, which they left to the generations that should come after as a testimony of the peace entered upon. But no one's excellence seems to bear testimony to Christ more than the Virgin's love, which is found by its own merit to be pre-eminent above the rest; which is heaped up of living and chosen stones, and is raised for increase, and gives an indelible monument as well to those that are present as to those that are to come. The Virgin therefore sets out and comes up from mount Galaath, when she apprehends the summit of sanctity by virtues heaped together; and from it she does not, as one coming down, 368Dhunt after her own glory, but with a fitting advance bears witness to Christ's mighty mercy alone. « He that is mighty, she says, hath done great things to me (Luc. I). » Wherefore the Bridegroom also praises the Virgin's teeth consequently, that not only in the hairs may her comeliness evidently appear, but that in the teeth also no mean usefulness may be shown, if only what is said be attended to not literally but spiritually. Thy teeth, he says, are as a flock of the shorn which are come up from the washing. The Virgin's teeth root out with a strong bite the pestilence of heresies, lest the seeds of falsehood should mightily gainsay the truth; and they chew the hardest saying concerning the incarnate Word with fitting assertions, that little ones may now the more easily give themselves over to this belief. Which teeth are not unfitly compared to a flock of sheep 369A— not of those which are weighed down by the hard trouble of fleece and of sweat, but of those which, their fleeces being shorn, show that they have now nothing superfluous, and which reprehend by the washing of confession whatsoever they may seem to have had. The Virgin therefore, who burns with the lawful love of him that loves her, is rightly said, as a Bride, to come up from the washing as one shorn; because she was zealous to be the more cleanly freed of the superfluous burdens of faults, the more she willed to be found worthy of belief for the commending of the Bridegroom. Concerning which it is subjoined: All with twins, etc.

All with twin young, and there is not sternis among them. All, that is to say, both the goats that came up from mount Galaath and hung with undaunted step from its highest top, and the sheep that washed themselves, their fleeces being shorn, 369Band, coming forth from the washing, lacked the hard weight of fleece and of sweat. All, I say, are so fruitful by an equal grace, so pleasant by the large benefit of fecundity, that among them not one is condemned of barrenness, and each rejoices with an ampler gift and at once with a twin birth. A thing worthy of wonder, that in the flock neither goat nor sheep was found barren, that none of the fruitful ones was content with a single birth; that the Virgin's virtues, which we have taken to be figured by hairs or by teeth, are both made fruitful by love, and are not held content with a single love. For they love God, they love man also, and they despise neither God for man's sake nor man for God's sake, but according to the new law and the old they venerate the first commandment and the second 369Clike unto it; while in the same Christ they embrace with twin arms the twin substance of the giant. For in the one Christ, whom the Virgin loves to have as bridegroom and as son, she sees two substances cohere personally one to the other, whereof the nature is indeed diverse and unlike (being, as it is, of God and of man), which nevertheless constitute in their joining one Christ, one person. To love him more tenderly and to be gladdened with a tender love, this is to be not barren, and to be made fruitful with twin young; because the holy Spirit has not much care concerning goats or sheep, but rather concerning virtues and the commendable offspring of virtues. Concerning the commendation of which he yet further subjoins: As a fillet, etc. 212

Thy lips are as a scarlet fillet; and thy speech sweet. The Virgin's lips, being closed, keep the knowledge of the law, 369Dand what they have known to be kept they heap together in the secret chamber of the heart; whose closure deserves not to be accused of an unfruitful silence, since a wise man holds his peace until a time, and the heart of him that is silent meditates prudence. In fine: « Mary kept, he says, all these things, pondering them in her heart (Luc. II). » And when she is shaken by the hand of one that knocks, that the things gathered and kept may be brought forth, and the bolt or bar is at last struck off from her closed lips, she, obedient and now receiving the time of speaking, knocks in her turn, and brings forth nothing but discipline to them that have ears of hearing. For the obtaining whereof the prophet wills to have a door, namely that he may be able to restrain his lips by a fitting law; lest either he see, and repent, that he is pressed down by an immoderate silence, or, by a fault no less, 370Apass over into excess by a light much-speaking. « Set, he says, O Lord, a door of enclosure about my lips (Psal. CXL). » O Lord, he says, give a fitting closure to my lips, give none the less an opening when the time shall be, that upon the hinge of discretion they may so turn as a door, that they be neither closed for keeping silence, nor loosed for speaking save at a fitting time. « Woe is me, saith Isaias, because I have held my peace (Isa. VI). » And another on the contrary: « A wordy man, he says, shall not be justified (Job. II). » [Vulg. Job 11:2 prints the clause as a question, aut vir verbosus iustificabitur?, with no negative particle in it] For the avoiding of the danger on either side the Virgin's lips found an efficacy, and by a worthy guard forestalled the faults both of silence and of much-speaking; which, lest they should speak superfluous things, pressed themselves together with a laudable closure, and at an opportune time uttered 370Bwhat had seemed honourable, what useful. Wherefore they are not undeservedly compared to a scarlet fillet, whereby the hairs of the head are called back lest they flow out licentiously; because a girl's hair, lest it stray by its native lightness, is bound and conquered, and is pressed down by the power of rule. For to this end the Virgin prepares for herself a fillet clean and fine, that when with the process of time she shall have felt her youthful hair grow, she may set the one upon the other with a fitting governance, lest the hair display itself either at an unlawful time or in a disordered fashion. Further, when the prudent Virgin shall have seen the time draw near wherein it is fitting that her hair appear more freely and more openly, with a diligent hand she looses the fine fillet, and for a time frees and absolves her hair from its rule, as it were. And the hair now seems the more welcome to the eyes of beholders, the longer it is held before under the fillet's 370Cguard; and, lying hid under a seal, it is composed and cherished, and earns to obtain a welcome beauty, which shines out the more honourably when, the fillet being laid aside, it is now permitted to go forth to the sight of men, if only it never cease to remember the fillet laid aside. So assuredly, when the discretion of him that speaks shall have been instructed under silence, and polished by a long stretch of time with lips knit together, then at last, they being loosed, the utterance leaves its native workshop, and, going forth into the ears of men, resounds a fitting discipline. Whence it is well added: And thy speech sweet. For when the lips, after the manner of a fillet, shall have worthily pressed together the inward affections, and shall have prudently formed with the hammer and anvil of silence the things that are to be brought forth, then their loosing, like the laying aside of the fillet, is not reprehended, grows not cheap, but 370Dthe timely utterance pleases, and the speech grows sweet to them that hear. Otherwise both the word is darkened to no purpose and the speech grows bitter, which is not formed under the lips nor grows together in silence: but for that which is to be brought forth the lips do not first hold the office of a fillet; but whatsoever shall have come into the mouth they bring forth unskilfully with open mouth. But what is it that the Virgin's lips are matched with a fillet that is none other than scarlet, unless because in this also they are preferred to ours, which are far unlike them — for our lips, though they show themselves to be closed and opened at divers times, yet to them that worthily look upon them represent not scarlet but perhaps rather mire? The scarlet, bearing the appearance of fire, rightly signifies love, which, being fiery, or rather being fire, purifies gold as in a furnace; which renders the just, more precious 371Athan gold, fervent and burning; which burns yet consumes not, but refines and makes them that love clean. To this scarlet, or to this fire, the Virgin's lips are likened, which as well by silence as by speech serve a tender love; which, knowing no mire, grow not pale like ashes, but with a scarlet redness modestly glow ruddy and take fire. Closed indeed and given to silence, they are at leisure for God, they meditate on the ineffable, they cleave to the invisible, they rejoice in him, they suspend themselves with fervent desire toward things inward and eternal, and hold with a greedy embrace him whom they apprehend to be incomprehensible. « How great, they say, is the multitude of thy sweetness, O Lord, which thou hast hidden for them that fear thee (Psal. XXX). » But being loosed, and yet not dissolute, they stretch themselves out in outward things, they set about speaking, in speaking they condescend to their neighbours, 371Band what they had tasted beforehand within they now bestow without upon the needy, and in this none the less show themselves to burn or to be red with scarlet. « For the sake of my brethren, saith he, and of my neighbours, I spoke peace of thee (Psal. CXXI). » Because therefore the Virgin's lips are graced with the likeness of a fillet, and are irreprehensibly commended by a red scarlet or a fiery love, then, as her silence and her meditation 213 know no shadow of bitterness, so her speech shines again with the grace of sweetness. Concerning the praise whereof it is yet further subjoined: As, etc.

As a fragment of a pomegranate, so are thy cheeks, without that which lieth hid within. Because so great is the beauty of this Virgin whom we have in hand, that our dullness cannot 371Ceasily grasp it clearly, her praiser, choosing to have pity on our infirmity, sets forth divers likenesses, that by them we may in some fashion behold her. Of which, although none can be esteemed sufficient, yet some seems in part fitting, so far only as material things can be fitted to spiritual, mean things be likened to beautiful, transitory things to abiding. Hence it is that the Virgin's cheeks, which bloom with a shamefast redness, are likened to a pomegranate, which shines with a ruddy rind, which, when it is broken, shows within a gathered multitude of grains, wherein there shines also no small beauty of whiteness. In the cheeks of a young girl, as on the eminence of the face, the excellence of beauty sets its throne for itself; and sitting there 371Dit obtains a royal princedom, one that leans upon grace, not strengthened by privilege. Purposing therefore to commend the Virgin's beauty, the Bridegroom loves to compare her cheeks to a pomegranate, nay, to a fragment of one; that the double colour of one fragment, red without, snowy within, may speak the Virgin's praises, may sound with an equal proclamation, and that neither may gainsay the other. The red colour, bearing the form of blood, is a type of the passion which the holy Virgin sustains out of desire for her Solomon; who, whatsoever the world sounds forth by promises or thunders by terrors, spurns with a strong mind, drives off with an even foot, and distinguishes not the greatest things from the least. To shearings and pressures she opposes her rind as a shield, strongly embracing that commendable ordinance of Solomon, whereby he promises him blessed lore who 372Anow dashes the little ones against the rock, and that everyone must suffer who disdains not to live godly. And so the Virgin, patient at pressures and breakings, sickens not, nay (if she be not pressed, if she be not broken) she blushes; but broken and bruised, she grows not pale with a wan failing, but is made conspicuous by an inward comeliness, and grows white with a cheerful conscience. In fine, the pomegranate not yet broken gives a redness pleasing to the sight, but broken it gives a savour agreeable to the taste; not yet broken it gives to open nostrils an odour of wondrous sweetness, but broken it lessens it not, but reaches out one far ampler. So too the Virgin, not pressed down, not shaken by hammer or by torturer, shines with a Punic colour, is red with desire or with love; whose conversation is ruddy to the eyes of beholders, flourishing with a ripe deed, with a modest look, with a shamefast face. But if 372Ba heavy hand press her, break her, and reduce her as it were to a morsel, and if a sword or an unsweet tribulation pass through not so much her body as her soul, no blackness is foul within, but another comeliness appears, of no less grace — namely an inward purity, and the cheerful security of a cleaner conscience. Whosoever is wise, worthily considering such a fragment, takes its sweetness not with the tooth but rather with the mind, and understands it to be gracious to the eyes not only by whiteness or by redness, but fruitful by sweetness and savour to the inward palate and to a sound taste. Whose odour also, or repute, then chiefly grows fragrant, when not only her works but her conscience also, being sifted, grows clear; when her patience is beaten with pressures and breakings, her mind is shaken, and in her there is nothing but a gathering of virtues and the whiteness or cleanness 372Cof them displayed. This beauty of the Virgin, which can in some fashion be known both by herself and by another — if indeed any man can be found to know it — the Bridegroom praises under the name of cheeks, which display themselves in the face, and represent, after the manner of the aforesaid fragment, a twin comeliness of redness and of whiteness. But that which for the present he gives not to the Virgin, but sets forth, he expounds not by praises or comparisons of this kind: rather he wills that chief thing to lie hid from us who are too weak to take it in, that he may show it to be far more excellently pre-eminent than all the things here received. Without that, he says, which lieth hid within. From that, he says, which lies open, O Virgin, thou must be proclaimed as one to be praised — from the gifts of grace which can in some fashion be compared 372Dwith temporal things. Without that, that is, that being left unspoken which as yet is not seen but hidden, which, being utterly incomparable, is held far from the eyes under a seal. From which a chief praise would worthily be given thee, if it either could be said, or, being said, could be taken in by men; but what the eye seeth not, the ear beareth not, what ascendeth not into the heart of man, the present speech purposes not to expound. Sparing therefore those whom I shall bring into the auditory of this drama, I will bring myself back to the setting forth of those things which shall be able to be taken in: and, that being left unspoken which the understanding of mortals is not yet able to take in, speaking after the manner of men I will discourse of thy praises and of thy advances. 214

Thy neck is as the tower of David, which is built 373Awith bulwarks. Because in the cheeks, compared to a pomegranate or to a fragment of one, the Virgin's beauty has been commended, in the neck her strength is consequently commended, which bends not itself to the weak and needy and transitory things of the world, and turns not aside its own uprightness from its purpose by a nerveless softness. She indeed sustains the presence of this life, the pack of the flesh, a heavy load, as a sweet thing, by a strong patience, by the constancy of patience; and whatsoever the world strikes in — the world which buffets the necks of all that are present — shakes her not from her standing, nor scandalizes her after the manner of the weak. For she is filled with so great love, with so great fervour of spirit, that she weighs burdens at a cheap rate, as one accustomed to such things; and after the manner of a heifer that has been taught to love the yoke or the threshing, she esteems the practice of bearing heavy things a fruit, not a hurt. Wherefore 373Bher neck is declared like to a tower, which, fixed by its own weight, is not moved by the driving of winds or the dashing of floods; which is of so great strength that it yields not its place to the power of wicked spirits, and confers an unassailable defence upon the whole city. Whence also it is called David's, which is interpreted strong of hand, signifying Christ, whose hand, unassailable and unconquered, the good feel ready for help, the evil for vengeance. A tower of this kind is raised in Jerusalem to this end, that with a circumspect solicitude it may be able to foresee enemies from afar; and, if perchance they presume to draw near, that it may defend itself from their inroads or assaults, and by its own strength make light of whatsoever they bring against it. Nor does its defence profit itself alone, but the whole city also, to which it gives both a necessary 373Cstrength and a not unseemly ornament; to which the weaker city runs back at once if the enemy assail, and it, being mightier, gives confidence to her that runs back, and succours her. So too the Virgin, after the manner of David's tower, descries the enemy from afar, nay looks down upon him, and cares not; at whose look he shudders and flees back, and endures not in his purpose of confidence; and whatsoever of threats or of frauds he shall have presumed to contrive is dashed out, and the malice of him that presumes is dashed back upon himself: so great a horror does the face of her that beholds strike in, so mightily does it beat back the enemy. For the tower is built with its own bulwarks. Bulwarks cleaving to a tower seem to jut out from without, to fortify the tower strongly, to hang heavily over the enemies; from which poles, darts, stones and the rest of such things 373Dare thrown, whereby, the tower being defended, the enemies are mightily shaken. These, as I judge, are the precepts or admonitions of Holy Scripture, the utterances of the prophets, the spiritual knowledge of letters; which it is agreed cleave with a steadfast memory to the Virgin's strong mind, and, by a manifold advance of works, keep off further whatsoever things are hurtful. For the subtlety of Holy Scripture and a spiritual understanding, a tenacious memory of the commandments, a manifest literal knowledge, render the Virgin's conscience — their own jutting-forth — unshaken, and the pressing of the enemies beaten back by ready hurlings of works. With bulwarks of this kind David's tower defends itself, and stretches itself out, as with certain arms, to beat back the wicked: because the unbending strength of the Virgin (which was said to be figured by the neck) rejoices to be strengthened by the patronage of Holy Scripture set beside it. 374AFor there she receives that whereby she may be held stronger and more secure, whereby she may repress enemies and faithfully protect friends; which seems to cleave to her the more firmly for her own defence, but for ours to hang from her by a benefit, if not an equal one, yet not a contemptible one. Whence it is subjoined: A thousand, etc.

A thousand shields hang from it, all the armour of the valiant. The same Scripture which he seems to figure in the bulwarks he seems to figure also in the shields, and to commend her under various names because of her various effects; for since her efficacy in helping is found manifold, it is no wonder if she is marked with manifold words. From the tower, then, the Bridegroom says that shields hang down, and, lest we deem them few, he adds that he keeps not silence as to the number; so that when 374Bthe enemies do not assail, we may not only run back to the hanging shields, but may trust in the number of the shields with a hope that does not deceive. The thousand, which is held highest in the order of numbers, because it is made up of perfect ones, is called the most perfect of perfect ones; because, as the ten is filled up out of ten units, the hundred out of ten tens, so the thousand is filled up out of as many hundreds, than which no other single number is held greater among numbers. By which number is commended the strong defence of the shields, their perfect usefulness, the useful hanging up of things perfect, which are set in order not only for the adorning or the defence of David's tower, but are also set forth with ample defence for us that flee to the tower. The Virgin indeed, whose neck 215 is compared, as has already been said, to a tower, is prepared with manifold valour for 374Cthe defence of us all, who makes clear and expounds to us the sequence of the old Scripture, showing accomplished in herself in very deed what that Scripture sets down as to come in mystery. For what Jeremias long before foretold of a woman that should compass a man (cap. XXXI), what Isaias foretold of a Virgin that should conceive and bear a son (cap. VII), what Ezechiel prophesied in a riddle dark enough of the gate not opened (cap. XLIV), what Moses marvellously prefigured of the rod of Aaron (Num. XVII), what prophecy of old declared in many places and in many ways and did not exhibit — they that give heed weigh this, that it hangs for us more evidently from Mary. It hangs, I say, from her, nor is it shut up in her with bolts or bars, but by a manifest benefit it is spread abroad even to 374Dour knowledge, so that, running back to the Virgin, we may rejoice to find more manifestly what a grudging antiquity willed to cover from us with a mystical cloud. Whose mysteries, which we say hang for us from Mary — that is, shine forth from her and through her upon us that look upward — the bridegroom in this epithalamium rightly designated by the name of shields, and, setting them forth to us that are lower, assigned them more nearly and more specially to the tower. For the Virgin herself knew first and more perfectly the mysteries of Holy Scripture, which were both said and foretold of her in the obscure soothsaying of the prophets, and, being more subtly and more excellently instructed in their riddles, she brought them forth to us and offered them to lovers as bucklers. The hollow surface of a buckler protects and hides the citizen, and holds back or beats back from over against him the malice of the assailant; 375Aso too the deep breadth of Holy Scripture, impassable to the enemy, becomes by the ample help of the Virgin our valour who are citizens. Assuredly through her a sanctified day has now shone upon us that were once in darkness; through her our sun of understanding has shone back in the shield of Holy Scripture; through her we now see, now hold Christ, of old promised, in figures and riddles wrapped about, the promises of Holy Scripture being now discharged. Through her the lucid perfection of Holy Scripture has condescended to us that are far lower, and with open bosom has shown itself to all that advance in zeal and understanding, in which one may see the sequence of perfect commandments that shall profit them that love, the manner and order of living, and in fine all the armour of the valiant. For whosoever wills to be armed with worthy valour finds in Holy Scripture whence he may rightly 375Bglory, in which a life-giving building lies hid under the shadow of the letter, which grows clear, by her benefit, to them that worthily seek the Virgin. But they that have no care to seek diligently and to advance valiantly are not able to find useful armour in Holy Scripture because to them that know not the Virgin the face of Holy Scripture is dark; nor is the armour of them that are ignorant, but of them that are valiant in faith. Hence it is that the gentiles, whom a foolish unbelief harshly buffets, and the Jews, whom the Virgin's childbearing scandalizes with no less ruin; find not in Holy Scripture Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God, the knowledge whereof hangs for us, not obscure, from the Virgin. For because they draw not near to the Virgin with worthy reverence, they believe not worthily the marvellous conception, nor the childbearing so unspeakable; it remains that they either see not, or, seeing, 375Cabhor the hanging shields, and languish unarmed, and perish of their languishing, not using the armour of the valiant. But they whose left hand is not fortified with a hanging sword, whose present conversation is not wholesomely instructed by the understanding of Holy Scripture: their right hand glories not in salvation, nor in the blessedness to come; nay, their reckoning reaches not to the right hand, but is cheated. The neck of the Virgin therefore is not unfittingly likened to a tower, through which so manifold a benefit of Holy Scripture is published to us: through which the mystery of the incarnate Word is spread abroad to us, through which the word of the Father, passing through, is presented to our ears, nay, and to our eyes. For that good word which the very heart of God the Father unspeakably uttered forth, when he ordained to come to men and to be seen by men: taking as it were 375Dthe vehicle of a voice, made for itself a path of this Virgin's neck, through which, having passage, it set itself before them that sought not and that asked not. By the passing of which word that path of his is so magnificently adorned, the Virgin's neck is strengthened with so great valour, that it is held not insufficient to bear the burdens of us that are infirm, and after the manner of a strong tower guards us that are weak. Lastly turris, a tower, is named from tuendo, guarding (as some assert), because it guards both itself and whatever lies adjacent, and by its guardianship the hope of them that run back to it is made secure, especially if there hangs down a thousandfold row of shields, and all the armour of the valiant. And because the Virgin seems more abundantly to excel in these, the Bridegroom goes on still to add praises to praises; and, loving her that is lovable, 376Ahe does what is proper to a friend to do, who esteems alike whatsoever commendable thing can be said of his friend. He says therefore: Two breasts, etc.

Thy two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a roe, that feed among the lilies, until the day breathe, and the shadows be bowed down. Far above, the Virgin commended the Bridegroom's breasts, and affirmed them better than wine, fragrant with the 216 best ointments; which the Bridegroom perchance remembering, and although a delay as it were of time has come between, allowed not her breasts likewise to pass by without praises. After the neck, therefore, which he compared to a most fortified tower, passing to the breasts, he fitted to them also a wondrous likeness, bringing forward not something of the same kind according to the letter, but fawns that feed 376Brather in the time of shadows than of day. The breasts signify, as I seem to see, that fruitfulness of the Virgin whereby she cherishes and advances our littleness who are infirm, whereby she gives us suck and weans us not, until she make us come to advancement, until the day arrive, and the night at length, the shadows growing thin, come to its failing. But it moves me that, bringing forward the Virgin's breasts, he says two, whereas according to the letter any woman's breasts are not but two: and therefore, if he had said only "breasts", keeping silence as to two, yet no one rightly wise would understand any but two. But in this perchance he willed to signify that the fruitfulness of which I spoke is twofold, because a single one would not pour out for us a bounty full enough; whereas the double suffices to nourish us by a joined benefit, and no sound man seeks to find a third, nor anything beyond it. For the 376CVirgin has a certain affection of a more bountiful benevolence toward those whom she perceives to need a stronger patronage, whom, redeemed by her son, she considers to will and to strive, and yet, weighed down by their own burden, not to be permitted to accomplish. The Virgin loves therefore to milk out a tender breast for such, and by benevolent affection to advance the weak to whatsoever is valiant: the holy Mother holding it certain that it pleases not the redeeming Son that those should perish whom he willed not to hold guilty of the original debt. But since that breast and affection of benevolence would be held insufficient if to the kindly affection there were not joined a more powerful effect, the Virgin has and obtains from the Son efficacy or effect, that she may effectually lead the weak on to such advancement as she wills. For on whom she has mercy with affectionate solicitude, him she succours and heals with efficacious power; 376Dand with one breast as it were she bends herself to have compassion on the wretched, and with the other she now proffers to the needy the necessary help. Out of these two breasts, then — namely affection and effect — the Virgin pours into us nourishing milk, and with solicitous hand hides us from the whirlwind and from the rain; and whatsoever the lion thunders she drives back and beats back with more powerful threats, and heals with healing milk whatsoever the venomous asp pours over us. Whence also the breasts are not unfittingly compared to fawns, which, spurning what is hurtful, freely betake themselves to what is useful; which from afar see and discern what is fitting with a keen eye, and pass over whatever is harmful by a leap or by efficacious power. Which assuredly they are agreed to have derived from their mother the roe, on whom mighty nature is believed to have conferred that gift, 377Athat she may see more sharply and discern more discreetly whatsoever shall profit, and more solicitously spurn and more swiftly pass by what shall hurt. So the affection and effect of the Virgin obtain this virtue from their mother grace, that they may discreetly see through whom they are solicitously to advance to salvation; but may pass by those whom they have perceived not to pertain to grace, and may abhor the filthy, and permit the reprobate to be the more filthy. And that the fawns are asserted to be not unlike but rather twins, in that, begotten of one mother, they are alike nourished with one milk, seems to agree with the aforesaid affection and effect, which one mother, grace, willed to bring forth by a grateful benefit. Which assuredly are associated by a certain brotherhood, by a conjoining covenant, while what the first undertakes the second follows up with completing work; nor does the former aim at anything 377Bbut what the latter is able to consummate, nor does the second accomplish anything but what it sees the first more diligently to aim at. They feed among the lilies so long as they are delighted with the virtues of them that advance, who prosper by the whiteness of their manners and the odour of good testimony; who both within grow more wholesomely enkindled, not with blushing but with love, and without grow white, as with leaves, by whitened works. And these indeed cease not to prosper by the ample benefit of the virgin, and the Virgin ceases not likewise to rejoice at their advances: until, their spirits being polished to a nicety, a sweeter day shall breathe, and the darkness of the shadows, impatient of this day, shall breathe its last. For when the morning light that knows no evening draws near, the night of present ignorance and of all trouble withdraws; and the gathered lilies are offered with dancing to the highest King, in whose 377Csanctuary they enjoy a sevenfold and unfading comeliness. Where there is no hunger, where now the fawns feed not, where the Virgin's breasts are poured into none that advance, where the Virgin now brings up none, instructs no one, has mercy on no one, because there infancy, there ignorance, there also misery is not had. Here therefore the Virgin feeds, where she is declared still to feed us, where, the shadows still standing, the face of the day is not seen, where, the day being now bright, a man is not taught by his neighbour, where, according to the prophecy (Jer. XXXI), God shall be known from the lesser even to the greatest. But the bride's breasts being praised, the bridegroom, as it were withdrawing himself from her and giving himself back to his companions, speaks to them, but of her, because for one that loves tenderly the solicitude concerning her is so vehement 377Dthat in this song he knows not how to speak save to her or of her. 217

I will go to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense. It suffices not a lover to go to the mountain which he loves, but he chooses also to anticipate his journey with a word; and while he defers rather than omits to revisit it, with a word running before he promises to go afterward. If, he says, I have withdrawn myself a little from the mountain's presence, yet I have not drawn back from it my memory or my tender love: nor have I contracted for myself contempt of it, or anger, or hatred, but have thus the more strongly drawn to me its love and desire toward me. Now the mountain, is the loftiness of this our virgin, which a fixed and immovable firmness renders commendable, 378Aagainst which, although the blasts of the winds, in an array as it were drawn up, strike threats from this side and that, yet they cast not the mountain down from grace, nor from its abiding state. For against this virgin the enemies frequently hurl arrows and darts, and, their malice going forward, add the assaults of battering-rams and heavy engines; all which the virgin's mountainous loftiness and unmoved firmness cast far back, and, their efforts being made void, hurl the enemies, more harshly beaten back, to the depths. For whether the adjured hand of the mighty one be reckoned present or absent, yet so great is the love toward the virgin, so great is the bridegroom's care concerning the virgin, that she, after the manner of a mountain, is secure by his patronage, and whatsoever the raging fury of the winds shall bring in is made void. For when the bridegroom seems to withdraw from her, she permits not the withdrawal; sometimes, absenting himself, he promises to return the 378Bsooner; and by that counsel which he himself knows he declares that he goes and returns, according as he knows it to be much expedient for himself and most of all for the virgin. Withdrawing as it were from the virgin, yet he escapes not the meshes of love; absented a little, he goes thither again; and neither the approach nor the withdrawal takes service under torpor but under love, that they may be more closely bound and cleave to one another with a stronger thong. To this end the bridegroom withdraws himself, that he may not now grow cheap by the giving of abundance of himself; to this end he goes to the virgin, that love may the more tenderly break out afresh, that he who loves and wills to be more loved by the virgin may by that furnace make her to be the more vehemently inflamed. He goes therefore to the virgin, that her love may burn again more ardently, and that, she loving more, he himself may be the more gladdened; that when he shall have felt her the more scorched with heat or with love, he may love her as she advances and cherish her with a more grateful embrace.

• 378C

Whence another translation has: I will go for myself to the mountain of myrrh. I will go to the Virgin, and lest I seem to go in vain, I will go for myself — seeking indeed to take counsel for her, seeking to satisfy her, but for myself also: assuredly I shall go thither not empty, not superfluous, but I shall both bestow upon her and shall bring much to myself when I return. I will go to the virgin, whose height myrrh now marvellously claims, whose unbroken flesh no native corruption disfigures: whose integrity a wondrous chastisement renders excellent above all women, and whose excellence it renders solid and not swelling. Great is this mountain, which is agreed to be so devoted to chastised acts that it may be called, not soft and flowing, but specially a mountain of myrrh: in that no 378Denticing softness enervated the virgin, but an untouched rigour and the myrrh of continence preserved her. Whom also the bridegroom not unfittingly names a hill of frankincense, in that she scatters a good report both to those present and to those to come: and, being kindled by coals and by the violence of heat or of love, she is lifted up into a heap and gives to God a sacrifice of odour. Whose devotion, whose fervent affection is sweeter than all frankincense, offering itself to the Creator, bearing itself above the creature; she is a mountain that knows not how to bring forth a laughing-stock, but a hill that chooses to think nothing but humble things of itself. When she restrains and extinguishes and suffers not the allurements of the flesh so much as to mutter, when she strives to forestall with most approved myrrh the affections that breed worms, when she applies a yoke to her own wills and lays down a law, when she restrains and composes with salt whatsoever the flesh savours, 379Athen assuredly she is a mountain, to which so incomparable a height is at hand, great virtue, great constancy, great valour of wisdom. But when she looses herself from transitory pursuits and works, and turns over in mind how sweet to the inward throat are the things of heaven, when with fiery love she resolves herself into liquid frankincense, and, forgetful of earthly things, wraps herself wholly in the contemplation of things above, then assuredly she is made a hill, while the loftier she is in merits and the more devout, so much the humbler in heart and, as it were, not far removed from the rest. And when the angel found her alone in her chamber, given over to meditation, and the Lord himself who had sent him had already come before him, the messenger of the childbearing to come; she, hanging upon the word of the Angel — nay, upon the word of the Father — with most devout love, and condescending to us that are lower and not yet capable of things great enough: 379B« Behold, she says, the handmaid of the Lord (Luc. I). » When by a new grace the virgin's mind surpassed our level ground, and he who came between as a messenger 218 saw himself forestalled, with how great humility did the most devout Virgin press herself down, who, being already called the mother of God, granted to herself no name but that of a little handmaid? A strong fire being applied, the frankincense melts into a cloud of smoke, the smoke is lifted on high, the sweetness of the odour now grows fragrant: far and wide the world is seen to be taken up with the excellence of this mountain, and yet the humble Virgin still constrains herself to be called a hill. To this mountain by merits, this hill by humility, the bridegroom pledges himself to go, and, present sooner than said, he now answers the Virgin as she speaks; or rather he himself comes before her as she is about to speak, and commends her, that she may kindle herself the more closely into love of him that commends her.

• 379C

Thou art all fair, my friend, and there is not a spot in thee. From the time that the Angel announces to the Virgin the word enjoined him and her salutation, and the holy Spirit comes upon her and, overshadowing her, gives virtue: in her the iniquitous law obtains not its privilege, nor does any defilement of sin, recent or ancient, remain. Now one woman is foul, another all foul, another fair, and another all fair. Foul indeed is she whom the ancient wrath, the law of nature, darkens and bows down, which contracts guilt for itself from the beginning and from the vice of birth, whose difficulty is so overmastering, so inextricable, that neither virtue nor faculty suffices to be utterly without it. But she that is all foul subjects her corrupted will to the depraved law, 379Dand by a pestilent consent fashions an execrable unity, while what the oppressive law suggests, or rather thrusts in, she follows up with her will and obeys with completing action. On the other side, she is fair who understands the written law, the sequence of the commandments, to be good, and, the spirit now granting it, loves that it has been given, and is advanced by voluntary instinct to fulfil it more diligently, but does not yet deserve to obtain the power to prevail. To will indeed lies close at hand, but she experiences a contradictory struggle, in that the door of the difficulty is not yet opened to her will; while the one knocks strongly, strives obstinately and presses on, the other beats back more strongly, struggles more stubbornly and resists. The one, tending her face with the hand of diligence, wills to strive that, every spot being wiped away, she may be let in to what she desires; the other busies herself to resist 380Aand struggle against this purpose, and sometimes, being the more powerful, rejoices to be sent forward to victory. But she is all fair whom the vicious law, the reproach of nature, the disease of wrath, no longer press down, no longer oppress, are not able to hinder, but that the will is provoked even by desire to repel faults, and a worthy possibility supports it as it goes before. She is all fair whose keenness of mind is vigorous, whose spirit sickens not, whose flesh is quiet and grows not insolent against the spirit; whose spirit, enduring no rebellion from what is subject to it, obeys God alone and no longer halts in the precept. She is all fair who by a rare kind of example has now come to this height, upon whom so great a grace of the overshadowing spirit has come, whose every spot the powerful hand of mercy has so wiped away that not only 380Bguilt but even the anxious fear of guilt does not remain. That any one like ourselves should be able to obtain this, while this time rolls on and he groans under it and complains that he remains — that I may confess the truth to you, I take not to myself any certain knowledge, and therefore I presume not rashly to affirm what I know not. For although the light of the new grace is poured into our eyes, at whose rising the darkness poured over us by our parents' fault has perished, yet there is a certain spot as it were imprinted upon our face, under whose urging, while we live here, we are guilty at least in some small measure. Of which it is written: « No man is clean from filth (Job XV).--There is not a man that sinneth not (II Par. VI). » [Vulg. has no clause in this form; nearest are Job 14:4 Quis potest facere mundum de immundo conceptum semine? and Job 15:14 Quid est homo ut immaculatus sit — the chapter Migne's own note cites] A spot of this kind the severe law seems to have imprinted upon us wretches, and with this as with a branding-iron to have stained our beauty, so that although we strive to polish it away with the hand 380Cof solicitude, yet we cannot wholly free it from this injurious right. Now a spot is a more tenacious mole, an unseemly brand, a discordant foulness, wherewith the beauty lying next and bordering upon it grieves to be infected, or, that I may say more, to be affected; to the wiping away of which, although the hand applies much care, yet it removes not what has now grown in and turned into nature. But in this virgin, if there was in her aught of natural vice, the spiritual grace that comes upon her cleanses and unspots it; and what in us perseveres more harshly by a wretched and tenacious law, in her the hand of grace washes away with efficacious medicine. And because the general iniquity of us all darkens her not, but in the bridegroom's sight she now flashes with a special excellence of merits, rightly does the bridegroom 380Dlove her the more tenderly and invite her, that, coming to him, she may commit herself to him more devoutly and more attentively.

Come from Libanus, my Bride, come from Libanus, come. Her that is all fair, so that she is not held even by a light spot — lest perchance she seem to have given her labour to beauty without fruit — the bridegroom admonishes to come: namely from great beauty to 219 greater, that with a learned foot she may pass from that which has been given to the giver. For it is not granted to any one to remain in the things he has received, and to cleave to them with all his desire and with grasping hands, but rather, not out of contempt or hatred but out of advancement and counsel, to turn back the eyes of the mind from these to him who bestowed them, and to hold more dearly not the things themselves but himself now, while the things are held for his sake. Libanus 381Aseems to me to designate that whiteness to which the bridegroom willed to assign the virgin — nay rather, which he willed rather to assign to the virgin — the whiteness, namely, of continence and of virginal purity, which the son conferred upon his bride and mother by the gift of his own goodness. For the bridegroom willed his own mother to dwell in whiteness, that her excellence might deserve to be commended as it were from the place; that the mountain Libanus itself, that is, the whiteness of virginal excellence, might so consecrate her that was fruitful, that her fruitfulness might become spiritual. Although, if it may be said — nay perhaps because it may — not so much the place seems to consecrate the virgin as the Virgin the place, nor is the virgin held commendable from the mountain, but the mountain from the virgin; nor has this whiteness so much exalted the virgin as the virgin has exalted this whiteness and rendered it altogether more grateful in the eyes of them that worthily consider. For even before the virgin, as mount Libanus, 381Bso also virginity can be found, but it is said to be marked with little honour or with none; nor was any one found to be commended for virginal comeliness, or by whose merit virginity itself might rejoice to be made illustrious. To our time indeed and to this our virgin we know this to have been reserved, that, being exalted by this mountain, she should rather render the mountain itself exalted, and in a wondrous manner should herself, being the whiter, whiten Libanus, and by her own merit adorn the virginal comeliness. Great therefore is the Virgin, and incomparably to be proclaimed, to be compared with no women before her, with none that come after, who brought merit to the virginal whiteness that had before no merit or honour, and conferred on it the gift of a fuller grace. That therefore which for many ages back was among women unseemly and burdensome, from that time and thenceforward is rendered pleasing 381Cand beautifying; and that which the daughter of Jephte, slighting it, as it were devotes and bewails, the rod of Jesse, prudently choosing it, lifts up more sacredly and honours. But because the Virgin has nothing of grace, nothing of merit, that is not received, from him who gave it she hears and receives this precept: that from so great a whiteness, in the gift whereof she first rejoices, she should refer herself to him by whose authorship virginity itself is made fruitful. Come, he says, from Libanus, my bride. Thou, he says, that hast whitened mount Libanus with a new gift, that hast exalted virginal whiteness by the excellence of thy merits, come — yet not laying aside that virginal comeliness, but, not content with it, preferring the bridegroom's grace before it. Come, not that thou now desist from the purpose of virginity, but that thou be joined more nearly to me the giver and 381Dstand by me; that thou who rejoicest above the solid ground in virginal whiteness mayest exult the more readily in the privilege of a bride by a nuptial covenant. Therefore it is said: Come from Libanus, bride. But when it is repeated: Come from Libanus, and bride, is not added, he willed, so far as I judge, to admonish twice concerning that to which he perceives the virgin to cleave the more tenaciously the longer she has done so; whence, when, being thus admonished, she turns herself away, not out of hatred but at the dictate of counsel, she turns herself with an easier passage to the things that are offered. But when he repeats a third time Come, and does not add, from Libanus, Bride, he exhorts her not only to be removed from the things she now holds by advancing merits, or to be presently advanced to the espousals that are set before her, but that whatsoever she shall have gained, and this too, as though she had sweated in a twofold contest, she should do it all for love of the reward, all in hope of the crown. Come therefore, he says; turn thyself away from the things 382Athou now holdest, for the sake of advancing; come a second time, turn thyself more familiarly to the espousal embraces. Come a third time, that thou mayest rejoice not only in virginal honour and in the espousal chamber, but that on the royal seat thou mayest, a mother with her son, be crowned in glory. Whence it is subjoined: Thou shalt be crowned, etc.

Thou shalt be crowned from the head of Amana, from the top of Sanir, and Hermon, from the couches of lions, from the mountains of leopards. To this end is the Virgin, the bridegroom's mother, so solicitously admonished to come: that she may be worthily honoured for her merits with royal insignia, that a crown be given her not compacted of gold or of silver, of electrum, or of stones, but wrought by a certain new kind out of lofty mountains. Whose most excellent smith sets mount Amana first, 382Bsets mount Sanir and Hermon above it and joins them to it: the couches of lions, the ridges of leopards, the prudent craftsman puts between; and thus with wondrous prudence he forges and composes a marvellous work. But what is it, that out of so many mountains everywhere in the earth he chose three, which, naming them expressly, he so brought into this marvellous work as to order Amana first, Sanir second, Hermon third, and to associate in this work those that are divided from one another by place? It does not readily occur what mystery is figured in this deed, unless perchance the interpretation of the names themselves come to our aid, which, being more diligently discussed, makes clear the darkened understanding and mystically brings the Virgin's crown to perfection. Amana is interpreted a watching tooth, designating the wicked 220 spirit, which is agreed to envy all upright 382Cminds, which, ever envying, loves and desires to bite us: and by a pestilent bite to drive us on to death or to vices; and sometimes it rejoices to prevail in such business. For unto so great a crime it is found not to be torpid with sluggish sleep, but to remain constant and solicitous with watchful malice; which, although it shows not itself shameless to them that watch and stand upon their guard, yet, watching, bites and infests them that are given over to sleep and less provident of themselves. From which Sanir also is not discordant, of which mention is made next, whose interpretation evidently expresses the same watchfulness; and by this name too the same wicked spirit seems to be designated, to which it is agreed that no malice is assigned but such as is ever watchful. For Sanir is interpreted 382Da night bird, or a stench. A bird, using the oarage of its feathers, sustains itself by the vehicle of its wings; when it is believed to be far off, it presents itself by swift flight; and if perchance the light of day is believed not to favour its purpose, the bird of spiritual malice becomes a night bird for the seducing of the wretched. It becomes a night bird when temptation fraudulently attacks the unwary and secure man, when, being perchance detected, it thrusts itself in secretly under another appearance, when it mocks and derides him that is carried off by languor and drowsiness, when the sluggard is led like an ox to the victim — nay, is seduced — and sees it not. Nor is Sanir undeservedly said to be also a stench, because temptation, although it shuns to be foreseen, yet wills to be present perceptibly; and though, like a snake creeping in silence, it strives not to be heard, yet, bringing in by its bite a poisonous stench, it wills to be felt. Temptation 383Aunforeseen is not perceived, as though by an open nostril, when the tempted man, his mind being weighed down, experiences the heavy pack of guilt: and whithersoever he turns himself in the little bed of darkness under the coverlet, he perceives the fruit of the stench, uncertain perhaps of the root. The root full of vice is the suggestion that secretly oppresses, but the fetid fruit is the consent or the fulfilment that follows; whose stench, when it infects the nostrils and affects the inward smelling, renders the whole man enervated with poisoned inward parts. To which Hermon is rightly subjoined, which is interpreted execration, or his anathema. For from that time and thenceforward, not only does that lost man work nothing of good, but with a fuller malice he execrates the good that he perceives with his ear, because through the chinks of the nostrils there flows in so great a gathering or bilge of vices that the discipline of the word can nowhere enter 383Binto the heart itself. But the word being shut out, that wicked one hardens the wretched heart yet more, and, it being hardened, he closes and stops the ear also after the manner of an asp, so that not only does he no longer believe right hearing, nor love to obey, but he chooses thereafter not even to hear what is set before him as right. Thus assuredly he execrates whatsoever rectitude of manners suggests, so that a dullness wickedly let in closes every approach to him, rejoicing to present open nostrils to the stenches of vices alone, and to fill up with unclean floods the pool of his inward recesses. Because therefore no admonition, no Holy Scripture is admitted to the hardened mind, it accounts in the place of an anathema whatsoever true religion or worship holds; and, loving to be detained by the softness of mire alone and by unclean dregs, it thinks nothing more execrable than to be removed 383Cfrom such things. Whence it is written: « But wisdom is an execration to the sinner (Eccli. I), » who, advancing to the worse, wills to be hurtful not only to himself but to others also; and, being powerful in malice, rejoices to be a horror to his inferiors; from whom fierceness goes forth, like a lion lying in wait from his couch, and wills that all the rest should sink under a servile fear of him. For the cruelty of some is not easily held back within the narrows of the mind, but rages and boils, that it may be stretched out to the harming of others; and when the furnace or the oven has grown white-hot with the heat of malice, a lion-like fury seeks to rage abroad against all that are subject to it. Which, if perchance it consider that the force of its power is not enough for it, seeks a new fowling, namely the guile of falsehood; and now, furious, like a roaring lion he seeks 383Dwhom he may devour, now, spotted with manifold guile, he shows himself a leopard. For that wicked spirit is manifoldly warlike, using now power to subdue the wretched, now guile; now agreeing with them that will and them that will not, now rebellious, hurting with a thousand arts, and, after the leopard's fashion, a turn-skin. And notably the bridegroom assigned lions to couches and leopards to mountains, wherein he designated both the fraudulent strength of malignant spirits and their robust fraudulence; of whom sometimes a savage strength goes forth from the couch or from ambush, sometimes from the height of power a no less deadly multitude of frauds. Whether therefore the deceitful and crafty stretch themselves out more evidently to the exercising of strength, or the robust and lofty now descend to the weaving of the meshes of frauds, 384Athey bring in a hurtful war both upon the unwary and upon the weak; and unless the Virgin come and in mercy succour, they bear back a triumphal standard. But the holy Virgin hastens to meet such wicked enemies, bearing it ill that any of the elect should turn aside from her son's purpose; and having mercy on those whom the enemy's malice has almost destroyed; she intercedes with her son and reconciles to him those whom he has redeemed. And her son being appeased, she turns herself confidently to assail the enemies, breaks their forces, strips bare their frauds and overturns them; and that mount Amana swells, that Sanir or Hermon lifts itself up with uplifted top, the Virgin strongly treads down and softens like the mire of the streets. Worthily therefore, when full victory is carried off over them, her hand is adorned with laurel, the Virgin's head is crowned with gold; and she is said to be crowned 221 from those same mountains, 384Bsince it is now fully granted her to glory in the victory over them.

