Part 6

What was it that Dante learnt, or believed that he learnt, from the lady whose joyful singing sounded to him across the river of forgetfulness, whose eyes shone with a light greater than that of earthly love?

She explained to him her joy by the words of that psalm, the ninety-second, which forms a key-note to the poems of the Beguine Matilda, of her to whom the Lord had taught "the song and the music of heaven," whom He had made glad through _His_ work, who triumphed in the work of His hands.

It was in the work "wrought in the land of the Jews," the great work that "loosed the bolt with which Adam had barred the heavenly door," that Matilda the Beguine rejoiced, showing forth the Lord's lovingkindness in the morning, and his faithfulness every night--the work which "the brutish man knoweth not, neither doth the fool understand it," for "the preaching of the Cross is to them that perish foolishness," "the foolishness of God that is wiser than men."

In the work which brought her into the "sweet garden of Paradise," where she was no more a stranger, which had won for her the right to eat of the Tree of Life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God, and to pluck the flowers, which were hers, because they were Christ's.

It may truly be said that if there is anything distinctive in the writing of Matilda the Beguine, it is that she wrote from her own experience of the gladness of the heavenly place, revealed to her whilst yet in the body on the earth. She had learnt that there is an "earthly Paradise," earthly not because it is of the earth, but because it is a foretaste and earnest of the heavenly, given to those who are still pilgrims upon the earth.

To reach it the river had to be crossed, wherein the old things pass away, and all things become new; where the things that are behind are forgotten, and the things that are before become the possession, by faith, of the redeemed soul. Her sins were amongst the forgotten things, for God remembered them no more, and the sorrow of the earth was forgotten, swallowed up in the tide of eternal joy, and

"The longing and love were past and gone, For all that is less than God alone."

Thus, in the poem of Dante, does Matelda draw him through the water of the river at the moment when the remembrance of his sin had stung him at the heart, so that he fell overpowered and helpless and ashamed. It needed that the sin should be left behind amongst the former things that had passed away.

Those who have known the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, the Fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness, will gladly own that this is the true Christian experience of the saints of God--the land of Canaan beyond the river, reached and entered before the warfare and the trial of faith are over; the Father's house become a familiar place before the murmuring of the self-righteous is for ever silenced.

Did Dante know it as the Beguine knew it? Was it in his case but a vague sense of a place of joy and beauty which the soul might find on this side of heaven? Did he know that the river was a river of death--the death which is the death of deaths, "in the land of the Jews" so long ago?

We cannot know. It needs the simple faith of those who have become fools that they may be wise. Then does the garden of the Lord become a blessed reality, no dreamland, but an eternal inheritance.

The Beguine had seen by faith her name engraved on the pierced Hands and Feet of Christ. Should she not rejoice and sing? Should she not praise Him that He was wounded for her transgressions, that He was bruised for her iniquities, that the chastisement of her peace was upon Him, that by His stripes she was healed? And thus she knew that her "robe was white, for Christ's was white, and brighter than the sun."

How far this was the experience of Dante, his poem does not tell us. But he knew that there was an earthly Paradise, and it seems all but certain that in Matilda's book he had found one who was rejoicing there with unspeakable joy.

The remarks of Preger in his lecture on Dante's Matelda confirm the thought that this is the true key to his description of the beautiful lady, whose appearance formed the great era in his spiritual life. The song taken from the words of the fifty-first Psalm, "Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow," the introduction into the knowledge of heavenly things, are but an echo of the songs of the Beguine.

But the heavenly things of Dante are far more clouded with the evil teaching of his age than the heavenly experiences of Matilda of Magdeburg. The glory of the Catholic Church, rather than the glory of Christ, is the light that lightens his heavenly Paradise. It was the Lamb who was the light of Matilda's heaven. In the bewildering medley of Catholic and heathen mythologies in Dante's poem, it is only here and there that a gleam of the true light can make its way. But Matilda the Beguine rose above the clouds and mists of man's imagination, and she saw Jesus.

