Reasons for Embracing a Monastic Life.

My dear sisters, in like manner as you guard well your senses externally, so above all things see that ye be gentle within, and mild and meek, affectionate and kind-hearted, and patient of any word — if any one speaks ill of you — and of any deed, if any one harms you — lest you

lose all. Against testy anchoresses, David sayeth this verse, “I am like a pelican that dwelleth alone.” The pelican is a lean bird, so peevish and so wrathful that often, in her anger, she killeth her own young ones when they molest her, and then, soon after she is very sorry, and maketh great moan, and smiteth herself with her bill wherewith she slew her young, and draweth blood out of her breast, and with the blood she then quickeneth her slain birds. This pelican is the peevish recluse. Her birds are her good works, which she often slayeth with the bill of sharp wrath; and when she hath so done, she, as the pelican doth, quickly repents, and with her own bill pecks her breast; that is, with confession of her mouth wherewith she sinned and slew her good works, draweth the blood of sin out of her breast that is, of the heart in which is the life of the soul, and thus shall then quicken her slain birds, which are her works. Blood betokeneth sin, for as a bleeding man is hideous and frightful in the sight of man, so is the sinful before the eyes of God. Again, no man can judge of blood correctly until it be cold: it is the same with regard to sin. While the heart is inwardly boiling with wrath, there is no just decision, nor any right judgment; or, while the desire is hot toward any sin, thou art not able to judge rightly either of its nature or its consequences; but let the desire pass over and thou wilt rejoice. Let the heart cool, and, as those do who will judge of blood, thou wilt rightly judge the sinful, and the sin to be loathsome and foul which seemed to thee fair; and that so much evil comes of it, that if thou hadst done it while the heat lasted thou wouldest think thyself mad for having intended it. This is true of every sin.

Why Blood Betokens Sin; and Particularly of Anger.

Anger, while it lasts, so blindeth the heart that it cannot know the truth.” “Anger is a sorceress,” as is said in stories; for it bereaveth and depriveth man of his right understanding, and changeth his whole countenance, and transforms him from man into beast’s nature. An angry woman is a she-wolf, and an angry man is a wolf, or a lion, or a unicorn. As long as anger is in a woman’s heart, though she say her versicles, and her hours, and her paternosters, and her aves, yet she doth nothing but howl. In every thing she is only as one that is changed into a she-wolf in the sight of God; and it is all as the voice of a wolf in his sweet ears. Anger is a kind of madness. Is not an angry man mad? How doth he look? How doth he speak? How fareth his heart within? Of what kind is all his outward demeanour? He regardeth no man. How, then, is he a man? Man is gentle by nature; but as soon as he loseth his gentleness he loseth man’s nature, and Anger, the sorceress, transformeth him into the nature of a beast, as I said before. And what if any recluse, Jesus Christ’s spouse, is transformed into a she-wolf? Is it not a great grief? There is, then, nothing to be done but to cast away quickly the rough skin that is about the heart, and with mild conciliation make her smooth and soft, as woman’s skin is naturally. For, with the wolf’s skin, nothing that she doth is acceptable or pleasing to God.

Here, now, are many sorts of remedies against anger, and many comforts and divers helps. If men speak evil of thee — think that thou art earth. Do not men tear up the earth? Do they not tread upon it? Do they not spit upon the earth? If they did so to thee, they did right to the earth. If thou barkest again, thou art of the nature of a dog. If thou stingest again with venomous words, thou art of serpent’s nature, and not the spouse of Christ. Think, did he so? “He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter and... he openeth not his mouth.” After all the ignominious pains that he endured in the long night preceding his crucifixion, they led him on the morrow to hang him on the accursed tree; and drove iron nails through his four limbs; “And no more than a sheep,” as the Holy Scripture saith, “spake he a word.”

Think yet again; What is a word but wind? Too feebly is she strengthened whom a wind’s puff of a word may cast down and throw into sin; and who, then, would not think it strange of an anchoress whom a wind’s puff of a word casteth down? And again, doth she not shew that she is dust, and an unstable thing, who, with a little wind of a word, is immediately blown up and provoked. The same puff of his mouth, if thou cast it under thy feet, would bear thee upward toward the blessedness of heaven. And now there is reason to wonder much at our great want of patient endurance. Understand this saying: Saint Andrew could endure that the painful cross lifted him up toward heaven; and lovingly he embraced it. Saint Lawrence also endured that the gridiron lifted him upwards with burning brands. Saint Stephen endured that the

stones wherewith they stoned him did the same, and he received them gladly, with bended knees; that is, kneeling; and we cannot endure that the wind of a word should bear us toward heaven, but are mad against them whom we ought to thank, as doing us much service, though it be against their will. All that the base and wicked doth for evil is good to the good, and is all to his behoof and his advancement toward his felicity: let him go on to braid a crown for thee, and that gladly. Think how the good Saint in the Lives of the Fathers, kissed and blessed the base hand that had hurt him, and said while he kissed it earnestly, and from his heart: “Ever blessed be his hand, for it hath prepared for me the blessedness of heaven;” and say thou in like manner of the hand that injures thee, and the mouth also that sayeth any evil against thee, “Blessed be thy mouth, for thou makest it an instrument for me wherewith to form and to increase my crown. Well is me for my good, and yet woe is me for thine evil; for thou doest good to me and harm to thyself.” Thus shall ye say, my dear sisters, if any man or any woman wrong you by word or deed. But now, it is very strange, if we consider well, how the Saints of God suffered wounds in their bodies; and we are distracted if a wind blow a little toward us, and the same wind hurteth nothing but the ear only. Bernard: “for the wind, that is, the word, can neither wound thee in thy flesh, nor defile thy soul, though it may puff on thee, except thou, thyself, cause it.” Thou mightest well understand that there was little of the fire of charity which is kindled by the love of our Lord. There was little of that fire which a puff extinguished. For where there is much fire it naturally increaseth with wind.

