Welcome to Gaia! ::

The writer of this Preface was travelling in Germany, when he chanced to meet with a
book, entitled, The History of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, from the Meditations of Anne
Catherine Emmerich, which appeared to him both interesting and edifying. Its style was
unpretending, its ideas simple, its tone unassuming, its sentiments unexaggerated, and its
every sentence expressive of the most complete and entire submission to the Church. Yet, at
the same time, it would have been difficult anywhere to meet with a more touching and lifelike
paraphrase of the Gospel narrative. He thought that a book possessing such qualities
deserved to be known on this side the Rhine, and that there could be no reason why it
should not be valued for its own sake, independent of the somewhat singular source whence
it emanated.

Still, the translator has by no means disguised to himself that this work is written, in the
first place, for Christians; that is to say, for men who have the right to be very diffident in
giving credence to particulars concerning facts which are articles of faith; and although he is
aware that St. Bonaventure and many others, in their paraphrases of the Gospel history,
have mixed up traditional details with those given in the sacred text, even these examples
have not wholly reassured him. St. Bonaventure professed only to give a paraphrase,
whereas these revelations appear to be something more. It is certain that the holy maiden
herself gave them no higher title than that of dreams, and that the transcriber of her
narratives treats as blasphemous the idea of regarding them in any degree as equivalent to a
fifth Gospel; still it is evident that the confessors who exhorted Sister Emmerich to relate
what she saw, the celebrated poet who passed four years near her couch, eagerly
transcribing all he heard her say, and the German Bishops, who encouraged the publication
of his book, considered it as something more than a paraphrase. Some explanations are
needful on this head.

The writings of many Saints introduce us into a new, and, if I may be allowed the
expression, a miraculous world. In all ages there have been revelations about the past, the
present, the future, and even concerning things absolutely inaccessible to the human
intellect. In the present day men are inclined to regard these revelations as simple
hallucinations, or as caused by a sickly condition of body.
The Church, according to the testimony of her most approved writers, recognises three
descriptions of ecstasy; of which the first is simply natural, and entirely brought about by
certain physical tendencies and a highly imaginative mind; the second divine or angelic,
arising from intercourse held with the supernatural world; and the third produced by
infernal agency. (See, on this head, the work of Cardinal Bona, De Discretione Spirituum.)
Lest we should here write a book instead of a preface, we will not enter into any
development of this doctrine, which appears to us highly philosophical, and without which
no satisfactory explanation can be given on the subject of the soul of man and its various
states.

The Church directs certain means to be employed to ascertain by what spirit these
ecstasies are produced, according to the maxim of St. John: ‘Try the spirits, if they be of
God.’ (1 Jn 4:1). When circumstances or events claiming to be supernatural have been
properly examined according to certain rules, the Church has in all ages made a selection
from them.

Many persons who have been habitually in a state of ecstasy have been canonised, and
their books approved. But this approbation has seldom amounted to more than a
declaration that these books contained nothing contrary to faith, and that they were likely to
promote a spirit of piety among the faithful. For the Church is only founded on the word of
Christ and on the revelations made to the Apostles. Whatever may since have been revealed
to certain saints possesses purely a relative value, the reality of which may even be disputed–
it being one of the admirable characteristics of the Church, that, though inflexibly one in
dogma, she allows entire liberty to the human mind in all besides. Thus, we may believe
private revelations, above all, when those persons to whom they were made have been
raised by the Church to the rank of Saints publicly honoured, invoked, and venerated; but,
even in these cases, we may, without ceasing to be perfectly orthodox, dispute their
authenticity and divine origin. It is the place of reason to dispute and to select as it sees best.
With regard to the rule for discerning between the good and the evil spirit, it is no other,
according to all theologians, than that of the Gospel. A fructibus eorum cognoscetis eos. By their
fruits you shall know them. It must be examined in the first place whether the person who
professes to have revelations mistrusts what passes within himself; whether he would prefer
a more common path; whether far from boasting of the extraordinary graces which he
receives, he seeks to hide them, and only makes them known through obedience; and,
finally, whether he is continually advancing in humility, mortification, and charity. Next,
the revelations themselves must be very closely examined into; it must be seen whether there
is anything in them contrary to faith; whether they are conformable to Scripture and
Apostolic tradition; and whether they are related in a headstrong spirit, or in a spirit of
entire submission to the Church.

Whoever reads the life of Anne Catherine Emmerich, and her book, will be satisfied that
no fault can be found in any of these respects either with herself or with her revelations. Her
book resembles in many points the writings of a great number of saints, and her life also
bears the most striking similitude to theirs. To be convinced of this fact, we need but study
the writings or what is related of Saints Francis of Assisi, Bernard, Bridget, Hildegard,
Catherine of Genoa, Catherine of Sienna, Ignatius, John of the Cross, Teresa, and an
immense number of other holy persons who are less known. So much being conceded, it is
clear that in considering Sister Emmerich to have been inspired by God’s Holy Spirit, we
are not ascribing more merit to her book than is allowed by the Church to all those of the
same class. They are all edifying, and may serve to promote piety, which is their sole object.
We must not exaggerate their importance by holding as an absolute fact that they proceed
from divine inspiration, a favour so great that its existence in any particular case should not
be credited save with the utmost circumspection.

With regard, however, to our present publication, it may be urged that, considering the
superior talents of the transcriber of Sister Emmerich’s narrations, the language and
expressions which he has made use of may not always have been identical with those which
she employed. We have no hesitation whatever in allowing the force of this argument. Most
fully do we believe in the entire sincerity of M. Clement Brentano, because we both know
and love him, and, besides, his exemplary piety and the retired life which he leads, secluded
from a world in which it would depend but on himself to hold the highest place, are
guarantees amply sufficient to satisfy any impartial mind of his sincerity. A poem such as he
might publish, if he only pleased, would cause him to be ranked at once among the most
eminent of the German poets, whereas the office which he has taken upon himself of
secretary to a poor visionary has brought him nothing but contemptuous raillery.
Nevertheless, we have no intention to assert that in giving the conversations and discourses
of Sister Emmerich that order and coherency in which they were greatly wanting, and
writing them down in his own way, he may not unwittingly have arranged, explained, and
embellished them. But this would not have the effect of destroying the originality of the
recital, or impugning either the sincerity of the nun, or that of the writer.

The translator professes to be unable to understand how any man can write for mere
writing’s sake, and without considering the probable effects which his work will produce.
This book, such as it is, appears to him to be at once unusually edifying, and highly poetical.
It is perfectly clear that it has, properly speaking, no literary pretensions whatever. Neither
the uneducated maiden whose visions are here relate, nor the excellent Christian writer who
had published them in so entire a spirit of literary disinterestedness, ever had the remotest
idea of such a thing. And yet there are not, in our opinion, many highly worked-up
compositions calculated to produce an effect in any degree comparable to that which will be
brought about by the perusal of this unpretending little work. It is our hope that it will make
a strong impression even upon worldlings, and that in many hearts it will prepare the way
for better ideas,—perhaps even for a lasting change of life.

In the next place, we are not sorry to call public attention in some degree to all that class
of phenomena which preceded the foundation of the Church, which has since been
perpetuated uninterruptedly, and which too many Christians are disposed to reject
altogether, either through ignorance and want of reflection, or purely through human
respect. This is a field which has hitherto been but little explored historically,
psychologically, and physiologically; and it would be well if reflecting minds were to bestow
upon it a careful and attentive investigation. To our Christian readers we must remark that
this work has received the approval of ecclesiastical authorities. It has been prepared for the
press under the superintendence of the two late Bishops of Ratisbonne, Sailer and Wittman.
These names are but little known in France; but in Germany they are identical with
learning, piety, ardent charity, and a life wholly devoted to the maintenance and
propagation of the Catholic faith. Many French priests have given their opinion that the
translation of a book of this character could not but tend to nourish piety, without, however,
countenancing that weakness of spirit which is disposed to lend more importance in some
respects to private than to general revelations, and consequently to substitute matters which
we are simply permitted to believe, in the place of those which are of faith.

We feel convinced that no one will take offence at certain details given on the subject of
the outrages which were suffered by our divine Lord during the course of his passion. Our
readers will remember the words of the psalmist: ‘I am a worm and no man; the reproach of
men, and the outcast of the people;’ (Ps 22:6) and those of the Apostle: ‘Tempted in all
things like as we are, without sin.’ (Heb 4:15). Did we stand in need of a precedent, we
should request our readers to remember how plainly and crudely Bossuet describes the same
scenes in the most eloquent of his four sermons on the Passion of our Lord. On the other
hand, there have been so many grand platonic or rhetorical sentences in the books published
of late years, concerning that abstract entity; on which the writers have been pleased to
bestow the Christian title of the Word, or Logos, that it may be eminently useful to show the
Man-God, the Word made flesh, in all the reality of his life on earth, of his humiliation, and
of his sufferings. It must be evident that the cause of truth, and still more that of edification,
will not be the losers.