From the head of Amana, from the top of Sanir and Hermon, etc. But I deem it not unfitting if the aforesaid mountains be beautified by a favourable interpretation, and if by them not malignant demons but men converted to the faith be figured, in whose faith the Virgin rejoicing, and solicitous for their increase, cherishes them by her benevolence and advances them by her intervention. Amana, as has been said, is interpreted a watching tooth. And that preacher is not unfittingly named a watching tooth, to whom, as to a watchman, the keeping of us that are infirm is committed; to whom, while there is offered a linen sheet full of living creatures, or rather of men living after an animal manner (Judae 19), it is commanded to slay and to eat, not really, 384Cbut in a spiritual mystery. « Slay, he says, and eat (Act. X). » [Vulg. Acts 10:13 occide et manduca — Migne prints macta, a sacrificial verb, for occide] For a shepherd takes not up his watches worthily over his flock who consumes not its hardness by the admonition of doctrine; to whose watchful eye, when anything worthy of reproof sets itself over against him, applies not his tooth the more bitingly to cut it away the sooner. Against which it is written of others: « They shall eat the sins of my people (Ose. IV). » But after the mind of Amana, the Bridegroom willed to name mount Sanir, whose interpretation seems to sound a night bird, because, while we grow torpid with the long custom of vices, the ever-solicitous shepherd becomes without doubt a night bird. For when a blind softness invites us to sin, nay to persist in it, the good shepherd, 384Dwho sleeps not over our keeping nor slumbers, after the manner of a night bird seems to arrive importunate and sudden, and to arraign more harshly, with the sword of the word, manners that are ill secure. Lastly Judas Machabeus, when he perceived that the nights were now pressed with silence, and that the opportunity of the time agreed with his great daring, coming upon the unwary enemies valiantly wrought great slaughter, and with watchful war triumphed over them that rested in secure torpor. For that warlike man judged that it mattered very little whether he dared to hurl himself upon the enemy in the presence of night or of day, provided only that the sluggish and cowardly incircumspection of the enemy yielded to the more cautious man, and that either by guileful valour or by warlike guile the victory were given to the warrior Moreover among the ancients it was published in a famous saying, and, lest oblivion should blot it out, it was committed to letters 385Aamong the heathen, that in war the excellence of valour alone be not sought, but a fitting guile also, that the malignity of the enemy may be craftily crushed. Guile, he says, or valour — who would ask, in an enemy? (Virgil. II Aeneid.) A prudent prince therefore, when he wills to subject the enemy's malice to servitude, as necessity requires, applies his hand now to guile, now to valour; so that if the enemy resist guile, he may fall pressed by the hammer of valour, and if the sun has not scorched him by day, he may not escape the fraudulence of the night. In that fashion a good teacher, coming upon us as we grow torpid, like a bird, taking counsel for our salvation, importunate to our will, unpleasant to our manners, closes with us that are heavy with sleep and shakes off from us an execrable torpor; and now that we are watchful, he provokes us to fly, as an eagle its young. But with what confidence or efficacy 385Bcan he undertake or fulfil this, save because he first loves to hold also the things which he preaches are to be held, and embraces with no desire the darkness of the present night, but, flying across like Sanir, like Hermon, execrates the things which he beholds below? For he invites us to doctrine as effectually as confidently who commends by his manners the discipline which he preaches by word, who neglects not himself while setting medicine before others, but execrates and shuns as bilge-water whatsoever savours of the world. « The things that were gains to me, he says, these I count as dung (Philip. 3). » But Hermon is said to be interpreted not only execration, but also anathema; and as to what is added, his, that is, the anathema of an anathema, so that a teacher is then deservedly called his anathema, that is, the separation of separation, when he himself also is separated with all diligence 385Cfrom that from which he teaches men to be separated. « I consented not, says Paul, to flesh and blood (Galat. I). Paul therefore is his anathema, that is, the anathema of an anathema, the separation of separation: separating from himself what he strives to separate from others, or separating from the rest what he first took pains to separate from himself. And a wondrous diadem of this Virgin is marvellously woven, in which a watching tooth, a night bird, the anathema of an anathema is set; although, if any one will more diligently search out the sequence of the words, the Virgin is not expressly said to be crowned from these mountains. For it is not said: Thou shalt be crowned from Amana, from Sanir, from Hermon, but Thou shalt be crowned from the head of Amana, from the top of Sanir and Hermon. The head, as is known to all, has the primacy over the remaining members and over the whole body, 385Dbut the top is called the summit of the head itself; and the head is not contained in the top, but the top in the head, since the head is not held to be a part of the top, but the top the upper part of the head. By the head therefore is not unfittingly figured the order of prelates, whom the prophet names chief men, heads of the peoples; but by the top the apostolic choir seems to be designated, which in the order of prelates is agreed to hold the primacy by a certain excellence. Or perchance the apostolic order itself may be named the head; 222 but the top is Peter, who is agreed to be proclaimed first and chief, who, being appointed key-bearer of heaven as among the apostles so also above the apostles, John so remaining, followed Christ in a special manner. These apostles too are figuratively the couches of lions in which kings lay themselves down; and the Lofty 386Aprinces of the regions, their fierceness being laid aside wherewith they are wont to terrify all their inferiors, bow themselves to these men and refuse not to lie beneath their merits. For when an emperor, laying aside the diadem wherewith he shines, forgets his sceptre, indulges not his royal dignity, and, humbling himself, obeys Peter and acquiesces in Paul's admonitions: what is he but a lion stretched out resting in the apostolic chamber? These same are none the less mountains Lofty in merits, solid in holiness, who are pre-eminent not by earthly height but by spiritual dignity, to whom he lifts his eyes whosoever desires to be adorned with a luminous face, who understands himself to be a leopard, varied and spotted in his skin. Who under the burden of manifold vices, not secure in his own virtue. and not trusting in victory, about to fight in the valley or in the field against the spiritual things of wickedness: passing over to 386Btheir high places, he seeks that help and doctrine may come to him, and, lest he perish, he lays hold of discipline by their learned mastership. « I have lifted up, he says, my eyes to the mountains, from whence help shall come to me (Psal. CXX). » Thus the apostles are rightly declared to be both the couches of lions and the mountains of leopards, whom both kings and governors, and they that are held by the various multitude of vices, hear; and, having heard them, they obey by the grace of the divine gift; and, their beastly ferocity being laid aside, they follow an ordered rule of living. But when the Bridegroom orders and disposes those ordainers themselves as living stones, they being duly disposed, he encompasses the queen Virgin and crowns her; and to her honour he renders them worthier in merits, that in the choir of just men they may by a special excellence become nearer to the Bride herself. And 386Cbecause he is found not to bestow this more fully at once, he bestows on her whom he loves a promissory hope, that, the promise being made, the Virgin may now be glad in the presence of hope, and, what is more truly the case, may await with sure confidence what is to come. Thou shalt be crowned, he says. But by what merit the Virgin is worthy to obtain the presence of hope, the Bridegroom seems to call to mind by his own grace, that it may be made known to all that a perfect reward is not conferred on any one whose merit is not found worthily to go before it.

Thou hast wounded my heart, my sister, my spouse, thou hast wounded my heart with one of thine eyes, and with one hair of thy neck. Enemies are wont to be frighted off by enemies through the fear of wounds, and whoever perchance hath inflicted a wound is wont to earn the greater hatred 386D; and as much as he rejoiceth who hath understood himself to prevail unto hurting and unto the inflicting of wounds, so much, nay more, doth he grieve who hath been compelled to endure it. But here the Virgin woundeth, and the wounded one repayeth not hatred; she as it were prevaileth, he stretcheth not out his hands unto injuries; she, mistress of the victory, groweth merry of face and clappeth her hand, he is as it were pricked, and being pricked complaineth not, but applaudeth. For the hand taught unto battle, and the arrow of one inflicting a strong wound, is not anger, is not loss, is not an injury to him that beareth it; but the wounds of one so loving are judged more welcome and better than the kisses of a deceitful man and the frauds of one wickedly kissing (Prov. XXVII). For the Bridegroom loveth to be wounded strongly, yet by love, to be transfixed not by a sword, but by the stronger affection of them that love him; out of the depth of which wound floweth 387Agrace, love breatheth more sweetly, and with not blood but sweetness poured forth he loveth the more livingly, and expireth not. And rightly doth he declare that not his head, not his foot, not anything of the like is wounded — a thing which, being sometimes wounded, we see a man yet reserved unto life — but he nameth the heart itself, which, wounded even but a little, admitteth not the physician's hand, but wanting alike both space and remedy, straightway sendeth forth the vital breath. When therefore he asserteth, as it were, that his heart is made weak by the Bride's wound, and by the repeated word would have the certainty of that same wound confirmed, he intimateth that such a wound is to be understood as not pestilent, not mortal, because the heart also is not corporeal nor liable to death, but vital. But because the heart of the body is the seat of the soul, the place of life, the dwelling of hatred or of love, in naming the heart he would have understood the secret 387Bplace of a more gracious affection, wherein he receiveth and accepteth her who hath deserved to come thither specially, and by a singular merit to enter the sanctuary of grace. And this entrance he expressed by the name of a wound — not bloody, violent not by fury but by love, not by anger but by good will — because thither pierceth not the man drowsy with a degenerate sloth, but he that is clean of heart, keen of mind, violent with an unremitted constancy. Further, he twisteth no effectual violence against this sanctuary who with a foot 223 less upright turneth himself back to the love of things temporal; but rather he who with a prevailing effort studieth to forget all things that pass away, and cleaving to God alone, loveth to obtain the eternal alone. Whence also in this place he nameth her at once spouse and sister, that by these names he may signify the firmer affection of a common good will; because both to a spouse 387Cthat which is the spouse's is not denied by the right of matrimony, and the divine law requireth that a sister be held partner and sharer with her brother of the paternal inheritance. Now the Virgin is Christ's sister, and Christ equally the Virgin's brother, whose kindred upon earth is one, and in heaven one Father is said to be theirs; who, though he grant not one portion for all — not according to sex, but according to merits — yet distributing justly, as he disinheriteth not the son, so neither the daughter. Of which Father the Virgin, as she is daughter, so also heir, is not undeservedly called Christ's sister and coheir; whose more gracious affection, a love both sisterly and spousal, woundeth her brother and spouse, not with the point of a dart, but of a spiritual eye.

387DWith one of thine eyes. By this saying he intimateth that the Virgin is luminous with two eyes, but with one of them more amply and more sweetly gracious; and approving the one of them, he evidently in nowise reprehendeth the other, and not accusing the other, he esteemeth that one the more excellently. The one is perchance that eye to which it is given to behold things visible — the world indeed, and all that is agreed to be contained within the world's compass — which marketh and understandeth that those things which the order of things or nature unfoldeth together, or one after another, are to pass away by a movable change or by a changeable motion. Nay, it considereth that whatsoever is founded hasteneth naturally unto some passing away or other, and that, as in bodies, so also in spirits, nothing standeth firm to itself, save that the mighty author of things and lord of the creature hath already established certain angels 388Aby the benefit of his own will, not of nature. But the first and chief is that spiritual eye which, removing itself far from the beholding of the temporal handiwork, and transcending the angels and utterly every creature, lifteth itself up to see the face or the nature of the Creator. Which eye, because knowing not the world it laudably fainteth unto the salvation of God, and is not troubled about many things, but coveteth that one thing necessary, is rightly called one; that is, not manifold by the love of manifold things, but loving God alone uniquely, and, beholding him alone, uniform. That eye which poureth not itself forth abroad unto the living of many things, but with a gathered gaze poureth itself into Christ's secret chamber, woundeth his heart, while it hideth itself there, sharper than a sword, where Christ hideth no eye save the one and simple. Not only 388Bin the eye, but also in the hair, doth the Bridegroom assert himself to be wounded; who, repeating the word, plainly showeth that the wound itself is repeated, because neither was it enough for the Virgin to have driven in one dart, as it were, nor again enough for the Bridegroom to have told of one, the second being passed over in silence. The Bridegroom therefore is wounded in the Virgin's eye; he is wounded also, as he asserteth, in her hair, in that the multiplicity of hairs, loving comeliness and patient of discipline, is not snatched away by the wind, is not scattered through the empty things of a hurtful liberty, but is gathered in season, and is as it were brought back to the rule of unity itself. No woman, as I judge, hath been found in all the ages past who, her hairs being cut away and one left, was singularly content therewith, nor who could so worthily be commended for the merit of one hair, save when a plurality bound up is restrained into one by the mastery of a rule. So the Virgin also, rejoicing 388Cto be adorned with many hairs, that is, with virtues, lest that very multiplicity be driven to be fanned by the breeze of vanity, gathereth them all together and bindeth them by a certain unity, and by a wondrous mastery bringeth them under one charity. For whatsoever is acquired by a multitude or abundance of merits, if it be not bound with the bond of love, lacketh the glory of rewards; nor doth worthy praise approve whatsoever is found manifold in merits, if it be not united after the manner of hairs by the fillet of charity. Well did Paul esteem of it (I Cor. XIII), as was fitting, who, wishing to commend it, named it the bond of perfection; because although an innumerable gathering of the remaining virtues be made, not being bound with this bond it remaineth utterly imperfect. But being bound, it fortifieth the Virgin's faith and adorneth it, 388Dand like a hair it rather adorneth the neck than loadeth it; and with such an ornament, with such a work doth faith glory — glorying worthily indeed, when through love it worketh that which the divine law commandeth. For us whom a heavy and, as it were, bodily mass removeth and disjoineth from the head, faith, like a neck, knitteth on to Christ and joineth us; without which it is impossible that even the virgin herself should please God, and by the intervention whereof Elisabeth would declare her blessed. « And blessed, saith she, art thou that hast believed, because those things shall be accomplished that were spoken to thee by the Lord (Luc. I). » And the Apostle: « That Christ, he saith, may dwell by faith in your hearts (Ephes. III). » In the hair of this neck, which is united by the aforesaid bond of love, and by whose not burden but honour the Virgin's faith is distinguished, the Bridegroom with a glad dancing maketh manifest his heart 389Awounded, intimating that the Virgin's robust love powerfully affecteth his tender affection and troubleth it not. In praise of whom he addeth: How beautiful, etc. 224

How beautiful are thy breasts, my sister, my spouse: thy paps more beautiful than wine, and the odour of thine ointments above all spices. He calleth breasts of the Virgin those wherewith she instructeth little ones that they may grow great, and cherisheth the somewhat grown, that in the process of time they may come to their youth; which also he declareth beautiful, that they grow not vile to the Jews that glory in the letter of the law, but may shine forth the more graciously both to them and to the rest of the hearers. And these, whether they be first named breasts, or afterward paps, being compared with the wine of the law, are declared 389Bto be of a greater beauty; whilst the austerity of that wine maketh the Jews as it were drunken and senseless, but the sweetness of these maketh us pleasing to God and of one accord. But because you know that the Virgin's paps were set down not far above, and there expounded, according as God granted, I forbear to make a longer delay in expounding them anew, referring the diligent hearer to the things already said. Yet because here beauty is declared to be not in the paps only, but in the breasts also, whereof there, or anywhere above, no mention is made, he seemeth more subtly to intimate somewhat perhaps new, whereto I have not applied hand or study by expounding it more diligently. The breasts, as is said, send not forth milk to little ones, but rather promise themselves about to send it forth when the time shall be, lying hid meanwhile under the shadow of an unripe season, not yet with a fitting 389Cfruit, but rather swelling with the hope of what is to come. For so long as the Virgin marketh us untaught, hardened, and — our faults so requiring — not yet born unto the living life, she keepeth within the breasts the benefit of doctrine, and bringeth it not forth, presuming not to nourish those whom a fitting birth leadeth not out unto life. For she knoweth that it belongeth to Christ to give life to us that were long since dead, to make us new out of the darkness of the womb unto the grace of the light; but to those already born it is granted to her to impart the benefit itself, and to pour out the paps more largely upon them as now capable. If, saith she, thou wouldest give thine elect to be born unto that grace of light which I greatly desire, that, thou giving life, they might be fed with any benefit whatsoever, my breasts would come to the abundance of paps, and, living in the spirit, would the more effectually nourish them with a worthy milk. 389DTo them indeed would I little by little unfold somewhat of thy conception or thy birth, and would reveal the secret mystery to a hearing ear; and that which with an unbelieving mind neither the Gentiles nor the Jews receive, John the son of Zebedee, sucking my paps, would drink in. Such breasts and paps doth the Bridegroom praise in the Virgin mother; and that he may close their praises with a due and equally mystical end, he setteth himself to commend not the nourishment of milk, not its rivulets or streams, but the greatest odour and the ointments preferred before all spices. And the odour, saith he, of thine ointments above all spices. Out of the aforesaid paps, wherewith the Virgin, marvellous in her childbearing, is distinguished, there is found to flow not a woman's milk, but a plenty of ointments; concerning which, if the whole past succession of the perfumers be convened, all their confection 390Ais forestalled, not in time, but by a wondrous odour. For whatsoever the subtlety of the ancients brought forth from the beginning, whatsoever the curiosity of the heathen apprehended concerning the world so wondrously founded; whatsoever the sages, or, after Pythagoras, the philosophers, compounded by a seducing subtlety, wherewith, as with a corrupting spice, the masters infected their disciples — all this doth the preaching and the doctrine of the Virgin far surpass, wherein truth hath the sovereignty and the discipline of living prevaileth. Whatsoever also the patriarchs and prophets, relying on the gift of a foreseeing understanding, wove in obscurities of words or in mysterial sacraments; whatsoever the fathers of old perceived beforehand with a prophetic nostril, who agreed to announce with a watchful heralding the coming of the true light — the Virgin, the queen of virgins, hath surpassed by a special 390Badvance, who brought forth in a virginal womb the Man that is the salvation of men. Whose childbearing and conception, a novelty compounded, a new confection, was first in the virginal bridal chamber an effectual health, a sound re-reading; and afterwards it so cometh forth to us by the sure mastery of the Virgin, that the very things she bestoweth transcend whatsoever went before by way of promise. For none of them that went before so expressed the truth to come as did the holy Virgin, to whom the divine goodness granted this: that beyond what could be uttered by man or by angel she herself should know the mystery of the incarnate Word more expressly and more sensibly. Whose knowing, and the sweet remembrance of that knowing, is so wondrous a confection and so great an abolishing of the ancient hurt, that the Virgin, anointed therewith as with spices or ointments, knoweth no more the wound of the fault which the malice of Eve or 390Cof the serpent brought in. Which ointments of the Virgin, wherewith she deserved to be medicinally anointed, being shut up under a certain seal cannot be fully set forth by our discourses, because the light of the ointments so deigned to arise in the Virgin that, such as it is, it cannot so much as be perceived by another man. But the odour, or the report, of the ointments breatheth upon us sweetly and healthfully, by the sweetness whereof our languishing spirit doth now breathe again; and at that little which the Virgin spake out of her sure fulness, the odour being as it were drawn in at the nostrils, our spirit hath now revived. Rightly therefore doth he set not the ointments 225 of the Virgin — which she setteth not before us that are far inferior — but rather, what is less, the odour of the ointments before all spices; because with the benefit which was given to the apostles 390Dthrough the Virgin to be smelled, no knowledge of them of old, no spices can be compared. Not without cause, when Christ was returned to the Father whence he had come, and, the apostles being left behind, the Spirit was not yet granted in tongues of fire, do the apostles judge it worthy to persevere with one accord in prayer with Mary the mother of Jesus, that what they had drawn from her they might affirm both the more constantly and thereby the more surely. For upon whom the sun shone again with a more liberal plenty of understanding, upon them there so flowed in from the Virgin herself a honey-flowing odour that, if it be compared with any sense or hearing of them of old, it deserveth beyond doubt to be borne above it in sweet delight. Whereof it is added: A honeycomb, etc.

Thy lips, O Spouse, are a dropping honeycomb, honey and milk are under 391Athy tongue; and the odour of thy garments as the odour of frankincense. Well ought the Virgin's lips to be named a honeycomb, because the Virgin herself is also said to be figured under the name of the bee, which by a natural privilege is fed upon flowers, liveth upon dew, and, knowing not the marriage bed, marvellously gathereth up her offspring with her mouth; she is made fruitful with a brood without groaning or grief, and, chaste in a virginal bosom, becometh a mother not by wantonness but by love. Strong in art, skilful in wit, she groweth not slothful in her care, and with study wondrous enough maketh her prudence known, while, framing for herself a honeycomb, she setteth cells distinct in order, and within their narrow spaces layeth up honey with a busy mouth. To this bee the Virgin is not unfittingly reckoned like, who delighteth to be fed spiritually upon the flowering comeliness of virtues, who liveth in the spirit, by grace divine from above as by dew, and, knowing not man, conceiveth 391Band beareth a son without travail. Who, heaping up spiritual riches with a busy study, and conferring and keeping in her heart words big with meaning, filleth the secret place of her conscience with a sweetness so pleasant that inwardly she may be called honeyed, after the manner of a honeycomb. But this sweetness, which she herself tasteth more perfectly and more fully, she straiteneth not by the disease of envy, not by the key of avarice; but what the divine Spirit willed to instil into her from above of dew and of sweetness, she, loosing her lips, suffereth to drop down upon us that stand by. For the Virgin, marking what is fitting for us to hear first and what afterward, doth not put forth at once all the things she judgeth worthy to be covered; nor, like a vessel turned upside down, doth she straightway pour out whatsoever she containeth, but bedeweth us, that are less fit for all things, with a thin dropping. Not so did the Old 391CTestament, the figured speech of the prophets, the enigmas of the ancients, the obscure surface of the Scriptures; not so, I say did they deserve to be or even to be called a dropping honeycomb, which, though they were a honeycomb, were kept shut up under a seal. For we may call the obscurity of them of old a honeycomb, which held honey within, but knew not how to drop it, because it in no wise brought the mystic senses, the inward sweetnesses, and its profits home to our darkened understandings. That honeycomb therefore, then pressed down by a certain weight of its own, lay long unpressed by the hand of them that built; nor did there come one who, pitying us, might lift it up, and, being lifted, might with a welcome hand strain it into the mouth of the hungry. But the Virgin, filled not so much with honey as with 391Dthe sweetness of mind, rich not in money but in spiritual documents, poured not out, as from an open vessel, in a sudden rush, that which she had laid up in the comb, sweeter than honey and more delightsome than all wine; but, tempering the opening of her lips by the door of enclosure, she chose rather to bring forth so much as the very capacity of her hearers was able to bear. Less therefore did her lips drop while Christ yet lived as man among men, but more amply when, death being triumphed over, he now lived again in a greater glory; because both a blindness poured over them then pressed hard upon the stubborn Jews, and now a greater knowledge is poured into the apostles by the gift of the Spirit. The Virgin's lips therefore are dropping like a honeycomb, which are not barred with a bolt, nor is a nail driven into them; but, one part of the mouth being closed, the other part is open, and rendereth uncovered to the hearers such things as suit 392Athe time. For she doth not, like a wordy woman, straightway babble whatsoever hath come into her mouth, but moderateth the hidden things of secrets with a discreet silence, judging it worthy that certain things be more warily held back under the veil of the tongue, which, when the time presseth, she then committeth to her lips to be dropped forth. Therefore perhaps is she declared to have honey and milk under her tongue, in whose inner chamber a twofold knowledge is contained: the one which is seen to be expedient for little ones and sucklings; the other to suit them that are now advanced and grown greater. For little ones are of necessity nourished with milk, but the somewhat grown are brought forward to the eating of honey; those protesting Christ to be a man truly born of the Virgin, these venerating the same as God born of God before the ages. Milk coming forth from flesh 392Bmay be called Christ's humanity; honey coming from flower or from dew is his true divinity; the knowledge whereof the Virgin keepeth in secret under her tongue, nor doth she scatter it abroad everywhere, or at once, with an indiscreet speech. But whereas Christ, God and man, therefore 226 showeth himself first as man, that, the visible being known, the heart of the knower may ascend to the invisible, what meaneth it that he saith there is not milk and honey, but honey and milk under the Virgin's tongue — she who teacheth him to be first man and afterward God? To none is it doubtful that in Christ the Godhead goeth first in dignity, and therefore he judgeth it worthy that in speech his humanity should not go before; but that, if a speech be framed of both alike, whether open or covered with mystery, that which excelleth 392Cin dignity be set first in the order of speaking also. Or rather, wishing to show forth the Virgin's twofold knowledge, which she willed to hide the longer in secret under her tongue, he signally expresseth which of them was not only the worthier but also the earlier, mention being made mystically of honey first and of milk after. For the angel first announced that God was present to the Virgin, and afterward declared that, he being present, she should conceive a son, that in him whom the Virgin knew to be present she might now more firmly trust, and, having already received the greater, might not mistrust concerning the lesser gift. « Hail, saith he, the angel, full of grace, the Lord is with thee (Luc. I). » And he addeth of the other: « Behold thou shalt conceive and bring forth a son (ibid.). » The Lord teacheth the Virgin by the angel that he is present, and poureth in a knowledge growing sweet 392Dmore pleasantly than honey; and, the knowledge or the honeyed savour which he sendeth first being tasted, he promiseth by the same messenger the conception, which is as it were milk. For she, believing enough, could not be forewarned of the conception, if she rejoiced not to be more surely taught of the divine presence, unless she knew and felt that the Holy Spirit was coming upon her from above, by whose shadow whatsoever she is said to bring forth is made holy. But this knowledge of God's presence and of the Son's conception lieth long under her tongue in the Virgin's own understanding; of which benefit, nevertheless, her virginal discretion doth not wholly deprive us, nor doth she straightway render the stored fountain open, but draweth it forth and deriveth it drop by drop. Whose so great discretion, whose discreet working, do as it were clothe her and commend her, if yet there be any who now duly weigh her merits; 393Awho may foresee how she chooseth not so much as to mutter to the obscure and the negligent, but loveth to pour forth by dropping to the diligent, with hands not prodigal. By garments, as is known, our nakedness is covered; by the glory of garments a virginal nobility is distinguished; nor perchance doth she please the Bridegroom save such as is so clothed with fine linen and purple that not only she fear not the cold, but appear also comely in her adorning, being found decked with double garments. Although in the present place he hath not described the quality of the garments, nor expressed how to define the quantity of their very number, reserving this for that woman whom, as hath elsewhere been said, who findeth, whose price is from afar, and cometh hither from the uttermost bounds. Which woman may doubtless be called any soul that, careful for her own, is found so given to business 393Bthat, guarding beforehand against heat or cold and a sudden onset, putting out her hand to strong things, she laboureth as though she sat at the loom. But here there is in hand not any soul whatsoever, fearful with a general want, but a certain soul of special merit or excellence; whose garments do not now cover a shame, do not now shut out the cold, but show her festal in the Bridegroom's sight by their ornaments. But because how solemn, how festal she appeared in the Bridegroom's eyes the oppressing blindness of our mind suffereth us not to see, here he hath not expressed to us the number of the garments, nor their comeliness, but, lest he be altogether silent, he maketh a passage to the odour. For in that which the Virgin either inwardly feeleth of Christ within herself, or hath now consented to drop forth — how busy she hath been, rejoicing like a bee in her honey, 393Cor how studious of a discreet governance, like a dropping honeycomb — all this pleaseth him the more, to whose eyes alone the whole lieth open, while to us the whole is brought near as the odour of frankincense with coals. For when the virginal frankincense plungeth itself into the divine fire, it inclineth wholly, in a manner unspeakable, unto a salutary consuming: yet by the command of the stronger it is not damnably consumed, but by the merit of love and of comeliness is delightfully taken up. But how much it burneth, or how much it pleaseth by that burning, we perceive not, but scarce draw in even a thin odour, as men set far off; because, the frankincense being melted, the smoke stretcheth to the Bridegroom's breadth, while the odour or report extendeth itself by breadth unto us. Those virtues therefore wherewith the noble Virgin is honoured, and by whose noble honour she is 393Dpresented to the divine sight, are certain garments, not needful for the covering of nakedness, but suitable for a comeliness to be put forward more confidently. Which comeliness is put forward and offered to the divine sight after the manner of frankincense, conspicuous not in gold, not in garments, but in manners that shall please; whose welcome sweetness so seemeth to please the Lord that it toucheth us also with its odour, while his good will hath mercy upon us. For she loveth to wander abroad to nothing else, but rather to be straitened within these two by a rampart of fortitude: to wit, that she may show herself to her bridegroom more fully commendable in comeliness, and, dropping more thinly, may fill us with her odour. Whence it is added. A garden, etc.

A garden enclosed, my sister, my spouse, a garden enclosed, 394Aa fountain sealed up. Because in the first garden the serpent supplanted the first woman, God the Son of God then planted for himself another garden 227, when he filled the blessed Virgin, beyond the manner allotted to other women, with his grace, with a great kind not of herbs but of virtues. For in that garden the woman's simplicity was circumvented, the man tasted the forbidden thing, and, the taste being had, nakedness was found; death came upon them that were to live for ever, by the desert of the transgression, and the curse of mortality came upon them and upon their posterity alike. But this garden, containing not shrubs, herbs, flowers, woods of thick foliage, transitory fruits and odours, hath certain other things worthy either to be compared with such, or, that I may speak more truly, to be set above all transitory things. For it hath that which a sound and wise taste 394Bjudgeth fruitful, that which the smell by a right judgment judgeth precious, that which the inward sight, its darkness being wiped away, judgeth gracious, that which by a wondrous fulness is so plentiful as to wipe away all want. For to this garden the tree of life is set in with fixed roots, whereof he that shall have eaten (as they that have made trial have found out) is not hurt by a grievous death, but liveth a life happier than can be told, and, having been able to obtain it, hath not ceased to live further. It hath also a marvellous frankincense, or a commendable spice, or an ointment, which is found not in Arabia but in a land denied to them that die; whose odour he that shall have drawn in shall not know the serpent's stenches, nor, drowsiness prevailing, shall he feel sudden bitings. It hath none the less that welcome flower of the rose or of the violet, or even of the lily, or if there be any in flowers accounted more welcome to the sight, 394Cwhich he that shall have duly marked, and shall have bent himself upon it with a keen-sighted eye, shall pass over whatever sad thing the night murmureth with a joy not transitory but tenacious. For there is in the garden a tree of life, an ointment poured out, a comely flower, the very Bridegroom of the Virgin, fair in form above the sons of men, at whose presence no base want, no needy baseness besetteth him, but in him dwelleth bodily the fulness of the Godhead (Coloss. II). For it is certain that God is in Christ, and Christ in the Virgin, not shadowily but truly; and therefore that this very garden is full of sufficient goods, which he that planted it willed with a prudent counsel so to be enclosed, that he who seeth and envieth might grieve to be shut out. And in very truth, as it is not at all barred to the faithful and to the friend, 394Dso, being walled about with strength, it is closed to the enemy: it letteth in no Jew, no Gentile, none empty of faith, and whom it marketh as worthy of hatred it sendeth far off with a strong repulse. In it therefore, not as in the ancient garden, doth the serpent craftily creep; he poisoneth not its fruit, he defileth not its odour, he plucketh not its little flowers; a depraved softness hungereth not, hunger proceedeth not into effect, the woman obeyeth not the serpent, nor the man the woman. And yet no weariness of a desert or of a solitude hurteth it, no grief goadeth it, while its own author walketh therein festally: at whose glad countenance the things in the garden bear fruit, the kinds of things flourish, and the manifoldness of kinds smileth upon him that is fair in form above men. For while he walketh in whose countenance is comeliness, and grace is poured abroad in whose lips, the Virgin's garden answereth with a glad 395Aspirit, with a face unconfounded: pleasing him that walketh there, all baseness being so shut out that within nothing remaineth but beauty, poured round about with a strong defence. But what meaneth it that to say "a garden enclosed" once is not enough for the bridegroom, but he doubleth this very thing with the same names repeated — unless it be, as I remember to have been said already, that this is the force of love's intemperance, that by a speech frequently repeated it may express the greatness of a more gracious affection? Or perhaps he willed for this cause to call the garden twice enclosed, that he might show a twofold evil so shut out by the same virgin, that neither doth the spirit stand by the tender flesh with a nerveless softness, nor doth the flesh stubbornly resist the stronger spirit. For we, although with the mind we serve the law of God by grace, are nevertheless in the flesh, through the law engrafted in us, somewhat 395Bguilty; and when we seem to ourselves circumspect with a watching spirit, we are found, the flesh being loosed in sleep, not slightly imperfect. Or therefore did this garden deserve to be called twice enclosed, because the Virgin is so found to embrace a twofold study that in neither doth she show herself at all reprehensible, but with a circumspect mind defendeth herself from the onset of enemies of every sort. For so, when necessity required, she betook herself to active business, that, hands being given to this, she might not withdraw them from the spiritual; and again she so fixed a spiritual eye upon contemplation that she shrank not from the active, which God cursed unto punishment by the desert of sin. Into an excess of contemplating she hung herself up by a honeyed sweetness; to the gathering in of her neighbour she stooped down with a milky affection; on either side, or rather round about, so fortified that she gave place to none, though sought after by many 395Cthat assailed her. But because a garden hath need of watering lest it wither, and that it may rather abound with fitting plantings and grow into a wood, this garden is said not so much to be watered by a fountain as, by a more express significance, to be called a fountain. Now a fountain is named from pouring forth, as some assert, in that it is seen to pour forth living water out of hidden places, and, bubbling up with a perennial vein, to live by an abundance not outward but inward — not by torrents, like a lake, not by rains of water, like a cistern (Prov. V). A fountain therefore ought this Virgin also fittingly enough to be called, whose understanding withereth not, whose sense hath no parching heat, but by the grace of an inward muueris she is taught unspeakably and groweth rich, and with a wondrous perpetuity, beyond what can be told, groweth glad. Who indeed 395Dhideth long, as under a seal, the mystery revealed to her, and revealeth not her living abundance to them that are less capable: the manner of her fruitfulness, the form of her nuptials, the excellence of her celibacy she holdeth shut up 228 in her knowledge, like a fountain sealed. For he that assigned to her such a knowledge, so singular a conscience, left her not as a vessel without a lid, but sealed her, lest they that hear and receive not, being unworthy, be troubled with a scandal, and hasten rather to stones than venerate the mystery. And so the nuptial bed of the virgin, the inner recesses of secrets, the fountain of leaping water, the wondrous knowledge of things divine, the very author of the gift shutteth with a bar, sealeth to himself with the key of David, and unsealeth it not to the blaspheming, to the darkened, to him that worthily lacketh the price. Without standeth the crowd of the people, the undiscerning multitude maketh its noise, 396Aand, the seal not being unloosed, it perceiveth not so secret a fountain: the subtlety of the philosophers, the princes of the world are fasting; barking, they receive not; importunate, they profit nothing. Much plenty indeed, much subtlety is in the fountain; the wave leapeth, the vein coming forth from the inner parts maketh its leaping perpetual; but the key set upon it seemeth so to cover it from all that stand without, that to the unbelieving it deigneth to open nothing at all, but to the faithful somewhat little. Yet that very thing which is little so aboundeth for us, in respect of the abundance that remaineth, so surpasseth our littleness, that none but a gathered mind, none but an undivided love can take it in — because a paradise of this sort admitteth not the envious serpent. Whence it is added: Thy emissions, etc.

396BThy emissions are a paradise of pomegranates with the fruits of apples. The things which this enclosed garden, or this fountain fortified with a seal, sendeth forth — which letteth in none, or very few, to the secrets of its fulness — are as it were a certain paradise or delight of pomegranates, within of a snowy colour, but without of a red. For if a garden be planted with a prudent hand or counsel, and moistened at fitting seasons with the watering of living water, what shall be said to be more fitly brought forth than that which either hunger seeketh for the eating, or which sickness judgeth healthful and effectual for the healing? The emissions therefore of the virgin, who is figured under the name of a garden or of a fountain, he that commendeth them beareth witness to be like a paradise: nay, speaking more expressly, he saith they are a paradise of pomegranates with the fruits of apples, and 396Cthe rest that follow, which it is certain are medicinal. Of old there was a paradise that persuaded to a serpentine depravity, that conceived a new fraud, that slew holiness, wherein the strong man yielded to the soft counsel of the woman, and the forbidden taste of the apple brought in to them that made trial of it the fruit of death. But this paradise, which is sent forth out of the garden or the fountain of the virgin, maketh recompense more mightily for the things that were in the other more curiously lost, consisting of pomegranates, which within are of a snowy and without of a red colour, and of other apples, which are of a most healthful savour to them that eat. The red colour in the pomegranates, which presenteth itself outwardly, representeth the love of suffering and the bearing of it, which he may behold in the Virgin's life and manners who by her mastery 396Dwilleth to be taught to suffer in like sort. The whiteness within is the flower of conscience, a mind secure, which, when the world rageth without or a passion about to rage threateneth, embraceth purity and forsaketh not virginal cleanness; it is not troubled by injuries, and being beaten with vexations it faileth not. But the fruits of the other apples which are sent forth together with the pomegranates are her good works, which are not only set forth as welcome to the sight, but are also not slightly fruitful to them that taste, that is, to them that imitate, and precious not by a seducing colour but by a most profitable savour. But because to an eye that gazeth more curiously one or another kind of thing is not welcome enough, he addeth, for the heaping up of praises, many sorts of spices, that emissions so manifold may make us greatly to marvel, and to venerate her as worthy of many praises in fitting ways.