Preger refers us to the ordinary explanation of Matelda and Beatrice; namely, that like Leah and Rachel in mediaeval theology, they represent the life of action and the life of contemplation.

This theory as regards Matelda was, as Preger observes, founded on the idea that the Countess Matilda of Tuscany was the Matelda of Dante. That the warlike countess was a fair specimen of activity, we cannot doubt; but that it had any resemblance to Christian activity, is more than doubtful. Probably the identity of name was the only foundation of this idea.

"It is true," writes Preger, "that Dante saw these two women prefigured in a dream as Leah and Rachel, and that Leah said, referring to her sister, 'Her seeing, and me doing, satisfies.' But that therefore doing and seeing are the only characteristics of these women is a conclusion to which Dante did not advance, nor need we do so. They _both_ looked in the mirror, but Leah first crowned herself with flowers; and it was after hearing the call, 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,' that this dream presented itself to Dante."

Matelda, who corresponds to Leah in the dream, conducts Dante into the earthly Paradise, and the place accords with the guide. She was not yet in heaven, the working-day was not yet over, but Matelda was rejoicing, not in _her_ work, but in _the work of God_. She was glad that the flowers of His garden were her crown of beauty.

So wrote Matilda the Beguine--

"I pluck the flowers for thee; They are thine, beloved, for they are Mine, And thou art one with Me."

It was a place in which the flowers of the earth had never grown, and it needed the washing which makes whiter than snow to fit the soul for that garden of God upon the earth. Therefore the song which came to Dante across the river was the ancient song of the soul that is washed from sin: "Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, whose sins are covered." Virgil never crossed the river.

However clouded may have been the faith of mediaeval Christendom, the need of Christ was felt. The distinction between a Christian and a heathen was acknowledged as one which told upon the eternal destiny of men. By means of Christ the Saviour could the Christian man pass on, washed and sanctified, into the land beyond the river. A "land beyond," was that Paradise to men of the world of sense and of earthly knowledge, but without the knowledge of God, and of Jesus Christ, whom He has sent. And singing the song of the forgiven, whilst she made garlands of the flowers, Matelda appeared to Dante, separated from him at first by the river of forgetfulness. She drew near to him as one who dances. She spoke to him of the nature of the mysterious wind that moved the branches of the trees which grew in the land "given as the earnest of eternal peace"--the earnest whilst here on earth of heavenly things, of the flowers that grew from no earthly seed, and of the river that flows from no earthly source, and of the other river which divides the earthly Paradise from the heavenly, as the river Lethe divided it from all that was before.

And we see that Matelda is to Dante the medium of supernatural revelations, just as afterwards, Beatrice.

Matelda, then, in the earthly Paradise appears as the representative of the insight into the heavenly joy whilst still on earth, Beatrice as the beholding of it when the earthly life is past. And this knowledge of the heavenly things was to be brought back by him who had seen them whilst still in the body, as the palm-leaves upon the staff of the pilgrim who had been within the boundary of the holy land.

And it was Matelda who drew Dante through the river into that land whilst still upon the earth--the land where he should hear the singing, and know the sweetness, and learn more in the Paradise here of the Paradise hereafter.

It was the earnest of the inheritance which was given to him through Matelda.

And truly this is the message and mission of the Beguine, not as Matelda's, to Dante only, but to us also, who can receive the message without the bewildering counter teaching of the corrupted Church. It is true the message, more clearly given, is in the Bible we have known so long; and it was through the blessed teaching of that Bible that Matilda the Beguine learnt it. But it is well for us not only to read the glorious promises of God, but to meet with those to whom they have been fulfilled, the sharers of the like precious faith with us, who now believe in Jesus. Now, from the holy women of Hellfde have the clouds passed away which at times hid from them the brightness of the glory, but the words of love spoken to their hearts by the mouth of their Beloved remain to them as an everlasting possession.