Venerable Anne Catherine Emmerich2 was born at Flamske, a village situated about a
mile and a half from Coesfeld, in the bishopric of Munster, on the 8th of September 1774,
and was baptised in the church of St. James at Coesfeld. Her parents, Bernard Emmerich
and Anne Hiller, were poor peasants, but distinguished for their piety and virtue.
The childhood of Anne Catherine bore a striking resemblance to that of the Venerable
Anne Garzias de St. Barthelemi, of Dominica del Paradiso, and of several other holy
persons born in the same rank of life as herself. Her angel-guardian used to appear to her as
a child; and when she was taking care of sheep in the fields, the Good Shepherd himself,
under the form of a young shepherd, would frequently come to her assistance. From
childhood she was accustomed to have divine knowledge imparted to her in visions of all
kinds, and was often favoured by visits from the Mother of God and Queen of Heaven,
who, under the form of a sweet, lovely, and majestic lady, would bring the Divine Child to
be, as it were, her companion, and would assure her that she loved and would ever protect
her. Many of the saints would also appear to her, and receive from her hands the garlands of
flowers which she had prepared in honour of their festivals. All these favours and visions
surprised the child less than if an earthly princess and the lords and ladies of her court had
come to visit her. Nor was she, later in life, more surprised at these celestial visits, for her
innocence caused her to feel far more at her ease with our Divine Lord, his Blessed Mother
and the Saints, than she could ever be with even the most kind and amiable of her earthly
companions. The names of Father, Mother, Brother, and Spouse, appeared to her
expressive of the real connections subsisting between God and man, since the Eternal word
had been pleased to be born of a woman, and so to become our Brother, and these sacred
titles were not mere words in her mouth.

While yet a child, she used to speak with innocent candour and simplicity of all that she
saw, and her listeners would be filled with admiration at the histories she would relate from
Holy Writ; but their questions and remarks having sometimes disturbed her peace of mind,
she determined to keep silence on such subjects for the future. In her innocence of heart, she
thought that it was not right to talk of things of this sort, that other persons never did so, and
that her speech should be only Yea, yea, and Nay, nay, or Praise be to Jesus Christ. The visions
with which she was favoured were so like realities, and appeared to her so sweet and
delightful, that she supposed all Christian children were favoured with the same; and she
concluded that those who never talked on such subjects were only more discreet and modest
than herself, so she resolved to keep silence also, to be like them.

Almost from her cradle she possessed the gift of distinguishing what was good or evil,
holy or profane, blessed or accursed, in material as well as in spiritual things, thus
resembling St. Sibyllina of Pavia, Ida of Louvain, Ursula Benincasa, and some other holy
souls. In her earliest childhood she used to bring out of the fields useful herbs, which no one
had ever before discovered to be good for anything, and plant them near her father’s cottage,
or in some spot where she was accustomed to work and play; while on the other hand she
would root up all poisonous plants, and particularly those ever used for superstitious
practices or in dealings with the devil. Were she by chance in a place where some great
crime had been committed, she would hastily run away, or begin to pray and do penance.
She used also to perceive by intuition when she was in a consecrated spot, return thanks to
God, and be filled with a sweet feeling of peace. When a priest passed by with the Blessed
Sacrament, even at a great distance from her home or from the place where she was taking
care of her flock, she would feel a strong attraction in the direction whence he was coming,
run to meet him, and be kneeling in the road, adoring the Blessed Sacrament, long before he
could reach the spot.

She knew when any object was consecrated, and experienced a feeling of disgust and
repugnance when in the neighbourhood of old pagan cemeteries, whereas she was attracted
to the sacred remains of the saints as steel by the magnet. When relics were shown to her,
she knew what saints they had belonged to, and could give not only accounts of the
minutest and hitherto unknown particulars of their lives, but also histories of the relics
themselves, and of the places where they had been preserved. During her whole life she had
continual intercourse with the souls in purgatory; and all her actions and prayers were
offered for the relief of their sufferings. She was frequently called upon to assist them, and
even reminded in some miraculous manner, if she chanced to forget them. Often, while yet
very young, she used to be awakened out of her sleep by bands of suffering souls, and to
follow them on cold winter’s nights with bare feet, the whole length of the Way of the Cross
to Coesfeld, though the ground was covered with snow.
From her infancy to the day of her death she was indefatigable in relieving the sick, and
in dressing and curing wounds and ulcers, and she was accustomed to give to the poor every
farthing she possessed. So tender was her conscience, that the slightest sin she fell into
caused her such pain as to make her ill, and absolution then always restored her
immediately to health.

The extraordinary nature of the favours bestowed on her by Almighty God was no
hindrance in the way of her devoting herself to hard labour, like any other peasant-girl; and
we may also be allowed to observe that a certain degree of the spirit of prophecy is not
unusually to be found among her country men and women. She was taught in the school of
suffering and mortification, and there learned lessons of perfection. She allowed herself no
more sleep or food than was absolutely necessary; passed whole hours in prayer every night;
and in winter often knelt out of doors on the snow. She slept on the ground on planks
arranged in the form of a cross. Her food and drink consisted of what was rejected by others;
she always kept the best parts even of that for the poor and sick, and when she did not know
of anyone to give them to, she offered them to God in a spirit of child-like faith, begging
him to give them to some person who was more in need than herself. When there was
anything to be seen or heard which had no reference to God or religion, she found some
excuse for avoiding the spot to which others were hastening, or, if there, closed her eyes and
ears. She was accustomed to say that useless actions were sinful, and that when we denied
our bodily senses any gratification of this kind, we were amply repaid by the progress which
we made in the interior life, in the same manner as pruning renders vines and other fruittrees
more productive. From her early youth, and wherever she went, she had frequent
symbolical visions, which showed her in parables, as it were, the object of her existence, the
means of attaining it, and her future sufferings, together with the dangers and conflicts
which she would have to go through.

She was in her sixteenth year, when one day, whilst at work in the fields with her parents
and sisters, she heard the bell ringing at the Convent of the Sisters of the Annunciation, at
Coesfeld. This sound so inflamed her secret desire to become a nun, and had so great an
effect upon her, that she fainted away, and remained ill and weak for a long time after.
When in her eighteenth year she was apprenticed at Coesfeld to a dressmaker, with whom
she passed two years, and then returned to her parents. She asked to be received at the
Convents of the Augustinians at Borken, of the Trappists at Darfeld, and of the Poor Clares
at Munster; but her poverty, and that of these convents, always presented an insuperable
obstacle to her being received. At the age of twenty, having saved twenty thalers (about 3l.
English), which she had earned by her sewing, she went with this little sum—a perfect
fortune for a poor peasant-girl—to a pious organist of Coesfeld, whose daughter she had
known when she first lived in the town. Her hope was that, by learning to play on the organ,
she might succeed in obtaining admittance into a convent. But her irresistible desire to serve
the poor and give them everything she possessed left her no time to learn music, and before
long she had so completely stripped herself of everything, that her good mother was obliged
to bring her bread, milk, and eggs, for her own wants and those of the poor, with whom she
shared everything. Then her mother said: ‘Your desire to leave your father and myself, and
enter a convent, gives us much pain; but you are still my beloved child, and when I look at
your vacant seat at home, and reflect that you have given away all your savings, so as to be
now in want, my heart is filled with sorrow, and I have now brought you enough to keep
you for some time.’ Anne Catherine replied: ‘Yes, dear mother, it is true that I have nothing
at all left, because it was the holy will of God that others should be assisted by me; and since
I have given all to him, he will now take care of me, and bestow his divine assistance upon
us all.’ She remained some years at Coesfeld, employed in labour, good works, and prayer,
being always guided by the same inward inspirations. She was docile and submissive as a
child in the hands of her guardian-angel.

Although in this brief sketch of her life we are obliged to omit many interesting
circumstances, there is one which we must not pass over in silence. When about twenty-four
years of age, she received a favour from our Lord, which has been granted to many persons
devoted in an especial manner to meditation on his painful Passion; namely, to experience
the actual and visible sufferings of his sacred Head, when crowned with thorns. The
following is the account she herself has given of the circumstances under which so
mysterious a favour was bestowed upon her: ‘About four years previous to my admittance
into the convent, consequently in 1798, it happened that I was in the Jesuits’ Church at
Coesfeld, at about twelve o’clock in the day, kneeling before a crucifix and absorbed in
meditation, when all on a sudden I felt a strong but pleasant heat in my head, and I saw my
Divine Spouse, under the form of a young man clothed with light, come towards me from
the altar, where the Blessed Sacrament was preserved in the tabernacle. In his left hand he
held a crown of flowers, in his right hand a crown of thorns, and he bade me choose which I
would have. I chose the crown of thorns; he placed it on my head, and I pressed it down
with both hands. Then he disappeared, and I returned to myself, feeling, however, violent
pain around my head. I was obliged to leave the church, which was going to be closed. One
of my companions was kneeling by my side, and as I thought she might have seen what
happened to me, I asked her when we got home whether there was not a wound on my
forehead, and spoke to her in general terms of my vision, and of the violent pain which had
followed it. She could see nothing outwardly, but was not astonished at what I told her,
because she knew that I was sometimes in an extraordinary state, without her being able to
understand the cause. The next day my forehead and temples were very much swelled, and
I suffered terribly. This pain and swelling often returned, and sometimes lasted whole days
and nights. I did not remark that there was blood on my head until my companions told me
I had better put on a clean cap, because mine was covered with red spots. I let them think
whatever they liked about it, only taking care to arrange my head dress so as to hide the
blood which flowed from my head, and I continued to observe the same precaution even
after I entered the convent, where only one person perceived the blood, and she never
betrayed my secret.’