• 397A

Cypress with spikenard, spikenard and saffron, sweet cane and cinnamon, with all the trees of Libanus, myrrh and aloes with all the chief ointments. Cypresses are slender shrubs which are stretched up to a great height, whose grains are boiled down in oil by the skilled care of physicians; by which manner of boiling a commendable ointment is made, whereby a desirable soothing is rendered to the pains that are anointed therewith. So also the Virgin's virtues, exceeding subtle and straight, are carried up into the height of dignity, not by branches but by merits, whose fruitful acts are boiled in a spiritual oil, when in holy love they are stripped of a hurtful or carnal humour. But spikenard, which is a very small tree, is joined to cypresses of this sort, when the excellence of virtues is pressed down 397Bby regard of humility; and by how much the more the Virgin is exalted among women with singular titles, by so much the more doth she appear in her own eyes humble and despised. Well therefore are cypress with spikenard set first in this catalogue of medicinal things 229, which after the manner of a paradise are sent forth out of the Virgin's garden; because humility, being joined to them, so commendeth the excellence of virtues that so great a confection safely extendeth itself to our knowledge. Again, spikenard and saffron. Out of spikenard alone, as they say, without another spice or mixture, there is made a laudable ointment and a confection that shall profit; and Mary Magdalene willed to anoint the Lord's feet with this ointment, as hath been made sufficiently known by the witness of the gospel lesson. « She took, he saith, a pound of ointment of pistic spikenard, of great price, and Jesus anointed the feet (Joan. XII). » [Vulg. Jn 12:3 Maria ergo accepit libram… et unxit pedes Jesu, the genitive — "anointed the feet *of Jesus." Migne's nominative makes Jesus the agent of the anointing; the genitive stands correctly five lines later, at 0397C.] Spikenard is the contrition of the heart 397Cwhich the humble and devout offer, who by a broken spirit are advanced to so great a grace that they anoint the feet of Jesus, and by a fuller progress come to the head itself, and fill the nostrils of them that stand by, or rather the whole house, with the odour. « The house, saith he, was filled with the odour of the ointment (ibid.). » And above in this epithalamium: « My spikenard, saith she, gave forth the odour thereof (Cant. I). » To this spikenard, both as tree and as ointment, saffron sitteth by and standeth by, which putteth to flight present fevers and meeteth and withstandeth those that are coming; which upon its surface displayeth a golden grace or colour, signifying charity, which possesseth a higher throne. Which charity doubtless loveth to be at hand to a devout humility, and so to be present to a contrite spirit as an undivided companion, 397Dthat whom she hath known to be pricked and anointed with a more devout affection, him she maketh to love the more, and not to be sundered from him whom he hath loved. For if any feverish bitterness of sadness or of sloth run in between, charity, being near and not enduring that loss be brought in, straightway meeteth it; which, weakening the hurtful things, admonisheth the devout spirit to stand in what it hath begun, lest the malevolent enemy bear off a triumph from one deceived. Sweet cane, saith he, and cinnamon. Sweet cane, which is of a somewhat red colour, having a hard bark, signifieth the strength of a constancy that will not yield to assailing vexations, which loveth to show so continual a fellowship to the aforesaid virtues that for their sake it refuseth not the loss of blood, nor the torment of martyrdom. Which constancy doubtless seemeth necessarily to be joined to the aforesaid spices, lest weariness hinder 398Athat which devotion loveth from being consummated; lest, when a violent suddenness breaketh not the good purpose, a longer and outstretched hand wear it away step by step. And because, according to the commandment, the wise man ever remembereth his last ends (Eccles. VII), straightway cinnamon is at hand, which in colour is made like to ashes; admonishing that in all things whereunto by a fitting advance the wise man deserveth to go forward, he never cease to call to mind who, and whence, and whither he cometh. « Earth thou art, saith he, and unto earth shalt thou go (Gen. III). » [Vulg. Gen. 3:19 pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris, "dust thou art, and into dust thou shalt return."] And Job: « I do, saith he, penance in embers and ashes (Job. XLII). » Lastly, when Abraham hung himself up to speak with God with a prosperous affection and effect, yet in that excellent height he marked himself to be ashes, showing that he so rejoiced in the benefit offered him that, duly remembering what was his own, he seemed as it were 398Bto dare nothing out of his own. « I will speak, saith he, to my Lord, whereas I am dust and ashes (Gen. XVIII). » These are the aromatic shrubs that avail unto a healthful medicine, more fit for the cultivating of manners, suited to a truthful discipline, together with very many others which in aspect and in effect are diverse one from another; and Libanus bringeth them all forth together unto healing. For Christ, whom very many say to be figured under the name of Libanus, willeth the series of his virtues to be derived to us through the Virgin; and that which in many ages past the prophetic promise foretold, the virginal emission hath brought to effect in our hands. Myrrh, saith he, and aloes with all the chief ointments. » The foregoing virtues being described under an enigma or figure, whereby the love of the inward mind is spiritually instructed in the things to come, 398Che seemeth to pass over to the kinds of other graces, which it is certain suit bodies by a medicinal mystery. For that the flesh, upon which a natural law is laid from its conceiving, so that, living more or less, it be necessarily mortal, when it hath shaken off its morning flower by an evening setting, may yet not flow away by rottenness nor by a serpentine worm — myrrh mightily commandeth, and is seen to prevail by its command; and in the presence of this the flesh feareth not to lie subject to natural things. For myrrh is an ointment wherewith dead flesh rejoiceth to be anointed; anointed wherewith, its wholeness marvelleth that it is not dissolved by the law engrafted in it — which flesh, deprived of living vigour, knowing itself now weak, now unarmed, yet by the wondrous safeguard of myrrh knoweth not the worm of the rottenness of old ingrown in it. This same thing doth aloes also work by the power 398Dof its own strength, whence also with merit enough it is coupled to myrrh in this epithalamium, that of things diverse, whereof the working or the effect is one, a certain companionable friendship or affection may become known. But this hath aloes by a certain right and special privilege, which myrrh hath not prevailed to obtain by the general fellowship: that besides being an unction preservative of dead bodies, it be also a potion purgative of living bowels. Myrrh therefore is the assiduity of fasting, the harshness of abstaining, the restraint of continence, the exercise of labour, the frequency of meditating, the study of learning — which things at the first taste indeed bring forth a wondrous bitterness, but, use working more strongly, are expulsive of carnal rottenness. But 399Abecause this effect prevaileth to the utmost only in dead flesh, it is needful that the sweetness and affection of living be taken away; and that, to the end the affliction sought from without may profit more sufficiently, the present life be taken out of the midst for us who are flesh. For we, though sometimes we be afflicted outwardly by some grievous action, yet live ill, the root being still venomous and the passion still alive; and it is expedient that a prudent physician, the vein being felt and knowledge gained 230 of the inward motions, should make the ill-living humours to be voided by a purgative potion. But this potion is aloes, or rather it is the inmost love of virtue, which begetteth a good hatred of guilt and of a destroying servitude; which, spitting far out from the borders of the heart the base dregs of Pharaoh, rendereth the heart, well purged, unto Christ as the porch of Solomon. Which sort 399Bof dregs and of the uncleanness of an oppressing lees, and which potion of love and efficacy of an expelling virtue, a certain heathen, not unskilled nor ignorant of the like medicine, well showed — not to the wandering and negligent, but to them that sat in the school of discipline. They hate, saith he, to sin, the good, for the love of virtue. Good is love, and none the less good is the virtue of love, which with a perfect hatred condemneth the bilge of a baser uncleanness; and with the besom of a strict judgment it scrapeth away whatsoever it findeth miry, and for the bridegroom at his coming spreadeth a pavement of welcome marble. But after the inward parts are thoroughly cleansed by the love of virtue, as by the efficacy of a potion, from thenceforth and thereafter myrrh and aloes work alike, and will and working pass over for us into an ointment which, against everlasting 399Crottenness, giveth a sufficient defence to carnal men, who are such not by vice but by nature (Rom. VIII; Ephes. II). For neither would the will without work, languishing in idleness, attain to the obtaining of merit, nor would work without will find glory with God; but the affection rejoiceth to shine forth laudably outwardly through the effect, and the effect to bear evident witness of the affection. Whereas therefore the will, or the love of virtue, is seen to hold the former place, and it is doubtful to none that work followeth the will that goeth before, what meaneth it that, speaking in this epithalamium, he set not aloes first in his speech — which, though not in the ointment, yet cometh first in the potion? For he saith not, aloes and myrrh, but myrrh and aloes with all the chief ointments, because 399Dthe labour of work, which we said to be figured by myrrh, as it were leadeth and leadeth forth the love of virtue (which was said to work in the stead of a potion), and presenteth it in public; for not labour through love, but love through labour showeth itself as it were visible; and therefore myrrh is named first, which willeth to be seen first as guide and forerunner, by whose gift love deserveth to be shown forth knowable. « By their fruits, saith he, you shall know them (Matth. VII). » Rightly doth Nicodemus in the Gospel, bearing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, a hundred pounds, and compounding this ointment for himself in altogether the same order, will to anoint the flesh of the dead Christ with this mixture, showing that it should not pass to rottenness by the law of mortals. And here doubtless myrrh 400Ais named first, and aloes afterward, for this reason, that the will is now shown forth by a visible work; and in the eyes of them that rightly believe they came together into one mixture, by which coming together they compounded an ointment profitable for our pains. « For he was offered because it was his own will (Isa. LIII); » and « Christ, saith he, died for us (Rom. V). » But that Nicodemus is read to have brought a hundred pounds of this mixture intimateth that Christ bestowed his benefit upon us in weight and number; and that what had before been prophesied in transitory words and significations was at last consummated in a certain weight and a perfect number. « It is consummated (Joan. XIX), » saith he. I am deceived if the Virgin compounded not a mixture of this sort, if by this confection she put not worms and rottenness 400Bfar off; if in the compounding she passed over the weight, or the number, or the very order, and did not rather send forth hither a paradise of an ointment-bearing fulness. And lest perchance this one thing should seem to any insufficient, because a manifold necessity is for the most part not supplied by one benefit, he addeth, with all the chief ointments,* that the Virgin's opulent emission may be signified, which together with myrrh and aloes giveth us the ointments of the remaining graces. But the first and chief are the ointments of the twin charity, which this enclosed garden bringeth forth out of the storehouse of holiness; and to worthy hearers the Virgin droppeth them down with salutary admonitions and with doctrine, heaping up doctrine by example, by manners, by discipline. And because she deserved above to be called not only a garden enclosed but also a fountain sealed, 400Cthose things being now unfolded which can be more especially assigned to the garden, the Bridegroom deferreth not to pass over consequently in his speech to those things which seem more probably to suit the sealed fountain also.

A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, which run with a strong stream from Libanus. Even as thy emissions are pomegranates, or the rest that follow, which are brought forth out of the garden of delight, fitting either for eating or for healing, so thy emission is not of one garden, but rather a fountain of gardens, whereby the fruit-bearing hearts of very many love to be watered. For whosoever willeth to become a garden, and to set himself before a barren field, who willeth to bring forth a flowering comeliness and a useful fruit, ought the more studiously to betake himself to 400Dthis conspicuous and unmuddied fountain, or not to bring back the reproach of a repulse where grace is perchance offered; for to this end the Virgin's benevolence (which it is agreed that much wisdom bringeth back), willed to offer herself to us that are the weaker as a fountain, lest upon them whom eagerness seemeth to persuade to the hope of drinking, 231 the difficulty of drawing should heap a harder repulse. For we, to whom the sweetness of perceiving, once found, is pleasing, but whom too great a labour of seeking shutteth out as it were from the entrance — her fullness, like unto a fountain, doth not exasperate but rather tempereth itself, and her breadth receiveth them that are already eager but as yet without strength. But because to the greater sort, who burn to be more fully heard, the level shallowness of a fountain seemeth to be the sooner drained, to these same 401Athe Virgin's wisdom withdraweth itself into a deep mystery, and with labour leadeth them into her fullness. But they, the more they consider that the thing they desire is removed, and hope that in a well a larger abundance of waters is contained, being kindled with desire, gird themselves with a strong urgency, knowing that they reach not deep things save by a bucket. Not content therefore with that which seemeth as it were open and common to the more part, they let down a bucket into the depth of the well by a long rope; and they persist in the work, broken off by no shakings, until they draw back the full bucket by an unbroken rope. Tasting the draught of it, they are astonished at so great a sweetness, and by their own powers they are not strong enough to take it in; and full of its abundance, at the last they do 401Bnot wipe away their dry thirst, but after the manner or with the love of them that have the dropsy, they plunge themselves into the well itself. But when, according to a certain heathen, Waters take a taint unless they be moved, in the bottom of the well they find waters not standing, not corruptible by a degenerate lying-still, not corruptible by the fault of standing, but in a wondrous manner; and finding, they draw living waters, showing forth as much marvellous sweetness as fullness. To these nothing dead, nothing hurtful cometh near; no serpent hisseth in, none woundeth with venomous breath; no branch fallen from above troubleth them, no inflowing mire cometh in; their keeper the Bridegroom granteth not that any turbid thing be within. He who is Libanus, ever white with snows not 401Cmelted — nay rather is the whiteness of the highest light and the mirror of the divine power — poureth forth waters out of himself, and a spiritual affluence of waters, and by a hidden channel filleth the virginal fountain or well. Whose deep pools, though we draw not with a larger abundance, we who come with a narrow vessel indeed and with a desire that cannot contain; yet whosoever is able to weigh with what richness Libanus poureth forth waters, knoweth with what a strong stream their abundance poureth itself into this well. Come together to this fountain of living waters, ye that are set afar off, and loose you from her fetters, ye whom the wisdom of the world holdeth: pour out the philosophic swelling with repeated vomits; drunken with the wine of dragons, repair the ruin of your study by the living draught of water. A good garden, which hath 401Dobtained the name of a fountain or of a well, marked with many a kind of fruits and of medicinal spices; rich in the watering of a water that breedeth not worms with a stinking stillness, but floweth with a strong stream from Libanus and leapeth up with a living force unto life. Of which garden the bridegroom is held with so great solicitude, with so great care, heaping up its advancements, so perfectly removing the things that would hurt, that he hath not only sealed it up enclosed, lest it should lie open to a thief or a violent robber, but hath also protected it from above, lest it should be touched even for a little by a wicked wind.

Arise, O north wind, and come, O south wind: blow through my garden, and its spices shall flow. [Vulg. Cant. 4:16 et fluant aromata illius, "and let its spices flow" — a jussive subjunctive where Migne prints the future indicative fluent] A fair order. First indeed 402Ahe addresseth the north wind and removeth him far off, lest he come hastily before and seize beforehand upon the region: lest he spread himself freely through the fields of the broad air, and pour upon a garden rich in fruits heavy blasts or hail. Thou, saith he, who hast set thee a seat as it were royal toward Arcturus, purposing to bear rule and to subject the world to serve thee, arise, and let this presumption hold thee secure no longer — thee whom I will to depart afar off, and not to rage above the beauty of the garden. Thou didst think to be like unto the Most High, thou that wast called Lucifer only, whereas to the sun, who alone is, there is no giving of light by another; and it is agreed that thy wickedness is gainsaid by the very name thou bearest, for he that hath a like can no longer be called the Most High. Arise therefore, and now restrain the swollen bellows of this sitting; driven from thy swollen seat, 402Bvanish into thin airs; as a thinner dust, scatter thee among thy like; or as an emptier smoke, plunge thee into the eyes of the proud. Among our serious things thy mockeries please not, the jest of them that make sport pleaseth not; in the garden of holiness, lost to thee, there is no place for thee, who didst corrupt Eve, laughing and prevailing in her in paradise: the virgin, or the virgin's garden, shutteth the door against thee, now derided. Arise therefore, thou whom the reckoning woundeth, whom the swelling emptieth the nearer, while according to a lying hope it rageth not within the bounds of this garden: the garden being strongly enclosed, care not now to go about it in vain; give place to a better, whom it is expedient should enter as he cometh. And come, saith he, thou south wind. That other being removed further off, whose presence, whose neighbourhood is rightly grievous, come 402Cthou south wind, come most healthful and sweet to the garden, whom the meridian pole and a warmer sun send hither, whose sending admitteth not the cold north wind. Thou therefore who rejoicest not in his hurtful company, nor sufferest him to rejoice in the princedom in the garden of holiness — because, he being set afar off, the Virgin is not yet content with such a benefit, present thee to her with a calm 232 countenance, to supply what she requireth. Out of that hidden seat wherein is nothing of darkness, nothing of foulness, rich in pure light, breathing more sweetly, come, O south wind: breathe and blow, nay rather blow through, that is, accomplish it with a gentle breath, that this garden may be adorned and may rejoice in a fixed adorning. It seemeth to me that the south wind holdeth the type of the holy Spirit, whose sweet breath the north wind cannot bear, and when he perceiveth him coming even by a slight scent, 402Dhe shuddereth and hasteneth to give up the primacy he had presumed. For the powerful kindness of the one is so set against the malice of the other, that by its presence it destroyeth whatsoever the other wickedly worketh; and them whom the other holdeth pressed with frost and fixed, and bindeth hard into error, this one looseth, and to them that are loosed granteth to run after the manner of torrents into love. This one visiteth the enclosed garden with a fuller coming, and with a gentler breeze cherisheth and advanceth its divers fruits, that of them may be made spices fitting for medicinal disciplines, which may flow, nay rather flow in, not to the bodies of them that need healing, but to their inward loves. And rightly doth the bridegroom either command or exhort the south wind to come, because as the Father, so also the Son testifieth 403Athat he sendeth the Spirit, which spirit, although he is believed to be present where he will and when he will, and to profit, yet is sent by him with whom he hath naturally one being. « When the Paraclete shall come, saith he, whom I will send you (Joan. XV). » The son therefore sendeth the spirit to the garden or virginal bridal chamber, that he coming may breathe and breathe upon it, and may soothe it with a spiritual breath; and when with a sweet breathing he shall have poured into it the marvellous persuasion of virtues, the garden yielding its spices may flow, and as it were overflow to us for a remedy.

Arise, O north wind, and come, O south wind. Or, if it please any better, in the words aforesaid the bridegroom himself doth not wholly remove the north wind, but granteth a free choice to him that willeth to arise; because, though he be full of malice, yet he prevaileth not to come unto us unless he be sent, nor to rise up to a wicked work 403Bunless leave be given and he be permitted. The bridegroom therefore, seeing the garden strong enough with an incomparable enclosing; and that it feareth not horrible threats, the brandished sword, cruel death; that it cannot fail through the troubles of assaults or of onsets, but be proved, and by the merit of the proving be more worthily and more gloriously crowned: turneth himself to him who ever rejoiceth to become a persecutor, and, knowing no end of the matter, dareth to put forth his hands against whatsoever men are just. Arise, saith he, O north wind, break forth out of the lurking-place of depravity, put forth all thy powers and the malice of thy perverse will: thunder, lighten, make an uproar; bring in whirlwinds, hails and storms, heap up whatsoever thou canst, add new ones to the old. But think not that with unbridled malice thou shalt prevail against the virgin: the south wind cometh, giving the virgin 403Cto bear evenly whatsoever thou bringest in; blowing through the garden within and making it drunken with a marvellous soothing, that either she may not feel it at all, or at the least may not fail in the torment. Thou north wind, arise and rise up, and sound violently without; thou south wind, breathe within, grant that what he shall have sounded be borne patiently; thou malignant one, vex the house, that the next wall may seem to burn; 404Athou benign one, strengthen the bridal chamber, that, it being well secured, no burning be feared. Did not the north wind seem to you to rage the more harshly, when it drove the Jews, near of kin to her, to be mad against Mary, so that by argument they should deny the virgin's integrity of childbearing, and by the law of us all should affirm that her Son, and God's Son, was begotten? Doth he not thunder harshly, when the Jews persecute the same son, when men of another nation are joined to them as partners of their malice, when the kinsmen's stubborn fury and unlovely clamour urgeth on the strangers, and both crucify the guiltless one, those by their voices, these by their nails? It is not easy to say what a buffet, nay rather what a heavy hammer, so great a force of persecutors struck upon the mother; and yet it shook not out of her garden the comeliness of her faith and of her patience, because the south wind 404Breigning within enclosed it about with a rampart of fortitude, and shut out from her faith and patience all oppressing force. Thus with divers affection and contrary effect are the south wind and the north wind joined in strife; thus with divers and adverse front are they dashed together after the manner of them that wage war; and against a strong foundation the heavy assaults of the flood are hurled, whence both by a victorious constancy and by the building unhurt they are beaten back. By which conflict, by which pressure the Virgin is not dried up as kindling-wood, but as a fruitful olive is medicinally made fat; out of which sweateth an oil that is more precious than any ointment, and worthy spices flow, comparable neither to gold nor to silver. Not therefore to them alone is the contention of the north wind and the south wind profitable, whose contending purpose abideth so diverse, but the profit conferred reacheth even unto us — a stretching out of the hand, rejoicing to render back 404Cwhat it hath taken, not to shut all things up in silence. But since, after the praises of the Virgin which he hath vouchsafed to recount so many, the bridegroom hath willed in this present place to be silent now, I have thought it worthy that our pen also should for a little lay a finger upon its mouth, and that the fourth book of this work should now set upon itself a fitting end.

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• 403D

[CAP. V.] Let my beloved come into his garden, that he may eat the fruit of his apples. The Virgin, seeing and approving that she hath the likeness of a garden, that she is planted with virtues and floureth with meet merits, and that with a marvellous advancement she burneth for nothing but the bridegroom's face, can no longer keep her desire under silence. For the more carefully he fortifieth her that he may defend her, the more diligently he raiseth up and commendeth her when fortified and defended: so much the more doth she love, so much the more doth she will to see her beloved's face, thinking it but little if she have somewhat, so long as she grieveth that she hath not the rest. Let him, saith she, who with a hand of power, with a word not weak, willed to root his garden, and to water it, when rooted, with living waters; who willed to enclose it and to shut out from it all things that would hurt, that they might not prevail against it, nay that they might not have any right at all in it: let him, I say, come, and let him vouchsafe to look more nearly upon that which is his own, and by a kindly looking to increase and to 404Dguard his grace. For that the north wind is bidden to arise or is granted to rage, that the south wind on the other side is charged to come with soothing; it shall come to pass, and the garden shall feel it done, and it shall be profitable to her that feeleth it, if the beloved come to show his presence to her that loveth. He being present, the malevolent north wind shall gnash his teeth, and, hurtful though he be, shall not hurt; the south wind shall appear both sweeter and more effectual: the one, by tribulating, shall work patience; patience, trial; trial, a hope that is not confounded; the other shall work the charity which showeth itself poured abroad in our hearts. And what beloved would longer deny his presence or his coming to a garden which he planted, which he watered, to which he even gave the increase: from whose enclosure the besom of judgment cast far off whatsoever was hurtful, and which, shut in with a strong defence, he made specially his own? And whom would it not move, that he is the beloved whom she that loveth entreateth to come, and that it is nothing but his own to which he is invited as Lord, seeing that it becometh a possessor to come to his possessions even unbidden, 405Aand that love itself is a cry, so that he cannot but call one so beloved? Let the beloved therefore come into the garden — not another's, not into another's right, but into his own — and let him show himself lovely and serene to his own; and holding as welcome whatsoever he shall see in it that is useful and honest, let him pluck it with his hand, nay let him even eat it, unless perchance he shall find the season unripe. My apples, as I judge, show themselves fit for the gathering — nay rather his apples, which put forth no ripeness save by his gift; which do not, as the apples of some men do, please when seen and straightway vanish when touched, but ripen with a savoury odour and a solid taste. Let him coming eat not only the outward face of these apples, comely to the eyes, but rather their ripeness, fruitful to an eager taste — that is, let him be pleased to take them to himself, let him take them out of the midst, 405Band let him rejoice to lay them up in his own storehouse. For though it be needful to abide here for the gaining of merit, yet I count it far better to rejoice there in the reward: and therefore I would be, not so much in the field of labour, as in the barn of rest, and would have my husbandman fed and refreshed with his own harvest. The bridegroom heareth the words of the bride, nay rather her desire, and answereth; and he doth not promise, according to the Virgin's prayers, that he will come, or even that he will eat; but, what is far more, he showeth sooner than the saying that he hath already come, and that he hath not with a deaf ear put off the asked-for coming even for a little.

I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse; I have gathered my myrrh with my spices. Even as the Lord aforesaid is said, when he sent the angel 405Cto the Virgin, to have come before him, and the Virgin is said to have found grace with him: so here too, being asked to come, he promiseth not his coming to her that asketh, but confesseth that he hath come and hath done what had seemed to him fitting. Thou, saith he, dost carefully ask that I would come, but I have come already: I have come before the time as it were set by thee and the hope of the gift asked for; and beyond what thou shouldest beg or ask, being well-willing I have hastened to come, and I have visited my garden not now by one that walketh before me, but by mine own presence. For it is not meet that a garden which with mine own hand I set in order when I planted it, which when planted and watered I called forth to a fitting increase, I should give up naked of my presence into the hand of them that deceive, and should weaken the former gifts 405Dof advancement by later and worse ones. The garden therefore which I made, by grafting in it divers virtues, that same I made my own, by conferring a useful keeping; that which I enclosed and sealed, by forbidding all hurtful things, I cherished and advanced as mine own, by affording it my unbroken presence. For how should I defraud of my solicitude, of my presence, her whom as a sister the one only Father offered me to be loved with a kinsman's affection, her whom as a spouse the mysterial oneness urged me to embrace by a severe 234 and sincere commerce — how, I say, should I defraud her, and should not rather crown good beginnings with a better ending? Of which manner of names, to wit of Sister and of Spouse, because the meaning hath in some sort been set out above, I forbear to go over it again, lest so often repeated it should breed weariness; and the prudent 406Areader will by no means cleave perchance to the present things alone, but will more carefully turn back his mind and his eye to the things above. But what he hath wrought in the garden by his condescension he showeth, who had been asked with so great desire to come, lest he should be thought to have done nothing there through sloth and negligence, although he had not yet accomplished all things according to the Virgin's pleasure. I have gathered, saith he, my myrrh with my spices. Strict chastisement, the strong austerity of abstinence, virginal continence, integrity as well of body as of mind: these with a wondrous anointing keep the virgin's flesh from eternal hurt, and above the right of nature, above the nature of wrath, heap up a mass of merits. Such myrrh the bridegroom coming into his garden hath now gathered, because the mother's continence so perfectly pleased the Son, that when he was incarnate, 406Bthough nature marvelled at an unspeakable begetting, yet the newness of the thing brought in no rot of pride, no little worm, no hurt. For a fruitful integrity, ungranted to all virgins before and after, the bridegroom carried away from the floor as already reaped into the barn, when by his own good pleasure and keeping he willed so to fortify her, that neither the beast of the field nor the bird that is wise for high things could come in unto her. For the pleasure of the flesh, which is wont beastlike to come before fruitfulness, marvelleth to find nothing of its own in the Virgin's conceiving; and marvelleth that in an earthly field a harvest so ripe should grow, and, being taken away as it were by stealth, should suffer nothing of the spoiler. The fowls of the air, which sow nothing honest or profitable to salvation, but for the most part make away with the sowings of others by a devouring greediness: 406Cindiscreet presumption and empty pride, which are wont to be born of the advancements of the good, and by an inborn depravity rejoice to be fed upon their failings: these grieve that the aforesaid harvest of myrrh is so withdrawn out of the midst, that neither by violence nor by fraud can they be brought in unto it even for a little. The little birds complain that they were drowsy longer than they ought, and were forestalled by the reaper's love and watchful zeal; but that now they have hands watchful and stretched out for the plunder, and are held back by the closure of the barn and by a bar that cannot be unbarred. In such a barn the bridegroom shutteth up his spices also, and, they being sealed with the key of David, he heareth not the voices of them that bark against him, because he snatcheth away the virgin's modesty as it were by a certain reaping, lest in a field exposed to the wild beasts it be hurt 406Dby an envious whisperer. The enemy man, who for the most part soweth cockle above the wheat, who, not prevailing to hurt the life, at the least stains the good name of the good, he driveth forth from the Virgin's touch with a hand that meeteth him, and banisheth far off the enemy of chastity from the cloister of modesty. For he willeth not that her fame, more fragrant than spices or ointments, should be able to be defiled by the stronger arguments of any sophister, but that a sure faith should hold her both Virgin and fruitful, and should preach it as a true thing, though to others it be untried. Thus withdrawing the myrrh with the spices from a plucking rival's sickle, he reapeth it and delivereth it to a barn that keepeth it more faithfully, while he heapeth together her chaste purpose and the most sweet odour of her chastity, and preserveth it by the strong patronage of truth.

• 407A

I have eaten fovum with my honey: I have drunk my wine with my milk. Rich by the year's increase in the reaping of myrrh or of spices, he addeth not that he was steeped in an unction according to the literal sequence, but he eateth, though myrrh seem not to be fit for eating; and he drinketh, though no man would say that he thirsteth after spices. But because the Virgin's converse is exposed to pressings and shearings, and the perfection of her merits was gotten not by soft sleep but by watchful studies; and because, in fine, whatsoever the Virgin heapeth up for herself in the present by labour bringeth in to the Bridegroom that giveth and loveth no bitterness but sweetness: therefore, the harvest being made, he now declareth that he hath eaten, showing therein that he had hungered for the Virgin's advancements. Lastly in the Gospel: Soul, saith that man, thou hast much goods laid up 407Bfor many years: take thy rest, eat, drink, make good cheer (Luc. XII). This rich man therefore is not he whose soul must be required in the night for the things he hath committed, but rich with his barn shut upon the harvests brought in; he stretcheth out no false hope unto many days or unto a year, he applieth to those same harvests neither threshing nor winnowing-fan. For by a wondrous manner of speaking, that which he had called myrrh or spices in the reaping he now findeth to be a honeycomb, now declareth to be honey in the eating; because the taste of him that eateth findeth nothing sweeter than honey, and no integrity is found more pleasing to Christ than his mother's. Ye know that a honeycomb is called a kind of storing case, which the more sagacious bee is found to work, marked out with waxen little cells; which bee, cunning in working, hideth herself under a certain covering, 407Cwherein she layeth up the comb, and in the comb, with wondrous diligence, the honey. Such a honeycomb he himself, whose protection loveth to cover it and with an ever-watchful care to guard it round about — he himself, 235 I say, suffereth not to be hurt, permitteth not to dry up, but with the honey set within it bringeth it in to his own table, to his own good pleasure. A tenderer comb indeed is grievously hurt and drieth up, and, the honey being denied it, is lost through dryness and becometh empty: as when the integrity of the flesh groweth not sweet by the savoury love of Christ, and to him that hateth to sin virtue groweth not bright by its own worth. For frail flesh is rightly said to be wax, which a more studious and austere converse reduceth into a comb; into which honey is put, and an incomparable sweetness lieth hid shut up, when the love of Christ, that is sweeter, is the cause of the chastity taken up. The comb therefore which an inward emptiness drieth and consumeth, 407DChrist taketh not for his own food, the Bridegroom taketh not into his own grace; and worthily reprobate to him is that chastisement of the flesh, or that integrity of a maiden, which is presumed to be brought forth and offered dry, without honey. But that one is confidently presented to his sight, to his eating, which is more fully fattened with copious honey, with a gracious love; with whose fat sweetness, or sweet fatness, the eater is made glad, and the more he feasteth, the richer doth the food grow strong. But because drinking is fitly joined to eating, the Bridegroom accordingly signifieth not only that he hath drunk, but also what he hath drunk, that he may show the Virgin who serveth the cup to be both learned and rich, and the draught commendable, which refresheth and fatteneth him that drinketh. I have drunk, saith he, my wine with my milk. The prudent Virgin, studious to please by a diligent ministry, 408Amingled wine in the bowl for her beloved when he had worthily dined, that when he was refreshed with food and likewise made glad with wine, he might be the more bountiful to give whatsoever should be asked of him. And rightly, being given over to a service not corruptible but divine, she giveth the Bridegroom to drink not with turbid waters, but better and more advisedly with wine; showing that in the embrace and ministry of the nuptials she is not cold with any lack, but burneth with a spiritual affection. For it is not that incurable wine, comparable to the venom of asps or of dragons (Deut. XXXII), wherewith the lost error of the nations rageth and goeth astray; wine, I say, signifieth a love ungranted to rustic and ragged poor men, whereby they that are rich in grace, noble in mind, are caught up into ecstasy. Lastly wisdom, calling us forth to divine love, mingleth not insipid waters but, by a prudent mystery, wine, 408Bthat our converse, which is of little ones or of babes, may grow young, and, the wine being drunk, may ripen with worthy advancements. Drink, saith she, the wine which I have mingled for you: forsake childishness, and live (Prov. IX). You, saith she, whom a childishness holdeth that is not of years but a weakness of manners, not of age; you who labour not by a failing of strength, but after the manner of carnal men with a languid affection: drink the wine which I have mingled for you — not Falernian, but the spiritual love whereof they that are drunken deserve to live for ever. Forsake childishness, which by no means sufficeth to aspire to greater things, which loveth not, or rather knoweth not how to love save carnally; which by an ill-advised love hindereth and darkeneth them that love, and by a hurtful dullness maketh them, being darkened, conformable to him that darkeneth. Such lovers 408Ctheir own love advanceth not unto the light but removeth from the light; delight maketh not serene, but rather a hard clamour estrangeth them from sweet rest; the deceitful show of love shaketh their hearts and striketh blindness into them, and, oppressive as it is, by a most evil advancement, at the last step, bringeth in death. To such a certain heathen: What hath undone you, saith he, I will tell: ye know not how to love. These men, made drunk not with wine, or perchance with the wine of dragons and of asps, are far removed from the saving cup of wisdom; which cup she reacheth forth to her hearers with no niggard hand: them that have drunk she refresheth, and them that are refreshed she inebriateth with a right excellent sweetness. This wine of wisdom, the cup of grace and of virtue, whereby he that hath drunk obtaineth the efficacy of life and of salvation, the Virgin who beareth God drinketh more fully; and drinking, is more sweetly gladdened, who in an unvaluable manner, remaining a Virgin, 408Dis made fruitful. She holdeth in a chaste bosom the son begotten of God and of herself, whom she conceived in a Virginal womb, whose Bridegroom's Bride she is by a deep counsel, by a nuptial mystery; she gathereth him to her with a spiritual affection, and as she loveth the son with a Bridal love, so also the Bridegroom with a filial. In such nuptials the waterpot is not drained, the royal cup knoweth no water, the prince in the banqueting-room standeth not amazed as ignorant of the mystery; no man complaineth for the fear or the presence of poverty, the Bridegroom is not charged with an unlearned or a preposterous bounty. For he who goeth forth from the height of heaven, from the hidden bosom of the Father, who entereth the nuptial bridal chamber shut with the sign of soundness unbroken, and thence, the mystery of the nuptials being celebrated, goeth forth as Bridegroom: so great he brought attunt with himself; so great a fullness he willed to be present at the nuptials, that 409Ait is agreed that nothing honest and nothing necessary is wanting to them. Because therefore nuptials ought not to be celebrated without wine, and chiefly such as are made not with regard to the flesh alone but to the divine, in these nuptials wine faileth not but aboundeth, which not only refresheth but maketh fruitful the very celebrators of the nuptials. Spiritual love indeed, which it is agreed doth seethe more strongly than wine, is found with so great a fervour of spirit to make the Virgin drunken, that, forgetting the waters by whose flood the cleanness of chastity is in danger of being worn away, with an unwearied desire she passeth wholly into the love of truth. But Truth is Christ; and Christ is God and man. The Virgin therefore loveth God Christ with a love beyond doubt not carnal; but, because God is a Spirit, she loveth him with a spiritual love: God, I say, a spirit, she loveth with a vehement spirit, that strongly and effectually weareth away whatsoever the 409Bflesh savoureth amiss. For God, a Spirit who willeth not to be visibly seen, rejoiceth in likeness 236 and willeth to be held by an invisible glue; and he is chiefly delighted with that love, as with an ancestral unmixed wine, wherewith he that loveth him embraceth him spiritually. Such a love he conferred of old upon the angelic spirits; and if he who willed to become an enemy out of a friend had abidden therein, man would not have been deceived, nor would he grieve to have incurred the desert of death, which by that one's envy is read to have entered into the whole world (Rom. V). But because that love was found to be lessened in the angels, God willeth it to be restored, not in them, but in men; and both before the law and under the law he requireth to be spiritually loved by the patriarchs and the prophets; and, the days of grace being risen, he acknowledgeth this love more expressly in the Virgin 409Cmother. Perceiving that it aboundeth more fully in her by the grace of his own giving, he willed to accept it after the manner of wine, the more joyfully as it was the sweeter; and with an eager taste he drank the draught offered by the Virgin, and in the hiding-place of his good pleasure he shut it up as firmly as irrevocably. Rightly therefore doth the Bridegroom affirm that he hath drunk his wine, that is, that he hath received with a grateful draught the divine love which he conferred upon the Virgin; the love wherewith she willed to embrace God Christ with her whole heart, her whole soul, all her strength — and the same Christ is believed to accept it, and, having accepted it, to be delighted therein. But because the Word disposed to be born flesh, God man, of the Virgin, the Virgin loving God set herself as Mother to love him as man also; knowing that the commandment of the law is not profitable enough, not fruitful, 409Dif to the first and greatest there be not added the like or the second. She loveth therefore her neighbour, satisfying the law or Holy Scripture; she loveth Christ as man, mindful of the unspeakable begetting; she persecuteth not her own flesh in her son with a stepmother's hate, but embraceth it with a mother's affection, and loveth it by a natural right. For neither is her hardness the hardness of stones, nor can her mind be called brazen (Job VI); but the Mother is found so given over to a tender love, that, marking Christ made man out of herself, she loveth him as herself, or, if it may be said, more than herself. But this love, this affection or care of a mother, is figured under the name of milk, which the mother by nature bestoweth upon him she hath borne; because a mother holdeth or hideth her son in her bosom or her lap, and with tender love and solicitous affection poureth in the milk. Whose 410Amilky love, flourishing with a natural sweetness, derogateth not from the divine, prejudiceth not the wine, is not always an adversary to the spiritual; but deserveth to find no mean grace with God, if it love not to bear the first rule alone, but to serve under in the coupling. Lastly the bringer of the evangelical law, saying: He that loveth son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me (Matth. X), condemned not the privilege of nature, but prudently ordered the coupling of the two affections, that the love of God, being set before, should lack manner or measure, but that natural love should hold the second place in the joining. For although some men, who are not yet fit either to understand or to love the spiritual, take in the natural the sooner as they take it the more easily, yet it is agreed that the love which is God's is the first and greatest, which willeth the second 410Bto be present next to itself as in a joining. And the second indeed is sometimes found in some without the first, in whom it is forestalled either by ignorance or by a degenerate negligence; but the first, which flourishing in perfection knoweth not to envy, bringing in the second, willeth ever to see it with itself in the coupling. In that therefore Paul first insinuateth as it were the second, when he is constant in preaching to the Corinthians none but Christ crucified, he spareth their weakness, he consulteth their advancement, he furthereth faith; that they who could not yet take in Christ's Godhead might at the least both understand and love his charity toward themselves; and that they might, by loving at least, render a return to that so great goodness of him whom they knew to suffer freely for themselves, nay for all. I judged not, saith he, myself to know anything among you, but Jesus Christ, and him crucified 410C(I Cor. II). And a little below: As unto little ones, saith he, I gave you milk to drink, not meat (I Cor. III). But he who thus cherisheth and advanceth the imperfect with a milky feeding, knowing what he bestoweth upon whom, speaketh wisdom unto the perfect; and preacheth Christ the Son of God to be eternal God, born before the ages, begotten and coequal to him that begetteth; and so giveth milk to the little ones and wine to the greater to drink, wherein he noteth divers advancements, or degrees of advancement; having to teach both those weaker ones by whom natural love is the more easily taken in, and those greater ones to whom the spiritual is now worthily fitting. But the Virgin, from the time she was made a mother after a new kind, was borne up by the grace of the divine gift to so great a height of perfection, that she loveth Christ as truly God with the highest 410Ddesire and by a just right, and to the same as man imparteth likewise the due right of nature. She loveth in the Son the excellence of the Godhead with a pure mind; she loveth also her own flesh tenderly and sweetly by nature; to the loving of the one she is caught up and borne aloft with a stronger heat, to the other she as it were striveth back and is brought down again with a softer step. To the one she raiseth herself up more vehemently, drunken; to the other she boweth herself more gently, sober: to the one she serveth the wine of fortitude, to the other the milk of tenderness; a twofold love flourisheth in the Virgin, and the one disparageth not the other, and Christ taketh up and accepteth the concordant coupling of both. Come, saith Isaias, buy without money: and without any exchange, wine and milk (Isa. LV). The prophet, knowing that Christ is not appeased with a solitary love, but that the giant of a twin substance is delighted with a twinned gift, willed by a prudent counsel to instruct us to buy 411Awine and milk, signifying that wine befitteth God, milk man, nay rather that wine and milk befit Christ, God and man. But since this wine and milk ought to be bought according to the prophet's teaching, 237 what meaneth it that to this buying no exchange is admitted, no money, save that that twofold love, wherewith Christ, God and man, willeth to be loved alike, can be purchased neither with gold nor with silver nor with any earthly price? For not by a heap of moneys, but by poverty of spirit, is that kingdom bought and gotten, in which everyone who soundly loveth Christ abideth with him for ever; whose love also in the present nonetheless knoweth no cheap price, nor willeth to be held by him that swelleth with an abundance of temporal things. Rightly therefore doth Isaias call them forth to this 411Bbuying, who in buying put forward no mention of money, but who rather offer a slender spirit, the purity of an inmost mind, continence of the flesh, and nakedness, the soft linen being left behind. Fortified with this price I believe the Virgin entered into the nuptial market, and mingled alike for the Bridegroom the wine and milk that she had found and bought, that she might serve Christ, God and man, with a twin cup, knowing that he would not thirst for the one without the other. Having drunk thereof and been refreshed, he turneth himself again to his companions, and carefully inviteth them to the nuptial feast, that they who serve as attendants in the bridal chamber that is privy to his secrets may be accounted guests also and partakers of the rich table.

411CEat, O friends, drink and be inebriated, most dearly beloved. He calleth the angels friends, who stood fast in his friendship when Lucifer and many that agreed with him ceased to love: who stood by him as he celebrated the nuptials, they that loved not being driven far off, and who with a worthy ministry pressed the more familiarly to know the hidden mysteries. These, that stand by and press on, that they may take the fitting advancements of knowledge, the Bridegroom suffereth not to be needy, not to be fasting; but with the storeroom opened and the bounty of his gifts displayed, he calleth them as it were to a table of fat things full of marrow, and of wine purified from the lees (Isa. XXV). Eat, saith he, O friends. You, saith he, whom I willed to be present as companions and friends at the nuptials, and, they that love not being removed, to be at hand for the kisses of them that love: at my table with me 411Deat the things that are set before you — that is, understand the things which, being understood, shall deserve to please. Understand what of grace or of savour the solemnity of the nuptials, what the depth of the mysteries hath; what of glory or of honour the Virgin's fruitfulness, what the mother's integrity hath: understand what of sacrament is contained in The Word was made flesh (Joan. I), what of help things divine bring to things human, things heavenly to things earthly. But this understanding is rightly named an eating; and when an angel, or any other of this sort, is invited to eat, the divine word purposeth not to drive away a bodily want, but signifieth that a spiritual understanding is to be sought. Lastly, when the hand of the Lord was sent to Ezechiel in a vision, and in it a book was brought sealed with a seal: Son, saith he, of man, eat this volume, and going 412Aspeak to the children of Israel (Ezech. III). Because it profiteth nothing, or little, that the hand sent brought a sealed book, if it lie hid from the prophet what that same book containeth written out, he is of necessity admonished to eat the volume, that is, that not with the tooth but with the mind he may take what is contained in the volume. For he that eateth, not content with the mere show or comeliness of the food, burneth the more and desireth to be refreshed with the taste or the savour; and whosoever is rightly wise is fed, not with the tinkling sound of Holy Scripture, nor with a feeling, but rather with an understanding worthy unto profit. And because he cannot be fed therewith by the powers of his own will alone, but by being endowed with grace and by the benefit of the divine bounty, the prophet, after he had heard the voice or the commandment of the Lord, sufficeth not yet to himself, but declareth that he was fed by him. And I opened, saith he, my mouth, and he fed me with that 412Bvolume (ibid.). To him that called me forth to eat I strove to open my mouth; to him that admonished me to understand I applied a zeal to obey; and he, having already come before me with the admonitions he offered, fed me, intent as I was, with the volume spread open — that is, endowed me with a large knowledge and a lettered understanding. He spread it open, saith he, before me: and said, eat this volume (ibid.). The book indeed which the hand sent brought me rolled up, by no zeal of mine, by no powers of mine did I render unrolled; but she that brought it took away the veil that hung over it or was spread upon it, and made that which was shut up in the volume evident and spread open. For although it be mine to obey him that admonisheth, to give as it were consenting hands unto advancement, yet it is of his grace to give to me, or to any man, a nimble understanding: it is mine to open my mouth, that I be 412Cnot altogether worthy to be driven from the feeding; it is his to fill it, that is, to give it to be prudently understood. Open wide, saith he, thy mouth, and I will fill it up (Psal. LXXX). And elsewhere: Give me understanding, that I may learn thy commandments (Psal. CXVIII.) And he: Understanding, saith he, I will give thee, and I will instruct thee (ibid.). Speaking therefore to the companions whom the Bridegroom willed to be present at his mysterial secrets, he willed not that they should be as rustics fasting among the nuptials, but, a table being set forth of a deep greatness and an exquisite fullness, he set his friends far from the hunger of the unskilled multitude. Eat, saith he, O friends — that is, understand the marvellous mystery, the unspeakable sacrament, which to the rest, that are not friends, openeth the veil of ignorance: but to you 238 that minister and 412Dstand by me I have given to know those things whereto nature attaineth not, and whereunto my grace alone supplieth the power. For neither, as some say, did the angels from the beginning naturally obtain to know the sacraments which remained more fully hidden in God; which, when the fullness of time came, that God the Son of God willed to celebrate the nuptials, he willed to reveal to them first and more familiarly. Whence the Apostle: What is, saith he, the dispensation of the sacrament hidden from ages in God, that the manifold wisdom of God may be made known to the princes and powers in the heavenly places by the Church (Ephes. III). [Vulg. Eph. 3:10 principatibus et potestatibus, "to the Principalities and the Powers" — the angelic order; Migne prints principibus, "to the princes"] The wisdom of God, remaining uniform in itself but working outwardly many and divers things, deserved to be called manifold, which is made known as it were more manifoldly to the princes and to the angelic powers, when the secret mystery of the Word to be incarnate shineth out more clearly 413Aupon them. But because to neither angel nor man doth understanding suffice enough unto merit, if a sweeter affection of loving apply not itself to the understanding, rightly after the eating are the friends also freely admonished, that both a learned making and a perfect refreshing may work a vital sufficiency. Drink, saith he, and be inebriated, most dearly beloved. If, by me, saith he. giving, ye take in the hidden sacraments by understanding, being not yet content therewith, be ye careful for advancement; and that ye may seem both to profit enough and as it were to perfect what ye have begun, eating, drink — that is, love what ye have perceived by understanding. For it profiteth nothing, or little, to understand what things have been great, what perfect, if we love not with a mightier grace the things understood: and as the people that understandeth not, by the testimony of Osee (Osee. IV), shall be beaten, so 413Bthe wicked servant, not loving the things understood, shall condemn himself as guilty of negligence. Rightly therefore are the companions or friends admonished not only to understand but also to love, that when they have joyfully perceived deep things they may marvel at a most sweet sweetness; and that they who a while since had as it were grieved over the wretched fall of the sinner may now for joy stand amazed at so marvellous a counsel of the Redeemer. Whose height, when by understanding and by loving they lay hold of it as it were with hands, being made drunken with amazement and joy they suspend themselves into so great an ecstasy as it were, that, forgetting the wounds which the serpent's fraud once brought upon men, they now think of nothing but the physician or the medicine at hand. They eat, when they understand that a life-giving mystery, that saving nuptials are celebrated; they drink, when they love that man is reformed unto his former, nay unto an ampler 413Cgrace; they are inebriated, when they stand amazed and cleave fast, and for joy suffice not to marvel that manhood, taken up into God, deserveth to be exalted above the angels. Them that were privy to this secret the bridegroom in speaking named friends, but them that were drunken with love and joy he heaped with the name of most dearly beloved: signifying both that they are pleasing to him who apply a spiritual understanding to the knowing of subtle things, and that the same are most pleasing when they come and attain unto the advancement of loving. These being refreshed with food and drunken with a more gracious draught, the bride, reclining her head in a sweet conscience or love, forgetting things visible, suspendeth herself among things invisible; and what she tasteth, what she perceiveth, she grudgeth not to us, but showeth.

