The Life
of
St. Teresa of Jesus
Re-imprimatur.
+ Franciscus
Archiepiscopus Westmonast.
Die 27 Sept., 1904.
The Life
of
St. Teresa of Jesus,
of the Order of Our Lady of Carmel.
Written by Herself.
Translated from the Spanish by
David Lewis
Third Edition Enlarged
With Additional Notes and an Introduction by
Rev. Fr. Benedict Zimmerman, O.C.D.
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MCMIV.
Contents.
Chap.
Introduction to the Third Edition, by Rev. B. Zimmerman
St. Teresa's Arguments of the Chapters
Preface by David Lewis
I. Childhood and early Impressions—The Blessing of pious Parents—Desire of Martyrdom—Death of the Saint's Mother
II. Early Impressions—Dangerous Books and Companions—The Saint is placed in a Monastery
III. The Blessing of being with good people—How certain Illusions were removed
IV. Our Lord helps her to become a Nun—Her many Infirmities
V. Illness and Patience of the Saint—The Story of a Priest whom she rescued from a Life of Sin
VI. The great Debt she owed to our Lord for His Mercy to her—She takes St. Joseph for her Patron
VII. Lukewarmness—The Loss of Grace—Inconvenience of Laxity in Religious Houses
VIII. The Saint ceases not to pray—Prayer the way to recover what is lost—All exhorted to pray—The great Advantage of Prayer, even to those who may have ceased from it
IX. The means whereby our Lord quickened her Soul, gave her Light in her Darkness, and made her strong in Goodness
X. The Graces she received in Prayer—What we can do ourselves—The great Importance of understanding what our Lord is doing for us—She desires her Confessors to keep her Writings secret, because of the special Graces of our Lord to her, which they had commanded her to describe
XI. Why men do not attain quickly to the perfect Love of God—Of Four Degrees of Prayer—Of the First Degree—The Doctrine profitable for Beginners, and for those who have no sensible Sweetness
XII. What we can ourselves do—The Evil of desiring to attain to supernatural States before our Lord calls us
XIII. Of certain Temptations of Satan—Instructions relating thereto
XIV. The Second State of Prayer—Its supernatural Character
XV. Instructions for those who have attained to the Prayer of Quiet—Many advance so far, but few go farther
XVI. The Third State of Prayer—Deep Matters—What the Soul can do that has reached it—Effects of the great Graces of our Lord
XVII. The Third State of Prayer—The
Effects thereof—The Hindrance caused by the Imagination and
the Memory
XVIII. The Fourth State of Prayer—The great Dignity of the Soul raised to it by our Lord—Attainable on Earth, not by our Merit, but by the Goodness of our Lord
XIX. The Effects of this Fourth State of Prayer—Earnest Exhortations to those who have attained to it not to go back nor to cease from Prayer, even if they fall—The great Calamity of going back
XX. The Difference between Union and Rapture—What Rapture is—The Blessing it is to the Soul—The Effects of it
XXI. Conclusion of the Subject—Pain of the Awakening—Light against Delusions
XXII. The Security of Contemplatives lies in their not ascending to high Things if our Lord does not raise them—The Sacred Humanity must be the Road to the highest Contemplation—A Delusion in which the Saint was once entangled
XXIII. The Saint resumes the History of her Life—Aiming at Perfection—Means whereby it may be gained—Instructions for Confessors
XXIV. Progress under Obedience—Her Inability to resist the Graces of God—God multiplies His Graces
XXV. Divine Locutions—Delusions on that Subject
XXVI. How the Fears of the Saint vanished—How she was assured that her Prayer was the Work of the Holy Spirit
XXVII. The Saint prays to be directed in a different way—Intellectual Visions
XXVIII. Visions of the Sacred Humanity and of the glorified Bodies—Imaginary Visions—Great Fruits thereof when they come from God
XXIX. Of Visions—The Graces our Lord bestowed on the Saint—The Answers our Lord gave her for those who tried her
XXX. St. Peter of Alcantara comforts the Saint—Great Temptations and Interior Trials
XXXI. Of certain outward Temptations and Appearances of Satan—Of the Sufferings thereby occasioned—Counsels for those who go on unto Perfection
XXXII. Our Lord shows St. Teresa the Place which she had by her Sins deserved in Hell—The Torments there—How the Monastery of St. Joseph was founded
XXXIII. The Foundation of the Monastery hindered—Our Lord consoles the Saint
XXXIV. The Saint leaves her Monastery of the Incarnation for a time, at the command of her superior—Consoles an afflicted Widow
XXXV. The Foundation of the House of St. Joseph—Observance of holy Poverty therein—How the Saint left Toledo
XXXVI. The Foundation of the Monastery of St. Joseph—Persecution and Temptations—Great interior Trial of the Saint, and her Deliverance
XXXVII. The Effects of the divine Graces in the Soul—The inestimable Greatness of one Degree of Glory
XXXVIII. Certain heavenly Secrets, Visions, and Revelations—The Effects of them in her Soul
XXXIX. Other Graces bestowed on the Saint—The Promises of our Lord to her—Divine Locutions and Visions
XL. Visions, Revelations, and Locutions
The Relations.
Relation.
I. Sent to St. Peter of Alcantara in 1560 from the Monastery of the Incarnation, Avila
II. To one of her Confessors, from the House of Doña Luisa de la Cerda, in 1562
III. Of various Graces granted to the Saint from the year 1568 to 1571, inclusive
IV. Of the Graces the Saint received in Salamanca at the end of Lent, 1571
V. Observations on certain Points of Spirituality
VI. The Vow of Obedience to Father Gratian which the Saint made in 1575
VII. Made for Rodrigo Alvarez, S.J., in the year 1575, according to Don Vicente de la Fuente; but in 1576, according to the Bollandists and F. Bouix
VIII. Addressed to F. Rodrigo Alvarez
IX. Of certain spiritual Graces she received in Toledo and Avila in the years 1576 and 1577
X. Of a Revelation to the Saint at Avila, 1579, and of Directions concerning the Government of the Order
XI. Written from Palencia in May, 1581, and addressed to Don Alonzo Velasquez, Bishop of Osma, who had been when Canon of Toledo, one of the Saint's Confessors
Introduction to the Present Edition.
When the publisher entrusted me with the task of editing this volume, one sheet was already printed and a considerable portion of the book was in type. Under his agreement with the owners of the copyright, he was bound to reproduce the text and notes, etc., originally prepared by Mr. David Lewis without any change, so that my duty was confined to reading the proofs and verifying the quotations. This translation of the Life of St. Teresa is so excellent, that it could hardly be improved. While faithfully adhering to her wording, the translator has been successful in rendering the lofty teaching in simple and clear language, an achievement all the more remarkable as in addition to the difficulty arising from the transcendental nature of the subject matter, the involved style, and the total absence of punctuation tend to perplex the reader. Now and then there might be some difference of opinion as to how St. Teresa's phrases should be construed, but it is not too much to say that on the whole Mr. Lewis has been more successful than any other translator, whether English or foreign. Only in one case have I found it necessary to make some slight alteration in the text, and I trust the owners of the copyright will forgive me for doing so. In Chapter XXV., § 4, St. Teresa, speaking of the difference between the Divine and the imaginary locutions, says that a person commending a matter to God with great earnestness, may think that he hears whether his prayer will be granted or not: y es muy posible, "and this is quite possible," but he who has ever heard a Divine locution will see at once that this assurance is something quite different. Mr. Lewis, following the old Spanish editions, translated "And it is most impossible," whereas both the autograph and the context demand the wording I have ventured to substitute.
When Mr. Lewis undertook the translation of St. Teresa's works, he had before him Don Vicente
de la Fuente's edition (Madrid, 1861–1862), supposed to be a faithful
transcript of the original. In 1873 the Sociedad
Foto-Tipografica-Catolica of Madrid published a photographic
reproduction of the Saint's autograph in 412 pages in folio, which
establishes the true text once for all. Don Vicente prepared a
transcript of this, in which he wisely adopted the modern way of
spelling but otherwise preserved the original text, or at least
pretended to do so, for a minute comparison between autograph and
The publication of the autograph has settled a point of some
importance. The Bollandists (n. 1520), discussing the question
whether the headings of the chapters (appended
to this Introduction) are by St. Teresa
or a later addition, come to the conclusion (against the authors of
the Reforma de los Descalços) that they are
clearly an interpolation (clarissime patet) on
account of the praise of the doctrine contained in these arguments.
Notwithstanding their high authority the Bollandists are in this
respect perfectly wrong, the arguments are entirely in St. Teresa's own hand and are exclusively her own
work. The Book of Foundations and the Way of Perfection contain
similar arguments in the Saint's handwriting. Nor need any surprise
be felt at the alleged praise of her doctrine for by saying: this
chapter is most noteworthy (Chap. XIV.),
or: this is good doctrine (Chap. XXI.),
etc., she takes no credit for herself because she never grows tired of
repeating that she only delivers the message she has received from our
Lord.
A notable feature in Mr. Lewis's translation is his division of the
chapters into short paragraphs. But it appears that he rearranged the
division during the process of printing, with the result that a large
number of references were wrong. No labour has been spared in the
correction of these, and I trust that the present edition will be the
more useful for it. In quoting the Way of Perfection and
the Interior Castle (which he calls Inner
Fortress!) Mr. Lewis refers to similar paragraphs which,
however, are to be
In note 2 to Chap. XI. Mr. Lewis draws attention to a passage in a sermon by S. Bernard containing an allusion to different ways of watering a garden similar to St. Teresa's well-known comparison. Mr. Lewis's quotation is incorrect, and I am not certain what sermon he may have had in view. Something to the point may be found in sermon 22 on the Canticle (Migne, P. L. Vol. CLXXXIII, p. 879), and in the first sermon on the Nativity of our Lord (ibid., p. 115), and also in a sermon on the Canticle by one of St. Bernard's disciples (Vol. CLXXXIV., p. 195). I am indebted to the Very Rev. Prior Vincent McNabb, O.P., for the verification of a quotation from St. Vincent Ferrer (Chap. XX. § 31).
Since the publication of Mr. Lewis's translation the uncertainty
about the date of St. Teresa's profession
has been cleared up. Yepes, the Bollandists, P. Bouix, Don Vicente de
la Fuente, Mr. Lewis, and numerous other writers assume that she
entered the convent of the Incarnation See the licence granted by Leo X.
to the prioress and convent of the Incarnation to build another house
for the use of the said convent, and to migrate thither (Vatican
Archives, Dataria, Leo X., anno i., vol. viii., fol. 82). Also a
licence to sell or exchange certain property belonging to it (ibid.,
anno iv., vol. vii., f. 274; and a charge to the Bishop of Avila
concerning a recourse of the said convent (ibid., anno vii., vol. iv.,
f. 24). Lettres de Ste. Thérèse, edit. P. Grégoire de S. Joseph, vol. iii, p. 419, note 2. Chap. xxxvi. §
10. The date of this part of the Life can be easily
ascertained from the two following chapters. In xxxvii. § 18, St. Teresa says that she is not yet fifty years
old, consequently the chapter must have been written before the end of
March, 1565; and in the next chapter, xxxviii. § 15, she speaks of the death
of Father Pedro Ibañez, which appears to have taken place on 2nd
February. This, at least, is the date under which his name appears in
the Année Dominicaine, and the Very Rev. Prior Vincent McNabb tells me that there
is every reason to think that it is the date of
his death. When about A.D. 1452 certain
communities of Beguines demanded affiliation to the Carmelite Order,
they were given the Constitutions of the friars without any
alterations. These Constitutions were revised in 1462, but neither
there nor in the Acts of the General Chapters, so far as these are
preserved, is there the slightest reference to convents of nuns. The
colophon of the printed edition (Venice, 1499) shows that they held
good for friars and nuns: Expliciunt sacrae
constitutiones novae fratrum et sororum beatae Mariae de Monte
Carmelo. They contain the customary laws forbidding the friars
[note continues, p. xiii.] under pain of excommunication, to leave the
precincts of their convents without due licence, but do not enjoin
strict enclosure, which would have been incompatible with their manner
of life and their various duties. St.
Teresa nowhere insinuates that the Constitutions, such as they were,
were not kept at the Incarnation; her remarks in chap. vii. are
aimed at the Constitutions themselves, which were never made for nuns,
and therefore did not provide for the needs of
their convents.
The date of St. Teresa's profession
being thus fixed on the 3rd of November, 1536, some other dates of the
chronology must be revised. Her visit to Castellanos de la Cañada
must have taken place in the early part of 1537. But already before
this time the Saint had an experience which should have proved a
warning to her, and the neglect of which she never ceased to deplore,
namely the vision of our
Lord;
From Castellanos she proceeded to Hortigosa on a visit to her
uncle. While there she became acquainted with the book called Tercer Abecedario. Don Vicente remarks that the
earliest edition known to him was printed in 1537, which tells
strongly against the chronology of the Bollandists, P. Bouix, and
others. Again, speaking of her cure at Bezadas she gives a valuable
hint by saying that she remained blind to certain dangers for more
than seventeen years until the Jesuit fathers finally undeceived her.
As these came to Avila in 1555 the seventeen years lead us back to
1538, which precisely coincides with her sojourn at Bezadas. She
remained there until Pascua florida of the following
year. P. Bouix and others understand by this term Palm Sunday, but
Don Vicente shows good reason that Easter Sunday is meant, which in
1539 was April the 6th. She then returned to Avila, more dead than
alive, and remained seriously ill for nearly three years, until she
was cured through the miraculous intervention of St. Joseph about the beginning of 1542. Now
began the period of lukewarmness which was temporally interrupted by
the illness and death of her father, in 1544 or 1545, and came to an
end about 1555. Don Vicente, followed
by Mr. Lewis, draws attention to what he believes to be a
"proof of great laxity of the convent," that St. Teresa should have been urged by one of her
confessors to communicate as often as once a fortnight. It should be
understood that frequent communion such as we now see it practised was
wholly unknown in her time. The Constitutions of the Order specified
twelve days on which all those that were not priests should
communicate, adding: Verumtamen fratres professi prout
Deus eis devotionem contulerit diebus dominicis et festis
duplicibus (i.e., on feasts of our Lady, the Apostles,
etc.), communicare poterunt si qui velint. Thus,
communicating about once a month St. Teresa
acted as ordinary good Religious were wont to do, and by approaching
the sacrament more frequently she placed herself among the more
fervent nuns.
St. Teresa wrote quite a number of
different accounts of her life. The first, addressed to Father Juan
de Padranos, S.J. Deposition for the process of
canonisation, written in 1591. Fuente, Obras,
vol. vi., p. 174. See the notes to chapters vii. § 11; xvi. § 10; xx. § 6; xxiv. § 4; xxvii. § 17. At the end of chapter xxxi. we are told on
the authority of Don Vicente that the "first" Life must have
ended at this point. Lettres,
edit. Grégoire. I., pp. 13 (18 May, 1568); 21 (27 May); 35
(2 November). Reforma,
vol. i., lib. v., cap. xxxv., no. 9. Bollandists,
no. 1518.
Whether the previous paper was a mere "Relation," or really
a first attempt at a
"Life," If the latter, it must have been
very much shorter than the second edition, and can scarcely have
contained more than the first nine chapters (perhaps verbatim) and an
account of the visions, locutions, etc., contained in chapters
xxiii.–xxxi., without comment.
St. Teresa's development, if
extraordinary considering the degree of spirituality she reached, was
nevertheless gradual and regular. With her wonderful power of
analysis, she has given us not only a clear insight into her interior
progress, but also a sketch of the development of her understanding of
supernatural things. "It is now (i.e., about the end of
1563) some five or six years, I believe, since our Lord raised me to
this state of prayer, in its fulness, and that more than once,—and I
never understood it, and never could explain it; and so I was
resolved, when I should come thus far in my story, to say very little
or nothing at
all."
This explains the difference of the "Life" such as we know
it from the first version or the "Relations" preceding it.
Whatever this writing was, it still belonged to the period of her
spiritual education, whereas the volume before us is the first-fruit
of her spiritual Mastership. The new light that had come to her
induced her confessors In the Prologue to the
Book of Foundations, Father Garcia de Toledo, [note
continues, p. xviii.] her confessor at St. Joseph's Convent, is said to be responsible
for the order to rewrite the "Life"; but in the Preface to the "Life" St. Teresa speaks of her "confessors" in
the plural. Fathers Ibañez and Bañez may be included in the number.
See also ch. xxx. § 27. Chap. xiii. §
22. In chap. xvi. § 12, the Saint says: "I
wish we five who now love one another in our Lord, had made some such
arrangement, etc." Fuente is of opinion that these five were,
besides the Saint, Father Julian de Avila, Don Francisco de Salcedo,
St. John of the Cross, and Don Lorenzo de
Cepeda, St. Teresa's brother: but this is
impossible at the date of this part of the "Life." It is more
probable that she meant Francisco de Salcedo, Gaspar Daza, Julian de
Avila, and Father Ibañez, the latter being still alive in the
beginning of 1564, when this chapter was written. It is more
difficult to say who the three confessors were whom St. Teresa desired to see the "Life"
(ch. xl. § 32). If, as I think, the
book was first handed to Father Garcia de Toledo, the others may have
been Francisco de Salcedo, Baltasar Alvarez, and Gaspar
de Salazar. This is the second reason why
the letter could not have been addressed to Father Ibañez
in 1562. Ibid., chap. lxxiii. See the difference in Dalton's
translation, chap. xlii. See the following Preface, p.
xxxvii. Lettres, ed. Grégoire, ii., p. 65. P.
Bertholde-Ignace, Vie de la Mère Anne de Jésus,
i., p. 472.
St. Teresa wrote her "Life"
slowly. It was begun in spring,
1563, In the Prologue to the
Book of Foundations, St.
Teresa says that Father Garcia de Toledo ordered her to rewrite the
book the same year in which St. Joseph's
Convent was founded, i.e. 1562, but seeing that she only spent
a few hours there and that the principal difficulties only arose after
her return to the Incarnation, it appears more probable that Father
Garcia's command was not made until the spring of the following year,
when she went to live at St. Joseph's.
St. Teresa's canonisation took place
before the stringent laws of Urban VIII. came into force.
Consequently, the writings of the Saint were not then enquired into,
the Holy See contenting itself with the approbations granted by the
Spanish Inquisition, and by the congregation of the Rota in Rome. A
certain number of passages selected from various works having been
denounced by some Roman theologians as being contrary to the teaching
of St. Thomas Aquinas and other
authorities, Diego Alvarez, a Dominican, and John Rada, a Franciscan,
were commissioned to examine the matter and report on it. The twelve
censures with the answers of the two theologians and the final
judgment of the Rota seem to have remained unknown to the
Bollandists. See Historia
Generalis Fratrum Discalceatorum Ordinis B. Virginis Mariae de Monte
Carmelo Congregationis Eliae. Romae,
1668, vol. i., pp. 340–358 ad ann. 1604.
Concerning the English translations of the "Life" noticed
by Mr. Lewis it should be mentioned that the one ascribed to Abraham
Woodhead is only partly his work. Father Bede of St. Simon Stock (Walter Joseph Travers), a
Discalced Carmelite, labouring on the English Mission from 1660 till
1692, was anxious to complete the translation of St. Teresa's works into English. He had not
proceeded very far when he learnt that "others were engaged in the
same task. On enquiry he found that a new translation was
contemplated by two graduates of the University of Cambridge, converts
to the Faith, most learned and pious men, who were leading a solitary
life, spending their time and talents in the composition of
controversial and devotional works for the good of their neighbour and
the glory of God." One of these two men was Woodhead, who,
however, was an Oxford man, but the name of the other, who must have
been a Cambridge man, is not known. They undertook the translation
while Father Bede provided the funds and bore the risks of what was
then a dangerous work. As there existed already two English
translations of the "Life," the first volume to appear (1669)
contained the Book of Foundations, to which was prefixed the history
of the foundation of St. Joseph's from the
"Life." When, therefore, the new translation of the latter
appeared, in 1671, this portion of the book was
omitted. See Carmel in
England, by Rev. Father B.
Zimmerman, p. 240 sqq.
Mr. Lewis, whose translation is the fifth, was born on the 12th of November, 1814, and died on January the 23rd, 1895. The first edition was printed in 1870, the second in 1888. It is regrettable that the latter edition, of which the present is a reprint, omitted the marginal notes which would have been so helpful to the reader.
St. Teresa's life and character having always been a favourite study of men and women of various schools of thought, it may be useful to notice here a few recent English and foreign works on the subject:—
The Life of Saint Teresa, by the author of "Devotions before and after Holy Communion" (i.e., Miss Maria Trench), London, 1875.
The Life of Saint Teresa of the Order of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Edited with a preface by the Archbishop of Westminster (Cardinal Manning), London, 1865. (By Miss Elizabeth Lockhart, afterwards first abbess of the Franciscan convent, Notting Hill.) Frequently reprinted.
The Life and Letters of St. Teresa, by Henry James Coleridge, S.J. Quarterly Series. 3 vols (1881, 1887, 1888).
And, from another point of view:
The Life of St. Teresa, by Gabriela Cunninghame-Graham, 2 vols, London, 1894.
Histoire de Sainte Thérèse d'après les Bollandistes. 2 vols, Nantes, 1882. Frequently reprinted. The author is Mlle. Adelaide Lecornu (born 5 July, 1852, died at the Carmelite convent at Caen, 14 December, 1901. Her name in religion was Adelaide-Jéronyme-Zoe-Marie du Sacré-Coeur).
An excellent character sketch of the Saint has appeared in the "Les Saints" series (Paris, Lecoffre, 1901):
Sainte Thérèse, par Henri Joly.
Although the attempt at explaining the extraordinary phenomena in the life of St. Teresa by animal Magnetism and similar obscure theories had already been exploded by the Bollandists, it has lately been revived by Professor Don Arturo Perales Gutierrez of Granada, and Professor Don Fernando Segundo Brieva Salvatierra of Madrid, who considered her a subject of hysterical derangements. The discussion carried on for some time, not only in Spain but also in France, Germany, and other countries, has been ably summed up and disposed of by P. Grégoire de S. Joseph: La prétendue Hystérie de Sainte Thérèse. Lyons.
The Bibliographie Thérèsienne, by Henry de Curzon (Paris, 1902) is, unfortunately, too incomplete, not to say slovenly, to be of much use.
Finally, it is necessary to say a word about the spelling of the name Teresa. In Spanish and Italian it should be written without an h as these languages do not admit the use of Th; in English, likewise, where this combination of letters represents a special sound, the name should be spelt with T only. But the present fashion of thus writing it in Latin, German, French, and other languages, which generally maintain the etymological spelling, is intolerable: The name is Greek, and was placed on the calendar in honour of a noble Spanish lady, St. Therasia, who became the wife of a Saint, Paulinus of Nola, and a Saint herself. See Sainte Thérèse, Lettres au R. P. Bouix, by the Abbé Postel, Paris, 1864. The derivation of the name from the Hebrew Thersa can no longer be defended (Father Jerome-Gratian, in Fuente, Obras, Vol. VI., p. 369 sqq.).
Benedict Zimmerman,
Prior O.C.D.
St. Luke's Priory,
Wincanton, Somerset.
16th July, 1904.
St. Teresa's Arguments of the Chapters.
J.H.S.
J.H.S. Chapter I. St.
Teresa wrote no title, either of the whole book or of the Preface, but
only the monogram J.H.S., which is repeated at the beginning of the
first chapter and at the end of the last, previous to the letter with
which the volume concludes. "El
Señor" is everywhere translated by "God" in
distinction to "Nuestro Señor,"
"Our Lord."
Chapter II.—How she lost these virtues and how important it is to deal from childhood with virtuous persons.
Chapter III.—In which she sets forth how good company was the means of her resuming good intentions, and in what manner God began to give her some light on the deception to which she was subjected.
Chapter IV.—She explains how, with the assistance of God, she compelled herself to take the (Religious) habit, and how His Majesty began to send her many infirmities.
Chapter V.—She continues to speak of the great infirmities she suffered and the patience God gave her to bear them, and how He turned evil into good, as is seen from something that happened at the place where she went for a cure.
Chapter VI.—Of the great debt she owes God for giving her conformity of her will (with His) in her trials, and how she turned towards the glorious St. Joseph as her helper and advocate, and how much she profited thereby.
Chapter VII.—Of the way whereby she lost the graces God had granted her, and the wretched life she began to lead; she also speaks of the danger arising from the want of a strict enclosure in convents of nuns.
Chapter VIII.—Of the great advantage she derived from not entirely
abandoning prayer so as not to lose her soul; and what an excellent
remedy this is in order to win back what one has lost. She exhorts
everybody to practise prayer, and shows what a gain
Chapter IX.—By what means God began to rouse her soul and give light in the midst of darkness, and to strengthen her virtues so that she should not offend Him.
Chapter X.—She begins to explain the graces God gave her in prayer, and how much we can do for ourselves, and of the importance of understanding God's mercies towards us. She requests those to whom this is to be sent to keep the remainder (of this book) secret, since they have commanded her to go into so many details about the graces God has shown her.
Chapter XI.—In which she sets forth how it is that we do not love God perfectly in a short time. She begins to expound by means of a comparison four degrees of prayer, of the first of which she treats here; this is most profitable for beginners and for those who find no taste in prayer.
Chapter XII.—Continuation of the first state. She declares how far, with the grace of God, we can proceed by ourselves, and speaks of the danger of seeking supernatural and extraordinary experiences before God lifts up the soul.
Chapter XIII.—She continues to treat of the first degree, and gives advice with respect to certain temptations sometimes sent by Satan. This is most profitable.
Chapter XIV.—She begins to explain the second degree of prayer in which God already gives the soul special consolations, which she shows here to be supernatural. This is most noteworthy.
Chapter XV.—Continuing the same subject, she gives certain advice how one should behave in the prayer of quiet. She shows that many souls advance so far, but that few go beyond. The matters treated of in this chapter are very necessary and profitable.
Chapter XVI.—On the third degree of prayer; she declares things of an elevated nature; what the soul that has come so far can do, and the effect of such great graces of God. This is calculated to greatly animate the spirit to the praise of God, and contains advice for those who have reached this point.
Chapter XVII.—Continues to declare matters concerning the third degree of prayer and completes the explanation of its effects. She also treats of the impediment caused by the imagination and the memory.
Chapter XVIII.—She treats of the fourth degree of prayer, and
begins to explain "In an excellent manner,"
scored through by the Saint herself. "To be read with great care,
as it is explained in a most delicate way, and contains many
noteworthy points," also scored through by St. Teresa herself.
Chapter XIX.—She continues the same subject, and begins to explain the effects on the soul of this degree of prayer. She earnestly exhorts not to turn back nor to give up prayer even if, after having received this favour, one should fall. She shows the damage that would result (from the neglect of this advice). This is most noteworthy and consoling for the weak and for sinners.
Chapter XX.—She speaks of the difference between Union and Trance,
and explains what a Trance is; she also says something about the good
a soul derives from being, through God's goodness, led so far. She
speaks of the effects
of Union.
Chapter XXI.—She continues and concludes this last degree of prayer, and says what a soul having reached it feels when obliged to turn back and live in the world, and speaks of the light God gives concerning the deceits (of the world). This is good doctrine.
Chapter XXII.—In which she shows that the safest way for contemplatives is not to lift up the spirit to high things but to wait for God to lift it up. How the Sacred Humanity of Christ is the medium for the most exalted contemplation. She mentions an error under which she laboured for some time. This chapter is most profitable.
Chapter XXIII.—She returns to the history of her life, how she began to practise greater perfection. This is profitable for those who have to direct souls practising prayer that they may know how to deal with beginners, and she speaks of the profit she derived from such knowledge.
Chapter XXIV.—She continues the same subject and tells how her soul improved since she began to practise obedience, and how little she was able to resist God's graces, and how His Majesty continued to give them more and more abundantly.
Chapter XXV.—Of the manner in which Locutions of God are perceived by the soul without being actually heard; and of some deceits that might take place in this matter, and how one is to know which is which. This is most profitable for those who are in this degree of prayer, because it is very well explained, and contains excellent doctrine.
Chapter XXVI.—She continues the same subject; explains and tells things that have happened to her which caused her to lose fear and convinced her that the spirit which spoke to her was a good one.