Against wrongful word or deed, lo, here is a remedy and salve for them. Let every one weigh well this example. A man who lay in prison and owed a large sum for his ransom, and in no wise could or might get out, except it were to be hanged, until he had fully paid his ransom, — would he not give good thanks to a man who threw upon him a purse full of money wherewith to pay his debt, and set him free and release him out of painful durance, though he threw it hard against his heart? All the hurt and the sore would be forgotten and forgiven for gladness. just so are all we here in prison, and owe to God great debts by reason of our sins, and therefore we cry to him in the Paternoster, “Lord, forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.” If any wrong is done either by word or deed — that is our ransom, wherewith we should free ourselves and pay our debts to our Lord — which are our sins — for without payment, out of his prison is none taken, but to be punished either in purgatory, or in the pains of hell. And our Lord himself says, “Forgive, and I will forgive you;” as if he had said, “Thou art deeply indebted to me through sins; but if thou wilt make a faithful agreement, I will account whatever any man saith or doth wrongfully against you as part of payment of the debt thou owest me.” Now then, though a word strike you full hard upon the heart, and it seems to you at first that it hurteth thine heart, reflect, as the prisoner would who might be hurt by the purse; and receive it gladly to pay your debt with it; and thank him who sent it to thee, though God may never thank him for his sending it. He doth harm to himself, and good to thee, if thou art able to understand it. For as David well saith, “God placeth in his treasurehouse the base and the wicked, in order to hire with them, as men do with money, those who fight well, laying up the depths in store houses;” viz. the cruel, by whom he disciplines his soldiers. Again, the pelican is a bird that hath another nature; which is, that she is always lean. Wherefore, as I said before, David compared himself to her in the character and in the voice of a recluse: “I am like a pelican that dwelleth alone:” and a recluse ought thus to say, and to be like the pelican as to her being lean. “Judith, shut up,” as we are told in her book, “ led a very hard life, fasted and wore hair-cloth.” Judith shut up betokeneth an anchoress shut up, who ought to lead a hard life, as did the lady Judith, as far as she is able, and not like a swine pent up in a stye to fatten and to increase in size for the stroke of the axe.

There are two kinds of anchoresses whom our Lord speaketh of, and mentions in the Gospel; the false and the true. “Foxes have their holes, and birds of heaven their nests.” The foxes, which are the false anchoresses, as the fox is the most false of beasts, — “these,” our Lord saith, “have their holes in the earth, with earthly vices, and draw every thing into their holes that they can catch and steal.” Thus the anchoresses who gather worldly goods are compared by God in the Gospel to foxes. The fox is also a thievish and ravenous beast, and devours eagerly withal: and the false anchoress draweth into her hole and devours, as the fox doth, both geese and hens; and hath, like the fox, a somewhat simple appearance, and yet is full of guile, and affecteth to be different from what she is, as the fox doth; she is a hypocrite, and thinketh to deceive God, as she imposes upon simple men; and deceiveth most herself. She yelpeth as the fox doth, and boasteth of her merits wheresoever she dare or may, and chattereth of trifling matters, and becometh so extremely worldly, that, as to her name, she stinketh, as the fox doth wherever he goes, for if she cloth evil, report makes it worse.

Such persons go into a religious house as Saul went into the cave; not as the pious David did. Both Saul and David went, indeed, into the cave, as we are told in the Book of Kings. But David went in to cleanse himself, and Saul to befoul the place; as doth, among many men, an unhappy recluse, who goes into a religious house to defile the place, and to indulge therein in carnal uncleanness more secretly than she could do if she were abroad in the world. For who can with more facility commit wickedness than the false recluse? Thus went Saul into the cave to defile the place; but David went in thither only to hide himself from Saul, who hated him and sought to slay him; and so doth the good anchoress. Saul, that is, the fiend, hateth and hunteth after her; and she retires into her cave, to hide herself from his keen clutches. She hides herself in her cave, both from worldly men and worldly sins; and therefore she is spiritually David; that is, strong against the fiend, and her countenance lovely in the sight of our Lord. For this word, David, in the Hebrew language, signifies as much as, strong against the fiend. The false recluse is Saul, according to the meaning of his name; Saul, abusing, or abuse. For Saul, in Hebrew, is abusing in English; and the false recluse abuseth the name of anchoress. For she unworthily throweth reproach upon the name of anchoress, and upon all that she doth. But the good anchoress is Judith, as we said before; that is, shut up as she was; and doth just as she did, fasteth and watcheth, laboureth and weareth hair-cloth. She is of the nature of the birds, of which our Lord speaketh after the foxes, which dig not downward with their lusts, as do the foxes, which are false anchoresses, but, as birds of heaven which have set up on high their nest; that is, their rest. True anchoresses are compared to birds; for they leave the earth; that is, the love of all earthly things; and, through yearning of heart after heavenly things, fly upward toward heaven. And, although they fly high, with high and holy life, yet they hold the head low, through meek humility, as a bird flying boweth down its head, and accounteth all her good deeds and good works nothing worth, and saith, as our Lord taught all his followers, “When ye have done all well, say that ye are unprofitable servants.” Fly high, and yet hold the head always low. The wings that bear them upwards are, good principles, which they must move unto good works, as a bird, when it would fly, moveth its wings. Also, the true anchoresses, whom we compare to birds, — yet not we, but God — spread their wings and make a cross of themselves, as a bird doth when it flieth; that is, in the thoughts of the heart, and the mortification of the flesh, they bear the Lord’s cross. Those birds fly well that have little flesh, as the pelican hath, and many feathers. The ostrich, having much flesh, maketh a pretence to fly, and flaps his wings, but his feet always draw to the earth. In like manner, the carnal anchoress, who loveth carnal pleasures, and seeketh her ease, the heaviness of her flesh and its desires depriveth her of her power of flying; and though she make a pretence and much noise with her wings; that is, make it appear as if she flew, and were a holy anchoress, whoever looks at her narrowly, laughs her to scorn; for her feet, as doth the ostrich’s, which are her lusts, draw her to the earth. Such are not like the meagre pelican, nor do they fly aloft, but are birds of the earth, and make their nests on the ground. But God calleth the good anchoresses birds of heaven, as I said before, “Foxes have their holes, and birds of heaven their nests.” True anchoresses are indeed birds of heaven, that fly aloft, and sit on the green boughs singing merrily; that is, they meditate enraptured, upon the blessedness of heaven that never fadeth, but is ever green; and sit on this green, singing right merrily; that is, in such meditation they rest in peace and have gladness of heart, as those who sing. A bird, however, some times, alighteth down on the earth, to seek his food for the need of the flesh; but while he sits on the ground he is never secure, and is often turning himself, and always looking cautiously all around. Even so, the pious recluse, though she fly ever so high, must at times alight down to the earth in respect of her body — and eat, drink, sleep, work, speak, and hear, when it is necessary, of earthly things. But then, as the bird doth, she must look well to herself, and turn her eyes on every side, lest she be deceived, and be caught in some of the devil’s snares, or hurt in any way, while she sits so low. “The birds,” saith our Lord, “have nests.” Α nest is hard on the outside with pricking thorns, and is delicate and soft within: even so shall a recluse endure hard and pricking pains in the flesh; yet so prudently shall she subdue the flesh by labour, that she may say with the Psalmist: “I will keep my strength, O Lord, to thy behoof; and therefore the pains of the flesh are proportioned to every one’s case. The nest shall be hard without and soft within; and the heart sweet. They who are of a bitter or hard heart, and indulgent towards their flesh, make their nest, on the contrary, soft without and thorny within. These are the discontented and fastidious anchoresses; bitter within, when they ought to be sweet; and delicate without, when they ought to be hard. These, in such a nest, may have hard rest, when they consider well. For, from such a nest, they will too late bring forth young birds, which are good works, that they may fly toward heaven. Job calleth a religious house a nest; and saith, as if he were a recluse: “I shall die in my nest, and be as dead therein” for this relates to anchorites; and, to dwell therein until she die; that is, I will never cease, while my soul is in my body, to endure things hard outwardly, as the nest is, and to be soft within.