413DI sleep, and my heart watcheth. When the companions and friends that stand by a work so divine give heed and marvel, made drunken with the amazement of a deep greatness and not with wine: the bride reclineth herself within the chamber in a softer reclining, to whom the bridegroom now serveth the desirable cup of a marvellous savour. The friends watching, and striving as it were to lay hold, and standing amazed at the manner or the measure of a thing so deep: the Virgin, judging whatsoever applaudeth not in deep silence to be a market and a thing of the market-place, resteth in the nuptial bridal chamber and closeth her eyes even for a little with sommo. For the business, or the solicitude of a clamorous business, being driven away, the noise being shut out abroad, the door of a pure mind being closed as it were: amid the bridegroom's embraces she falleth asleep the more eagerly as it is the sweeter, and, failing into 414Ahim, and by failing advancing, she desireth things insensible alone. Abiding in the body, a stranger to the things that are of the body, forgetting her cares, her serene mind is caught up into ecstasy: borne up by a calm rapture, she rejoiceth to forget whatsoever is beneath, sleeping and resting in the things which she chiefly loveth to obtain. But lest her sleeping should seem to strike in negligence or torpor, and to afford confidence to the ambushes of the enemy, to open a looser entrance: the virgin setteth a watchman who may keep the watches unwearied, who may foresee from afar whatsoever maketh an unlawful noise. For while she sleepeth, and is loosened into the tender embraces of the bridegroom, and hath forgotten the things behind and is loosed from the cares of temporal things, her own heart watcheth, driving far from sleep the clouds of phantasms, the empty phantasies, the heavy noises of the world, 414Bthe seducing melodies of sirens. Her own heart watcheth, acting with a circumspect solicitude lest a mass of forensic acts cast upon her should trouble the sweetness of sleep that she hath found; lest any molestation should enter, even secretly, the secret of her chamber, which, being entered, might rage and violently shake off her sleep. Lastly her own heart watcheth, that when with a careful hand it hath driven away every adversary, it may hearken and hear the bridegroom whispering with a slender murmur: and, the door being as it were shut against whosoever maketh a harder noise, it may lend an ear to the bridegroom that more sweetly and more subtly 239 speaketh. For the more closely she loveth to be joined to him, the more eagerly to cleave to him, so much the more gratefully doth she will to hear, and for the bridegroom's voice to rejoice with joy: and giving her ear to the hearing, she counteth herself the more grievously hurt if for his voice she refuse not whatsoever else hath sounded. For he, 414Ccherishing her sleep and favouring the desire of her that sleepeth, when he shall so have given her milk, speaketh to the heart of her that loveth: and to her, as to her leisure so to her business, he setteth what bound he will, as he is read of old to have promised by the prophet: I will give her milk, saith he, and I will speak to her heart (Osee. II). I will give her milk, saith he, when she shall lay herself down in my bosom with her head bowed, and shall put nothing between with mutual embraces; when, greedy of silence, she shall be delighted to fall asleep under my shadow, and, thirsting, to draw in the sweetness she hath found, and, drawing it in, to thirst. But I will speak to her heart, when I shall admonish her to awake, when I shall restrain her from her own profits out of regard for her neighbours, that, the draught of the foretasted sweetness being laid aside for a little, she may go forth to work abroad, watching 414Dwith brotherly charity. The bridegroom therefore giveth the Virgin milk, when he leadeth her in to the secrets of his breast: he speaketh to her heart, when he calleth and bringeth the same back watchful unto us; when, the sweetness of sleep being tasted, wherein she loveth to forget temporal things, he biddeth her awake unto the love and the care of her neighbours. And she, while she sleepeth and tasteth what sweetness there is in resting, and her heart watcheth with a solicitude of serving more diligently: lo, of a sudden a certain interruption of the sweetness now perceived, a hand as it were knocketh at the door, the voice of her beloved shaketh her ear. By which shaking the Virgin, perceiving herself challenged (for she knoweth the voice again, because she hath now heard it often), seemeth to answer to herself alone, or to the maidens standing by her, and to recount with a mindful word both whose and what voice she had heard.

• 415A

The voice of my beloved knocking. When in my chosen reclining, saith she, I am held by the gift of sleep, and with a heart watchful enough am nonetheless intent upon the Bridegroom's good pleasure: out of a hidden place a certain voice, as I perceive, breaketh forth as it were into the open, which the more carefully interrupteth my advancement as I sleep, lest it come, as I will, unto perfection. Whose importunity beateth the more harshly upon my ears, and driveth me back from that which I was burning more firmly to lay hold of: and a repulse so strong, that I may confess the truth, I should bear ill, if I did not worthily set his good pleasure before my own will. For I know that it pleaseth his will not a little, that the door of a holy mind be found not to stand open to strangers; that whosoever shall have passed by through the by-ways of worldly 415Bpandering may find it shut, and not lying open after the fashion of a brothel. The bridegroom himself also, when he willeth to come to that same door, loveth to find it shut rather than open, and to prove its seal so tenacious, so indissoluble, that it should altogether never know how to be opened save when he himself hath knocked. For a holy mind, restraining itself within a spiritual workshop, ought so to embrace the zeal of contemplating, so the discipline of leisure or of silence, that it open not its cloister to itself, that it break not forth to the office of preaching, unless it have been knocked upon and have drunk in the voice of him that commandeth. Therefore the Virgin sleeping, and soothed with a delightful sleep, rejoicing to be shut in by her cloister as one entangled in softer meshes: hasteneth to open not only not to any man, but not even to the bridegroom, until at last, being knocked upon, she is commanded 415Cand by the commandment is compelled to obey. Who indeed requireth not the commander to command, but the more quickly knoweth again the voice, even a slender voice, of him that knocketh: and as she heareth not, nor giveth ear, to open at any admonitions of a deceiver, so she stoppeth not her ear when the voice of the commander soundeth. And it soundeth and knocketh at the door, or the leisure, of her that resteth, when by the benefit of one that teacheth he willeth to counsel them that are without; when, pitying the blindness and the neediness of the orphan that is ignorant, he willeth it to be wiped away by a virginal labour, and the merit of her that laboureth to be increased. But what that voice thundereth above, or what it saith, what it commandeth or showeth, soothing the bride as she sleepeth, the bridegroom himself willed not only that the bride should know it more secretly or more sacredly, but willed also that it should come, even slenderly, unto them that are without.

• 415D

Open to me, my sister, my friend, my dove, my undefiled, for my head is full of dew, and my locks of the drops of the nights. Thou, saith he, that hast barred the chamber of thy mind against the malevolent robber, that hast made firm the virginal enclosure, that hast made firm the watchful guard against all things whatsoever: to me, who am not envious of thee but desirous of thee and of thine advancement and of thy crown, unbar the doors, lay aside now for a little while thy leisure or thy silence. Rising, awake; hear more healthfully the voice of him that knocketh; shake the lock from the doorpost — to me indeed nothing at all ought to be shut; and that which thou shuttest worthily against the enemy, against the world, against any stranger whatsoever, try thou more surely that it is worthy of merit or of praise to open to me alone. When I suffer thee to be at leisure 240 and 416Ato give thyself more quietly to sleep, to take care of thyself, to give thy hands to leisure or to be silent — I confess it — the bridal chamber ought to be shut, the door barred, the virginal secret not to be unbarred by vice nor by outward business. For with the door shut that Father of spirits willeth to be prayed to, willeth his face to be sought, willeth the kiss of him that seeketh to be made serene: he willeth so fruitful a leisure not to be troubled by the crowds of businesses, but to be prospered by a gentler breeze and by a most effectual course. But when I stand by and knock more diligently at the fastening, when my voice soundeth and asketh that an opening be given it, it is not of counsel that thou lie hid longer under the shadow of silence, but that thou stand to the commandment and show thyself subject to him. Open therefore to me, the sweetness of sleep being interrupted a little, not cast away, that what thou hast received in the chamber thou mayest preach upon the housetops; and, as it were forgetful of thyself, that thou be mindful for me of them that 416Bstand by me, and be not grieved to speak for the sake of thy brethren and thy neighbours the peace thou hast foretasted. For neither oughtest thou to indulge thy own desires only, nor to milk out the sweetness of the heavenly milk unto thine own lips alone, but also, when the time requireth, to provide for the profit of others, lest thou seem to envy them that cannot what thou hast been able to draw sooner or more abundantly. In short, there is no cause wherefore a sister ought to shut against a brother, who as heirs, yea rather as co-heirs, war together for the most high Father; whom kinship of flesh, whom the most powerful force of nature joineth, whom one love, one concord maketh of one mind by a just right. As therefore thou shuttest, and rightly shuttest, against the enemy with the bar of anxiety, so, as a friend, draw back the bar, shake off the lock for thy brother and thy friend alike — thou that art made a friend by the diligence of thy mind, by the bond of charity, 416Ca faithful keeper of secrets, privy to my truth. And because thou dost not, like the peacock, rejoice or swell with a blind beauty of eyes, but growest gentle in the spirit of innocence by my irradiating grace, thou that art sister and friend art rightly called my dove also, cheerful in the hope of things to come, groaning for those same things because they are not yet fully present. In these and in other such things, well enough furnished about by my gift, thou art worthily called an undefiled Virgin and perfect; perfect, I say, not that nothing at all is wanting to thy present life, but because thou art so wholly beautiful that now there is no spot in thee. Thou therefore, that art marked with names of this sort — nay rather with the very substance of the names — that findest me so favourable in the bounty of these gifts: hear the voice of him that knocketh, open the shut doors; and lest thou think the instancy of him that knocketh idle, behold the causes. For my head 416Dis full of dew: and my locks of the drops of the nights. The head of Christ, Paul bearing witness, is God. But the dew, which the icy night poureth over the earth, and which the sun dissolveth as a mist when with the morning radiance it poureth itself into things, is the cold of unbelievers, and the subtle malice of the perfidious whereby the nations are held fast, and the iniquity of the Jews is chilled (I Cor. II). Who, while they understand not, confess not, that Christ the man is God, the Son of God, what do they but fear not to burden and to offend his head, and to fill it with so great burdens and vexations that he can as it were not bear so full a labour? Whence God by Isaias: « I am full, saith he (Isa. I). And again: I have laboured with bearing (ibid). » With so great a dew, saith he, with so nightly a cold do you burden me, 417Athat I seem to myself stricken and full with the weariness of your depravity; and I, who, knowing not to be troubled, do tranquilly judge the world that groweth worse, do labour hard in bearing the loads of you that are unjust. The Jewish dew indeed, and the cold malice of him that believeth not, speaking in the Gospel uttereth the words of one that oppresseth more harshly; who, seeing Christ to be that man, understandeth not nor loveth aught else, offending herein most of all, that he truly proclaimeth himself God. For a good, say they, work we stone thee not, but for blasphemy; and because that thou, being a man, makest thyself God (Joan. X). And above: Therefore did the Jews the more seek to kill him, because he said God was his Father, making himself equal to God (Joan. V). You see the head of Christ pressed down with dew cold enough, and Christ worthily complaining of a malice 417Bmore wicked, whose not only head but locks also are weighed down with the like cold, while unbelievers persecute them with hatred and with reproaches. Locks is the name given to the balls or heaps of hairs which, cleaving to the head by the root, are outwardly leagued together by a certain covenant of nearness; which, while each keepeth its due place or course, do themselves afford to the head both covering and honour alike. By whom, as I see, the saints are not unfitly figured, who are called together unto the faith out of divers places or nations; whom the firmness of the same faith maketh to cleave the more tenaciously to the head, and whom a brotherly nearness maketh outwardly to cohere one to another after the manner of bees. Such do I judge them to have been in the primitive Church who are read to have come together to Christ with a devout spirit; who either, few in number, followed him before his passion when he was about to suffer, 417Cor, when he was raised up, obtained more largely the faith of the resurrection. Of whom Mark: He called, saith he, unto himself whom he would himself, and he made that there should be twelve with him (Marc. III). And Luke in the Acts of the apostles: There was, saith he, a company of men together, about an hundred and twenty (Act. I), and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with divers tongues, according as the Holy Ghost gave them to speak (Act. II). And below: They were baptized, saith he, and there were added in that day about three thousand souls (ibid.). And a little after: The number of the men was made five thousand (Act. IV). And far below, Paul preaching: they were baptized, saith he, in the name of the Lord Jesus; and all the men were about twelve (Act. XIX). These are the locks of the Bridegroom, for whom he hath no mean 417Dcare, 241 and whose advancement loving, he hardly beareth their oppression: for the most part the nights grow heavy with drops that water, or rather that rush in, which, the sun being put far off, grow dull with colder darknesses. But as every just man is by merit called a day of life, so the ungodly man and the sinner, living in ruin, is called night; upon whom, because the light hath not risen and the sun of justice hath not shone, he hath drawn over himself a horrid cold and the darknesses of ignorance. Which sort of night, and the dark conversation of sinners, hateth justice, condemneth the innocence of the better sort; and forbiddeth her to go forth with a clean step as under the naked air, while with more frequent vexations, as with rainy drops, it disquieteth her. Doth not that night seem to you to have stood forth the more importunate, which rejoiced to have oppressed the apostolic choir the more harshly; which, although 418Ait plucked not away utterly the whole lock from the head to which it had once cleaved, yet, shaking out one hair, brought it into the pit of perdition? For when the princes of the Jews would take and kill Christ, with many wiles and with many contrivings they laboured to seduce and to lead on Judas Iscariot, whom they had perceived beforehand to labour the more maliciously with avarice, that he should sell for a vile price his own Salvation. But all the rest were indeed grievously shaken by the wind of fear, yet were not shaken off from the base set under them nor from the root implanted in them; whom the hand of the spouse, calling them back, willed to restrain under a rule, that thenceforth they might bear with a more even mind both the threats of princes and the drops of the nights. Whence, when after the resurrection the princes of the priests thundered with threats and prisons, with words and stripes, that by fear they might call back the disciples 418Bfrom their purpose of preaching, they: If it be just, say they, to hear you rather than God, judge ye; for we cannot but speak the things which we have seen and heard (Act. IV). And below: We ought to obey God rather than men (Act. V). Locks of this sort, whom charity knitteth, whom a fellowly love coupleth, whom an inward faith and a spiritual devotion maketh to cleave to God — these the nights assail from without, and the darksome hands of unbelievers, burdensome with colder drops and with more frequent malices. For as, the prophet bearing witness, a cistern maketh water cold (Jer. VI), so hath she made her malice cold. That therefore the locks of the faithful may be fortified against the enemies and against the enemies' burdens, and may not be wickedly oppressed either by ignorance or by voluntary consent, the spouse admonisheth the Virgin that 418Cshe open to him the gate of secrets, and, expounding what she knoweth, instruct the minds of her neighbours. For although the unction of the spirit is read to teach the just concerning all things (I Joan. II), yet not in vain is the Virgin bidden to apply diligence, because it hindereth not, nay rather it profiteth unto an effectual increase of spiritual grace, if by planting and by watering a fitting foundation be laid beforehand. But because it is sweeter to be at leisure and to see how sweet is the leisure and the pleasantness of contemplating, than to labour with the word and with the anxiety of preaching: the Virgin, choosing to be shut in and diligent not to be torn from her purpose, answereth as though she grieved to be driven forth to businesses.

418DI have put off my garment, how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet, how shall I defile them? Adam was made naked, set under the naked air, wrapped neither in the enclosure of a chamber nor in swaddling clothes, that he might look up to heaven with a countenance hindered by no covering, that unto the seeing of God he might pass with an unhindered step. But because, being uxorious, he condescended to the will of the seduced woman, and, the Creator being offended, stretched himself out to that which was forbidden: guilty of death, he entangled himself and his own in troubles and in labours, and, his nakedness being lost, clothed them with a wretched mortality. Whence also after his disobedience he was clothed with skins, that, being destitute of a simple life and of a naked justice, he might know the loss of a miserable punishment to hang over him, the form whereof a garment made of dead animals representeth. To a punishment of this sort there seemeth, 419Aas I see, to pertain that anxious labour whereby we desire to be taught or to teach; and, until we see that which is perfect with the eye of a sound mind more fully unveiled, in the sweat of our countenance we eat our own bread. From which heat or sweat we take breath a little, when, the burden of cares being removed, we breathe again unto things invisible; and we are stripped by a sweet leisure of the ragged garment of labour, when with the door of the mind shut we behold the sweetness of an inward quiet. Which sweetness, because the spouse now foretasteth it with a greedy taste, she consenteth not to open the sooner to the spouse that disquieteth her, but, fleeing, rejoiceth to behold the naked truth, her linen cloth left behind, fearing to be twisted back from so happy a leisure unto business. After that, saith she, the anxiety being laid aside wherein I sweated the more laboriously, I have stripped myself of the entangled garment of outward things by the beholding of peace, 419Bhow shall I break off the sweetness of the delightfulness I have found, and send myself back to outward cares, which I love not? I refuse not the commandment, I abjure not obedience, but I fear to be subjected again to a burden that will weigh me down: inward things being tasted, I care not now to revisit outward things; and yet against him that commandeth I stop not mine ear after the manner of the asp. I had indeed laid down the spoils of an old heaviness, and had found for myself the joys of a pure nakedness; I rejoiced that I was no longer where 242 I had been, nay rather that I was no longer what I had been; and by an advance pleasing enough I seemed, naked, to be present among the naked angels. Forgetful of things visible, I beheld things invisible the more gratefully; I knew not vexations, I was not pressed by narrow bars; nothing withstood me in this breadth of mind; what I love, what I desire, stood by me the more largely. Whence if mine own will 419Chath drawn me back, I am worthy to be accused; if necessity hath pressed my will, I seem to be weighed down; and thus a kind of peril as it were hangeth over on either side, since it is hard to do anything unwillingly or unjustly. Being free therefore from a ragged anxiety, how shall I be entangled again? Being stripped of temporal things, with what patience shall I be clothed anew? How shall I carry back my washed feet to the mire of the streets, that I may defile them with the vexations either of faults or of cares? For although in speaking to my neighbours and in anxiously bringing forth the things I now know I have not moved my foot from the just path, as very many are wont to do, yet I seem to myself to have incurred certain defilements, feeling that the vexations of cares have run against my heart. For whatsoever meeteth and withstandeth, even for 419Da little, one that contemplateth the divine cleanness, or standeth not by that same contemplator with a favouring compliance — if it be compared by a fitting consideration to that cleanness itself, then, although holy in its own kind, it shall yet rightly be judged defiled. How therefore, having tasted that sweetness, shall I bear this bitterness again, and twist back the steps of so great advances unto the defilements of failings? By what fruit of another shall I put myself under a burden of my own, when I desire henceforth to approach not the contest but the crown? But while I hesitate, while I doubt, as it were not knowing how to find a way whereby I may now be willing or able to return to that which I had broken off; while, rejoicing in silence, I defer to return to the accustomed 420Aburden — behold, I feel the hand of my beloved put in through the hole.

My beloved put his hand through the hole, and my belly trembled at his touch. He suffereth me not, admonished by his voice, to stick fast any longer; but the beloved, boring through the fastening, putteth his hand through the slender hole; to a shut mind he openeth a subtle understanding after the likeness of a hole, and, it being opened, he inserteth what he knew profitable for me unto advancement. The hand of the spouse is not unfitly named that grace of his which openeth the understanding, and, it being opened, worketh effectually; which poureth in and inspireth the more subtly to the opened understanding by what manner or order a man tendeth and aspireth the more perfectly to the pleasing of the spouse. By the help therefore and the working of this hand a subtler 420Bunderstanding perceiveth that without the good pleasure of the spouse there is no advancement of them that are at leisure, none of them that labour; and that leisure is to be pursued when his good will inviteth us to it, and that he who, being bidden, shall have willed to desist from this escapeth not his wrath and judgment. For a man may both displease, being stubborn in leisure, and, being humble, obtain merit in business; and neither state is found profitable enough, if he be not, as one obedient, prevented by the good will of Christ. This being subtly understood, she striveth no more to resist violently, but that which in her had as it were hardened is rendered soft, like a belly; and her heart, softened by the gracious hand, is shaken strongly and trembleth; and, fearing lest she offend, she now desireth nothing but the good pleasure of the spouse. Good is the hand of grace, which mightily boreth through the things that are somewhat dark, giving light 420Cto the understanding that it may the more clear-sightedly see the things that shall profit: at whose sublilem touch, if aught had been hard, it groweth soft; and, being made soft, the trembling groweth strong unto obedience. Who will grant that he put his hand to us through the straits of the hole, and, the understanding being opened, suffer not anything to grow hard, but, when he hath given a subtle intelligence for the seeing, may consequently pour in a nimble diligence for the fulfilling? Happy therefore is the Virgin who is touched by the sent hand of him that worketh, whose soft heart trembleth at the touch or the efficacy of him that commandeth; who, the command being heard, withdraweth not into the lodging of negligence, is not darkened in understanding, halteth not in affection, but obeyeth. Whence she addeth: I arose, etc.

420DI arose to open to my beloved. She who a little above shuddereth to take up again the garment she had laid down, and as it were knoweth not how she should defile her washed feet anew, now perceiving more fully in what and to whom she ought to obey, riseth and hasteneth to open to him whom she loveth. She was held indeed with herself in a pleasing seat or chamber, and rejoiced as in an inner room in a sweet leisure: rejoicing in a soft reclining, with her head laid back she rested, and knew not the wakeful tumults and whatsoever maketh noise without. Out of a rest of this sort, leisured, or out of a peaceful sitting, the Virgin, rising, is shaken out and is girded for the contest; and what the spouse's uttered voice obtained not with her, his hand put in 421Aprevaileth to do with a fuller effect. For the voice that is heard teacheth to do, but giveth not also to do; and the ear which is rendered ready for hearing is not straightway rendered ready for effect also; but that which 243 the voice of him that commandeth speaketh out to us for the knowing, the touch of him that worketh followeth up with grace for the fulfilling. Whence Isaias: Lord, saith he, who hath believed our hearing (Isa. LXIII)? [Vulg. Isa 53:1 Quis credidit auditui nostro? — without Domine; the vocative belongs to the New Testament citations of the verse, Rom 10:16 and John 12:38.] The words of prophecy sound everywhere in the ears of all, but, the hand of the spouse being withdrawn, they give not faith to Isaias; because the word, whereby the ears of unbelievers are struck from without, becometh like a tinkling cymbal (I Cor. XIII), if their minds be not touched by grace. After the voice therefore whereby the spouse admonished the Virgin to open, because she deferred to obey the admonitions of him that admonished, he set himself by an operative grace to soften her heart, and by the touch of his hand to make her ready 421Bto fulfil what he had commanded. Whence elsewhere also Solomon is found to commend the same Lord, showing that what he speaketh out with his mouth he consummateth with his hands, giving to understand that it is not sufficient enough that he be prompt to speak, unless with a more gracious good will he have set his hands also to the fulfilling. With thy mouth, saith he, thou hast spoken: and with thy hands thou hast performed (III Reg. VIII). With his mouth therefore the Bridegroom admonished the Bride unto labour, but by the touch of his sent hand he rendered her the prompter: her that rested in sleep or in leisure he rendered watchful with his mouth, that she might hear, but nimble with his hand, that rising she might open the more watchfully. I arose, saith she, to open to my beloved. She who, lying, could not, or perhaps would not, open, being made to tremble by the touch of the hand riseth and hasteneth to obey; she riseth, I say, lest by deferring she seem to hinder him that knocketh, accounting profitable to herself 421Cwhatsoever at last she perceiveth to please him. Her silence therefore being broken off, she riseth and prepareth herself for doctrine, that she may set a moral discipline within the hearts of her hearers; she rendereth her hands active, that she may give to the rest a form of living, and, as well by word as by work, may open to the spouse a path for his coming. For then indeed is the way effectually opened to Christ, when in the teacher's word truth, and in his act severity, is found; when preaching or doctrine so instructeth the minds of the hearers that the discipline of the virtue shown beforehand edifieth them the more. Which the Virgin showing addeth: My hands, etc.

My hands dropped down myrrh, and my fingers are full of the most approved myrrh. When the Virgin was rising, and 421Das it were going on to open, hoping that Christ would enter in the more fully when the gate was opened: in the going she felt that the gate itself would not easily lie open, unless she took care to apply strong hands to the lifting of the bolt. For the gate was not opened straightway, as she declareth herself to have risen, nor doth she assert that it lay open straightway when she rose; because, although she confesseth beyond doubt that she rose in order to open, yet the efficacy of opening is not straightway afforded. For she saith not: I arose and opened, but she saith: I arose to open. But because a certain difficulty perchance set itself against her as she rose, the Virgin advisedly applied her hands to the removing of it — hands, I say, not torpid with leisure, not dry, not deceitful, but strong with a nimble virtue, effectual to fulfil worthily what was purposed. Hands, saith she, mine dropped down myrrh. 422AHands are actions; but by myrrh she seemeth to name the strictness of judgment, because whatsoever the Virgin did she willed to judge the more strictly, knowing that he deservedly feareth not the judgment to come who by a humble will hath chosen to bear the present one. The hands therefore of the virgin dropped the bitterness of myrrh, when all her acts held the rule of discipline, when whatsoever she took care to work in this laborious flesh she restrained the more diligently, lest it should presume to wander the more negligently. For myrrh is said to strengthen soft and flowing flesh, and to preserve it lest by a natural law it lie subject to rottenness; and the works of our hands, lest perchance they come to a natural failing, a regular strictness maketh firm and leadeth unto perfection. And because it sufficeth not for the virgin if by living strictly 422Bshe advance much in virtue, unless she both instruct the rest and draw them along with her unto salvation: she saith that her hands do not hold or have myrrh, but rather drop it down, that she may show the advance of her works to be derived unto them that are without. Ah, for to this she riseth, that her instruction stick not fast nor waver anywhere, and that whatsoever she knoweth profitable for the rest she hold not shut up but drop down, that she may profit them that stand by assitentibus her not by the desire of her will alone, but by a form of justice shown forth and by the example of a strict holiness. To the opening therefore the anxious virgin stretcheth forth her hands; to the instructing of her neighbours she showeth beforehand a dropping of myrrh, holding it settled that then she instructeth the more effectually, when the strictness of manners hath hastened to go before the instruction of words. But because a severe strictness of living is not held sufficient to the full 422Cif in it a discreet moderation, or a moderate discretion, be not held: after the hands dropping down the unction of a commendable myrrh, she consequently applieth herself to make mention of fingers. Fingers, saith she, mine are full of the most approved myrrh. Fingers, although beneath they cleave to one another as by one root or joining, yet come forth outwardly discrete with an unequal measure or proportion; and their discretion is fashioned by so prudent a craft of nature that, serving the hand, it is held as profitable as it is fitting. By the fingers therefore is rightly understood the discretive virtue, which, if it be joined undivided as a companion to our works, then whatsoever in them she affecteth not the more strictly, paineth the more severely or straiteneth, 244 that same discretion by her fellowship rendereth the more perfect and adorneth. Which doubtless, 422Dalthough now more briefly, now more profusely she extendeth herself, according as she seeth through and attendeth what is expedient for the business set before her, yet, as she striveth not to pass beyond the due bounds, so she findeth it indiscreet and, injurious to stand short of them. Whence she herself, who is not denied to be called one and the same discretion, is applied so manifoldly to many, and to divers businesses, that it is not out of tune if she be figured not so much by the name of a finger as of fingers, in that she worketh very many things, dividing to each as she will. But willing to commend fingers of this sort, the most prudent Virgin asserteth that they abound with the most approved myrrh; because as strictness, being indiscreet, profiteth nothing or little, so discretion shineth not forth unless it be accustomed to hard burdens. But discretion shineth and is adorned with a rosy comeliness when the strictness joined to it is not straitened 423Aby a niggard boundary, when myrrh is poured into the fingers not from an empty horn but rather from a full one, and the fulness thereof is worthily approvable, not confounded. But that may fittingly be called approvable or approved whereto the conversation of us that labour striveth so to be given over, that whatsoever miry thing the interruption of the present workshop draweth to itself, the severity of discipline brought over it may diligently boil away. But the Virgin named the myrrh wherewith she intimated her fingers to be full not approved, but rather, most approved: intimating perchance that the myrrh which is approved may be given with grace to the rest that labour, but that the most approved is truly, is specially, assigned to herself. Approved is that which chastiseth the restless body and subjecteth the chastised body to servitude, lest the law engrafted in the members withstand life and salvation utterly; which represseth the disordered motions 423Band the enkindling passions of the body as they sprout, and suffereth them not to be made oppressive. But most approved is that which utterly denieth entrance to all vices, which so banisheth the craftiness of enemies with the door of the mind barred, that not only doth she not permit a conceived wickedness to be led unto effect, but by a stronger advance doth not now even loosen the gate unto its conception. It is most approved when not only the hand committeth not an unlawful work, but the mind, far purer, admitteth nothing reprehensible; when not only the stronger spirit consenteth not to the law of the flesh, but both flesh and spirit have now felt nothing worthy of pardon. Which sort of myrrh, although it seem to be far from our borders, yet it is certain that it is not wanting to this so great virgin, but that by an excellent gift it is so at hand to her fingers that 423Cshe asserteth them to be not needy but rather full. For she it is whose discretion the more fully embraceth the bitterness of strictness, whose strictness is governed by a discreet moderation; who, being mighty in both, both rejoiceth with the doors shut to find the pleasing sweetness of silence, and utterly refuseth not, when she is touched by the hand of the spouse, to open. Whence she subjoineth: The bolt of the door, etc.

The bolt of my door I opened to my beloved: but he had turned aside, and was gone by. After the Virgin had shown her hands and her fingers commendable with myrrh, and had prepared herself for the opening by a discreet exercise, she unbarred the door that was shut before, the bolt being removed, and what she had as it were hidden within she 423Ddeclared at the command of him that knocked. For she who before rejoiced in a sweet silence now, the spouse knocking at the gate, judgeth it worthy that she speak, feeling that she pleaseth him none the less in speaking, whose grace she had rejoiced to obtain in silence. To him therefore whom she loveth she consenteth to open the door — that is, she looseth her silence and setteth about to instruct her neighbours: in the new and the raw laying a foundation of faith, in the advanced and the great heaping up a firmament of a loftier justice. Not for herself indeed but for her beloved doth she open the door and unbar the fastening; not for herself but for him that knocketh doth she loose the doors and set forth an opening, because when she layeth out the Lord's talent to the rest for usury, she taketh care not for her own glory or name but for his. For the charity wherewith the mother embraceth the spouse and the Virgin the son seeketh not the things that are her own, nor 424Acatcheth after anything of her own, but whether she seem to give her pains to the leisure of contemplating or to the business of preaching, she serveth with a devout and whole spirit him alone whom she loveth. Who, although she affecteth leisure more than business, yet, cleaving to that, she utterly refuseth not this; but in business, when she now applieth herself to it, it more evidently becometh known by what cause she is held when she the more diligently cleaveth to leisure. For leisure indeed is not held worthy enough of the greatest praise if the sweetness of it be not held by a commendable cause; nor doth that highest judge will that leisure be held out to him as a merit, but that a commendable cause be shown beforehand in the face of it. Which the holy Virgin understanding, confesseth that she opened not the door but the bolt of the door, that not the bolt may be commended by the door but the door by the bolt; because that invisible 424Band most keen searcher of things invisible is an eager lover not so much of the study that proceedeth as of the cause that goeth before. The bolt, saith she, of my door I opened to my beloved. According to the letter, when any man is found knocking at the gate, it is not the bolt, as you know, but rather the door that is opened; and he indeed thrusteth back the bolt 245 who willeth to afford entrance to him that knocketh, which he had thrust in when he willed to keep the door shut. But here not the door but the door's bolt is said to be opened, wherein not the letter but a spiritual understanding willeth to be sought; because as the bridal chamber is not to be built of wood or of stone, so neither door nor bolt admitteth the grossness of a literal understanding. By the name of the door therefore silence is not unfitly figured, under the covering whereof the Virgin lieth hid and rejoiceth in her hiding-place; 424Cbut the bolt which is set to the door lest it be turned is the love of the Bridegroom, for whose sake the Virgin embraceth silence. Outward things indeed being put behind her, when the Virgin lieth hid shut up under silence, the love of the Bridegroom is in the cause, stronger than any bar; and, the cause and the effect running together in her, the Virgin, the home-born handmaid of quiet, rejoiceth unspeakably in her advancement. But if the beloved knock and ask the Bride to open, assuredly he willeth to find his own love in that very silence; and he proveth that love to be the cause of the silence she hath taken up, if for his sake for whom she rejoiceth in silence the Virgin endureth to be present at outward things also. Otherwise, if, the beloved knocking, the Virgin withstand with a stubborn mind, there is no doubt that she is instant upon silence with a desire that is not truthful; because she that truly loveth, not knowing how not to hear him whom 424Dshe loveth, rejoiceth to open her love to him whom she loveth, that she may be loved the more. The Bridegroom therefore knocking, the Bride taketh not away but bringeth forth the bolt evidently — that is, she diligently openeth the cause wherefore she rejoiceth in leisure — while for the Bridegroom's love she layeth aside and banisheth leisure, and for him for whose sake she was at leisure she now refuseth not to be instant upon business also. For whose sake, accustomed to the titles of victory, she willed to be shut in within; for his sake, now going forth without, she becometh an athlete again, showing in business by what cause she was held in leisure, singing that prophetic word which is briefly contained in the verse of the Psalm: If I have remembered thee upon my bed, in the mornings I will meditate on thee (Psal. LXII). He calleth the bed that quiet wherein she is delighted in the chamber, when, the door being as it were shut, she is sequestered from the tumult of outward things; 425Abut those morning things which return after the quiet silence of the night may rightly enough be called the action and the doctrine of temporal things. He therefore who for Christ's sake truly lieth hid under a pleasing silence, for the same Christ's sake acquiesceth also to give his pains to outward things; and he showeth what memory or what love of him he holdeth upon his bed when he shall have been called in the morning to labour. So also the Virgin, when, morning being as it were made, she receiveth commandment to speak, openeth to the Bridegroom the bolt wherewith her door was made fast, and showeth with what love, with what spirit she was held under silence, while she refuseth not to obey when she is asked to go forth into public. She openeth, I say, that to him who had knocked and had first moved her to open she may make satisfaction by answering, and may rejoice to find him without; that him whom in silence she could not yet sufficiently overcome, being called into 425Bpublic, she may avail to ensnare by the merits of obeying. But he had turned aside and was gone by. The beloved knocketh at the Bride's door and asketh that it be opened to him, and, the bolt being opened, he cannot be found; and in a wondrous manner he inclineth himself to her presence, and when he is now thought to be as it were held, fleeing back to his own he straightway turneth aside. For the excellence of his nature is so incomprehensible that, when he hath poured himself with a large benefit into a mortal creature, he as it were offereth himself wholly and conferreth upon her that loveth a hope of holding him; and, her desire being stretched out, his immensity cannot be comprehended. He kindleth and stretcheth out the sweet desire of her that burneth; he provoketh her that burneth, he promiseth the presence of him that provoketh; and when he is now thought present amid the veins of her that more tenderly embraceth him, he fleeth her greedy hands and is withdrawn from the throat that gapeth for him. He fleeth, I say, 425Cthe Virgin, pressed not by a blameworthy offence but by corruptible flesh; and he turneth away from her eyes a face not granted her, and, not taking the thing away but rather deferring it, he rendereth her hope untired, maketh firm her faith, dwelling in light inaccessible. Who, turning away from his mother's gaze the face she most desireth, passeth to the bosom of the Father and to the light revealed to no mortal; whose immortality, although it will to be loved by mortals, yet willeth to be presented to none of them unto sufficiency. For although he will to be at hand for the helping of some and others abundantly, and more abundantly, yet he willeth always that something be wanting to all, so long as either guilt tendeth toward its remedy, or the weaker disease toward its medicine, or this corruptible thing busieth itself to lay aside its natural corruption. For not only 425Dguilt but corruption also darkeneth us and conformeth us to the world wherein we live; and lest we fly forth from it more freely, it bindeth us with a knot not easily to be unravelled, by which thong our eye is not indeed utterly overwhelmed, but is dimmed. The beloved therefore, seeing the Virgin still subject to this binding, and held by the wrapping of a flesh that is not of vice but of nature, he presenteth himself to her the more frequently in what manner or order he will, but his immortal excellence quickly absenteth itself from a mortal. For the immortal, although he promise that he may in some sort be known and felt, yet admitteth not a mortal eye to see him more fully; but when he shall have come and shall have asked the Virgin to open, he straightway turneth aside and hasteneth to pass over to things invisible. He cometh indeed, when he poureth himself the more gratefully and sweetly into a pure mind; he passeth by, when 426Ahe hideth himself from the same lest he be seen face to face: he cometh, when he leadeth her into a true and sincere hope of the best vision; he passeth by, when he withdraweth himself from a desire that still hopeth and hasteneth. He cometh, I say, when he giveth the Virgin to thirst for the clear fountain of good; he passeth by, when to her that thirsteth he giveth not to find more fully 246 that which she seeketh. He cometh, when he granteth the Virgin's faith to attain to the highest merit; he passeth by, when he suffereth not yet that faith pass over into the thing, and hope into sight. He cometh, lastly, when by commanding or by knocking he carrieth the Virgin over unto the advancement of obedience; he passeth by, when she, not arriving, is as it were dissolved into a certain failing: he cometh, when the Virgin stretcheth herself forth with a prosperous course unto the things before her; he passeth by, when she, running, hath not yet laid hold of the prize. From whom withdrawing her hand 426Brather than her mind, she addeth: My soul, etc.

My soul melted as the beloved spoke. I sought him, and found him not; I called, and he answered me not. The Virgin marvelleth, and beyond what can be told is astonished, and within herself pineth away with an exceeding stupor, while she the more diligently acquiesceth in the commands or the admonitions of him whom she tenderly loveth, and yet as yet groweth strong by no powers, by no merits, unto the obtaining of him. He indeed speaketh and admonisheth the Virgin to open; she riseth and hasteneth the more diligently to obey him that speaketh; nay, the word being heard, she is so brought down into an affectionate tenderness that she seemeth to herself melted as by a mighty burning. That Spirit being present who vehemently loveth to stand by, 426Cthe word of the Bridegroom, mightily glowing as fire in a furnace, parcheth the whole Virgin, and putteth every dross far from her, and melteth her into his own love as a fusible material. Being melted, she seemeth to retain nothing of her own, nothing proper to herself, but to offer herself apt and tractable unto every form whatsoever: so that whether she be suffered to lie hid within and to be present at spiritual things, or be bidden to go forth without, to speak to her neighbours and to profit them, her heart be not troubled, nor bring forth a complaint about the precept, but rejoice to stand by him that commandeth and to persist in what she hath begun. Since therefore she rejoiceth to be intent upon none but spiritual things, whether in leisures or in businesses, and, the things that are behind being put after her, to be stretched out only unto the things before; she as it were complaineth that he whom she seeketh with so great 426Dstudy, whom she seeketh with an eye so purged, is not yet found, nor doth she come to him with unveiled face. Him, saith she, I love with my whole heart, him with my whole soul, with all my powers; I cease not to call, I join prayers to prayers, vows to vows: and being sought he straightway slippeth away, and doth not yet more fully give what he promiseth; being called, although he heareth, yet he answereth not sufficiently to my desire. What is it therefore that, when he speaketh — that is, when his sweetness becometh known to me — my soul, tasting it, now melteth wholly with a fiery love; and when I seek the more greedily, he, as though envious, absenteth himself, and answereth not her that calleth — that is, presenteth not the face that is sought? Who nevertheless, considering me set in so great a desire, suffereth me not to be destitute of all solace whatsoever; but lest, that which I asked being deferred, I should seem to myself too much circumvented, 427Awhile I seek, I am sought; while I find not, I am found.

The watchmen who go about the city found me: they struck me, and wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my cloak. [Vulg. Cant 5:7 Invenerunt me custodes qui circumeunt civitatem… tulerunt pallium meum mihi custodes murorum. Migne's vigiles is the word the Vulgate uses at Cant 3:3 instead, and it makes the verse's two parties two different words; the exposition below turns on the distinction.] Far back the same Virgin is said to have been found by the watchmen (sup. l. III, c. 22), and the Virgin to have the more diligently accosted them that found her; who study the more anxiously to go about the city of the faithful, and, the reprobate being neglected, to impart their due care to the elect. Whereon I remember that I said in that place the things which occurred at that time — I know not whether they deserved to please or to suffice the reader; and lest perchance a repeated exposition of the same things be a burden, I pass over to expounding those things only which have lately been heard. They struck me, saith she, and 427Bwounded me. The companions of the Bridegroom, to whom the care of the faithful is committed, who watch over their flock with an unremitted anxiety, go about Jerusalem, praising the name of the Lord upon the walls, and they cherish and promote those whom they shall have seen about to come to him. Nor doth it suffice them to visit once, but they are not grieved to visit again, and they rejoice to inspect and to perfect the affections of them that go forward; and those whom they shall have known to pass over from virtue to virtue more strongly and more freely, these they love to find, being sought the more frequently, in their purpose. They are therefore reported to find again the Virgin found before, and they follow up her fervid love with a due favour; and they whose care it is to arouse and to kindle them that love, that he may be loved the more, lift up and commend him that is loved. But while commending 427Cthe unspeakable magnificence of the Creator, they bring in upon the Virgin's mind a fuller force of love; who, while they desire to relate, and yet suffice not, how great is the excellence of him that is loved, the Virgin, strongly struck, is wounded with a sharper dart. For the praise of the beloved is a certain dart or arrow, wherewith when the mind of this Virgin 247 hath been worthily sought after, she rejoiceth not so much to be grievously pricked as to be sweetly pricked to compunction; nor is she accounted so much pierced through with a dart as soothed with a healing draught. By which dart or draught being the more sweetly dissolved into love, she seemeth to herself the more gratefully destitute of the things that are of the body; and, the sense of bodily things being unnerved wherein she was the more hardly wrapped, she loveth the more tenderly by how much the more freely she is set in mind among the heavenly things. So doubtless 427Dthe Virgin rejoiceth that her cloak is taken from her, when with a mind as it were naked she feeleth herself lifted up among the heavenly things; when she feeleth the exceeding praises of the Bridegroom preached by the watchmen, and feeleth herself stripped by the kindling of those praises from the care of bodily things. For she who is set among bodily things, either by the law of mortals or by the love of carnal men, is covered the more laboriously with a certain cloak as it were; whence it cometh to pass that if she be drawn out of it, either utterly in effect or in the affection of a devout spirit, she rejoiceth to open to the Bridegroom, and to cleave to him the more openly with an uncovered face. Whereunto when the watchmen exhort the Virgin with admonitions or with praises, they are said to wound her when she is struck and to take away her cloak; and while her mind is intent upon their presence or their converse, forgetful of her own flesh she stretcheth herself wholly into the love of the spirit. For to this end are the ministering spirits sent to men, to this end do they strive with much anxiety 428Awhen they have been sent, that they may instruct informen t any lesser ones whatsoever unto lawful things, lest they transgress, but may urge the greater ones to forsake even lawful things with a stronger desire. Who, when they find the Virgin glowing with the torches of love, lay wound upon wound and study to inflame her the more, and take from her the cloak wherewith she is naturally clad — that is, the care wherewith all mortality is found to care for itself. For so do they cry out that he who is loved is admirable, so do they preach him unapproachable, that they may snatch the virgin mind wholly into an ecstasy; that, forgetful of the body with whose heavy presence she for the most part grieveth to be wrapped about, she may reckon herself for a little while loosed from the burden of it. Nevertheless the watchmen show not themselves for long to the Virgin either, but are quickly withdrawn from her to whom they sometimes condescend; not 428Butterly deferring to her will, but rather with a subtle prudence to her sanctity, and betaking themselves back to the care of the rest, to the guarding of the walls. But by the name of the walls I judge the apostles to be figured, by whose anxiety the Church rejoiceth to be defended; who, raised up and carried up not, as is wont, with stone or with mortar, but with a heap of virtues and with the indissoluble firmament of charity, go about the city, strongly equipped for its guarding — if yet they have been worthily guarded by the watchmen. Whom the most devout Virgin, considering them to be carried up unto advancement, because she cannot yet fully attain unto her beloved, turneth herself to them, willing to use a brotherly solace, not envying but rejoicing together with their grace or their salvation.

