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O God! how happy the soul is who takes pleasure in
knowing and fully knowing that God is God, and that
his goodness is an infinite goodness!
For this heavenly spouse, by this gate of
complacency, enters into us and sups with us and we
with him. We feed ourselves with his sweetness by the
pleasure which we take therein, and satiate our heart
in the divine perfections by the delight we take in
them: and this repast is a supper by reason of the
repose which follows it, complacency making us
sweetly rest in the sweetness of the good which
delights us, and with which we feed our heart; for as
you know, Theotimus, the heart is fed with that which
delights it, whence in our French tongue we say that
such a one is fed with honour, another with riches,
as the wise man said that the mouth of fools feedeth
on foolishness,(1) and the sovereign wisdom protests
that his meat, that is his pleasure, is to do the
will of him that sent him.(2) In conclusion the
physician's aphorism is true what is relished,
nourishes: and the philosophers - what pleases,
feeds.
Let my beloved come into his garden, said the
sacred spouse, and eat the fruit of his
apple-trees.(3) Now the heavenly spouse comes into
his garden when he comes into the devout soul, for
seeing his delight is to be with the children of men,
where can he better lodge than in the country of the
spirit, which he made to his image and likeness.
He himself plants in this garden the loving
complacency which we have in his goodness, and which
we feed on; as, likewise, his goodness takes his
pleasure and repast in our complacency; so that,
again, our complacency is augmented in perceiving
that God is pleased to see us pleased in him. So that
these reciprocal pleasures cause the love of an
incomparable complacency, by which our soul, being
made the garden of her spouse, and having from his
goodness the apple trees of his delights, renders him
the fruit thereof, since she is pleased that he is
pleased in the complacency she takes in him.
Thus do we draw God's heart into ours, and he
spreads in it his precious balm, and thus is that
practised which the holy bride spoke with such joy.
The king hath brought me into his store-rooms: we
will be glad and rejoice in thee, remembering thy
breasts more than wine; the righteous love thee.(4)
For I pray you, Theotimus, what are the store-rooms
of this king of love but his breasts, which abound in
the variety of sweetness and delights. The bosom and
breasts of the mother are the storeroom of the little
infant's treasures: he has no other riches than
those, which are more precious unto him than gold or
the topaz, more beloved than all the rest of the
world.
The soul then which contemplates the infinite
treasures of divine perfections in her well-beloved,
holds herself too happy and rich in this that love
makes her mistress by complacency of all the
perfections and contentments of this dear spouse. And
even as a baby makes little movements towards his
mother's breasts, and dances with joy to see them
discovered, and as the mother again on her part
presents them unto him with a love always a little
forward, even so the devout soul feels the thrillings
and movements of an incomparable joy, through the
content which she has in beholding the treasures of
the perfections of the king of her holy love; but
especially when she sees that he himself discovers
them by love, and that amongst them that perfection
of his infinite love excellently shines.
Has not this fail soul reason to cry: O my king
how lovable are thy riches and how rich thy loves!
Oh! which of us has more joy, thou that enjoyest it,
or I who rejoice thereat! We will be glad and rejoice
in thee remembering thy breasts(5) so abounding in
all excellence of sweetness! I because my
well-beloved enjoys it, thou because thy well-beloved
rejoices in it; we both enjoy it, since thy goodness
makes thee enjoy my rejoicing, and my love makes me
rejoice in thy enjoying.
Ah! the righteous and the good love thee, and how
can one be good and not love so great a goodness!
Worldly princes keep their treasures in the cabinets
of their palaces, their arms in their arsenals, but
the heavenly Prince keeps his treasures in his bosom,
his weapons within his breast, and because his
treasure is his goodness, as his weapons are his
loves, his breast and bosom resemble those of a
tender mother, who has her breasts like two cabinets
rich in the treasures of sweet milk, armed with as
many weapons to conquer the dear little baby as it
makes its attacks in sucking.
Nature surely lodges the breasts in the bosom to the
end that, since the heat of the heart there concocts
the milk, as the mother is the child's nurse, so her
heart may be his fosterfather, and the milk may be a
food of love, better a hundred times than wine. Note,
meantime, Theotimus, that the comparison of milk and
wine seems so proper to the holy spouse that she is
not content to have said once that the breasts of her
beloved are better than wine,(6) but she repeats it
thrice.
Wine, Theotimus, is the milk of grapes, and milk
is the wine of the breasts, and the sacred spouse
says that her well-beloved is to her a cluster of
grapes, but of Cyprian grapes,(7) that is, of an
excellent odour. Moses said that the Israelites might
drink the most pure and excellent blood of the grape,
and Jacob describing to his son Juda the fertility of
the portion which he should have in the land of
promise, prophesied under this figure the true
felicity of Christians, saying that the Saviour would
wash his robe, that is, his holy Church, in the blood
of the grape,(8) that is in his own blood. Now blood
and milk are no more different than verjuice and
wine, for as verjuice ripening by the sun's heat
changes its colour, becomes a grateful wine, and is
made good for food, so blood tempered by the heat of
the heart takes a fair white colour, and becomes a
food most suited for infants.
Milk, which is a food provided by the heart and all
of love, represents mystical science and theology,
that is, the sweet relish which proceeds from the
loving complacency taken by the spirit when it
meditates on the perfections of the divine goodness.
But wine signifies ordinary and acquired science,
which is squeezed out by force of speculation under
the press of divers arguments and discussions.
Now the milk which our souls draw from the breasts
of our Saviour's charity is incomparably better than
the wine which we press out from human reasoning; for
this milk flows from heavenly love, who prepares it
for her children even before they have thought of it;
it has a sweet and agreeable taste, and the odour
thereof surpasses all perfumes; it makes the breath
fresh and sweet as that of a sucking child; it gives
joy without immoderation, it inebriates without
stupefying, it does not excite the senses but
elevates them (ne leve pas mais releve).
When the holy Isaac embraced and kissed his dear
child Jacob, he smelt the good odour of his garments,
and at once, filled with an extreme pleasure, he
said: Behold the smell of my son is as the smell of a
plentiful field which the Lord hath blessed.(9) The
garment and perfumes were Jacob's, but Isaac had the
complacency and enjoyment of them.
Ah! the soul which by love holds her Saviour in
the arms of her affections, how deliciously does she
smell the perfumes of the infinite perfections which
are found in him, with what complacency does she say
in herself: behold how the scent of my God is as the
sweet smell of a flowery garden, ah! how precious are
his breasts, spreading sovereign perfumes.
So the soul of the great S. Augustine, stayed in
suspense between the sacred contentment which he had
in considering on the one side the mystery of his
Master's birth, on the other the mystery of his
passion, cried out, ravished in this complacency "I
know not whither to turn my heart. On the one side
the Mother's breast offers me its milk, on the other
the life-giving wound of the Son gives me to drink of
his blood."
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