From dumb beasts and birds learn wisdom and knowledge. The eagle deposits in his nest a precious stone which is called agate. For no poisonous thing may come nigh the stone, nor harm his birds while it is in his nest. This precious stone is Jesus Christ; a faithful stone, and full of all might, above all precious stones. He is the agate which the poison of sin never approached. Place him in thy nest; that is, in thine heart. Think what pains he suffered in his flesh without, and how gentle and mild he was in his heart within; and thus shalt thou drive all poison out of thy heart, and bitterness out of thy body. For in such meditations, however bitter may be the pain thou sufferest for the love of him who endured more for thee, it shall seem sweet to thee. This stone, as I have already said, driveth away poisonous things. If thou have this stone within thine heart, which is God’s nest, thou needest not fear the venomous serpent of hell. Thy young birds, which are thy good deeds, are quite secure from his venom.

Whosoever cannot have this stone, nor can keep it, in any manner or way, in the nest of her heart, must see that she have, at least, its likeness; that is, the crucifix, in the nest of her monastery, and contemplate it often, and kiss the places of the wounds, in sweet remembrance of the real wounds which he meekly suffered on the real cross. Yea, for thus she may be Judith; that is, lead an austere life, and often make acknowledgment to God of his great goodness toward her, and her deficiencies toward him, in that she returned him evil; and cry earnestly for mercy and forgiveness thereof, and confess frequently. Then is she Judith, who slew Holofernes. For Judith in Hebrew is confession in English. Wherefore, every anchoress saith to every priest, “Confiteor,” first of all, and confesseth herself first of all, and often, that she may be Judith and slay Holofernes; that is, the devil’s strength. For this word Holofernes signifieth as much as stinking in hell. In the Hebrew language, Holofernes is the fiend, who maketh a fat and frolicsome calf feeble and weak. A fat and frolicsome calf is the flesh, which groweth wild as soon as it becometh fat through abundance and ease. “My beloved is grown fat,” saith our Lord, “and smote me with his heel.” For as soon as the flesh hath all its will, it immediately kicketh, like a fat and idle calf. This fat calf the fiend hath power to deprive of strength, and to incline toward sin: for so much saith this name Holofernes. But the anchoress shall be Judith by an austere life and true confession, and shall slay, as did Judith, the wicked Holofernes, and tame right well her flesh, as soon as she feeleth that it is growing too wild, with fasting, with watching, with hair-cloth, with hard toil, and severe discipline, wisely, however, and cautiously: “In every sacrifice,” saith our Lord, “thou shalt offer me always salt.” Fasting, watching, and other things of that kind, such as I have just named, are my sacrifices. Salt betokeneth wisdom: for salt giveth meat soundness, and wisdom giveth savour. All our works, and all that we do without salt, that is,wisdom, seemeth to God tasteless. On the other hand, without salt flesh gathereth worms, and stinketh foully, and soon becomes putrid. So, without wisdom, the flesh, like a worm, gnaws and destroys itself, and perisheth as a thing which becometh putrid, and, at last, slayeth herself. But such a sacrifice smelleth offensively to our Lord. Though the flesh be our foe, we are yet commanded to sustain it. We must, however, afflict it, as it often well deserves; but notwithal to destroy it; for, how weak soever it be, still it is so coupled, and so firmly united, to our precious soul, God’s own image, that we might soon kill the one with the other. And this is one of the greatest wonders on earth, that the highest thing under God, which is the soul of man, as St. Austin testifieth, should be so firmly joined to the flesh, which is only mud and dirty earth; and, through that joining, love it so dearly, that, to gratify it, in its base nature, the soul recedes from its sublime and heavenly nature; and, to please the flesh, displeaseth its Creator, who made it after his own likeness, who is King and Ruler of heaven and earth. This is a wonder above all wonders, and a wonder that excites contempt, — that a thing so utterly mean, almost nothing, as St. Austin saith, should seduce into sin a thing so very noble as the soul is; which St. Austin calleth nearly the highest thing, God alone excepted. But God was unwilling that it should leap up into pride, or should desire to climb, and fall as did Lucifer — for he was without any burden— and therefore he tied a clod of heavy earth to the soul, as men tie a cubbel to the swine that is too much given to rake and range about. And that is what Job said, “Lord, thou hast made a too heavy weight to give wings to the soul; that is, the heavy flesh which draweth it downward but through the nobleness of the soul the flesh shall become full light, yea, lighter than the wind, and brighter than the sun, if it follow the soul here, and draw her not too strongly into its own base nature. Dear sisters, for the love of him whom the soul resembles, honour her, and suffer not the base flesh to get too much dominion over her; for she is here in a strange land, pent in a prison and shut up as in a dungeon, nor is it easily seen of what dignity she is, nor how noble is her nature, nor how great she shall be in her own kingdom. The flesh is here at home, as earth, upon earth; and therefore, it is brisk and bold, as it is said, “The cock is brave on his own dunghill.” Alas! it hath too much power over many. But an anchoress, as I have said, ought to be all spiritual, if she wishes to fly well, as a bird that hath little flesh and many feathers. Not only this, but she also tameth well her undisciplined flesh, and strengtheneth and doth honour to her precious soul. Moreover, she must also, by her example and her devout prayers, give strength to others, and support them, that they fall not into the filth of sin. And therefore David, immediately after he had compared an anchoress to the pelican, compared her to the night bird that is under the eaves.