And are not the same words still spoken day by day to those who have ears to hear? And in the midst of this sorrowful world, is there not still a blessed company who have entered the same Paradise, and learnt the same songs, taught by the lips of Christ?

It will not render us less fit for the common earthly life, that we have been there, in the garden where the Lord God walks, and His own are not afraid. In truth, it is only those who have been there who have the healing leaves for the sick and the suffering ones around them. It is only those who see the Son, and believe on Him, who are thus brought back to the garden of the Lord, to feed upon the fruit of the tree of life. And these are they who are again sent forth as His messengers into the world of man's exile.

"As My Father hath sent Me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world."

Thus the Lord spake of all who believe on His Name. The message sent long ago by Matilda the Beguine has been heard again after the silence of ages, and it is once more a call to the sinful, the sorrowful, and the fearful, who have been living in ignorance of the marvellous love which is unchanged, and which answers to the great need of our age, as to that of the thirteenth century. May God the Holy Ghost open the hearts of many to hear and to rejoice.

Matilda's Last Years.

Matilda was fifty-three years old when, in the year 1265, she took refuge in the convent of Hellfde.

Gertrude von Hackeborn was not one who would refuse admission to a persecuted "Friend of God." Gertrude had now been abbess fourteen years, and was in the prime of her life and activity. Mechthild von Hackeborn, "the maiden so marvellously lovable," as they said in the convent, was then twenty-five. The little Gertrude, who was to be the brightest star amongst the sisters of Hellfde, was only nine.

But during the twelve remaining years of the life of Matilda of Magdeburg there was time enough for some good seed to be sown in the heart of Gertrude, which should one day spring up and bear much fruit.

Soon after Matilda's entrance into the convent she had a severe and painful illness. But she was tended with loving care, and found amongst her sisters of Hellfde a happy and peaceful home. She in her turn was regarded by them as an honoured teacher, and her influence made itself quickly felt.

It was at Hellfde that she wrote the two remaining books, "rich," says Preger, "in light and instruction." When she had finished the sixth book she thought that her task was done. She therefore concluded it with a word of farewell--"This book was begun in love, it shall also end in love; for there is nought so wise, nor so holy, nor so beautiful, nor so strong, nor so perfect as love."

But afterwards Matilda felt herself led to write "more of that which God had shown her," although she had prayed that she might now lay down her pen and cease from her labours.[10]

In the last years of her life she was obliged to write by dictation, her eyes and hands having failed her. The following extracts from the last two books will show an advance in the knowledge of Him she loved, and for whom she laboured to the last.

The Labour of the Lord.

The Lord showed me in a parable that which He has ever done, and will ever do, to fulfil to me the meaning thereof.

I saw a poor man rise up from the ground where he was sitting. He was dressed like a workman, in common linen clothing, and he had a crowbar in his hand, which he thrust under a heavy burden that was as large as the earth.

I said to him, "Good man, what is it you are lifting?"

"I am going to lift and carry your sorrows," said he. "Try it thyself," he said; "with all thy might, lift and carry."

Then did I answer Him, for I knew Him, "Lord, I am so poor, I have no strength."

And He answered me, "So did I teach My disciples. I said, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit.'"

And my soul spake to Him, and I said, "O Lord, it is Thyself. Turn Thou Thy face to me that I may know Thee."

And He answered, "Learn to know Me inwardly."

I said, "O Lord, if I saw Thee amongst thousands, I could not but know Thee."

And then I said further, "This burden is too heavy for me."

And He answered me, "I will lay it so close to Myself, that thou mayest easily bear it. Follow Me, and see how I stood before My Father on the Cross, sustaining all."

Then did I ask Him to bless me; and He said, "I always bless thee. Thy sorrow shall turn to a good blessing for thee."

And I said no more but this, "O Lord, come Thou thus to the help of all who love to suffer for Thee."

The Prayer of the Longing Heart.