Chapter XXVII.—Of another way in which God teaches a soul, and, without speaking, makes His Will known in an admirable manner. She goes on to explain a vision, though not an imaginary one, and a great grace with which God favoured her. This chapter is noteworthy.
Chapter XXVIII.—She treats of the great favours God showed her, and how He appeared to her for the first time; she explains what an imaginary vision is, and speaks of the powerful effects it leaves and the signs whether it is from God. This chapter is most profitable and noteworthy.
Chapter XXIX.—She continues and tells of some great mercies God showed her, and what His Majesty said to her in order to assure her (of the truth of these visions), and taught her how to answer contradictors.
Chapter XXX.—She continues the history of her life, and how God sent her a remedy for all her anxieties by calling the holy Friar Fray Pedro de Alcantara of the Order of the glorious St. Francis to the place where she lived. She mentions some great temptations and interior trials through which she sometimes had to pass.
Chapter XXXI.—She speaks of some exterior temptations and apparitions of Satan, and how he ill-treated her. She mentions, moreover, some very good things by way of advice to persons who are walking on the way of perfection.
Chapter XXXII.—She narrates how it pleased God to put her in
spirit in that place of Hell she had deserved by her sins. She tells
a little
Chapter XXXIII.—She continues the subject of the foundation of the glorious St. Joseph. How she was commanded to have nothing (further) to do with it, how she abandoned it, also the troubles it brought her and how God consoled her in all this.
Chapter XXXIV.—She shows how at that time it happened that she absented herself from this place and how her Superior commanded her to go away at the request of a very noble lady who was in great affliction. She begins to tell what happened to her there, and the great grace God bestowed upon her in determining through her instrumentality a person of distinction to serve Him truly; and how that person found favour and help in her (Teresa). This is noteworthy.
Chapter XXXV.—Continuation of the foundation of this house of our
glorious Father St. Joseph; in what manner
our Lord ordained that holy poverty should be observed there; the
reason
Chapter XXXVI.—She continues the same subject, and shows how the foundation of this convent of the glorious St. Joseph was finally accomplished, and the great contradictions and persecutions she had to endure after the Religious had taken the habit, and the great trials and temptations through which she passed, and how God led her forth victorious to His own glory and praise.
Chapter XXXVII.—Of the effects which remained when God granted her some favour; together with other very good doctrine. She shows how one ought to strive after and prize every increase in heavenly glory, and that for no trouble whatever one should neglect a good that is to be perpetual.
Chapter XXXVIII.—She treats of some great mercies God showed her, even making known to her heavenly secrets by means of visions and revelations His Majesty vouchsafed to grant her; she speaks of the effects they caused and the great improvement resulting in her soul.
Chapter XXXIX.—She continues the same subject, mentioning great graces granted her by God; how He promised to hear her requests on behalf of persons for whom she should pray. Some remarkable instances in which His Majesty thus favoured her.
Chapter XL.—Continuation of the same subject of great mercies God has shown her. From some of these very good doctrine may be gathered, and this, as she declares, was, besides compliance with obedience, her principal motive (in writing this book), namely to enumerate such of these mercies as would be instructive to souls. This chapter brings the history of her Life, written by herself, to an end. May it be for the glory of God. Amen.
Preface by David Lewis.
St. Teresa was born in Avila on
Wednesday, March 28, 1515. Her father was Don Alfonso Sanchez de
Cepeda, and her mother Doña Beatriz Davila y Ahumada. The name she
received in her baptism was common to both families, for her
great-grandmother on the father's side was Teresa Sanchez, and her
grandmother on her mother's side was Teresa de las Cuevas. While she
remained in the world, and even after she had become a nun in the
monastery of the Incarnation, which was under the mitigated rule, she
was known as Doña Teresa Sanchez Cepeda Davila y Ahumada; for in those
days children took the name either of the father or of the mother, as
it pleased them. The two families were noble, but that of Ahumada was
no longer in possession of its former wealth and
power. Fr. Anton. a St. Joseph, in his
note on letter 16, but letter 41, vol. iv. ed. Doblado.
Doña Beatriz died young, and the eldest daughter, Maria de Cepeda,
took charge of her younger sisters—they were two—and was as a second
mother to them till her marriage, which took place in 1531, when the
Saint was in her sixteenth year. But as she was too young to be left
in charge of her father's house, and as her education was not
finished, she was sent to the Augustinian monastery, the nuns of which
received young girls, and brought them up in the fear of
God.
At last, after a struggle which lasted three months, she made up
her mind, and against her inclination, to give up the world. She
asked her father's leave, and was refused. She besieged him through
her friends, but to no purpose. "The utmost I could get from
him," she says, "was that I might do as I pleased after his
death."
But she had to forsake her father, and so she left her father's house by stealth, taking with her one of her brothers, whom she had persuaded to give himself to God in religion. The brother and sister set out early in the morning, the former for the monastery of the Dominicans, and the latter for the Carmelite monastery of the Incarnation, in Avila. The nuns received her into the house, but sent word to her father of his child's escape. Don Alfonso, however, yielded at once, and consented to the sacrifice which he was compelled to make.
In the monastery of the Incarnation the Saint was led on, without
her own knowledge, to states of prayer so high, that she became
alarmed about herself. In the purity and simplicity of her soul, she
feared that the supernatural visitations of God might after all be
nothing else but delusions
of Satan.
But when the Saint told him of the great graces which God
bestowed upon her, Don Francis became alarmed; he could not
Don Francis now applied again to Gaspar Daza, and the two friends consulted together; but, after much prayer on their part and on that of the Saint, they came to the conclusion that she "was deluded by an evil spirit," and recommended her to have recourse to the fathers of the Society of Jesus, lately settled in Avila.
The Saint, now in great fear, but still hoping and trusting that
God would not suffer her to be deceived, made preparations for a
general confession; and committed to writing the whole story of her
life, and made known the state of her soul to F. Juan de Padranos, one of the fathers of the
Society. F. Juan understood it all, and
comforted her by telling her that her way of prayer was sound and the
work of God. Under his direction she made great progress, and for the
further satisfaction of her confessor, and of Don Francis, who seems
to have still retained some of his doubts, she told everything to
St. Francis de Borja, who on one point
changed the method of direction observed by F. Juan. That father recommended her to resist
the supernatural visitations of the spirit as much as she could, but
she was not able, and the resistance pained
her;
The account of her life which she wrote before she applied to the Jesuits for direction has not been preserved; but it is possible that it was made more for her own security than for the purpose of being shown to her confessor.
The next account is Relation I., made for St. Peter of Alcantara, and was probably seen by
many; for that Saint had to defend her, and maintain that the state of
her soul was the work of God, against those who thought that she was
deluded by Satan. Her own confessor was occasionally alarmed, and had
to consult others, and thus, by degrees, her state became known to
many; and there were some who, were so persuaded of her delusions,
that they wished her to be exorcised as one possessed of an evil
spirit,
During the troubles that arose when it became known that the Saint
was about to found the monastery of St. Joseph, and therein establish the original
rule of her Order in its primitive simplicity
The Saint held him in great
reverence, and in one of her letters—lett. 355, but lett. 100, vol.
ii. ed. Doblado—calls him a founder of her Order, because of the
great services he had rendered her, and told her nuns of Seville that
they need not be veiled in his presence, though they must be so in the
presence of everybody else, and even the friars of
the Reform.
What the Saint wrote for Fra Ibañez has not been found. It is, no doubt, substantially preserved in her Life, as we have it now, and is supposed to have reached no further than the end of ch. xxxi. What follows was added by direction of another Dominican father, confessor of the Saint in the new monastery of St. Joseph, Fra Garcia of Toledo, who, in 1562, bade her "write the history of that foundation, and other matters."
But as the Saint carried a heavy burden laid on her by God, a constant fear of delusion, she had recourse about the same time to the Inquisitor Soto, who advised her to write a history of her life, send it to Juan of Avila, the "Apostle of Andalucia," and abide by his counsel. As the direction of Fra Garcia of Toledo and the advice of the Inquisitor must have been given, according to her account, about the same time, the Life, as we have it now, must have occupied her nearly six years in the writing of it, which may well be owing to her unceasing care in firmly establishing the new monastery of St. Joseph. The book at last was sent to Blessed Juan of Avila by her friend Doña Luisa de la Cerda, and that great master of the spiritual life wrote the following censure of it:
"The grace and peace of Jesus Christ be with you always.
"1. When I undertook to read the book sent me, it was not so much because I thought myself able to judge of it, as because I thought I might, by the grace of our Lord, learn something from the teachings it contains: and praised be Christ; for, though I have not been able to read it with the leisure it requires, I have been comforted by it, and might have been edified by it, if the fault had not been mine. And although, indeed, I may have been comforted by it, without saying more, yet the respect due to the subject and to the person who has sent it will not allow me, I think, to let it go back without giving my opinion on it, at least in general.
"2. The book is not fit to be in the hands of everybody, for it is necessary to correct the language in some places, and explain it in others; and there are some things in it useful for your spiritual
life and not so for others who might adopt them, for the special ways by which God leads some souls are not meant for others. These points, or the greater number of them, I have marked for the purpose of arranging them when I shall be able to do so, and I shall not fail to send them to you; for if you were aware of my infirmities and necessary occupations, I believe they would make you pity me rather than blame me for the omission.
"3. The doctrine of prayer is for the most part sound, and you may rely on it, and observe it; and the raptures I find to possess the tests of those which are true. What you say of God's way of teaching the soul, without respect to the imagination and without interior locutions, is safe, and I find nothing to object to it. St. Augustine speaks well of it.
"4. Interior locutions in these days have been a delusion of many, and exterior locutions are the least safe. It is easy enough to see when they proceed from ourselves, but to distinguish between those of a good and those of an evil spirit is more difficult. There are many rules given for finding out whether they come from our Lord or not, and one of them is, that they should be sent us in a time of need, or for some good end, as for the comforting a man under temptation or in doubt, or as a warning of coming danger. As a good man will not speak unadvisedly, neither will God; so, considering this, and that the locutions are agreeable to the holy writings and the teaching of the Church, my opinion is that the locutions mentioned in the book came from God.
"5. Imaginary or bodily visions are those which are most doubtful, and should in no wise be desired, and if they come undesired still they should be shunned as much as possible, yet not by treating them with contempt, unless it be certain that they come from an evil spirit; indeed, I was filled with horror, and greatly distressed, when I read of the gestures of contempt that were made.
People ought to entreat our Lord not to lead them by the way of visions, but to reserve for them in Heaven the blessed vision of Himself and the saints, and to guide them here along the beaten path as He guides His faithful servants, and they must take other good measures for avoiding these visions. See Life, ch. xxix. § 6.
"6. But if the visions continue after all this is done, and if the soul derives good from them, and if they do not lead to vanity, but deeper humility, and if the locutions be at one with the teaching the Church, and if they continue for any time, and that with inward satisfaction—better felt than described—there is no reason for avoiding them. But no one ought to rely on his own judgment herein; he should make everything known to him who can give him light. That is the universal remedy to be had recourse to in such matters, together with hope in God, Who will not
let a soul that wishes to be safe lie under a delusion, if it be humble enough to yield obedience to the opinion of others. "7. Nor should any one cause alarm by condemning them forthwith, because he sees that the person to whom they are granted is not perfect, for it is nothing new that our Lord in His goodness makes wicked people just, yea, even grievous sinners; by giving them to taste most deeply of His sweetness. I have seen it so myself. Who will set bounds to the goodness of our Lord?—especially when these graces are given, not for merit, nor because one is stronger; on the contrary, they are given to one because he is weaker; and as they do not make one more holy, they are not always given to the most holy.
"8. They are unreasonable who disbelieve these things merely because they are most high things, and because it seems to them incredible that infinite Majesty humbles Himself to these loving relations with one of His creatures. It is written, God is love, and if He is love, then infinite love and infinite goodness, and we must not be surprised if such a love and such a goodness breaks out into such excesses of love as disturb those who know nothing of it. And though many know of it by faith, still, as to that special experience of the loving, and more than loving, converse of God with whom He will, if not had, how deep it reaches can never be known; and so I have seen many persons scandalized at hearing of what God in His love does for His creatures. As they are themselves very far away from it, they cannot think that God will do for others what He is not doing for them. As this is an effect of love, and that a love which causes wonder, reason requires we should look upon it as a sign of its being from God, seeing that He is wonderful in His works, and most especially in those of his compassion; but they take occasion from this to be distrustful, which should have been a ground of confidence, when other circumstances combine as evidences of these visitations being good.
"9. It seems from the book, I think, that you have resisted, and even longer than was right. I think, too, that these locutions have done your soul good, and in particular that they have made you see your own wretchedness and your faults more clearly, and amend them. They have lasted long, and always with spiritual profit. They move you to love God, and to despise yourself, and to do penance. I see no reasons for condemning them, I incline rather to regard them as good, provided you are careful not to rely altogether on them, especially if they are unusual, or bid you do something out of the way, or are not very plain. In all these and the like cases you must withhold your belief in them, and at once seek for direction.
"10. Also it should be considered that, even if they do come from God, Satan may mix with them suggestions of his own; you should therefore be always suspicious of them. Also, when they
are known to be from God, men must not rest much on them, seeing that holiness does not lie in them, but in a humble love of God and our neighbour; everything else, however good, must be feared, and our efforts directed to the gaining of humility, goodness, and the love of our Lord. It is seemly, also, not to worship what is seen in these visions, but only Jesus Christ, either as in Heaven or in the Sacrament, or, if it be a vision of the Saints, then to lift up the heart to the Holy One in Heaven, and not to that which is presented to the imagination: let it suffice that the imagination may be made use of for the purpose of raising me up to that which it makes me see. "11. I say, too, that the things mentioned in this book befall other persons even in this our day, and that there is great certainty that they come from God, Whose arm is not shortened that He cannot do now what He did in times past, and that in weak vessels, for His own glory.
"12. Go on your road, but always suspecting robbers, and asking for the right way; give thanks to our Lord, Who has given you His love, the knowledge of yourself, and a love of penance and the cross, making no account of these other things. However, do not despise them either, for there are signs that most of them come from our Lord, and those that do not come from Him will not hurt you if you ask for direction.
"13. I cannot believe that I have written this in my own strength, for I have none, but it is the effect of your prayers. I beg of you, for the love of Jesus Christ our Lord, to burden yourself with a prayer for me; He knows that I am asking this in great need, and I think that is enough to make you grant my request. I ask your permission to stop now, for I am bound to write another letter. May Jesus be glorified in all and by all! Amen.
"Your servant, for Christ's sake.
"Juan de Avila
"Montilla, 12th Sept., 1568."
Her confessors, having seen the book, "commanded her to make
copies of it,"
The Princess of Eboli, in 1569, obtained a copy from the Saint
herself, after much importunity; but it was more out of vanity or
curiosity, it is to be feared, than from any real desire to learn the
story of the Saint's spiritual life, that the Princess desired the
boon. She and her husband promised to keep it from the knowledge of
others, but the promise given was not kept. The Saint heard within a
few days later that the book was in the hands of the servants of the
Princess, who was angry with the Saint because she had refused to
admit, at the request of the Princess, an Augustinian
The Princess became a widow in July, 1573, and insisted on becoming a Carmelite nun in the house she and her husband, Ruy Gomez, had founded in Pastrana. When the news of her resolve reached the monastery, the mother-prioress, Isabel of St. Dominic, exclaimed, "The Princess a nun! I look on the house as ruined." The Princess came, and insisted on her right as foundress; she had compelled a friar to give her the habit before her husband was buried, and when she came to Pastrana she began her religious life by the most complete disobedience and disregard of common propriety. Don Vicente's description of her is almost literally correct, though intended only for a general summary of her most childish conduct:
"On the death of the Prince of Eboli, the Princess would become
a nun in her monastery of Pastrana. The first day she had a fit of
violent fervour; on the next she relaxed the rule; on the third she
broke it, and conversed with secular people within the cloisters. She
was also so humble that she required the nuns to speak to her on their
knees, and insisted upon their receiving into the house as religious
whomsoever she pleased. Hereupon complaints were made to St. Teresa, who remonstrated with the Princess,
and showed her how much she was in the wrong, whereupon she replied
that the monastery was hers; but the Saint proved to her that the nuns
were not, and had them removed
to Segovia."
The nuns were withdrawn from Pastrana in April, 1574, and then the
anger of the Princess prevailed; she sent the Life of the Saint, which
she had still in her possession, to the Inquisition, and denounced it
as a book containing visions, revelations, and dangerous doctrines,
which the Inquisitors should look into and examine: The book was
forthwith given to theologians for examination, and two Dominican
friars, of whom Bañes was one, were delegated censors of it by
the Inquisition.
Fra Bañes did not know the Saint when he undertook her defence in
Avila against the authorities of the city, eager to destroy the
monastery of St. Joseph; The Saint says of herself, Rel. vii. §
18, that "she took the greatest pains not to submit the state
of her soul to any one who she thought would believe that these things
came from God, for she was instantly afraid that the devil would
deceive them both." "Como hombre
criado toda mi vida en leer y disputar" (De la
Fuente, ii. p. 376).
That censure is as follows:
"1. This book, wherein Teresa of Jesus, Carmelite nun, and foundress of the Barefooted Carmelites, gives a plain account of the state of her soul, in order to be taught and directed by her confessors, has been examined by me, and with much attention, and I have not found anywhere in it anything which, in my opinion, is erroneous in doctrine. On the contrary, there are many things in it highly edifying and instructive for those who give themselves to prayer. The great experience of this religious, her discretion also and her humility, which made her always seek for light and learning in her confessors, enabled her to speak with an accuracy
on the subject of prayer that the most learned men, through their want of experience, have not always attained to. One thing only there is about the book that may reasonably cause any hesitation till it shall be very carefully examined; it contains many visions and revelations, matters always to be afraid of, especially in women, who are very ready to believe of them that they come from God, and to look on them as proofs of sanctity, though sanctity does not lie in them. On the contrary, they should be regarded as dangerous trials for those who are aiming at perfection, because Satan is wont to transform himself into an angel of light, and to deceive souls which are curious and of scant humility, as we have seen in our day: nevertheless, we must not therefore lay down a general rule that all revelations and visions come from the devil. If it were so, St. Paul could not have said that Satan transforms himself into an angel of light, if the angel of light did not sometimes enlighten us.
2 Cor. xi. 14 : "Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in angelum lucis.""2. Saints, both men and women, have had revelations, not only in ancient, but also in modern times; such were St. Dominic, St. Francis, St. Vincent Ferrer, St. Catherine of Siena, St. Gertrude, and many others that might be named; and as the Church of God is, and is to be, always holy to the end, not only because her profession is holiness, but because there are in her just persons and perfect in holiness, it is unreasonable to despise visions and revelations, and condemn them in one sweep, seeing they are ordinarily accompanied with much goodness and a Christian life. On the contrary, we should follow the saying of the Apostle in
1 Thess. v. 19–22 : 'Spiritum nolite extinguere. Prophetias nolite spernere. Omnia [autem] probate: quod bonum est tenete. Ab omni specie mala abstinete vos.' He who will read St. Thomas on that passage will see how carefully they are to be examined who, in the Church of God, manifest any particular gift that may be profitable or hurtful to our neighbour, and how watchful the examiners ought to be lest the fire of the Spirit of God should be quenched in the good, and others cowed in the practices of the perfect Christian life."3. Judging by the revelations made to her, this woman, even though she may be deceived in something, is at least not herself a deceiver, because she tells all the good and the bad so simply, and with so great a wish to be correct, that no doubt can be made as to her good intention; and the greater the reason for trying spirits of this kind, because there are persons in our day who are deceivers with the appearance of piety, the more necessary it is to defend those who, with the appearance, have also the reality, of piety. For it is a strange thing to see how lax and worldly people delight in seeing those discredited who have an appearance of goodness. God complained of old, by the Prophet Ezekiel, ch. xiii., of those false prophets who made the just to mourn and who flattered sinners, saying: 'Maerere fecistis cor justi mendaciter, quem Ego
non contristavi: et comfortastis manus impii.' In a certain sense this may be said of those who frighten souls who are going on by the way of prayer and perfection, telling them that this way is singular and full of danger, that many who went by it have fallen into delusions, and that the safest way is that which is plain and common, travelled by all. "4. Words of this kind, clearly, sadden the hearts of those who would observe the counsels of perfection in continual prayer, so far as it is possible for them, and in much fasting, watching, and disciplines; and, on the other hand, the lax and the wicked take courage and lose the fear of God, because they consider the way on which they are travelling as the safer: and this is their delusion,—they call that a plain and safe road which is the absence of the knowledge and consideration of the dangers and precipices amidst which we are all of us journeying in this world. Nevertheless, there is no other security than that which lies in our knowing our daily enemies, and in humbly imploring the compassion of God, if we would not be their prisoners. Besides, there are souls whom God, in a way, constrains to enter on the way of perfection, and who, if they relaxed in their fervour, could not keep a middle course, but would immediately fall into the other extreme of sins, and for souls of this kind it is of the utmost necessity that they should watch and pray without ceasing; and, in short, there is nobody whom lukewarmness does not injure. Let every man examine his own conscience, and he will find this to be the truth.
"5. I firmly believe that if God for a time bears with the lukewarm, it is owing to the prayers of the fervent, who are continually crying, 'et ne nos inducas in tentationem.' I have said this, not for the purpose of honouring those whom we see walking in the way of contemplation; for it is another extreme into which the world falls, and a covert persecution of goodness, to pronounce those holy forthwith who have the appearance of it. For that would be to furnish them with motives for vain-glory, and would do little honour to goodness; on the contrary, it would expose it to great risks, because, when they fall who have been objects of praise, the honour of goodness suffers more than if those people had not been so esteemed. And so I look upon this exaggeration of their holiness who are still living in the world to be a temptation of Satan. That we should have a good opinion of the servants of God is most just, but let us consider them always as people in danger, however good they may be, and that their goodness is not so evident that we can be sure of it even now.
"6. Considering myself that what I have said is true, I have always proceeded cautiously in the examination of this account of the prayer and life of this nun, and no one has been more incredulous than myself as to her visions and revelations,—not so, however as to her goodness and her good desires, for herein I have had
great experience of her truthfulness, her obedience, mortification, patience, and charity towards her persecutors, and of her other virtues, which any one who will converse with her will discern; and this is what may be regarded as a more certain proof of her real love of God than these visions and revelations. I do not, however, undervalue her visions, revelations, and ecstasies; on the contrary, I suspect them to be the work of God, as they have been in others who were Saints. But in this case it is always safer to be afraid and wary; for if she is confident about them, Satan will take occasion to interfere, and that which was once, perhaps, the work of God, may be changed into something else, and that will be the devil's. "7. I am of opinion that this book is not to be shown to every one, but only to men of learning, experience, and Christian discretion. It perfectly answers the purpose for which it was written, namely, that the nun should give an account of the state of her soul to those who had the charge of it, in order that she might not fall into delusions. Of one thing I am very sure, so far as it is possible for a man to be,—she is not a deceiver; she deserves, therefore, for her sincerity, that all should be favourable to her in her good purposes and good works. For within the last thirteen years she has, I believe, founded a dozen monasteries of Barefooted Carmelite nuns, the austerity and perfection of which are exceeded by none other; of which they who have been visitors of them, as the Dominican Provincial, master in theology,
Fra Pedro Fernandez, the master Fra Hernando del Castillo, and many others, speak highly. This is what I think, at present, concerning the censure of this book, submitting my judgment herein to that of Holy Church our mother, and her ministers. The other theologian appointed by the Inquisition, with Fra Bañes, to examine the "Life."
"Given in the College of St. Gregory, Valladolid, on the sixth day of July, 1575.
"Fra Domingo Bañes."
The book remained in the keeping of the Inquisition, and the Saint
never saw it again. But she heard of it from the Archbishop of
Toledo, Cardinal Quiroga, President of the Supreme Court of the
Inquisition, when she applied to him for license to found a monastery
in Madrid. Jerome of the Mother of God was with her; and heard the
Cardinal's reply. His Eminence said he was glad to see her; that a
book of hers had been in the Holy Office for some years, and had been
rigorously examined; that he had read it himself, and regarded it as
containing sound and wholesome doctrine. He would grant the license,
and do whatever he could for the Saint. When she heard this, she
wished to present a petition to the Inquisition for the restitution of
her book; but Gratian
This took place in the year
1580, according to the Chronicler of the Order
(Reforma de los Descalços, lib. v. c. xxxv. §
4); and the Bollandists (n. 1536) accept his statement. Fra Jerome
says he was Provincial of his Order at the time; and as he was elected
only on the 4th of March, 1581, according to the Chronicler and the
Bollandists, it is more likely that the audience granted to them by
the Cardinal took place in 1581.
Anne of Jesus, in 1586, founding a monastery of her Order in Madrid,—the Saint had died in 1582,—made inquiries about the book, and applied to the Inquisition for it, for she was resolved to publish the writings of her spiritual mother. The Inquisitors made no difficulty, and consented to the publication. In this she was seconded by the Empress Maria, daughter of Charles V., and widow of Maximilian II., who had obtained one of the copies which Fra Jerome of the Mother of God had ordered to be made. Fra Nicholas Doria, then Provincial, asked Fra Luis de Leon, the Augustinian, to edit the book, who consented. He was allowed to compare the copy furnished him with the original in the keeping of the Inquisition; but his edition has not been considered accurate, notwithstanding the facilities given him, and his great reverence for the Saint. It was published in Salamanca, A.D. 1588.
With the Life of the Saint, Fra Luis de Leon received certain
papers in the handwriting of the Saint, which he published as an
additional chapter. Whether he printed all he received, or merely
made extracts, may be doubtful, but anyhow that chapter is singularly
incomplete. Don Vicente de la Fuente, from whose edition (Madrid,
1861, 1862) this translation has been made, omitted the additional
chapter of Fra Luis de Leon, contrary to the practice of his
predecessors. But he has done more, for he has traced the paragraphs
of that chapter to their sources, and has given us now a collection of
papers which form almost another Life of the Saint, to which he has
given their old name
of Relations, Reforma de los
Descalços, lib. v. c. xxxiv. § 4: "Relaciones de su espiritu."
The Relations are ten in the Spanish edition, and eleven in the translation. The last, the eleventh, has hitherto been left among the letters, and Don Vicente, seemingly not without some hesitation, so left it; but as it is of the like nature with the Relations, it has now been added to them.
The original text, in the handwriting of the Saint, is preserved in the Escurial, not in the library, but among the relics of the Church. Don Vicente examined it at his leisure, and afterwards found in the National Library in Madrid an authentic and exact transcript of it, made by order of Ferdinand VI. His edition is, therefore, far better than any of its predecessors; but it is possible that even now there may still remain some verbal errors for future editors to correct. The most conscientious diligence is not a safeguard against mistakes. F. Bouix says that in ch. xxxiv. § 12, the reading of the original differs from that of the printed editions; yet Don Vicente takes no notice of it, and retains the common reading. It is impossible to believe that F. Bouix has stated as a fact that which is not. Again, in ch. xxxix. § 29, the printed editions have after the words, "Thou art Mine, and I am thine," "I am in the habit . . . . sincerity;" but Don Vicente omits them. This may have been an oversight, for in general he points out in his notes all the discrepancies between the printed editions and the original text.
A new translation of the Life of St. Teresa seems called for now, because the original text has been collated since the previous translations were made, and also because those translations are exceedingly scarce. The first is believed to be this—it is a small quarto:
"The Lyf of the Mother Teresa of Jesus, Foundresse of the Monasteries of the Discalced or Bare-footed Carmelite Nunnes and Fryers of the First Rule.
"Written by herself at the commaundement of her ghostly father, and now translated into English out of Spanish. By W. M., of the Society of Jesus.
"Imprinted in Antwerp by Henry Jaye. Anno MDCXI."
Some thirty years afterwards, Sir Tobias Matthew, S.J., dissatisfied, as he says, with the former translation, published another, with the following title; the volume is a small octavo in form:
"The Flaming Hart, or the Life of the glorious St. Teresa, Foundresse of the Reformation of the Order of the All-Immaculate Virgin Mother, our B. Lady of Mount Carmel.
"This History of her Life was written by the Saint in Spanish, and is newly translated into English in the year of our Lord God 1642.
'Aut mori aut pati:
Either to dye or else to suffer.'—Chap. xl.
"Antwerpe, printed by Joannes Meursius. Anno MDCXLII."