“I am become like a pelican in the wilderness; and like a night-raven that is upon the house-top.” The night fowl in the eaves betokeneth recluses who dwell under the caves of the church, that they may understand that they ought to be of so holy life that the whole holy church, that is, all Christian people, may lean and be supported upon them, and that they may bear her up with their holiness of life and their pious prayers. And an anchoress is for this reason called anchoress, and anchored under the church as an anchor under a ship, to hold the ship so that neither waves nor storms may overwhelm it. In like manner shall anchoresses, or the anchor, hold the Holy Church Universal, which is called a ship, so firm, that the devil’s storms, which are temptations, may not overwhelm it. Every recluse is bound to this by covenant, both by reason of her name of anchoress, and because she dwelleth under the church, as if to underprop it, lest it should fall. If she breaketh covenant, let her consider to whom she is false, and how, continually; for she giveth no support to the anchoress’s abode; and her name continually proclaims this covenant, even when she sleepeth.

Again, the night fowl flieth by night, and seeks his food in the darkness; and thus shall the recluse fly with contemplation, that is, with high and with holy prayers, by night toward heaven, and seek during the night nourishment for her soul. In the night, the anchoress ought to be watchful and diligent about spiritual attainments; wherefore, there cometh immediately after, “I have watched, and am even as it were a sparrow, that sitteth alone upon the house top.” I was watchful, saith David, in the character of an anchorite, and like a lonely sparrow under a roof. I was watchful: for this is the duty of an anchoress to watch much. Ecclesiasticus: “Watching for riches consumeth the flesh.” Nothing subdueth wild flesh nor maketh it more tame than much watching; for watchfulness is much praised in many places of Holy Scripture. “Therefore, as ye would not fall into temptation,” saith our Lord, “watch and pray, and that shall enable you to stand.” He saith afterwards, “Blessed is he whom our Lord, when he cometh, findeth watching.” And he himself passed the whole night in prayer: and thus he taught us watchfulness, not only by his doctrine but by his actions.

Eight things especially admonish and invite us to be watchful and diligent in some good work — the shortness of this life — the difficulty of our way — the small amount of our merits — the great number of our sins — the certainty of death, and the uncertainty of the time — the severe doom of the day of judgment, which is also so strict. Our Lord saith in the gospel: “Of every idle word,” etc., and again, “There shall not an hair of your head perish;” that is, no thought shall be unpunished. These are God’s words: that every idle word shall be there brought forth, and idle thoughts that were not previously amended. Consider now what cometh of depraved affections and sinful works. Again, the seventh thing which warns us to be vigilant is the pains of hell, in which consider three things — the innumerable torments which no tongue may tell — the eternity of each, which lasteth without end — and their vast bitterness. The eighth thing is the greatness of the reward in the blessedness of heaven, world without end. Whoso watcheth well here a little while whoso hath these eight things in her heart, will shake off her sleep of vicious sloth in the still night, when nothing is to be seen to hinder prayer. The heart is often at such a season so sincere; for there is then no witness of any good that we do but God only, and his angel, who is busily employed in inciting us to good. For then, nothing is lost, as there often is in the day.

Hear now, my dear sisters, how evil it is to be vain and boast of good deeds, and how good it is to conceal our good works, and to fly by night, like the night fowl, and to gather in the darkness, that is, privately and secretly, food for the soul.