428CI adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, that you announce to him that I languish with love. The Virgin, after she had been prevented, as hath been said above, by the admonitions of her Beloved, and, he turning aside, had been found by the watchmen; these also withdrawing themselves, willeth to return to the daughters of Jerusalem — that is, to the apostles — and to accost these also concerning him whom she loveth with so great a desire. You, saith she, who after the likeness of daughters burn the more vehemently with the tenderness of love, who prepare the inward chamber of the mind for the invisible Bridegroom; you I admonish — nay, lest the admonition be held insufficient, you I adjure, willing that none pass over what is so firmly adjured. If therefore by any manner or order it shall have been granted you to find the invisible, to touch 428Dthe unapproachable: announce ye, preach ye, that I am burdened with a tender love, that by your intervention I may deserve to be commended to him whom I love. If a purified delay hath held you in suspense, if it hath led you to the Bridegroom with a prompt desire, with an eye made clean: tell him of my heats, of my untiring love, of my mighty languor; ask him that he attend, calling to mind a wounded charity. But if the day most desired shall have led any of you out of the body, if you shall have come thither first, the linen cloth of the flesh being cast off, with a face utterly unveiled — because both the last for the most part rejoice to be made first, and they who seemed the first complain to be made the slower — if divine grace shall have given you an unhindered way, and you shall have found him first, whom we seek together, being sought for: I will that, when you have found him, you announce with what heat I am held, with what love, with what failing 429AI languish, with what desire or with what languor I faint away. If you, I say, the king's table shall have received; if the light that is found shall have poured itself over you before, while I remain in darkness, being still with Joseph kept in the prison: remember me who am held, and let a fresh prosperity not lead you into forgetfulness, but ask the mighty Lord that he lead me out also the sooner. And, that he who is mighty may be moved with a swifter mercy, say ye that I languish, and that my languor is intolerably weighed down; and, lest he laugh at my pains and at a heavier impatience, announce ye that this languor is begotten not of hatred of him but of love. It is an immoderate languor, which warmeth mine own soul with a more vehement fever, nay rather, being stronger than fire, melteth it like wax; which soul, being melted with heat, groweth utterly torpid toward the transitory things of the world, 429B248 and, now knowing not to speak save of the Bridegroom, groweth the more languidly dumb toward all else. Which the daughters of Jerusalem weighing, they answer: What manner of one is, etc.

What manner of one is thy beloved of the beloved, O thou most beautiful among women: what manner of one is thy beloved, that thou hast so adjured us? [Vulg. Cant 5:9 repeats ex dilecto in the second question — qualis est dilectus tuus ex dilecto, quia sic adiurasti nos? Philip expounds the omission at 0430B–C and reports that most of the codices he could find carry the phrase twice.] The daughters of Jerusalem, hearing themselves the more diligently adjured by the Virgin that, if they find the Beloved, they should announce to him that she is sick even unto languor, seem to be the more inflamed unto the finding of him, and set about to inquire the more studiously what manner of one he is who is sought. Thou, say they, who hast already known the beloved by a wondrous privilege of love, out of whom by a new fashion thou hast known thyself Bride, mother, Virgin: hereby thou already seemest to us worthily most beautiful among all 429Cwomen, thou who art not held by the blindness of us all, nor by a lot equal with ours. Because in no ages past hath the divine bounty granted this, and no woman hath so come near to the pleasing of him of whom the speech is: we know that none shall be better able to instruct our ignorance, and to impart to us some knowledge, such as it may be, of that same one who is sought. For this cause perchance hath he not yet utterly sent thee forth from the present world, and hath not yet admitted thy desire into full rest, but hath left thee among us, though against thy will, that thou mayest teach who he is that revisiteth thee the more frequently. For by how much the oftener and the more lovingly thou beholdest him, though through a glass, by so much the more dost thou deserve to obtain a fuller knowledge of him; and 429Dby his visiting and his knocking thou art beyond doubt admonished to open for this end, that thou be not slothful to pour back upon the lesser ones the knowledge thou hast received. Say therefore what manner of one is he whom thou wilt have sought by us also, unto whom thou allegest us as messengers, if he shall have given himself to be found? Say what manner of one he is, lest in seeking we be rashly seduced, and, darkened with error, be brought in upon one instead of another. For because thou hast adjured us so firmly, so lovingly, we will not to despise but rather to attend to what thou hast asked; and we truly account the word of the oath as a precept: only say what manner of one is that beloved of thine of the beloved. We know indeed that thou lovest the Father, whose Son thou so affectest, and that thou failest not to join the begetter to the begotten in loving; but because none hath seen the Father save the Son, and none save through the Son, whereas to thee the same Son 430Ahath not at all begrudged himself: tell us, if thou hast aught, of the quality of that same Son, of whose quantity we either hear or understand nothing, or but little. And because we too rejoice in no mean measure to love him whom thou lovest, we inquire for the grace of love not once only but again, that when thou hearest the inquiry of this attentive one repeated, thou mayest prudently understand with what affection it is asked by them that love. Let therefore the inquiry pointedly repeated move thee, that thou defer not to answer to the things inquired by them that love; and say what manner of one that beloved of thine ought to be reckoned, how God man may be firmly believed and loved. He indeed is God of God, light of light, and of flesh flesh, man of a virgin: and we will to be taught by thee what we owe, and to whom, since to each substance that which is its own 430Band proper ought to be rendered. For which cause also the aforesaid inquiry is fittingly repeated, wherein a twofold love of a twofold substance is unfolded; the knowledge whereof, because it is folded up in a certain volume as it were, a diligent inquiry is instantly applied to the loosing of its seal. She asketh therefore once, and asketh again, that it be more manifestly declared to her in what manner that giant of a twin substance willeth to be loved; what he willeth to be thought of himself according as he is called beloved of the beloved, and what according as he is called beloved and of the beloved is not added. For the first inquiry, when it had said Beloved, straightway setteth under it of the beloved; the second, repeating beloved, addeth not of the beloved according to certain codices: giving thereby to understand that God is none the less worthy to be loved 430Cout of the Father by loving; but that man, although he be loved, is yet not worthy to be embraced equally out of man. For the deity of the Son is loved equally in the Father also; but his humanity, not knowing a father, is not so loved in his mother also — which that twofold inquiry seemeth subtly to admonish, whereof the first set down of the beloved, and the second willed to keep silence. But if any shall say that both the first set it down and the second kept it not silent, I will not to contend overmuch, nor stubbornly to strive against it, because I have found many codices to support this testimony. For, although not all the codices I could find, yet very many of them, as in the first inquiry, so in the second also have beloved of the beloved; nor have I sufficiently ascertained whether of the beloved was repeated by the author, or rather written by a fault 430Dor an error. But beloved of the beloved may be said, man of man, because the Virgin both loveth the son in that he is man, and loveth that of which he is; for she loveth her own flesh, for no man hated his own flesh (Ephes. V). We indeed love him because, being made man, he is partaker of our nature, and the creator of us all took upon him the lowly things of the creature; but the Virgin loveth him not only as made man, but as made man out of 249 herself, and out of that whereof he was made man she rather loveth herself for his sake. Whose becoming man, although it deserve worthily to be loved by angel or by man, yet it more befitteth him to be loved by her in whose womb, being the Virgin's, he becometh man; and what the obedience of all creation of necessity rendereth to him made man, the virgin, richer in grace, doth by a certain voluntary force of nature. Which 431Athe daughters of Jerusalem seem to intimate in their inquiring, when they say not: What manner of one is our beloved, but: What manner of one is thy beloved, giving thereby to understand that that beloved is rightly assigned to the Virgin as it were specially, whose love nature together with grace mightily worketh. Of which beloved being inquired of, the Virgin deferreth not to answer, nor seemeth to envy the knowledge of him to them that seek it: understanding that, though she desire to be dissolved, she must yet for this end remain, that she may study to teach upon the housetops what she hath drawn in the chamber.

My beloved is white and ruddy, chosen out of thousands. My beloved, saith she, whose acquaintance you have not yet (as it seemeth) acquired, but which by a zeal of acquiring you have already carefully sought out, is conspicuous not with one splendour only, but with a twofold 431Bsplendour, whose inestimable whiteness joineth to itself a pleasing redness. Now whiteness is a light unfailing, unapproachable to them that are dim of sight, a day that knoweth no evening, not pressed down by any darkness that followeth after: a light shining white eternally, and none the less the whiteness of eternal light, enlightening angels as well as men, present alike to the abiding and to the perishing. It is, I say, the whiteness of light, a light present to all yet not shown to all, shining indeed in the darkness, and not comprehended by the darkness (Joan. I); a whiteness brighter than the sun, a light that hath gone beyond whiteness, snow, taking on a red garment, yet suffering no stain upon the garment. For God, the Word of God, the Only-begotten of the Father, the image of the begetter, putting on a servile body, the tunic of misery 431Cand of toil, and conversing as man among men, liveth a life so modest that to them which look worthily he offereth as it were a ruddy countenance. For taking true flesh of others, he was so made like unto men that in the eyes of the dim-sighted there remaineth to him neither comeliness nor look: and being needy and weak, and, according to Zacharias (cap. III), wearing filthy garments, he sickeneth with foulness, he waxeth pale with a miry face. But I, the mother, whose mind is not darkened, whose understanding is not dull, to whom above all others my own child-bearing hath been made known and my conceiving made clear — I know my son's flesh to be utterly alien from every vice, and that he taketh nature, and of guilt taketh upon him nothing save the penalty. He therefore, as it were a fugitive, blusheth at every vice whatsoever, and sustaining its penalty alone, he is beyond doubt not befouled but reddened: 431Dnor is it the hurt of guilt, but rather a flight from hurt, when his cheeks are suffused with the blood-red ruddiness of the passion. Nor the cheeks only, but the whole garment of the body is red; the passion maketh the whole comely, and empurpleth it with a penal adornment: and that which to any sinner is ignominy and an intolerable loss, is to him nothing but grace and a commendable increase of glory. Lastly, fire also is red and is found of one colour with blood, whose heat guilt endureth not, if it be not prevented by mercy; and he whose wood, hay, stubble maketh trial not of light but of burning — that fire, saving gold, silver, stone, measureth back to each the like (I Cor. III). My beloved therefore is a fire burning up 432Athe chaff, parching the mire, bringing the reprobate to nothing, mercifully chastening the dissolute: a fire shut up in an earthen vessel, red with a judicial power, shaking round about in judgment with a red power. For God, whom as Son he willed to be substantially united to himself before the ages, him in the end of times he willed to be found in the habit of a man, whose becoming man cannot easily be known by any, save by him to whom he hath willed to impart his grace thereunto. Which grace assuredly he willeth to be sought by the desire of the studious and the study of them that desire, and to you, as I understand, who worthily seek it, he willeth to grant it; and I envy you not, since I myself seem to be prevented by that same grace, but I teach them that seek, and I rejoice that you are effectually instructed. He is therefore the brightness of glory, the figure of the substance, the image of the paternal Godhead, the whiteness of eternal 432Blight, the mirror of the divine majesty (Hebr. I); he is white in the white Father, sprinkled with no stain, ever clean; and enduring to have a mother, he willed to become ruddy. Shining white, I say, as the light of light, he sought withal to be red; but being red that he might take counsel for us, he ceaseth not to shine white in himself eternally: among the choirs of angels and the crowds or assemblies of men, no giant is mightier, none is found like unto him. Wherefore out of thousands the Father, the more solicitous for us, chose this one, whom, sent by his own will, no hard law or necessity constrained; but being made priest and victim, he offered himself in sacrifice by his will, laying down the soul he had taken, and by a like power taking again the soul he had laid down. And it is excellently defined by the aforesaid 432Cnumber, when this finite number is put for every infinite, that out of all, angels as well as men, who can be comprehended in no number, he alone should be the chosen for the ministry of offering. For no other, whether man or angel, was able so to offer, and no man's oblation could effectually confer this; and therefore out of thousands, that is, out of the infinite number of them all, he is singularly chosen, 250 who more perfectly effecteth that for which the imperfect sufficeth not. And that he is worthy to be chosen through whom this benefit is conferred, a worthy sequence of praises is subjoined in the testimony that followeth.

His head is the finest gold, his locks as the raised boughs of palm trees, black as a raven. This beloved of the Virgin, 432Deven as he is not of one begetting, so is he believed not to be of one substance or nature; because both from the Father alone he is believed to have that which he is as God, and from the mother alone that which he is as man: and thus, being of a twofold substance or nature, Christ abideth alike God and man. In which juncture, wherein a twofold nature have to come together into one person, there is one thing principal and another secondary to be found; and that indeed may by the privilege of dignity be named the head, but this other, whatsoever it be, may — if nevertheless it so seem — be fitted to it by some likeness. The head of Christ therefore is that principal nature in him which, begotten of the Father, is believed coequal to him that begetteth; according to which, as he is not greater than the Father, 433Aso neither is he less than him; but greater, as than every man, so truly than himself also. Now this head is not unfitly compared to gold — to gold, I say, the finest, which is approved above the rest, which by the worth of its own price holdeth the primacy over all metals, and which, though it lie perchance in the mire, is not disfigured by any miry nature. For the Godhead of Christ, which he is known to have coeternal and common with the Father, taking our flesh, kept itself immune from carnal faults: and being mercifully bowed down by a deep counsel toward our mire, as it were, it lay hid under the shadow of the flesh, defiled by none of its filth. By this mystery therefore, wherein God bowed himself down, remaining in his own nature, and by the voluntary right of his power was wondrously made a creature — these natures running together, and neither complaining 433Bof loss — Christ, God and man, was given to us out of such a juncture. In which juncture God, or the Godhead, is borne above after the manner of a head, and man, or the manhood, is brought in beneath after the manner of the feet or of the body. And the head, like gold, is more precious than all bronze, forasmuch as the creator is believed to be preeminent over all creatures. But the feet, or the body, are a vessel of clay or of earth, which, taken out of a hurt matter, is rendered alien from all vices; over which, as a head, he standeth eminent who taketh it up, who advanceth what he hath taken, enlighteneth what he hath advanced, and consumeth it not. Such a head in Christ usurpeth not to itself the primacy undeservedly — a head which foulness maketh not bald, which no unseemly baldness disfigureth; but, all foulness being put far off, being fortified with an inborn beauty, it is adorned for the showing of itself with befitting 433Clocks. Now his locks are beyond doubt the virtues of the heavens, the worthier creatures, the preeminent choir of angels, who, while others flowed away and fell irrevocably into hell, cleaving more firmly to the head, remain fixed for ever. Who by the privilege of excellence and by the merit of the dignity they have obtained are like not to any trees soever, but to the raised boughs of palms, which warriors carry in their hand when their enemies are overcome, when on a festal day, all resplendent, they desire to show themselves conquerors. And those raised boughs of the palms are said to be the little branches which are advanced on high above the rest by a tall uprightness, which, when being advanced they have stood more firmly with their top on high, remain in all seasons alike unbending both in stiffness and in comeliness. So the virtues of the heavens are raised on high 433Dabove the rest, when they rejoice to enjoy him by whom, while the others fell, they were saved; to behold whose face they hasten ever to lift themselves up, and persisting in desire, they turn not aside through any languishing weariness. Whence as men triumphing they are glad to bear the raised bough of the palm, when, now secure concerning themselves, they glory in the titles of victory, when, fear being put far away, they keep now a festal day, carrying in their hand the branch that showeth forth the gift they have obtained. They indeed hold themselves forth to them that seek to see God, and they show not the bare head of Christ everywhere to any that will: and the splendour of the gold admitteth not the eyes of them that strain toward it, but that it may in some measure be borne, the hair goeth before them to meet them. 434AWhich hair assuredly taketh not away the presence of that same head, but promiseth it, and by a fitting progress admitteth us afterward unto it; wherein, although it hangeth first and nearer by a certain glue of love, yet to us that follow far off it condescendeth by a certain likeness. For cleaving to the head the beauty of the locks shineth out, but condescending to us their foulness appeareth: the locks are white as a lily when they present themselves to the golden head, but when they are at hand to us, they represent the blackness of a raven. Considering the head of Christ, who with God the Father hath naturally one being, they rejoice to be like to the tall and glowing raised boughs of the palms. But considering whatsoever they understand to have been made, compared with the white maker, they see it to be as it were black. The angels therefore, lifted up 434Bby the strivings of contemplation toward their maker, see that the Creator far excelleth all creatures; and that he indeed is white, or is somewhat that may be reckoned brighter still, while these grow as it were torpid and are made like unto blackening ravens. For by how much the more they hang upon loving him 251 with a greater desire, by so much the more do the angels perceive not only men, but themselves also, to be black; and to whom the excellence of the head shineth out brighter than gold, to those same their own humble consideration groweth black. So assuredly the locks of Christ are like, as hath already been said, to the raised boughs of palms, when they attentively consider the height of his Godhead; and yet they are not unfitly said to grow black after the manner of a raven, when by their own cry they confess themselves far unlike to him. For when they strongly and singularly love his eternal beauty, 434Cthey cry out with a humble voice that they are black and abject: considering that that which hath its beginning from another, and lacketh not an end save through another, is not compared to him who through himself abideth without beginning and without end. But this consideration, whereby the angels extol the head of Christ and humble themselves in the contest, derogateth not, detracteth not from their merits, nor from their crown; but they the more confidently seek out or obtain the branch of victory, by how much the more evidently they cry aloud that they are black and humble, like a raven.

His eyes as doves upon the brooks of waters, which have been made washed, and sit beside the fullest streams. [Vulg. super rivulos aquarum, quae lacte sunt lotae — "upon the little brooks of waters, which are washed with milk." Philip's exposition requires the milk, and glosses it four times below.] The Bridegroom hath eyes also, wherewith he goeth about and surveyeth all things, and with a mighty compassing advanceth 434Dand illumineth what he hath seen; which eyes he loveth to open for the bestowing of his gifts upon us, and, lest he condemn, he hasteneth to cover us because of our deserts. Whence also these eyes are said to have not the eagle's severity, but with a more gracious affection they hold the dove's simplicity, because assuredly the eagle seeth far more severely and more keenly for the prey, but the dove more innocently, signifying a mild and simple discipline. And since eyes of this sort are likened to doves rather than to eagles, I deem it not unfitting if they be called grace and truth, because in grace and truth God made all things, and saw all that he had made to be very good, and vouchsafeth to angels as well as to men that are good a reward or a crown. For he who gave being to the angels, who 435Ahad not been, willed, when some of them fell, not to be wanting to the others that remained; and those whom he saw with grace, lest they should fall by a proud wickedness, he rendered fixed and stable by truth, so that now they could not fall. But that angel whom God looked not upon with the eye of grace turned himself aside from the uprightness wherein he had been made; and not being prevented by grace, he received no stable footing in truth, and being turned away from either eye, the wretch irreparably deceived himself. Happy therefore is that man whom the divine goodness beholdeth with the eye of grace, when, guilt requiring it, he is already held beneath the tree, when, his wife's false counsel being preferred to the rule of truth, he feareth the voice he hath heard, because of the fresh ignominy of his nakedness. For him whom, darkened beneath the fig tree, he mercifully enlightened with the look of grace, he consequently 435Brecalled by an order gracious enough to the light of truth: and him that was worn down with labours, that he might render a requital for the wickedness he had presumed, grace instructed, that it might render him fixed unto truth. But that he might confer this benefit upon the whole human race, and, its origin being hurt, might set mercy above judgment, when the world was now pressing on toward evening there arose a light of sudden newness, whereby the Word was made flesh, full of grace and full of truth. Whose brighter rising, when it poured itself into us that were dim of sight, poured over us these two luminaries; and being made man he vouchsafed to see us with a twofold eye, that is, to join to grace, which seeth beforehand, truth as an undivided companion. For those whom he saw with grace, that he might endow us undeserving with deserts, he saw also with truth, that he might now heap rewards upon the deserving; who assuredly giveth the first deserts to none but the undeserving, 435Cand again crowneth none with the rewards of deserts but the deserving Therefore he saw us with grace, when he called us undeserving, and them that were called he provoked unto justice and to the deserts of justice; he saw us also with truth, when, as we yielded our assent, he bestowed himself as a helper, who before had bestowed himself only freely as a promiser. Grace indeed was the calling and the promise of him that strengtheneth, but truth was the exhibiting or the benefit of him that helpeth: nor is it profitable enough if grace promise us any good thing with a liberal hand, if truth its companion answer not to that promise. Rightly therefore is the Bridegroom said to have eyes, wherewith he innocently and simply beholdeth all the elect; whereof the one going before envieth not, but freely seeth the undeserving, 435Dand the other followeth them as now deserving, and dischargeth the office of truth. And since they look not upon us too severely, but regard us with a harmless simplicity, and meditate no prey, but stretch themselves out unto the salvation of us all, rightly doth the holy Virgin say that they are like doves, which their own nature maketh to be simple and harmless. Which doves haunt the brooks of waters and the fullest streams, that they may foresee the ravening birds which wickedly set themselves against the simpler sort — as they say who search more curiously into the natures of birds, and prove by certain conjectures that the matter standeth so. But that the doves are said to be washed not with waters but rather with milk intimateth that they are far removed from material doves; and because neither use nor reason admitteth 252 that doves be washed so, 436Athis saying plainly sendeth us back to a spiritual understanding. The eyes therefore of the Bridegroom, as hath already been said, being like unto doves, are not only over the waters but over the little brooks of waters, when his grace and truth teach us the content of the Scriptures, showing whence, and by what way, and whither the doctrine of the prophets floweth as it passeth by. For they, drawing in joy out of the fountains of the Saviour, bring down even unto us the manifold promises of the Creator, which cease not to come upon us and to pass us by with a promising murmur, until the thirst of them that wait be refreshed with a fulfilling gift. Lastly, to this end are the Bridegroom's eyes said to be over the flowing abundance of the waters, and they set us in that same place, and grace and truth behold us so set, that they may teach us that nothing that is begotten 436Bstandeth fast, after the manner of a little brook, but by a natural flowing and by its own motion hasteneth to destruction. For over this — that the fashion of this world passeth away, and is rolled onward in the course of things, and that the inconstancy of times and days suffereth nothing to stand — there is need of a cleaner and simpler understanding, that in these transitory things the profit may be firmer and more solid. Therefore perchance the doves to which the aforesaid eyes are compared are reported to be washed not with waters but rather with milk, because to milk a snowy whiteness is naturally assigned, wherein the clean simplicity of the dovelike grace is designated. Which grace assuredly so seeth us, and so also giveth us to see, that it both harm us not and will have us not to harm another: and in our sight it willeth the mirror of the Scriptures to shine, that we may be able to foresee the hurtful assaults of others. Which 436Ccleanness of seeing the prophet Habacuc commendeth in the Lord himself: Thy eyes are clean, saith he, that thou mayest not behold evil, and thou canst not look upon iniquity (Habac. I). Good eyes indeed, which are known to shine again with so great a cleanness that they mercifully choose not to see our malice, which cannot turn back their gaze upon our iniquity, but rejoice to advance their glance toward our profit. Whence also they are consequently said to sit beside the fullest streams, forasmuch as they enlighten us and make us to sit beside those same streams, when they teach us to approach the Scriptures of the Gospel, which flow with a fuller doctrine, and to embrace them with a more gracious affection. For after the manner of waters the prophetic Scriptures make us fruitful, but the Scriptures of the Gospel 436Dflow far more plentifully and abound, because in the former the spiritual understandings are wrapped up in figures and dark sayings, but in the latter they shine fully and are unfolded in plainer words. The bright fountain of good poured itself into us of old with an abiding little brook, but afterward more largely overflowed us with the great rush of a river, because both by the old Scriptures it gave us a profitable watering to drink, and afterward by the Scriptures of the Gospel it more fully satisfied our thirst. Who would not commend these eyes of the Bridegroom, like unto doves, which mingle for us the brooks and the fullest streams of the Scriptures, whose sight, knowing not our evils, advanceth and maketh fruitful our good things, and with a prosperous profit cleanseth us as with a milky whiteness? For that the eyes, or the doves to which the eyes are likened, are recorded either to sit beside the waters or to use a milky 437Awashing, ought to be reckoned not frivolous but profitable, not superfluous but rather mystical, wherein the Bridegroom loveth to work our salvation by grace and truth. Whereof it is subjoined: The cheeks, etc.

His cheeks are as beds of spices, set by the perfumers. After the praises of the eyes, the Virgin maketh a passage to the cheeks also, which she judgeth in no wise alien from the merit of praise; wherein, as was said long since (supra l. I, c. 2), the beauty of the face shineth out, and the face is worthy to be praised for the merit of its fairness. The Virgin therefore praiseth the Bridegroom's face, that is, the beauty of the Godhead, which flowereth with a certain laughter and gloweth with the flower of honourableness, which appeareth cheerful and delightsome to them that behold it dutifully, and is found 437Bprofitable and fruitful by them that worship it devoutly. He indeed is in form fair above the sons of men (Psal. XLIV), whose comeliness is inestimable and, beyond what can be told, fruitful; to whom, although she judged that nothing at all was properly to be compared, yet the Virgin compared him to beds of spices, by a certain licence of speech. Now beds are little gardens, rich not in gold, not in silver, nor indeed in things of this sort, but in aromatic trees and in manifold spices, out of which by the skilled hand of the perfumer a medicinal ointment is made, whereby wounds are healed and a soothing is given to pains. So also is the Bridegroom's, that is, his divine beauty, wherein is nothing defiled, no unseemly foulness: adorned indeed with a flower, not with a transitory colour, not too fraudulently sought out by art, but 437Cwith an inborn splendour and with a form of worthy virtues. In which beauty eternity knoweth no beginning, immortality no end; an unwearied light shineth, change is fixed, peace resteth: power hath power, wisdom is wise, the presence of charity burneth, and there flourisheth a certain commonwealth, leagued together not of citizens but of virtues. Whose league is found not weak, not unprofitable, but whosoever loveth it findeth it mighty and profitable, while its aromatic ointment, while its confection or its fatness, is made unto us that are sick a mighty and sufficient medicine. For no 253 bed is set by a hand so prudent as to grow rich with spices so great, with a medicine so mighty; no perfumer hath adorned his little garden with plantings so effectual, nor pounded such 437Dherbs or spices in his little mortar. Or certainly the cheeks of the bridegroom are his two substances or natures, for the Creator willed to be united personally to the creature; and a twofold substance was found to come together into one and the same bridegroom, and by a wondrous coming together to adorn as it were one face. Whose coming together made one God and man, long before divided, and, loosing the wall set between, joined heavenly things to earthly; condescending to men, it brought them an example and a doctrine, poured in the gift of grace, and afforded a salutary medicine. Whence also these cheeks are compared to beds, that is, to little gardens, out of which herbs and spices are fitly brought forth for aromatic uses, which assuredly the perfumers till with a carefulness that shall profit — perfumers whom, being taught in the healing art, the 438Acare of the languishing that are to be made whole holdeth fast. For when God suffered the world to perish by sin through many thousands of years, and neither man nor angel prevailed to root it out, at length the perfumers prudently chose certain beds for themselves, out of which they gathered medicinal spices and the spices of salvation. For they joined together alike the divine nature and the human, and by a deep counsel laid upon them as it were a certain traffic of healing; and when these were joined into one person, as cheeks into one face, they compounded a spice, and refreshed the languishing world with the grace of health. Nor do the perfumers seem to me to be any other than the Father and the Son and their Spirit, who are said to take part in the aforesaid traffic by a common counsel; of whom, although none but the Son is rightly to be believed to be incarnate, yet the Father together with the Spirit are said to work 438Bthe incarnation. The cheeks therefore of the bridegroom, that is, the two natures which wondrously came together into one person, as beds set by the perfumers, brought forth aromatic spices, whose confection and the showing forth of a strange art conferred upon us the wished-for benefit of a salutary medicine. Worthily therefore, and for the cheeks' sake, doth the bridegroom deserve to be loved, in whose union the fruitful height of the mystery is contained, which the same perfumer turneth into an ointment for us that are sick, but for them that make progress, the Father together with the Spirit working with him, into a pigment. Whence it is subjoined: The lips, etc.

His lips are lilies dropping the first myrrh. 438CWhosoever is a teacher and lacketh not understanding knoweth, as I judge, that sometimes in the Scriptures the efficient is put for the effect; and because we come not to the effect of speaking save by the mouth and the lips, we find the mouth and the lips for the most part put for speech. By the lips therefore of the Bridegroom the Virgin willed to figure his words, which also she set herself, by a new manner of speech, to liken to lilies, because lilies, when looked upon, more simply signify innocence by their whiteness, and when bruised, more prudently confer a more liberal medicine. For the words of the Bridegroom know no guile, no deceit, and assuredly no falsehood, but being more diligently discussed they bring forth a firm truth; being more graciously understood they teach benevolence, innocence, chastity; being more perfectly loved they confer true holiness upon them that love. Which words, or 438Dlips, are therefore said to drop the first or the chief myrrh, that is, to preach a doctrine effectual and necessary to all, because, although the wise men of the world willed both by writings and by words to condemn vices and to commend virtues, yet, as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal (I Cor. XIII), they lacked spiritual efficacy. But the lips of the Bridegroom, bringing forth both the Old and the New Testament, confer in either a salutary lesson upon their hearers; because, although that which went before is perchance said to be in somewhat imperfect, since it found not yet the time of grace nor fitting hearers, this latter, which came upon it in the accepted time, brought a supplement, when the sun looked back upon the darkness and light came to them that sat in the shadow. And assuredly to the lips, whereof the one is necessarily 439Aadded upon the other that we may speak, the two Testaments agree, by whose admonitions we are rightly instructed; whereof the Old seemeth of itself to lie beneath as weak and insufficient, and the New, coming upon it, to fill up its insufficiency. In which Testaments, since they were brought forth by the two lips of the bridegroom and framed with a prudent craft unto the doctrine and salvation of us all, the same bridegroom alike provoketh his hearers to a twofold profit — such of them, at least, as by his gift have obtained a spiritual understanding. For he inviteth them both to love God and to have care of their neighbours, that, dispensing temporal things, they be not unmindful of eternal ones that every just man so put his hand to a temporal study or business that at fitting seasons he may the more eagerly apply himself to spiritual leisure. Because therefore the bridegroom's 439Blessons instruct us in these two pursuits, rightly are his lips two, and none the less are the Testaments two; that things which no discord soever of matters or of acts gnaweth at should in these also, by a like form, not disagree in the very number. For which cause also the lilies come in by grace of a seemly likeness, which in form or in colour exceed not the aforesaid pair, in the midst whereof somewhat 254 a little red is found, which is compassed about with leaves bent back and gleaming with whiteness. That middle redness indicateth a laborious action, which, while it is lived in this life, bringeth in much suffering; nor is any man so happy as to be able utterly to avoid the presence, the burning, some coming even to the shedding of their own 439Cblood. But the whiteness in the leaves prefigureth that blessedness wherein the Bridegroom configureth our bodies to his own body, when, whiteness being drawn over — which befalleth us by merits together with grace — hiding, nay swallowing up what was mortal, he girdeth us about with immortal glory. So assuredly the lilies, agreeing with the lips in a twofold form or colour, signify present things in the short and red part, and the glory to come in the whiteness; whose kind droppeth the first myrrh, that is, a right profitable doctrine, at that time when the understanding of it wavereth not among us that are capable thereof.

His hands are turned, golden, full of hyacinths. The hands of the Bridegroom, as I judge, the Virgin named his works, which both when he was not yet born and when he was already born of the Virgin 439Dhe wrought; wherein so incomparable a praise of him that wrought them is held, that what he willeth is proved by an easy efficacy to be also what he can do. For which cause she saith also that these same hands are turned, intimating that nothing standeth in the way of the will of him that worketh, because a carpenter is found to do nothing more easily than with the lathe, and what hath been wrought with the lathe is found wholly round. In the lathe therefore the ease of him that worketh is understood, but the roundness holdeth the praise of him that consummateth, because he bringeth to effect whatsoever he willeth as soon as he willeth it, and what he willingly effecteth he also mightily perfecteth, knowing not how to slip back into defect. Which perfection assuredly, of an easy and rolling turning, is not of an angel, not of a man, not 440Aof any simple creature whatsoever, but is of him alone who alone willed to be born of the Virgin, man and God; who was able to do whatsoever he willed, not simply as man, but as God also. To whom it rightly agreeth that the Virgin called these same hands golden, who in the gold, as it seemeth, figured the divine power, because as gold is said to prevail over the other metals, so in the Bridegroom's works the divine power is preeminent. For, to be silent of other things, that the Creator was made a creature by his own work, God willed to use his own power, not nature; and that, doing wonderful things in man, he endured grievous ones also — in the bringing of them forward it was not, as it seemed, a defect of strength, but a power. Power, saith he, I have to lay down my soul (Joan. X). And the prophet: He was offered, saith he, because 440Bhe himself willed it (Isa. LIII). In all things therefore which God willed to work in man, it is believed that neither lead nor tin, as it hath seemed to some, holdeth the primacy, but to them that rightly behold gold is conspicuous, gold shineth; and though it be not comprehended by the darkness, yet in the darkness the light shineth again. For the divine power, brighter and more precious than all gold, not appearing to blind men, flourisheth as it were more secretly in a treasury; and that which hideth itself from the eyes of the unbelieving, the cloud of the flesh being set between, spreadeth itself abroad (though unknown) into the branches of its works. But they who deserve worthily to understand that same power are not held by the love of visible works alone, but are rather kindled by the hope of invisible goods, and in them are held suspended by love and desire. Therefore the Virgin not only called the turned hands golden, 440Cbut with an equal testimony declared them full of hyacinths also, signifying in the hyacinths, which are stones like to the air in colour, the supernal goods which are commanded to be sought after out of love. Those very works indeed which God made man was seen to accomplish are known to abound in heavenly goods for them that behold worthily, while by a manifold doctrine they lead us in to a true understanding of them, and by sure promises bring us on to hope for them. For the dispensation of the incarnate Word containeth nothing else than hyacinths, to the buying of which it inviteth all that are nimble and girded, because the temporal working of Christ, which tendeth to nothing but heavenly goods, purposeth to lead us prompt and watchful to purchase the same by the merit of faith. Whose 440Dpraise is subjoined: His belly, etc.

His belly is of ivory, distinguished with sapphires. Because the belly is held to be the softer and tenderer part in the body, by it the Bridegroom's flesh or manhood is rightly said to be signified, because, whereas he was God long before, he at length willed to be made weak for us, and to be made like to other men in nature, not in the vice of nature. But because the Word made flesh (Joan. I) was utterly ignorant of the faults of the flesh, the Virgin markedly called his belly not fleshly, because the softness of our custom or nature had not hurt the manner and the order of that begetting, such as she had known it. For that vice 441Awhich cleaved forthwith to the first men when they sinned hath by their desert so hurt the begetting of us all, that no man who begetteth can utterly 255 free himself from it, but maketh the guilt to pass over, as it were naturally, into the very child begotten. Which vice, which passing over, which now as it were a second nature, compelling both begetters and begotten to complain of the hurt, weakeneth the belly of all, that is, the flesh so begotten, and unnerveth and softeneth it, whose vicious softness no man's labour or industry taketh away from him. Which law, harshly implanted. The Virgin alone in conceiving is believed not to have felt, forasmuch as it is certain that she, knowing not a man, conceived of the Holy Spirit; and the guilt which after the manner of us all went not before her that bare came not to the Son, begotten without a father, of a mother. Whose conception brought 441Bto his flesh not only no loss, but, the Spirit working, brought it no small strengthening; because as our begetting struck into us a nature worthy of wrath, so his flesh, conceived of the Spirit, is made stronger and more solid by nature. For from this, that both man and guilt were wanting to the conception against custom, and that moreover the Holy Spirit gave it a purer efficacy, he himself who was conceived — flesh indeed in substance, not carnal in vice — obtained a new strength of a certain natural eminence. Endowed with which nature he was utterly ignorant of the enkindling passions of the body, which generally oppress the rest of men living in this flesh; but those which are penal not by guilt but by the desert of guilt, he made subject to himself by a strength as of ivory. For unto hunger, thirst, sleep, 441Cweariness, and such things as Scripture hath recorded him to have borne, he inclined not by any defect of strength, by the law necessary to us all, but, having by a certain inborn force powerfully surpassed the law implanted in us, he suffered none of these things save because, and when, and as much as he willed. Necessity therefore being a delay generally compulsive among us, he used his own will, powerfully effective; and he who, conceived man of the Spirit, could have not suffered human troubles nor been hurt, yet willed to bear hurts, that he might be able — which was that whereunto he had come — to be believed a man by men. For to this end had he come, that, the substance of flesh being assumed, he might truly be believed man, and by suffering willingly might heal the necessary sufferings of them that believe; that the ivory belly, 441Dthat is, the hidden and inborn strength of the manhood shown forth beforehand, might be turned into a remedy whereby our sickness, who truly languish, might be healed. Such a belly is not only clothed and girded with an ivory strength, but with sapphires, precious stones, is also distinguished, because the true flesh, which a singular conception strengthened with a wondrous fortitude, the Godhead joined to it beautified with an excellence of miracles. The sapphire stone is like the sky, when it is serene, when with a face as it were wiped clean it is seen alien from dark clouds; by which stone those works of the Bridegroom are rightly figured which, far above man, are specially assigned to the Godhead. For it is granted to man that he is flesh and yet 442Aknoweth not the disordered motions of the flesh, that against soft heats he is found harder and groweth cold, bearing the part of ivory, since, if it be laid under a linen cloth, that same cloth is not burned though a coal be laid upon it. It is granted also to man that all the troubles which we are penally constrained to endure, he was able to keep off from his own body as well as his mind, as by a natural privilege, and none the less to apply the same to himself when he willed and as he willed, and, when applied, to restrain them, lest they avail more or less than the dispensation requireth. But it is granted to God that amid these things he changed water into wine by a wondrous mystery, that with scanty bread he satisfied many thousands of men, that he comforted all the sick with a wished-for remedy, and that at the last he raised the dead by the sole command of his voice. Therefore the ivory belly, 442Bthat is, the robust series of human works, is distinguished with sapphires, that is, with the beauty of divine ones, when amid those things which as man he was able, as he willed, strongly to endure, the heavenly excellence rejoiceth now and again to shine out in miracles. For he loveth neither always to work human things nor continually divine ones, but that the series of his working should be adorned by grace of distinction; and thus he so commendeth himself a man by an ivory strength, greater than Jonas or Solomon, that even in the man he showeth himself, to them that rightly believe, the beauty of the sapphire, that is, God.

His legs are pillars of marble, which are founded upon bases of gold. The legs of the Bridegroom she nameth the ways or journeys whereby he came visibly unto us, when 442Che found us weak and torpid and knowing not how to travel, when, invisible in himself and by nature far unlike to man, condescending to men, he was made a creature, and appeared, and became known. Whose one leg was whatsoever belongeth to the incarnation and to a conversation that should pass away in time, and the other leg was that which pertaineth to his death and to his burial; so that his whole action and his whole passion were as it were two legs, whereby there came to us a salvation that should abide, while they passed away. Which are therefore not unfitly compared to pillars of marble, because these his journeys are proved straight and strong, since in willing what he was able there was a just straightness, and in fulfilling what he willed an equal and sufficient strength. And because it is doubtful to none that 442Dthe whole heap of works is confounded if 256 that which seemeth well heaped up be not founded upon a solid base, the pillars of marble founded upon bases of gold are recorded, which being set beneath them, those pillars are not denied to be stable and commendable. For whatsoever God, made man, willed to do or to suffer, he is believed to have done or borne unconstrained; but he was seen to lean upon that twin charity which, more precious than gold, assigneth all things set upon it unto firmness. For he loved God, whose commandment he willed to obey, and he loved men, to whom he knew his obedience would be profitable; in the one of which he understood the first and greatest commandment to be held, and in the other he neglected not the second and like unto it. The Son loved 443Athe Father, because the Father also loved the Son; he loved men, whom together with the Father he alike disposed to save; whose twofold love he held as certain causes lying beforehand, whereby he endured to be made man, and in man to do and to suffer so many things.

His fairness is as of Libanus, chosen as the cedars. Because the Virgin above commended the bridegroom as it were by parts, and from the head even to the legs set forth his praises one by one, now with a shortened speech she comprehendeth as it were the whole alike, and highly esteemeth his fairness by comparison with Libanus. Among the other mountains by which the land of the Jews is said to be occupied — whose level plain complaineth that it is straitened by the frequency of the mountains — as they say 443Bwho know it, Libanus shineth out higher, more fruitful in trees, and groweth white with continual snows. Which is well said to hold the type of the bridegroom, forasmuch as the excellence of this mountain is compared to none of the saints; who, made fruitful with the plantings of virtues and with the density of works, knoweth not to be burned with vices, being whitened by the native frost of the flesh. Whom assuredly God the Father chose, unto the salvation of us all, that through him every just man might be advanced from virtue to virtue, and that by his examples, manners and doctrine the workshop of the Church might be built, as with beams that cannot rot. The cedar, of a nature that cannot rot, knowing no sudden failures, by its odour more largely scattered driveth off the assaults of serpents; which cedar Solomon with prudent counsel willed to employ, when he was zealous to set up 443Ceither a house for himself or the temple promised to the Lord. So also the Virgin's bridegroom is of a nature that cannot rot, knowing not to be hurt by guilt from the beginning of his begetting; whose odour of works, whose repute of virtues, whose praise of doctrine drive all hurtful things far from the thresholds of discipline. For which cause he is chosen that he may be placed in the building, that through him the house of God may be strengthened with a worthy strength, that no man may work anything at all worthy of praise which is not commended by his benevolence, as by the strong presence of cedars. For whatsoever is found to be raised up by the zeal of them that build cannot stand if it be not fortified with his cedarn strength; and the incautious workman, who measureth not himself with a worthy judgment, findeth whatsoever he doth without cedars to be liable to ruin. But he who chooseth the bridegroom for the safeguard of all his work findeth no ruin, 443Dsuffereth no loss, because his benevolence both giveth to them that build a welcome patience in their labours, and conferreth upon the building the far more welcome strength of cedars. Whereof also it is added: His throat, etc.