The next translation was made by Abraham Woodhead, and published in 1671, without the name of the translator, or of the printer, or of the place of publication. It is in quarto, and bears the following title:
"The Life of the Holy Mother St. Teresa, Foundress of the Reformation of the Discalced Carmelites according to the Primitive Rule. Printed in the year MDCLXXI."
It is not said that the translation was made from the Spanish, and there are grounds for thinking it to have been made from the Italian. Ch. xxxii. is broken off at the end of § 10; and ch. xxxiii., therefore, is ch. xxxvii. That which is there omitted has been thrown into the Book of the Foundations, which, in the translation of Mr. Woodhead, begins with § 11 of ch. xxxii. of the Life, as it also does in the Italian translation. It is due, however, to Mr. Woodhead to say that he has printed five of the Relations separately, not as letters, but as what they really are, and with that designation.
The last translation is that of the Very Reverend John Dalton, Canon of Northampton, which is now, though twice published, almost as scarce as its predecessors. The title is:
"The Life of St. Teresa, written by herself, and translated from the Spanish by the Rev. John Dalton. London, MDCCCLI."
Septuagesima, 1870.
Annals of the Saint's Life.
By Don Vicente de la Fuente.
These are substantially the same with those drawn up by the Bollandists, but they are fuller and more minute, and furnish a more detailed history of the Saint.
- 1515.
St. Teresa is born in Avila, March 28th.
In the same year St. Philip was born in Florence. St. Teresa died in 1582, and St. Philip in 1595; but they were canonised on the same day, with St. Isidore, St. Ignatius, and St. Francis Xavier. The three latter were joined together in the three final consistories held before the solemn proclamation of their sanctity, and St. Teresa and St. Philip were joined together in the same way in the final consistories held specially, as usual, for them.
- 1522.
She desires martyrdom, and leaves her father's house with one of her brothers.
- 1527.
This must be an error. See ch. i. § 7, note 7.
Death of her mother.
- 1529.
Writes romances of chivalry, and is misled by a thoughtless cousin.
- 1531.
Her sister Maria's marriage, and her removal from home to the Augustinian monastery, where she remains till the autumn of next year.
- 1533.
There is a difficulty about this. The Bollandists maintain that she went to the monastery of the Incarnation in the year 1533. On the other hand Ribera, her most accurate biographer—with whom Fra Jerome agrees,—says that she left her father's house in 1535, when she was more than twenty years of age; Yepes, that she was not yet twenty; and the Second Relation of the Rota, that she was in her twentieth year. The Bull of Canonisation and the Office in the Breviary also say that she was in her twentieth year, that is, A.D. 1534. The Chronicler of the Order differs from all and assigns the year 1536 as the year in which she entered the monastery.
Nov. 2, enters the monastery of the Incarnation.
- 1534.
Nov. 3, makes her profession.
- 1535.
Goes to Castellanos de la Cañada, to her sister's house, where she remains till the spring of 1536, when she goes to Bezadas.
- 1537.
Returns to Avila on Palm Sunday. In July seriously ill, and in a trance for four days, when in her father's house. Paralysed for more than two years.
- 1539.
Is cured of her paralysis by St. Joseph.
- 1541.
Begins to grow lukewarm, and gives up mental prayer.
- 1542.
Our Lord appears to her in the parlour of the monastery, "stern and grave "
Ch. vii. § 11, see note there. .- 1555.
Ceases to converse with secular people, moved thereto by the sight of a picture of our Lord on the cross
Ch. ix. § 1. . The Jesuits come to Avila and the Saint confesses to F. Juan de Padranos.- 1556.
Beginning of the supernatural visitations.
- 1557.
St. Francis de Borja comes to Avila, and approves of the spirit of the Saint.
- 1558.
First rapture of the Saint
Ch. xxiv. § 7. . The vision of HellCh. xxxii. § 1. . Father Alvarez ordained priest.- 1559.
She takes F. Alvarez for her confessor. The transpiercing of her heart
Ch. xxix. § 17. . Vision of our Lord risen from the deadCh. xxvii. § 3, ch. xxviii. § 2. .- 1560.
The vow of greater perfection. St. Peter of Alcantara approves of her spirit, and St. Luis Beltran encourages her to proceed with her plan of founding a new monastery.
- 1561.
F. Gaspar de Salazar, S.J., comes to Avila; her sister Doña Juana comes to Avila from Alba de Tormes to help the Saint in the new foundation
Ch. xxxiii. § 13. . Restores her nephew to LifeCh. xxxv. § 14, note. . Fra Ibañez bids her write her Life. Receives a sum of money from her brother in Peru, which enables her to go on with the building of the new house.- 1562.
Goes to Toledo, to the house of Doña Luisa de la Cerda, and finishes the account of her Life. Makes the acquaintance of Fra Bañes, afterwards her principal director, and Fra Garcia of Toledo, both Dominicans. Receives a visit from
Maria of Jesus. Has a revelation that her sister, Doña Maria, will die suddenly
Ch. xxxiv. § 24. . Returns to Avila and takes possession of the new monastery, August 24. Troubles in Avila. The Saint ordered back to the monastery of the Incarnation. Is commanded by Fra Garcia of Toledo to write the history of the foundation of St. Joseph.
The Life
of the
Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus.
Written by Herself.
Prologue.
As I have been commanded and left at liberty to describe at length
my way of prayer, and the workings of the grace of our Lord within me,
I could wish that I had been allowed at the same time to speak
distinctly and in detail of my grievous sins and wicked life. But it
has not been so willed; on the contrary, I am laid herein under great
restraint; and therefore, for the love of our Lord, I beg of every one
who shall read this story of
my life The Saint, in a letter written
November 19, 1581, to Don Pedro de Castro, then canon of Avila,
speaking of this book, calls it the book "Of the compassions of
God"—Y ansi intitule ese libro De las Misericordias
de Dios. That letter is the 358th in the edition of Don Vicente de
la Fuente, and the 8th of the fourth volume of the Doblado edition of
Madrid. "Vitam igitur suam internam et
supernaturalem magis pandit quam narrat actiones suas mere
humanas" (Bollandists, n. 2).
May He be blessed for ever Who waited for me so long! I implore Him with my whole heart to send me His grace, so that in all clearness and truth I may give this account of myself which my confessors command me to give; and even our Lord Himself, I know it, has also willed it should be given for some time past, but I had not the courage to attempt it. And I pray it may be to His praise and glory, and a help to my confessors; who, knowing me better, may succour my weakness, so that I may render to our Lord some portion of the service I owe Him. May all creatures praise Him for ever! Amen.
Chapter I.
1. I had a father and mother, who were devout and feared God. Our
Lord also helped me with His grace. All this would have been enough
to make me good, if I had not been so wicked. My father was very much
given to the reading of good books; and so he had them in Spanish,
that his children might read them. These books, with my mother's
carefulness to make us say our prayers, and to bring us up devout to
our Lady and to certain Saints, began to make me think seriously when
I was, I believe, six or seven years old. It helped me, too, that I
never saw my father and mother respect anything but goodness. They
were very good themselves. My father was a man of great charity
towards the poor, and compassion for the sick, and also for servants;
so much so, that he never could be persuaded to keep slaves, for he
pitied them so much: and a slave belonging to one of his brothers
being once in his house, was treated by him with as
2. My mother also was a woman of great goodness, and her life was
spent in great infirmities. She was singularly pure in all her ways.
Though possessing great beauty, yet was it never known that she gave
reason to suspect that she made any account whatever of it; for,
though she was only three-and-thirty years of age when she died, her
apparel was already that of a woman advanced in years. She was very
calm, and had great sense. The sufferings she went through during her
life were grievous, her death
most Christian. See ch.
xxxvii. § 1; where the Saint says that she saw them in a vision
both in Heaven.
3. We were three sisters and nine
brothers. Alfonso Sanchez de Cepeda, father
of the Saint, married first Catalina del Peso y Henao, and had three
children—one daughter, Maria de Cepeda, and two sons. After the
death of Catalina, he married Beatriz Davila y Ahumada, by whom he had
nine children—seven boys and two girls. The third of these, and the
eldest of the daughters, was the Saint, Doña Teresa Sanchez Cepeda
Davila y Ahumada. In the Monastery of the Incarnation, where she was
a professed nun for twenty-eight years, she was known as Doña Teresa;
but in the year 1563, when she left her monastery for the new
foundation of St. Joseph, of the Reform of
the Carmelites, she took for the first time the name of Teresa of
Jesus (De la Fuente). The Saint was born March 28, 1515, and baptized
on the 4th of April, in the church of St. John; on which day Mass was said for the
first time in the Monastery of the Incarnation, where the Saint made
her profession. Her godfather was Vela Nuñez, and her godmother Doña
Maria del Aguila. The Bollandists and Father Bouix say that she was
baptized on the very day of her birth. But the testimony of Doña
Maria de Pinel, a nun in the Monastery of the Incarnation, is clear:
and Don Vicente de La Fuente, quoting it, vol. i. p. 549, says that
this delay of baptism was nothing singular in those days, provided
there was no danger of death.
4. One of my brothers was nearly of my own
age; Rodrigo de Cepeda, four years older
than the Saint, entered the army, and, serving in South America, was
drowned in the river Plate, Rio de la Plata. St. Teresa always considered him a martyr,
because he died in defence of the Catholic faith (Ribera,
lib. i. ch. iii.). Before he sailed for the Indies, he made his will,
and left all his property to the Saint, his sister
(Reforma de los Descalços, vol. i. lib. i. ch.
iii. § 4). The Bollandists incline to believe
that St. Teresa may not have intended to
quit Spain, because all the Moors were not at that time driven out of
the country. The Bull of the Saint's canonization, and the Lections
of the Breviary, say that she left her father's house, ut in
Africam trajiceret. The two children set out on their
strange journey—one of them seven, the other eleven, years
old—through the Adaja Gate; but when they had crossed the bridge,
they were met by one of their uncles, who brought them back to their
mother, who had already sent through Avila in quest of them. Rodrigo,
like Adam, excused himself, and laid the blame on the woman
(Ribera, lib. i. ch. iii.). Francisco de Santa Maria,
chronicler of the Order, says that the uncle was Francisco Alvarez de
Cepeda (Reforma de los Descalços, lib. i. ch.
v. § 4).
5. It astonished us greatly to find it said in
what we were reading that pain and bliss were everlasting. We
happened very often to talk about this; and we had a pleasure in
repeating frequently, "For ever, ever, ever." Through the
constant uttering of these
6. As soon as I saw it was impossible to go to
any place where people would put me to death for the sake of God, my
brother and I set about becoming hermits; and in an orchard belonging
to the house we contrived, as well as we could, to build hermitages,
by piling up small stones one on the other, which fell down
immediately; and so it came to pass that we found no means of
accomplishing our wish. Even now, I have a feeling of devotion when I
consider how God gave me in my early youth what I lost by my own
fault. I gave alms as I could—and I could but little. I contrived
to be alone, for the sake of saying my
prayers She was also marvellously touched
by the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, of whom there was a
picture in her room (Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv.). She
speaks of this later on. (See ch. xxx.
§ 24.)
7. I remember that, when my mother
died, The last will and testament of Doña
Beatriz de Ahumada was made November 24, 1528 and she may have died
soon after. If there be no mistake in the copy of that instrument,
the Saint must have been more than twelve years old at that time. Don
Vicente, in a note, says, with the Bollandists, that Doña Beatriz died
at the end of the year 1526, or in the beginning of 1527; but it is
probable that, when he wrote that note, he had not read the copy of
the will, which he has printed in the first volume of the Saint's
writings, p. 550. Our Lady of Charity, in the church
of the hospital where the poor and pilgrims were received in
Avila (Bouix).
8. O my Lord, since Thou art determined to save me—may it be the pleasure of Thy Majesty to effect it!—and to bestow upon me so many graces, why has it not been Thy pleasure also—not for my advantage, but for Thy greater honour—that this habitation, wherein Thou hast continually to dwell, should not have contracted so much defilement? It distresses me even to say this, O my Lord, because I know the fault is all my own, seeing that Thou hast left nothing undone to make me, even from my youth, wholly Thine. When I would complain of my parents, I cannot do it; for I saw nothing in them but all good, and carefulness for my welfare. Then, growing up, I began to discover the natural gifts which our Lord had given me—they were said to be many; and, when I should have given Him thanks for them, I made use of every one of them, as I shall now explain, to offend Him.
Chapter II.
1. What I shall now speak of was, I believe, the
beginning of great harm to me. I often think how wrong it is of
parents not to be very careful that their children should always, and
in every way, see only that which is good; for though my mother was,
as I have just said, so good herself, nevertheless I, when I came to
the use of reason, did not derive so much good
2. I began to make much of dress, to wish to
please others by my appearance. I took pains with my hands and my
hair, used perfumes, and all vanities within my reach—and they were
many, for I was very much given to them. I had no evil intention,
because I never wished any one to offend God for me. This
fastidiousness of
excessive neatness The Saint throughout her life was
extremely careful of cleanliness. In one of her letters to Father
Jerome Gratian of the Mother of God (No. 323, Letter 28, vol. iii. ed.
Doblado), she begs him, for the love of God, to see that the Fathers
had clean cells and table; and the Ven. Mother Anne of St. Bartholomew, in her life (Bruxelles, 1708, p.
40), says that she changed the Saint's linen on the day of her death,
and was thanked by her for her carefulness. "Her soul was so
pure," says the Ven. Mother,
"that she could not bear anything that was
not clean."
3. I had some cousins; for into my father's
house no others were allowed an entrance. In this he was very
cautious; and would to God he had been cautious
4. So it was with me; for I had a sister much
older than myself, Maria de Cepeda, half-sister of the
Saint. She was married to Don Martin de Guzman y Barrientos; and the
contract for the dowry was signed January 11, 1531
(Reforma de los Descalços lib. i. ch. vii.
§ 4).
5. This friendship distressed my father and sister exceedingly. They often blamed me for it; but, as they could not hinder that person from coming into the house, all their efforts were in vain; for I was very adroit in doing anything that was wrong. Now and then, I am amazed at the evil one bad companion can do,—nor could I believe it if I did not know it by experience,—especially when we are young: then is it that the evil must be greatest. Oh, that parents would take warning by me, and look carefully to this! So it was; the conversation of this person so changed me, that no trace was left of my soul's natural disposition to virtue, and I became a reflection of her and of another who was given to the same kind of amusements.
6. I know from this the great advantage of good
companions; and I am certain that if at that tender age I had been
thrown among good people, I should have persevered in virtue; for if
at that time I had found any one to teach me the fear of God, my soul
would have grown strong enough not to fall away. Afterwards, when the
fear of God had utterly departed from me, the fear of dishonour alone
remained, and was a torment to me in all I did. When I thought that
nobody would ever know, I ventured upon many
7. In the beginning, these conversations did me harm—I believe so. The fault was perhaps not hers, but mine; for afterwards my own wickedness was enough to lead me astray, together with the servants about me, whom I found ready enough for all evil. If any one of these had given me good advice, I might perhaps have profited by it; but they were blinded by interest, as I was by passion. Still, I was never inclined to much evil,—for I hated naturally anything dishonourable,—but only to the amusement of a pleasant conversation. The occasion of sin, however, being present, danger was at hand, and I exposed to it my father and brothers. God delivered me out of it all, so that I should not be lost, in a manner visibly against my will, yet not so secretly as to allow me to escape without the loss of my good name and the suspicions of my father.
8. I had not spent, I think, three months in
these vanities, when they took me to a
monastery The Augustinian Monastery of Our
Lady of Grace. It was founded in 1509 by the venerable Fra Juan of
Seville, Vicar-General of the Order (Reforma de los
Descalços lib. i. ch. vii. n. 2). There were forty nuns in the
house at this time (De la Fuente).
9. So excessive was my father's love for me, and
so deep my dissembling, that he never would believe me to be so wicked
as I was; and hence I was never in disgrace with him. Though some
remarks were made, yet, as the time had been short, nothing could
be
10. For the first eight days, I suffered much; but more from the suspicion that my vanity was known, than from being in the monastery; for I was already weary of myself—and, though I offended God, I never ceased to have a great fear of Him, and contrived to go to confession as quickly as I could. I was very uncomfortable; but within eight days, I think sooner, I was much more contented than I had been in my father's house. All the nuns were pleased with me; for our Lord had given me the grace to please every one, wherever I might be. I was therefore made much of in the monastery. Though at this time I hated to be a nun, yet I was delighted at the sight of nuns so good; for they were very good in that house—very prudent, observant of the rule, and recollected.
11. Yet, for all this, the devil did not cease to tempt me; and people in the world sought means to trouble my rest with messages and presents. As this could not be allowed, it was soon over, and my soul began to return to the good habits of my earlier years; and I recognized the great mercy of God to those whom He places among good people. It seems as if His Majesty had sought and sought again how to convert me to Himself. Blessed be Thou, O Lord, for having borne with me so long! Amen.
12. Were it not for my many faults, there was
some excuse for me, I think, in this: that the conversation I shared
in was with one who, I thought, would do well in
Some have said that the Saint at
this time intended, or wished, to be married; and Father Bouix
translates the passage thus: "une alliance
honorable pour moi." But it is more probable that the
Saint had listened only to the story of her cousin's intended
marriage; for in ch. v. § 11, she says
that our Lord had always kept her from seeking to be loved
of men. Doña Maria Brizeño, mistress of the
secular children who were educated in the monastery
(Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. § 3).
Chapter III.
1. I began gradually to like the good and holy
conversation of this nun. How well she used to speak of God! for she
was a person of great discretion and sanctity. I listened to her with
delight. I think there never was a time when I was not glad to listen
to her. She began by telling me how she came to be a nun through the
mere reading of the words of the Gospel "Many are called, and few
are chosen." St.
2. I remained in the monastery a year and a
half, and was very much the better for it. I began to say many vocal
prayers, and to ask all the nuns to pray for me, that God would place
me in that state wherein I was to serve Him; but, for all this, I
wished not to be a nun, and that God would not be pleased I should be
one, though at the same time I was afraid of marriage. At the end of
my stay there, I had a greater inclination to be a nun, yet not in
that house, on account of certain devotional practices which I
understood prevailed there, and which I thought overstrained. Some of
the younger ones encouraged me in this my wish; and if all had been of
one mind, I might have profited by it. I had also a great
friend Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of
the incarnation, Avila (Reforma, lib. i. ch.
vii. § 7).
3. At this time, though I was not careless about my own good, our Lord was much more careful to dispose me for that state of life which was best for me. He sent me a serious illness, so that I was obliged to return to my father's house.
4. When I became well again, they took me to see
my sister Maria de Cepeda, married to Don
Martin Guzman y Barrientos. They lived in Castellanos de la Cañada,
where they had considerable property; but in the later years of their
lives they were in straitened circumstances (De la
Fuente). See below, ch. xxxiv.
§ 24.
5. On the road lived a brother of my
father Don Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda. He
lived in Hortigosa, four leagues from Avila (De
la Fuente).
6. Though I remained here but a few days, yet, through the impression made on my heart by the words of God both heard and read, and by the good conversation of my uncle, I came to understand the truth I had heard in my childhood, that all things are as nothing, the world vanity, and passing rapidly away. I also began to be afraid that, if I were then to die, I should go down to hell. Though I could not bend my will to be a nun, I saw that the religious state was the best and the safest. And thus, by little and little, I resolved to force myself into it.
7. The struggle lasted three months. I used to
press this reason against myself: The trials and sufferings of living
as a nun cannot be greater than those of purgatory, and I have well
deserved to be in hell. It is not much to spend the rest of my life
as if I were in purgatory, and then go straight to Heaven—
8. The devil put before me that I could not endure the trials of the religious life, because of my delicate nature. I defended myself against him by alleging the trials which Christ endured, and that it was not much for me to suffer something for His sake; besides, He would help me to bear it. I must have thought so, but I do not remember this consideration. I endured many temptations during these days. I was subject to fainting-fits, attended with fever,—for my health was always weak. I had become by this time fond of good books, and that gave me life. I read the Epistles of St. Jerome, which filled me with so much courage, that I resolved to tell my father of my purpose,—which was almost like taking the habit; for I was so jealous of my word, that I would never, for any consideration, recede from a promise when once my word had been given.
9. My father's love for me was so great, that I could never obtain his consent; nor could the prayers of others, whom I persuaded to speak to him, be of any avail. The utmost I could get from him was that I might do as I pleased after his death. I now began to be afraid of myself, and of my own weakness—for I might go back. So, considering that such waiting was not safe for me, I obtained my end in another way, as I shall now relate.
Chapter IV.
1. In those days, when I was thus resolved, I
had persuaded one of
my brothers, Antonio de Ahumada; who, according
to the most probable opinion, entered the Dominican monastery of St. Thomas, Avila. It is said that he died
before he was professed. Some said he joined the Hieronymites; but
this is not so probable (De la Fuente). Ribera, however,
says that he did enter the novitiate of the Hieronymites. but died
before he was out of it (lib. i. ch. vi.). See Relation, vi. § 3. The nuns sent word to the father of
his child's escape, and of her desire to become a nun, but without any
expectation of obtaining his consent. He came to the monastery
forthwith, and "offered up his Isaac on Mount Carmel"
(Reforma, lib. i. ch. viii. § 5).
2. When I took the
habit, The Saint entered the Monastery of
the Incarnation Nov. 2, 1533, and made her profession Nov. 3, 1534
(Bollandists and Bouix). Ribera says she
entered November 2, 1535; and the chronicler of the Order, relying on
the contract by which her father bound himself to the monastery, says
that she took the habit Nov. 2, 1536, and that Ribera had made
a mistake.
3. Whenever I remember this, there is nothing in
the world, however hard it may be, that, if it were proposed to me, I
would not undertake without any hesitation whatever; for I know now,
by experience in many things, that if from the first I resolutely
persevere in my purpose, even in this life His Majesty rewards it in a
way which he only understands who has tried it. When the act is done
for God only, it is His will before we begin it that the soul, in
order to the increase of its merits, should be afraid; and the greater
the fear, if we do but succeed, the greater the reward, and the
sweetness thence afterwards resulting. I know this by experience, as
I have just said, in many serious affairs; and so, if I were a person
who had to advise anybody, I would never counsel any one, to whom good
inspirations from time to time may come, to resist them through fear
of the difficulty of carrying them into effect; for if a person lives
detached for the love of God only, that is no reason for being afraid
of failure,
4. O supreme Good, and my Rest, those graces ought to have been enough which Thou hadst given me hitherto, seeing that Thy compassion and greatness had drawn me through so many windings to a state so secure, to a house where there are so many servants of God, from whom I might learn how I may advance in Thy service. I know not how to go on, when I call to mind the circumstances of my profession, the great resolution and joy with which I made it, and my betrothal unto Thee. I cannot speak of it without tears; and my tears ought to be tears of blood, my heart ought to break, and that would not be much to suffer because of the many offences against Thee which I have committed since that day. It seems to me now that I had good reasons for not wishing for this dignity, seeing that I have made so sad a use of it. But Thou, O my Lord, hast been willing to bear with me for almost twenty years of my evil using of Thy graces, till I might become better. It seems to me, O my God, that I did nothing but promise never to keep any of the promises then made to Thee. Yet such was not my intention: but I see that what I have done since is of such a nature, that I know not what my intention was. So it was and so it happened, that it may be the better known, O my Bridegroom, Who Thou art and what I am.
5. It is certainly true that very frequently the
joy I have in that the multitude of Thy mercies is made known in me,
softens the bitter sense of my great faults. In whom, O Lord, can
they shine forth as they do in me, who by my evil deeds have shrouded
in darkness Thy great graces, which Thou hadst begun to work in me?
Woe is me, O my Maker! If I would make an excuse, I have none to
offer; and I only am to blame. For if I could return to Thee any
portion of that love which Thou hadst begun to show unto me, I would
give it only unto Thee, and then everything would have been
6. The change in the habits of my life, and in
my food, proved hurtful to my health; and though my happiness was
great, that was not enough. The fainting-fits began to be more
frequent; and my heart was so seriously affected, that every one who
saw it was alarmed; and I had also many other ailments. And thus it
was I spent the first year, having very bad health, though I do not
think I offended God in it much. And as my illness was so serious—I
was almost insensible at all times, and frequently wholly so—my
father took great pains to find some relief; and as the physicians who
attended me had none to give, he had me taken to a place which had a
great reputation for the cure of other infirmities. They said I
should find relief there. Her father took her from the
monastery in the autumn of 1535, according to the Bollandists, but of
1538, according to the chronicler, who adds, that she was taken to her
uncle's house—Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda—in Hortigosa, and then to
Castellanos de la Cañada, to the house of her sister, Doña Maria,
where she remained till the spring, when she went to Bezadas for
her cure (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi.
§ 2). It was in 1563 that all nuns were
compelled to observe enclosure (De
la Fuente).
7. I remained there nearly a year, for three
months of it suffering most cruel tortures—effects of the violent
remedies which they applied. I know not how I endured them; and
indeed, though I submitted myself to them, they were, as I shall
relate,
8. I was to begin the treatment in the spring,
and went thither when winter commenced. The intervening time I spent
with my sister, of whom I
spoke before, By Fray
Francisco de Osuna, of the Order of St. Francis (Reforma,
lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).
9. From the very beginning, God was most
gracious unto me. Though I was not so free from sin as the book
required, I passed that by; such watchfulness seemed to me almost
impossible. I was on my guard against mortal sin—and would to God I
had always been so!—but I was careless about venial sins, and that
was my ruin. Yet, for all this, at the end of my stay there—I spent
nearly nine months in the practice of solitude—our Lord began to
comfort me so much in this way of prayer, as in His mercy to raise me
to the prayer of quiet, and now and then to that of union, though I
understood not what either the one or the other was, nor the great
esteem I ought to have had of
10. I used to labour with all my might to
imagine Jesus Christ, our Good and our Lord, present within me. And
this was the way I prayed. If I meditated on any mystery of His life,
I represented it to myself as within me, though the greater part of my
time I spent in reading good books, which was all my comfort; for God
never endowed me with the gift of making reflections with the
understanding, or with that of using the imagination to any good
purpose: my imagination is
so sluggish, See ch.
ix. §§ 4, 7.
11. And though men may attain more quickly to
the state of contemplation, if they persevere, by this way of
inability to exert the intellect, yet is the process more laborious
and painful; for if the will have nothing to occupy it, and if love
have no present object to rest on, the soul is without support and
without employment—its isolation and dryness occasion great pain, and
the thoughts assail it most grievously. Persons in this condition
must have greater purity of conscience than those who can make use of
their understanding; for he who can use his intellect in the way of
meditation on what the world is, on what he owes to God, on the great
sufferings of God for him, his own scanty service in return, and on
the reward God reserves for those who love Him, learns how to defend
himself against his own
12. This way of proceeding is so exceedingly painful, that if the master who teaches it insists on cutting off the succours which reading gives, and requires the spending of much time in prayer, then, I say, it will be impossible to persevere long in it: and if he persists in his plan, health will be ruined, because it is a most painful process. Reading is of great service towards procuring recollection in any one who proceeds in this way; and it is even necessary for him, however little it may be that he reads, if only as a substitute for the mental prayer which is beyond his reach.
13. Now I seem to understand that it was the good providence of our Lord over me that found no one to teach me. If I had, it would have been impossible for me to persevere during the eighteen years of my trial and of those great aridities because of my inability to meditate. During all this time, it was only after Communion that I ever ventured to begin my prayer without a book—my soul was as much afraid to pray without one, as if it had to fight against a host. With a book to help me—it was like a companion, and a shield whereon to receive the blows of many thoughts—I found comfort; for it was not usual with me to be in aridity: but I always was so when I had no book; for my soul was disturbed, and my thoughts wandered at once. With one, I began to collect my thoughts, and, using it as a decoy, kept my soul in peace, very frequently by merely opening a book—there was no necessity for more. Sometimes, I read but little; at other times, much—according as our Lord had pity on me.
14. It seemed to me, in these beginnings of
which I am speaking, that there could be no danger capable of
15. I must now return to that which has been enjoined me. I say, that if I had to describe minutely how our Lord dealt with me in the beginning, it would be necessary for me to have another understanding than that I have: so that I might be able to appreciate what I owe to Him, together with my own ingratitude and wickedness; for I have forgotten it all.