“Esther the queen’s prayer was agreeable and pleasing to King Ahasuerus.” “Esther” in Hebrew, is “hid” in English; and giveth us to understand that prayer and other good actions done in secret, are pleasing to Ahasuerus, that is, to the King of Heaven; for Ahasuerus in Hebrew, is blessed in English; which is our Lord, who is blessed over all. David speaketh to an anchoress that was wont to do good in secret, and afterwards, in some wise, was vain of it and made it known: “Wherefore turnest thou thy face aside and why drawest thou thy right hand out of the midst of thy bosom? ‘in finer,” that is, finally. The right hand is good works; and the bosom is privacy, which is as if he said, The right hand which thou, O anchoress, held in thy bosom, that is, thy good work that thou hadst done privately, as a thing is secret in the bosom; why drawest thou it out? “in finer,” finally, that is, that thy reward should terminate so soon. The reward that might be endless, if thy good deed were concealed; why dost thou discover it, and acceptest so small a reward? — a reward that is gone in an instant! “Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward.” Thou hast made known thy merit, saith our Lord, verily thou hast received thy reward. Saint Gregory is amazed, and saith that men are mad who judge so ill. It is great madness, saith he, to do well, and to desire praise on that account: to do that whereby men buy the kingdom of heaven, and sell it for a vain puff of the world’s applause — the praise of men. Wherefore, my dear sisters, keep your right hand within your bosom, lest the endless reward be quickly ended. We read in Holy Scripture that the hand of Moses, God’s prophet, as soon as he had drawn it out of his bosom, seemed to have the hospital malady, and appeared leprous. Thereby it is shewn that a good action dragged before the world is not only lost through that vanity, but appeareth even loathsome in the sight of God, as the leprosy is loathsome in the sight of men. Lo, this is a marvellously good saying which the holy Job said, “In my bosom is all my hope contained.” As if he had said, Whatsoever good I do, if it were boasted of and drawn forth out of my bosom, all my hope were gone from me; but, because I held it and hid it, as it were, in my bosom, I hope for reward. Wherefore, if any of you do any good, let her not draw it outward, nor let her make any boast of it; for, with a little puff —with a boastful word, it may be all wafted away.

Our Lord, in Joel, complaineth grievously of those who lose and destroy, through desire of praise, all the good they have done; and saith these words: “Alas! they who shew their good deeds have peeled my fig tree; rent off all the bark; stripped it stark naked, and cast it away; and the green boughs are all withered, and become dry white staves.” This passage is obscure: but take good heed to what I am going to say to clear it up to you. A fig tree is a kind of tree that beareth sweet fruit, which are called figs. Then is the fig tree peeled, and the bark rent off, when a good deed is boasted of. Then is the life gone out. Then is the tree dead. When the bark is gone, it neither beareth fruit, nor doth it again put forth green and lovely leaves; but its boughs are dried, and become white staves; fit for nothing better than to be used as fuel. When the bough is dead, it whiteneth externally, and drieth within, and casteth off its bark. Even so a good deed that is about to perish casteth off its bark; that is, uncovereth itself: the bark which conceals it, which is the defence of the tree, preserves it in strength and vigour. Just so, the concealing it is the life of the good deed, and keeps it in strength. But when this bark is off, then, as the bough doth, it whiteneth without, through worldly praise, and drieth up within, and loseth the sweetness of God’s grace, which maketh it green and lovely — pleasant to behold. For green, above all colours, is most agreeable to the eyes. When it is so dried, then it is for nothing so fit as for the fire of hell. For the first peeling, from which all this evil came, is from nothing but pride. And is it not a great pity that the fig tree, which, with its sweet fruit, that is, its good deeds, should spiritually feed God, the Lord of Heaven, should dry up without bark, on account of its being uncovered, and become without end food for hell fire? And is not she unhappy that with the price of heaven buyeth to herself hell? Our Lord himself, in the gospel, compareth the kingdom of heaven to a treasure, which, whosoever hath found, as he saith, hideth. Treasure is a good deed, which is compared to heaven, for men buy it therewith; and this treasure, if it be not the better hid and concealed, is soon lost. For, as Saint Gregory saith, He who carrieth a treasure openly in a way that is all full of thieves and robbers and plunderers, desireth to lose it and to be robbed. This world is only a way to heaven or to hell; and is all beset with skulking thieves of hell, who rob all the treasures that they can discover, which man or woman open in this way. For it is just the same as if he said and called aloud as he went, “I am carrying a treasure, I am carrying a treasure: Look, here it is; red gold and white silver enough, and precious jewels.” A poor pedlar, who carrieth nothing but soap and needles, shouteth and calleth out loud and clamorously what he beareth; and a rich mercer goeth along quite silently. Inquire what happened to the good King Hezekiah, because he sheaved the store-house of his spices, and his great treasure, and his precious things. It is not without design written in the Holy Gospel, concerning the three kings who came to offer to Jesus Christ the three precious gifts: “They fell down and worshipped him; and when they had opened their treasures,” etc. That which they wished to offer him they kept always concealed until they came into his presence. Then first, they uncovered the present which they bore. Wherefore, my dear sisters, in the night time, as the night bird is compared to an anchorite, be diligently stirring. Night I call privacy. This night ye may have at all times of the day; so that all the good that you do be done as it were by night and in darkness, out of the sight and hearing of men. Thus, in the night, be on the wing, and seeking heavenly food for your souls. Then you will be not only the pelican in the wilderness, but also the night raven under the caves.

“I have watched and am even as it were a sparrow, that sitteth alone upon the house-top.” Again, the anchoress is compared here to a sparrow, that is alone, under roof, as an anchoress. The sparrow is a chattering bird; it is always chattering and chirping. And, because many an anchoress hath the same fault, David compareth her not to a sparrow that hath a mate, but to a solitary sparrow. “As it were a sparrow, that sitteth alone upon the house-top.” “I am,” he speaks as an anchoress, “like a sparrow that is all alone.” For thus ought the anchoress, by herself alone in a lonely place, as she is, to be always chirping and chattering her prayers. And, kindly understand, my dear sisters, that I write of solitary life to comfort anchoresses, and yourselves more especially.