Several other contemplative persons, especially devoted to the passion of our Lord, have
been admitted to the privilege of suffering the torture inflicted by the crown of thorns, after
having seen a vision in which the two crowns were offered them to choose between, for
instance, among others, St. Catherine of Sienna, and Pasithea of Crogis, a Poor Clare of the
same town, who died in 1617.

The writer of these pages may here be allowed to remark that he himself has, in full
daylight, several times seen blood flow down the forehead and face, and even beyond the
linen wrapped round the neck of Anne Catherine. Her desire to embrace a religious life was
at length gratified. The parents of a young person whom the Augustinian nuns of Dulmen
wished to receive into their order, declared that they would not give their consent except on
condition that Anne Catherine was taken at the same time. The nuns yielded their assent,
though somewhat reluctantly, on account of their extreme poverty; and on the 13th
November 1802, one week before the feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin, Anne
Catherine entered on her novitiate. At the present day vocations are not so severely tested as
formerly; but in her case, Providence imposed special trials, for which, rigorous as they
were, she felt she never could be too grateful. Sufferings or privations, which a soul, either
alone or in union with others, imposes upon herself, for God’s greater glory, are easy to
bear; but there is one cross more nearly resembling the cross of Christ than any other, and
that is, lovingly and patiently to submit to unjust punishment, rebuffs, or accusations. It was
the will of God that during her year’s novitiate she should, independently of the will of any
creature, be tried as severely as the most strict mistress of novices could have done before
any mitigations had been allowed in the rules. She learned to regard her companions as
instruments in the hands of God for her sanctification; and at a later period of her life many
other things appeared to her in the same light. But as it was necessary that her fervent soul
should be constantly tried in the school of the Cross, God was pleased that she should
remain in it all her life.

In many ways her position in the convent was excessively painful. Not one of her
companions, nor even any priest or doctor, could understand her case. She had learned,
when living among poor peasants, to hide the wonderful gifts which God had bestowed on
her; but the case was altered now that she was in familiar intercourse with a large number of
nuns, who, though certainly good and pious, were filled with ever-increasing feelings of
curiosity, and even of spiritual jealousy in her regard. Then, the contracted ideas of the
community, and the complete ignorance of the nuns concerning all those exterior
phenomena by which the interior life manifests itself, gave her much to endure, the more so,
as these phenomena displayed themselves in the most unusual and astonishing manner. She
heard everything that was said against her, even when the speakers were at on end of the
convent and she at the other, and her heart was most deeply wounded as if by poisoned
arrows. Yet she bore all patiently a lovingly without showing that she knew what was said
of her. More than once charity impelled her to cast herself at the feet of some nun who was
particularly prejudiced against her, and ask her pardon with tears. Then, she was suspected
of listening at the doors, for the private feelings of dislike entertained against her became
known, no one knew how, and the nuns felt uncomfortable and uneasy, in spite of
themselves, when in her company.

Whenever the rule (the minutest point of which was sacred in her eyes) was neglected in
the slightest degree, she beheld in spirit each infringement, and at times was inspired to fly
to the spot where the rule was being broken by some infringement of the vow of poverty, or
disregards of the hours of silence, and she would then repeat suitable passages from the rule,
without having ever learned them. She thus became an object of aversion to all those
religious who broke the rule; and her sudden appearance among them had almost the effect
of apparitions. God had bestowed upon her the gift of tears to so great an extent, that she
often passed whole hours in the church weeping over the sins and ingratitude of men, the
sufferings of the Church, the imperfections of the community, and her own faults. But these
tears of sublime sorrow could be understood by none but God, before whom she shed them,
and men attributed them to mere caprice, a spirit of discontent, or some other similar cause.
Her confessor had enjoined that she should receive the holy communion more frequently
than the other nuns, because, so ardently did she hunger after the bread of angels, that she
had been more than once near dying. These heavenly sentiments awakened feelings of
jealousy in her sisters, who sometimes even accused her of hypocrisy.

The favour which had been shown her in her admittance into the convent, in spite of her
poverty, was also made a subject of reproach. The thought of being thus an occasion of sin
to others was most painful to her, and she continually besought God to permit her to bear
herself the penalty of this want of charity in her regard. About Christmas, of the year 1802,
she had a very severe illness, which began by a violent pain about her heart.

This pain did not leave her even when she was cured, and she bore it in silence until the
year 1812, when the mark of a cross was imprinted exteriorly in the same place, as we shall
relate further on. Her weakness and delicate health caused her to be looked upon more as
burdensome than useful to the community; and this, of course, told against her in all ways,
yet she was never weary of working and serving the others, nor was she ever so happy as at
this period of her life—spent in privations and sufferings of every description.

On the 13th of November 1803, at the age of twenty-nine, she pronounced her solemn
vows, and became the spouse of Jesus Christ, in the Convent of Agnetenberg, at Dulmen.
‘When I had pronounced my vows,’ she says, ‘my relations were again extremely kind to
me. My father and my eldest brother brought me two pieces of cloth. My father, a good, but
stern man, and who had been much averse to my entering the convent, had told me, when
we parted, that he would willingly pay for my burial, but that he would give nothing for the
convent; and he kept his word, for this piece of cloth was the winding sheet used for my
spiritual burial in the convent.’

‘I was not thinking of myself,’ she says again, ‘I was thinking of nothing but our Lord
and my holy vows. My companions could not understand me; nor could I explain my state
to them. God concealed from them many of the favours which he bestowed upon me,
otherwise they would have had very false ideas concerning me. Notwithstanding all my
trials and sufferings, I was never more rich interiorly, and my soul was perfectly flooded
with happiness. My cell only contained one chair without a seat, and another without a
back; yet in my eyes, it was magnificently furnished, and when there I often thought myself
in Heaven. Frequently during the night, impelled by love and by the mercy of God, I poured
forth the feelings of my soul by conversing with him on loving and familiar language, as I
had always done from my childhood, and then those who were watching me would accuse
me of irreverence and disrespect towards God. Once, I happened to say that it appeared to
me that I should be guilty of greater disrespect did I receive the Body of our Lord without
having conversed familiarly with him, and I was severely reprimanded. Amid all these
trials, I yet lived in peace with God and with all his creatures. When I was working in the
garden, the birds would come and rest on my head and shoulders, and we would together
sing the praises of God. I always beheld my angel-guardian at my side, and although the
devil used frequently to assault and terrify me in various ways, he was never permitted to do
me much harm. My desire for the Blessed Sacrament was so irresistible, that often at night I
left my cell and went to the church, if it was open; but if not, I remained at the door or by
the walls, even in winter, kneeling or prostrate, with my arms extended in ecstasy. The
convent chaplain, who was so charitable as to come early to give me the Holy Communion,
used to find me in this state, but as soon as he was come and had opened the church, I
always recovered, and hastened to the holy table, there to receive my Lord and my God.
When I was sacristan, I used all on a sudden to feel myself ravished in spirit, and ascend to
the highest parts of the church, on to cornices, projecting parts of the building, and
mouldings, where it seemed impossible for any being to get by human means. Then I
cleaned and arranged everything, and it appeared to me that I was surrounded by blessed
spirits, who transported me about and held me up in their hands. Their presence did not
cause me the least uneasiness, for I had been accustomed to it from my childhood, and I
used to have the most sweet and familiar intercourse with them. It was only when I was in
the company of certain men that I was really alone; and so great was then my feeling of
loneliness that I could not help crying like a child that has strayed from home.’
We now proceed to her illnesses, omitting any description of some other remarkable
phenomena of her ecstatic life, only recommending the reader to compare the accounts we
have already given with what is related of St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi.