May He be blessed for ever Who has borne with me so long! Amen.
Chapter V.
1. I forgot to say how, in the year of my novitiate, I suffered much uneasiness about things in themselves of no importance; but I was found fault with very often when I was blameless. I bore it painfully and with imperfection; however, I went through it all, because of the joy I had in being a nun. When they saw me seeking to be alone, and even weeping over my sins at times, they thought I was discontented, and said so.
2. All religious observances had an attraction for me, but I could not endure any which seemed to make me contemptible. I delighted in being thought well of by others, and was very exact in everything I had to do. All this I thought was a virtue, though it will not serve as any excuse for me, because I knew what it was to procure my own satisfaction in everything, and so ignorance does not blot out the blame. There may be some excuse in the fact that the monastery was not founded in great perfection. I, wicked as I was, followed after that which I saw was wrong, and neglected that which was good.
3. There was then in the house a nun labouring under a most grievous and painful disorder, for there were open ulcers in her body, caused by certain obstructions, through which her food was rejected. Of this sickness she soon died. All the sisters, I saw, were afraid of her malady. I envied her patience very much; I prayed to God that He would give me a like patience; and then, whatever sickness it might be His pleasure to send, I do not think I was afraid of any, for I was resolved on gaining eternal good, and determined to gain it by any and by every means.
4. I am surprised at myself, because then I had
not, as I believe, that love of God which I think I had after
5. When the time had come for which I was
waiting in the place I spoke
of before Ch. iv. §
6. The person to whom she was taken was a woman famous for
certain cures she had wrought, but whose skill proved worse than
useless to the Saint (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi.
§ 2).
6. In the place to which I had gone for my cure
lived a priest of good birth and understanding, with some learning,
but not much. I went to confession to him, for I was always fond of
learned men, although confessors indifferently learned did my soul
much harm; for I did not always find confessors whose learning was as
good as I could wish it was. I know by experience that it is better,
if the confessors are good men and of holy lives, that they should
have no learning at all, than a little; for such confessors never
trust themselves without consulting those who are learned—nor would I
trust them myself: and a really learned confessor never deceived
me. Schram, Theolog. Mystic., § 483. "Magni doctores scholastici, si non sint spirituales,
vel omni rerum spiritualium experientia careant, non solent esse
magistri spirituales idonei—nam theologia scholastica est perfectio
intellectus; mystica, perfectio intellectus et voluntatis: unde bonus
theologus scholasticus potest esse malus theologus mysticus. In rebus
tamen difficilibus, dubiis, spiritualibus, præstat mediocriter
spiritualem theologum consulere quam
spiritualem idiotam." See Way of Perfection,
ch. viii. § 2; but ch. v. Dalton's edition.
7. This did me so much harm, that it is no wonder I should speak of it here as a warning to others, that they may avoid an evil so great; for I see clearly that in the eyes of God I was without excuse, that the things I did being in themselves not good, this should have been enough to keep me from them. I believe that God, by reason of my sins, allowed those confessors to deceive themselves and to deceive me. I myself deceived many others by saying to them what had been said to me.
8. I continued in this blindness, I believe,
more than seventeen years, till a most learned Dominican
Father See ch.
xxiii.
9. I began, then, by going to confession to that
priest of whom I
spoke before. §
6.
10. I procured further information about the
matter from members of his household; I learned more of his ruinous
state, and saw that the poor man's fault was not so grave, because the
miserable woman had had recourse to enchantments, by giving him a
little image made of copper, which she had begged him to wear for love
of her around his neck; and this no one had influence enough to
persuade him to throw away. As to this matter of enchantments, I do
not believe it to be altogether true; but I will relate what I saw, by
way of warning to men to be on their guard against women who will do
things of this kind. And let them be assured of this, that women—for
they are more bound to purity than men—if once they have lost all
shame before God, are in nothing whatever to be trusted; and
11. Though I have been so wicked myself, I never fell into anything of this kind, nor did I ever attempt to do evil; nor, if I had the power, would I have ever constrained any one to like me, for our Lord kept me from this. But if He had abandoned me, I should have done wrong in this, as I did in other things—for there is nothing in me whereon anyone may rely.
12. When I knew this, I began to show him greater affection: my intention was good, but the act was wrong, for I ought not to do the least wrong for the sake of any good, how great soever it may be. I spoke to him most frequently of God; and this must have done him good—though I believe that what touched him most was his great affection for me, because, to do me a pleasure, he gave me that little image of copper, and I had it at once thrown into a river. When he had given it up, like a man roused from deep sleep, he began to consider all that he had done in those years; and then, amazed at himself, lamenting his ruinous state, that woman came to be hateful in his eyes. Our Lady must have helped him greatly, for he had a very great devotion to her Conception, and used to keep the feast thereof with great solemnity. In short, he broke off all relations with that woman utterly, and was never weary of giving God thanks for the light He had given him; and at the end of the year from the day I first saw him, he died.
13. He had been most diligent in the service of
God; and as for that great affection he had for me, I never observed
anything wrong in it, though it might have been of greater purity.
There were also occasions wherein he might have most grievously
offended, if he had not kept himself in the near presence of God.
As I said before, §
9.
14. I remained three months in that place, in
the most grievous sufferings; for the treatment was too severe for my
constitution. In two months—so strong were the medicines—my life
was nearly worn out; and the severity of the pain in the
heart,
15. This was the result; and thereupon my father took me back. Then the physicians visited me again. All gave me up; they said I was also consumptive. This gave me little or no concern; what distressed me were the pains I had—for I was in pain from my head down to my feet. Now, nervous pains, according to the physicians, are intolerable; and all my nerves were shrunk. Certainly, if I had not brought this upon myself by my sins, the torture would have been unendurable.
16. I was not more than three months in this
cruel distress, for it seemed impossible that so many ills could be
borne together. I now am astonished at myself, and the patience His
Majesty gave me—for it clearly came from Him—I look upon as a great
mercy of our Lord. It was a great help to me to be patient, that I
had read the story of Job, in the Morals of St. Gregory (our Lord seems to have prepared me
thereby); and that I had begun the practice of prayer, so that I might
bear it all, conforming my will to the will of God. All my
conversation was with God. I had continually these words of Job in my
thoughts and in my mouth: "If we have received good things of the
hand of our Lord, why should we not receive evil
things?"
17. The feast of our Lady, in August, came round; from April until then I had been in great pain, but more especially during the last three months. I made haste to go to confession, for I had always been very fond of frequent confession. They thought I was driven by the fear of death; and so my father, in order to quiet me, would not suffer me to go. Oh, the unreasonable love of flesh and blood! Though it was that of a father so Catholic and so wise—he was very much so, and this act of his could not be the effect of any ignorance on his part—what evil it might have done me!
18. That very night my sickness became so
acute, that for about four days I remained insensible. They
administered the Sacrament of the last Anointing, and every hour, or
rather every moment, thought I was dying; they did nothing but repeat
the Credo, as if I could have understood anything
they said. They must have regarded me as dead more than once, for I
found afterwards drops of wax on my eyelids. My father, because he
had not allowed me to go to confession, was grievously distressed.
Loud cries and many
19. For a day-and-a-half the grave was open in
my monastery, waiting for
my body; Some of the nuns of the
Incarnation were in the house, sent thither from the monastery; and,
but for the father's disbelief in her death, would have taken her home
for burial (Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv.).
20. Though my sufferings were unendurable, and
my perceptions dull, yet my confession, I believe, was complete as to
all matters wherein I understood myself to have offended God. This
grace, among others, did His Majesty bestow on me, that ever since my
first Communion never in confession have I failed to confess anything
I thought to be a sin, though it might be only a venial sin. But I
think that undoubtedly my salvation was in great peril, if I had died
at that time—partly because my confessors were so unlearned, and
partly because I was so very wicked. It is certainly true that when I
think of it, and consider how our Lord seems to have raised me up from
the dead, I am so filled with wonder, that I almost tremble
with fear. Ribera, lib. i. ch.
iv., says he heard Fra Bañes, in a sermon, say that the Saint told him
she had, during these four days, seen hell in a vision. And the
chronicler says that though there was bodily illness, yet it was a
trance of the soul at the same time (vol. i. lib. i. ch. xii.
§ 3).
21. And now, O my soul, it were well for thee
to look that danger in the face from which our Lord delivered thee;
and if thou dost not cease to offend Him
Chapter VI.
1. After those four days, during which I was
insensible, so great was my distress, that our Lord alone knoweth the
intolerable sufferings I endured. My tongue was bitten to pieces;
there was a choking in my throat because I had taken nothing, and
because of my weakness, so that I could not swallow even a drop of
water; all my bones seemed to be out of joint, and the disorder of my
head was extreme. I was bent together like a coil of ropes—for to
this was I brought by the torture of those days—unable to move either
arm, or foot, or hand, or head, any more than if I had been dead,
unless others moved me; I could move, however, I think, one finger of
my right hand. Then, as to touching me, that was impossible, for I
was so bruised that I could not endure it. They used to move me in a
sheet, one holding one end, and another the other. This lasted till
Palm Sunday.
2. The only comfort I had was this—if no one came near me, my pains frequently ceased; and then, because I had a little rest, I considered myself well, for I was afraid my patience would fail: and thus I was exceedingly happy when I saw myself free from those pains which were so sharp and constant, though in the cold fits of an intermittent fever, which were most violent, they were still unendurable. My dislike of food was very great.
3. I was now so anxious to return to my
monastery, that I had myself conveyed thither in the state I was in.
There they received alive one whom they had waited for as dead; but
her body was worse than dead: the sight of it could only give pain.
It is impossible to describe my extreme weakness, for I was nothing
but bones. I remained in this state, as I have already
said, Ch. v. §
17. The Saint left her monastery in 1535; and in the spring of
1536 went from her sister's house to Bezadas; and in July of that year
was brought back to her father's house in Avila, wherein she remained
till Palm Sunday, 1537, when she returned to the Monastery of the
Incarnation. She had been seized with paralysis there, and laboured
under it nearly three years, from 1536 to 1539, when she was
miraculously healed through the intercession of St. Joseph (Bolland, n. 100, 101).
The dates of the Chronicler are different from these.
4. It was a great thing for me to have had the grace of prayer which God had wrought in me; it made me understand what it is to love Him. In a little while, I saw these virtues renewed within me; still they were not strong, for they were not sufficient to sustain me in justice. I never spoke ill in the slightest degree whatever of any one, and my ordinary practice was to avoid all detraction; for I used to keep most carefully in mind that I ought not to assent to, nor say of another, anything I should not like to have said of myself. I was extremely careful to keep this resolution on all occasions though not so perfectly, upon some great occasions that presented themselves, as not to break it sometimes. But my ordinary practice was this: and thus those who were about me, and those with whom I conversed, became so convinced that it was right, that they adopted it as a habit. It came to be understood that where I was, absent persons were safe; so they were also with my friends and kindred, and with those whom I instructed. Still, for all this, I have a strict account to give unto God for the bad example I gave in other respects. May it please His Majesty to forgive me, for I have been the cause of much evil; though not with intentions as perverse as were the acts that followed.
5. The longing for solitude remained, and I
loved to discourse and speak of God; for if I found any one with whom
I could do so, it was a greater joy and satisfaction to me than all
the refinements—or rather to speak more correctly, the real
rudeness—of the world's conversation. I communicated and confessed
more frequently still, and desired to do so; I was extremely fond of
reading good books; I was most deeply penitent for having offended
God; and I remember that very often I did not dare to pray, because I
was afraid of that most bitter anguish which
6. I took care to go to confession as soon as I could; and, as I think, did all that was possible on my part to return to a state of grace. But the whole evil lay in my not thoroughly avoiding the occasions of sin, and in my confessors, who helped me so little. If they had told me that I was travelling on a dangerous road, and that I was bound to abstain from those conversations, I believe, without any doubt, that the matter would have been remedied, because I could not bear to remain even for one day in mortal sin, if I knew it.
7. All these tokens of the fear of God came to me through prayer; and the greatest of them was this, that fear was swallowed up of love—for I never thought of chastisement. All the time I was so ill, my strict watch over my conscience reached to all that is mortal sin.
8. O my God! I wished for health, that I might
serve Thee better; that was the cause of all my ruin. For when I saw
how helpless I was through paralysis, being still so young, and how
the physicians of this
9. I began by having Masses and prayers said for
my intention—prayers that were highly sanctioned; for I never liked
those other devotions which some people, especially women, make use of
with a ceremoniousness to me intolerable, but which move them to be
devout. I have been given to understand since that they were unseemly
and superstitious; and I took for my patron and lord the glorious
St. Joseph, and recommended myself
earnestly to him. I saw clearly that both out of this my present
trouble, and out of others of greater importance, relating to my
honour and the loss of my soul, this my father and lord delivered me,
and rendered me greater services than I knew how to ask for. I cannot
call to mind that I have ever asked him at any time for anything which
he has not granted; and I am filled with amazement when I consider the
great favours which God hath given me through this blessed Saint; the
dangers from which he hath delivered me, both of body and of soul. To
other Saints, our Lord seems to have given grace to succour men in
some special necessity; but to this glorious Saint, I know by
experience, to help us in all: and our Lord would have us understand
that as He was Himself subject to him upon earth—for St. Joseph having the title of father, and being
His guardian, could command Him—so now in heaven He performs all his
petitions. I have asked others to recommend themselves to St. Joseph, and they too know this by experience;
and
Of the devotion to St. Joseph, F. Faber (The Blessed
Sacrament, bk. ii. p. 199, 3rd ed.) says that it took its rise
in the West, in a confraternity in Avignon. "Then it spread over
the church. Gerson was raised up to be its doctor and theologian, and
St. Teresa to be its Saint, and St. Francis of Sales to be its popular teacher
and missionary. The houses of Carmel were like the holy house of
Nazareth to it; and the colleges of the Jesuits, its peaceful sojourns
in dark Egypt."
10. I used to keep his feast with all the solemnity I could, but with more vanity than spirituality, seeking rather too much splendour and effect, and yet with good intentions. I had this evil in me, that if our Lord gave me grace to do any good, that good became full of imperfections and of many faults; but as for doing wrong, the indulgence of curiosity and vanity, I was very skilful and active therein. Our Lord forgive me!
11. Would that I could persuade all men to be devout to this glorious Saint; for I know by long experience what blessings he can obtain for us from God. I have never known any one who was really devout to him, and who honoured him by particular services, who did not visibly grow more and more in virtue; for he helps in a special way those souls who commend themselves to him. It is now some years since I have always on his feast asked him for something, and I always have it. If the petition be in any way amiss, he directs it aright for my greater good.
12. If I were a person who had authority to
write, it would be a pleasure to me to be diffusive in speaking most
minutely of the graces which this glorious Saint has obtained for me
and for others. But that I may not go beyond the commandment that is
laid upon me, I must in many things be more brief than I could wish,
and more diffusive than is necessary in others; for, in short, I am a
person who, in all that is good, has but little discretion. But I
ask, for the love of God, that he who does not believe me will make
the trial for himself—when he will see by experience the great
good
13. May it please our Lord that I have not done amiss in venturing to speak about St. Joseph; for, though I publicly profess my devotion to him, I have always failed in my service to him and imitation of him. He was like himself when he made me able to rise and walk, no longer a paralytic; and I, too, am like myself when I make so bad a use of this grace.
14. Who could have said that I was so soon to
fall, after such great consolations from God—after His Majesty had
implanted virtues in me which of themselves made me serve Him—after I
had been, as it were, dead, and in such extreme peril of eternal
damnation—after He had raised me up, soul and body, so that all who
saw me marvelled to see me alive? What can it mean, O my Lord? The
life we live is so full of danger! While I am writing this—and it
seems to me, too, by Thy grace and mercy—I may say with St. Paul, though not so truly as he did: "It
is not I who live now, but Thou, my Creator, livest in
me."
15. Still, I may easily deceive myself, and it may be that I am not what I say I am; but Thou knowest, O my Lord, that, to the best of my knowledge, I lie not. I am afraid, and with good reason, lest Thou shouldst abandon me; for I know now how far my strength and little virtue can reach, if Thou be not ever at hand to supply them, and to help me never to forsake Thee. May His Majesty grant that I be not forsaken of Thee even now, when I am thinking all this of myself!
16. I know not how we can wish to live, seeing that everything is so uncertain. Once, O Lord, I thought it impossible to forsake Thee so utterly; and now that I have forsaken Thee so often, I cannot help being afraid; for when Thou didst withdraw but a little from me, I fell down to the ground at once. Blessed for ever be Thou! Though I have forsaken Thee, Thou hast not forsaken me so utterly but that Thou hast come again and raised me up, giving me Thy hand always. Very often, O Lord, I would not take it: very often I would not listen when Thou wert calling me again, as I am going to show.
Chapter VII.
1. So, then, going on from pastime to pastime,
from vanity to vanity, from one occasion of sin to another, I began to
expose myself exceedingly to the very greatest
See Way of Perfection,
ch. xl.; but ch. xxvii. of
the former editions.
2. It was the most fearful delusion into which
Satan could plunge me—to give up prayer under the pretence of
humility. I began to be afraid of giving myself to prayer, because I
saw myself so lost. I thought it would be better for me, seeing that
in my wickedness I was one of the most wicked, to live like the
multitude—to say the prayers which I was bound to say, and that
vocally: not to practise mental prayer nor commune with God so much;
for I deserved to be with the devils, and was deceiving those who were
about me, because I made an outward show of goodness; and therefore
the community in which I dwelt is not to be blamed; for with my
cunning I so managed matters, that all had a good opinion of me; and
yet I did not seek this deliberately by simulating devotion; for in
all that relates to hypocrisy and ostentation—glory be to God!—I do
not remember that I ever
offended Him, See Relation, i.
§ 18.
3. The reason why they thought I was not so wicked was this: they saw that I, who was so young, and exposed to so many occasions of sin, withdrew myself so often into solitude for prayer, read much, spoke of God, that I liked to have His image painted in many places, to have an oratory of my own, and furnish it with objects of devotion, that I spoke ill of no one, and other things of the same kind in me which have the appearance of virtue. Yet all the while—I was so vain—I knew how to procure respect for myself by doing those things which in the world are usually regarded with respect.
4. In consequence of this, they gave me as much liberty as they did to the oldest nuns, and even more, and had great confidence in me; for as to taking any liberty for myself, or doing anything without leave—such as conversing through the door, or in secret, or by night—I do not think I could have brought myself to speak with anybody in the monastery in that way, and I never did it; for our Lord held me back. It seemed to me—for I considered many things carefully and of set purpose—that it would be a very evil deed on my part, wicked as I was, to risk the credit of so many nuns, who were all good—as if everything else I did was well done! In truth, the evil I did was not the result of deliberation, as this would have been, if I had done it, although it was too much so.
5. Therefore, I think that it did me much harm
to be in a monastery not enclosed. The liberty which those who were
good might have with advantage—they not being obliged to do more than
they do, because they had not bound themselves to enclosure—would
certainly have led me, who am wicked, straight to hell, if our Lord,
by so many remedies and means of His most singular mercy, had not
delivered me out of that danger—and it is, I believe, the very
greatest danger—namely, a monastery of women unenclosed—yea, more, I
think it is, for those who will be wicked, a road to
6. I am exceedingly sorry for these houses, because our Lord must of necessity send His special inspirations not merely once, but many times, if the nuns therein are to be saved, seeing that the honours and amusements of the world are allowed among them, and the obligations of their state are so ill-understood. God grant they may not count that to be virtue which is sin, as I did so often! It is very difficult to make people understand this; it is necessary our Lord Himself should take the matter seriously into His own hands.
7. If parents would take my advice, now that
they are at no pains to place their daughters where they may walk in
the way of salvation without incurring a greater risk than they would
do if they were left in the world, let them look at least at that
which concerns their good name. Let them marry them to persons of a
much lower degree, rather than place them in monasteries of this kind,
unless they be of extremely good inclinations, and God grant that
these inclinations may come to good! or let them keep them at home.
If they will be wicked at home, their evil life can be hidden only for
a short time; but in monasteries it can be hidden long, and, in the
end, it is our Lord that discovers it. They injure not only
themselves, but all the nuns also. And all the while the poor things
are not in fault; for they walk in the way that is shown them. Many
of them are to be pitied; for they wished to withdraw from the world,
and, thinking to escape from the dangers of it,
8. Now, these seem to me to be in some degree like those wretched heretics who will make themselves blind, and who will consider that which they do to be good, and so believe, but without really believing; for they have within themselves something that tells them it is wrong.
9. Oh, what utter ruin! utter ruin of religious persons—I am not speaking now more of women than of men—where the rules of the Order are not kept; where the same monastery offers two roads: one of virtue and observance, the other of inobservance, and both equally frequented! I have spoken incorrectly: they are not equally frequented; for, on account of our sins, the way of the greatest imperfection is the most frequented; and because it is the broadest, it is also the most in favour. The way of religious observance is so little used, that the friar and the nun who would really begin to follow their vocation thoroughly have reason to fear the members of their communities more than all the devils together. They must be more cautious, and dissemble more, when they would speak of that friendship with God which they desire to have, than when they would speak of those friendships and affections which the devil arranges in monasteries. I know not why we are astonished that the Church is in so much trouble, when we see those, who ought to be an example of every virtue to others, so disfigure the work which the spirit of the Saints departed wrought in their Orders. May it please His Divine Majesty to apply a remedy to this, as He sees it to be needful! Amen.
10. So, then, when I began to indulge in these conversations, I did not think, seeing they were customary, that my soul must be injured and dissipated, as I afterwards found it must be, by such conversations. I thought that, as receiving visits was so common in many monasteries, no more harm would befall me thereby than befell others, whom I knew to be good. I did not observe that they were much better than I was, and that an act which was perilous for me was not so perilous for them; and yet I have no doubt there was some danger in it, were it nothing else but a waste of time.
11. I was once with a person—it was at the
very beginning of my acquaintance with her when our Lord was pleased
to show me that these friendships were not good for me: to warn me
also, and in my blindness, which was so great, to give me light.
Christ stood before me, stern and grave, giving me to understand what
in my conduct was offensive to Him. I saw Him with the eyes of the
soul more distinctly than I could have seen Him with the eyes of the
body. The vision made so deep an impression upon me, that, though it
is more than twenty-six
years ago, A.D. 1537, when the Saint was
twenty-two years old (Bouix). This passage, therefore,
must he one of the additions to the second Life; for the first was
written in 1562, twenty-five years only after the vision.
12. It did me much harm that I did not then
know it was possible to see anything otherwise than with the eyes of
the body; See ch.
xxvii. § 3.
13. At another time, when I was with that
person, we saw, both of us, and others who were present also saw,
something like a great toad crawling towards us, more rapidly than
such a creature is in the habit of crawling. I cannot understand how
a reptile of that kind could, in the middle of the day, have come
forth from that place; it never had done so
before, In the parlour of the monastery of
the Incarnation, Avila, a painting of this is preserved to this day
(De la Fuente).
14. There was in that house a nun, who was
related to me, now grown old, a great servant of God, and a strict
observer of the rule. She too warned me from time to time; but I not
only did not listen to her, but was even offended, thinking she was
scandalized without cause. I have mentioned this in order that my
wickedness and the great goodness of God might be understood, and to
show how much I deserved hell for ingratitude so great, and, moreover,
if it should be our Lord's will and pleasure that any nun at
any time
15. May His Majesty grant I may undeceive some
one of the many I led astray when I told them there was no harm in
these things, and assured them there was no such great danger therein.
I did so because I was blind myself; for I would not deliberately lead
them astray. By the bad example I set before them—I spoke of this
before
16. In those early days, when I was ill, and
before I knew how to be of use to myself, I had a very strong desire
to further the progress
of others:
17. And now that I had become so dissipated,
and had ceased to pray, and yet saw that he still thought I was what I
used to be, I could not endure it, and so undeceived him. I had been
a year and more without praying, thinking it an act of greater
humility to abstain. This—I shall speak of it
again See § 2,
above.
18. When that blessed man, having that good
opinion of me, came to visit me, it pained me to see him so deceived
as to think that I used to pray to God as before. So I told him that
I did not pray; but I did not tell him why. I put my infirmities
forward as an excuse; for though I had recovered from that which was
so troublesome, I have always been weak, even very much so; and though
my infirmities are somewhat less troublesome now than they were, they
still afflict me in many ways; specially, I have been suffering for
twenty years from sickness
every morning, See ch. xi. § 23: Inner
Fortress, vi. i. § 8.
19. My father believed me when I gave him that
for a reason, as he never told a lie himself; neither should I have
done so, considering the relation we were in. I told him, in order to
be the more easily believed, that it was much for me to be able to
attend in choir, though I saw clearly that this was no excuse
whatever; neither, however, was it a sufficient reason for giving
up a
20. With a little care, we may find great blessings on those occasions when our Lord, by means of afflictions, deprives us of time for prayer; and so I found it when I had a good conscience. But my father, having that opinion of me which he had, and because of the love he bore me, believed all I told him; moreover, he was sorry for me; and as he had now risen to great heights of prayer himself, he never remained with me long; for when he had seen me, he went his way, saying that he was wasting his time. As I was wasting it in other vanities, I cared little about this.
21. My father was not the only person whom I
prevailed upon to practise prayer, though I was walking in vanity
myself. When I saw persons fond of reciting their prayers, I showed
them how to make a meditation, and helped them and gave them books;
for from the time I began myself to pray, as I said
before, § 16.
22. At this time, that illness befell my father
of which he died; In 1541, when the Saint was
twenty-five years of age (Bouix).
23. It was a matter for which we ought to praise our Lord—the death that he died, and the desire he had to die; so also was the advice he gave us after the last anointing, how he charged us to recommend him to God, and to pray for mercy for him, how he bade us serve God always, and consider how all things come to an end. He told us with tears how sorry he was that he had not served Him himself; for he wished he was a friar—I mean, that he had been one in the Strictest Order that is. I have a most assured conviction that our Lord, some fifteen days before, had revealed to him he was not to live; for up to that time, though very ill, he did not think so; but now, though he was somewhat better, and the physicians said so, he gave no heed to them, but employed himself in the ordering of his soul.
24. His chief suffering consisted in a most acute pain of the shoulders, which never left him: it was so sharp at times, that it put him into great torture. I said to him, that as he had so great a devotion to our Lord carrying His cross on His shoulders, he should now think that His Majesty wished him to feel somewhat of that pain which He then suffered Himself. This so comforted him, that I do not think I heard him complain afterwards.
25. He remained three days without consciousness; but on the day he died, our Lord restored him so completely, that we were astonished: he preserved his understanding to the last; for in the middle of the creed, which he repeated himself, he died. He lay there like an angel—such he seemed to me, if I may sayso, both in soul and disposition: he was very good.
26. I know not why I have said this, unless it
be for the purpose of showing how much the more I am to be blamed for
my wickedness; for after seeing such a death, and knowing what his
life had been, I, in order to be in any wise like unto such a father,
ought to have grown better. His confessor, a most learned
Dominican, See ch. xxxviii. § 1.
27. This Dominican father, who was a very good
man, fearing God, did me a very great service; for I confessed to him.
He took upon himself the task of helping my soul in earnest, and of
making me see the perilous state I
was in. See ch. xix. § 19. The Spanish editor calls
attention to this as a proof of great laxity in those days—that a nun
like St. Teresa should be urged to
communicate as often as once in a fortnight. See ch. xiii. §§ 7, 8.
28. I suffered much in prayer; for the spirit was slave, and not master; and so I was not able to shut myself up within myself—that was my whole method of prayer—without shutting up with me a thousand vanities at the same time. I spent many years in this way; and I am now astonished that any one could have borne it without abandoning either the one or the other. I know well that it was not in my power then to give up prayer, because He held me in His hand Who sought me that He might show me greater mercies.
29. O my God! if I might, I would speak of the
occasions from which God delivered me, and how I threw myself into
them again; and of the risks I ran of losing utterly my good name,
from which He delivered me. I did things to show what I was; and our
Lord hid the evil, and revealed some little virtue—if so be I had
any—and made it great in the eyes of all, so that they always held me
in much honour. For although my follies came occasionally into light,
people would not believe it when they saw other things, which they
thought good. The reason is, that He Who knoweth all things saw it
was necessary it should be so, in order that I might have some credit
given me by those to whom in after years I was to speak of His
30. O Lord of my soul! how shall I be able to magnify the graces which Thou, in those years, didst bestow upon me? Oh, how, at the very time that I offended Thee most, Thou didst prepare me in a moment, by a most profound compunction, to taste of the sweetness of Thy consolations and mercies! In truth, O my King, Thou didst administer to me the most delicate and painful chastisement it was possible for me to bear; for Thou knewest well what would have given me the most pain. Thou didst chastise my sins with great consolations. I do not believe I am saying foolish things, though it may well be that I am beside myself whenever I call to mind my ingratitude and my wickedness.