There was one who for a long while, amidst the mercies of God, and also many sorrows, longed continually that God would release the soul and take her to Himself. And the Lord said to her, "Wait." Then did the suffering one answer, "Lord, I cannot cease from longing. Oh, how gladly would I be with Thee!" Then said the Lord--

"Before the worlds, O soul, I longed for thee; And still I long, and thou dost long for Me; And when two longings meet, for ever stilled, The cup of love is filled."

Prayers.

Give me, O Lord, and take from me all that Thou willest, and leave me but the desire to pass away to Thee in Thy love, and to Thy love. O well is me, and I thank Thee, King of Heaven and Son of God, that whilst I was in the world Thou didst choose me, and call me out of the world. For this will I thank Thee eternally. Thy holy sorrow, all that Thou hast suffered for me, is mine. Therefore all that I suffer I offer up to Thee, though how little is my suffering like to Thine! Keep me always in Thy love, that for ever I may praise Thee, Jesus, my most beloved; and I pray Thee to loosen the cords, and let me be for ever with Thee.

O Thou beloved Lord Jesus Christ, Thou Eternal God, one with the Eternal Father, think upon me. I thank Thee, Lord, for the grace of Thine Atonement, wherewith Thou hast touched the depths of my heart, and pierced me through with the power of Thy love. But when Thou dost touch my heart with Thine awful, Thy holy tenderness, which flows through soul and body, I fear lest I, who am so unworthy of Thee, should be overwhelmed with the blessedness of Thy love.

Therefore I turn at times to pray for others more than for myself, and withdraw myself, as it were, from the fulness of the joy, through love to Thee and Christian faithfulness. For I fear the rising up within my heart of the pride which cast down the most glorious of the angels of heaven, and the voice of the serpent who deceived Eve with the promise of vainglory.

I pray, O my God, that in continual love I may receive and enjoy the gifts Thou givest. I ask for the fulness of Thy love, that shame and pain and bitterness may be sweet to me, and that I may desire Thy will and not mine, and that the fire of my love may burn in me to all eternity.

Of the Good Works of Men, how They Shine by the Work of the Lord.

How it is that the works of godly men shall shine and glow in the glory of heaven, understand from these words.

Wherein we were innocent of aught, in this our innocence, the pure holiness of God shines and glows.

In so far that we laboured in good works, the holy working of God shines forth.

In so far as we clave to God with trustful hearts, the tenderness and faithfulness of God shines brightly.

In so far as we receive our sorrows thankfully, do the sufferings of Christ shine forth.

In so far as we wrought diligently in holy graces, does the holy grace of God shine and glow in manifold brightness to all eternity.

And as here we loved, and as here we shed forth the light of a holy life, in this does the love of God burn and shine, more and more unto the perfect eternal day.

For all that shone forth from us was the light of the eternal Godhead. The good works we did were given to us through the holy Manhood of the Son of God, and we wrought them by the power of the Holy Ghost. Thus all our works, our love, our sufferings, flow back thither whence they came, from the Three in One, to His eternal praise.

The Soul that Loveth Speaketh to her Lord.

If the world were mine and all its store, And were it of crystal gold; Could I reign on its throne for evermore, From the ancient days of old, An empress noble and fair as day, O gladly might it be, That I might cast it all away, Christ, only Christ for me. For Christ my Lord my spirit longs, For Christ, my Saviour dear; The joy and sweetness of my songs, The whilst I wander here. O Lord, my spirit fain would flee From the lonely wilderness to Thee.

Seven Things known to the Longing of Love.