Anne Catherine had always been weak and delicate, and yet had been, from her earliest
childhood, in the habit of practising many mortifications, of fasting and of passing the night
in watching and prayer in the open air. She had been accustomed to continue hard labour in
the fields, at all seasons of the year, and her strength was also necessarily much tried by the
exhausting and supernatural states through which she so frequently passed. At the convent
she continued to work in the garden and in the house, whilst her spiritual labours and
sufferings were ever on the increase, so that it is by no means surprising that she was
frequently ill; but her illnesses arose from yet another cause. We have learned, from careful
observations made every day for the space of four years, and also from what she herself was
unwillingly forced to admit, that during the whole course of her life, and especially during
that part of it which she spent at the convent, when she enjoyed the highest spiritual favours,
a great portion of her illnesses and sufferings came from taking upon herself the sufferings of
others. Sometimes she asked for the illness of a person who did not bear it patiently, and
relieved him of the whole or of a part of his sufferings, by taking them upon herself;
sometimes, wishing to expiate a sin or put an end to some suffering, she gave herself up into
the hands of God, and he, accepting her sacrifice, permitted her thus, in union with the
merits of his passion, to expiate the sin by suffering some illness corresponding to it. She
had consequently to bear, not only her own maladies, but those also of others—to suffer in
expiation of the sins of her brethren, and of the faults and negligences of certain portions of
the Christian community—and, finally, to endure many and various sufferings in
satisfaction for the souls of purgatory. All these sufferings appeared like real illnesses, which
took the most opposite and variable forms, and she was placed entirely under the care of the
doctor, who endeavoured by earthly remedies to cure illnesses which in reality were the very
sources of her life. She said on this subject—‘Repose in suffering has always appeared to me
the most desirable condition possible. The angels themselves would envy us, were envy not
an imperfection. But for sufferings to bear really meritorious we must patiently and
gratefully accept unsuitable remedies and comforts, and all other additional trials. I did not
myself fully understand my state, nor know what it was to lead to. In my soul I accepted my
different sufferings, but in my body it was my duty to strive against them. I had given myself
wholly and entirely to my Heavenly Spouse, and his holy will was being accomplished in
me; but I was living on earth, where I was not to rebel against earthly wisdom and earthly
prescriptions. Even had I fully comprehended my state, and had both time and power to
explain it, there was no one near who would have been able to understand me. A doctor
would simply have concluded that I was entirely mad, and would have increased his
expensive and painful remedies tenfold. I have suffered much in this way during the whole
of my life, and particularly when I was at the convent, from having unsuitable remedies
administered to me. Often, when my doctors and nurses had reduced me to the last agony,
and that I was near death, God took pity on me, and sent me some supernatural assistance,
which effected an entire cure.’

Four years before the suppression of her convent she went to Flamske for two days to
visit her parents. Whilst there she went once to kneel and pray for some hours before the
miraculous Cross of the Church of St. Lambert, at Coesfeld. She besought the Almighty to
bestow the gifts of peace and unity upon her convent, offered him the Passion of Jesus
Christ for that intention, and implored him to allow her to feel a portion of the sufferings
which were endured by her Divine Spouse on the Cross. From the time that she made this
prayer her hands and feet became burning and painful, and she suffered constantly from
fever, which she believed was the cause of the pain in her hands and feet, for she did not
dare to think that her prayer had been granted. Often she was unable to walk, and the pain
in her hands prevented her from working as usual in the garden. On the 3rd December 1811,
the convent was suppressed, and the church closed. (Under the Government of Jerome
Bonaparte, King of Westphalia.) The nuns dispersed in all directions, but Anne Catherine
remained, poor and ill. A kindhearted servant belonging to the monastery attended upon
her out of charity, and an aged emigrant priest, who said Mass in the convent, remained
also with her. These three individuals, being the poorest of the Community, did not leave
the convent until the spring of 1812. She was still very unwell, and could not be moved
without great difficulty. The priest lodged with a poor widow who lived in the
neighbourhood, and Anne Catherine had in the same house a wretched little room on the
ground-floor, which looked on the street. There she lived, in poverty and sickness, until the
autumn of 1813. Her ecstasies in prayer, and her spiritual intercourse with the invisible
world, became more and more frequent. She was about to be called to a state with which
she was herself but imperfectly acquainted, and in order to enter which she did nothing but
submissively abandon herself to the will of God. Our Lord was pleased about this time to
imprint upon her virginal body the stigmas of his cross and of his crucifixion, which were to
the Jews a stumbling-block, and to the Gentiles folly, and to many persons who call
themselves Christians, both the one and the other. From her very earliest childhood she had
besought our Lord to impress the marks of his cross deeply upon her heart, that so she might
never forget his infinite love for men; but she had never thought of receiving any outward
marks. Rejected by the world, she prayed more fervently than ever for this end. On the 28th
of August, the feast of St. Augustine, the patron of her order, as she was making this prayer
in bed, ravished in ecstasy and her arms stretched forth, she beheld a young man approach
her surrounded with light. It was under this form that her Divine Spouse usually appeared
to her, and he now made upon her body with his right hand the mark of a common cross.
From this time there was a mark like a cross upon her bosom, consisting of two bands
crossed, about three inches long and one wide. Later the skin often rose in blisters on this
place, as if from a burn, and when these blisters burst a burning colourless liquid issued from
them, sometimes in such quantities as to soak through several sheets. She was long without
perceiving what the case really was, and only thought that she was in a strong perspiration.
The particular meaning of this mark has never been known.

On the 19th of February 1822 she was again warned that she would suffer on the last
Friday of March, and not on Good Friday.
On Friday the 15th, and again on Friday the 29th, the cross on her bosom and the wound
of her side bled. Before the 29th, she more than once felt as though a stream of fire were
flowing rapidly from her heart to her side, and down her arms and legs to the stigmas,
which looked red and inflamed. On the evening of Thursday the 28th, she fell into a state of
contemplation on the Passion, and remained in it until Friday evening. Her chest, head, and
side bled; all the veins of her hands were swollen, and there was a painful spot in the centre
of them, which felt damp, although blood did not flow from it. No blood flowed from the
stigmas excepting upon the 3rd of March, the day of the finding of the holy Cross. She had
also a vision of the discovery of the true cross by St. Helena, and imagined herself to be
lying in the excavation near the cross. Much blood came in the morning from her head and
side, and in the afternoon from her hands and feet, and it seemed to her as though she were
being made the test of whether the cross was really the Cross of Jesus Christ, and that her
blood was testifying to its identity.

In the year 1823, on Holy Thursday and Good Friday, which came on the 27th and 28th of
March, she had visions of the Passion, during which blood flowed from all her wounds,
causing her intense pain. Amid these awful sufferings, although ravished in spirit, she was
obliged to speak and give answers concerning all her little household affairs, as if she had
been perfectly strong and well, and she never let fall a complaint, although nearly dying.
This was the last time that her blood gave testimony to the reality of her union with the
sufferings of him who has delivered himself up wholly and entirely for our salvation. Most
of the phenomena of the ecstatic life which are shown us in the lives and writings of Saints
Bridget, Gertrude, Mechtilde, Hildegarde, Catherine of Sienna, Catherine of Genoa,
Catherine of Bologna, Colomba da Rieti, Lidwina of Schiedam, Catherine Vanini, Teresa of
Jesus, Anne of St. Bartholomew, Magdalen of Pazzi, Mary Villana, Mary Buonomi, Marina
d’ Escobar, Crescentia de Kaufbeuern, and many other nuns of contemplative orders, are
also to be found in the history of the interior life of Anne Catherine Emmerich. The same
path was marked out for her by God. Did she, like these holy women, attain the end? God
alone knows. Our part is only to pray that such may have been the case, and we are allowed
to hope it. Those among our readers who are not acquainted with the ecstatic life from the
writings of those who have lived it, will find information on this subject in the Introduction
of Goërres to the writings of Henry Suso, published at Ratisbonne in 1829.
Since many pious Christians, in order to render their life one perpetual act of adoration,
endeavour to see in their daily employments a symbolical representation of some manner of
honouring God, and offer it to him in union with the merits of Christ, it cannot appear
extraordinary that those holy souls who pass from an active life to one of suffering and
contemplation, should sometimes see their spiritual labours under the form of those earthly
occupations which formerly filled their days. Then their acts were prayers; now their prayers
are acts; but the form remains the same. It was thus that Anne Catherine, in her ecstatic life,
beheld the series of her prayers for the Church under the forms of parables bearing reference
to agriculture, gardening, weaving, sowing, or the care of sheep. All these different
occupations were arranged, according to their signification, in the different periods of the
common as well as the ecclesiastical year, and were pursued under the patronage and with
the assistance of the saints of each day, the special graces of the corresponding feasts of the
Church being also applied to them. The signification of this circles of symbols had reference
to all the active part of her interior life. One example will help to explain our meaning.
When Anne Catherine, while yet a child, was employed in weeding, she besought God to
root up the cockle from the field of the Church. If her hands were stung by the nettles, or if
she was obliged to do afresh the work of idlers, she offered to God her pain and her fatigue,
and besought him, in the name of Jesus Christ, that the pastor of souls might not become
weary, and that none of them might cease to labour zealously and diligently. Thus her
manual labour became a prayer.

I will now give a corresponding example of her life of contemplation and ecstasy. She
had been ill several times, and in a state of almost continual ecstasy, during which she often
moaned, and moved her hands like a person employed in weeding. She complained one
morning that her hands and arms smarted and itched, and on examination they were found
to be covered with blisters, like what would have been produced by the stinging of nettles.
She then begged several persons of her acquaintance to join their prayers to hers for a
certain intention. The next day her hands were inflamed and painful, as they would have
been after hard work; and when asked the cause, she replied: ‘Ah! I have so many nettles to
root up in the vineyard, because those whose duty it was to do it only pulled off the stems,
and I was obliged to draw the roots with much difficulty out of a stony soil.’ The person
who had asked her the question began to blame these careless workmen, but he felt much
confused when she replied: ‘You were one of them,—those who only pull off the stems of
the nettles, and leave the roots in the earth, are persons who pray carelessly.’ It was
afterwards discovered that she had been praying for several dioceses which were shown to
her under the figure of vineyards laid waste, and in which labour was needed. The real
inflammation of her hands bore testimony to this symbolical rooting up of the nettles; and
we have, perhaps, reason to hope that the churches shown to her under the appearances of
vineyards experienced the good effects of her prayer and spiritual labour; for since the door
is opened to those who knock, it must certainly be opened above all to those who knock
with such energy as to cause their fingers to be wounded.