His throat is most sweet, and he is all desirable. Because taste is contained in the throat, and holdeth the nearer place, wherein also it judgeth of all savoury things and of savour, by the name of the throat I reckon that taste is figured, by that manner of speech whereby the container is wont to be named for the thing contained. The taste therefore of the bridegroom is called not so much sweeter as most sweet, lest, if aught were said too little, somewhat should be reckoned wanting to him; because than that which proceedeth out of him, if it be tasted with a sound throat, no delightfulness is sweeter, no sweetness more delightful. For whether 444Aa man attend distinctly to that which he is as God, or to that which he is as man, and stretch himself with a devout zeal to see what is proper to each, he seeth nothing subtler than this distinction, nothing more wondrous than this union, and tasteth nothing sweeter than a vision so subtle, so conspicuous. For he seeth that the Godhead, taking man, was in no wise consumed; nor did the manhood fail, but it profited, when it was wondrously taken up into God, where there is no confusion, no conversion of the one nature into the other, but a personal union, in the mystery of a virginal begetting. For the contemplating whereof, if a heavy rheum straiten not the eye, if the mind with open throat taste the delightfulness of this secret, what can be found sweeter than this taste, what happier than this throat, to which it is now granted to experience that which the angels desire? 444BBut if the angels desire God, whom they contemplate unceasingly, and venerate him made man with an unfillable wonder, worthily do men also both desire and marvel at the same whole, and with their whole desire embrace him who is wholly desirable. For he is God, and there is none other beside him; he is man, clothed with the form of man for his own sake: worthy to be loved, not only because he is God, not only 257 because he is man, but because by a salutary mystery one and the same is alike God and man. He is man, I say, not such as any other man soever, but one through whom every man may be able to be made safe; that as a man was the fall or ruin of men, so, nay far more, this man may be the medicine of men. Who therefore would not desire such a one wholly, would not 444Cwholly love him, would not wholly admire him? who would not rejoice to embrace him with his whole desire, as God and as neighbour? who would not seek such a one more zealously, would not hold him more eagerly if it fell to him to find him, and would not be zealous to instruct others with fitting admonitions to seek him? Therefore the prudent Virgin, who in love knoweth no rival, nor feareth a concubine, everywhere preacheth him whom she loveth, that he may be loved; and him whom she deserved to see such as he is, she willeth not to grudge to the rest, but rejoiceth with a solicitous affection to provide for them that stand by her. For which cause she thus concludeth: Such is, etc.

Such is my beloved, and he is my friend, daughters of Jerusalem. Such, I say, is he by whose tender love I am held fast, and (as I seem to see) I am not 444Ddeceitfully beguiled; nor hath an intemperate love, as sometimes it useth, defrauded me, because a transitory speech hath not yet worthily praised him. Although many things have been said whereby it is clear that he is proclaimed commendable, yet must this proclamation still be judged insufficient, because such as I rejoice to perceive him to be, I am not yet able utterly to pour out in transitory words. And to this end have I set about to follow out his praises, so manifold — although the things which ought to have been said are not yet fittingly enough expressed — that he whom I love may in some measure become known to you, and that your mind also may grow warm toward the love of him. For he cannot be loved if he have not been understood, nor doth he seem to be understood if he have not also been loved; for this very cause I desire that he be understood and be loved of all, whom 445AI have loved, and whom I have understood to become a friend also to them that truly love. You therefore, daughters of Jerusalem, labour with all your strength to love him and to be loved by him, because nothing is holier than to love one so benevolent, so mighty, and nothing more blessed than to be loved by him who knoweth not how not to love him that loveth. I, saith he, love them that love me (Prov. VIII). The praises of the Bridegroom being unfolded in so diverse a kind of figures, the Virgin is silent for a little while, and awaiteth 446Athe answers of the daughters, considering whether perchance by this hearing they have received a fuller grace, whereby they may be more vehemently carried away into the love of him whom she preacheth. But before their answer be brought forth into the midst, I have thought it fitting that our pen be a little withdrawn from its toil; and that, where the Virgin was silent, the pen also choose to be silent, that this fifth book may at last rejoice to obtain its end.

• 445A

445BWhither is thy beloved gone, O thou most beautiful among women, whither is thy beloved turned aside, and we will seek him with thee. The praise of the Bridegroom being heard, the daughters of Jerusalem are stirred up, and are provoked with a greater desire into the love of him; rejoicing that the Virgin hath spoken so many things beforehand concerning him, and hath followed out that quality of his after which she had inquired above. For above they had said: What manner of one is the beloved of the beloved, and now, rejoicing, they rejoice in him understood by mystical similitudes; but because he suffereth not himself as yet to be seen clearly even by them that understand and after a sort love him, they ask whither he is gone, that he may be sought by them more certainly. To whom, when the Virgin above (l. IV, c. 10-12) made haste to open the bolt of her door, hoping to find him nearer, whose voice knocking she had heard in the doors: He, saith she, had turned aside and was gone by, 445Cand offered not himself to be seen of the Virgin — perchance that, the sight being withdrawn, he might render her more solicitous to seek. Since therefore the Virgin is found to have commended the Bridegroom in manifold wise, and it is certain that such a one, as hath been said already before, turned aside, the daughters of Jerusalem ask, and will be taught more diligently, to whom, as it were to a place, he that went away and turned aside willed to show himself. Such a one, say they, whose praises so manifold thou hast woven, unto whom thou hast so solicitously admonished us that thy love, nay thy languishing, should be told — how shall we either seek him, or, being sought, be able to find him, since we know not the place whereunto, when he escapeth us, he chooseth to come? Say therefore whether he hastened to the left, or rather to the right; say, if thou knowest, unto what desert, or unto whose, 445Dhe turned aside, that we, seeking, 258 be not carried away by a wandering error, and that we may follow after him, unto whom he came, by the imitation of desert. For when, thou teaching us, the place or the desert of the place shall become known, our mind shall the more burn to hasten thither; and we shall be carried away to seek the Bridegroom with a desire with thee, if not equal, at least like; of whose finding we shall not have the fruition unless thy benevolence accompany us. For we know that whosoever shall have sought him, thee being neglected, such an inquiry shall be proved utterly imperfect; nor willeth the Bridegroom to be found by us, or by the rest that seek, if he see not them that seek to be prevented by the fellowship of thy favour. With thee therefore, that is, thy patronage favouring us, we will seek him whom without thee, without thy benevolence, we are not able to find; by thy benefit our devotion shall follow after him: 446Abeing taught beforehand in what place, or in what desert of place, he tarrieth. 446BAnd in very truth none other shall be able to teach us better whither the Bridegroom is gone, or where he hath chosen to show himself present, than thou, who by the gift of grace hast entered into his sanctuary, and hast better known the secrets of spiritual understanding. To these things the Virgin answereth: The beloved, etc.

[CAP. VI.] My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the bed of spice, that he may feed in the gardens, and gather lilies. You desire to know whither he goeth or turneth aside whom I love, since he inclineth not himself as yet utterly unto your desire, since he setteth not before you, as it were hungering, a full refreshment; in what places meanwhile he layeth himself open more fully and more abundantly. He hath indeed deferred your hope, and hath not 446Ccast away your desire, choosing to go down into a garden which by the gift of grace he hath made his own, that he may vouchsafe a prosperous sight unto the bed of spice, and, the lilies being found, may rejoice in the ripe reaping of them. Who, when he heareth not the apostles more fully according to their pleasure, and applaudeth not their prayers with a fulfilling effect, cometh down perchance unto the deacons as unto a pleasing garden, wherein above the rest he findeth Stephen worthy to be reaped. For he, as a bed diligently tilled, humble in the contest, bruised like spice with a manifold passion, both representeth lilies by the whiteness of an innocent soul, and, the sickle coming, showeth himself meet for the reaping. For attending what the Saviour in his pity set about for them that were to be saved, what breasts, what death at last 446Dhe endured, he glows, nay he burns, to imitate that which the other showed beforehand, accounting it too grievous if he be not the first to repay the debt that is due. Therefore in the enduring of martyrdom, fearing to be prevented by another, impatient of delay, he is zealous to be found the readier, esteeming that he hath somewhat the more glory in the martyrdom itself if, the time being shortened, he shall be able to obtain it first. Unto such a one and unto them that are like him the beloved loveth to turn aside, when he willeth to carry them over from the threshing-floor into the barn; who, withdrawing himself as it were from them whom he willeth to tarry longer in this life, hasteneth to be presented unto the untimely and unto them that shall depart hence more quickly. Of whom she addeth: I to the beloved, etc.

I to my beloved, and my beloved to me, who feedeth among the lilies. I know, saith she, that my beloved 447Alayeth himself open as it were more nearly and more manifestly unto those whom, white as lilies, he now disposeth to gather unto the harvest; whom, threshed on the floor and stripped of the ragged covering of the chaff, he willeth to carry over into the barns and the full rest of souls. Therefore do I strive with all my strength to please him, to show myself a garden, myself a bed, myself a shining lily, that when he shall have come and found me flowering with the tillage that is due, taking me out of the midst, he may make me cleave unto him for ever. I, I say, prepare for my beloved a welcome pasture, that he may feed and suffer no hurt of bitterness; for him, fed and refreshed, I prepare a mansion in myself, that, being held by the mansion, he may thenceforth make no mention of flight. And the beloved, as I perceive, prepareth himself for me, that he may love and gather me, and draw me unto himself: 447Bbeing about to give nothing better unto her that is gathered and drawn than himself, that I may sleep and rest in the selfsame, my cares being driven far away. He, I say, lifteth me up, though yet set upon the earth, into the love of heavenly things, and, lest I cleave long unto the earth, whetteth as it were the reaping-hook; he rejoiceth to be fed with my lilies, not only while they are yet fixed by the root in the earth, but if, already reaped in ripe season, they be set upon the table. I therefore am zealous to prepare myself for him unto this, and I will purchase by deserts the joy that I hope for; he rejoiceth to render me the like, nay to add over and above, whose benevolence delighteth in conferring benefits. 259

Thou art fair, my friend, sweet and beautiful as Jerusalem, terrible as an army of camps set in array. The Bridegroom, attending 447Cthat the Virgin is ready in his praises, that she willeth to be dissolved more quickly and rather to be always with him, although he hasteneth not yet to fulfil her desire wholly, yet inclineth himself with a benevolent affection to console her. Thou, saith he, who burnest with so great a desire to see me, and art fed with my praise, while thou art not yet able to obtain that which thou hopest: by this affection or zeal thou formest for thyself a wondrous fairness, and conformest thyself by a fair likeness unto him whom thou lovest. Being therefore like unto the fair one, thou canst fitly enough be called fair, who by the zeal of likening rejoicest and art busy so to be devoted, that, solicitously spitting out all the dregs of the enemy, thou mayest as a friend rejoice in those things which are wholesome, which are delightful, of thy friend. In which affection and profiting thou knowest not to envy the rest, 447Dbut by form and by doctrine thou lovest to advance all unto better things: rival of none, detracting from none, grievous to none, but solicitous for all, drawing all, and sweet unto all. For nothing is sweeter than, in loving God, so to embrace one's neighbour that he who loveth rightly should choose not to be turned aside from either alike; so to love God and to embrace him with the tenderer arms, that he in no wise envy, nay that he even rejoice that he is loved by any neighbours whatsoever. But the Virgin, rightly loving the Bridegroom, knoweth not to envy — than which not even the Sicilians, according to a certain heathen, found a greater torment: she feareth no rival, she is not racked by the suspicion of a concubine, nay she gathereth together all those women whom she beholdeth to love him whom she loveth. She flourisheth assuredly with a spirit so sweet, 448Aso peaceable, that she rejoiceth that the Bridegroom is loved of all, and grieveth when he is not loved; nor doth she judge her spirit to be burdened in any other way whatsoever than when he whom she so greatly desireth to be loved is not loved. And so, seeing that he is loved by the daughters of Jerusalem, she, knowing nothing of spite, rather chooseth to rejoice, and with a glad spirit is zealous to work whatsoever she is able, that they which behold may rejoice to imitate the beauty of her works. She is sweet, when she willeth that the daughters of Jerusalem should please the Bridegroom; beautiful, when she is zealous to show forth in words and in works the form of pleasing; sweet indeed, when she willeth that the same glory which is hers should be present unto them, save perchance that she willeth herself to be the only mother of an only Son. Although she envieth not unto them the dignity of mothers, knowing that whoso shall have worthily done the will of the Bridegroom, or of the Son, he shall deserve to be called his brother, 448Band sister, and mother, even as the same is found to testify in the Gospel (Matth. XII). But because she among mothers hath deserved to obtain an excellent primacy, who by a singular grace begat God incarnate of herself: although unto others no small loftiness of deserts is granted, hers above the rest is the beauty, the sweetness, the fairness that is commended. She is fair, while she burneth toward him who in form is beautiful above the sons of men (Psal. XLIV), in whose manners sweetness, in whose works beauty shineth again; and, to be compared to none of men, she is likened unto that Jerusalem which, set in the heavens, contemplateth God unceasingly. For that holy multitude of angels, consonant with itself, which an indissoluble strength fortifieth after the manner of a city, is conspicuous with so great beauty that in it nothing seemeth worthy to be reproved, 448Cburning with a wondrous zeal that man also may deserve to come unto this very thing. Whereunto, because the Virgin is believed to have come by the grace of the Bridegroom, and, set in the flesh, to have found a desert above the flesh, she is rightly proclaimed comely, like Jerusalem, whose beauty the enemy beholding marvelleth with terror. For seeing her to be fortified with so many and so great virtues, and that, as in an army of a camp set in array, no entrance is anywhere found, he is astonished that the firmness of angels is strong in a human being, and that in one Virgin there is the order of an army, the force of a camp. For in the angels so great an order, so great a firmness of array is strong, that the enemy leapeth back at the meeting of the first face, and, shaken with a mighty terror, presumeth to pursue nothing against them, to dare nothing, whom, relying upon a singular order, he seeth to prevail by a strong prudence. 448DWhom when Jacob had once seen, he said: These are the camps of God (Gen. XXXII). And Eliseus to his servant: Fear not, saith he, for there are more with us than with them (IV Reg. VI). Eliseus feareth not, and the assault of the enemy shaketh him not, whom the array of angels set in order beateth far back, whose stronger order admitteth not the onsets of the enemies that run against it, and permitteth not the threatening sword to enter the compass of the camps. With a like terror the enemy fleeth back from the Virgin when he hath assailed her, marvelling in her both at the order of virtues and at an ordered fortitude: and considering that a human being holdeth the likeness of the heavenly camps, he faileth at the first encounter, and, leaping back further off, sufficeth not to shudder. And rightly 449Ais the holy Virgin compared both to camps and to angels, forasmuch as in both the excellence of chastity is commended; because the flesh, or the coupling of the flesh, never hurteth the angels, and chastity gave its name unto the castra, the camps that are removed from the household embrace. As an army of camps, therefore, is the Virgin found terrible, who, begetting God in the flesh, experienceth not the coupling of the flesh; whom when the enemy heareth proclaimed chaste in conceiving, he is terrified and fleeth back, nor perceiveth he such a mystery with his understanding. 260

Turn away thy eyes from me, for they have made me fly away. Although by my judgment thou art proclaimed fair, sweet and beautiful, yet I will that thou search not out things higher than thyself and unsearchable, nor think, while thou livest here, to obtain more fully those things which I will to show unto no mortals 449Bsave after this life. Those eyes therefore wherewith thou hangest thyself toward things invisible, call them back as it were, restrain them as it were, while thou now perceivest that thou canst not reach thither; and while thou stretchest thyself with hope and desire unto the things that are before, know that thou dost not yet fully or effectually apprehend them. Thus assuredly shalt thou seem to remove thine eyes from me, when thou shalt be constrained humbly to turn them back upon thyself; and when, living still mortally, thou shalt turn thee unto thine own ineffectualness, thou shalt turn thyself away, as it were from my excellence, suffering not a repulse but a delay. In fine, by Moses, a most truthful seer, I spake long time above, that no man living hath attained unto the sight of me, but that whosoever is mortally wrapped about with the girdle of the flesh is darkened and groweth dim, until he shall have been loosed. Not me, I say, shall 449Cman see, and live (Exod. XXXIII). So long as man is bound by the stains of the present life, he is darkened as it were by a certain cloud, though not damnably, yet penally; nor shall he be able to behold my Godhead as it is, if he cease not to live and to be confined by the fellowship of the flesh. The more attentively therefore thou fixest thine eyes upon the light inaccessible, the more dost thou perceive it to be ungranted unto thee; and when thou strivest to see, and yet art constrained to call back thine eyes, those same eyes being beaten back, I seem unto thee to fly away. For because they stretch themselves with all their efforts to see, and yet do not as yet fully apprehend that which they aim at, I fly away from them, while they find themselves dim and weak, or even when, being clear-sighted, they find me to be incomprehensible. That which I solicitously say unto thee concerning the turning away 449Dof these is not a repulse, not a command, but I foretell it, that thou mayest know that the sight of me can be given more fully unto no man, unless he first rejoice to be stripped of the burden of the flesh.

Thy hair is as a flock of goats, which have appeared from Galaad. Thy teeth as a flock of sheep, which came up from the washing. All with twin young, and there is none barren among them. As the bark of a pomegranate, so are thy cheeks, beside thy hidden things. Lest it should as it were trouble the Virgin that she is not yet able to behold the face of the Bridegroom, that he swiftly flieth away when he is truly believed to be already held, the Bridegroom hasteneth to soothe her with repeated praises, that she may bear the delay more patiently, her ears being soothed. Which praises, because they are set down above (l. IV, c. 8) in wellnigh the same words, 450Aand, when we came thither, were expounded as God gave; I forbear at present to repeat the exposition, lest I should seem to apply delay unto the reading and weariness unto the reader. Yet when the Bridegroom repeateth those praises, when he bringeth them so often into the midst, he doth not act idly, nor speaketh he negligently; but it is proper to a lover (if indeed he burn vehemently) to make mention of that which he loveth, nay and to repeat it diligently.

There are threescore queens and fourscore concubines, and of maidens there is no number. The Bridegroom attendeth unto those who by the gift of grace attain unto the Catholic faith, and follow after the firmness of the same faith either in deed or in show: whose divers deserts, willing to designate them figuratively, he seemeth mystically 450Bto assign unto them divers names. By the name of queens are they not unfitly figured who, hedged about with a kingly defence, are overcome neither by the fraud of the adversary nor by his violence; who, while they keep their ways, that they offend not in word and in work, draw nigh unto the bed of the eternal King by the profiting of spiritual things. Where both they are filled with a lofty knowledge and are gladdened with a lowly conscience, and, gladly resting in the embrace of the Bridegroom, are made fruitful by his benefit; and with the fruitful seed-plot of doctrine they beget unto him spiritual sons, by whose fertile begetting the nuptial chambers are enriched and made glad. Who are rightly said to be comprehended in the number of sixty, because it is certain that in the ten and in the six the perfection of the law and of works is commended, the one of which being multiplied by the other, the number sixty cometh 450Cto be completed. For as six times ten, 261 so ten times six, make sixty. He therefore who rejoiceth to fulfil in works the ten precepts of the law, or who ordereth according to the form of the law whatsoever he worketh in time. he assuredly is worthily contained in the number sixty, whose fruitful dignity is said to please the highest King. It is also possible to find in this number the five and the twelve, whose multiplication seemeth to come unto sixty; because if twelve be taken five times, or five twelve times, it is doubtful to none but that they are brought unto the sum of the number sixty. And he is rightly said to take five twelve times who governeth the five senses of the body in that manner or order which the form or the institution of the apostles hath prudently ordained, whose perfection 450Dthe number twelve hath commended. And fourscore, saith he, concubines. As they who chastely love the Bridegroom and beget sons unto him are queens, so also they who love not sincerely and yet preach are concubines, whose knowledge and preaching doth indeed beget spiritual sons, but, their conscience being wounded, they themselves that beget remain animal. Who are not unfitly reported to be fourscore, because they are known to hold the ten of the law in word and in knowledge, but, lacking the twofold love, they slip back into the eight, while they embrace in life and in manners the things that are of the world. For four are the seasons of the year, four the elements of the world, four the climes of the globe, four in fine the affections wherewith any man is carnally affected and travaileth, and, if he know aught rightly, he discoloureth it by a lost will. Which 451Aaffections that prudent philosopher biddeth and exhorteth to be driven back, knowing that he erreth over whom a carnal passion beareth rule; which passion, naturally implanted, although he pluck it not up by the root, yet he erreth if he drive not the same back with a fitting chastisement. Joys, saith he, drive away, Drive away fear, And put hope to flight, Nor let grief be present.

Whosoever, being lost in sense, is found to double the aforesaid four, that is, to strengthen the carnal affections with an affection added over and above, against the philosopher's prohibition: he assuredly, filling up the eight, is not yet granted to come unto the ten, because in the evils which he accomplisheth it is not possible to find the twofold form of love. And 451Bof maidens there is no number. When queens and concubines preach and sow the spiritual word, although the desire of the former be just and of the latter carnal: a new offspring is assuredly begotten by their zeal or labour, which receiveth the Bridegroom by faith and followeth him with a readier affection. For whether they that preach the word be held just or unjust, by their word many are begotten in faith and in knowledge: and as from the good, so from the evil, a copious offspring is born, numerous indeed unto no man, but rather unto God alone. Of whom he saith: I will number them, and they shall be multiplied above the sand (Psal. CXXXVIII). They who yield assent unto the teachers that preach the faith are fully known unto him who numbereth the multitude of the stars; but unto us that attend unto them gathered together of every kind of fishes in a net, 451Ctheir multitude is utterly innumerable as the sand. Who, because they have already received the rudiments of the faith they have heard, but have not yet profited so far as to announce unto others the instructions of the same faith: by reason of their newness or of their imperfection are named a dolescentulae, and are unknown of the man whose knowledge is yet dull, whose eye is dim. Not whether they be good, who are afterward chosen into vessels, or evil, who, being sent out, are spewed forth without, so long as they are contained in the net as it were in a confused order, are they held numerable by any man.

One is my dove, my perfect one; one is she unto her mother, the chosen of her that bore her. [Vulg. matris suae, genitive — "she is the one of her mother"; the dative Migne prints here is repeated three times in the exposition below] It is certain that many cleave unto me with a lawful 451Dlove, that many, it being renounced, obtain only the appearance of truth; but by the word and doctrine of them that preach so many are everywhere begotten in the faith, that unto any man attending solicitously they seem utterly innumerable. But the Virgin above the rest, pleasing unto me (II Tim. II), useful, seasonable, knoweth not the plural number, but is one: burning with the desire of me alone, she is held by a religious unity, one is joined unto one, with a singular or a unique dignity. She is one, I say, forasmuch as she is not carried away into divers and perverse desires; forasmuch as she is never, not even for a little, taken away from him whom, being the one, she uniquely loveth; forasmuch as she is not straitened by the allurements of earthly things or by the bonds of many affections from beholding the Bridegroom 452Amore fully, and is retarded by nothing save only the burden of the flesh. Rejoicing in the hope of things to come, groaning amid the transitory things that are present, the present things being loathed, she groaneth as a dove for the eternal things that are still absent; while she is held by the flesh, she seemeth to herself harshly to wander; nothing sufficeth her, until, rejoicing, she see the Bridegroom more fully. She is one, while, cleaving unto him, she loveth nothing beside him; and if perchance she seem to love aught, she loveth it not save for his sake; and so, if she do aught, she referreth it unto nothing other than unto him, one, watching unto him alone, until at last she sleep in peace in the selfsame. And because she is thus gathered by a watchful effect into the love of the One, by the desert of this unity she hath already deserved to be called my perfect one, seeing that unto her no holiness is lacking, so far as the present life suffereth, 262 in whom, I dwelling therein, dwelleth the 452Bfulness of the whole Godhead. For neither is there another unto whom I would promise so great a gift of grace, so long as she yet complaineth that she is held in the prison-house of the flesh; who, to wit, if she should apply care to behold herself, might dare, while she liveth mortally, to confess herself perfect. Not that I have already received, saith a certain one, or am perfect (Philip. III). And another: My imperfect being, saith he, thine eyes did see (Psal. CXXXVIII). But if Paul and David acknowledge themselves truly imperfect, though in thine eyes, O God, deservedly not despised, unto whom, whether of the new or of the old, is so great, or so singular, a praise rendered, save perchance unto the Virgin, who is rightly set before all the rest? She therefore is one unto her mother, and in this excellence singular, at whose singularity the remaining throng and the common converse are astonished; every man marvelleth at a Virgin so 452Cuplifted, so perfect, and her mother rejoiceth for a daughter such as this, so unique, so singular. But the mother who willed to nourish such a daughter for herself, who cherished and advanced her, and gave her to come unto so great an excellence — who is so worthily, who is so rightly proclaimed as grace herself, of which the angel Gabriel testifieth that the Virgin is full by gift? Hail, saith he, full of grace (Luc. I). For grace herself, who by the goodness which is her own hath abolished the stains of our faults, so filled the aforesaid Virgin with an excellent benefit, that, one bearing one, she yet remained an unbroken Virgin, and, remaining a Virgin, answered the fructifying grace with a new and singular offspring. She is therefore one unto her mother, because grace her mother is seen to have neither a first like unto her 452Dnor a second, who in a like form should show herself alike a Virgin and fruitful: no other did she honour with so great titles of virtues, this one and only one she adorned with a singular privilege. But lest any think that she deserved a privilege of this kind, and that she was not first chosen, but rather that she chose, as she is one unto her mother, so also is she reported the chosen of her that bore her, that not only her perfection, but also the election that went before it, may together be commended. Her assuredly did grace choose, and as it were beget her when she was not; the same received and nourished her, advanced and helped her, when now she was: in choosing or in begetting holding the part of her that beareth, in nourishing and advancing discharging the office of a mother or of a nurse. For she 453Awho by a provident knowledge chose the Virgin beforehand, the same mercifully received and gathered her with a motherly affection: there as one that beareth, when in secret she foresaw that she should come; here a mother, or a nurse, when more evidently she advanced her unto an incomparable profiting. For she advanced her, and formed her in her own workshop; formed her by desire, by manners, by discipline; formed her also by letters, by ripe counsel, by the prudence of the serpent; and when she was formed, the simplicity and perfection of the dove completed her. Therefore perchance is she alike named my dove and my perfect one, that the perfection of the dove may be known to be at hand in her, that those seven virtues, as it were, which are naturally bestowed upon doves, may be known in her to be spiritually completed in a like number. As they say who have more diligently searched out the natures of birds, 453Bsetting their mind not upon a wandering report, but rather upon a truth known beforehand: the dove is naturally marked with a certain seven of virtues, wherein the perfection of our Virgin is found to be spiritually figured. Whereof, because I am found to have deferred speaking long above (l. II, c. 13), when in the second book this epithalamium seemeth first to have brought doves into the midst, that which I there had promised I will after a sort follow out at present, since now no mention of doves is set down in what followeth.

The dove lacketh gall. Our Virgin also, from the time when the angel Gabriel saluted her, from the time when the Holy Spirit coming upon her overshadowed her, hath given unto God to drink no bitterness either of acts or of affections, but 453Chath dropped down the honeyed sweetness of her manners more sweetly than the honeycomb.

The dove teareth not with her beak. And the Virgin repayeth not the deserved requital unto any that do her wrong, but in every grievance so showeth an unbending patience, that even when she saw her only Son betrayed, and, being betrayed, crucified, she had rather that the wicked should be converted than that they should be so afflicted according to their desert.

The dove nourisheth another's young The Virgin indeed keepeth in the surge of this life a mind so serene, that she thinketh it not foreign to succour clemently even them that are without and unworthy: nay unto all that are in need, as to the Jews, so to the Gentiles, she both giveth by her discourses a profitable doctrine, and with an equal benevolence showeth by her manners a discipline.

453DThe dove gladly dwelleth beside the streams. So also the Virgin diligently leaneth upon the streams of the Scriptures: she embraceth the books, she liveth according to the admonitions of the prophets, she is assiduously intent upon divine readings, she is at leisure for spiritual study, not detained by outward cares.

The dove chooseth the better grains. The Virgin nevertheless, while she applieth care or study in the Scriptures, doth not only set whatsoever things are profitable before all that shall be hurtful, but with a clear-sighted eye chooseth among good things the better, embracing the more eagerly whatsoever she hath known to be more pleasing unto the Bridegroom.

The dove gladly buildeth her nest in the rock. The Virgin also worketh in a firm faith whatsoever she is able, whose working is made solid by the rocky defence of faith; a faith that overtoppeth all is not troubled by the flood of waves, groweth not weary by a windy rage, is not shaken by the hammer of fear.

454AThe dove groaneth instead of singing. The Virgin, although she modestly rejoiceth in the aforesaid six of virtues, yet, because him whom she loveth she contemplateth not yet with a revealed 263 face, although in these as it were six days she busieth herself to work all things very good, yet, because it is not yet granted her to keep holy day more fully in the seventh, still, as one in need and expressing the nature of the dove, she groaneth, while she prevaileth not in that which she desireth, while she is held, and longeth to be dismissed more quickly. By which groaning the Virgin detracteth nothing from her deserts, nothing from her holiness; nothing from it, from that unity which above we commended as we were able, doth the groaning of the dove take away, but that for the place and the time she is perfect; nay, if for the present she groaned not, she would the more rightly be called, and would be, imperfect. Of whom it is added: They saw her, etc.

• 454B

The daughters of Sion saw her, and proclaimed her most blessed: the queens and the concubines, and they praised her. [Vulg. Viderunt eam filiae, with no place-name; Migne prints illam for eam and adds Sion, the word Philip's next sentence expounds] The daughters of Sion are above called the daughters of Jerusalem, who, as hath been said before, accompany the Virgin in this epithalamium, who truly behold with faith the nuptials that are present, and, while the rest are dim of sight, are not held by a wandering error or by ignorance. Who, attending unto the Virgin marked with so great virtues, so perfectly, so incomparably polished by labour together with grace, are astonished, they marvel, and they proclaim her not blessed (which they see to be common to very many), but rather most blessed, that is, the most excellent of all the rest. For whereas many others may not undeservedly be called blessed, both the Angel and Elizabeth affirm that this one is blessed among all, that is, above 454Call women, who against the custom of the flesh, against the interdict of mighty nature, alone remaining a Virgin brought forth the blessed fruit of a fruitful womb. Which when they see, and are not able sufficiently enough to open so great a mystery, nor can they find any like thing among women, the daughters of Sion extol her, and confidently proclaim her most blessed, and with a speech that envieth not they evidently announce her excellence. For the apostles, seeing through with a lynx-like understanding that Christ was born of a Virgin, and envying that same benefit neither to the Jews nor to the Gentiles, affirmed not only the Son but also the mother to be most blessed; by which kind of sight they also, according to their own little measure, deserved blessedness. 454DBlessed, saith he, are the eyes that see the things which you see (Luc. X). Not only the apostles, but other teachers also, their successors in place and in time, are made in the Church the praisers of this so great Virgin; of whom some, by the fruitful desert of a chaste desire, are queens, others, not loving but feigning love, are more rightly called concubines. For in these days wherein the faith, bringing forth fruit in the whole world, increaseth, but among not a few, malice abounding, charity waxeth cold, both many praise the Virgin, provoked by a most devout love, and many, denying virtue, are coloured with the show of piety. For the honour of the Virgin hath so grown unto this present time, and her fame or knowledge hath so filled the whole world, that not only true but also false believers seem to exult in her praises, and whom devotion doth not, them 455Aat the least occasion maketh to praise her withal. Therefore may this Virgin be called wondrous, and enough to be wondered at, whom the Angel and the prophet affirm to be blessed above all; whom, being blessed, they that love to exalt with praises rightly rejoice, and they that neglect to love her yet dare not now to cease from her praises. In whose praise it is added: Who is she, etc.

Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, chosen as the sun, terrible as an army of camps set in array? The Bridegroom provoketh his devout hearers unto wonder, that they may deservedly be rendered the readier unto the praise of the Virgin; and that, when they shall have heard the question asked: Who is she that cometh forth as the morning, being admonished 455Bof her going forward, they may be the more astonished at the things that went before. The morning rising, the darkness is affrighted, the night groweth thin, the obscurity is scattered, the grosser shadow vanisheth away: a new light springeth up, a certain face of the world shineth out, colour is restored unto things, the surface of the earth groweth glad. Our Virgin therefore is like unto this morning, who visiteth us that are oppressed with a deeper darkness and a denser shadow; upon which, while with the majesty of her hand she striketh as it were a sudden terror, they disappearing, she bringeth in unto us the morning radiance. But the moon, as they say, shineth not with her own light, but rather with another's, and what she receiveth from the sun she poureth back upon the rest with a full horn: assigned indeed especially to give light unto the night, less than the sun alone in such wise that she is set before the remaining stars. So also the Virgin knoweth that whatsoever of light she holdeth, whatsoever 455Cof grace or of honour, is from Christ, who is of a mightier excellence; less than whom alone, she herself hath the primacy over the other saints, putteth our darkness to flight, and rejoiceth to render light. Fair therefore is she unto us, nay fairer than 264 the moon, who refresheth at last with a seasonable light them that are pressed by a long night, who with a torch going before bringeth us back unto the way when we wander and grope, and with a watchful care leadeth us in unto the longed-for presence of the sun. She is also chosen as the sun. The sun was made that it might appear a greater luminary than both the stars and the planets, and, whithersoever it shall have turned itself, might be seen to flash overtopping them all: that it should know not the shadow of night, should not grow dim at the onset of the mighty, should go about the world with a firm course, should not chastise its falls with penitence. But from the time when the Virgin entered the sanctuary of a fuller grace, having gone beyond not only any saints whatsoever, 455Dbut even the apostles that went before, burning with an exceeding love, glowing red with an unwearied holiness, she taketh the care of us all, having suffered nothing destructive in herself. She rejoiceth to go about with a watchful care the world that is pressed with darkness, to repair the cooling ruins with a most fervent affection, to drive away the clouds of our faults by a shining intervention, to make fruitful the earth of our minds by a most kindly regard. In this she abideth and remaineth, unto this she is divinely chosen, that in affection and in effect she may be perfect among the remaining saints: after the manner of the sun, marked with a steadfast splendour by the rays of virtues, never negligent of her own, not forgetful of us that are set far beneath. Who, because, bearing the part of the morning, she is found 456Ato shine out unto us that are dim of sight, and knoweth that she hath the fairness of the moon from none other than another, and is seen, like the sun, to remain with a steadfast step in that which she hath begun; even as she is profitable and welcome unto them that rightly behold her, so is she terrible unto her enemies as an army of camps set in array. Which array or terror, because you can remember that it was set down and expounded above, it is not necessary that the exposition of the foregoing be repeated.

I went down into the garden of nuts, to see the fruits of the valleys, and to look if the vineyard had flourished, and the pomegranates had budded. Whence this cometh to the Virgin, that she should be likened, as hath been said before, unto the moon and the sun, that, set before the rest, she should be adorned with so great an excellence of virtues, is not hidden, since the Bridegroom confesseth that he goeth down unto her, 456Bshowing that out of his own presence this is mercifully given unto her. In fine, he showed himself to confer a benefit upon the children of Israel in Egypt, when at last he came down from the highest throne of heaven unto them that were oppressed with clay and brick, when he visited with the regard of his mercy them that were afflicted with misery, and, having visited them, delivered them from a hard servitude with a most mighty hand: Seeing I have seen, saith he, the affliction of my people, and I am come down to deliver them (Exod. III). [Vulg. Exod. 3:7–8 gives Vidi and descendi ut liberarem eum, "I have seen… I am come down that I might deliver him"; the doubled verb and the plural object printed here are the wording of Acts 7:34, under a note naming Exodus] In the Gospel also he is reported to come down not in vain (Luc. VI), but that he might console the multitudes set in a plain place; whom, when he understood them to be invados and poor in spiritual things, and yet by the counsel that he knew carried them not up unto the mountains, he despised not to visit them where they stood in the plain, and, out of the fulness of his treasure of blessings, 456Cneglected not to bring forth gifts. But if his going down into Egypt, or into the plain, is found to have been fruitful, much more rightly shall his going down unto the Bride not be esteemed idle — who is like neither unto darksome Egypt nor unto a turbulent plain, but unto a garden of delight rich in fruits and in nuts. The garden of nuts is the Virgin, into which the Bridegroom saith that he goeth down, forasmuch as no difficulty in any wise, no importunity gainsayeth him as he goeth down; unto whom, although the heaven of heaven and the habitation of angels be pleasing, yet neither the nuts of the garden, nor the flowers of the vineyard, nor the buds of the pomegranates displease. In a nut the outer rind is bitter, and that not in a middling degree; beneath the rind a shell hard yet brittle lieth hid; but the kernel shut up beneath the shell groweth the more sweetly pleasant unto him that eateth. And so the Virgin is a garden of nuts, 456Dwhen she is troubled with the bitterness of sufferings and of temptations, when the malice of them that persecute her wickedly withstandeth her repose, when whatsoever this world either flattereth or thundereth groweth utterly bitter unto her, when all that shineth out unto them that savour ill is filthy in her sight. She is a garden, when, as a harder shell, she is fortified with a wondrous strength, when she is found unfailing in watchings, in fastings, in prayers, when she is in no wise softened by the reproaches of the Jews, by the swords of the Gentiles, when in every strait, with an unwearied rigour, she is found to stand strongly. Who, although she be found to remain fixed and stable unto all things, yet desireth to be broken and dissolved, and to appear more manifestly unto Christ, knowing that he is delighted not with the shell, not with the rind, 457Anot with any bitterness whatsoever, but that, the kernel being offered, the sweeter it is the more festively he feasteth thereon. But the hidden kernel is the inward sweetness of the loving soul, which lieth hid from the eyes of the persecutor that are seduced by malice, which, the shell being broken, is not taken away, but is borne as it were in the hands of her that offereth it, and is presented unto the Bridegroom, and unto him that presideth at the same table or banquet. Into this garden of nuts the loving Bridegroom then goeth down, when he stretcheth himself near and propitious unto his beloved that laboureth, when he is solicitous to advance her from virtue unto virtue (Psal. LXXXIII), and willeth with a gracious regard to see the fruits of the valleys in her. For what humble virtues busy themselves to work in the Virgin, what out of their own labour or desert they love to await with a sure faith, the Bridegroom seeth, and approveth, 265 and maketh all things to prosper, and with a prosperous favour, 457Bas with a west wind blowing, to ripen. For the fruits of the valleys are the labours of humble virtues, they are solicitous endeavours, hands the readier unto works: they are fruitful acts, the more welcome in a well-planted garden, which, although they be not yet fully ripe for reaping or for storing, yet please the sight, and shall pass the sooner unto the eating. But the fruits of the valleys being seen, the bridegroom loveth nevertheless to see through whether the vineyard, worthily flowering, hasteneth to answer the husbandman; whether the ordered series of virtues is found to shine again with a fragrant beauty; whether with a flowery odour to forbid all hurtful venom from her borders. For lest a venomous spite should hurt the tender Virgin, a seemly fame fortified her, a flowery beauty exalted her; who, when with a new kind she brought forth unto us the swelling of the womb, yet far off brought forth the stain of unlawful suspicion and the 457Cserpent's venom. Whose conscience not only did the presence of faults not confound, but neither did a sinister rumour suffuse her face with a blush; with so great a flower did the vineyard, with so great an odour did the flower flourish, that her integrity lacketh both fault and blush. In a garden of this kind the bridegroom seeth also that pomegranates are not lacking, but that in the hidden place of the will the mind is ready unto patience: that she willeth to endure not only death but even the threatening sword, and that, if not yet in effect, yet already in affection, the shedding of blood is ruddy beneath. The pomegranates indeed do not yet present themselves more manifestly, but unto him that beholdeth more diligently they show themselves as it were in the bud: the passion is not yet red, because the executioner draweth not the sword, but the will, more firmly rooted, already putteth forth a bud upon 457Dthe shoot. To look upon this the bridegroom sent no messenger before him, but with a lowly benevolence he himself comforteth the Virgin and visiteth her again: with a gracious descent he cherisheth the garden, he rejoiceth to ripen the fruits of the valleys, he giveth the vineyard to flower, and the pomegranates to bud.

I knew not: my soul was troubled because of the chariots of Aminadab. [Vulg. anima mea conturbavit me, "my soul troubled me" — the active, with the soul as the agent of the trouble; Migne prints the passive, which Philip glosses both ways at 0458A–B] The Virgin, seeing that the bridegroom hath wondrously come down into her garden, and by a wondrous descent hath brought a grace equally wondrous, cannot sufficiently utter that which she spiritually beholdeth in herself; and, rejoicing in her present knowledge, she confesseth her former ignorance. I knew not, saith she, before the Angel announced me full 458Aof grace, and the Holy Spirit overshadowed me with a cloud bright enough, before the Son of God made me fruitful with his kiss, and a new fruitfulness honoured a virginal conscience: I knew not that so much of grace, so much of gift, was imparted unto me, that a lowly handmaid could experience things so unexperienced by the rest. Before he enclosed his garden — yet not with a hedge, not with a wall, nor with a rampart — before he sealed the fountain — yet not with an iron bar, not with a bolt, not with metal — before he came down into the same garden, and looked upon it with the large gift of his goodness, I knew not that he was so mighty, so kindly, so rich in so great bounty. When therefore he came down unto me, and showed himself unto me after a sort, I was troubled, I was afraid, I was astonished, marvelling at so great a benefit: my soul laboured toward its salvation 458Bwith a prosperous fainting, and, fainting with a healthful labour — or rather profiting — it troubled me. For seeing Videos that the bridegroom had come down not poor, not needy, not as any one of the people, but had arrived upon horses or in chariots after the manner of the mighty, I had no more spirit in me, considering that he both worketh salvation mightily, and that in that very might religion is worthily preserved: Thou that ridest, saith he, upon thy horses, and thy chariots are salvation (Habac. III). You know that the men of Azotus, who held the ark of the Lord some days after they had taken it, being constrained by the wounding of their hinder parts, at last restored it free; which, set upon a new cart, was carried back into the house of Aminadab, where both a more reverent worship and a more fitting religion was rendered unto it. Aminadab is interpreted 458Cspontaneous, signifying him who of his own accord willed to come from the bosom of the Father, and to unite unto himself in the womb of the Virgin the nature of man; who presideth over the angelic powers after the manner of a king or of a charioteer, and with an agile concord all serve him as chariots. Which kind of empire or of obedience when the Virgin more diligently beholdeth, she confesseth that she, aforetime unknowing of them, is after a manner troubled at this knowledge: recalling that at the marriages of them of old festal assemblies of men were wont to be employed, and that angelic chariots and invisible timbrel-players were not seen. Who therefore perchance hold in this epithalamium the name or the appearance of chariots, because this solemnity of the nuptials runneth together with and succoureth a fourfold world: and those four living creatures which are described in the prophecy of John or of Ezechiel 458Dare subscribed unto the same business as heralds or as yoke-fellows. Because of the chariots of Aminadab therefore the Virgin, before unknowing, is troubled, when, being brought into his sanctuary, she marvelleth at the thousands of thousands that minister unto him, when, as one delivered from the borders of the enemies or from the men of Azotus, both the mighty excellence of a king and the religion of a priest receiveth her. To whom Aminadab, speaking, addeth: Return, etc. 266

Return, return, Sunamite: return, return, that we may behold thee. [Vulg. Sulamitis, the Sulamitess; the name Migne prints is the one whose etymology — captive, despised, scarlet — the whole chapter expounds] Lest the Virgin should seem to return into the house of Aminadab by her own merits (for she herself is the ark of God, which for some time is held captive by the law of us all), Aminadab sheweth that it is not the efficacy 459Aof her that returneth, but rather the compassion and the mighty benevolence of him that recalleth her. The bridegroom therefore recalleth her who is called Sunamite, that being loosed from her bonds she may return with unhindered steps, lest she tarry among the men of Azotus and the allurements of carnal senses, but be carried back of her own accord, upon the wain of a foursquare newness, into the house of him that loveth her. Sunamite is interpreted a captive or despised, or scarlet. But the Virgin, like the rest, was by nature a daughter of wrath, from whose stains her manner of life could not wholly free her; wherein, although there was present in her a virtue expulsive of damnable faults, yet she is still weighed down by the bond, and by the laws of nature is a captive. And since she was by nature conceived in sins, her manner of life was infected with faults, even light ones; by the desert of that infection she is 459Bdespised in the purer eyes of God, but her humility was at length regarded through grace. For he regarded the humility of his handmaid, and recalled her once and again, and by a twofold recalling delivered her both from captivity and from contempt; that her whom the law of wrath, the law inborn, had held guilty, the divine law might afterward keep wholly free from fault. Therefore the bridegroom also addeth to recall the same once and again, and with a repeated word more diligently to invite her to return; and her whom the first recalling led forth from the harder sentence, he maketh firm the second time by a more bountiful estate or grace. For having first said, Return, return, Sunamite, he added, return, return that we may behold thee. Whom I would have return, saith he, that she be no longer held a captive and despised; I would have her return, that she may be held more pleasing to me also, that she may love him that recalleth her, and may burn, 459Cnot with a burning, but with love, and be worthy to be named scarlet by desert, not by colour. Scarlet holdeth the appearance of fire, signifying love; for he that loveth burneth. But because that fire, or the love of the Virgin, is of necessity doubled, while in the bridegroom, as I recall was said already, she embraceth God and man: her whom the bridegroom enricheth beyond the rest with so great a gift, that the scarlet may be twice dyed, he twice inviteth to this twofold love. Her therefore whom the first doubling recalleth captive and despised, the second far more firmly maketh loving and beloved; and both he himself and the companions whom he willeth to be present and privy to this mystery love to see and to behold her, such and so scarlet. Whom the angels, marking her both free from fault against the wonted 459Dright of nature, and scarlet with love, above the efficacy of any visible creature, are not able enough to wonder at so great an excellency of the thing; and rejoicing with the Bridegroom, they love to enquire concerning the Bride.

