in the case of women—­are rooted in sexuality, and that this so-called mysticism is nothing but a deviation or wrong interpretation of the sexual impulse.  The same thing applies to the flagellants of the declining Middle Ages, and some Protestant sects of modernity.  The raptures of St. Teresa and Madame Guyon, also, belong to this category, however much the fact may be concealed by pseudo-religious conceptions.  I have no doubt that Eastern mysticism, too, grew up on a sexual foundation, but (as I have done all along) I will limit my subject to the civilisation of Europe.

This counterfeit mysticism, fed from dubious sources and calling itself love of God, taints the pure intuitions of some of the genuine mystics and metaphysical erotics; they were not always able to steer clear of spurious outgrowths. (Here, too, the psychological naivete of mediaeval times must to some extent be held responsible.) Conspicuous amongst these is St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who in his Sermones in Canticum took the “Song of Songs” as a base for mystically-sexual imaginings.

There is nothing really new in this direction.  But I will cite a few stanzas written by St. Bernard which might equally well have come from one of the amorous nuns: 

TO THE SIDE-WOUND OF CHRIST.

Lord, with my mouth I touch and worship Thee,
With all the strength I have I cling to Thee,
With all my love I plunge my heart in Thee,
My very life blood would I draw from Thee,
Oh, Jesus!  Jesus!  Draw me unto Thee!

How sweet Thy savour is!  Who tastes of Thee,
Oh, Jesus Christ, can relish naught but Thee! 
Who tastes Thy living sweetness lives by Thee;
All else is void; the soul must die for Thee,
So faints my heart—­so would I die for Thee!

(Transl. by EMILY MARY SHAPCOTE.)

The greatest religious poet of all times after St. Bernard was Jacopone da Todi, who also, though rarely, revelled in fervid utterances.  The Latin hymn, Stabat Mater Speciosa, ascribed to him, is spurious.  I quote a translation taken from the Rosary of the B.V.M.

Other Virgins far transcending,
Virgin, be not thou unbending,
To thy humble suppliant’s suit.

     Grant me then, to thee united,
     By the love of Christ excited,
     Here to sing my jubilee.

But he is undoubtedly the author of the following stanzas: 

     Soaring upwards love-enkindled,
     Does the soul rejoice, afire
     In her glad triumphant flight. 
     Earthly cares to naught have dwindled,
     Love’s sweet footfall’s drawing nigh her
     To espouse his heart’s delight. 
     All transformed and naked quite,
     Laughing low, with joy imbued,
     Pure, and like a snake renewed,
     Love divine will ever tend her.

But poems like the following undoubtedly originated in a truly religious and pure sentiment: