While her body was sleeping in this sweet hallucination of the senses, her mind was attent with a marvellous activity. Her memory was bathed in brilliancy, and her imagination, in precipitate flight, darted out into the universe. Instead of meditating on the death of the Lord, she thought with deep delight about his adorable life, and, completely enchanted, she reviewed all its occurrences, representing them with as much accuracy as though she had really been present at the time. First, she beheld Jesus at his birth in the grotto near Bethlehem, embracing with his sweet arms the Virgin's neck, and smiling at the shepherds and the Magi, who from far-distant countries came to adore him. She beheld him secretly transported to Egypt, crossing the deserts of Arabia, sleeping on his mother's lap under some tree or in the depths of some cavern. Then she found him in the porticos of the Temple of Jerusalem, seated in the midst of the doctors, though he was only twelve years of age, with his long golden hair curling in ringlets over his shoulders, and his white tunic falling in graceful folds till it hid his feet, astonishing them all by his more than human beauty as well as by the profound wisdom of his words. She contemplated him in his modest dwelling in Nazareth in the peace of an obscure and contemplative life, nourishing his divine spirit with the sublime truths which the Eternal Father vouchsafed him during his frequent solitary walks. Then she was present at his first ministrations through Galilee, and at the first miracle, with which he manifested his infinite power at the wedding of Cana. She accompanied him to Capernaum when, as he stood in a fishing-boat gently rocking on the waves, he addressed to the multitude gathered on the shore his discourse, clearer than the sun which shone upon them, sweeter than the evening breeze. She returned with him to Nazareth, where his stubborn, ungrateful countrymen were unmoved by his gentleness and power of speech and rejected him. She went to Bethany, where her name-saint Mary Magdalene and Martha her sister had the blessedness of giving him hospitality, and the former of sitting long at his feet and listening to his words. She saw him everywhere serene and beautiful, as he is represented by tradition, with his blue eyes of wonderful sweetness, his skin rosy and transparent, his beard pointed, and his golden hair parted in the middle and falling in waves on his shoulders. The numerous pictures which she had seen, not only of his divine person, but of the country where his ministrations had taken place, united to her powerful imagination, carried her back to the time of the Redeemer's life more vividly than one could conceive. But where her imagination most revelled was in seeing his entrance into Jerusalem followed by a multitude carried away by enthusiasm, amid hosannas and shouts of welcome; then his beautiful face, which almost disappeared amid the foliage of the palm-branches, assumed an expression of divinity, his eyes so gentle flashed with the effulgence of omnipotence, and he spread out his hands toward the city, granting it pardon in advance for its barbarous deicide. Oh, how her soul delighted in this fine, poetic scene where Jesus was given on earth a little of the adoration which was his due! If she had been in those happy places, she would have taken part in the cortege of the King of kings, and raised her voice in acclamation. The union in him of power and humility, of force and gentleness, filled her with enthusiasm and admiration.
She knew, however, that Jesus' triumphal entrance into Jerusalem was repeated daily in a mystic sense; that the divine Lord takes more pleasure in entering into the soul of his elect than into the ungrateful daughter of Zion; that love was efficacious against the absolute master of all things, and took pleasure in receiving whoever professed his name. But for this it was necessary to love him much, to love him in such a manner as to prefer pain and torment coming from his hand to the most exquisite delight of earth, to love him even to fainting and dying in his presence and falling prone at his feet under the majesty of his gaze; it was necessary to spend long hours watching for him in the depths of the sky, in the calm of the eventide, in the beauty of flowers, of birds, and of all creatures, at the bedside of the sick and dying, in the midst of sorrows and penances; it was necessary to let the hours pass in ecstatic prayer, feeling the tears stealing down, and the cheeks on fire; it was necessary to be obedient to all men, the humble servant of all men, to turn the mind from accepting all favors, even from one's parents, and to despise one's self, to be the beloved of Jesus. Thus, thus she loved him! How many hours of the day and night she had spent thinking of him! How many tears she had shed for his sake! How many times in the silence of the night had her soul gone forth, fired with sickness of love, like the bride of the mystic Song of Solomon, in search for the Lord and Master of her heart! And when she had, in this manner, sought for him, kindled with amorous yearning, she never failed to find him. On one occasion, having spent the whole day ministering to the sick in the hospital, she had felt at the hour of retiring such keen delight in her soul and body that she almost fell ¡n a swoon. When she humbled herself before any one, she felt an exquisite delight; in crucifying her flesh with sharp cruelties she had felt more pleasure than the world with its harassing joys had ever given. In this way Jesus began to return a thousand-fold the love which she professed for him, transforming in her case into comfort what to others was pain and penance.