[CAP. VII.] What wilt thou see, say they, in the Sunamite, but the choirs of camps? Thou invitest, say they, the Virgin, and so often and so often wilt thou have her return, and with a marvellous advancement 460Awilt have her wholly turned to thy good pleasure, that fault may avail to obtain nothing in her of its own right, and that by the privilege of love she may be worthy to please us that behold her. In this Sunamite therefore, who so often returneth, what wilt thou see, and of her, when she shall have been presented to thy sight, what wilt thou judge — in whom, as we consider, there meeteth us so great a perfection of manners that not men, but rather the camps of angels, accord with her? For the divine reading is found to name the angels camps, in that the violence of enemies cannot pierce their squadrons, and the presiding emperor giveth them so great confidence that every assailant, beaten far back, taketh flight. Of whom Jacob: These are the camps of God (Gen. XXXII). Who also may not unfitly be called choirs, in that they are both concordant in affections and tuneful with unwearied 460Bpraises, whose melody soundeth so great in the ears of him that presideth that neither the harmony of the heavens, nor of the stars, nor even of the planets can compare itself thereto. And by what virtues the angels consider themselves to flourish, by those same they both see the Virgin to be pre-eminent and envy it not; and since they recognize in her the angelic life with a marvellous newness, they wonder, and now demand of the bridegroom whether he know aught further. What wilt thou see, say they, in this Sunamite whom thou recallest, but a marvellous concord of praise and of exquisite fortitude, but praiseworthy choirs and the ancient armies of the angels, but concordant virtues and a strength unfailing as of camps! These things assuredly we already see in the virgin whom thou lovest so greatly, and if aught yet lieth hid, we would see it with a desire pleasing enough; 460Cand both these things and the rest which we rejoice to behold in her, we would have recounted by thyself, who art known to know them better. To these the Bridegroom: How fair, etc. 267

How beautiful are thy steps in shoes, prince's daughter. The Bridegroom deferreth not to answer benignly to the things enquired, but in answering he loveth to turn back his speech to the virgin; not deeming that he in any wise displeaseth the aforesaid companions, if to them that enquire he chooseth to shew himself affable to her. To them therefore that ask he cutteth not off hope by silence, but turneth himself to her to whom he is not weary to speak the more often; and when he undertaketh to accost her with new praises, he willeth the bridesmen standing by to hear whatsoever he speaketh. But now 460Dhe beginneth to set forth his praises from the steps, who above (l. IV, c. 7 et 22), when he praised her, chose to begin from the eyes; perchance that, if the repetition of praises admonish the drowsy to weary, another order and a varied colouring may render them watchful and attentive. Finally above (l. IV, c. 23), when he many times sought to praise the virgin as it were part by part, if I recall well, he passed not beyond her breasts or paps, but beginning from the upper parts, his praise so turneth about them 461Athat from the breasts downward he speaketh not of the remaining members. But the Virgin herself in the preceding book (l. V a c. 18 ad 27), praising him as it were particularly or member by member, descended in order from the head to the legs and their bases; to whom the Bridegroom, rendering the like, ordered herein the series of her praises, but for variety's sake changed that very order. The steps of the virgin I deem to name her acts, which he willed to be hidden from us that are far more remote; through which he willed her to come into our knowledge, whose sanctity would lie hid from us if she chose a slothful or a continual sitting. Which steps assuredly no halting limp disfigured, no girlish levity accused of being wandering and unstable; no dry disease twisted them back to the weak and needy elements of this world, nor did any wicked 461Bexactor wring from them anything by way of tribute. Of so fair a soundness, of so strong a beauty were they, and in this beauty they stood fast with so great a constancy, that wonder rather than narration befitteth the praiser, since not only the full expression, but even a foretaste, may suffice the hearer. And that it may be plain that nothing necessary is excluded from those same steps, walking through the unevennesses of this life they are not bare; but lest either the dryness of the sun or the harshness of winter bring in aught of grievousness, a certain mortification of pleasure shoeth them as it were. If therefore aught threateneth, whether delightful or troublesome, which would overturn in them anything useful or honest, a certain patient insensibility putteth itself forward to repel it, 461Cwhich permitteth nothing pestilent to come to the tender foot. In shoes of this kind the beauty of the steps lieth hid, which, not open enough to us, is better known to the bridegroom, who loveth to be at hand for that same virgin in all things, and maketh her to be like himself as a daughter. For this cause perchance in the present place — that nowhere above did he name her daughter, that after his own fashion he shod her more especially, and made her in the shoes to accord with him more expressly and more like, while, set in the flesh, he granted her not to feel the laws of carnal men. Who is rightly said to hold the princedom of the prerogative of that gift, who, when he was made flesh, would not be bound to carnal things, who willed to keep the manhood he assumed unharmed by vices, and to conform the chosen virgin to himself as a daughter. Taking away therefore from the midst the privilege 461Dof stubborn wrath, he is rightly called by Isaias' testimony the prince of peace (Isa. IX), whose peace whosoever is granted truly to experience in himself (for many say peace, peace, in whom peace cannot be found); whosoever, I say, is found partaker of this peace by the gift of grace, is rightly marked with the filial name because of the likeness.

The joint of thy thighs is like necklaces, which are wrought by the hand of a craftsman. With a fair manner of speech he hath commended the integrity of the virgin, while he compared the joint of the thighs to wrought necklaces, because in the thighs is most often figured carnal begetting, 462Abut in the joint of the thighs the denial of begetting and barrenness. Finally the sinful soul which embittereth God with carnal allurements, as the prophet (Isa. LI) recordeth, spreadeth her feet apart to all that pass by, and not content with the lawful, being loosed from law taketh other men — nay, adulterers; she beareth not the straitness of the marriage-bed, but, her couch widened, is prostituted to panderings. But the Virgin, who in conceiving feeleth no man at all, who by an ancient privilege of nature consenteth not in body any more than in mind, her thighs being coupled with an indissoluble joint, holdeth from thenceforth and thereafter the firm covenant of perfect chastity. For such as she is read to have been at the conception, the Angel preaching it (Luc. I), such by a pious faith not straying from the truth is she believed to have continued; and neither was the body divided from the mind, nor afterward 462Bthe mind from the body, but undivided by a continual consent and by unharmed affections. Which joint ought rightly to be compared to necklaces, which are known to be wrought by a learned hand out of gold and stones, which not only by their own worthy 268 price bring the comeliness of an ornament, but to fortify the virgin bosom clasp together the upper edges of the garment. So the joint of the thighs, more precious than gold or stone, keeping flesh and spirit, and busy for the acquiring of merit, fortifieth indeed the virgin, that no seducing corrupter be admitted, and admonisheth her also to love him by whose benefit she is thus adorned. For from fortifying or from admonishing, as some say, are necklaces named, in that whatsoever things are fortified are by such a gift admonished, that by such a guard they may drive far off 462Cthe envious corrupter, and with a mutual affection benignly love the giver. For the learned craftsman with his own hand wrought these necklaces, which, denied to many, he denied not to the Virgin Mother; which Paul with a wondrous desire asketh to be given him — I know not, while he lived here, whether perchance he deserved so to be blessed.

Thy navel is a turned bowl, never wanting cups. The navel coupleth and fasteneth together the parts of the belly set round about it, and lest by their native softness they flow down or perchance flow away, calleth them back and restraineth them; wherein the woman also is said to have the seed-bed of begetting, which nevertheless among men is chiefly contained in the loins. The navel therefore of the virgin is her stable doctrine, which, when the apostles were flowing away with a fleshly fear 462Dand a womanish softness; standeth firm by a virita faith, and floweth not away with the like levity, but by a certain firmness of her own calleth back those that are light and wandering more than is just. For the men, seeing that they had too lightly fallen away from the purpose of faith, and that she, though shaken with exceeding grief, had yet stood the more firmly — when the resurrection accomplished was shewn by sundry visions, and the Virgin was held suspended in the zeal of contemplation and in devout prayers — being called back to her, humbly blush for the things past; and thenceforth cleave to her hearing more believingly and more constantly. For than a turned bowl her turning is fuller and more perfect, to whom the begetting of the rising Christ had been more fully made known; and all things which are read of him in Scripture through the long series of times, 463Athese she drew more abundantly, and poured back to her hearers with measure. Whose turned bowl, or ready perfection of discoursing, drieth not with want, is not straitened by narrowness of understanding, but filled with cups and inebriated with the wine of wisdom, both sufficeth for all peoples far off and, being poured out, never faileth.

Thy belly is like a heap of wheat, set about with lilies. The belly is humanity, weakness, or temporal manner of life, which needeth the fostering of raiment and of bodily nourishment, whose softness, as it were, so demandeth the care of natural fostering that in it there may be heaped up spiritual advancement and eminence. For although the Virgin hath not her own flesh in hatred, but preserveth it, yet in the care of it she enervateth not the powers of the spirit, but while she of necessity cherisheth 463Bit, she reserveth herself for hard labours, in which she heapeth up a store of merits after the manner of wheat. Which store, while it lifteth itself on high as by a certain point, yet raiseth not itself with the windy multitude of chaff; and is held gracious to the husbandman for the making of bread, and no less fruitful for the casting of seed. For not only is the Virgin's manner of life proved to please the Bridegroom, but in these also that stand by it worketh as it were a seminal force, while it instructeth them and provoketh them to all better things, and admonisheth them, not by word but by example, to grow and to stretch forth unto the things that are before. Whose merits, so great, lest robbers presume to carry them off violently, lest thieves plunder them, lest even mice seek fraudulently to drag them away, are set about indeed not with stakes, 463Cnot with stones, not with mortar, but with lilies, that is, with the allurement of cleanness and of inviolable grace.

Thy two breasts are like two twin fawns of a roe: thy neck like a tower of ivory. The force of love maketh these same words said above to be repeated, but they are not to be expounded again, for the sake of a briefer delay; yet that which can be reckoned changed and as it were different may be enquired into — what it meaneth, what ought therein to be figured. For above it was said (l. IV, c. 12): Thy neck is like the tower of David; but here, like a tower of ivory. In the tower is figured a certain fortitude of the virgin, in the ivory the chaste and sincere beauty of that same fortitude; because her whom the tower setteth against the enemies fore-armed with virtues, the coldness inborn 463Din ivory sheweth to be polished from fiery passions. A tower therefore is the Virgin, when she bravely 269 defendeth herself from enemies, but a tower of ivory when she sheweth herself free from the heat of the flesh; a tower, I say, when the onset of the malignant shuddereth at the mass of her virtues, of ivory when with a cold rigour she whiteneth as with the frost of winter.

Thine eyes are like the fishpools in Hesebon, which are in the gate of the daughter of the multitude. Of the eyes also I deem enough was said in the second book (sup. l. IV, c. 7, et alibi), nor do I think it necessary that what was said be repeated but because a new comparison seemeth here to be added, that very newness demandeth to be here expounded. Hesebon is a city which a multitude of peoples inhabiteth 464Athe fishpools are fountains, or lakes and a fitting fulness of waters, which, set in the gate of the city — the truth of the matter being so — refresh the dwellers of that city with a manifold bounty. The eyes therefore of the Bride, not infected with serpentine dregs, but, as the second book explaineth, conformed to the manners of doves, are for this cause perchance in the present place like unto fishpools, because they steep the washed, or wash the steeped, with saving disciplines. For those whom the Virgin vouchsafeth to behold with gracious eyes, on whom she worthily chooseth to have mercy by a regard of benevolence, calling them back from wandering in the open field, she leadeth us to a profitable gate, through which she bringeth us in to the citizens and the household and the throng of them that worthily deserve. Hesebon is interpreted the girdle of sorrow. By her regard indeed the Virgin restraineth us from an outward licence, and when we have entered the straits of the gate a necessary sorrow 464Bgirdeth us; and she no longer suffereth us to be glad from all the things that clamour without, but willeth us to be afflicted with misery and worthy of mercy. And when the Virgin in pity beholdeth us such, she guardeth us as citizens and household of the daughter of the multitude; which daughter, that is, the city, admitteth indeed many comers unto herself, but, by a law strange enough, admitteth none save the mournful and the wretched. This refuge they have, this guard they use for the present, that the Virgin cherisheth them with the fitting benefit of her eyes, qnod she visiteth the mourning with a diligent solicitude, so kindly refreshing them for the present that she promiseth far better in what followeth. I have experienced what I say. When, by the divine judgment urging it, the sons of my mother fought against me, when, while strangers spared me, they whom I believed to be mine own bowels wounded me, 464Cthe ash of this Hesebon, mine own sadness, would have compelled me to perish, had not the Virgin vouchsafed with outstretched hand the sooner to succour me. She stood by me, and cast not away the care of me any further, but interposed herself in the midst of the tongues of the malignant; and marking that they raged not with zeal of justice but with a hostile faction, with the strong hand of mercy she stopped the mouth of them that spoke things so unjust. To whom that which followeth rightly agreeth: Thy nose, etc

Thy nose is like the tower of Libanus, which looketh toward Damascus. Pestilent men, who are the champions and athletes of the devil, like unto him by whom they are sent, stir up quarrels without discretion; and blinded by malice they know not the reason of judgment, and if perchance they have known it, rancour 464Dand envy corrupt their knowledge. But the Virgin, seeing that some have need of a greater patronage, knoweth not how to fail those whom she hath known to suffer wrong, shewing to them that rightly consider that she hath a strong nose, not flattened after the manner of an ape, not unnerved with softness, not shorn away. For although as it were in silence she sometimes permitteth her own to be afflicted, perchance so far as it is expedient that they be amended by tribulations, yet when the malignity of the envious groweth up more violently and assaileth, the discretion of this strong one, as the tower of Libanus, standeth forth and fighteth back. And so much the more doth she prevail and more effectually withstand the malignant, as she is solidly confirmed in Christ, who is the mount of Libanus, upon whom set and built up she looketh and gazeth toward Damascus, that with a solicitous gaze she may call it back and turn it from its purpose. Damascus is interpreted thirsting for blood. 465ABut the city of the lost ever thirsteth for our blood; yet lest it drink it all, the Virgin forbiddeth by the regard of her eyes, which both confer a saving defence upon us that piously ask, and mightily bring loss upon her that evilly thirsteth. For her discretion knoweth when and how she may console those that suffer unjust things, and with what penalty she may strike back, or with what patience await, them that inflict them; she knoweth whom, humble and abject, she may regard with a pitying countenance, and whom on the contrary, Damascenes, she may despise, their malice so deserving. In all which things she attendeth not to her own good pleasure alone, but greatly esteemeth the will of the Bridegroom, whom she desireth to please; loving whose friends, she groweth glad at their advancement, and over whose enemies, as with a perfect hatred, she pineth away. To whom is well subjoined: Thy head, etc. 270

• 465B

Thy head is as Carmel, and the hairs of thy head as the purple of the king joined to channels. [Vulg. vincta canalibus, "bound in channels"; Philip's own gloss keeps the Vulgate's word, saying that the purple is alligari — bound — in the channels] The head of the Virgin may not unfitly be called her mind or intention, to which the remaining works, as subject members, seem so to be assigned that they deserve neither to be directed unto proficiendnm nor to be raised up unto pleasing, if they be not governed by the intention going before as by a head. Which intention, because iniquity presseth it not down, weakness softeneth it not, but it raiseth itself to the things above with a sound desire of pleasing, hath deserved to obtain the eminence and the name of a mountain, whose interpretation is found not to lack the fruit of a mystery. Carmel is interpreted the knowledge of circumcision, or, knowing circumcision. Circumcision, as the Jews have known, is a cutting of the flesh, cutting away the foreskin, that is, carnal desire 465Cin a figure; which, given by Moses, the Jews held literally, but they spiritually who studied to lay aside what the flesh suggesteth. The Virgin therefore, whose intention is known to stand above desire, is rightly called Carmel, not knowing how to lie under carnal things — she who, spiritually circumcised in heart and ears and all her senses, in bearing a son pleased, undivided, not a man but God alone. That new mother indeed saw in herself the wondrous excellency of the mountain, when, coupling herself to the Bridegroom, she circumcised the desires of carnal men; when the Spirit so overshadoweth her, a spiritual circumcision so cleanseth her, that she who beareth transmitteth not to the born the hereditary fault of the flesh. Whose hairs of the head, that is, her holy and most subtle thoughts, 465Dby which there cometh to the head no mean comeliness or ornament, are likened to the purple of the king joined to channels, while by faith and love of the passion of Christ they are empurpled as with a certain blood. Among those who are said to be skilled in this craft, the purple is wont to be bound in little bundles in narrow channels, and upon it so bound water is poured, in due manner and measure, by which pouring the dye may be serviceable for empurpling the wool. Or, according to some, at Tyre and Sidon, where this craft is chiefly practised, fine and white wool is straitened in channels, which by the blood of the shellfish poured over it is changed into a purple colour, and thenceforth is called purple — nay, is called the purple. Which is therefore said to be the purple of the king, because from of old it was wont to be as it were proper to kings that they should be clothed 466Awith a purple garment by special privilege, and that by this sign, marked off from the rest, they should without doubt be shewn to be kings. Whence in the Gospel (Matth. XXVII; Joan. XIX), because Christ had as it were presumed to attest himself a king, the persecuting Jews were seen to be intolerably indignant; and before they slew him whom they would not have reign over them, they in mockery clothed him with a pnrpuream chlamys. But the hairs of the head are laid in narrow channels, when the Virgin's thoughts are put under spiritual exercises, when the faith of Christ's passion prepareth for itself a cleaner place, when the rain descending upon the fleece turneth the whole of it into love. The blood of the sea-fish is the very love of the Redeemer, who was made man in the world by the precept of the eternal begetter; upon the Virgin, whom he marketh to be shut in the frying-pan of discipline, 466Bhe poureth over and poureth in the love of his own blood by the grace of a medicine. Whereby she is said to become purple — nay, the purple — and thenceforth is exhibited to the highest king so properly, so specially, that she is fitted no longer to human but to divine use only; and is proved to know and to love not a man that is man, but God and man. Which God-man also is not unfitly called the head of the Virgin, who by a princely excellency is proclaimed the mountain of the house of the Lord above the top of the mountains, to whom perchance the name of no other but of Carmel is assigned, because as knowingly as mightily he taketh away the foreskin from the true Israel. But the hairs, which are known to cleave to the head by the root, and yet to stray further abroad unless discipline study to restrain them, are all the acts of the Virgin which she hath more firmly established from the root in Christ, and hath called back from 466Cexcessive going forth by a judicial strictness. Which she willed to be brought into channels, that is, into low and humble straits, and the joy of the passion to be drawn over them as a purple dye — whose whole manner of life knoweth not to be highminded, but to fear, and to shine forth with a reddening martyrdom as a living victim.

How fair art thou, and how comely, most dear one, in delights? Thy stature is likened to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes. Because the praises begun from the steps have come in a straight series to the head or the hairs, and have found nothing in all the aforesaid that is not praiseworthy, he comprehendeth the beauty of the Virgin in a kind of little summary, calling her most dear, in whom he findeth 466Dnothing reprehensible. How fair art thou, saith he, with a will 271 that knoweth not torpor, but is lively; how comely, pursuing a just willing with an effectual hand; and that the praises may be strengthened by an end more worthily heaped up, most dear amid so many delights to me who am delicate. In one such, so praiseworthy, I complain of no loss, because thy stature is like a commendable palm tree, which is narrower in its lowest parts, spacious in the upper: thou rejoicest in a good beginning, fruitful with a better end. Finally, as the palm is set before the girded warrior, so assuredly it is delivered to the ungirded victor also; and that which had led on to labour and roused the mind of the fighter is raised up unto praise when it is borne in the hand of the triumpher. Thy stature therefore is found like unto this palm, when persevering labour is marked with such titles of praise, when, beginning from 467Athe lowest, thou art enlarged with a fruitful advance, when, the world's champion being conquered, thou rejoicest in a reward now certain. Thy stature is said not undeservedly to be likened to a palm, which is known rather to stand in an upright purpose than to be bowed; and because her standing is granted to go forward unbending unto perfection, she deserveth to obtain the palm, that is, a worthy title of victory. And thy breasts, wherewith thou givest suck, or feedest abundantly them that stand about — that is, the form of thy life whereby thou instructest the ignorant both morally and spiritually — is like, not to useless herbs, not to barren trees, but to fertile clusters, joyous with recundito wine. For they that attentively behold thee perfect both in moral and in spiritual things, and so carried up from the bosom of the earth to the lofty likeness of a palm, wonder, are amazed, and are not held within their own 467Bbounds, while among all women they behold none like unto thee. Pressing therefore thy breasts with certain hands of consideration, and foreseeing more fully that the perfection of both lives floweth from them, they seem to have pressed out for themselves as it were certain clusters, and to have brought forth an inebriating wine of amazement and wonder.

I said: I will go up into the palm tree, and will take hold of its fruits; and thy breasts shall be as the clusters of the vine; and the odour of thy mouth as the odour of apples. Whence so great a grace beyond the rest is conferred upon the Virgin, that her breasts are held like to clusters and her stature like to a palm, the Bridegroom evidently intimateth in the following verse, shewing what he had foretold, and that he hath consequently fulfilled what was foretold. I said, saith he: 467CI will go up, and thy breasts shall be clusters. His saying is the purpose which from eternity he willed to be ordained, which, remaining fixed with himself, he willed for a very long while to be hidden; but at length, when the happy fulness of times shone forth, there was given to this Virgin an evident certainty of this saying. For he who had long been hidden with himself or in the Father, an Angel indeed being sent, yet himself going before the Angel, was presented to the Virgin; and he willed that wonderful saying to be exhibited as it were visibly, while, invisible by nature, he granted himself by grace to be seen. I said, saith he, and what I said I will no longer keep silent, but I will go up into the palm tree, that is, I will appear visible: I will go up into the Virgin, through her I will shew myself to the rest, through the flesh assumed of her I will triumph over the prince of the world. For the depth 467Dof my divinity was inaccessible to men, by love of whom being led I will go up on high, that when from the deep and hidden invisible I shall have been visibly exalted, I may draw all things to me, not defrauded of the efficacy of drawing. The Virgin therefore is a palm, lofty by the privilege of her merits, into whom the Bridegroom willed to go up as into a sycamore tree, whose ascent, that is, the assumption of flesh, is reckoned by every faithful one a foolish fig, but to him that worthily looketh up and humbly receiveth it, worketh a saving fruit. Which fruit the Bridegroom himself thankfully taketh hold of, when he findeth in it nothing at all to displease him, when he accepteth, when he approveth, when he rejoiceth that it accordeth with his good pleasure, that the fruitfulness of the palm is granted to bring forth the salvation of the faithful. He taketh hold, I say, when a keeper 468Amost faithful draweth near to it, when he fore-armeth it and taketh heed that he leave nothing of it to be exposed to the birds, when he cherisheth the palm itself and advanceth it into so great a power that whatsoever befitteth the world unto salvation hangeth from it. And there hangeth from it the flesh of Christ, the passion of the flesh, the wood of the cross: the abolishing of faults, the flight of night, the return of the true light, the reconciliation of the world, the constancy of virtues, the confidence of rewards — all which things he thankfully taketh hold of, who is the author and disposer of them. Which being taken hold of, the breasts of the Bride are likened to the clusters of the vine, because by her benefits the minds of them that worthily consider are made drunken; and her odours, or the odour of her mouth, is made as of apples, because her fame and her teaching hath a good savour in the nostrils of her hearers. To which is subjoined: The throat, etc.

• 468B

Thy throat like the best wine. If the things that are borne to them without by a faithful messenger are as clusters, as apples, what and how great things 272 may be believed to be those which are felt by the Virgin herself, which she, pouring out with a bountiful hand, offereth timely to the jaws of the hungry — who but a blind man would deem that she is fasting from things so great and such? She indeed above the rest rejoiceth to feel things so many, so excellent; she chiefly draweth in what sweetness is had in the Bridegroom, and how great; and what others scarce foretaste, whom so great an excellency of merits adorneth not, she with an eager draught feeleth more fully and tasteth. Whose taste the Bridegroom figured by the name of the throat, and willing to commend it, compared it to the best wine, because to whomsoever the taste or the throat of the Virgin becometh known, he seemeth 468Cto himself to have drunk, in that he groweth unspeakably glad. For to whom the Virgin, not envious, maketh her taste known, his heart she gladdeneth as though it had drunk wine; and so much is she granted to know and to feel in the secret of her heart that he to whom it shall be given to consent is not able not to rejoice. And well did the Bridegroom proclaim that wine to be the best, whereof whosoever hath drunk hath deemed none better: the vineyard of Naboth gave not the like to drink, nor perchance the vineyard of Sorec; nor did Noe drink better of the first vineyard that he planted. But because that taste, or the throat of the Virgin, is more fully made known to none, nor doth any other rejoice more over what he hath received, than the Bridegroom, who needeth not to be taught by a transitory word (for he seeth and approveth whatsoever useful thing is thought); the Virgin, knowing that wine 468Dto please more worthily the herald of it, catching the word as it were from his mouth, hasteneth to answer.

Worthy for my Beloved to drink, and for his lips and his teeth to ruminate upon. He commendeth, saith she, my throat — nay, that which now groweth sweet in the throat, which whosoever is dull and stupid in palate approveth not enough; but he himself, by whose gift so great a grace shineth clear to me, drinketh with a full draught, and his bowl drieth not with want. I indeed have experienced the wondrous sweetness of this wine, and, the Bridegroom proclaiming it to be the best, am not uncertain of it; whereof, lest by keeping silence I be reproved, I have confidently spoken, and what he rightly began I have followed up with a worthy heralding. He, a discerning judge, saith that wine to be the best; and relying on that saying 469AI consequently assert it to be worthy — worthy, I say, that it be offered him to drink in a pleasing cup, to whom assuredly whatsoever shall be unworthy is not owed. But all the best things ought to be given to none more worthily than to him who ought to be deemed the best of all, who, as he in no wise willeth to be given drink in a dreggy cup, so requireth of me that unmixed wine, and that only, be presented to him. My throat therefore, which he named the best wine — that is, the affection of my heart, which hath tasted of him things so great, so unspeakable — I judge it worthy that I diligently present it to his sight, and fill up his thirst, offering a fitting draught. For he thirsteth, and thirsteth for the good of us all, who nevertheless admitteth not the gall of dragons and the wine of asps (Deut. XXXII); he drinketh not the vinegar of the Jews, nor the bitterness offered him, 469Bbut refuseth it; and he putteth far off the wicked, whom in the Gospel he thus accuseth: Go, saith he, you cursed; for I thirsted, and you gave me not to drink (Matth. XXV). [Vulg. Matt. 25:41 has Discedite a me, "Depart from me," where Migne prints Ite, "Go"; and Vulg. 25:42 has potum, "drink," where Migne prints bibere, "to drink." Migne also joins the two verses and inserts enim] And so I judge it worthy that I offer the best wine to him that thirsteth, which may please not only at the first taste but no less at the repeating; that drinking it eagerly, and holding what he hath drunk pleasing, he may suffer no weariness, but rather love it ruminated. The lips and the teeth, wherewith clean animals are known to ruminate, I deem to figure a re-handling, and in the re-handling a strictness, wherewith that benevolent and most keen judge, to see whatsoever he loveth in the Bride, handleth it again and strictly examineth it unto pleasing. He drinketh indeed when he thankfully embraceth her understanding or her affection; he ruminateth when he handleth again and strictly examineth 469Cwhat is loved; and the more he perceiveth that nothing unfitting appeareth before, nothing after, so much the more he loveth to rejoice in things exquisite and well-pleasing. And as the law willed that the animal which ruminateth not be proclaimed unclean, so that understanding or affection is not clean enough which endureth not to be handled again; but whatsoever lieth hid in the Virgin feareth not a repeated judgment, and the subtle ruminator findeth nothing in her that he should cut away. Therefore she addeth: I, etc.

I to my beloved, and his turning is toward me. I, I say, rejoice to be found serving and obeying my Beloved, to cleave to him more gratefully, to experience his pleasing sweetness; 469Dwhatsoever I feel in myself feareth not to be laid open to him more openly, my conscience shrinketh not from being met by his scrutiny. I indeed, not distended with womanish levity through the vain and various windings of the world, am intent with a ripe gravity upon him whom alone I love; from him I am turned away neither in act nor in affection, not even for a little, but am turned to his face with a devout desire. And my beloved himself slumbereth not while he keepeth me 273, nor doth he snore, but is at hand; when I shall have cried out, he sheweth himself benevolent to her that crieth; he turneth not away his face from my prayers, nor even from my affections, but turneth himself to my desire with a cheerful countenance. And since between us there is proclaimed not an aversion but a mutual conversion, it pleaseth that my speech also be turned again unto him, that my face, which in seeking out beholdeth his face 470Asought out, may address that very face familiarly as it were mouth to mouth.

Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field, let us abide in the villages. Thou saith she, whom I love, who above didst not refuse, being called, to come; whom coming I have known to impart to me a more bountiful grace — come yet again, if thou lovest to find me prompt and prepared, that I may both will and be able to consent to thy commandment. Above indeed I had as it were feared that my washed feet should be defiled, and that, rejoicing in a pleasing little bed, I should again be called forth to outward things; but because I now understand that this is expedient for the needs of many, I refuse not whatsoever I shall see to accord with thy good pleasure. Come therefore, my Beloved, and let us hasten to go forth together into the field, that we may announce thy name to the world and thy 470Bgrace; that the things which thou hast long since hidden and now disposest no longer to lie hid may become known to all who shall nevertheless be worthy to obtain this benefit. Not only in Judea, which is called as it were our city, where our fellow-citizens are and the generation of our flesh is propagated, but in the villages also, that is, without, among the Gentiles, let us cause the knowledge of us to be spread abroad; and that it may be spread the more effectually, let it not irk us to abide there the longer. And the beloved and the beloved one are then seen to go forth into the field, and are not held in the secret of the bridechamber with the door shut, when the world loveth to embrace by faith the Word made flesh, and venerateth the mother of whom the Word willed to be incarnate. But to those the mother and the son are not yet gone forth who, by a rustic dulness not having professed the catholic faith, adore not God 470Cand man together, being struck with scandal, and abhorring the fruitful Virgin honour her not with a worthy reverence. Therefore the Virgin, seeing that this ought no longer to be deferred, willeth the knowledge of hidden things at length to be brought forth into the midst, and a sure faith to be carried over in the apostles to the Jews, and that the Idumeans be not made outcasts from the grace of the same gift. For into Idumea Christ refused not to stretch forth his shoe, and changed enemies into friends and strangers into household folk, when by teaching and grace he made known to the distant nations that his immortality had shod itself with our mortality. In which nations the Virgin admonisheth him to make a stay, and he, being admonished, refuseth not; wherein she secretly reproveth and accuseth the hardness of the Jews, who, deserting the faith of Christ all too soon after the apostles, 470Dso remain, deferring their conversion even to the end of the world. But into the villages, that is, the nations which were foolish far from the citizens, which, rude and untilled, had not yet known the prophetic teaching, the mother and the son come, and make a lingering dwelling among them, while they so cleave to the son that they hold also a grateful mention of the mother; at whose advancement the Virgin, loving to rejoice, and understanding that this same thing pleaseth the son no less, yet urgeth and taketh it upon her confidently to admonish him that he persist in promoting unto better what hath been well begun.

Let us get up early to the vineyards, let us see if the vineyard hath flourished, if the flowers bring forth fruits, if the pomegranates 471Ahave flourished. There will I give thee my breasts. Because all the faithful have found our benevolence profitable to themselves, and are not uncertain of their own advancement if grace shall have continued, let us get up early, when night is now compelled to be turned into light, and let us render them watchful with a labour and a zeal not slothful. In the morning indeed the solicitous husbandman willeth to go out to the vineyards, to provide them what is useful, to free them from what is useless, to cut away superfluities, to apply diligence to necessary things, rejoicing if he shall have weighed that they answer him with a fitting increase. And so let us also get up early, that is, let us hasten to take away the evening horror, to give the dawn to the vineyards, to pour in the morning sun: let our visitation drive far off and beat back the darkness of ignorance, and pour over the Churches of the Gentiles the new light of grace. Let the nations know that the Lord is thy name; 471Blet them know and go forth and begin their work; and let those which before, barren and dry, were weighed down with a nightly dulness, advance and flourish in the morning, and be held as fertile vineyards. Let our visitation, our vision, confer increase upon them, and let it not permit them to be afflicted more than is just, but with the tribulation make also an issue: let us press upon the work, thou going before mightily and mercifully, and I diligently and faithfully interceding for the Churches. Let us see if it hath flourished — that is, let us hold it pleasing that the vineyard seemeth to have flourished; already 274 it sheweth beforehand that it hath received our grace; already it hath grown green, already it hath flowered, already it rejoiceth to have given hope to the solicitous husbandman, and with a flowering appearance to have given forth sure signs of advancement. And because the flower sufficeth not, if it be not granted to come to fruit, let us see, let us approve 471Cthat the flowers seem to bring forth fruits, because the nations which are taught to come together into the hearing of faith delay not to mark that faith itself with worthy works. Let us see also if the pomegranates have flourished; let us weigh that in them many have been strong with so great a fortitude that, fervent with love, they expose themselves to the enduring of martyrdom, even though the executioners set no material sword against them without. But that the syllabic conjunction, that is If, is so often repeated, is no doubting, but the speech is confirmed; because what she foretelleth is by no means doubtful, but certain to the virgin, nor doth the outcome of the matter contradict such a saying of hers. For many among the Gentiles, upon whom the mother and the son conferred their benevolence, after the manner of a vineyard have by labour and zeal brought forth a flowering 471Dappearance, and by the advance of grace have led their flowering affections into fruitful effects, and by their form as well as their teaching have brought others to fruit. But some who burn with the torches of a greater desire flower as pomegranates, they redden with tribulations, they endure in their purpose so many and so great troubles in the contest that they differ from the fruit of martyrdom only by the suffering of death. For the Spirit which resteth not from envy and from lying oftentimes so burneth against certain men with unbridled malice that with the utmost zeal it busieth itself either to weaken their life, or at least to defile their good name with sinister rumours. It goeth forth therefore, and infecteth those whom it findeth more prone to malice; it armeth with shamelessness elders that are such not by mastership but by presbytery, who, when they are not able 472Ato fulfil their concupiscence at their pleasure, determine to turn back the whole weight of the crime upon Susanna. A sinister report flieth, and shaketh the whole city; they are amazed and wonder at the unseemly novelty; and the innocent woman would have utterly perished by a false judgment, had not the divine mercy at length come to her aid, Daniel being sent. Who is there that would not praise her, that would not praise Marina and Eugenia and others of that kind — who would presume to defraud them of the reward from martyrdom, whom the guile of accusers and a shameless falsehood assailed, and whose souls the sword, not of iron but of trouble, pierced through? Finally God, sometimes suffering some to be deceived and to perish, permitteth the spirit of lying to rage in their ears; and the prophets, who deserve not to see true and useful things, prophesy by their own spirit whatsoever they know to please the king. 472BBeing seduced therefore, they seduce Achab, itching in his ears, and with false soothsayings assert an imminent victory; but Micheas, who alone with a free voice testifieth the truth, first smitten with a buffet, is straightway made over to prison. There are some who, loving to speak vain things and to divine lies, in no wise will that any truthful man meet them; and both the prophet and he to whom it is prophesied smoothly and wickedly, not foreseeing his own case well enough, rejoiceth over a brother's trouble. A disease or pestilence of which kind creepeth widely even to-day and rangeth further; this stain occupieth many and is spread over a broad space; and very many are found who, bearing before them the appearance of love in countenance and habit, maliciously detract, and curiously hear them that detract. For being darkened with malice they deem that more is conferred upon their own praises if 472Cthey shall have weighed that the honour due is not paid to their brethren; if they have known the fame of others to be weakened by any reproach whatsoever, they think their own either to stand more firmly or to be more copiously heaped up. And so, hating Micheas, they follow not his truthful soothsaying, and lying to the king they comply with his desires; and while both king and ministers are seduced by a flattering lie, those are not deserted whom they unjustly and wickedly persecute. For the Virgin is at hand, and vouchsafeth them her own vision, whom she prudently understandeth to be pressed down by an unjust wounding; and lest, being wounded, they fail, but rather that, being tempted, they may rejoice in the issue, delivering them from present things she promoteth them to better by her intervention. Therefore she addeth to the Bridegroom: There will I give, etc

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There will I give thee my breasts. When I shall have seen, saith she, the vineyard marked with new flowers, when I shall have seen the following fruits brought forth by the foregoing comeliness of the flowers, when I shall have seen any oppressed man afflicted more than is just, and coloured in our sight with a Punic beauty: There, that is, then — at an opportune hour, to wit, at a fitting time — I will pour in my breasts, I will give my help to him that is in need. And well doth the Virgin promise that she will give, not a breast, but breasts, because very many will, whose action answereth not their will; for many seem to have compassion when they mark us wretched, but labouring under want or avarice they stretch not forth the hand of help. Of such men a certain heathen: All men, saith he, pardon, no man succoureth. But the Virgin both pitieth our 473Amiseries with an affection of benevolence, and with a most powerful hand worketh whatsoever she shall have seen necessary for us; and lest under a hard burden faith had languished and hope should waver, she is quickly at hand, so to refresh us with both breasts. But because her benignity hath mercy on none of us save for the sake of the son, 275 whom she beholdeth most merciful toward us, lest she should seem to refer the cause of the benefit to us rather than to him — whom assuredly she loveth not for our sake, but us for his — therefore she said not: I will give them my breasts, but, I will give thee. Whatsoever, saith she, I shall have bestowed on them who so need to be helped, I will attribute the whole to thee, whose good pleasure I see to work in these things; nor will I have this favourably assigned either to them or to myself, but rather that both they and I myself more justly glory in thee alone. Whatsoever 473Btherefore I be found mercifully to impart to thine — whom I shall see to flourish as vineyards, whom to bring forth good works, whom finally, suffering unjust things, I shall have weighed to be like unto pomegranates, sighing only unto us, awaiting our patronage — whatsoever help, I say, I shall confer upon such, I will give to thee, because through thee and for thee, and referring the whole to thee, I will help them.

The mandrakes have given a smell in our gates. [Vulg. divides otherwise — Mandragorae dederunt odorem. In portis nostris omnia poma… — attaching the gates to the apples, not to the mandrakes; Migne's division gives the gates to the mandrakes, which is what this whole chapter expounds] Because the Virgin before named the villages and the vineyards and the pomegranates, in which she figured the Churches of the Gentiles and their various advancements, making a passage to the Jews, under a riddle nevertheless and a figure, she foretelleth that their conversion shall one day be. Whose conversion 473Ca prophetic nostril, most sagacious in perceiving, smelleth out, and she rejoiceth with a most certain hope of their converting, knowing and foreknowing the conversion of the people of the Jews, which, though it must be deferred, shall yet come at the end of the ages. Signifying which beforehand: A smell, saith she, in our gates the mandrakes now have given; our nostrils, not blunted with ignorance, have perceived beforehand that, after the fulness of the Gentiles shall be granted to enter in, then the remnant of the Jews, then all Israel shall be converted. Mandrakes, as they say, are herbs suited to the uses of medicine, bearing before them a human likeness, save for the head; by which the Jews, prudent and erring, are figured fitly enough, who are formed to the divine worship by a written law, as being men. But because they know not Christ the head of the faithful, nor 473Dadore him, being truncated and disfigured they discolour all the remaining body; and they who by the knowledge of the Scriptures and by the legal commandments are conformed to the faithful are deformed by the absence of the head and by an unbelieving ignorance. Who also confer no mean medicine upon the sick, when they read the law to us, when they bring forth a discipline of living, when they keep for us the codices, as a furnace of moral things, as a workshop of spiritual, and bring to us for teaching those whom they hold as severe judges. And these indeed bring forth no fuller fruit as yet in the houses, as yet in the bridechamber, but in the gates, that is, in spiritual senses, they give a pleasing smell to the virgin, because what the divine goodness disposeth to impart to them in the last days is already granted to the virgin, smelling it from afar, to perceive beforehand; for she perceiveth that after the fulness 474Aof the Gentiles shall have entered in, Judea, which now, wandering, is gone forth from the borders of the Church, which, labouring with famine, receiveth not even the crumbs from the table of the masters, shall then be converted to the faith, and shall feed on the bread of the children.

All the apples, new and old, my Beloved, I have kept for thee. That the Gentiles, called together to the faith by the gift of a new grace, bring forth worthy fruits and works agreeable to holiness — this is my desire, this assuredly my zeal, my care, who diligently care for whatsoever I shall have known will please thee. Likewise that the Jews, who now stray abroad as with bonds broken, are called back in the last days to the ancient binding of faith — my solicitude no less desireth this, demandeth this, which affectionately grieveth with them that go astray, and pardoneth them. And so, my Beloved, 474BI keep for thee apples new and old, when I more studiously heap up the merits of both peoples, when I permit not the good beginnings of the Gentile and of the Jew to perish, but study to make firm the purpose of the one and to repair the hurt of the other. Which merits, or fruits, or works the Virgin perchance willed for this cause to name apples, because she rejoiceth to present gifts of this kind to the bridegroom for his eating: that he may both be taken with their delightful appearance, and, lest he start back as one defrauded, be held by the useful and commendable substance. She keepeth the apples of the Gentiles, when she cherisheth and embraceth their newness, when she rejoiceth that they are grafted in and that a richer fatness of the olive is given to them so grafted, when she presenteth herself powerful and benevolent to them as they labour, and with a pious devotion presenteth their fruitful labours to the son. But she is seen no less to preserve the apples 474Cof the Jews, when, at length pitying them, she willeth them not to err any longer, when she busieth herself to restore the household of her own race to their ancient state, and, giving her hand, turneth the people long an enemy of the faith into a friend. She keepeth new things and old, when she so helpeth the Gentiles to be now converted to the newness of faith that she willeth them not to be wholly turned away from the older Jews; when she loveth the Jews so to return to a faith now lost, or rather 276 interrupted, that yet she grudgeth not that the Gentiles were grafted in before. These things I have kept, saith she, not seeking, to wit, a nearer glory for myself, but all of them utterly for thee, that is, unto thine honour; because, when the Virgin, solicitous, rejoiceth concerning them or for them, she glorieth not in herself but in the Bridegroom, as was said a little before.