31. It was more painful for me, in the state I was in, to receive graces, when I had fallen into grievous faults, than it would have been to receive chastisement; for one of those faults, I am sure, used to bring me low, shame and distress me, more than many diseases, together with many heavy trials, could have done. For, as to the latter, I saw that I deserved them; and it seemed to me that by them I was making some reparation for my sins, though it was but slight, for my sins are so many. But when I see myself receive graces anew, after being so ungrateful for those already received, that is to me—and, I believe, to all who have any knowledge or love of God—a fearful kind of torment. We may see how true this is by considering what a virtuous mind must be. Hence my tears and vexation when I reflected on what I felt, seeing myself in a condition to fall at every moment, though my resolutions and desires then—I am speaking of that time—were strong.
32. It is a great evil for a soul to be alone
in the
33. For this reason, I would advise those who give themselves to prayer, particularly at first, to form friendships; and converse familiarly, with others who are doing the same thing. It is a matter of the last importance, even if it lead only to helping one another by prayer: how much more, seeing that it has led to much greater gain! Now, if in their intercourse one with another, and in the indulgence of human affections even not of the best kind, men seek friends with whom they may refresh themselves, and for the purpose of having greater satisfaction in speaking of their empty joys, I know no reason why it should not be lawful for him who is beginning to love and serve God in earnest to confide to another his joys and sorrows; for they who are given to prayer are thoroughly accustomed to both.
34. For if that friendship with God which he desires be real, let him not be afraid of vain-glory; and if the first movements thereof assail him, he will escape from it with merit; and I believe that he who will discuss the matter with this intention will profit both himself and those who hear him, and thus will derive more light for his own understanding, as well as for the instruction of his friends. He who in discussing his method of prayer falls into vain- glory will do so also when he hears Mass devoutly, if he is seen of men, and in doing other good works, which must be done under pain of being no Christian; and yet these things must not be omitted through fear of vain-glory.
35. Moreover, it is a most important matter for
those souls who are not strong in virtue; for they have so many
people, enemies as well as friends, to urge them the wrong way, that I
do not see how this point
36. I do not know whether the things I am saying are foolish or not. If they be so, your reverence will strike them out. I entreat you to help my simplicity by adding a good deal to this, because the things that relate to the service of God are so feebly managed, that it is necessary for those who would serve Him to join shoulder to shoulder, if they are to advance at all; for it is considered safe to live amidst the vanities and pleasures of the world, and few there be who regard them with unfavourable eyes. But if any one begins to give himself up to the service of God, there are so many to find fault with him, that it becomes necessary for him to seek companions, in order that he may find protection among them till he grows strong enough not to feel what he may be made to suffer. If he does not, he will find himself in great straits.
37. This, I believe, must have been the reason
why some of the Saints withdrew into the desert. And it is a kind of
humility in man not to trust to himself, but to believe that God will
help him in his relations with those with whom he converses; and
charity grows by being diffused; and there are a thousand blessings
herein which I would not dare to speak of, if I had not known by
experience the great importance of it. It is very true that I am the
most wicked and the basest of all who are born of women; but I believe
that he who, humbling himself, though strong, yet trusteth not in
himself, and believeth another who in this matter has had experience,
will lose nothing. Of myself I may say that, if our Lord had not
revealed to me this truth,
Chapter VIII.
1. It is not without reason that I have dwelt so long on this portion of my life. I see clearly that it will give no one pleasure to see anything so base; and certainly I wish those who may read this to have me in abhorrence, as a soul so obstinate and so ungrateful to Him Who did so much for me. I could wish, too, I had permission to say how often at this time I failed in my duty to God, because I was not leaning on the strong pillar of prayer. I passed nearly twenty years on this stormy sea, falling and rising, but rising to no good purpose, seeing that I went and fell again. My life was one of perfection; but it was so mean, that I scarcely made any account whatever of venial sins; and though of mortal sins I was afraid, I was not so afraid of them as I ought to have been, because I did not avoid the perilous occasions of them. I may say that it was the most painful life that can be imagined, because I had no sweetness in God, and no pleasure in the world.
2. When I was in the midst of the pleasures of
the world, the remembrance of what I owed to God made
3. It is true, indeed, that during these years there were many months, and, I believe, occasionally a whole year, in which I so kept guard over myself that I did not offend our Lord, gave myself much to prayer, and took some pains, and that successfully, not to offend Him. I speak of this now, because all I am saying is strictly true; but I remember very little of those good days, and so they must have been few, while my evil days were many. Still, the days that passed over without my spending a great part of them in prayer were few, unless I was very ill, or very much occupied.
4. When I was ill, I was well with God. I
contrived that those about me should be so, too, and I made
supplications to our Lord for this grace, and spoke frequently of Him.
Thus, with the exception of that year of which I have been speaking,
during eight-and-twenty years of prayer, I spent more than eighteen in
that strife and contention which arose out of my attempts to reconcile
God and the world. As to the other years, of which I have now to
speak, in them the grounds of the warfare, though it was not slight,
were changed; but inasmuch as I was—at least, I think so—
5. The reason, then, of my telling this at so
great a length is that, as I have
just said, § 1,
above.
6. I may speak of that which I know by
experience; and so I say, let him never cease from prayer who has once
begun it, be his life ever so wicked; for prayer is the way to amend
it, and without prayer such amendment will be much more difficult.
Let him not be tempted by Satan, as I was, to give it up, on the
pretence of humility; Ezech. xviii. 21: "Si autem impius egerit poenitentiam, . . . vita vivet,
et non morietur. Omnium iniquitatum ejus . . . non
recordabor."
7. Herein there is nothing to be afraid
of, but
8. O infinite goodness of my God! I seem to see Thee and myself in this relation to one another. O Joy of the angels! when I consider it, I wish I could wholly die of love! How true it is that Thou endurest those who will not endure Thee! Oh, how good a friend art Thou, O my Lord! how Thou comfortest and endurest, and also waitest for them to make themselves like unto Thee, and yet, in the meanwhile, art Thyself so patient of the state they are in! Thou takest into account the occasions during which they seek Thee, and for a moment of penitence forgettesttheir offences against Thyself.
9. I have seen this distinctly in my own case,
and I cannot tell why the whole world does not labour to draw near to
Thee in this particular friendship. The wicked, who do not resemble
Thee, ought to do so, in order that Thou mayest make them good,
and for that purpose should permit Thee to remain with them at
10. I do not understand what there can be to
make them afraid who are afraid to begin mental prayer, nor do I know
what it is they dread. The devil does well to bring this fear upon
us, that he may really hurt us by putting me in fear, he can make me
cease from thinking of my offences against God, of the great debt I
owe Him, of the existence of heaven and hell, and of the great sorrows
and trials He underwent for me. That was all my prayer, and had been,
when I was in this dangerous state, and it was on those subjects I
dwelt whenever I could; and very often, for some years, I was more
occupied with the wish to see the end of the time I had appointed for
myself to spend in prayer, and in watching the hour-glass, than with
other thoughts that were good. If a sharp penance had been laid upon
me, I know of none that I would not very often have willingly
undertaken, rather than prepare myself for prayer by
self-recollection. And certainly the violence with which Satan
assailed me was so irresistible, or my evil habits were so strong,
that I did not betake myself to prayer; and the sadness I felt on
entering the oratory was so great, that it required all the courage I
had to force myself in. They say of me that my courage is not slight,
and it is known that God has given me a courage beyond that of a
11. If, then, our Lord bore so long with me, who was so wicked—and it is plain that it was by prayer all my evil was corrected—why should any one, how wicked soever he may be, have any fear? Let him be ever so wicked, he will not remain in his wickedness so many years as I did, after receiving so many graces from our Lord. Is there any one who can despair, when He bore so long with me, only because I desired and contrived to find some place and some opportunities for Him to be alone with me—and that very often against my will? for I did violence to myself, or rather our Lord Himself did violence to me.
12. If, then, to those who do not serve God, but rather offend Him, prayer be all this, and so necessary, and if no one can really find out any harm it can do him, and if the omission of it be not a still greater harm, why, then, should they abstain from it who serve and desire to serve God? Certainly I cannot comprehend it, unless it be that men have a mind to go through the troubles of this life in greater misery, and to shut the door in the face of God, so that He shall give them no comfort in it. I am most truly sorry for them, because they serve God at their own cost; for of those who pray, God Himself defrays the charges, seeing that for a little trouble He gives sweetness, in order that, by the help it supplies, they may bear their trials.
13. But because I have much to say hereafter of
this sweetness, which our Lord gives to those who persevere in
prayer, See ch.
x. § 2, and ch. xi.
§ 22.
14. I will speak now—for it is very important to understand it—of the assaults which Satan directs against a soul for the purpose of taking it, and of the contrivances and compassion wherewith our Lord labours to convert it to Himself, in order that men may behold His mercy, and the great good it was for me that I did not give up prayer and spiritual reading, and that they may be on their guard against the dangers against which I was not on my guard myself. And, above all, I implore them for the love of our Lord, and for the great love with which He goeth about seeking our conversion to Himself, to beware of the occasions of sin; for once placed therein, we have no ground to rest on—so many enemies then assail us, and our own weakness is such, that we cannot defend ourselves.
15. Oh, that I knew how to describe the captivity of my soul in those days! I understood perfectly that I was in captivity, but I could not understand the nature of it; neither could I entirely believe that those things which my confessors did not make so much of were so wrong as I in my soul felt them to be. One of them—I had gone to him with a scruple—told me that, even if I were raised to high contemplation, those occasions and conversations were not unfitting for me. This was towards the end, when, by the grace of God, I was withdrawing more and more from those great dangers, but not wholly from the occasions of them.
16. When they saw my good desires, and how I
occupied myself in prayer, I seemed to them to have
17. Then there was the torture of sermons, and that not a slight one; for I was very fond of them. If I heard any one preach well and with unction, I felt, without my seeking it, a particular affection for him, neither do I know whence it came. Thus, no sermon ever seemed to me so bad, but that I listened to it with pleasure; though, according to others who heard it, the preaching was not good. If it was a good sermon, it was to me a most special refreshment. To speak of God, or to hear Him spoken of, never wearied me. I am speaking of the time after I gave myself to prayer. At one time I had great comfort in sermons, at another they distressed me, because they made me feel that I was very far from being what I ought to have been.
18. I used to pray to our Lord for help; but, as it now seems to me, I must have committed the fault of not putting my whole trust in His Majesty, and of not thoroughly distrusting myself. I sought for help, took great pains; but it must be that I did not understand how all is of little profit if we do not root out all confidence in ourselves, and place it wholly in God. I wished to live, but I saw clearly that I was not living, but rather wrestling with the shadow of death; there was no one to give me life, and I was not able to take it. He Who could have given it me had good reasons for not coming to my aid, seeing that He had brought me back to Himself so many times, and I as often had left Him.
Chapter IX.
1. My soul was now grown weary; and the miserable habits it had contracted would not suffer it to rest, though it was desirous of doing so. It came to pass one day, when I went into the oratory, that I saw a picture which they had put by there, and which had been procured for a certain feast observed in the house. It was a representation of Christ most grievously wounded; and so devotional, that the very sight of it, when I saw it, moved me—so well did it show forth that which He suffered for us. So keenly did I feel the evil return I had made for those wounds, that I thought my heart was breaking. I threw myself on the ground beside it, my tears flowing plenteously, and implored Him to strengthen me once for all, so that I might never offend Him any more.
2. I had a very great devotion to the glorious Magdalene, and very frequently used to think of her conversion—especially when I went to Communion. As I knew for certain that our Lord was then within me, I used to place myself at His feet, thinking that my tears would not be despised. I did not know what I was saying; only He did great things for me, in that He was pleased I should shed those tears, seeing that I so soon forgot that impression. I used to recommend myself to that glorious Saint, that she might obtain my pardon.
3. But this last time, before that picture of
which I am speaking, I seem to have made greater progress; for I was
now very distrustful of myself, placing all my confidence in God. It
seems to me that I said to Him then that I would not rise up till He
granted my
4. This was my method of prayer: as I could not
make reflections with my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ
as within me; See ch.
iv. § 10; ch. x. § 1.
5. I did many simple things of this kind; and in particular I used to find myself most at home in the prayer in the Garden, whither I went in His company. I thought of the bloody sweat, and of the affliction He endured there; I wished, if it had been possible, to wipe away that painful sweat from His face; but I remember that I never dared to form such a resolution—my sins stood before me so grievously. I used to remain with Him there as long as my thoughts allowed me, and I had many thoughts to torment me. For many years, nearly every night before I fell asleep, when I recommended myself to God, that I might sleep in peace, I used always to think a little of this mystery of the prayer in the Garden—yea, even before I was a nun, because I had been told that many indulgences were to be gained thereby. For my part, I believe that my soul gained very much in this way, because I began to practise prayer without knowing what it was; and now that it had become my constant habit, I was saved from omitting it, as I was from omitting to bless myself with the sign of the cross before I slept.
6. And now to go back to what I was saying of
the torture which my thoughts inflicted upon me. This method of
praying, in which the understanding makes no reflections, hath this
property: the soul must gain much, or lose. I mean, that those who
advance without
See Relation, i.
§ 12. See ch.
iv. § 11.
7. I was so little able to put things before me by the help of my understanding, that, unless I saw a thing with my eyes, my imagination was of no use whatever. I could not do as others do, who can put matters before themselves so as to become thereby recollected. I was able to think of Christ only as man. But so it was; and I never could form any image of Him to myself, though I read much of His beauty, and looked at pictures of Him. I was like one who is blind, or in the dark, who, though speaking to a person present, and feeling his presence, because he knows for certain that he is present—I mean, that he understands him to be present, and believes it—yet does not see him. It was thus with me when I used to think of our Lord. This is why I was so fond of images. Wretched are they who, through their own fault, have lost this blessing; it is clear enough that they do not love our Lord—for if they loved Him, they would rejoice at the sight of His picture, just as men find pleasure when they see the portrait of one they love.
8. At this time, the Confessions of
St. Augustine
In the Prologue.
9. O my God, I amazed at the hardness of my heart amidst so many succours from Thee. I am filled with dread when I see how little I could do with myself, and how I was clogged, so that I could not resolve to give myself entirely to God. When I began to read the Confessions, I thought I saw myself there described, and began to recommend myself greatly to this glorious Saint. When I came to his conversion, and read how he heard that voice in the garden, it seemed to me nothing less than that our Lord had uttered it for me: I felt so in my heart. I remained for some time lost in tears, in great inward affliction and distress. O my God, what a soul has to suffer because it has lost the liberty it had of being mistress over itself! and what torments it has to endure! I wonder now how I could live in torments so great: God be praised Who gave me life, so that I might escape from so fatal a death! I believe that my soul obtained great strength from His Divine Majesty, and that He must have heard my cry, and had compassion upon so many tears.
10. A desire to spend more time with Him began to grow within me, and also to withdraw from the occasions of sin: for as soon as I had done so, I turned lovingly to His Majesty at once. I understood clearly, as I thought, that I loved Him; but I did not understand, as I ought to have understood it, wherein the true love of God consists. I do not think I had yet perfectly disposed myself to seek His service when His Majesty turned towards me with His consolations. What others strive after with great labour, our Lord seems to have looked out for a way to make me willing to accept—that is, in these later years to give me joy and comfort. But as for asking our Lord to give me either these things or sweetness in devotion, I never dared to do it; the only thing I prayed Him to give me was the grace never to offend Him, together with the forgiveness of my great sins. When I saw that my sins were so great, I never ventured deliberately to ask for consolation or for sweetness. He had compassion enough upon me, I think—and, in truth, He dealt with me according to His great mercy—when He allowed me to stand before Him, and when He drew me into His presence; for I saw that, if He had not drawn me, I should not have come at all.
11. Once only in my life do I remember asking
for consolation, being at the time in great aridities. When I
considered what I had done, I was so confounded, that the very
distress I suffered from seeing how little humility I had, brought me
that which I had been so bold as to ask for. I knew well that it was
lawful to pray for it; but it seemed to me that it is lawful only for
those who are in good dispositions, who have sought with all their
might to attain to true devotion—that is, not to offend God, and to
be disposed and resolved for all goodness. I looked upon those tears
of mine as womanish and weak, seeing that I did not obtain my desires
by them; nevertheless, I believe that they did me some service; for,
specially after those two occasions
§
1.
Chapter X.
1. I used to have at times, as I have
said, The Saint interrupts her history
here to enter on the difficult questions of mystical theology, and
resumes it in ch. xxiii.
The soul is suspended in such a way that it seems to be utterly beside itself. The will loves; the memory, so it seems to me, is as it were lost; and the understanding, so I think, makes no reflections—yet is not lost: as I have just said, it is not at work, but it stands as if amazed at the greatness of the things it understands; for God wills it to understand that it understands nothing whatever of that which His Majesty places before it.
2. Before this, I had a certain tenderness of soul which was very abiding, partially attainable, I believe, in some measure, by our own efforts: a consolation which is not wholly in the senses, nor yet altogether in the spirit, but is all of it the gift of God. However, I think we can contribute much towards the attaining of it by considering our vileness and our ingratitude towards God—the great things He has done for us—His Passion, with its grievous pains—and His life, so full of sorrows; also, by rejoicing in the contemplation of His works, of His greatness, and of the love that He bears us. Many other considerations there are which he who really desires to make progress will often stumble on, though he may not be very much on the watch for them. If with this there be a little love, the soul is comforted, the heart is softened, and tears flow. Sometimes it seems that we do violence to ourselves and weep; at other times, our Lord seems to do so, so that we have no power to resist Him. His Majesty seems to reward this slight carefulness of ours with so grand a gift as is this consolation which He ministers to the soul of seeing itself weeping for so great a Lord. I am not surprised; for the soul has reason enough, and more than enough, for its joy. Here it comforts itself—here it rejoices.
3. The comparison which now presents itself
seems to me to be good. These joys in prayer are like what those of
heaven must be. As the vision of the saints, which is measured by
their merits there, reaches no
4. Let him not regard certain kinds of humility
which exist, and of which I mean
to speak.
5. An opposite course tends to take away all
courage; for we shall think ourselves incapable of great blessings, if
we begin to frighten ourselves with the dread of vain-glory when our
Lord begins to show His
See ch. xiii. § 5.
6. If, then, it is lawful, and so meritorious, always to remember that we have our being from God, that He has created us out of nothing, that He preserves us, and also to remember all the benefits of His death and Passion, which He suffered long before He made us for every one of us now alive—why should it not be lawful for me to discern, confess, and consider often that I was once accustomed to speak of vanities, and that now our Lord has given me the grace to speak only of Himself?
7. Here, then, is a precious pearl, which, when we remember that it is given us, and that we have it in possession, powerfully invites us to love. All this is the fruit of prayer founded on humility. What, then, will it be when we shall find ourselves in possession of other pearls of greater price, such as contempt of the world and of self, which some servants of God have already received? It is clear that such souls must consider themselves greater debtors—under greater obligations to serve Him: we must acknowledge that we have nothing of ourselves, and confess the munificence of our Lord, Who, on a soul so wretched and poor, and so utterly undeserving, as mine is,—for whom the first of these pearls was enough, and more than enough,—would bestow greater riches than I could desire.
8. We must renew our strength to serve Him, and
strive not to be ungrateful, because it is on this condition that our
Lord dispenses His treasures; for if we do not make a good use of
them, and of the high estate to which He raises us, He will return and
take them
9. A man will hardly wish to be held in contempt and abhorrence, nor will he seek after the other great virtues to which the perfect attain, if he has not some pledges of the love which God bears him, together with a living faith. Our nature is so dead, that we go after that which we see immediately before us; and it is these graces, therefore, that quicken and strengthen our faith. It may well be that I, who am so wicked, measure others by myself, and that others require nothing more than the verities of the faith, in order to render their works most perfect; while I, wretched that I am! have need of everything.
10. Others will explain this. I speak from my
own experience, as I have been commanded; and if what I say be not
correct, let him See ch. xxxi. § 17.
11. But as to that which I am now going to
say, I give no such leave; nor, if it be shown to any one, do I
consent to its being said who the person is whose experience it
describes, nor who wrote it. This is why I mention neither my own
name, nor that of any other person whatever. I have written it in the
best way I could, in order not to be known; and this I beg of them for
the love of God. Persons so learned and grave as they
are See ch. xv. § 12. See ch. xiv. § 12.
12. In neither case will it be of any use to
publish my name: during my life, it is clear that no good I may have
done ought to be told; after death, there is no reason against it,
except that it will lose all authority and credit, because related of
a person so vile and so wicked as I am. And because I think your
reverence and the others who may see this writing will do this that I
ask of you, for the love of our Lord, I write with
13. So, then, everything here beyond the
simple story of my life your reverence must take upon yourself—since
you have so pressed me to give some account of the graces which our
Lord bestowed upon me in prayer—if it he consistent with the truths
of our holy Catholic faith; if it be not, your reverence must burn it
at once—for I give my consent. I will recount my experience, in
order that, if it be consistent with those truths, your reverence may
make some use of it; if not, you will deliver my soul from delusion,
so that Satan may gain nothing there where I seemed to be gaining
myself. Our Lord knows well that I, as I shall show
hereafter, See ch. xxiv. § 5.
14. How clear soever I may wish to make my account of that which relates to prayer, it will be obscure enough for those who are without experience. I shall speak of certain hindrances, which, as I understand it, keep men from advancing on this road—and of other things which are dangerous, as our Lord has taught me by experience. I have also discussed the matter with men of great learning, with persons who for many years had lived spiritual lives, who admit that, in the twenty-seven years only during which I have given myself to prayer—though I walked so ill, and stumbled so often on the road—His Majesty granted me that experience which others attain to in seven-and-thirty, or seven-and-forty, years; and they, too, being persons who ever advanced in the way of penance and of virtue.
15. Blessed be God for all, and may His infinite Majesty make use of me! Our Lord knoweth well that I have no other end in this than that He may be praised and magnified a little, when men shall see that on a dunghill so foul and rank He has made a garden of flowers so sweet. May it please His Majesty that I may not by my own fault root them out, and become again what I was before. And I entreat your reverence, for the love of our Lord, to beg this of Him for me, seeing that you have a clearer knowledge of what I am than you have allowed me to give of myself here.
Chapter XI.
1. I speak now of those who begin to be the servants of love; that seems to me to be nothing else but to resolve to follow Him in the way of prayer, who has loved us so much. It is a dignity so great, that I have a strange joy in thinking of it; for servile fear vanishes at once, if we are, as we ought to be, in the first degree. O Lord of my soul, and my good, how is it that, when a soul is determined to love Thee—doing all it can, by forsaking all things, in order that it may the better occupy itself with the love of God—it is not Thy will it should have the joy of ascending at once to the possession of perfect love? I have spoken amiss; I ought to have said, and my complaint should have been, why is it we do not? for the fault is wholly our own that we do not rejoice at once in a dignity so great, seeing that the attaining to the perfect possession of this true love brings all blessings with it.
2. We think so much of ourselves, and are so dilatory in giving ourselves wholly to God, that, as His Majesty will not let us have the fruition of that which is so precious but at a great cost, so neither do we perfectly prepare ourselves for it. I see plainly that there is nothing by which so great a good can be procured in this world. If, however, we did what we could, not clinging to anything upon earth, but having all our thoughts and conversation in Heaven, I believe that this blessing would quickly be given us, provided we perfectly prepared ourselves for it at once, as some of the saints have done. We think we are giving all to God; but, in fact, we are offering only the revenue or the produce, while we retain the fee-simple of the land in our own possession.
3. We resolve to become poor, and it is a resolution of great merit; but we very often take great care not to be in want, not simply of what is necessary, but of what is superfluous: yea, and to make for ourselves friends who may supply us; and in this way we take more pains, and perhaps expose ourselves to greater danger, in order that we may want nothing, than we did formerly, when we had our own possessions in our own power.
4. We thought, also, that we gave up all desire of honour when we became religious, or when we began the spiritual life, and followed after perfection; and yet, when we are touched on the point of honour, we do not then remember that we had given it up to God. We would seize it again, and take it, as they say, out of His Hands, even after we had made Him, to all appearance, the Lord of our own will. So is it in every thing else.
5. A pleasant way this of seeking the love of
God! we retain our own affections, and yet will have that love, as
they say, by handfuls. We make no efforts to bring our desires to
good effect, or to raise them resolutely above the earth; and yet,
with all this, we
6. He showeth great mercy unto him to whom He gives the grace and resolution to strive for this blessing with all his might; for God withholds Himself from no one who perseveres. He will by little and little strengthen that soul, so that it may come forth victorious. I say resolution, because of the multitude of those things which Satan puts before it at first, to keep it back from beginning to travel on this road; for he knoweth what harm will befall him thereby—he will lose not only that soul, but many others also. If he who enters on this road does violence to himself, with the help of God, so as to reach the summit of perfection, such a one, I believe, will never go alone to Heaven; he will always take many with him: God gives to him, as to a good captain, those who shall be of his company.
7. Thus, then, the dangers and difficulties which Satan puts before them are so many, that they have need, not of a little, but of a very great, resolution, and great grace from God, to save them from falling away.
8. Speaking, then, of their beginnings who are
determined to follow after this good, and to succeed in their
enterprise—what I began
to say
9. I shall have to make use of a comparison; I
should like to avoid it, because I am a woman, and write simply what I
have been commanded. But this language of spirituality is so
difficult of utterance for those who are not learned, and such am I.
I have therefore to seek for some means to make the matter plain. It
may be that the comparison will very rarely be to the purpose—your
reverence will be amused when you see my stupidity. I think, now, I
have either read or heard of this comparison; but as my memory is bad,
I know not where, nor on what occasion; however, I am satisfied with
it for my
present purpose. 2.
Vide St. Bernard, in Cantic. Serm. 30. n. 7, ed. Ben.
10. A beginner must look upon himself as making a garden, wherein our Lord may take His delight, but in a soil unfruitful, and abounding in weeds. His Majesty roots up the weeds, and has to plant good herbs. Let us, then, take for granted that this is already done when a soul is determined to give itself to prayer, and has begun the practice of it. We have, then, as good gardeners, by the help of God, to see that the plants grow, to water them carefully, that they may not die, but produce blossoms, which shall send forth much fragrance, refreshing to our Lord, so that He may come often for His pleasure into this garden, and delight Himself in the midst of these virtues.
11. Let us now see how this garden is to be
watered, that we may understand what we have to do: how much trouble
it will cost us, whether the gain be greater than the trouble, or how
long a time it will take us. It seems to me that the garden may be
watered in four ways: by water taken out of a well, which is very
laborious; or with water raised by means of an engine and buckets,
drawn by a windlass—I have drawn it this
12. Now, then, for the application of these four ways of irrigation by which the garden is to be maintained; for without water it must fail. The comparison is to my purpose, and it seems to me that by the help of it I shall be able to explain, in some measure, the four degrees of prayer to which our Lord, of His goodness, has occasionally raised my soul. May He graciously grant that I may so speak as to be of some service to one of those who has commanded me to write, whom our Lord has raised in four months to a greater height than I have reached in seventeen years! He prepared himself better than I did, and therefore is his garden without labour on his part, irrigated by these four waters—though the last of them is only drop by drop; but it is growing in such a way, that soon, by the help of our Lord, he will be swallowed up therein, and it will be a pleasure to me, if he finds my explanation absurd, that he should laugh at it.
13. Of those who are beginners in prayer, we
may say, that they are those who draw the water up out of the well—a
process which, as I have said, is very laborious; for they must be
wearied in keeping the senses recollected, and this is a great labour,
because the senses have been hitherto accustomed to distractions. It
is necessary for beginners to accustom themselves to disregard what
they hear or see, and to put it away from them during the time of
prayer; they must be alone, and in retirement think over their past
life. Though all must do this many times, beginners
14. This is beginning to draw water up out of the well. God grant there may be water in it! That, however, does not depend on us; we are drawing it, and doing what we can towards watering the flowers. So good is God, that when, for reasons known to His Majesty—perhaps for our greater good—it is His will the well should be dry, He Himself preserves the flowers without water—we, like good gardeners, doing what lies in our power—and makes our virtues grow. By water here I mean tears, and if there be none, then tenderness and an inward feeling of devotion.