How good a thing it is to be alone, is manifested and shewn both in the Old Testament and also in the New. For in both we find that God revealed his secret counsels and his heavenly mysteries to his dear friends, not in the presence of a multitude, but when they were by themselves alone. And they,themselves also, as often as they would meditate solely on God, and pray to him sincerely, and be spiritually elevated in heart toward heaven — it is always found that they fled from the strife of men, and went apart by themselves, and that God visited them and granted their requests. Because I said that we find this both in the Old Testament and also in the New, I will, out of both, shew an example and proof.

Isaac the patriarch, that he might meditate deeply, sought a lonely place, and went apart by himself alone, as is believed to have been his wont, as we are told in Genesis, and thus he met the pious Rebecca, that is, God’s grace. Rebecca is, by interpretation, “he gave much.”

From heavenly grace alone man’s goodness flows God crowns alone the merit he bestows.

Likewise the pious Jacob, when our Lord revealed his dear countenance to him, and gave him his blessing, and called him by a better name, had fled from men, and was alone: never in the crowd of men gat he such gain. From Moses, and from Elias, God’s dear friends, it is clear and manifest what great turmoil, and how dangerous it is to live always among a multitude; and how God reveals his secret counsels to those who are in privacy and solitude. Those histories, dear sisters, shall be told you, for it would be tedious to write them here, and then ye shall understand all this clearly.

It is said that the pious Jeremiah sits in solitude, and the reason why is also told: “The Lord had filled him with his threats.” God’s threats are misery and woe in body and in soul, world without end! Whosoever were well filled, as he was, with this threatening, would have no vacant place in his heart in which to receive carnal mirth; and therefore, he prayed for a well of tears to his eyes, that they might never dry up any more than a well: “Who will give me a fountain of tears to my eyes, that I may weep for the slain of my people? “To weep for slain people — that is, almost all the world, which is spiritually slain with mortal sins. And observe now how the holy prophet prays for a solitary place to weep in. “Who will give me in the wilderness a lodging-place of wayfaring men?” — to shew distinctly, that whoso would weep for her own and other men’s sins, as an anchoress ought to do — whoso would find with the strict judge mercy and grace — there is one thing which hinders her most, which is, living and being noted among men; and that which most greatly forwards and assists it, is solitude — that either man or woman be alone. Jeremiah speaketh yet again of solitary life: “He shall sit solitary,” saith he, “and be silent.” Of this silence he speaketh a little before: “It is good to wait in silence for God’s grace, and that a man bear God’s yoke early from his youth:” and then followeth: “She that would do well shall sit solitary, and hold her peace;” that is, by a life of elevated piety, exalt herself toward heaven above her kind. Moreover, the other good that cometh of this solitary sitting, which Jeremiah speaketh of, and of devout silence, immediately followeth: “She,” saith he, “who would be so exalted, will offer her cheeks to the smiter, and shall be filled with reproachful words.” Here are, in these words, two excellent moral qualities to be carefully observed, which rightly belong to anchoresses. Patience in the former part; and in the latter part, meekness — of mild and meek heart. For he is patient who beareth patiently an injury that is done him; and he is meek who can bear to be evil spoken of. Those whom I have hitherto mentioned were under the old law: come we now to the new.

Saint John the Baptist, of whom our Lord saith, that among the sons of women there never arose a better, taught us openly by his own actions that solitude is both safe and profitable. For, though the angel Gabriel had foretold his birth, and although he was filled with the Holy Ghost even within his mother’s womb; and was, by miracle, born of one barren, and at his birth unbound his father’s tongue to prophesy; yet, for all this, he durst not dwell among men. Life appeared to him so dangerous among them; even if it were on account of nothing less but of speech alone. And what then did he? Young as he was, he fled away into the wilderness, lest he should defile his pure life with speech. For so it is in his hymn: “To the caves of the desert in tender years.” He had heard, as it seems, Isaiah, who moaned and said, “Women, woe is me! for I am a man of unclean lips;” and he saith the reason why: “And that is, because I dwell among men who have sullied their lips with indiscreet speeches.” Lo! how God’s prophet saith that he was sullied by living among men. It is so indeed. For neither gold, nor silver, nor iron, nor steel, is ever so bright that it will not draw rust from a thing that is rusty, if they lay long together. Wherefore Saint John fled from the society of foul men, lest he should be sullied. And further, to shew us that we cannot flee from the bad, without fleeing from the good, he fled from his holy kindred, chosen of our Lord, and went into a solitary place and dwelt in the wilderness. And what did he gain there? He gained that he was God’s baptist, the high honour that he held in baptism, under his hands, the Lord of Heaven, who upholds the whole world with his might alone; when the Holy Trinity was fully revealed to him, the Father by his voice, the Holy Ghost in the likeness of a dove, the Son in his hands. In solitude he acquired these three possessions — the privilege of preacher, the merit of martyrdom, and the reward of virginity. These three kinds of men have in heaven a superabundant reward, crown upon crown; and the blessed John, when he was in solitude, earned for himself alone these three dignities.

