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- confessions
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- husband, not in deed only, but not even in word. Only when he was
smoothed and tranquil, and in a temper to receive it, she would give an
account of her actions, if haply he had overhastily taken offence. In
a word, while many matrons, who had milder husbands, yet bore even in
their faces marks of shame, would in familiar talk blame their husbands'
lives, she would blame their tongues, giving them, as in jest, earnest
advice: "That from the time they heard the marriage writings read to
them, they should account them as indentures, whereby they were
made servants; and so, remembering their condition, ought not to set
themselves up against their lords." And when they, knowing what a
choleric husband she endured, marvelled that it had never been heard,
nor by any token perceived, that Patricius had beaten his wife, or that
there had been any domestic difference between them, even for one day,
and confidentially asking the reason, she taught them her practice above
mentioned. Those wives who observed it found the good, and returned
thanks; those who observed it not, found no relief, and suffered.
Her mother-in-law also, at first by whisperings of evil servants
incensed against her, she so overcame by observance and persevering
endurance and meekness, that she of her own accord discovered to her
son the meddling tongues whereby the domestic peace betwixt her and her
daughter-in-law had been disturbed, asking him to correct them. Then,
when in compliance with his mother, and for the well-ordering of the
family, he had with stripes corrected those discovered, at her will who
had discovered them, she promised the like reward to any who, to please
her, should speak ill of her daughter-in-law to her: and none now
venturing, they lived together with a remarkable sweetness of mutual
kindness.
This great gift also thou bestowedst, O my God, my mercy, upon that good
handmaid of Thine, in whose womb Thou createdst me, that between any
disagreeing and discordant parties where she was able, she showed
herself such a peacemaker, that hearing on both sides most bitter
things, such as swelling and indigested choler uses to break out into,
when the crudities of enmities are breathed out in sour discourses to a
present friend against an absent enemy, she never would disclose aught
of the one unto the other, but what might tend to their reconcilement.
A small good this might appear to me, did I not to my grief know
numberless persons, who through some horrible and wide-spreading
contagion of sin, not only disclose to persons mutually angered things
said in anger, but add withal things never spoken, whereas to humane
humanity, it ought to seem a light thing not to foment or increase ill
will by ill words, unless one study withal by good words to quench it.
Such was she, Thyself, her most inward Instructor, teaching her in the
school of the heart.
Finally, her own husband, towards the very end of his earthly life,
did she gain unto Thee; nor had she to complain of that in him as a
believer, which before he was a believer she had borne from him. She was
also the servant of Thy servants; whosoever of them knew her, did in her
much praise and honour and love Thee; for that through the witness of
the fruits of a holy conversation they perceived Thy presence in her
heart. For she had been the wife of one man, had requited her parents,
had governed her house piously, was well reported of for good works, had
brought up children, so often travailing in birth of them, as she saw
them swerving from Thee. Lastly, of all of us Thy servants, O Lord (whom
on occasion of Thy own gift Thou sufferest to speak), us, who before her
sleeping in Thee lived united together, having received the grace of Thy
baptism, did she so take care of, as though she had been mother of us
all; so served us, as though she had been child to us all.
The day now approaching whereon she was to depart this life (which day
Thou well knewest, we knew not), it came to pass, Thyself, as I believe,
by Thy secret ways so ordering it, that she and I stood alone, leaning
in a certain window, which looked into the garden of the house where we
now lay, at Ostia; where removed from the din of men, we were recruiting
from the fatigues of a long journey, for the voyage. We were discoursing
then together, alone, very sweetly; and forgetting those things which
are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, we
were enquiring between ourselves in the presence of the Truth, which
Thou art, of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which
eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of
man. But yet we gasped with the mouth of our heart, after those heavenly
streams of Thy fountain, the fountain of life, which is with Thee; that
being bedewed thence according to our capacity, we might in some sort
meditate upon so high a mystery.
And when our discourse was brought to that point, that the very highest
delight of the earthly senses, in the very purest material light,
was, in respect of the sweetness of that life, not only not worthy of
comparison, but not even of mention; we raising up ourselves with a more
glowing affection towards the "Self-same," did by degrees pass through
all things bodily, even the very heaven whence sun and moon and stars
shine upon the earth; yea, we were soaring higher yet, by inward musing,
and discourse, and admiring of Thy works; and we came to our own
minds, and went beyond them, that we might arrive at that region of
never-failing plenty, where Thou feedest Israel for ever with the food
of truth, and where life is the Wisdom by whom all these things are
made, and what have been, and what shall be, and she is not made, but
is, as she hath been, and so shall she be ever; yea rather, to "have
been," and "hereafter to be," are not in her, but only "to be," seeing
she is eternal. For to "have been," and to "be hereafter," are not
eternal. And while we were discoursing and panting after her, we
slightly touched on her with the whole effort of our heart; and we
sighed, and there we leave bound the first fruits of the Spirit; and
returned to vocal expressions of our mouth, where the word spoken
has beginning and end. And what is like unto Thy Word, our Lord, who
endureth in Himself without becoming old, and maketh all things new?
We were saying then: If to any the tumult of the flesh were hushed,
hushed the images of earth, and waters, and air, hushed also the pole of
heaven, yea the very soul be hushed to herself, and by not thinking on
self surmount self, hushed all dreams and imaginary revelations, every
tongue and every sign, and whatsoever exists only in transition, since
if any could hear, all these say, We made not ourselves, but He made us
that abideth for ever--If then having uttered this, they too should be
hushed, having roused only our ears to Him who made them, and He alone
speak, not by them but by Himself, that we may hear His Word, not
through any tongue of flesh, nor Angel's voice, nor sound of thunder,
nor in the dark riddle of a similitude, but might hear Whom in these
things we love, might hear His Very Self without these (as we two now
strained ourselves, and in swift thought touched on that Eternal Wisdom
which abideth over all);--could this be continued on, and other visions
of kind far unlike be withdrawn, and this one ravish, and absorb, and
wrap up its beholder amid these inward joys, so that life might be for
ever like that one moment of understanding which now we sighed after;
were not this, Enter into thy Master's joy? And when shall that be?