Similar reactions of the spirit upon the body are often found in the lives of persons subject
to ecstasies, and are by no means contrary to faith. St. Paula, if we may believe St. Jerome,
visited the holy places in spirit just as if she had visited them bodily; and a like thing
happened to St. Colomba of Rieti and St. Lidwina of Schiedam. The body of the latter bore
tracks of this spiritual journey, as if she had really travelled; she experienced all the fatigue
that a painful journey would cause: her feet were wounded and covered with marks which
looked as if they had been made by stones or thorns, and finally she had a sprain from
which she long suffered.

She was led on this journey by her guardian angel, who told her that these corporeal
wounds signified that she had been ravished in body and spirit.
Similar hurts were also to be seen upon the body of Anne Catherine immediately after
some of her visions. Lidwina began her ecstatic journey by following her good angel to the
chapel of the Blessed Virgin before Schiedam; Anne Catherine began hers by following her
angel guardian either to the chapel which was near her dwelling, or else to the Way of the
Cross of Coesfeld.

Her journeys to the Holy Land were made, according to the accounts she gave of them,
by the most opposite roads; sometimes even she went all round the earth, when the task
spiritually imposed upon her required it. In the course of these journeys from her home to
the most distant countries, she carried assistance to many persons, exercising in their regard
works of mercy, both corporal and spiritual, and this was done frequently in parables. At the
end of a year she would go over the same ground again, see the same persons, and give an
account of their spiritual progress or of their relapse into sin. Every part of this labour
always bore some reference to the Church, and to the kingdom of God upon earth.
The end of these daily pilgrimages which she made in spirit was invariably the Promised
Land, every part of which she examined in detail, and which she saw sometimes in its
present state, and sometimes as it was at different periods of sacred history; for her
distinguishing characteristic and special privilege was an intuitive knowledge of the history
of the Old and New Testaments, and of that of the members of the Holy Family, and of all
the saints whom she was contemplating in spirit. She saw the signification of all the festival
days of the ecclesiastical year under both a devotional and a historical point of view. She
saw and described, day by day, with the minutest detail, and by name, places, persons,
festivals, customs, and miracles, all that happened during the public life of Jesus until the
Ascension, and the history of the Apostles for several weeks after the Descent of the Holy
Ghost. She regarded al her visions not as mere spiritual enjoyments, but as being, so to
speak, fertile fields, plentifully strewn with the merits of Christ, and which had not as yet
been cultivated; she was often engaged in spirit in praying that the fruit of such and such
sufferings of our Lord might be given to the Church, and she would beseech God to apply to
his Church the merits of our Saviour which were its inheritance, and of which she would, as
it were, take possession, in its name, with the most touching simplicity and ingenuousness.
She never considered her visions to have any reference to her exterior Christian life, nor
did she regard them as being of any historical value. Exteriorly she knew and believed
nothing but the catechism, the common history of the Bible, the gospels for Sundays and
festivals, and the Christian almanac, which to her far-sighted vision was an inexhaustible
mine of hidden riches, since it gave her in a few pages a guiding thread which led her
through all time, and by means of which she passed from mystery to mystery, and
solemnised each with all the saints, in order to reap the fruits of eternity in time, and to
preserve and distribute them in her pilgrimage around the ecclesiastical year, that so the will
of God might be accomplished on earth as it is in Heaven. She had never read the Old or
the New Testaments, and when she was tired of relating her visions, she would sometimes
say: ‘Read that in the Bible,’ and then be astonished to learn that it was not there; ‘for,’ she
would add, ‘people are constantly saying in these days that you need read nothing but the
Bible, which contains everything, etc., etc.’

The real task of her life was to suffer for the Church and for some of its members, whose
distress was shown her in spirit, or who asked her prayers without knowing that this poor
sick nun had something more to do for them than to say the Pater noster, but that all their
spiritual and corporal sufferings became her own, and that she had to endure patiently the
most terrible pains, without being assisted, like the contemplatives of former days, by the
sympathising prayers of an entire community. In the age when she lived, she had no other
assistance than that of medicine. While thus enduring sufferings which she had taken upon
herself for others, she often turned her thoughts to the corresponding sufferings of the
Church, and when thus suffering for one single person, she would likewise offer all she
endured for the whole Church.

The following is a remarkable instance of the sort: During several weeks she had every
symptom of consumption; violent irritation of the lungs, excessive perspiration, which
soaked her whole bed, a racking cough, continual expectoration, and a strong continual
fever. So fearful were her sufferings that her death was hourly expected and even desired. It
was remarked that she had to struggle strangely against a strong temptation to irritability.
Did she yield for an instant, she burst into tears, her sufferings increased tenfold, and she
seemed unable to exist unless she immediately gained pardon in the sacrament of penance.
She had also to combat a feeling of aversion to a certain person whom she had not seen for
years. She was in despair because this person, with whom nevertheless she declared she had
nothing in common, was always before her eyes in the most evil dispositions, and she wept
bitterly, and with much anxiety of conscience, saying that she would not commit sin, that
her grief must be evident to all, and other things which were quite unintelligible to the
persons listening to her. Her illness continued to increase, and she was thought to be on the
point of death. At this moment one of her friends saw her, to his great surprise, suddenly
raise herself up on her bed, and say:

‘Repeat with me the prayers for those in their last agony.’ He did as requested, and she
answered the Litany in a firm voice. After some little time, the bell for the agonising was
heard, and a person came in to ask Anne Catherine’s prayers for his sister, who was just
dead. Anne Catherine asked for details concerning her illness and death, as if deeply
interested in the subject, and the friend above-mentioned heard the account given by the
new comer of a consumption resembling in the minutest particulars the illness of Anne
Catherine herself. The deceased woman had at first been in so much pain and so disturbed
in mind that she had seemed quite unable to prepare herself for death; but during the last
fortnight she had been better, had made her peace with God, having in the first place been
reconciled to a person with whom she was at enmity, and had died in peace, fortified by the
last sacraments, and attended by her former enemy. Anne Catherine gave a small sum of
money for the burial and funeral-service of this person. Her sweatings, cough, and fever
now left her, and she resembled a person exhausted with fatigue, whose linen has been
changed, and who has been placed on a fresh bed. Her friend said to her, ‘When this fearful
illness came upon you, this woman grew better, and her hatred for another was the only
obstacle to her making peace with God. You took upon yourself, for the time, her feelings of
hatred, she died in good dispositions, and now you seem tolerably well again. Are you still
suffering on her account?’ ‘No, indeed!’ she replied; ‘that would be most unreasonable; but
how can any person avoid suffering when even the end of this little finger is in pain? We are
all one body in Christ.’ ‘By the goodness of God,’ said her friend, ‘you are now once more
somewhat at ease.’ ‘Not for very long, though,’ she replied with a smile; ‘there are other
persons who want my assistance.’ Then she turned round on her bed, and rested awhile.
A very few days later, she began to feel intense pain in all her limbs, and symptoms of
water on the chest manifested themselves. We discovered the sick person for whom Anne
Catherine was suffering, and we saw that his sufferings suddenly diminished or immensely
increased in exact inverse proportion to those of Anne Catherine.

Thus did charity compel her to take upon herself the illnesses and even the temptations of
others, that they might be able in peace to prepare themselves for death. She was compelled
to suffer in silence, both to conceal the weaknesses of her neighbour, and not to be regarded
as mad herself; she was obliged to receive all the aid that medicine could afford her for an
illness thus taken voluntarily for the relief of others, and to be reproached for temptations
which were not her own; finally, it was necessary that she should appear perverted in the
eyes of men; that so those for whom she was suffering might be converted before God.
One day a friend in deep affliction was sitting by her bedside, when she suddenly fell into
a state of ecstasy, and began to pray aloud: ‘O, my sweet Jesus, permit me to carry that
heavy stone!’ Her friend asked her what was the matter. ‘I am on my way to Jerusalem,’ she
replied, ‘and I see a poor man walking along with the greatest difficulty, for there is a large
stone upon his breast, the weight of which nearly crushes him.’ Then again, after a few
moments, she exclaimed: ‘Give me that heavy stone, you cannot carry it any farther; give it
to me.’ All on a sudden she sank down fainting, as if crushed beneath some heavy burden,
and at the same moment her friend felt himself relieved from the weight of sorrow which
oppressed him, and his heart overflowing with extraordinary happiness. Seeing her in such a
state of suffering, he asked her what the matter was, and she looking at him with a smile,
replied: ‘I cannot remain here any longer. Poor man, you must take back your burden.’
Instantly her friend felt all the weight of his affliction return to him, whilst she, becoming as
well again as before, continued her journey in spirit to Jerusalem.