Our dear lady, did not she lead a solitary life? She was no where abroad, but was shut up fast, for so we find. “The angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee.” That is, the angel went in to her; she was within then, in solitude, all alone. An angel has seldom appeared to man in a crowd. On the other hand, since it is not any where recorded in Holy Scripture that she spoke, except four times, it is a clear proof that she, who thus kept silence, was much alone. What more do we require? One good example may suffice for all. He went himself alone into a solitary place, and fasted when He was alone in the wilderness; to shew thereby that no one can exercise true penitence amidst the multitude. There, in solitude, it is said that he hungered, to comfort anchorites who are in want. There he suffered the fiend to tempt him many ways; but he overcame him. Also to shew that the fiend tempteth much those who lead a solitary life, for envy that he beareth towards them: but he is there always overcome. For our Lord himself standeth by them in the fight, and emboldeneth them to resist strongly, and giveth them of his strength. The Saviour himself, as Holy Scripture saith, whom no mirth, or noise, or multitude of people might hinder him from his prayers, nor disturb him in his holy meditations, — yet, nevertheless, when he wished to be much in prayer, he fled not only other men, but even his holy disciples, and went up into the hills alone: for an example to us, that we should retire by ourselves and mount up with him upon hills; that is, to meditate on heavenly things, and leave low beneath us all earthly thoughts, while we are engaged in prayer. Paul and Antony, Hilarion, Benedict, Syncletica, Sara, and many other such pious men and women both truly experienced and rightly perceived that what was gained by a solitary life was pleasing to God; as persons who obtained from God whatsoever they wished. Saint Jerome likewise saith of himself, “As often as I have been among men, I came from them less man than I was before.” Wherefore saith Ecclesiasticus, “Never take pleasure among a multitude of people: for sin is ever there.” Did not the voice from heaven say to Arsenius, “Arsenius, flee from men, and thou shalt be saved.” And again he came to him and said, “Arsenius, flee and be quiet, and dwell constantly in one place out of the sight of men.”

Now, ye have heard, my dear sisters, an example out of the Old Testament, and also out of the New, sheaving why ye ought to love greatly a solitary life; and now, after these examples, hear the reasons why one ought to flee the world: eight reasons at the least. I mention them briefly: take the more heed.

1. The first is security. If a raging lion were running along the street, would not a wise person soon shut herself ín? And Saint Peter saith that the lion of hell rangeth and raketh always about, seeking an entrance to devour the soul; and he commands us to be watchful and busied in holy prayers, lest he catch us. This is St. Peter’s advice, as I said before. Therefore be ye wise anchoresses, who have shut themselves up carefully, against the lion of hell, in order to be the more secure.

2. The second reason is that she who bears a precious liquor or a precious drink, such as balsam, in a frail vessel —healewi in a brittle glass — would not she go out of the way of a crowd, unless she were a fool? This brittle vessel is woman’s flesh. Of this brittle vessel the Apostle saith: “We have this treasure in earthen vessels.” The balsam, the healewi, is virginity, which is therein; or, after the loss of maiden honour, chaste purity. This brittle vessel is more brittle than any glass; for, be it once broken, it is never mended, nor whole as it was before, any more than glass. Moreover, it breaketh more easily than brittle glass doth. For glass breaketh not unless something strike against it. But with regard to the loss of virginity, its purity may be lost by an unchaste wish. So far may it go and last so long: but this kind of breach may be afterward repaired, and made quite as whole as ever it was by the remedy of confession and by repentance. Now for the proof of this: Had not St. John the Evangelist brought home a bride? Had he not thought, if God had not prevented him, to relinquish maidenhood? Yet, afterwards, he was a maiden not the less pure; and himself a maiden, a maiden was given in charge to him to keep. Now, as I say, this precious balsam in this brittle vessel is virginity and purity in our brittle flesh, more brittle than any glass; which, if ye were in the world’s crowd, ye might, from a slight collision, lose entirely, like the unhappy people in the world who jostle against each other and break their vessels and shed their purity. And, therefore, our Lord thus addresses us: “Leave the world and come to me; for there ye shall be in the crowd; but rest and peace are with me.”

3. The third reason for fleeing from the world is the obtaining of heaven. Heaven is exceedingly high; and it is little enough that she who wishes to gain it and arrive at it should cast all the world under her feet. Wherefore, all the saints made all the world, as it were, a footstool to their feet in order to reach up to heaven. This is the saying of St. John the Evangelist, in the Apocalypse: “I saw,” saith he, “a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet.” The moon waxeth and waneth, and is never steadfast; and is, therefore, a fit emblem of worldly things, which are, like the moon, ever changing. This moon the woman must hold under her feet; she must trample upon and despise worldly things, who wishes to arrive at heaven, and be clothed there with the true sun.

4. The fourth reason is, that it is a proof of nobleness and liberality. Noblemen and gentlemen do not carry packs, nor go about trussed with bundles, nor with purses. It belongs to beggars to bear bag on back, and to burgesses to bear purses, and not to God’s spouse, who is the lady of heaven. Bundles, purses, bags, and packs are all earthly wealth and worldly revenues.

5. The fifth reason is, that noble men and women give large alms. But who may give larger alms than others? They who say with St. Peter, “Lord, to follow thee, we have left all things.” Is not this large alms? Is not this leaving much? My dear sisters, kings and emperors have their nourishment out of your large alms, which ye have left. “Lord, to follow thee,” saith St, Peter, “we have left all:” as if he had said, We will follow thee in the great nobleness of thy liberality. Thou didst leave to other men all riches, and gayest alms of all, and has left so large remains — we will follow thee; we will do the same — leave all as thou didst, and follow thee also on earth, both in this and in other things, that we may follow thee likewise into the blessedness of heaven, and there still follow thee every where whithersoever thou goest, as none may but the pure only. “These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth,” that is, with both feet—in purity of heart and of body.

6. The sixth reason why ye have fled from the world is fellowship; that is, to be in fellowship with our Lord. For thus he saith by Hosea: I will lead thee, saith our Lord to his beloved, into a solitary place, and there I will speak affectionately to thine heart; for I dislike a crowd. “I am the Lord; and I will not enter into the city.”

7. The seventh reason is, that ye may be the brighter, and may behold more clearly God’s bright countenance in heaven; because ye have fled from the world, and hide yourselves here for his sake. Yet

more, there ye shall be swift as the sunbeam; because ye are shut up with Jesus Christ as in a sepulchre, and imprisoned, as he was, on the precious cross, as was said above.