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[CAP. VIII.] Who shall give thee to me for my brother, sucking the breasts of my mother, that I may find thee without, and thoroughly kiss thee, and now no man shall despise me? [Vulg. et iam me nemo despiciat, "and now let no man despise me" — a present subjunctive, and with the pronoun before nemo; Migne prints the future indicative despiciet, which is the tense Philip's own gloss below carries throughout (deferetur… tolletur… erit).] The Virgin desireth that the things which, touching the Gentiles and the Jews, she already foreknoweth while they are yet absent, may become known without to a world that knoweth nothing save what is evident; and that the knowledge of the Bridegroom, which already lieth open to her as it were within the bridal chamber, may go forth abroad into the field, where the sun dawneth more largely. Who shall give thee to me, saith she — that is, who shall bless me with so great a gift of his own, who shall so enlarge my desire, pressed down with straits, that I may be able to find thee without for my brother, and to set forth to the rest, who know them not, the things that are known to me? Thee indeed the begetting of flesh maketh my brother, nay, the brother of all; thee a mother feedeth in time, and that not of necessity, but of nature: 475Athou suckest her breasts, thou refusest not to take from her the nourishment of little ones, when thou usest food, drink, raiment, sleep, whereby thou excusest not thyself from being man. Him whom my mother proclaimeth to be such a one, so very little, who shall give me to find without in the street — to find, I say, not man only, which is not denied to the eyes of unbelievers, but God made man, which is imparted to none save the faithful? I will, saith she, that the Gentiles and the Jews, who are wont to be knowers of nothing but things visible, may see thee, understand thee, love thee to be God; and that thou, who art proclaimed a hidden God by prophetic foretelling, mayest be seen by these with a sure faith, the eye of the heart being unveiled. And if it be granted me to find thee there, I shall rejoice, and shall thankfully kiss him whom I have found among men; that is, I shall be delighted with the love and the honour of thy name, 475Bnamely when I shall behold thee loved and praised of men. Yet the Virgin willeth not to kiss him when found, but rather to kiss him thoroughly, and the composition of the word betokeneth nothing less, but an increase; and we are affirmed thoroughly to kiss, as it hath seemed to some, in that we kiss through very many places, expressing thereby a greater desire. The Virgin therefore willeth, if it may be, to find him among men, that she may thoroughly kiss him whole, and be compelled to pass over nothing without joy; that she may see him honoured by them as God and man, and, thoroughly kissing him who is marked with a twofold honour, may rejoice to be delighted. And when such honour shall be worthily paid to the Son, the reverence due to the Virgin herself also shall not be taken away, and she shall not be despised in the eyes of them that rightly seek, who before all women was chosen to bring forth such a one. For whosoever shall rejoice that he understandeth and loveth him as at once God and 475Cman will not hold her, of whom he was born, contemptible, nor shall he be smitten with the scandal of the Jews nor with the folly of the Gentiles, when by the just heralding of the truth the wondrous integrity of the mother shall be established. Whosoever, I say, willeth to pay honour to the Son according to his good pleasure, setteth himself also not to take away from the mother the honour due to her, because a good son accepteth the homage of no man who seeketh not consequently to pay honour to the Virgin Mother.

I will take hold of thee, and lead thee into my mother's house, and into the chamber of her that bore me: there thou shalt teach me. [Vulg. Cant. 8:2 has no et in cubiculum genitricis meae, "and into the chamber of her that bore me"; the phrase is Cant. 3:4's, printed as the lemma at 0349D. LXX and Vet. Lat. carry it at 8:2 (καὶ εἰς ταμιεῖον τῆς συλλαβούσης με), and Philip expounds the added chamber through this chapter and the four that follow.] When I shall perceive thee prudently understood and lately loved, favouring them that love, I will take hold of my beloved as it were with hands; 475Dand holding him whom I have taken, I will not suffer thee to be led back from the purpose, but will cause thee to be brought in more largely into my mother's house. For far be it that I should fail them that love, that I, who am not despised, should despise; but I will cherish the imperfect more diligently, even unto the perfect. I will love them that love, and will advance them that they may love more; and thee, O Beloved, I will admonish with unwearied prayers, that thou help them. Thus will I take care to lead or to bring thee into my mother's house, when with dutiful solicitude I shall make her ready for thine entering in, when thou shalt solicitously obey me as a son his mother, and shalt follow not their ancient deserts, but my desire. The Virgin's mother, as was said before, is the very nature of mortals, which bringeth us all forth into this light by a not unlike begetting; which, that it may have for itself a house wherein it shall abide unto the 476Aend of the world, bringeth forth men for itself by a succession that shall at no time cease. Into this house, that is, into men, the Virgin promiseth to lead the Bridegroom, that in them he may mercifully work their own salvation, that he may walk about in them, and rejoice to come to the chamber, where he may lie down, where he may rest, and may be able to find the reclining of quiet. Into the house 277 of her mother, and into the chamber, the solicitous virgin leadeth the bridegroom, when, dutifully pitying us, she leadeth him with devout prayers unto this: that he dwell in us, that he walk about in us for his goodness' sake, that he tarry in us, and be not called away thence by the desert of our depravity. There, saith she, thou shalt teach me. When it shall have come to this, that I rejoice thou art brought in to all the elect, and art not led back from the accomplishing of their salvation by the desert of their faults, then thou shalt teach me, 476Band shalt make me certain of hidden things; then shall I know both that they are elect, and that I am solicitous for the elect. Thou shalt teach me, I say, when the hope which before thou hadst given me by promise thou shalt with a larger grace translate into a thing fulfilled; when of that glory, whereof thou givest the longing to them that wait, the promissory term ceasing, thou givest the effect by a better.

And I will give thee a cup of spiced wine, and the new wine of my pomegranates. When thou shalt make me taught, the effect of a fuller grace being known, I also will give thee the gifts of a mightier abundance: I will offer thee a cup most sweet in taste and in savour, wine indeed spiced, a love compounded out of labour. For the deserts 476Cof them whom I shall have known to please thee — their loves, that is, and their labours — I will heap together as it were in a mixing-bowl, and will pledge them to thy sight, or rather to thy drinking; and, that thou mayest receive them the more thankfully, I will commend them with devoted benevolence. For if aromatic kinds bestow a seasoning upon wine, a skilled hand being applied it is turned into a spiced draught; and if to love there be added tribulation and the straitness of suffering, that love, being offered to the Bridegroom, obtaineth the place of a welcome draught. Which urging home, she saith: And the new wine of pomegranates. New wine boileth and bubbleth up, raging with tumult and with turbulence, casting all filth from itself with a stronger onset, and so betokeneth that love which careth not to be soothed with the quiet of this life, but, running to martyrdom, burneth to be polished by pressures and by beatings. But by pomegranates he willed those to be figured in whom, like 476Dseeds, very many virtues are gathered together, whom the inward collecting of virtues maketh precious, and the ruddy face of their sufferings maketh beautiful in the eyes of them that rightly see. But "my own" the Virgin saith perchance for this cause: that whosoever, loving Christ, giveth himself over to the Passion and to martyrdom, she rejoiceth to bestow help and care upon him, and whatsoever he profiteth she reckoneth all her own. The new wine therefore of pomegranates is the unrestrained fervour, or the fervid love, of them that show themselves ready to suffer patiently all things which the world either horribly threateneth or rejoiceth violently to inflict. The cup of this wine or new wine the virgin loveth to pledge, when she rejoiceth that men fervent in spirit flash with virtues, and, taken away out of the midst, pass over at last to the table or the unfailing banquet of the Bridegroom, 477Aand soothe the taste of him that feasteth with the sweet excellence of their deserts. And lest she be reckoned to ascribe this to herself more than is just, nay rather, that she may testify that whatsoever she rejoiceth over in them is of the divine gift, turning to the maidens that stand by she saith: His left hand, etc.

His left hand is under my head, and his right hand shall embrace me. That I lead the bridegroom, saith she, into my mother's house and into all the elect, that I serve the cup and heap gifts upon gifts, is his benefit, his left hand, his temporal consolation, which receiveth me as I lean back far more softly than the feathery tenderness of a pillow. For with this solace he cherisheth my insufficiency, and sustaineth it in the present, who with a more bountiful right hand shall embrace me in that which followeth; and he who now 477Bso ruleth me that he forsaketh me not at all, shall one day so rule me that he shall set all sufficiency round about. In the fruit of that thing, and in the shadow of this hope, I now sweetly lie hid; much from things present, more largely from things to come, do I grow glad nilaresco; which assuredly for this cause I make known to you that stand by, that you also may love him by whose so great gifts I am now enriched. Now this little verse is found set down and expounded before, and there another goeth before it which betokeneth the virgin's languor, because, when the virgin languishing asketh to be compassed about with apples and stayed up with flowers, straightway mention is made of the left hand, which is understood to sustain her as she lieth down. But here, where salvation is in the doorway, and no mention is made of languor, where the age is more advanced, and the advancement is of a stronger desert, she, 477Cnow secure of her own things, is solicitous for the profitings of others, and, forgetting as it were herself, rejoiceth in the perfected deserts of the elect. She seeth that they are to be compared, by the sweetness of love, to wine, to new wine, to the fervour of the spirit, and that they are the more worthily to be offered to the royal table and to the divine taste; whose oblation she desireth so ardently to be fulfilled, that in regard of it she patiently beareth her own to be deferred. For considering with what fruit her conceiving and the integrity of her childbearing become known to the hearts of the faithful, and to what end many in the process of time grow hot to love the bridegroom, she cannot but rejoice over such things, as well to come as present; and, their 278 glory being foreseen, she seemeth more gladly and more quietly to await her own. Beholding which, the bridegroom saith: I adjure you, etc.

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I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem, that you stir not up, nor make the beloved to awake, till she herself will. You, saith he, ye apostles, you teachers of the Church, go, teach all nations; and as touching them whom the Virgin foreseeth by a prophetic understanding to be saved, see that your negligence draw not back from advancement him that was foreseen; lest, if perchance you watch too little over the keeping of them, you stir up the desire of her from the quiet she hath already found. Now this adjuration, whereby the vigilance of teachers is so solicitously called upon, is found none the less in the second and third book of this work, where it hath been worn down enough by expounding — if at least it please the reader — nor, being repeated in this last one, hath it now need to be expounded. 478AYet this may be said: that in the first place, taking care of her own self, she rejoiceth in spiritual leisure, from which she is forbidden to be called away by temporal business or unquietness, lest, while she loveth to be at leisure and contemplateth spiritual things, she be compelled to return, until she will, to the solicitude of her neighbours. But in the second place she taketh care lest Judaea, her heart being hardened, be seduced, but that the knowledge of the bridegroom be brought into her house or chamber; nor doth it suffice her enough that she be made thankfully an attendant to the bridegroom or to the son, if she should know that her own mother is utterly forsaken of grace. From this also the bridegroom forbiddeth her to be called away, as well in affection as in effect: namely, lest the apostolic teachers be found by their negligence to thwart it, but let them take care and be zealous to employ a watchful diligence, that the Virgin cease not to rejoice at the advancement of her own nation. 478BBut in the third place she taketh care either only for the Gentiles, or alike for Jews and Gentiles, naming her mother the infirmity or the nature of men, into whose house — that is, into all flesh — she willeth the knowledge of the bridegroom to be brought in; and the bridegroom willeth that she be not drawn away from this desire by any trouble whatsoever. That that may be fulfilled which is written: And all flesh shall see the Salvation of God (Luc. III)

Who is this that cometh up from the desert, flowing with delights, leaning upon her Beloved? The angelic spirits, standing by the bridegroom and the bride as they talk together, privy to the secrets of the espousals, beholding the deep mysteries, are held fast, nor are they able enough to be astonished 478Cor to marvel what, or how great, the Virgin is, whose nuptials they see celebrated. They weigh indeed that she, endowed with a wondrous understanding, rejoiceth at the present advancement of others and is solicitous for that to come; that she burneth on this side with desire of the bridegroom, on that with solicitude for her neighbours; marked with virtues, comely with the eminence of her deserts. They consider also that the Bridegroom so rejoiceth in her leisure or quiet that he utterly keepeth off every approach of any indiscreet person, that he admitteth no importunate one within the cloisters of quiet, and suffereth her not, as she resteth, to be stirred up until she herself shall will it. But when they perceive the virgin to excel in these and other such things, when they scarce comprehend so great a grace of hers, so great deserts of hers, they speak one to another and inquire in mutual discourse what or how great is she 478Dwhose eminence they contemplate.

Who is this that cometh up from the desert, etc. The earthly habitation was already, through a long series of times gone by, a desert, and, sins requiring it, untried in heavenly goods; which Astraea forsook, being fuller of nettles, of thorns, of briers, and, bearing herself back to the stars, held a more pleasing place there. In which solitude the nature of mortals lay down oppressed with languor, while, the vigour of the spirit being corrupted, it leaned upon the allurements of carnal things; and, sunk under a heavy flood, it knew no way of coming up, it was sorely weighed down with mire, nor was there any possibility of wiping it away. Thence, by a new kind, by a newness 479Aincomparably to be admired, by a portentous miracle as it were, by a thing to be compared with none in all the ages gone by, a virgin riseth and standeth forth, infected now with no filth of vices, and by a wondrous ascent is carried up to the excellence of deserts. What therefore, or how great, is she? Who worthily weigheth her eminence, who so ascendeth out of the ancient horror, out of the vast solitude, that, abiding there in body, in mind she holdeth a higher degree, and now floweth not away with the vices of manners, but, against custom, floweth with the delights of deserts? And in very truth we see her flowing with exceeding delights, and leaning, after the manner of delicate women, upon him whom she loveth; who, walking upon the earth, scarce attempteth to touch the earth, whose delights the beloved beareth up on high and sustaineth. Who shall worthily consider her, who shall not 479Bmarvel at her height, seeing that neither before nor afterward is she compared to any 279 of women, who, leaning and specially trusting in him whom she loveth, needeth nothing of ours, not distrustful of the advancement of perseverance? But that it is so solicitously asked by the angels who she is — if you will call it to mind, you shall find it thrice repeated; and whosoever be brought in to make such a question, the question itself maketh mention of the Virgin's advancement. First it is asked: Who is this that, made slender after the manner of a little rod by manifold disciplines, and compared to the smoke of spices and to all the powder of the perfumer, while yet living in the flesh so stretcheth herself on high by desire that whosoever more diligently attendeth to this is delighted by her odour or her example? Secondly it is asked: Who is this that, going forward, is like the dawn, while, the things behind being left 479Cas it were a thicker shadow of the nights, she obtaineth the beauty of the moon, nay, and the likeness of the sun or of the day, and, striking terror into her enemies, is comparable to an army of camps set in array? Thirdly it is asked: Who is this that, delicate after the manner of noble matrons, forgetful of all things, delighted in him alone whom she loveth, so faileth from her own things that she willeth not to stand in them even a little, and so profiteth in him that she loveth to lean her whole self upon him? And that she may know and call to mind whence and whither she hath come, she heareth the Bridegroom saying: Under the apple tree, etc.

Under the apple tree I raised thee up: there thy mother was corrupted, there she that bore thee was violated. Thou, saith he, who so leanest upon thy beloved with a delicate tenderness, who, hunger being driven far off, now reclinest at the banquet upon my breast, 479Dto whom thou owest whatsoever thou hast — who raised thee up to this desert, save he who raised thee when thou wast languishing and lying under the tree? That first woman, who, ill containing herself, coveted the forbidden apple, and by an unlawful eating ensnared a husband ill uxorious, was straightway under the tree given over to languor, or rather to death; and the same death was left to them that came after as it were by hereditary right. Under this tree therefore, which is made comely by a mystical fruit, all posterity lieth and is laden with the laws of death, while in the fault which the tree brought in every creature languisheth and groaneth which a like begetting bringeth forth from those parents. Under the same tree the Virgin was held by a like bond, when the divine goodness (a thing that was covered with itself through many ages gone by) 480Alooked more kindly, and chose her before all women, that through her he might redeem them whom hereditary death compelled to be damned. From the tree therefore to the tree he carried over the chosen Virgin, when, leading her out of fault, he raised her to the height of a greater grace; when, being free from the blemish of the fatherly and hereditary hurt, he translated her to the faith and the love of his passion to come. For the Virgin, receiving God out of herself, flesh being taken, to be born as man, acknowledged consequently that the same should die according to the flesh; in which death, because she understood the life and salvation of us all, she loved, if not the death, yet assuredly the gift of grace which it brought. When therefore she was snatched from under the apple tree which brought in death, she was none the less carried over under the apple tree which brought the fruit of life; 480Bunder whose shadow she was borne up to so great a summit that in grace and in desert she was made perfect before all women. But that which is said, There thy mother was corrupted, if it be referred to the first tree which brought in death, human nature is not unfitly called the Virgin's mother, which under that tree bore so great a hurt and loss that, being corrupted, it corrupted, and turned vice into nature for us. But if under the tree of the cross the bride's mother is believed to have been violated, Judaea is rightly understood to be called her mother, who, where the Bridegroom raised the Virgin to a singular grace by the desert of faith, there the mother, demanding that the Bridegroom be slain, violated her heart by obstinacy. Under the wood of the cross therefore both the bride's faith is strong and Judaea's chastity is violated, who, denying the true Bridegroom, is obstinately joined 480Cto a corrupter; and him to whom she ought to have cleaved familiarly and been fastened, him, with a corrupted mind, with repeated voices she demandeth to be crucified. Where the Virgin, being raised up, heareth the bridegroom consequently saying: Put me, etc.

Put me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm; for love is strong as death, jealousy hard as hell. Because thy mother, by a ruinous error, cast me forth out of her heart, she also put far from the chamber of that same heart the salvation that was nigh; but thou, my Beloved, who in that same place art raised up by an incomparable grace, love him that raiseth thee, that loving thou mayest be the more diligently loved. But because in loving 480Dthou appearest vehement enough, and not weak, I see that this must be added: what thou doest, do it more perseveringly, and confirm it; and thy heart, wherein my love seemeth in a large fulness 280 to be contained, close thou with a seal set upon it, which by no craft whatsoever can be done away. Now this seal, which I admonish to be set upon thy heart as it were a cover, is subject to no craft, to no hurt; because that which a subtler art doth not newly devise, nor a more learned hand fasten together, craft doth not unbar, violence doth not break. Me therefore, whom it is plain that no contrivance at all can hurt or corrupt — me, I say, myself set thou upon thy heart as a seal; and it sealing thee, no entrance nor going forth that bringeth loss shall lie open, and, that lying not open, love shall abide constant and unfailing. The same 481Aseal also I will that thou set upon thine arm, namely that thou set not thyself to work anything save out of me, save through me; and that, when thou shalt have rightly sealed whatsoever thou doest with such a defence, thou mayest know that thine arm lieth open to no detriment at all. And for this cause I admonish that what thou doest, what thou lovest, be sealed by the setting of me upon it, because thy heart or thine arm, relying upon such a seal, shall not be hurt, but shall prevail against all things with an incomparable strength, and, being to be compared with death itself, shall not fear whatsoever cometh upon it. For as death standeth by all men indifferently, strong and undaunted, and no power or industry whatsoever withstandeth it as it standeth by, so love, if it be truly fortified beforehand with the aforesaid seal, is found strongly to prevail against all hurtful things. Again, as hell, when it 481Brejoiceth to rage more hardly against the wretched, and neither labour nor the groaning of the wretched can soften its hard cruelty, so the jealousy wherewith the virgin, loving, burneth to imitate God willeth not to be called back from her purpose, neither by prayer, nor by price, nor by softness. It is expedient therefore that this love, this jealousy, be held in thee strong and unbending, that the memory of me be not taken away from heart and from arm, from love and from work; because whosoever lacketh that seal is easily violated, and a vessel lacking a cover is judged unclean by the testimony of the law (Num. XIX). But the vessel that burneth with the fire of love, and is covered with the hand of my solicitude — the heart, that is, of him that strongly loveth, which is guarded by me set upon it as a seal — is a commendable vessel, knowing not to be emptied, copious; the heart is incibile [ f. lucibile], the heart is like unto a lamp, 481Cnot shadowy. Whence it is subjoined: The lamps thereof, etc.

The lamps thereof are lamps of fire and of flames; many waters shall not be able to quench charity, neither shall the floods overwhelm it. [Vulg. Cant. 8:7 aquae multae non potuerunt extinguere caritatem, a perfect — "many waters have not been able to quench"; Migne prints the future poterunt, and neque for the Vulgate's nec.] Not thou alone, saith he, O Virgin, who art commended with a worthy title of praise, in that thou art chief both in the grace of deserts and in the excellence of love, but whosoever loveth is called a lamp of fire and of flames, withstanding indeed a fall, yet not fleeing from pressures. For the lamp which stretcheth itself with open mouth to obtain love, and among the ill-hearted rich holdeth itself forth outwardly contemptible, is shown to them that worthily consider, and is understood to be 481Da lamp of fire, hiding its fire from them that are ill-darkened and unworthy. For it burneth and delightfully kindleth with an inward heat, and toward those things that are without it seemeth not to glow, but groweth cold, while it now careth not for whatsoever is of this life, as for a barren frost, and by an inward desire conformeth itself to the burning seraphim. Nevertheless, that it may be plain that the same lamp is not uselessly kindled, nor that a neighbour complain that nothing useful is bestowed upon him out of it, that which is first a lamp of fire is consequently said to be also a lamp of flames, that to them who diligently weigh it it may appear not to be wanting, not only to itself, but the neighbour also. For he that loveth, and is strongly burned up with the fire of love, is not torpid with languor, nor with leisure, but worketh the more watchfully; and with eyes not blear 482Ahe poureth out a welcome light with a bountiful gift, and offereth himself as a pattern to them that work, as a guide to them that walk. Him, burning and shining, the multitude of waters quencheth not; the lover, or his strength, yieldeth not to threats, not to blandishments; nor at last shall floods, nor the inundation of greater pressures, nor famine, nor the sword overwhelm the exuberance of the fire or of the flames. For charity is strong with so great violence or vigour that it cannot be overwhelmed by a small onset of tribulations nor by a greater, so that for love of the spiritual reward it beareth the multitude of waters, and the little drops of rainy dew, and the greater assaults of floods. To this charity therefore nothing perfunctory is rightly compared; nay rather, charity is worthily set before whatsoever can be had here: and from whomsoever a sound head and the truth of judgment is not taken away, he 482Bchooseth her and loveth her above all that is offered here as transitory. Whence he addeth: If a man shall give, etc.

If a man shall give all the substance of his house for love, he shall despise it as nothing. Whosoever rejoiceth not in the portion of things senseless or irrational alone, but, obtaining a human shape, useth a prevailing 281 reason — if he shall have given whatsoever he hath in regard of the charity that is to be gotten, he shall seem to have given nothing, if he be made master of this will. Substance is the name of whatsoever our necessity or our cupidity heapeth up in the present, and of whatsoever management either spendeth or keepeth for temporal uses; substance, I say, not that whereby we essentially subsist for living, but that which is said to stand under us or to subsist 482Cfor us that live, for our using. Which for this cause is not unfitly called the substance of a man's house, because his necessity is sustained by such supports, and with them every solicitous man enricheth and honoureth his house — he, that is, who laboureth either, being provident, to keep off poverty, or, being covetous, to increase riches. Such substance he more largely squandereth and scattereth who plungeth himself into a deep desire of getting love; who, when he shall have given the one and shall have perceived that he hath received the other, comparing what was given with what was received, shall seem to himself, as he looketh the more diligently, to have given nothing. For with so great eagerness he loveth and embraceth this that he hath received, that, accounting for nothing whatsoever he had given, thus despised, there seemeth to be no comparison 482Dof that which passeth away with that which perisheth not; but that is held as nothing and falling, and this as abiding, as somewhat great and chief. Nor is it beside the purpose if a man's body be in this place named substance, since man is proved to subsist in it or out of it; and for this cause Scripture addeth to make mention of his house, because there the treasure of the soul hath its dwelling as in a fruitful vessel. If therefore this body, wherewith it is plain that the soul is so tenaciously mingled that it cannot easily be restrained from affection toward it (for there is none to be found who would be despoiled of this house or body, since Paul also chooseth rather to be clothed upon than to be stripped; and love drew not Peter, who loved thrice, utterly back from that law of the flesh, but, Christ foretelling it, another led him whither he would not) — if, I say, a man of heart shall have given this body, to which 483Athe soul is bound with clamps so tenacious, it is fitly judged that he hath given nothing (Rom. VIII). For the sufferings of this time are not worthy. Which love the Bridegroom for this cause so manifoldly extolleth and commendeth, that the loving Virgin may greatly esteem what is so greatly commended, and that, when she shall have weighed that by the Bridegroom's gift she hath attained no small height of that which is commended, she may understand that she is not despised in his eyes. Concerning whom the companions subjoin: Our sister, etc.

Our sister is a little one, and she hath no breasts. What shall we do to our sister in the day when she is to be spoken to? We see, say they, that the Virgin hath advanced not slightly in the grace of love, yet that she hath not yet 483Bmore fully attained to that which she desireth; because, although in regard of love she is already come to a contempt of the aforesaid substance, yet she hath not yet found him whom she so loveth in his own comeliness. And because she is our sister by most lofty deserts indeed, and not by nature, being afterward to receive with us the inheritance of the one God the Father, let us, speaking one to another, confer a little concerning her; and if perchance she needeth aught of ours, let us bring it, not now singly, but all alike. So far as it hath seemed to us, this our sister, who, as was said above, hath already deserved to be brought into the chamber, doth not yet rejoice that she is brought in from chamber to chamber; and this indeed is the cause: that she is not yet sufficient enough, nor grown up, but labouring under littleness, and not brought on to years as it were 483Cmarriageable. A dishonest love, which intemperance or lust forerunneth, which a Venus or a Cupid ill-persuasive usurpeth and defileth — such a love, I say, is wont to snatch away a Virgin at an unripe age, obeying pleasure rather than making ready things that shall profit the Virgin. But since this love which we have in hand, though it be more vehement, yet loveth to be more prudent, and the lover willeth this love to profit not so much himself as the Virgin, the same Bridegroom waiteth, and waiteth again, and hath patience in love, so long as the Virgin advanceth in deserts and in an ampler grace. Still therefore she is little, and we see that she hath no breasts, although it was shown above that the same lacketh not breasts; but because they seem not yet to have obtained a full sufficiency, we are said not to have those things which are willing indeed to appear to the bridegroom, 483Dbut are not yet strong enough to appear. Not fit for nuptials are virgins, while they are yet in childhood, while the age is little, while the breasts do not yet swell — which, though they stand out a little and put forth a token of the age that shall be, yet still keep the old tenderness of one still unripe. Since therefore she is thus little, and it is thus plain that she hath no breasts, what shall we do to her? what further shall we now be able to employ? what that belongeth to us can now further be bestowed, that she may at last rejoice that the day of the nuptials is not deferred? 282 She is indeed to be spoken to, and to be brought into a more secret bridal chamber, but first she must be led forth from things present and not yet sufficient; and that she may be led forth hence, what more is to be done by us, that may avail, namely, toward obtaining a day so desirable? In that day, that 484Ais, in respect and in furtherance of that day, what can we bestow upon this sister? with what zeal or love of ours shall we prepare her more amply, that she may come to the day for which she is now held as it were impatient and so solicitous, when the noble lover, the law of the espousals being consummated, shall speak to her? For although above he hath spoken with her, or of her, in many parts and in very many ways, yet he hath followed not a completing gift, but a meritorious zeal; now it remaineth that she follow him within the chamber of the chamber, and that he, in that manner which he knoweth, ineffably speak to her when she hath followed. Under the word "to speak to" a spiritual mystery is covered, because this nuptial epithalamium familiarly useth figures; and this speaking-to, whereby we desire and foretell that the bridegroom shall come together with the bride, is itself that 484Bconjunction whereby the face of the seeker is granted to find the face of him that is sought. It is a speaking-to when he, being present to her that is presented, shall hide nothing fitting to be said, but shall reveal his face to her that lacketh corruption; and, with none mediating, the one shall be joined to the other in secret, and the Virgin, seeing the Word, shall be satisfied with a love now fulfilled.

If she be a wall, let us build upon it bulwarks of silver. If she be a door, let us join it together with boards of cedar. When the companions ask what they may do that shall be fitting for that day whereon the Virgin is to see the long-desired glory of the divine beauty, they themselves delay not to answer as it were with an answering speech, and they determine to provide for the Virgin 484Cwith a solicitous benevolence. If she be a wall, say they, compacted of stones and mortar — nay rather, of virtues coupled by the binding of a charity set between — it remaineth that we fashion upon it bulwarks of silver, and that we confirm the strength of the wall by a defence added above. Jerusalem is the city of the Holy One, the numerous gathering of the faithful, given over in the present to fruitful labours, glorious with a hope that cannot be confounded, which one Lord, one faith coupleth and bindeth into one sheaf as it were; and the same the holy Virgin girdeth about with example and doctrine, with deserts and intercessions. If therefore she be a wall — nay rather, because she is, rejoicing to be set about the citizens — it is expedient that some defence be set above her that is thus set about, that namely our solicitude, our exhortation may watch and be intent from above, lest 484Dthe enemy stretch himself even a little to pierce it. For although we cannot yet carry the labouring Virgin hence, as she desireth, this at least we owe and will now bestow upon her that laboureth: that our defence may render her fortified against whatsoever cometh upon her, and our frequent speaking-to may render her instructed to bear it patiently. Thus we prepare for the wall bulwarks not of stone, but of silver, when we strengthen the virgin with solicitous defences and with speakings-to, when we strongly forbid the malice of assaulting enemies from approach, and cry out to them that the virgin is secure of the issue. But lest this city seem so shut in by the wall set about her that through it she be shut out from those benefits which she hath not from herself, but as it were from without, she who is the wall is none the less 485Acalled a door, through which whatsoever is necessary for the city is ministered. For through the Virgin the Bridegroom loveth to enter in to the gathering of the faithful, and through her also to succour all that trust in her; she, closed to every man, is unbarred to God alone by the little key of faith, that through her the Word made flesh may be visibly brought in to men. If therefore she be a door, let us join it together with boards of cedar, that is, let us add to this aforesaid grace an unconquered strength, that an odoriferous breadth may meet whosoever detracteth, and an unfailing strength withstand him that presseth on perchance more hardly. Meanwhile, while the noble Virgin laboureth and sweateth in the contest, let us prepare and strengthen her patience with the hope of the crown; and in very truth that which she hopeth and asketh to be given her is not far off: as we perceive, she shall now see and rejoice that the Bridegroom is revealed with unveiled 485Bface.

I am a wall, and my breasts are as a tower, since I am become in his presence as one finding peace. The Virgin, hearing that the angels are not held negligent and slothful toward her, but, being solicitous for her, promise their patronage or their ministry, showeth in a short discourse what she rejoiceth to be already bestowed upon her, hoping that the things which remain be not deferred by a longer delay. I, saith she, grace giving it and the industry of the hand working it, am now a wall not about to fall, charity binding in the midst the heap of living stones, 283 over which my breasts rise up, as a tower, affording honour to the wall, striking terror into the enemies that shall approach. As the wall betokeneth the heap of virtues and the bond of inward charity, so the breasts betoken the form of life 485Cand the doctrine of truth, which come forth and hasten to appear without unto all, that they may instruct them that love, and compel adversaries to shrink away. In which, although she is not yet perfected for the completing of the present nuptials, yet she hath obtained them very many years since, namely since she deserved to find as it were peace in his presence, whose other peace she desireth and looketh to find right soon. For since the Holy Spirit overshadowed her for conceiving, the Son that was to be born brought her not peace, but as it were peace: peace, that is, from vices, peace in grace, from the din of a carnal begetting — not the peace of vision, not the peace of a dwelling that shall abide in eternal glory. Neither doth she show that she rejoiceth in her own advancement alone, but she showeth that the rest also obtain no slight advancement, who 485Dthrough her, grace giving it, have so far advanced that they have deserved to become a vineyard rich not in vine-shoots, but in peoples. Whereof she subjoineth: There was a vineyard, etc.

There was a vineyard to the peaceable, in that which hath peoples. He delivered it to keepers: a man bringeth for the fruit thereof a thousand pieces of silver. Since, the Spirit working, I found as it were peace in his presence, the vineyard of the Lord of Sabaoth hath had an effectual advancement; and that which before was held within the narrow bounds of Judaea is now found more broadly and more fruitfully in that which hath peoples. That which hath peoples may be called faith, or unity, or love, to which it is plain that divers peoples are so given over with one mind that, the apostles preaching, not only did many 486Athousands of the Jews believe, but their sound also went forth into all the earth, and their preaching was heard. Such a vineyard he committed to the apostles and to apostolic men to be kept, whose preaching propagated it not only in Judaea, but among the nations also; and Paul, when he beheld Judaea hardening and being perverted, from that time and thenceforward declareth that he turneth himself to the Gentiles. Which vineyard, grace prospering it, so grew up in a little time, so did away the newness of infancy and its tender ineffectualness, that a man — that is, one mighty not so much in strength as in virtue — should give for the fruit thereof a thousand pieces of silver, that is, all his own things for salvation. The flower of the vineyard is the conversion of life; the fruit is the perfection that shall follow, for whose hundredfold whosoever desireth to be a man casteth away things transitory; the fruit, lastly, is the very repaying of the spiritual reward, 486Bwhich a man procureth for himself by the contempt of a temporal price. For he who is found to act not womanishly, but manfully, measureth not what he can give for the fruit of that vineyard, but, greedy of the spiritual reward, that he may receive it with usury, prodigal of the temporal price, bringeth it without weight, number or measure. For the thousand pieces of silver — that is, whatsoever he possessed either infinite in number or great in price, which deceitfully smiled upon his eyes and favourably rang in his ears — he bringeth to the apostles' feet and casteth down, and holdeth in contempt in the stead of dung, that he may receive the eternal fruit by the intervention of temporal things despised. But when the Virgin hath related both her own advancements and those of others, and the vineyard hath been commended which flourisheth more in peoples than in a multitude of vine-branches, she heareth not now 486Cthe angels answering, but with ears erect the bridegroom, who both favoureth and applaudeth the praises of the Virgin and of the vineyard.

My vineyard is before me: thy thousand are the peaceable, and two hundred they that keep the fruits thereof. [Vulg. Cant. 8:12 et ducenti his qui custodiunt fructus eius, "and two hundred for them that keep the fruits thereof." Migne's text drops his, so that the two hundred are the keepers themselves rather than a payment made to them — which is the construction Philip's exposition follows.] The Bridegroom showeth that the vineyard which followeth him, and giveth temporal things for his sake, walketh not in darkness, but is in the light before him; to which, favouring and approving that, its own things being given, it now abideth in him, he repayeth not like for like, but double, or a hundredfold, together with himself. He, saith he, who for my sake holdeth temporal substance in contempt, that he may be the more comforted, let him know that he is in my sight; and let it be made known to whatsoever inexperienced man readeth or heareth, that, loving him that loveth, I turn not away thence 486Dmy gracious face. For those thousand pieces of silver, which, according to thy word, a man loveth to bring — he who after thy pattern loveth to set things invisible before things visible — shall be peaceable, that is, they shall earn the rewards of peace: he shall bestow peace upon them that lavish their own for things eternal. Nor shall they be able to be called peaceable only, but two hundred, that is, they shall confer a double peace upon him that lavisheth; because the peace or perfection which the distribution of goods earneth is both great in the present, and shall follow greatest in the time to come. As perfection is understood in a thousand, so is it understood also in a hundred, which are assuredly doubled when the vineyard is brought to so effectual an increase that, superfluous things being cast away, he may deserve to find a double 284 peace, whosoever loveth to keep the fruits thereof with watchful care. For he who willeth to preside by his form and to profit by a commendable doctrine, 487Aand loveth to be a solicitous keeper of the aforesaid fruit, he by the thousand pieces of silver bringeth in the first peace, but not the chief; and, changing the hundred into two hundred, he afterward bringeth over the second and better. But having briefly shown what belongeth to all the perfect by a general grace, he straightway returneth to the virgin with a special love and solicitude; and having care of her above all the branches of the aforesaid vineyard, he willeth her to pass over more quickly from a transitory peace to one that shall abide.

Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the friends hearken: make me hear thy voice. Although, saith he, I still defer both them that bring and them that defer to bring the thousand pieces of silver for the two hundred, and suffer them not to be led on to the desired 487Breward that followeth, yet thee, whom I love before all, I will not restrain any longer from thy desire; but, the choice being given, I will that thou shortly have whatsoever thou shalt have chosen. Thou therefore, whom I led forth out of the dwelling-place of darkness, out of the shade of hard death, and who by an excellent grace dwellest not in a dry place, but in the gardens — choose a pleasing word, put forth thy voice, speak thou thyself: the companions stand by, the friends hearken, they desire to hear from thee thyself. I myself, who know better whatsoever thou art now purposing to say, will to hear thy voice, and the good pleasure of thine inward choice, that the manner of thy saying may become known, not to me, but to the rest, from whom thy choice lieth hid, if it shine not forth in words. With thee the love of things vainly passing away and the fear of things coming on do not wither, but faith, hope, love, like 487Cgardens, grow bright with a flowering dew; and so wondrous a grace of these things so delighteth thy desire that no shaking bendeth thee toward the things that are beneath. Thou desirest indeed to go forth, or to pass over straightway to things above; loathing whatsoever is of time, thou wilt the more quickly lay hold on things eternal; whatsoever I have bestowed for the present, thou wilt exchange for the desire of things to come, and, the cloak of the flesh being cast off, to greet in presence my face, the face of thy beloved. And she: Flee, etc,

Flee, my beloved, be like to the roe and to the young hart upon the mountains of spices. In many places or times above the loving Virgin hath invited her beloved, and hath asked in many ways that he come; and in the very head of the Canticle she more diligently longed for his kiss, 487Dand through this whole epithalamium hath shown that she willeth and seeketh this. What then meaneth it that she now driveth him away, with desire of whom she above crieth out that she languisheth? what cause shall we say there is that she biddeth him flee whom she so loveth, unless perchance this, that lovers have their angers in hope of a more pleasing concord, because, as a certain man declareth: The angers of lovers are the renewal of love?

But, as I seem to see, the Virgin's love knoweth no angers, but burneth to see the more quickly him whom she so loveth; and because she knoweth that he is not seen in this place or body, she desireth to go thither with him, where she may be able to behold him. Flee, saith she, my beloved, to the secret sanctuary of the Father; 488Areturn quickly, call me thither with thee, where I may be hurt by no troubles any more; strip me the more quickly of the corruption of this body, and where it is lawful, as much as is lawful, reveal thyself visible to me. And because above thou wast wont to be likened to the roe and to the young hart, be now also in this business swift, nimble and discerning; let thy consideration worthily discern what beseemeth a bride and a mother, and let it set me apart, by a more excellent privilege, from all that are purely men. The mountains of spices are the supernal and angelic powers, which bring to us that labour divers and necessary healings, by whose ministry useful spices are procured for us — he nevertheless disposing it by whose perfumer's art they are tempered. Below these angelic mountains I will not that thou speak with me any further, but flee above them, that thou mayest be held far more excellent; 488Bhold thy seat at the Father's right hand, unapproachable to angels as to men, and already granted, as I see, to me with thee, to the mother with the son. Hold therefore my right hand, and lead me forth in thy will: I will follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth (Apoc. XIV), halting with no slowness. Flee quickly, that I may flee, because I also am ready to flee; fleeing, exalted above the angels, I shall see thee going before. But after that the virgin Bride, the mother, hath been more gloriously received by the Son, and hath obtained a glorious seat with the Bridegroom above the angels — with what honour she rejoiceth, with what joy she seeth herself honoured, I judge that silence is rather to be kept than that I should dare to be wordy of such things. For that which my understanding, or the understanding of one like me, taketh not in — what manner or effect of uttering can there be, 488Csince even that which the understanding somehow reckoneth that it contemplateth cannot easily be unfolded in fitting words? This surely may be said: that where the Son is, who set the flesh he had taken at the Father's right hand (whatsoever that truly is which Scripture hath called the right hand), there is his mother, who ministered to him her own flesh, who out of her womb, her integrity safe, brought forth God as man. 285 There, I say, she is, and is crowned with a glorious honour or with an honourable glory, and of him, and in him, and with him whom she bore, having her desire, she glorieth; and to him as Bridegroom the Bride so cleaveth with true and sincere embraces that, love being satisfied, an unremitted desire of love endureth. The mother therefore is with the Son not only in spirit, whereof not even a slight doubt is held, 488Dbut in body also, which assuredly seemeth not incredible; because although canonical Scripture crieth not this out with evident proofs, yet dutiful faith is led to it by likely arguments — which, though one hasty in word and in knowledge prove it not sufficiently, yet that Augustine of ours affirmeth it worthy to be believed. Nor is it grievous to the angels if they see the Bride with the Bridegroom, the mother with the Son, obtain the royal throne, and hold now upon the heavenly seat him whom before she held in her lap; if they see human flesh gloriously honoured above themselves in the mother and in the Son, and the nuptials happily begun among us there more happily consummated.

Of which things, because I have spoken 489Aas I was able, though not as I would, and with a foot slow enough have reached the end of speaking: I beseech thee, O holy Virgin, that, since thou now standest by thy Son in the heavens, thou cease not from care and solicitude for him who is thine. Thine indeed am I, if not by a sufficiently worthy desert, yet at least by an affection a little readier; thine, serving thee, though as yet not knowing whether I be worthy of hatred or of love (Eccle. IX); thine, desiring to please thee with services and with gifts, if only thou shalt grant me effectually to prevail in my purpose. Do thou therefore, O holy Virgin, receive from my hand a little gift. It is not gold, not silver, not a stone fit for the offerings of kings, but an unpolished libation of words, brought forth with a grosser understanding, an offering small enough, yet full of watchings and of toil. After I betook myself 489Bto the exercise of it as to a rough training-school, I was smitten with many troubles, and by the onset of the malignant was heavily beaten back as it were in the face; and the work begun I many times laid aside under harder pressures, 490Ayet, thy more gracious remembrance calling me back and helping me, I let it not go. Do thou therefore, by whose help I failed not in the furnace of pressures under a heavy hammer, but, breathing again as best I might, have now finished in thy name the work begun — do thou now receive it offered, correct mercifully him that offereth it and amend him, love him amended, and commend me, being loved, to thy Son. For I know that, if I shall have been commended to him by thy benevolence, either the venomous serpent shall not bite me at all, or by his biting he shall not hurt me; and that Son of thine shall either call back the tongues of detractors to a modest silence, or shall change their poisonous rumours into a health-bearing antidote. So assuredly I hope, by thine intervention and by thy grace, to be delivered from all things hurtful, and, being delivered, to be heaped through grace with mightier gifts; and to me thus heaped thou wilt now 490Bgrant to rejoice through thee in the Son, and — that I may set an end to the book — thou wilt grant me, freed at last from evils, to glory with you in the heavens.

Joannes GALLEMART, Doctor of Sacred Theology, and professor of catechesis in the University of Douai, this 7 Feb. 1618.