We will give one more example of her spiritual exertions. One morning she gave her
friend a little bag containing some rye-flour and eggs, and pointed out to him a small house
where a poor woman, who was in a consumption, was living with her husband and two
little children. He was to tell her to boil and take them, as when boiled they would be good
for her chest. The friend, on entering the cottage, took the bag from under his cloak, when
the poor mother, who, flushed with fever, was lying on a mattress between her half-naked
children fixed her eyes bright upon him, and holding out her thin hands, exclaimed: ‘O, sir,
it must be God or Sister Emmerich who sends you to me! You are bringing me some ryeflour
and eggs.’ Here the poor woman, overcome by her feelings, burst into tears, and then
began to cough so violently that she had to make a sign to her husband to speak for her. He
said that the previous night Gertrude had been much disturbed, and had talked a great deal
in her sleep, and that on awaking she had told him her dream in these words: ‘I thought that
I was standing at the door with you, when the holy nun came out of the door of the next
house, and I told you to look at her. She stopped in front of us, and said to me: “Ah,
Gertrude, you look very ill; I will send you some rye-flour and eggs, which will relieve your
chest.” Then I awoke.’ Such was the simple tale of the poor man; he and his wife both
eagerly expressed their gratitude, and the bearer of Anne Catherine’s alms left the house
much overcome. He did not tell her anything of this when he saw her, but a few days after,
she sent him again to the same place with a similar present, and he then asked her how it
was she knew that poor woman? ‘You know,’ she replied, ‘that I pray every evening for all
those who suffer; I should like to go and relieve them, and I generally dream that I am
going from one abode of suffering to another, and that I assist them to the best of my power.
In this way I went in my dream to that poor woman’s house; she was standing at the door
with her husband, and I said to her: “Ah, Gertrude, you look very ill; I will send you some
rye-flour and eggs, which will relieve your chest.” And this I did through you, the next
morning.’ Both persons had remained in their beds, and dreamed the same thing, and the
dream came true. St. Augustine, in his City of God, book 18, c. 18, relates a similar thing of
two philosophers, who visited each other in a dream, and explained some passages of Plato,
both remaining asleep in their own houses.

These sufferings, and this peculiar species of active labour, were like a single ray of light,
which enlightened her whole life. Infinite was the number of spiritual labours and
sympathetic sufferings which came from all parts and entered into her heart—that heart so
burning with love of Jesus Christ. Like St. Catherine of Sienna and some other ecstatics, she
often felt the most profound feeling of conviction that our Saviour had taken her heart out of
her bosom, and placed his own there instead for a time.
The following fragment will give some idea of the mysterious symbolism by which she
was interiorly directed. During a portion of the year 1820 she performed many labours in
spirit, for several different parishes; her prayers being represented under the figure of most
severe labour in a vineyard. What we have above related concerning the nettles is of the
same character.

On the 6th of September her heavenly guide said to her: ‘ “You weeded, dug around, tied,
and pruned the vine; you ground down the weeds so that they could never spring up
anymore; and then you went away joyfully and rested from your prayers. Prepare now to
labour hard from the feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin to that of St. Michael; the
grapes are ripening and must be well watched.” Then he led me,’ she continued, ‘to the
vineyard of St. Liboire, and showed me the vines at which I had worked. My labour had
been successful, for the grapes were getting their colour and growing large, and in some
parts the red juice was running down on the ground from them. My guide said to me:
“When the virtues of the good begin to shine forth in public, they have to combat bravely, to
be oppressed, to be tempted, and to suffer persecution. A hedge must be planted around the
vineyard in order that the ripe grapes may not be destroyed by thieves and wild beasts, i.e.
by temptation and persecution.” He then showed me how to build a wall by heaping up
stones, and to raise a thick hedge of thorns all around. As my hands bled from such severe
labour, God, in order to give me strength, permitted me to see the mysterious signification
of the vine, and of several other fruit trees. Jesus Christ is the true Vine, who is to take root
and grow in us; all useless wood must be cut away, in order not to waste the sap, which is to
become the wine, and in the Most Blessed Sacrament the Blood of Christ. The pruning of
the vine has to be done according to certain rules which were made known to me. This
pruning is, in a spiritual sense, the cutting off whatever is useless, penance and
mortification, that so the true Vine may grow in us, and bring forth fruit, in the place of
corrupt nature, which only bears wood and leaves. The pruning is done according to fixed
rules, for it is only required that certain useless shoots should be cut off in man, and to lop
off more would be to mutilate in a guilty manner. No pruning should ever be done upon the
stock which has been planted in humankind through the Blessed Virgin, and is to remain in
it for ever. The true Vine unites heaven to earth, the Divinity to humanity; and it is the
human part that is to be pruned, that so the divine alone may grow. I saw so many other
things relating to the vine that a book as large as the Bible could not contain them. One day,
when I was suffering acute pain in my chest, I besought our Lord with groans not to give me
a burthen above my strength to bear; and then my Heavenly Spouse appeared, and said to
me, … “I have laid thee on my nuptial couch, which is a couch of suffering; I have given
thee suffering and expiation for thy bridal garments and jewels. Thou must suffer, but I will
not forsake thee; thou art fastened to the Vine, and thou wilt not be lost.” Then I was
consoled for all my sufferings. It was likewise explained to me why in my visions relating to
the feasts of the family of Jesus, such, for instance, as those of St. Anne, St. Joachim, St.
Joseph, etc., I always saw the Church of the festival under the figure of a shoot of the vine.
The same was the case on the festivals of St. Francis of Assisi, St. Catherine of Sienna, and
of all the saints who have had the stigmas.

‘The signification of my sufferings in all my limbs was explained to me in the following
vision: I saw a gigantic human body in a horrible state of mutilation, and raised upwards
towards the sky. There were no fingers or toes on the hands and feet, the body was covered
with frightful wounds, some of which were fresh and bleeding, others covered with dead
flesh or turned into excrescences. The whole of one side was black, gangrened, and as it
were half eaten away. I suffered as though it had been my own body that was in this state,
and then my guide said to me “This is the body of the Church, the body of all men and
thine also.” Then, pointing to each wound, he showed me at the same time some part of the
world; I saw an infinite number of men and nations separated from the Church, all in their
own peculiar way, and I felt pain as exquisite from this separation as if they had been torn
from my body. Then my guide said to me: “Let thy sufferings teach thee a lesson, and offer
them to God in union with those of Jesus for all who are separated. Should not one member
call upon another, and suffer in order to cure and unite it once more to the body? When
those parts which are most closely united to the body detach themselves, it is as though the
flesh were torn from around the heart.” In my ignorance, I thought that he was speaking of
those brethren who are not in communion with us, but my guide added: “Who are our
brethren? It is not our blood relations who are the nearest to our hearts, but those who are
our brethren in the blood of Christ—the children of the Church who fall away.” He showed
me that the black and gangrened side of the body would soon be cured; that the putrefied
flesh which had collected around the wounds represented heretics who divide one from the
other in proportion as they increase; that the dead flesh was the figure of all who are
spiritually dead, and who are void of any feeling; and that the ossified parts represented
obstinate and hardened heretics. I saw and felt in this manner every wound and its
signification. The body reached up to heaven. It was the body of the Bride of Christ, and
most painful to behold. I wept bitterly, but feeling at once deeply grieved and strengthened
by sorrow and compassion, I began again to labour with all my strength.’

Sinking beneath the weight of life and of the task imposed upon her she often besought
God to deliver her, and she then would appear to be on the very brink of the grave. But each
time she would say: ‘Lord, not my will but thine be done! If my prayers and sufferings are
useful let me live a thousand years, but grant that I may die rather than ever offend thee.’
Then she would receive orders to live, and arise, taking up her cross, once more to bear it in
patience and suffering after her Lord. From time to time the road of life which she was
pursuing used to be shown to her, leading to the top of a mountain on which was a shining
and resplendent city—the heavenly Jerusalem. Often she would think she had arrived at that
blissful abode, which seemed to be quite near her, and her joy would be great. But all on a
sudden she would discover that she was still separated from it by a valley and then she
would have to descend precipices and follow indirect paths, labouring, suffering, and
performing deeds of charity everywhere. She had to direct wanderers into the right road,
raise up the fallen, sometimes even carry the paralytic, and drag the unwilling by force, and
all these deeds of charity were as so many fresh weights fastened to her cross. Then she
walked with more difficulty, bending beneath her burden and sometimes even falling to the
ground.