8. The eighth reason is, that your prayers may be fervent. And now consider attentively why the meek Queen Esther — who betokeneth anchoress, for her name signifieth as much as hidden in English speech as we read in her book, was more pleasing than all others to King Ahasuerus; and through her prayer he freed from death all her people, who were doomed to death. Ahasuerus is interpreted “blessed,” as is said before, and betokeneth God, blessed above all. He granted to Esther the queen, that is, the true anchoress, the right Esther, who is really hidden — he heareth her and granteth all her petitions, and sheweth thereby that much and many people would have been lost who are saved through the prayers of anchoresses, as they were through Esther’s, when they are like Esther, and conduct themselves as Esther the daughter of Mordecai did. Mordecai signifieth “bitterly trampling upon the shameless.” Shameless is the man or the woman that doth or saith any thing indecent before an anchoress. If, however, any one do so, and she interrupt bitterly his improper speech, or his foolish deeds, let her trample upon them, I say, at once, with contempt. Then is she Esther, Mordecai s daughter, bitterly trampling upon the shameless. More bitterly, nor better, she cannot interrupt than is said above, with the words “The wicked have told me foolish tales,” etc., or with this verse, “Depart from me, ye malignant, and I will search the commandments of my God;” and let her go inward immediately toward her altar, and keep at home, as did Esther the hidden. Shimei, as we are told in the Book of Kings, had deserved death: but he implored mercy, and Solomon forgave him, yet upon the condition that he should keep at home in Jerusalem where he dwelt, and hide himself in his house; and if he went forth any whither, such was the covenant, that he should then be again guilty, and condemned to death. He unfortunately, however, brake the covenant for his bond-servants ran away and escaped from him, and he pursued them and went out after them. What wouldest thou more? He was soon betrayed to King Solomon, and because the covenant was broken, he was doomed to death. Understand this well, my dear sisters: Shimei betokeneth the outward anchoress; not Esther the hidden. For Shimei signifieth “hearing” in our language; and it means the anchoress who hath ass’s ears, long, to hear from afar; that is, asking after tidings. Shimei was in Jerusalem, upon condition of hiding himself therein, if he wished to live. This word, Jerusalem, signifieth “sight of peace,” and betokeneth a monastery; because nothing ought to be seen therein but peace only. Never let Shimei, that is, the recluse, so greatly offend the true Solomon, that is, our Lord. Let her stay at home in Jerusalem, that she may know nothing of the turmoil of the world; and Solomon will gladly grant her his grace. But, if she intermeddle with external things more than she need, and her heart be without; though her body, like a clod of earth, be within the four walls, she is gone forth with Shimei, out of Jerusalem, just as he did after his bond-servants. Those bondservants are her five natural senses, which ought to be at home and serve their lady. Then she serveth well the anchoress her lady, when she useth them all rightly for the profit of her soul, when the eyes are upon the book, or upon some other good work, the ears attentive to God’s words, the mouth in pious prayers. And if she guard them ill, and let them, through heedlessness, run away from her service, and follow them abroad ; with her heart—as it most frequently happens that if the sense go out the heart goeth out after it—she breaketh Solomon’s covenant with the unfortunate Shimei, and is doomed to death.

Wherefore, my dear sisters, be not ye Shimei, but be Esther the hidden, and ye shall be exalted in the blessedness of heaven. For the name of Esther signifieth not only “hidden,” but, moreover, “exalted among the people;” and Esther, as her name saith, was so exalted to be queen from being a poor maiden. In this word Esther, hiding and highness are both conjoined; and not highness only, but highness among people, to shew truly that they who hide themselves rightly in their monastery, shall be worthily exalted in heaven above other people. Both Esther’s name and her exaltation prove what I say to be true. And now, consider that ye are in Jerusalem; and that ye have fled to the sanctuary of the church; for there is not one of you who has not, at some time, been a thief against God. Men are waiting for you, of that be ye well assured, without, as they do for thieves who have fled for refuge to church. But keep close within, not only your body, for that is least worthy, but your five senses, and your heart above all, and that in which is all the life of

the soul. For, if it has stepped without, it has then only to be led forth toward the gallows-tree of hell. Be in fear and dread of every man, as much as the thief is, lest he draw you without, that is, deceive you in some way, and lie in wait that he may lay his clutches upon you. Fervently pray to God, like a thief who has fled for refuge to the church, to keep and protect you from all those who lie in wait for you. Be always chirping your prayers, as the sparrow doth that is alone. For this word, alone, is said of solitary life, and of a solitary place, where one may be Esther the hidden — out of the world — and acquire, better than in the crowd, every spiritual good; and, therefore, David compareth an anchoress to the pelican, which leads a solitary life, and to the sparrow, that is alone.

The sparrow hath yet another property which is very good for an anchoress, although it is hated: that is, the falling sickness. For it is very necessary that an anchoress of holy and highly pious life have the falling sickness. I do not mean the sickness that is commonly so called; but that which I call falling sickness is an infirmity of the body, or temptation of carnal frailty, by which she seems to herself to fall down from her holy and exalted piety. She would otherwise grow presumptuous, or have too good an opinion of herself, and so come to nothing. The flesh would rebel and become too insubordinate towards its mistress, if it were not beaten, and would make the soul sick, if sickness did not subdue the body with disease, nor the spirit with sin. If neither of these were sick — which is seldom the case — pride would awaken, which is the most dangerous of all sicknesses. If God try an anchoress with any external evil; or, the enemy within, with spiritual disorders, as pride, wrath, envy, or with the lusts of the flesh, she hath the falling sickness, which is said to be the sparrows’ infirmity. God so wills it, in order that she may be always humble; and, with low estimation of herself, fall to the earth, lest she become proud.

Now, dear sisters, we hit upon the fourth part, which I said should be of many temptations. For there are external and internal trials, and many sorts of each. I promise to teach you a safeguard against them, and a remedy; and how any one who hath them may gather, from this division, comfort and consolation against them all. That I, by the teaching of the Holy Spirit, may keep my engagement to you, may He grant to me through your prayer.

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