I bring unto Thy grace a sevenfold praise, Thy wondrous love I bless-- I praise, remembering my sinful days, My worthlessness. I praise that I am waiting, Lord, for Thee, When, all my wanderings past, Thyself wilt bear me, and wilt welcome me To home at last. I praise Thee that for Thee I long and pine, For Thee I ever yearn; I praise Thee that such fitful love as mine Thou dost not spurn; I praise Thee for the hour when first I saw The glory of Thy Face, Here dimly, but in fulness evermore, In that high place; I praise Thee for a mystery unnamed, Unuttered here below, Unspeakable in words the lips have framed, Yet passing sweet to know. It is the still, the everlasting tide, The stream of Love Divine, That from the heart of God for evermore Flows into mine. To that deep joy that bindeth heart to heart In one eternal love, A still small stream that flows unseen below, An endless sea above, To that high love, that fathomless delight, No thought of man may reach; And yet behind it is a sevenfold bliss, Most holy of God's holy mysteries, Untold in speech. Faith only hath beheld that secret place, Faith only knows how great, how high, how fair The Temple where the Lord unveils His Face To His beloved there. O how unfading is the pure delight, How full the joy of that exhaustless tide Which flows for ever in its glorious might, So still, so wide; And deep we drink with sweet, eternal thirst, With lips for ever eager as at first, Yet ever satisfied.

Of a Sin that is Worse than all Other Sins.

I have heard men speak of a sin, and I thank God that I have not known it, for it seems to me, and it is, more sinful than all other sins, for it is the height of unbelief. I grieve over it with body and soul, and with all my five senses, from the depth of my heart, and I thank the living Son of God that into my heart it never came.

This sin did not have its source in Christian people, but the vile enemy of God has by means of it deceived the simple. For, led by him, they would fain be so holy as to enter into the depths of the eternal Godhead, and to sound the secret abyss of the eternal sacred Manhood of the Lord. If thus they became blinded with pride, they bring themselves under the eternal curse. They would attain to a holiness which is reached by mocking at the written Word of God, which speaks to us of the Manhood of our Lord.

Thou poorest of the poor! didst thou indeed know and confess truly the eternal God, then wouldst thou also confess of necessity the eternal Manhood that dwelleth in the Godhead, and thou wouldst of necessity confess the Holy Ghost, who enlightens the heart of the Christian, who is the source of all his blessedness and joy, and who teaches the mind of man far better than all other teachers, and leads us to confess in humility that which He has taught us to know of the perfection of God.

How Love was seen with her Handmaidens--A Parable.

In the night I spoke thus to our Lord, "Lord, I live in a land that is called Misery; it is this evil world, for all that is in it cannot comfort me, nor give me joy unmixed with sorrow. In this land I have a house, which is called Painful. It is the house in which my soul lives, namely, my body. This house is old, and small, and dark. In this house I have a bed, which is called Unrest, for all things are a grief to me which have not to do with God. Near this bed I have a chair, called Discomfort, wherein I hear of sins committed by others in which I had no part. Before this chair I have a table, that is called Distress, for I am grieved to find so few spiritual people. On this table lies a clean tablecloth, which is called Poverty, that has much good in it, and if it were rightly used it would be dear to those who use it. On this table my food is placed for me; it is called the Bitterness of sin, and Willing suffering. The drink is called 'Scanty Praise,' because, alas! I have far too few good works to be remembered."

All this I saw as it were dimly in my soul. And then was the true Love of God revealed to me. She stood before me as a noble and royal maiden, of stately presence, fair, and with the roses of her youth, and around her stood many maidens, who were the graces of the Spirit, and they were come to be my handmaidens if I desired to have them as mine, for they were willing to serve me. They wore crowns brighter than shining gold, and their clothing was of green sendal.

And as I beheld her my dark house was lighted up, so that I could see all that was therein, and all that happened there. And I knew the damsel well, for she had often been my dear companion, and her face was familiar to me. But as I have written of her oftentimes in this book, I will not speak of her further.

Then said I to her, "O beloved damsel, that art a thousandfold higher than I am, yet thou dost serve me with honour and reverence, as if I were greater than an empress."

And she said, "When I saw that it was thy desire to renounce earthly things I desired to be thy constant handmaiden, for I was seeking those who from the love of God turned away from the things on earth."

And I said, "Beloved damsel, so long hast thou served me, I would gladly give thee for thy service all that I have or might have on the earth."

She answered, "I have gathered up thy gift, and will restore it to thee at last with glory and honour."

Then said I, "Lady, I know not what more to give but myself."