Whoever compares the following meditations with the short history of the Last Supper
given in the Gospel will discover some slight differences between them. An explanation
should be given of this, although it can never be sufficiently impressed upon the reader that
these writings have no pretensions whatever to add an iota to Sacred Scripture as interpreted
by the Church.
Sister Emmerich saw the events of the Last Supper take place in the following order:—
The Paschal Lamb was immolated and prepared in the supper-room; our Lord held a
discourse on that occasion—the guests were dressed as travellers, and ate, standing, the
lamb and other food prescribed by the law—the cup of wine was twice presented to our
Lord, but he did not drink of it the second time; distributing it to his Apostles with these
words: I shall drink no more of the fruit of the vine, etc. Then they sat down; Jesus spoke of the
traitor; Peter feared lest it should be himself; Judas received from our Lord the piece of
bread dipped, which was the sign that it was he; preparations were made for the washing of
the feet; Peter strove against his feet being washed; then came the institution of the Holy
Eucharist: Judas communicated, and afterwards left the apartment; the oils were
consecrated, and instructions given concerning them; Peter and the other Apostles received
ordination; our Lord made his final discourse; Peter protested that he would never abandon
him; and then the Supper concluded. By adopting this order, it appears, at first, as though it
were in contradiction to the passages of St. Matthew (31:29), and of St. Mark (14:26), in
which the words: I will drink no more of the fruit of the vine, etc., come after the consecration,
but in St. Luke, they come before. On the contrary, all that concerns the traitor Judas comes
here, as in St. Matthew and St. Mark, before the consecration; whereas in St. Luke, it does
not come till afterwards. St. John, who does not relate the history of the institution of the
Holy Eucharist, gives us to understand that Judas went out immediately after Jesus had
given him the bread; but it appears most probable, from the accounts of the other
Evangelists, that Judas received the Holy Communion under both forms, and several of the
fathers—St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, and St. Leo the Great—as well as the
tradition of the Catholic Church, tell us expressly that such was the case. Besides, were the
order in which St. John presents events taken literally, he would contradict, not only
St. Matthew and St. Mark, but himself, for it must follow, from verse 10, chap. 13, that
Judas also had his feet washed. Now, the washing of the feet took place after the eating of
the Paschal lamb, and it was necessarily whilst it was being eaten that Jesus presented the
bread to the traitor. It is plain that the Evangelists here, as in several other parts of their
writings, gave their attention to the sacred narrative as a whole, and did not consider
themselves bound to relate every detail in precisely the same order, which fully explains the
apparent contradictions of each other, which are to be found in their Gospels. The following
pages will appear to the attentive reader rather a simple and natural concordance of the
Gospels than a history differing in any point of the slightest importance from that of
Scripture.

On the southern side of Mount Sion, not far from the ruined Castle of David, and the
market held on the ascent leading to that Castle, there stood, towards the east, an ancient
and solid building, between rows of thick trees, in the midst of a spacious court surrounded
by strong walls. To the right and left of the entrance, other buildings were to be seen
adjoining the wall, particularly to the right, where stood the dwelling of the major-domo,
and close to it the house in which the Blessed Virgin and the holy women spent most of
their time after the death of Jesus. The supper-room, which was originally larger, had
formerly been inhabited by David’s brave captains, who had there learned the use of arms.
Previous to the building of the Temple, the Ark of the Covenant had been deposited there
for a considerable length of time, and traces of its presence were still to be found in an
underground room. I have also seen the Prophet Malachy hidden beneath this same roof: he
there wrote his prophecies concerning the Blessed Sacrament and the Sacrifice of the New
Law. Solomon held this house in honour, and performed within its walls some figurative
and symbolical action, which I have forgotten. When a great part of Jerusalem was
destroyed by the Babylonians, this house was spared. I have seen many other things
concerning this same house, but I only remember what I have now told.
This building was in a very dilapidated state when it became the property of Nicodemus
and Joseph of Arimathea, who arranged the principal building in a very suitable manner,
and let it as a supper-room to strangers coming to Jerusalem for the purpose of celebrating
the festival of the Pasch. Thus it was that our Lord had made use of it the previous year.
Moreover, the house and surrounding buildings served as warehouses for monuments and
other stones, and as workshops for the labourers; for Joseph of Arimathea possessed
valuable quarries in his own country, from which he had large blocks of stone brought, that
his workmen might fashion them, under his own eye, into tombs, architectural ornaments,
and columns, for sale. Nicodemus had a share in this business, and used to spend many
leisure hours himself in sculpturing. He worked in the room, or in a subterraneous
apartment which saw beneath it, excepting at the times of the festivals; and this occupation
having brought him into connection with Joseph of Arimathea, they had become friends,
and often joined together in various transactions.
This morning, whilst Peter and John were conversing with the man who had hired the
supper-room, I saw Nicodemus in the buildings to the left of the court, where a great many
stones which filled up the passages leading to the supper-room had been placed. A week
before, I had seen several persons engaged in putting the stones on one side, cleaning the
court, and preparing the supper-room for the celebration of the Pasch; it even appears to me
that there were among them some disciples of our Lord, perhaps Aram and Themein, the
cousins of Joseph of Arimathea.
The supper-room, properly so called, was nearly in the centre of the court; its length was
greater than its width; it was surrounded by a row of low pillars, and if the spaces between
the pillars had been cleared, would have formed a part of the large inner room, for the
whole edifice was, as it were, transparent; only it was usual, except on special occasions, for
the passages to be closed up. The room was lighted by apertures at the top of the walls. In
front, there was first a vestibule, into which three doors gave entrance; next, the large inner
room, where several lamps hung from the platform; the walls were ornamented for the
festival, half way up, with beautiful matting or tapestry, and an aperture had been made in
the roof, and covered over with transparent blue gauze.
The back part of this room was separated from the rest by a curtain, also of blue
transparent gauze. This division of the supper-room into three parts gave a resemblance to
the Temple—thus forming the outer Court, the Holy, and the Holy of Holies. In the last of
these divisions, on both sides, the dresses and other things necessary for the celebration of
the feast were placed. In the centre there was a species of altar. A stone bench raised on
three steps, and of a rectangular triangular shape, came out of the wall; it must have
constituted the upper part of the oven used for roasting the Paschal Lamb, for to-day the
steps were quite heated during the repast. I cannot describe in detail all that there was in this
part of the room, but all kinds of arrangements were being made there for preparing the
Paschal Supper. Above this hearth of altar, there was a species of niche in the wall, in front
of which I saw an image of the Paschal Lamb, with a knife in its throat, and the blood
appearing to flow drop by drop upon the altar; but I do not remember distinctly how that
was done. In a niche in the wall there were three cupboards of various colours, which
turned like our tabernacles, for opening or closing. A number of vessels used in the
celebration of the Pasch were kept in them; later, the Blessed Sacrament was placed there.
In the rooms at the sides of the supper-room, there were some couches, on which thick
coverlids rolled up were placed, and which could be used as beds. There were spacious
cellars beneath the whole of this building. The Ark of the Covenant was formerly deposited
under the very spot where the hearth was afterwards built. Five gutters, under the house,
served to convey the refuse to the slope of the hill, on the upper part of which the house was
built. I had preciously seen Jesus preach and perform miraculous cures there, and the
disciples frequently passed the night in the side rooms.

The chalice which the Apostles brought from Veronica’s house was wonderful and
mysterious in its appearance. It had been kept a long time in the Temple among other
precious objects of great antiquity, the use and origin of which had been forgotten. The
same has been in some degree the case in the Christian Church, where many consecrated
jewels have been forgotten and fallen into disuse with time. Ancient vases and jewels, buried
beneath the Temple, had often been dug up, sold, or reset. Thus it was that, by God’s
permission, this holy vessel, which none had ever been able to melt down on account of its
being made of some unknown material, and which had been found by the priests in the
treasury of the Temple among other objects no longer made use of, had been sold to some
antiquaries. It was bought by Seraphia, was several times made use of by Jesus in the
celebration of festivals, and, from the day of the Last Supper, became the exclusive property
of the holy Christian community. This vessel was not always the same as when used by our
Lord at his Last Supper, and perhaps it was upon that occasion that the various pieces
which composed it were first put together. The great chalice stood upon a plate, out of
which a species of tablet could also be drawn, and around it there were six little glasses. The
great chalice contained another smaller vase; above it there was a small plate, and then
came a round cover. A spoon was inserted in the foot of the chalice, and could be easily
drawn out for use. All these different vessels were covered with fine linen, and, if I am not
mistaken, were wrapped up in a case made of leather. The great chalice was composed of
the cup and of the foot, which last must have been joined on to it at a later period, for it was
of a different material. The cup was pear-shaped, massive, dark-coloured, and highly
polished, with gold ornaments, and two small handles by which it could be lifted. The foot
was of virgin gold, elaborately worked, ornamented with a serpent and a small bunch of
grapes, and enriched with precious stones.
The chalice was left in the Church of Jerusalem, in the hand of St. James the Less; and I
see that it is still preserved in that town—it will reappear some day, in the same manner as
before. Other Churches took the little cups which surrounded it; one was taken to Antioch,
and another to Ephesus. They belonged to the patriarchs, who drank some mysterious
beverage out of them when they received or gave a Benediction, as I have seen many times.
The great chalice had formerly been in the possession of Abraham; Melchisedech
brought it with him from the land of Semiramis to the land of Canaan, when he was
beginning to found some settlements on the spot where Jerusalem was afterwards built; he
made use of it then for offering sacrifice, when he offered bread and wine in the presence of
Abraham, and he left it in the possession of that holy patriarch. This same chalice had also
been preserved in Noah’s Ark.