This last consideration pierced so sharply into her spirit that it caused her to indulge in an infinitude of thanksgivings and blessings, which remained locked in her heart without issuing from her lips. Her lips were silent, motionless as those of the sphynx; for she did not dare to reproduce by the medium of sounds the ineffable thoughts that passed through her mind. She heard within herself a thousand sweet voices speaking to her, but she could not understand what they said; she felt as though she were lifted up by gentle arms which ceaselessly lavished caresses upon her, and she was conscious, though not by visual proof, of the presence of a supernatural being, consoling her with its power. Then she became suddenly convinced that the Lord loved her; she saw clearly with the eyes of the Spirit that the Bridegroom listened to the voice of the bride, and had no deeper desire than to take her to himself, to pour out upon her all riches and joys forevermore. Even now he was near at hand; she felt him at her side, and she was melted with desire to look upon him; but he showed himself not; he refused to yield to her warm, affectionate entreaties. As one who shows a dainty to a child and then hides it, and again brings it forth and once more hides it in order to stir his appetite, so the heavenly Bridegroom kept her in suspense and ravishment, kindling more and more her desire. The impassioned stanza of San Juan de la Cruz came into her mind:—
| "Ay! who else has power to mend me! |
| Prithee deign to make my humble heart thy dwelling; |
| I beseech thee now to send me |
| Faithful angels not incapable of telling |
| Truly all the longing in me welling!"[38] |
And a thousand times she repeated it mentally, with a sublime solicitude, in which it seemed as though her soul were going to burst forth through her lips. But her lips remained speechless; she wished to cry out, to break into praises of Jesus, to give vent to the passionate impulses of her breast, and it was impossible. She felt a strange oppression, torturing her with celestial death, which she would not exchange for a hundred lives.
A keen, eager, resistless desire suddenly took possession of her heart. Jesus, the King of souls, had granted to more than one favors which were terrible by their very grandeur and incomprehensibility. He had appeared to Saint Isabel after her prodigious deeds of charity and penance, and had said, "Isabel, if thou art willing to be mine, I also am willing to be thine and will never leave thee." Frequently he had come to Saint Catalina of Siena in her convent cell, had conversed with her, had walked with and many times had helped her offer up her prayers. He had taken Saint Teresa in his arms so that she could not move, and had lavished caresses and kisses upon her. If she might only win such regalement! Scarcely had this overweening thought been born in her mind before she was filled with fear, and felt such shame that she would gladly have had the earth open and swallow her up. "Oh, no, my God! Who am I to receive such a favor, granted only to the martyrs of charity and the seraphic virgins who shine in heaven like bright stars. Pardon me, Jesus mine, pardon me!"
But her audacious thought would not depart from her mind; it kept following her in spite of her strongest efforts to shake it off. She was unworthy of such glory, she knew well, but her yearning was the child of the love with which the divine Jesus had filled her heart to overflowing; thus not she but Jesus himself was the author of this desire. If he had not kindled in her his celestial love, and had not begun to pour out upon her favors as sweet as they were undeserved, such an absurd idea would never have entered her head. No; she asked not so great a grace, so great a consolation; it was enough for her that Jesus was willing to give himself to her, that she had a few particles of his immortal love. She should consider herself the most blessed among the virgin daughters of heaven, if at the end of long years of prayer and penance, of bitterness and tribulations, Jesus should allow her once only to touch her lips to his divine face. "O Jesus mine, is it sinful to ask this? Could such a base worm as I ever deserve a joy so infinite?"
She opened her eyes. Jesus, with his golden aureole shining amid the shadows, as it reflected the last melancholy light that came through the window, lifted his hands towards her, at the same time fastening upon her a profound, sweet gaze. Through her veins ran a sensation of chill, as though she were near to death; but instantly this was supplanted by another of such intense heat that it made the sweat start from all the pores of her body. She comprehended vaguely that an adorable mystery was taking place in her presence, and a holy fear seized her. The boudoir was wrapt in shadow: the windows seemed like great, colorless eyes gazing through the walls. A sweet, languid delectation took possession of her whole being, and overwhelmed her with bliss. Her fear vanished. She was filled with the certainty that she was loved by Jesus, that she was the bride-elect of a God. Tenderness, worship, joy, welled up in her bosom, and she could not take her eyes from the eyes of the Lord, drinking from them the mysterious, ineffable delight of glory.
Once more the desire came back to her mind. This time she promulgated it with words, the warm breath of which stole through her hands crossed before her face.
"Jesus mine, wouldst thou permit thy servant to touch her lips to thy divine person?"