accepts in all the severity of its literal meaning.  The story of the terrible penances which he inflicted on himself for part of his life is painful and almost repulsive to read; but they have nothing in common with the ostentatious self-torture of the fakir.  Suso’s deeply affectionate and poetical temperament, with its strong human loves and sympathies, made the life of the cloister very difficult for him.  He accepted it as the highest life, and strove to conform himself to its ideals; and when, after sixteen years of cruel austerities, he felt that his “refractory body” was finally tamed, he discontinued his mortifications, and entered upon a career of active usefulness.  In this he had still heavier crosses to carry, for he was persecuted and falsely accused, while the spiritual consolations which had cheered him in his early struggles were often withdrawn.  In his old age, shortly before his death in 1365, he published the history of his life, which is one of the most interesting and charming of all autobiographies.  Suso’s literary gift is very remarkable.  Unlike most ecstatic mystics, who declare on each occasion that “tongue cannot utter” their experiences, Suso’s store of glowing and vivid language never fails.  The hunger and thirst of the soul for God, and the answering love of Christ manifested in the inner man, have never found a more pure and beautiful expression.  In the hope of inducing more readers to become acquainted with this gem of mediaeval literature, I will give a few extracts from its pages.

“The servitor of the eternal Wisdom,” as he calls himself throughout the book, made the first beginning of his perfect conversion to God in his eighteenth year.  Before that, he had lived as others live, content to avoid deadly sin; but all the time he had felt a gnawing reproach within him.  Then came the temptation to be content with gradual progress, and to “treat himself well.”  But “the eternal Wisdom” said to him, “He who seeks with tender treatment to conquer a refractory body, wants common sense.  If thou art minded to forsake all, do so to good purpose.”  The stern command was obeyed.[261] Very soon—­it is the usual experience of ascetic mystics—­he was encouraged by rapturous visions.  One such, which came to him on St. Agnes’ Day, he thus describes:—­“It was without form or mode, but contained within itself the most entrancing delight.  His heart was athirst and yet satisfied.  It was a breaking forth of the sweetness of eternal life, felt as present in the stillness of contemplation.  Whether he was in the body or out of the body, he knew not.”  It lasted about an hour and a half; but gleams of its light continued to visit him at intervals for some time after.