15. What, then, will he do here who sees that, for many days, he is conscious only of aridity, disgust, dislike, and so great an unwillingness to go to the well for water, that he would give it up altogether, if he did not remember that he has to please and serve the Lord of the garden; if he did not trust that his service was not in vain, and did not hope for some gain by a labour so great as that of lowering the bucket into the well so often, and drawing it up without water in it? It will happen that he is often unable to move his arms for that purpose, or to have one good thought: working with the understanding is drawing water out of the well.
16. What, then, once more, will the gardener
do now? He must rejoice and take comfort, and consider it as the
greatest favour to labour in the garden of so
See ch. xv. § 17.
17. The time will come when he shall be paid
once for all. Let him have no fear that his labour is in vain: he
serves a good Master, Whose eyes are upon him. Let him make no
account of evil thoughts, but remember that Satan suggested them to
St. Jerome also in the
desert. Epist. 22, ad
Eustochium: "O quoties ego ipse in eremo
constitutus, et in illa vasta solitudine quæ exusta solis ardoribus
horridum monachis præstat habitaculum putabam me Romanis interesse
deliciis. Sedebam solus. . . Horrebant sacco membra deformia. . . .
Ille igitur ego, qui ob Gehennæ metum tali me carcere damnaveram,
scorpionum tantum socius et ferarum, sæpe choris intereram puellarum,
pallebant ora jejuniis, et mens desideriis æstuabat in frigido
corpore, et ante hominem sua jam carne præmortuum sola libidinum
incendia bulliebant."
18. I believe that it is our Lord's good
pleasure frequently in the beginning, and at times in the end, to send
these torments, and many other incidental temptations,
19. What canst Thou do, O my Lord, that is not
for the greater good of that soul which Thou knowest to be already
Thine, and which gives itself up to Thee to follow Thee whithersoever
Thou goest, even to the death of the Cross; and which is determined to
help Thee to carry that Cross, and not to leave Thee alone with it?
He who shall discern this resolution in himself has nothing to fear:
no, no; spiritual people have nothing to fear. There is no reason why
he should be distressed who is already raised to so high a degree as
this is of wishing to converse in solitude with God, and to abandon
the amusements of the world. The greater part of the work is done;
give praise to His Majesty for it, and trust in His goodness who has
never failed those who love Him. Close the eyes of your imagination,
and do not ask why He gives devotion to this person in so short a
time, and none to me after so many years. Let us believe that all is
for our greater good; let His Majesty guide us whithersoever He will:
we are not our own, but His. He shows us mercy enough when it is His
pleasure we should be willing to dig in His garden, and to be so near
the Lord of it: He certainly is near to us. If it be His will that
these plants and flowers should grow—some of them when He gives water
we may draw from the well, others when He gives none—what is that to
me? Do Thou, O Lord,
20. It is much to be observed, and I say so because I know by experience, that the soul which, begins to walk in the way of mental prayer with resolution, and is determined not to care much, neither to rejoice nor to be greatly afflicted, whether sweetness and tenderness fail it, or our Lord grants them, has already travelled a great part of the road. Let that soul, then, have no fear that it is going back, though it may frequently stumble; for the building is begun on a firm foundation. It is certain that the love of God does not consist in tears, nor in this sweetness and tenderness which we for the most part desire, and with which we console ourselves; but rather in serving Him in justice, fortitude, and humility. That seems to me to be a receiving rather than a giving of anything on our part.
21. As for poor women, such as I am, weak and
infirm of purpose, it seems to me to be necessary that I should be led
on through consolations, as God is doing now, so that I might be able
to endure certain afflictions which it has pleased His Majesty I
should have. But when the servants of God, who are men of weight,
learning, and sense, make so much account, as I see they do, whether
God gives them sweetness in devotion or not, I am disgusted when I
listen to them. I do not say that they ought not to accept it, and
make much of it, when God gives it—because, when He gives it, His
Majesty sees it to be necessary for them—but I do say that they ought
not to grow weary when they have it not. They should then understand
that they have no need of it, and be masters of themselves, when His
22. It is not so much to beginners that I say this—though I do insist upon it, because it is of great importance to them that they should begin with this liberty and resolution—as to others, of whom there are many, who make a beginning, but never come to the end; and that is owing, I believe, in great measure, to their not having embraced the Cross from the first. They are distressed, thinking they are doing nothing; the understanding ceases from its acts, and they cannot bear it. Yet, perhaps, at that very time, the will is feeding and gathering strength, and they know it not.
23. We must suppose that our Lord does not
regard these things; for though they seem to us to be faults, yet they
are not. His Majesty knoweth our misery and natural vileness better
than we do ourselves. He knoweth that these souls long to be always
thinking of Him and loving Him. It is this resolution that He seeks
in us; the other anxieties which we inflict upon ourselves serve to no
other end but to disquiet the soul—which, if it be unable to derive
any profit in one hour, will by them be disabled for four. This comes
most frequently from bodily indisposition—I have had very great
experience in the matter, and I know it is true; for I have carefully
observed it and discussed it afterwards with spiritual persons—for we
are so wretched, that this poor prisoner of a soul shares in the
miseries of the body. The changes of the seasons, and the alterations
of the humours, very often compel it, without fault of its own, not to
do what it would, but rather to suffer in every way. Meanwhile, the
more we force the soul on these occasions, the greater the mischief,
and the longer it lasts. Some discretion must
24. I spoke of discretion, because sometimes
the devil will do the same work; and so it is not always right to omit
prayer when the understanding is greatly distracted and disturbed, nor
to torment the soul to the doing of that which is out of its power.
There are other things then to be done—exterior works, as of charity
and spiritual reading—though at times the soul will not be able to do
them. Take care, then, of the body, for the love of God, because at
many other times the body must serve the soul; and let recourse be had
to some recreations—holy ones—such as conversation, or going out
into the fields, as the confessor shall advise. Altogether,
experience is a great matter, and it makes us understand what is
convenient for us. Let God be served in all things—His yoke is
sweet;
25. So, then, I come back to what I advised
before §
18.
Chapter XII.
1. My aim in the foregoing chapter—though I digressed to many other matters, because they seemed to me very necessary—was to explain how much we may attain to of ourselves; and how, in these beginnings of devotion, we are able in some degree to help ourselves: because thinking of, and pondering on, the sufferings of our Lord for our sakes moves us to compassion, and the sorrow and tears which result therefrom are sweet. The thought of the blessedness we hope for, of the love our Lord bore us, and of His resurrection, kindle within us a joy which is neither wholly spiritual nor wholly sensual; but the joy is virtuous, and the sorrow is most meritorious.
2. Of this kind are all those things which
produce a devotion acquired in part by means of the understanding,
though it can neither be merited nor had, if God grants it not. It is
best for a soul which God has not raised to a higher state than this
not to try to rise of itself. Let this be well considered, because
all the soul will gain in that way will be a loss. In this state it
can make many acts of good resolutions to do much for God, and
enkindle its love; other acts also, which may help the growth of
virtues, according to that which is written in a book called The
Art of Serving
Arte de servir a
Dios, by Rodrigue de Solis, friar of the Augustinian Order
(Bouix). Arte para servir a Dios,
by Fra. Alonso de Madrid (De la Fuente).
3. The soul may also place itself in the presence of Christ, and accustom itself to many acts of love directed to His sacred Humanity, and remain in His presence continually, and speak to Him, pray to Him in its necessities, and complain to Him of its troubles; be merry with Him in its joys, and yet not forget Him because of its joys. All this it may do without set prayers, but rather with words befitting its desires and its needs.
4. This is an excellent way whereby to advance,
and that very quickly. He that will strive to have this precious
companionship, and will make much of it, and will sincerely love our
Lord, to whom we owe so much, is one, in my opinion, who has made some
progress. There is therefore no reason why we should trouble
ourselves because we have no sensible devotion, as I said
before.
5. This, then, is what we can do. He who would
pass out of this state, and upraise his spirit, in order to taste
consolations denied him, will, in my opinion, lose both the one and
the other. That is, he will lose the prayer
of acquired quiet, because he voluntarily abandons it before the time;
and will not attain to the prayer of infused quiet, because he
attempts to rise into it before he is called (Francis. de Sancto
Thoma, Medulla Mystica, tr. iv. ch. xi.
n. 69).
6. It must not be supposed that I am now
speaking of raising our thoughts to the consideration of the high
things of heaven and of its glory, or unto God and His great wisdom.
I never did this myself, because I had not the capacity for it—as I
said before;
7. What I am saying—namely, let them not rise if God does not raise them—is the language of spirituality. He will understand me who has had any experience; and I know not how to explain it, if what I have said does not make it plain.
8. In mystical theology—of which I spoke
before
9. To have the powers of the mind occupied, and
to think that you can keep them at the same time quiet, is folly. I
repeat it, though it be not so understood, there is no great humility
in this; and, if it be blameless, it is not left unpunished—it is
labour thrown away, and the soul is a little disgusted: it feels like
a man about to take a leap, and is held back. Such a one seems to
have used up his strength already, and finds himself unable to do that
which he wished to have done: so here, in the scanty gain that
remains, he who will consider the matter will trace that slight want
of humility of which I
have spoken; § 5.
10. For many years I read much, and understood
nothing; and for a long time, too, though God gave me understanding
herein, I never could utter a word by which I might explain it to
others. This was no little trouble to me. When His Majesty pleases,
He teaches everything in a moment, so that I am lost in wonder. One
thing I can truly say: though I conversed with many spiritual persons,
who sought to make me understand
11. Or it may be, as His Majesty has always been my Master—may He be blessed for ever! for I am ashamed of myself that I can say so with truth—that it was His good pleasure I should meet with no one to whom I should be indebted in this matter. So, without my wishing or asking it—I never was careful about this, for that would have been a virtue in me, but only about vanity—God gave me to understand with all distinctness in a moment, and also enabled me to express myself, so that my confessors were astonished but I more than they, because I knew my own dulness better. It is not long since this happened. And so that which our Lord has not taught me, I seek not to know it, unless it be a matter that touches my conscience.
12. Again I repeat my advice: it is of great moment not to raise our spirit ourselves, if our Lord does not raise it for us; and if He does, there can be no mistaking it. For women, it is specially wrong, because the devil can delude them—though I am certain our Lord will never allow him to hurt any one who labours to draw near unto God in humility. On the contrary, such a one will derive more profit and advantage out of that attack by which Satan intended to hurt him.
13. I have dwelt so long upon this matter because this way of prayer is the most common with beginners, and because the advice I have given is very important. It will be found much better given elsewhere: that I admit; and I admit, also, that in writing it I am ashamed of myself, and covered with confusion—though not so much so as I ought to be. Blessed for ever be our Lord, of whose will and pleasure it is that I am allowed, being what I am, to speak of things which are His, of such a nature, and so deep.
Chapter XIII.
1. I have thought it right to speak of certain
temptations I have observed to which beginners are liable—some of
them I have had myself—and to give some advice about certain things
which to me seem necessary. In the beginning, then, we should strive
to be cheerful and unconstrained; for there are people who think it is
all over with devotion if they relax themselves ever so little. It is
right to be afraid of self; so that, having no confidence in
ourselves, much or little, we may not place ourselves in those
circumstances wherein men usually sin against God; for it is a most
necessary fear, till we become very perfect in virtue. And there are
not many who are so perfect as to be able to relax themselves on those
occasions which offer temptations to their natural temper; for always
while we live, were it only to preserve humility, it is well we should
know our own miserable nature; but there are many occasions on which
it is permitted us—as I said
just now
2. Discretion is necessary throughout. We must have great confidence; because it is very necessary for us not to contract our desires, but put our trust in God; for, if we do violence to ourselves by little and little, we shall, though not at once, reach that height which many Saints by His grace have reached. If they had never resolved to desire, and had never by little and little acted upon that resolve, they never could have ascended to so high a state.
3. His Majesty seeks and loves courageous
souls; but they must be humble in their ways, and have no
4. At one time I used often to think of those
words of St. Paul: "That all things are
possible in God."
5. But it is necessary we should understand
what manner of humility this should be, because Satan, I believe, does
great harm; for he hinders those who begin to pray from going onwards,
by suggesting to them false notions of humility. He makes them think
it is pride to have large desires, to wish to imitate the Saints, and
to long for martyrdom. He tells us forthwith, or he makes us think,
that the actions of the
6. But we ought to think that we can force ourselves, by the grace of God, to hold the world in profound contempt—to make light of honour, and be detached from our possessions. Our hearts, however, are so mean that we think the earth would fail us under our feet, if we were to cease to care even for a moment for the body, and give ourselves up to spirituality. Then we think that to have all we require contributes to recollection, because anxieties disturb prayer. It is painful to me that our confidence in God is so scanty, and our self-love so strong, as that any anxiety about our own necessities should disturb us. But so it is; for when our spiritual progress is so slight, a mere nothing will give us as much trouble as great and important matters will give to others. And we think ourselves spiritual!
7. Now, to me, this way of going on seems to betray a disposition to reconcile soul and body together, in order that we may not miss our ease in this world, and yet have the fruition of God in the next; and so it will be if we walk according to justice, clinging to virtue; but it is the pace of a hen—it will never bring us to liberty of spirit. It is a course of proceeding, as it seems to me, most excellent for those who are in the married state, and who must live according to their vocation; but for the other state, I by no means wish for such a method of progress, neither can I be made to believe it to be sound; for I have tried it, and I should have remained in that way, if our Lord in His goodness had not taught me another and a shorter road.
8. Though, in the matter of desires, I always
had generous ones; but I laboured, as I said
before,
9. We may also imitate the Saints by striving after solitude and silence, and many other virtues that will not kill these wretched bodies of ours, which insist on being treated so orderly, that they may disorder the soul; and Satan, too, helps much to make them unmanageable. When he sees us a little anxious about them, he wants nothing more to convince us that our way of life must kill us, and destroy our health; even if we weep, he makes us afraid of blindness. I have passed through this, and therefore I know it; but I know of no better sight or better health that we can desire, than the loss of both in such a cause. Being myself so sickly, I was always under constraint, and good for nothing, till I resolved to make no account of my body nor of my health; even now I am worthless enough.
10. But when it pleased God to let me find out
this device of Satan, I used to say to the latter, when he suggested
to me that I was ruining my health, that my death was of no
consequence; when he suggested rest, I replied that I did not want
rest, but the Cross. His other suggestions I treated in the same way.
I saw clearly that in most things, though I was really very sickly, it
was either a temptation of Satan, or a weakness on my part. My health
has been much better
11. There is another temptation, which is very
common: when people begin to have pleasure in the rest and the fruit
of prayer, they will have everybody else be very spiritual also. Now,
to desire this is not wrong, but to try to bring it about may not be
right, except with great discretion and with much reserve, without any
appearance of teaching. He who would do any good in this matter ought
to be endowed with solid virtues, that he may not put temptation in
the way of others. It happened to me—that is how I know it—when, as
I said before,
12. This is Satan's work: he seems to take
advantage of the virtues we may have, for the purpose of giving a
sanction, so far as he can, to the evil he aims at; how slight soever
that evil may be, his gain must be great, if it prevail in a religious
house. How much, then, must his gain have been, when the evil I did
was so very great! And thus, during many years, only three persons
were the better for what I said to them; but now that our Lord has
made me stronger in virtue,
See ch. xxxi. § 7, and ch. xxxix. § 14.
13. There is another great inconvenience in addition to this: the loss to our own soul; for the utmost we have to do in the beginning is to take care of our own soul only, and consider that in the whole world there is only God and our soul. This is a point of great importance.
14. There is another temptation—we ought to be aware of it, and be cautious in our conduct: persons are carried away by a zeal for virtue, through the pain which the sight of the sins and failings of others occasions them. Satan tells them that this pain arises only out of their desire that God may not be offended, and out of their anxiety about His honour; so they immediately seek to remedy the evil. This so disturbs them, that they cannot pray. The greatest evil of all is their thinking this an act of virtue, of perfection, and of a great zeal for God. I am not speaking of the pain which public sins occasion, if they be habitual in any community, nor of wrongs done to the Church, nor of heresies by which so many souls are visibly lost; for this pain is most wholesome, and being wholesome is no source of disquiet. The security, therefore, of that soul which would apply itself to prayer lies in casting away from itself all anxiety about persons and things, in taking care of itself, and in pleasing God. This is the most profitable course.
15. If I were to speak of the mistakes which I
have seen people make, in reliance on their own good intentions, I
should never come to an end. Let us labour, therefore, always to
consider the virtues and the good qualities which we discern in
others, and with our own great sins cover our eyes, so that we may see
none of their failings. This is one way of doing our work; and though
we may not be perfect in it at once, we shall acquire one great
virtue—we shall look upon all
16. This advice, also, they must take into their consideration who make much use of their understanding, eliciting from one subject many thoughts and conceptions. As to those who, like myself, cannot do it, I have no advice to give, except that they are to have patience, until our Lord shall send them both matter and light; for they can do so little of themselves, that their understanding is a hindrance to them rather than a help.
17. To those, then, who can make use of their
understanding, I say that they are not to spend the whole time in that
way; for though it be most meritorious, yet they must not, when prayer
is sweet, suppose that there never will be a Sunday or a time when no
work ought to be done. They think it lost time to do otherwise; but I
think that loss their greatest gain. Let them rather, as I have
said,
18. I will explain myself further; for the
doctrine of prayer is difficult, and, without a director, very hard to
understand. Though I would willingly be concise, and
19. Going back, then, to what I was saying. We set ourselves to meditate upon some mystery of the Passion: let us say, our Lord at the pillar. The understanding goeth about seeking for the sources out of which came the great dolours and the bitter anguish which His Majesty endured in that desolation. It considers that mystery in many lights, which the intellect, if it be skilled in its work, or furnished with learning, may there obtain. This is a method of prayer which should be to everyone the beginning, the middle, and the end: a most excellent and safe way, until our Lord shall guide them to other supernatural ways.
20. I say to all, because there are many souls who make greater progress by meditation on other subjects than on the Sacred Passion; for as there are many mansions in heaven, so there are also many roads leading thither. Some persons advance by considering themselves in hell, others in heaven—and these are distressed by meditations on hell. Others meditate on death; some persons, if tender-hearted, are greatly fatigued by continual meditations on the Passion; but are consoled and make progress when they meditate on the power and greatness of God in His creatures, and on His love visible in all things. This is an admirable method—not omitting, however, from time to time, the Passion and Life of Christ, the Source of all good that ever came, and that ever shall come.
21. He who begins is in need of instruction,
whereby he may ascertain what profits him most. For this end
See St. John of the Cross, Living Flame,
pp. 267, 278–284, Engl. trans.
22. One person I had to do with had been kept by her director for eight years, as it were, in prison; he would not allow her to quit the subject of self-knowledge; and yet our Lord had already raised her to the prayer of quiet; so she had much to suffer.
23. Although this matter of self-knowledge
must never be put aside—for there is no soul so great a giant on this
road but has frequent need to turn back, and be again an infant at the
breast; and this must never be forgotten. I shall repeat
it, See ch. xv. § 20.
24. So, then, it is of great consequence that the director should be prudent—I mean, of sound understanding—and a man of experience. If, in addition to this, he is a learned man, it is a very great matter. But if these three qualities cannot be had together, the first two are the most important, because learned men may be found with whom we can communicate when it is necessary. I mean, that for beginners learned men are of little use, if they are not men of prayer. I do not say that they are to have nothing to do with learned men, because a spirituality, the foundations of which are not resting on the truth, I would rather were not accompanied with prayer. Learning is a great thing, for it teaches us who know so little, and enlightens us; so when we have come to the knowledge of the truths contained in the holy writings, we do what we ought to do. From silly devotions, God deliver us!
25. I will explain myself further, for I am
meddling, I believe, with too many matters. It has always been my
failing that I could never make myself understood—as I said
before § 18.
26. Though learning does not seem necessary for discretion, my opinion has always been, and will be, that every Christian should continue to be guided by a learned director if he can, and the more learned the better. They who walk in the way of prayer have the greater need of learning; and the more spiritual they are the greater is that need. Let them not say that learned men not given to prayer are not fit counsellors for those who pray: that is a delusion. I have conversed with many; and now for some years I have sought them the more, because of my greater need of them. I have always been fond of them; for though some of them have no experience, they do not dislike spirituality, neither are they ignorant of what it is, because in the sacred writings with which they are familiar they always find the truth about spirituality. I am certain myself that a person given to prayer, who treats of these matters with learned men, unless he is deceived with his own consent, will never be carried away by any illusions of the devil. I believe that the evil spirits are exceedingly afraid of learned men who are humble and virtuous, knowing that they will be found out and defeated by them.
27. I have said this because there are opinions held to the effect that learned men, if they are not spiritual, are not suited for persons given to prayer. I have just said that a spiritual director is necessary; but if he be not a learned man, he is a great hindrance. It will help us much if we consult those who are learned, provided they be virtuous; even if they be not spiritual, they will be of service to me, and God will enable them to understand what they should teach; He will even make them spiritual, in order that they may help us on. I do not say this without having had experience of it; and I have met with more than two.
28. I say, then, that a person who shall
resign his soul to be wholly subject to one director will make a great
mistake, if he is in religion, unless he finds a director of this
kind, because of the obedience due to his own superior. His director
may be deficient in the three requisites I speak
of, Prudence, experience, and
learning; see § 24.
29. But if he be a person living in the world, let him praise God for the power he has of choosing whom he will obey, and let him not lose so excellent a liberty; yea, rather let him be without a director till he finds him—for our Lord will give him one, if he is really humble, and has a desire to meet with the right person. I praise God greatly—we women, and those who are unlearned, ought always to render Him unceasing thanks—because there are persons who, by labours so great, have attained to the truth, of which we unlearned people are ignorant. I often wonder at learned men—particularly those who are in religion—when I think of the trouble they have had in acquiring that which they communicate to me for my good, and that without any more trouble to me than the asking for it. And yet there are people who will not take advantage of their learning: God grant it may not be so!
30. I see them undergo the poverty of the
religious life, which is great, together with its penances, its meagre
food, the yoke of obedience, which makes me ashamed of myself at
times; and with all this, interrupted sleep, trials everywhere,
everywhere the Cross. I think it would be a great evil for any one to
lose so great a good by his own fault. It may be some of us, who are
exempted from these burdens—who have our food put into our mouths, as
they say, and live at our ease—may think, because we give
31. I have gone far away from the subject I
began to speak of; but all is to the purpose for those who are
beginners, that they may begin a journey which is so high in such a
way as that they shall go on by the right road. Coming back, then, to
what I spoke
of before, § 19.
32. If he is able, let him employ himself in looking upon Christ, who is looking upon him; let him accompany Him, and make his petitions to Him; let him humble himself, and delight himself in Christ, and keep in mind that he never deserved to be there. When he shall be able to do this, though it may be in the beginning of his prayer, he will find great advantage; and this way of prayer brings great advantages with it—at least, so my soul has found it. I do not know whether I am describing it aright; you, my father, will see to it. May our Lord grant me to please Him rightly for ever! Amen.
Chapter XIV.
1. Having spoken of the toilsome efforts and of the strength required for watering the garden when we have to draw the water out of the well, let us now speak of the second manner of drawing the water, which the Lord of the vineyard has ordained; of the machine of wheel and buckets whereby the gardener may draw more water with less labour, and be able to take some rest without being continually at work. This, then, is what I am now going to describe; and I apply it to the prayer called the prayer of quiet.
2. Herein the soul begins to be recollected; it is now touching on the supernatural—for it never could by any efforts of its own attain to this. True, it seems at times to have been wearied at the wheel, labouring with the understanding, and filling the buckets; but in this second degree the water is higher, and accordingly the labour is much less than it was when the water had to be drawn up out of the well; I mean, that the water is nearer to it, for grace reveals itself more distinctly to the soul.
3. This is a gathering together of the
faculties of the soul within itself, in order that it may have the
fruition of that contentment in greater sweetness; but the faculties
are not lost, neither are they asleep: the will alone is occupied in
such a way that, without knowing how it has become a captive, it gives
a simple consent to become the prisoner of God; for it knows well what
is to be the captive of Him it loves. O my Jesus and my Lord, how
pressing now is
Thy love!
4. The other two faculties help the will, that
it may render itself capable of the fruition of so great a good;
nevertheless, it occasionally happens, even when the will is in union,
that they hinder it very much: but then it should never heed them at
all, simply abiding in its fruition and
quiet. See ch. xvii. § 12; Way of
Perfection, ch. liii., but xxxi. of the
old editions.
5. If it be our Lord's pleasure to throw them any food, they stop; if not, they go again to seek it. They must be thinking that they are of some service to the will; and now and then the memory or the imagination, seeking to represent to it that of which it has the fruition, does it harm. The will, therefore, should be careful to deal with them as I shall explain. Everything that takes place now in this state brings the very greatest consolation; and the labour is so slight, that prayer, even if persevered in for some time, is never wearisome. The reason is, that the understanding is now working very gently, and is drawing very much more water than it drew out of the well. The tears, which God now sends, flow with joy; though we feel them, they are not the result of any efforts of our own.
6. This water of grand blessings and graces,
which our Lord now supplies, makes the virtues thrive much more,
beyond all comparison, than they did in the previous state of prayer;
for the soul is already ascending out of its wretched state, and some
little knowledge of the blissfulness of glory is communicated
7. As soon as the soul has arrived thus far, it
begins to lose the desire of earthly
things, See Relation, i.
§ 12.
8. It seems absurd to say this, seeing that we
know that God understands us always, and is present with us. It is
so, and there can be no doubt of it; but our Emperor and Lord will
have us now understand that He understands us; and also have us
understand what His presence bringeth about, and that He means in a
special way to begin a work in the soul, which is manifested in the
great joy, inward and outward, which He communicates, and in the
difference there is, as I said just now, between this joy and delight
and all the joys
9. This satisfaction lies in the innermost part of the soul, and the soul knows not whence, nor how, it came, very often it knows not what to do, or wish, or pray for. It seems to find all this at once, and knoweth not what it hath found; nor do I know how to explain it, because learning is necessary for many things. Here, indeed, learning would be very much to the purpose, in order to explain the general and particular helps of grace; for there are many who know nothing about them. Learning would serve to show how our Lord now will have the soul to see, as it were, with the naked eye, as men speak, this particular help of grace, and be also useful in many other ways wherein I am likely to go astray. But as what I write is to be seen by those who have the learning to discover whether I make mistakes or not, I go on without anxiety; for I know I need have none whatever about either the letter or the spirit, because it is in their power to whom it is to be sent to do with it as they will: they will understand it, and blot out whatever may be amiss.
10. I should like them to explain this,
because it is a principal point, and because a soul, when our Lord
begins to bestow these graces upon it, does not understand them, and
does not know what to do with itself; for if God leads it by the way
of fear, as He led me, its trial will be heavy, if there be no one who
understands the state it is in; and to see itself as in a picture is a
great comfort; and then it sees clearly that it is travelling on that
road. The knowledge of what it has to do is a great blessing for it,
so that it may advance forwards in every one of these degrees of
prayer; for I have suffered greatly, and lost much time, because I did
not know what to do; and I am very sorry for those souls who find
themselves alone when they come to this state; for though I read many
spiritual books, wherein this very matter is discussed, they threw
very little
11. I wish much that our Lord would help me to
describe the effects on the soul of these things, now that they begin
to be supernatural, so that men might know by these effects whether
they come from the Spirit of God. I mean, known as things are known
here below—though it is always well to live in fear, and on our
guard; for even if they do come from God, now and then the devil will
be able to transform himself into an angel of
light;
12. The little time I have helps me but
little, and it is therefore necessary His Majesty should undertake it
Himself; for I have to live in community, and have very many things to
employ me, as I am in a house which is newly founded—as will appear
hereafter; See ch. x. § 11. As that passage refers
probably to the monastery of the Incarnation, this must refer to that
of St. Joseph, newly founded in Avila; for
that of the Incarnation was founded a short time before the Saint was
born; and she could hardly say of it, now that she was at least in her
forty-seventh year, that it was newly founded. The house, however,
was poor; for she says, ch. xxxii. §
12, that the nuns occasionally quitted the monastery for a time,
because of its poverty. See ch. xviii. § 10. In the second Report
of the Rota, p. 477—quoted by Benedict XIV., De
Canoniz. iii. 26, n. 12, and by the Bollandists in the Acta, 1315—we have these words, and they throw great
light on the text: "Sunt et alli testes de visu
affirmantes quod quando beata Teresa scribebat libros, facies ejus
resplendebat." In the information taken in Granada, the
Mother Anne of the Incarnation says she saw the Saint one night, while
writing the Fortress of the Soul, with her face shining;
and Mary of St. Francis deposes to the same
effect in the informations taken in Medina (De la Fuente,
vol. ii. pp. 389, 392).