Jesus and his disciples ate the Paschal Lamb in the supper-room. They divided into three
groups. Jesus ate the Paschal Lamb with the twelve Apostles in the supper-room, properly
so called; Nathaniel with twelve other disciples in one of the lateral rooms, and Eliacim (the
son of Cleophas and Mary, the daughter of Heli), who had been a disciple of John the
Baptist, with twelve more, in another side-room.
Three lambs were immolated for them in the Temple, but there was a fourth lamb which
was immolated in the supper-room, and was the one eaten by Jesus with his Apostles. Judas
was not aware of this circumstance, because being engaged in plotting his betrayal of our
Lord, he only returned a few moments before the repast, and after the immolation of the
lamb had taken place. Most touching was the scene of the immolation of the lamb to be
eaten by Jesus and his Apostles; it took place in the vestibule of the supper-room. The
Apostles and disciples were present, singing the 118th Psalm. Jesus spoke of a new period
then beginning, and said that the sacrifice of Moses and the figure of the Paschal Lamb were
about to receive their accomplishment, but that on this very account, the lamb was to be
immolated in the same manner as formerly in Egypt, and that they were really about to go
forth from the house of bondage.
The vessels and necessary instruments were prepared, and then the attendants brought a
beautiful little lamb, decorated with a crown, which was sent to the Blessed Virgin in the
room where she had remained with the other holy women. The lamb was fastened with its
back against a board by a cord around its body, and reminded me of Jesus tied to the pillar
and scourged. The son of Simeon held the lamb’s head; Jesus made a slight incision in its
neck with the point of a knife, which he then gave to the son of Simeon, that he might
complete killing it. Jesus appeared to inflict the wound with a feeling of repugnance, and he
was quick in his movements, although his countenance was grave, and his manner such as
to inspire respect. The blood flowed into a basin, and the attendants brought a branch of
hyssop, which Jesus dipped in it. Then he went to the door of the room, stained the sideposts
and the lock with blood, and placed the branch which had been dipped in blood above
the door. He then spoke to the disciples, and told them, among other things, that the
exterminating angel would pass by, that they would adore in that room without fear or
anxiety, when he, the true Paschal Lamb, should have been immolated—that a new epoch
and a new sacrifice were about to begin, which would last to the end of the world.
They then went to the other side of the room, near the hearth where the Ark of the
Covenant had formerly stood. Fire had already been lighted there, and Jesus poured some
blood upon the hearth, consecrating it as an altar; and the remainder of the blood and the fat
were thrown on the fire beneath the altar, after which Jesus, followed by his Apostles,
walked round the supper-room, singing some psalms, and consecrating it as a new Temple.
The doors were all closed during this time. Meanwhile the son of Simeon had completed the
preparation of the lamb. He passed a stake through its body, fastening the front legs on a
cross piece of wood; and stretching the hind ones along the stake. It bore a strong
resemblance to Jesus on the cross, and was placed in the oven, to be there roasted with the
three other lambs brought from the Temple.
The Paschal Lambs of the Jews were all immolated in the vestibule of the Temple, but in
different parts, according as the persons who were to eat them were rich, or poor, or
strangers.1 The Paschal Lamb belonging to Jesus was not immolated in the Temple, but
everything else was done strictly according to the law. Jesus again addressed his disciples,
saying that the lamb was but a figure, that he himself would next day be the true Paschal
Lamb, together with other things which I have forgotten.
When Jesus had finished his instructions concerning the Paschal Lamb and its
signification, the time being come, and Judas also returned, the tables were set out. The
disciples put on travelling dresses which were in the vestibule, different shoes, a white robe
resembling a shirt, and a cloak, which was short in front and longer behind, their sleeves
were large and turned back, and they girded up their clothes around the waist. Each party
went to their own table; and two sets of disciples in the side rooms, and our Lord and his
Apostles in the supper-room. They held staves in their hands, and went two and two to the
table, where they remained standing, each in his own place, with the stave resting on his
arms, and his hands upraised.
The table was narrow, and about half a foot higher than the knees of a man; in shape it
resembled a horseshoe, and opposite Jesus, in the inner part of the half-circle, there was a
space left vacant, that the attendants might be able to set down the dishes. As far as I can
remember, John, James the Greater, and James the Less sat on the right-hand of Jesus; after
them Bartholomew, and then, round the corner, Thomas and Judas Iscariot. Peter, Andrew,
and Thaddeus sat on the left of Jesus; next came Simon, and then (round the corner)
Matthew and Philip.
The Paschal Lamb was placed on a dish in the centre of the table. Its head rested on its
front legs, which were fastened to a cross-stick, its hind legs being stretched out, and the dish
was garnished with garlic. By the side there was a dish with the Paschal roast meat, then
came a plate with green vegetables balanced against each other, and another plate with
small bundles of bitter herbs, which had the appearance of aromatic herbs. Opposite Jesus
there was also one dish with different herbs, and a second containing a brown-coloured
sauce of beverage. The guest had before them some round loaves instead of plates, and they
used ivory knives.
After the prayer, the major-domo laid the knife for cutting the lamb on the table before
Jesus, who placed a cup of wine before him, and filled six other cups, each one of which
stood between two Apostles. Jesus blessed the wine and drank, and the Apostles drank two
together out of one cup. Then our Lord proceeded to cut up the lamb; his Apostles
presented their pieces of bread in turn, and each received his share. They ate it in haste,
separating the flesh from the bone, by means of their ivory knives, and the bones were
afterwards burnt. They also ate the garlic and green herbs in haste, dipping them in the
sauce. All this time they remained standing, only leaning slightly on the backs of their seats.
Jesus brake one of the loaves of unleavened bread, covered up a part of it, and divided the
remainder among his Apostles. Another cup of wine was brought, but Jesus drank not of it:
‘Take this,’ he said, ‘and divide it among you, for I will not drink from henceforth of the fruit of
the vine, until that day when I shall drink it with you new in the kingdom of my Father’ (Matt.
26:29). When they had drunk the wine, they sang a hymn; then Jesus prayed or taught, and
they again washed their hands. After this they sat down.
Our Lord cut up another lamb which was carried to the holy women in one of the
buildings of the court, where they were seated at table. The Apostles ate some more
vegetables and lettuce. The countenance of our Divine Saviour bore an indescribable
expression of serenity and recollection, greater than I had ever before seen. He bade the
Apostles forget all their cares. The Blessed Virgin also, as she sat at table with the other
women, looked most placid and calm. When the other women came up, and took hold of
her veil to make her turn round and speak to them, her every movement expressed the
sweetest self-control and placidity of spirit.
At first Jesus conversed lovingly and calmly with his disciples, but after a while he
became grave and sad: ‘Amen, amen, I say to you, that one of you is about to betray me:’ he said,
he that dippeth his hand with me in the dish’ (Matt. 26:21.23). Jesus was then distributing the
lettuce, of which there was only one dish, to those Apostles who were by his side, and he
had given Judas, who was nearly opposite to him, the office of distributing it to the others.
When Jesus spoke of a traitor, an expression which filled all the Apostles with fear, he said:
‘he that dippeth his hand with me in the dish,’ which means: ‘one of the twelve who are eating
and drinking with me—one of those with whom I am eating bread.’ He did not plainly point
out Judas to the others by these words; for to dip the hand in the same dish was an expression
used to signify the most friendly and intimate intercourse. He was desirous, however, to
give a warning to Judas, who was then really dipping his hand in the dish with our Saviour,
to distribute the lettuce. Jesus continued to speak: ‘The Son of Man indeed goeth,’ he said, ‘as it
is written of him: but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man shall be betrayed: It were better for
him if that man had not been born.’
The Apostles were very much troubled, and each one of them exclaimed: ‘Lord, is it I?’ for
they were all perfectly aware that they did not entirely understand his words. Peter leaned
towards John, behind Jesus, and made him a sign to ask our Lord who the traitor was to be,
for, having so often been reproved by our Lord, he trembled lest it should be himself who
was referred to. John was seated at the right hand of Jesus, and as all were leaning on their
left arms, using the right to eat, his head was close to the bosom of Jesus. He leaned then on
his breast and said: ‘Lord, who is it?’ I did not see Jesus say to him with his lips: ‘He it is to
whom I shall reach bread dipped.’ I do not know whether he whispered it to him, but John
knew it, when Jesus having dipped the bread, which was covered with lettuce, gave it
tenderly to Judas, who also asked: ‘Is it I, Lord?’ Jesus looked at him with love, and
answered him in general terms. Among the Jews, to give bread dipped was a mark of
friendship and confidence; Jesus on this occasion gave Judas the morsel, in order thus to
warn him, without making known his guilt to the others. But the heart of Judas burned with
anger, and during the whole time of the repast, I saw a frightful little figure seated at his feet,
and sometimes ascending to his heart. I did not see John repeat to Peter what he had
learned from Jesus, but he set his fears at rest by a look.