13. Let us now return to our orchard, or flower-garden, and behold now how the trees begin to fill with sap for the bringing forth of the blossoms, and then of the fruit—the flowers and the plants, also, their fragrance. This illustration pleases me; for very often, when I was beginning—and our Lord grant that I have really begun to serve His Majesty—I mean, begun in relation to what I have to say of my life,—it was to me a great joy to consider my soul as a garden, and our Lord as walking in it. I used to beseech Him to increase the fragrance of the little flowers of virtues—which were beginning, as it seemed to bud—and preserve them, that they might be to His glory; for I desired nothing for myself. I prayed Him to cut those He liked, because I already knew that they would grow the better.
14. I say cut; for there are times in which the soul has no recollection of this garden—everything seems parched, and there is no water to be had for preserving it—and in which it seems as if the soul had never possessed any virtue at all. This is the season of heavy trials; for our Lord will have the poor gardener suppose all the trouble he took in maintaining and watering the garden to have been taken to no purpose. Then is the time really for weeding and rooting out every plant, however small it may be, that is worthless, in the knowledge that no efforts of ours are sufficient, if God withholds from us the waters of His grace; and in despising ourselves as being nothing, and even less than nothing.
In this way we gain great humility—the flowers grow afresh.
15. O my Lord and my God! I cannot utter
these words without tears, and rejoicing in my soul; for Thou wilt be
thus with us, and art with us, in the Sacrament. We may believe so
most truly; for so it is, and the comparison I make is a great truth;
and, if our sins stand not in the way, we may rejoice in Thee, because
Thou rejoicest in us; for Thou hast told us that Thy delight is to be
with the children
of men.
16. Is it possible, Lord, that there can be a soul which, after attaining to this state wherein Thou bestowest upon it the like graces and consolations, and wherein it understands that Thou delightest to be with it, can yet fall back and offend Thee after so many favours, and such great demonstrations of the love Thou bearest it, and of which there cannot be any doubt, because the effect of it is so visible? Such a soul there certainly is; for I have done so, not once, but often. May it please Thy goodness, O Lord, that I may be alone in my ingratitude—the only one who has committed so great an iniquity, and whose ingratitude has been so immeasurable! But even out of my ingratitude Thine infinite goodness has brought forth some good; and the greater my wickedness, the greater the splendour of the great mercy of Thy compassions. Oh, what reasons have I to magnify them for ever!
17. May it be so, I beseech Thee, O my God,
and may I sing of them for ever, now that Thou hast been pleased to
show mercies so great unto me that they who see them are astonished,
mercies which draw me out of myself continually, that I may praise
Thee more and more! for, remaining in myself, without Thee, I could
do nothing, O my Lord, but be as the withered flowers
18. You, my father, must forgive me for wandering from the subject; and, as I am speaking to the purpose I have in view, you must not be surprised. What I write is what my soul has understood; and it is very often hard enough to abstain from the praises of God when, in the course of writing, the great debt I owe Him presents itself before me. Nor do I think that it can be disagreeable to you; because both of us, I believe, may sing the same song, though in a different way; for my debt is much the greater, seeing that God has forgiven me more, as you, my father, know.
Chapter XV.
1. Let us now go back to the subject. This
quiet and recollection of the soul makes itself in great measure felt
in the satisfaction and peace, attended with very great joy and repose
of the faculties, and most sweet delight, wherein the soul is
established. See Way of
Perfection, ch. liii., but ch. xxxii of
the old edition. See ch. xvii. § 6.
2. I have already said that, in the prior
recollection
and quiet,
3. Oh, that His Majesty would be gracious unto me, and enable me to give a clear account of the matter; for many are the souls who attain to this state, and few are they who go farther: and I know not who is in fault; most certainly it is not God; for when His Majesty shows mercy unto a soul, so that it advances so far, I believe that He will not fail to be more merciful still, if there be no shortcomings on our part.
4. And it is of great importance for the soul
that has advanced so far as this to understand the great dignity of
its state, the great grace given it by our Lord, and how in all reason
it should not belong to earth; because He, of His goodness, seems to
make it here a denizen of heaven, unless it be itself in fault. And
miserable will that soul be if it turns back; it will go down, I think
so, even to the abyss, as I was going myself, if the mercy of our Lord
had not brought me back; because, for the most part, it must be the
effect of grave faults—that is my opinion: nor is it possible to
5. Therefore, for the love of our Lord, I
implore those souls to whom His Majesty has given so great a
grace—the attainment of this state—to know and make much of
themselves, with a humble and holy presumption, in order that they may
never return to the flesh-pots of Egypt. And if through weakness and
wickedness, and a mean and wretched nature, they should fall, as I
did, let them always keep in mind the good they have lost; let them
suspect and fear—they have reason to do so—that, if they do not
resume their prayer, they may go on from bad to worse. I call that a
real fall which makes us hate the way by which so great a good was
obtained. I address myself to those souls; but I am not saying that
they will never offend God, nor fall into sin,—though there are good
reasons why those who have received these graces should keep
themselves carefully from sin; but we are miserable creatures. What I
earnestly advise is this: let there be no giving up of prayer; it is
by prayer they will understand what they are doing, and obtain from
our Lord the grace to repent, and strength to rise again; they must
believe and believe again that, if they cease from praying, they
run—so I think—into danger. I know not if I understand what I am
saying; for, as I said before, I measure others
by myself.
6. The prayer of quiet, then, is a little spark
of the true love of Himself, which our Lord begins to enkindle in the
soul; and His will is, that the soul should understand what this love
is by the joy it brings. This quiet and recollection and little
spark, if it is the work of the Spirit of God, and not a sweetness
supplied by Satan, or brought about by ourselves, produces great
results. A person of experience, however, cannot possibly fail to
understand at once that it is not a thing that can be acquired, were
it not that our nature is so greedy of
Ch.
xviii. § 4, and ch. xxi.
§ 9.
7. This little spark is a sign or pledge which
God gives to a soul, in token of His having chosen it for great
things, if it will prepare to receive them. It is a great gift, much
too great for me to be able to speak of it. It is a great sorrow to
me; because, as I
said before, § 3.
8. I should like much to recommend these souls
to take care that they do not hide their talent; for it may be that
God has chosen them to be the edification of many others, especially
in these days, when the friends of God should be strong, in order that
they may support the weak. Those who discern in themselves this
grace, must look upon themselves as such friends, if they would fulfil
the law which even the honourable friendship of the world respects; if
not, as I said
just now, § 5.
9. What the soul has to do at those seasons
wherein it is raised to the prayer of quiet is nothing more than to be
gentle and without noise. By noise, I mean going
10. And if the will wishes to communicate to the understanding any portion of that the fruition of which itself has entered on, or if it labours to make the understanding recollected, it shall not succeed; for it will often happen that the will is in union and at rest, while the understanding is in extreme disorder. It is better for it to leave it alone, and not to run after it—I am speaking of the will; for the will should abide in the fruition of that grace, recollected itself, like the prudent bee; for if no bees entered the hive, and each of them wandered abroad in search of the rest, the honey would hardly be made. In the same way, the soul will lose much if it be not careful now, especially if the understanding be acute; for when it begins to make reflections and search for reasons, it will think at once that it is doing something if its reasons and reflections are good.
11. The only reason that ought to be admitted
now is to understand clearly that there is no reason whatever,
12. This is good for those learned men who
have commanded me
to write,
13. So, then, when the soul is in the prayer of quiet, let it repose in its rest—let learning be put on one side. The time will come when they may make use of it in the service of our Lord—when they that possess it will appreciate it so highly as to be glad that they had not neglected it even for all the treasures of the world, simply because it enables them to serve His Majesty; for it is a great help. But in the eyes of Infinite Wisdom, believe me, a little striving after humility, and a single act thereof, are worth more than all the science in the world. This is not the time for discussing, but for understanding plainly what we are, and presenting ourselves in simplicity before God, who will have the soul make itself as a fool—as, indeed, it is—in His presence, seeing that His Majesty so humbles Himself as to suffer it to be near Him, we being what we are.
14. Moreover, the understanding bestirs itself
to make its thanksgiving in phrases well arranged; but the will, in
peace, not daring to lift up its eyes with the
publican,
15. I believe myself that we know whether this
proceeds from the Spirit of God, or is brought about by endeavours of
our own, in the commencement of devotion which God gives; and we seek
of ourselves,
"Firmeza en
la verdad." Francisco de St. Thoma, in his Medulla Mystica, p. 204, quoting this passage, has,
"firmeza en la voluntad." Philip a
SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. p. 354, and his
Abbreviator, Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Direct.
Mystic. tr. iv. disp. i. § 11, n. 94, seem also to have
preferred "voluntad" to "verdad;" for the words they use are, "nec intellectui lux nec voluntati firmitas;"
and, "defectus lucis in intellectu, et firmitatis
in voluntate."
16. Here Satan can do little or no harm, if the soul directs unto God the joy and sweetness it then feels; and if it fixes the thoughts and desires on Him, according to the advice already given, the devil can gain nothing whatever—on the contrary, by the permission of God, he will lose much by that very joy which he causes in the soul, because that joy will help the soul, inasmuch as it thinks the joy comes from God, to betake itself often to prayer in its desire for it. And if the soul is humble, indifferent to, and detached from, all joy, however spiritual, and if it loves the cross, it will make no account of the sweetness which Satan sends. But it cannot so deal with that which comes from the Spirit of God; of that it will make much. Now, when Satan sends it, as he is nothing but a lie, and when he sees that the soul humbles itself through that joy and sweetness—and here, in all things relating to prayer and sweetness, we must be very careful to endeavour to make ourselves humble,—Satan will not often repeat his work, when he sees that he loses by it.
17. For this and for many other reasons, when
I was speaking of the first degree of prayer, and of the first method
of drawing the water,
18. It is a very great matter to have this always before our eyes, especially in the beginning; afterwards, it becomes so clear, that it is rather a matter of necessity to forget it, in order to live on. Now, labouring to keep in mind that all things here below are of short duration, that they are all nothing, that the rest we have here is to be accounted as none,—all this, I say, seems to be exceedingly low; and so, indeed, it is,—because those who have gone on to greater perfection would look upon it as a reproach, and be ashamed of themselves, if they thought that they were giving up the goods of this world because they are perishable, or that they would not be glad to give them up for God—even if they were to last for ever. The greater the perfection of these persons, the greater their joy, and the greater also would that joy be if the duration of these worldly goods were greater.
19. In these persons, thus far advanced, love is already grown, and love is that which does this work. But as to beginners, to them it is of the utmost importance, and they must not regard this consideration as unbecoming, for the blessings to be gained are great,—and that is why I recommend it so much to them; for they will have need of it—even those who have attained to great heights of prayer—at certain times, when God will try them, and when His Majesty seems to have forsaken them.
20. I have said as much already, and I would
not have it forgotten,
21. Let us go back to what I was saying. The
great source of our deliverance from the cunning devices and the
sweetness which Satan sends is to begin with a resolution to walk in
the way of the Cross from the very first, and not to desire any
sweetness at all, seeing that our Lord Himself has pointed out to us
the way of perfection, saying, "Take up thy cross and follow
Me."
22. When it is the work of the Spirit of God,
there is no necessity for going about searching for reasons, on the
strength of which we may elicit acts of humility
23. In short, not to weary myself, it is the beginning of all good; the flowers have so thriven, that they are on the point of budding. And this the soul sees most clearly, and it is impossible to persuade it now that God was not with it, till it turns back upon itself, and beholds its own failings and imperfections. Then it fears for everything; and it is well it should do so—though there are souls whom the certain conviction that God is with them benefits more than all the fear they may ever have. If a soul love greatly, and is thankful naturally, the remembrance of the mercies of God makes it turn to Him more effectually than all the chastisements of hell it can ever picture to itself—at least, it was so with me, though I am so wicked.
24. As I shall speak at greater length of the
signs of a good spirit See ch. xxv.
Chapter XVI.
1. Let us now speak of the third water
wherewith this garden is watered,—water running from a river or from
a brook,—whereby the garden is watered with very much less trouble,
although there is some in directing the
water. "The third degree, or third
water, of the Saint, must begin, I think, with the prayer of infused
recollection, include that of infused quiet, and end in that of
inebriation; because it is not in our power to draw this water—all we
can do is to direct the stream." (Francis. de St. Thoma, Medulla Mystica, tr. iv. ch. xii.
p. 208). See St.
John of the Cross, Spirit.
Canticle, stanza xvii. vol. ii. p. 98,
Engl. trans.
2. It is now some five or six years, I believe, since our Lord raised me to this state of prayer, in its fulness, and that more than once,—and I never understood it, and never could explain it; and so I was resolved, when I should come thus far in my story, to say very little or nothing at all. I knew well enough that it was not altogether the union of all the faculties, and yet most certainly it was higher than the previous state of prayer; but I confess that I could not determine and understand the difference.
3. The humility of your reverence, willing to be helped by a simplicity so great as mine, has been the cause, I believe, why our Lord, to-day, after Communion, admitted me to this state of prayer, without the power of going further, and suggested to me these comparisons, and taught me how to speak of it, and of what the soul must do therein. Certainly, I was amazed, and in a moment understood it all. I have often been thus, as it were, beside myself, drunk with love, and yet never could understand how it was. I knew well that it was the work of God, but I never was able to understand the manner of His working here; for, in fact, the faculties are almost all completely in union, yet not so absorbed that they do not act. I have been singularly delighted in that I have been able to comprehend the matter at last. Blessed be our Lord, who has thus consoled me!
4. The faculties of the soul now retain only
the power of occupying themselves wholly with God; not
5. The soul in this state would have all men
behold and know of its bliss, to the praise of God, and help it to
praise Him. It would have them to be partakers of its joy; for its
joy is greater than it can bear. It seems to me that it is like the
woman in the Gospel, who would, or used to, call in her
neighbours.
6. O my God, what must that soul be when it is
in this state? It wishes it were all tongue, in order that it may
praise our Lord. It utters a thousand holy follies, striving
continually to please Him by whom it is thus possessed. I know
one
7. But what will be its sufferings when it returns to the use of the senses, to live in the world, and go back to the anxieties and the fashions thereof? I do not think that I have exaggerated in any way, but rather have fallen short, in speaking of that joy, which our Lord, of His good pleasure, gives to the soul in this its exile. Blessed for ever be Thou, O Lord! and may all created things praise Thee for ever!
8. O my King, seeing that I am now, while writing this, still under the power of this heavenly madness, an effect of Thy mercy and goodness,—and it is a mercy I never deserved,—grant, I beseech Thee, that all those with whom I may have to converse may become mad through Thy love, or let me converse with none, or so order it that I may have nothing to do in the world, or take me away from it. This Thy servant, O my God, is no longer able to endure sufferings so great as those are which she must bear when she sees herself without Thee if she must live, she seeks no repose in this life,—and do Thou give her none. This my soul longs to be free—eating is killing it, and sleep is wearisome; it sees itself wasting the time of this life in comforts, and that there is no comfort for it now but in Thee; it seems to be living contrary to nature—for now, it desires to live not in itself, but in Thee.
9. O my true Lord and my happiness! what a
cross hast Thou prepared for those who attain to this state!—light
and most heavy at the same time: light, because sweet; heavy, because
now and then there is no patience left to endure it—and yet the soul
never wishes to be delivered from it, unless it be that it may come to
Thee. When the soul remembers that it has never served Thee at all,
and that by living on it may do Thee some service, it longs for a
still heavier cross, and never
10. O
my son, This was either F. Ybañez or the Inquisitor Soto, if the expression
did not occur in the first Life. F. Dom. Bañes struck
out "son," and wrote "father" in its place, omitting
the words, "so humble is he" (De
la Fuente). See § 3,
above.
11. You, my father, say that you wish me well. I wish you would prove it by disposing yourself so that God may bestow this grace upon you; for I see very few people who have not too much sense for everything they have to do: and it may be that I have more than anybody else. Your reverence must not allow it; you are my father, for you are my confessor, and the person to whom I have trusted my soul; disperse my delusions by telling the truth; for truths of this sort are very rarely told.
12. I wish we five, who now love one another
in our Lord, had made some such arrangement as this: as others in
these times have met together
in secret The Saint refers to the secret
meetings of heretics in Valladolid, under the direction of a fallen
priest, the Doctor Agostino Cazalla, whose vanity led him to imitate
Luther. Some nuns in Valladolid were imprisoned, Cazalla strangled,
and his body burnt, in 1559 (De la Fuente). Father Bañes wrote here on the
margin of the Saint's MS,
"Legant prædicatores" (De
la Fuente).
13. Oh, grand freedom, to regard it as a captivity to be obliged to live and converse with men according to the laws of the world! It is the gift of our Lord; there is not a slave who would not imperil everything that he might escape and return to his country; and as this is the true road, there is no reason why we should linger; for we shall never effectually gain a treasure so great, so long as this life is not ended. May our Lord give us His grace for that end! You, my father, if it shall seem good to you, will tear up what I have written, and consider it as a letter for yourself alone, and forgive me that I have been very bold.
Chapter XVII.
1. Enough has been said of this manner of prayer, and of what the soul has to do, or rather, to speak more correctly, of what God is doing within it; for it is He who now takes upon Himself the gardener's work, and who will have the soul take its ease; except that the will is consenting to the graces, the fruition of which it has, and that it must resign itself to all that the True Wisdom would accomplish in it—for which it is certain it has need of courage; because the joy is so great, that the soul seems now and then to be on the very point of going forth out of the body: and what a blessed death that would be! Now, I think it is for the soul's good—as you, my father, have been told—to abandon itself into the arms of God altogether; if He will take it to heaven, let it go; if to hell, no matter, as it is going thither with its sovereign Good. If life is to come to an end for ever, so it wills; if it is to last a thousand years, it wills that also: His Majesty may do with it as with His own property,—the soul no longer belongs to itself, it has been given wholly to our Lord; let it cast all care utterly away.
2. My meaning is that, in a state of prayer, so high as this, the soul understands that God is doing His work without any fatiguing of the understanding, except that, as it seems to me, it is as if amazed in beholding our Lord taking upon Himself the work of the good gardener, refusing to let the soul undergo any labour whatever, but that of taking its pleasure in the flowers beginning to send forth their fragrance; for when God raises a soul up to this state, it can do all this, and much more,—for these are the effects of it.
3. In one of these visits, how brief soever it
may be, the Gardener, being who He is,—in a word, the Creator of the
water,—pours the water without stint; and what the poor soul, with
the labour, perhaps, of twenty years in fatiguing the understanding,
could not bring about, that the heavenly Gardener accomplishes in an
instant, causing the fruit both to grow and ripen; so that the soul,
such being the will of our Lord, may derive its sustenance from its
garden. But He allows it not to divide the fruit with others, until
by eating thereof, it is strong enough not to waste it in the mere
tasting of it,—giving to Him none of the produce, nor making any
compensation for it to Him who supplies it,—lest it should be
maintaining others, feeding them at its own cost, and itself perhaps
dying of hunger. See ch. xix. § 4.
4. Finally, the virtues are now stronger than they were during the preceding prayer of quiet; for the soul sees itself to be other than it was, and it knows not how it is beginning to do great things in the odour which the flowers send forth; it being our Lord's will that the flowers should open, in order that the soul may believe itself to be in possession of virtue; though it sees most clearly that it cannot, and never could, acquire them in many years, and that the heavenly Gardener has given them to it in that instant. Now, too, the humility of the soul is much greater and deeper than it was before; because it sees more clearly that it did neither much nor little, beyond giving its consent that our Lord might work those graces in it, and then accepting them willingly.
5. This state of prayer seems to me to be a
most distinct union of the whole soul with God, but for this, that His
Majesty appears to give the faculties leave to be intent upon, and
have the fruition of, the great work
6. It differs from the prayer of quiet, of
which I have spoken, See Relation, viii. § 6; and
Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but ch xxxi. of
former editions. See also Concept. of the Love of
God, ch. vii.
7. There is another kind of union, which, though not a perfect union, is yet more so than the one of which I have just spoken; but not so much so as this spoken of as the third water. You, my father, will be delighted greatly if our Lord should bestow them all upon you, if you have them not already, to find an account of the matter in writing, and to understand it; for it is one grace that our Lord gives grace; and it is another grace to understand what grace and what gift it is; and it is another and further grace to have the power to describe and explain it to others. Though it does not seem that more than the first of these—the giving of the grace—is necessary to enable the soul to advance without confusion and fear, and to walk with the greater courage in the way of our Lord, trampling under foot all the things of this world, it is a great advantage and a great grace to understand it; for every one who has it has great reason to praise our Lord; and so, also, has he who has it not: because His Majesty has bestowed it upon some person living who is to make us profit by it.
8. This union, of which I would now speak, frequently occurs, particularly to myself. God has very often bestowed such a grace upon me, whereby He constrains the will, and even the understanding, as it seems to me, seeing that it makes no reflections, but is occupied in the fruition of God: like a person who looks on, and sees so many things, that he knows not where to look—one object puts another out of sight, and none of them leaves any impression behind.
9. The memory remains free, and it must be so,
together with the imagination; and so, when it finds itself alone, it
is marvellous to behold what war it
See Relation, viii.
§ 17.
10. I say that it happens to me from time to time,—it has done so this very day, and so I remember it well,—to see my soul tear itself, in order to find itself there where the greater part of it is, and to see, at the same time, that it is impossible: because the memory and the imagination assail it with such force, that it cannot prevail against them; yet, as the other faculties give them no assistance, they are not able to do it any harm—none whatever; they do enough when they trouble its rest. When I say they do no harm, my meaning is, that they cannot really hurt it, because they have not strength enough, and because they are too discursive. As the understanding gives no help, neither much nor little, in the matters put before the soul, they never rest anywhere, but hurry to and fro, like nothing else but gnats at night, troublesome and unquiet: and so they go about from one subject to another.
11. This comparison seems to me to be
singularly to the purpose; for the memory and the imagination, though
they have no power to do any harm, are very troublesome. I know of no
remedy for it; and, hitherto, God has told me of none. If He had,
most gladly would I make use of it; for I am, as I say, tormented very
often. This shows our wretchedness and brings out most distinctly the
great power of God, seeing that the faculty which is free hurts
and wearies
12. The only remedy I have found, after many
years of weariness, is that I spoke of when I was describing the
prayer of quiet: Ch.
xiv. § 4. See also Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but
ch. xxxi. of
the old editions.
13. I say that it remains a slave; for, after all, let it do what it will, it cannot drag the other faculties in its train; on the contrary, they, without taking any trouble, compel it to follow after them. Sometimes God is pleased to take pity on it, when He sees it so lost and so unquiet, through the longing it has to be united with the other faculties, and His Majesty consents to its burning itself in the flame of that divine candle by which the others are already reduced to ashes, and their nature lost, being, as it were, supernaturally in the fruition of blessings so great.
14. In all these states of prayer of which I
have spoken, while explaining this last method of drawing the water
out of the well, so great is the bliss and repose of the soul, that
even the body most distinctly shares in its joy and delight,—and this
is most plain; and the virtues continue to grow, as I said
before.
15. Do you, my father, discuss it with any
spiritual person who has arrived at this state, and is learned. If he
says of it, it is well, you may believe that God has spoken it, and
you will give thanks to His Majesty; for, as I said just
now, § 7.
Chapter XVIII.
1. May our Lord teach me words whereby I may in
some measure describe the
fourth water. See ch. xi. § 11.
2. In this the fourth state there is no sense
of anything, only fruition, without understanding what that is the
fruition of which is granted. It is understood that the fruition is
of a certain good containing in itself all good together at once; but
this good is not
3. The senses were permitted before, as I have
said,
4. How this, which we call union, is effected, and what it is, I cannot tell. Mystical theology explains it, and I do not know the terms of that science; nor can I understand what the mind is, nor how it differs from the soul or the spirit either: all three seem to me but one; though I do know that the soul sometimes leaps forth out of itself, like a fire that is burning and is become a flame; and occasionally this fire increases violently—the flame ascends high above the fire; but it is not therefore a different thing: it is still the same flame of the same fire. Your learning, my fathers, will enable you to understand the matter; I can go no further.
5. What I undertake to explain is that which
the soul feels when it is in the divine union. It is plain enough
what union is—two distinct things becoming one. O my Lord, how good
Thou art! Blessed be Thou for ever, O my God! Let all creatures
praise Thee, Who hast so loved us that we can truly speak of this
communication which Thou hast with souls in this our exile! Yea, even
if they be good souls, it is on Thy part great munificence and
magnanimity,—in a
§ 3.
6. O Lord, consider what Thou art doing; forget
not so soon the great evils that I have done. To forgive me, Thou
must already have forgotten them; yet, in order that there may be some
limit to Thy graces, I beseech Thee remember them. O my Creator, pour
not a liquor so precious into a vessel so broken; for Thou hast
already seen how on other occasions I allowed it to run waste. Lay
not up treasure like this, where the longing after the consolations of
this life is not so mortified as it ought to be; for it will be
utterly lost. How canst Thou commit the defence of the city, and the
keys of its fortress to a commander so cowardly, who at the first
assault will let the enemy enter within? Oh, let not Thy love be so
great, O King Eternal, as to imperil jewels so precious! O my Lord,
to me it seems that it becomes a ground for undervaluing them, when
Thou puttest them in the power of one so wretched, so vile, so frail,
so miserable, and so worthless as I am, who, though she may labour not
to lose them, by the help of Thy grace,—and I have need of no little
grace for that end, being what I am,—is not
7. Thou, O my God, knowest already that I beg this of Thee with my whole will, from the bottom of my heart, and that I have done so more than once, and I account it a blessing to lose the greatest blessings which may be had on earth, if Thou wouldst but bestow these graces upon him who will make a better use of them to the increase of Thy glory. These, and expressions like these, it has happened to me often to utter. I saw afterwards my own foolishness and want of humility; for our Lord knoweth well what is expedient, and that there is no strength in my soul to be saved, if His Majesty did not give it with graces so great.
8. I purpose also to speak of the graces and
effects which abide in the soul, and of that which the soul itself can
do, or rather, if it can do anything of itself towards attaining to a
state so high. The elevation of the spirit, or union, comes together
with heavenly love but, as I understand it, union is a different thing
from elevation in union itself. To him who may not have had any
experience of the latter, it must seem that it is not; and, according
to my view of it, even if they are both one, the operations of our
Lord therein are different: there is a growth of the soul's detachment
from creatures more abundantly still in the flight of the
spirit. See ch. xx. § 10; and Relation, viii.
§ 10.
9. So, it seems to me, is it with these two kinds of graces which our Lord bestows. He who has had raptures will, I am sure, understand it well; to him who has not had that experience, it must appear folly. And, indeed, it may well be so; for if a person like myself should speak of a matter of this kind, and give any explanation at all of that for the description of which no words ever can possibly be found, it is not to be wondered at that I may be speaking foolishly.
10. But I have this confidence in our Lord,
that He will help me here; for His Majesty knoweth that my object in
writing—the first is to obey—is to inspire souls with a longing
after so high a good. I will speak of nothing that I do not know by
great experience: and so, when I began to describe the last kind of
water, I thought it more impossible for me to speak of it at all than
to speak Greek. It is a very difficult matter; so I left it, and went
to Communion. Blessed be our Lord, who is merciful to the ignorant!
Oh, virtue of obedience! it can do everything! God enlightened my
understanding—at one time suggesting the words, at another showing me
how to use them; for, as in the preceding state of prayer, so also
now, His Majesty seems to utter what I can neither speak
nor understand. See ch. xiv. § 12.
11. What I am saying is the simple truth; and therefore whatever is good herein is His teaching; what is erroneous, clearly comes out of that sea of evil—myself. If there be any—and there must be many—who, having attained to these states of prayer whereunto our Lord in His mercy has brought me—wretch that I am!—and who, thinking they have missed their way, desire to treat of these matters with me, I am sure that our Lord will help His servant to declare the truth more plainly.
12. I am now speaking of the water which cometh down from heaven to fill and saturate in its abundance the whole of this garden with water. If our Lord never ceased to pour it down whenever it was necessary, the gardener certainly would have plenty of rest; and if there were no winter, but an ever temperate season, fruits and flowers would never fail. The gardener would have his delight therein; but in this life that is impossible. We must always be careful, when one water fails, to obtain another. This water from heaven comes down very often when the gardener least expects it.
13. The truth is that, in the beginning, this almost always happens after much mental prayer. Our Lord advances step by step to lay hold of the little bird, and to lay it in the nest where it may repose. He observed it fluttering for a long time, striving with the understanding and the will, and with all its might, to seek God and to please Him; so now it is His pleasure to reward it even in this life. And what a reward!—one moment is enough to repay all the possible trials of this life.
14. The soul, while thus seeking after God, is conscious, with a joy excessive and sweet, that it is, as it were, utterly fainting away in a kind of trance: breathing, and all the bodily strength, fail it, so that it cannot even move the hands without great pain; the eyes close involuntarily, and if they are open, they are as if they saw nothing; nor is reading possible,—the very letters seem strange, and cannot be distinguished,—the letters, indeed, are visible, but, as the understanding furnishes no help, all reading is impracticable, though seriously attempted. The ear hears; but what is heard is not comprehended. The senses are of no use whatever, except to hinder the soul's fruition; and so they rather hurt it. It is useless to try to speak, because it is not possible to conceive a word; nor, if it were conceived, is there strength sufficient to utter it;
for all bodily strength vanishes, and that of the soul increases, to enable it the better to have the fruition of its joy. Great and most perceptible, also, is the outward joy now felt.
15. This prayer, however long it may last, does no harm—at least, it has never done any to me; nor do I remember, however ill I might have been when our Lord had mercy upon me in this way, that I ever felt the worse for it—on the contrary, I was always better afterwards. But so great a blessing, what harm can it do? The outward effects are so plain as to leave no doubt possible that there must have been some great cause, seeing that it thus robs us of our bodily powers with so much joy, in order to leave them greater.
16. The truth is, it passes away so quickly in
the beginning—at least, so it was with me—that neither by the
outward signs, nor by the failure of the senses, can it be perceived
when it passes so quickly away. But it is plain, from the overflowing
abundance of grace, that the brightness of the sun which had shone
there must have been great, seeing that it has thus made the soul to
melt away. And this is to be considered; for, as it seems to me, the
period of time, however long it may have been, during which the
faculties of the soul were entranced, is very short; if half an hour,
that would be a long time. I do not think that I have ever been so
long. See Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Director. Mystic.
tr. iv. § 9, n. 72.
17. In this way, some hours may be, and are,
passed in prayer; for when the two faculties begin to
18. Let us now come to that which the soul
feels interiorly. Let him describe it who knows it; for as it is
impossible to understand it, much more is it so to describe it. When
I purposed to write this, I had just communicated, and had risen from
the very prayer of which I am speaking. I am thinking of what the
soul was then doing. Our Lord said to me: It undoes itself utterly,
My daughter, in order that it may give itself more and more to Me: it
is not itself that then lives, it is I. As it cannot comprehend what
it understands, it understands by
not understanding. Thomas à Jesu, De
Contemplatione Divina, lib. v. c. xiii.: "Quasi dicat: cum intellectus non possit Dei immensam
illam claritatem et incomprehensibilem plenitudinem comprehendere, hoc
ipsum est illam conspicere ac intelligere, intelligere se non posse
intellectu cognoscere: quod quidem nihil aliud est quam Deum sub
ratione incomprehensibilitatis videre
ac cognoscere." Philip. à SS. Trinitate,
Theolog. Mystic. Disc. Proem. art. iv. p. 6: "Cum ipsa [S. Teresa] scire vellet, quid in illa mystica
unione operaretur intellectus, respondit [Christus] illi, cum non
possit comprehendere quod intelligit, est non intelligere
intelligendo: tum quia præ claritate nimia quodammodo offuscatur
intellectus, unde præ altissima et supereminentissima Dei cognitione
videtur anima potius Deum ignorare
quam cognoscere."
19. He who has had experience of this will
understand it in some measure, for it cannot be more clearly
described, because what then takes place is so obscure. All I am able
to say is, that the soul is represented as being close to God; and
that there abides a conviction thereof so certain and strong, that it
cannot possibly help believing so. All the faculties fail now, and
are suspended in such a way that, as I said
before, Ch. x.
§ 1, and ch. xviii.
§ 16.
20. In the beginning, it happened to me that I
was ignorant of one thing—I did not know that God was in all
things:
21. It is to be observed and understood that this water from heaven,—this greatest grace of our Lord—always leaves in the soul the greatest fruits, as I shall now show.
Chapter XIX.
1. There remains in the soul, when the prayer of union is over, an exceedingly great tenderness; so much so, that it would undo itself—not from pain, but through tears of joy it finds itself bathed therein, without being aware of it, and it knows not how or when it wept them. But to behold the violence of the fire subdued by the water, which yet makes it burn the more, gives it great delight. It seems as if I were speaking an unknown language. So it is, however.
2. It has happened to me occasionally, when
this prayer was over, to be so beside myself as not to know whether I
had been dreaming, or whether the bliss I felt had really been mine;
and, on finding myself in a flood of tears—which had painlessly
flowed, with such violence and rapidity that it seemed as if a cloud
from heaven See ch. xx. § 2.
3. Blessed be Thou, O my Lord, who, out of a pool so filthy as I am, bringest forth water so clean as to be meet for Thy table! Praised be Thou, O Joy of the Angels, who hast been thus pleased to exalt so vile a worm!
4. The good effects of this prayer abide in the
soul for some time. Now that it clearly apprehends that the fruit is
not its own, the soul can begin to share it with others, and that
without any loss to itself. It begins to show signs of its being a
soul that is guarding the treasures of heaven, and to be desirous of
communicating them
to others, See ch. xvii. § 3.
5. If this ground be well dug by troubles, by persecutions, detractions, and infirmities,—they are few who ascend so high without this,—if it be well broken up by great detachment from all self-interest, it will drink in so much water that it can hardly ever be parched again. But if it be ground which is mere waste, and covered with thorns (as I was when I began); if the occasions of sin be not avoided; if it be an ungrateful soil, unfitted for so great a grace,—it will be parched up again. If the gardener become careless,—and if our Lord, out of His mere goodness, will not send down rain upon it,—the garden is ruined. Thus has it been with me more than once, so that I am amazed at it; and if I had not found it so by experience, I could not have believed it.
6. I write this for the comfort of souls which are weak, as I am, that they may never despair, nor cease to trust in the power of God; even if they should fall after our Lord has raised them to so high a degree of prayer as this is, they must not be discouraged, unless they would lose themselves utterly. Tears gain everything, and one drop of water attracts another.
7. One of the reasons that move me, who am what
I am, under obedience to write this, and give an account of my
wretched life, and of the graces our Lord has wrought in me,—though I
never served Him, but offended Him rather,—is what I have just given:
and, certainly, I wish I was a person of great authority, that people
might believe what I say. I pray to our Lord that His Majesty would
be pleased to grant me this grace. I repeat it, let no one who has
begun to give himself to prayer be discouraged, and say: If I fall
into sin, it will be worse for me if I go on now with the practice of
prayer. I think so too, if he gives up
8. In this the devil turned his batteries
against me, and I suffered so much because I thought it showed but
little humility if I persevered in prayer when I was so wicked,
that— as I have
already said Ch.
vii. § 17, and ch. viii.
§ 5.
9. O my Jesus, what a sight that must be—a soul so highly exalted falling into sin, and raised up again by Thee; who, in Thy mercy, stretchest forth Thine hand to save! How such a soul confesses Thy greatness and compassion and its own wretchedness! It really looks on itself as nothingness, and confesses Thy power. It dares not lift up its eyes; it raises them, indeed, but it is to acknowledge how much it oweth unto Thee. It becomes devout to the Queen of Heaven, that she may propitiate Thee; it invokes the Saints, who fell after Thou hadst called them, for succour. Thou seemest now to be too bountiful in Thy gifts, because it feels itself to be unworthy of the earth it treads on. It has recourse to the Sacraments, to a quickened faith, which abides in it at the contemplation of the power which Thou hast lodged in them. It praises Thee because Thou hast left us such medicines and ointment for our wounds, which not only heal them on the surface, but remove all traces whatever of them.
10. The soul is amazed at it. Who is there, O Lord of my soul, that is not amazed at compassion so great and mercy so surpassing, after treason so foul and so hateful? I know not how it is that my heart does not break when I write this, for I am wicked. With these scanty tears which I am now weeping, but yet Thy gift,—water out of a well, so far as it is mine, so impure,—I seem to make Thee some recompense for treachery so great as mine, in that I was always doing evil, labouring to make void the graces Thou hast given me. Do Thou, O Lord, make my tears available; purify the water which is so muddy; at least, let me not be to others a temptation to rash judgments, as I have been to myself, when I used to think such thoughts as these. Why, O Lord, dost Thou pass by most holy persons, who have always served Thee, and who have been tried; who have been brought up in religion, and are really religious—not such as I am, having only the name—so as to make it plain that they are not recipients of those graces which Thou hast bestowed upon me?
11. I see clearly now, O Thou my Good, Thou hast kept the reward to give it them all at once: my weakness has need of these succours. They, being strong, serve Thee without them, and Thou dealest with them as with a strong race, free from all self-interest. But yet Thou knowest, O my Lord, that I have often cried unto Thee, making excuses for those who murmured against me; for I thought they had reason on their side. This I did then when Thou of Thy goodness hadst kept me back from offending Thee so much, and when I was departing from everything which I thought displeasing unto Thee. It was when I did this that Thou, O Lord, didst begin to lay open Thy treasures for Thy servant. It seemed as if Thou wert looking for nothing else but that I should be willing and ready to receive them; accordingly, Thou didst begin at once, not only to give them, but also to make others know that Thou wert giving them.
12. When this was known, there began to prevail a good opinion of her, of whom all had not yet clearly understood how wicked she was, though much of that wickedness was plain enough. Calumny and persecution began at once, and, as I think, with good reason; so I looked on none of them as an enemy, but made my supplications to Thee, imploring Thee to consider the grounds they had. They said that I wished to be a saint, and that I invented novelties; but I had not then attained in many things even to the observance of my rule; nor had I come near those excellent and holy nuns who were in the house,—and I do not believe I ever shall, if God of His goodness will not do that for me Himself; on the contrary, I was there only to do away with what was good, and introduce customs which were not good; at least, I did what I could to bring them in, and I was very powerful for evil. Thus it was that they were blameless, when they blamed me. I do not mean the nuns only, but the others as well: they told me truths; for it was Thy will.
13. I was once saying the Office,—I had had
this temptation for some time,—and when I came to these words, "Justus es, Domine, et rectum judicium
tuum,"
14. This was the first word which I ever heard
Thee speak to me, and it made me greatly afraid. But as I shall speak
hereafter See ch.
xxv.
15. May it please our Lord that my wanderings
may be of this kind, and may His Majesty never suffer me to have
strength to resist Him even in the least; yea, rather than that, may
He destroy me this moment. It is evidence enough of His great
compassions, that He has forgiven so much ingratitude, not once, but
often. He forgave St. Peter once; but I
have been forgiven many times. Satan had good reasons for tempting
me: I ought never to have pretended to a strict friendship with One,
my hatred of whom I made so public. Was there ever blindness so great
as mine? Where could I think I should find help but in Thee? What
folly to run away from the light, to be for ever stumbling! What a
proud humility was that which Satan devised for me, when I ceased to
lean upon the pillar, and threw the staff away which supported me, in
order that my fall might not
be great! See ch.
viii. § 1.
16. I make the sign of the cross this moment.
I do not think I ever escaped so great a danger as this device of
Satan, which he would have imposed upon me in the disguise of
humility.
17. Let all those who give themselves to prayer, for the love of God, look well to this. They should know that when I was neglecting it, my life was much worse than it had ever been; let them reflect on the excellent help and the pleasant humility which Satan provided for me: it was a grave interior disquietude. But how could my spirit be quiet? It was going away in its misery from its true rest. I remembered the graces and mercies I had received, and felt that the joys of this world were loathsome. I am astonished that I was able to bear it. It must have been the hope I had; for, as well as I can remember now, it is more than twenty-one years ago. I do not think I ever gave up my purpose of resuming my prayer; but I was waiting to be very free from sin first.
18. Oh, how deluded I was in this expectation! The devil would have held it out before me till the day of judgment, that he might then take me with him to hell. Then, when I applied myself to prayer and to spiritual reading,—whereby I might perceive these truths, and the evil nature of the way I was walking in, and was often importunate with our Lord in tears,—I was so wicked, that it availed me nothing; when I gave that up, and wasted my time in amusing myself, in great danger of falling into sin, and with scanty helps,—and I may venture to say no help at all, unless it was a help to my ruin,—what could I expect but that of which I have spoken?
19. I believe that a certain Dominican friar,
a most
20. It is clear from this,—and, for the love
of God, consider it well,—that a soul, though it may receive great
graces from God in prayer, must never rely on itself, because it may
fall, nor expose itself in any way whatever to any risks of sin. This
should be well considered because much depends on it; for the delusion
here, wherein Satan is able to entangle us afterwards, though the
grace be really from God, lies in the traitor's making use of that
very grace, so far as he can, for his own purpose, and particularly
against persons not grown strong in virtues, who are neither mortified
nor detached; for these are not at present strong enough—as I shall
explain hereafter
21. This doctrine is excellent, and not mine,
but the teaching of God, and accordingly I wish ignorant people like
myself knew it; for even if a soul were in this state, it must not
rely so much upon itself as to go forth to the battle, because it will
have enough to do in defending itself. Defensive armour is the
present necessity; the soul is not yet strong enough to assail Satan,
and to trample him under foot, as those are who are in the state of
which I shall speak
further on. Ch.
xx. § 33, and ch. xxv.
§ 24.
22. This is the delusion by which Satan prevails:
when a soul sees itself so near unto God, when it sees the
difference there is between the things of heaven and those of earth,
and when it sees the love which our Lord bears it, there grows out of
that love a certain trust and confidence that there is to be no
falling away from that the fruition of which it then possesses. It
seems to see the reward distinctly, as if it were impossible for it to
abandon that which, even in this life, is so delicious and sweet, for
anything so mean and impure as worldly joy. Through this confidence,
Satan robs it of that distrust which it ought to have in itself; and
so, as I have
just said,
23. This it was that ruined me. Now, to
understand this, and everything else in the spiritual life, we have
great need of a director, and of conference with spiritual persons. I
fully believe, with respect to that soul which God raises to this
state, that He will not cease to be gracious to it, nor suffer it to
be lost, if it does not utterly forsake His Majesty. But when that
soul—as I said—falls, let it look to it again and again, for the
love of our Lord, that Satan deceive it not by tempting it to give up
prayer, as he tempted me, through that false humility of which I have
spoken before, See § 16.
24. Let them remember His words, and behold what He hath done unto me, who grew weary of sinning before He grew weary of forgiving. He is never weary of giving, nor can His compassion be exhausted. Let us not grow weary ourselves of receiving. May He be blessed for ever, Amen; and may all created things praise Him!
Chapter XX.
1. I wish I could explain, with the help of
God, wherein union differs from rapture, or from transport, or from
flight of the spirit, as they speak, or from a trance, which are all
one. See Inner Fortress,
vi. ch. v.; Philippus a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic.
par. iii. tr. i, disp. iii., art. 3; "Hæc oratio
raptus superior est præcedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam oratione
unionis ordinariæ, et habet effectus multoexcellentiores et multas
alias operationes." "She says that rapture is more
excellent than union; that is, that the soul in a rapture has a
greater fruition of God, and that God takes it then more into His own
hands. That is evidently so; because in a rapture the soul loses the
use of its exterior and interior faculties. When she says that union
is the beginning, middle, and end, she means that pure union is almost
always uniform; but that there are degrees in rapture, of which some
are, as it were, the beginning, some the middle, others the end. That
is the reason why it is called by different names; some of which
denote the least, others the most, perfect form of it, as it will
appear hereafter."—Note in the Spanish edition of Lopez (De
la Fuente). Anton. a Spirit.
Sancto, Direct.
Mystic. tr. 4, d. i. n. 95: "Licet
oratio raptus idem sit apud mysticos ac oratio volatus, seu
elevationis spiritus seu extasis; reipsa tamen raptus aliquid addit
super extasim; nam extasis importat simplicem excessum mentis in
seipso secundum quem aliquis extra suam cognitionem ponitur. Raptus
vero super hoc addit violentiam quandam ab
aliquo extrinseco."
2. Consider we now that this last water, of
which I am speaking, is so abundant that, were it not that the ground
refuses to receive it, we might suppose that the cloud of His great
Majesty is here raining down upon us on earth. And when we are giving
Him thanks for this great mercy, drawing near to Him in earnest, with
all our might, then it is our Lord draws up the soul, as the clouds,
so to speak, gather the mists from the face of the earth, and carries
it away out of itself,—I have heard it said that the clouds, or the
sun, draw the
mists together, The words between the dashes are
in the handwriting of the Saint—not however, in the text, but on the
margin (De la Fuente). See Inner Fortress,
vi. ch. v. "Primus effectus orationis ecstaticæ
est in corpore, quod ita remanet, ac si per animam non informaretur,
infrigidatur enim calore naturali deficiente, clauduntur suaviter
oculi, et alii sensus amittuntur: contingit tamen quod corpus infirmum
in hac oratione sanitatem recuperat." Anton. a Spirit.
Sancto, Direct.
Mystic. tr. iv. d. 2, § 4, n. 150.
3. A rapture is absolutely irresistible; whilst union, inasmuch as we are then on our own ground, may be hindered, though that resistance be painful and violent; it is, however, almost always impossible. But rapture, for the most part, is irresistible. It comes, in general, as a shock, quick and sharp, before you can collect your thoughts, or help yourself in any way, and you see and feel it as a cloud, or a strong eagle rising upwards, and carrying you away on its wings.
4. I repeat it: you feel and see yourself carried away, you know not whither. For though we feel how delicious it is, yet the weakness of our nature makes us afraid at first, and we require a much more resolute and courageous spirit than in the previous states, in order to risk everything, come what may, and to abandon ourselves into the hands of God, and go willingly whither we are carried, seeing that we must be carried away, however painful it may be; and so trying is it, that I would very often resist, and exert all my strength, particularly at those times when the rapture was coming on me in public. I did so, too, very often when I was alone, because I was afraid of delusions. Occasionally I was able, by great efforts, to make a slight resistance; but afterwards I was worn out, like a person who had been contending with a strong giant; at other times it was impossible to resist at all: my soul was carried away, and almost always my head with it,—I had no power over it,—and now and then the whole body as well, so that it was lifted up from the ground.
5. This has not happened to me often: once,
however, it took place when we were all together in choir, and I, on
my knees, on the point of communicating. It was a very sore distress
to me; for I thought it a most extraordinary thing, and was afraid it
would occasion much talk; so I commanded the nuns—for it happened
after I was made Prioress—never to speak of it. But at other times,
the moment
6. I made many supplications to our Lord, that
He would be pleased to give me no more of those graces which were
outwardly visible; for I was weary of living under such great
restraint, and because His Majesty could not bestow such graces on me
without their becoming known. It seems that, of His goodness, He has
been pleased to hear my prayer; for I have never been enraptured
since. It is true that it was not
long ago. This passage could not have been
in the first Life; for that was written before she had ever
been Prioress.
7. It seemed to me, when I tried to make some resistance, as if a great force beneath my feet lifted me up. I know of nothing with which to compare it; but it was much more violent than the other spiritual visitations, and I was therefore as one ground to pieces; for it is a great struggle, and, in short, of little use, whenever our Lord so wills it. There is no power against His power.
8. At other times He is pleased to be satisfied when He makes us see that He is ready to give us this grace, and that it is not He that withholds it. Then, when we resist it out of humility, He produces those very effects which would have resulted if we had fully consented to it.
9. The effects of rapture are great: one is
that the mighty power of our Lord is manifested; and as we are not
strong enough, when His Majesty wills it, to control either soul or
body, so neither have we any power over it; but, whether we like it or
not, we see that there is one mightier than we are, that these graces
are His gifts, and that of ourselves we can do nothing whatever; and
humility is deeply imprinted in us. And
10. Rapture leaves behind a certain strange detachment also, which I shall never be able to describe; I think I can say that it is in some respects different from—yea, higher than—the other graces, which are simply spiritual; for though these effect a complete detachment in spirit from all things, it seems that in this of rapture our Lord would have the body itself to be detached also: and thus a certain singular estrangement from the things of earth is wrought, which makes life much more distressing. Afterwards it causes a pain, which we can never inflict of ourselves, nor remove when once it has come.
11. I should like very much to explain this
great pain, and I believe I shall not be able; however, I will say
something if I can. And it is to be observed that this is my present
state, and one to which I have been brought very lately, after all the
visions and revelations of which I shall speak, and after that time,
wherein I gave myself to prayer, in which our Lord gave me so
See ch.
xxix. See ch. xx.
§ 21. § 9, supra.
12. As I said
before, § 10.
13. In this communication the desire grows,
so also
14. On other occasions, the soul seems to be,
as it were, in the utmost extremity of need, asking itself, and
saying, "Where is
Thy God?"
15. Now, the succour it receives from
heaven—which, as I
have said,
16. O Jesus! oh, that some one would clearly
explain this to you, my father, were it only that you may tell me what
it means, because this is the habitual state of my soul! Generally,
when I am not particularly occupied, I fall into these agonies of
death, and I tremble when I feel them coming on, because they are not
unto death. But when I am in them, I then wish to spend therein all
the rest of my life, though the pain be so very great, that I can
scarcely endure it. Sometimes my pulse ceases, as it were, to beat at
all,—so the sisters say, who sometimes approach me, and who now
understand the matter better,—my bones are racked, and my hands
become so rigid, that I cannot always join them. Even on the following
day I have a pain in my wrists, and over my whole body, as if my
17. All my anxiety at these times is that I should die: I do not think of purgatory, nor of the great sins I have committed, and by which I have deserved hell. I forget everything in my eagerness to see God; and this abandonment and loneliness seem preferable to any company in the world. If anything can be a consolation in this state, it is to speak to one who has passed through this trial, seeing that, though the soul may complain of it, no one seems disposed to believe in it.
18. The soul is tormented also because the
pain has increased so much, that it seeks solitude no longer, as it
did before, nor companionship, unless it be that of those to whom it
may make its complaint. It is now like a person, who, having a rope
around his neck, and being strangled, tries to breathe. This desire of
companionship seems to me to proceed from our weakness; for, as pain
brings with it the risk of death,—which it certainly does; for I have
been occasionally in danger of death, in my great sickness and
infirmities, as I have
said before,
19. I am not sure that I am correct in what I
say, nor do I know how to express myself, but to the best
20. I know not how this can be, but so it is;
it comes from the hand of our Lord, and, as I said
before, § 12. The words from "I have just
said" to "our Lord" are in the margin of the text, but in
the handwriting of the Saint (De la Fuente). See § 11.
21. In the beginning I was afraid—it happens to me to be almost always so when our Lord leads me by a new way, until His Majesty reassures me as I proceed—and so our Lord bade me not to fear, but to esteem this grace more than all the others He had given me; for the soul was purified by this pain—burnished, or refined as gold in the crucible, so that it might be the better enamelled with His gifts, and the dross burnt away in this life, which would have to be burnt away in purgatory.
22. I understood perfectly that this pain was a great grace; but I was much more certain of it now and my confessor tells me I did well. And though I was afraid, because I was so wicked, I never could believe it was anything wrong: on the other hand, the exceeding greatness of the blessing made me afraid, when I called to mind how little I had deserved it. Blessed be our Lord, who is so good! Amen.
23. I have, it seems, wandered from my
subject; for I began by speaking of raptures, and that of which I have
been speaking is even more than a rapture, and the effects of it are
what I have described. Now let us return to raptures, and speak of
their ordinary characteristics. I have to say that, when the rapture
was over, my body seemed frequently to be buoyant, as if all weight
had departed from it; so much so, that now and then I scarcely knew
that my feet touched the ground. But during the rapture itself the
body is very often as if it were dead, perfectly powerless. It
continues in the position it was in when the rapture came upon it—if
sitting, sitting; if the hands were open, or if they were shut, they
will remain open
or shut. See Relation, viii.
§ 8.
24. I do not say that the soul sees and hears
when the rapture is at the highest,—I mean by at the highest, when
the faculties are lost, because profoundly united with God,—for then
it neither sees, nor hears, nor perceives, as I believe; but, as I
said of the previous prayer
of union,
25. You, my father, will ask me: How comes it,
then, that a rapture occasionally lasts so many hours? What has often
happened to me is this,—I spoke of it before, when writing of the
previous state
of prayer,
26. This I speak of lasts but a moment; yet, as the impulse and the upraising of the spirit were vehement, and though the other faculties bestir themselves again, the will continues absorbed, and causes this operation in the body, as if it were the absolute mistress; for now that the two other faculties are restless, and attempt to disturb it, it takes care—for if it is to have enemies, the fewer the better—that the senses also shall not trouble it: and thus it comes to pass that the senses are suspended; for so our Lord wills it. And for the most part the eyes are closed, though we may not wish to close them; and if occasionally they remain open, as I said just now, the soul neither discerns nor considers what it sees.
27. What the body then can do here is still
less in order that, when the faculties come together again, there may
not be so much to do. Let him, therefore, to whom our Lord has
granted this grace, be not discouraged when he finds himself in this
state—the body under constraint for many hours, the understanding
28. I dwell so long on this point because I
know that there are persons now, even in this
place,
29. So then, though I do all I can, my body
has no strength to move for some time; the soul took it all away.
Very often, too, he who was before sickly and full of pain remains
healthy, and even stronger; for it is something great that is given to
the soul in rapture; and sometimes, as I have said
already, § 9.
30. Here comes the pain of returning to this
life; here it is the wings of the soul grew, to enable it to fly so
high: the weak feathers are fallen off. Now the
"Other will . . . Lord's
will." These words—in Spanish, "Otra
voluntad, sino hacer la de nuestro Señor"—are not in the
handwriting of the Saint; perhaps it was Father Bañes who wrote them.
The MS. is blurred, and the original
text seems to have been, "libre alvedrio ni
guerra" (De la Fuente).
31. This is really the way in which these
things come to pass; if the raptures be true raptures, the fruits and
advantages spoken of abide in the soul; but if they did not, I should
have great doubts about their being from God—yea, rather, I should be
afraid they were those frenzies of which St. Vincent speaks. St.
Vincent. Ferrer, Instruct. de Vit.
Spirit. c. xiv. p. 14: "Si dicerent
tibi aliquid quod sit contra fidem, et contra Scripturam Sacram, aut
contra bonos mores, ahhorreas earum visionem et judicia, tanquam
stultas dementias, et earum raptus, sicut
rabiamenta"—which word the Saint translates
by "rabiamientos."
32. For my part, I believe that a soul which
has reached this state neither speaks nor acts of itself, but rather
that the supreme King takes care of all it has to do. O my God, how
clear is the meaning of those words, and what good reason the Psalmist
had, and all the world will ever have, to pray for the wings of a
dove!
33. Oh, what power that soul possesses which our Lord raises to this state! how it looks down upon everything, entangled by nothing! how ashamed it is of the time when it was entangled! how it is amazed at its own blindness! how it pities those who are still in darkness, especially if they are men of prayer, and have received consolations from God! It would like to cry out to them, that they might be made to see the delusions they are in: and, indeed, it does so now and then; and then a thousand persecutions fall upon it as a shower. People consider it wanting in humility, and think it means to teach those from whom it should learn, particularly if it be a woman. Hence its condemnation; and not without reason; because they know not how strong the influence is that moves it.
The soul at times cannot help itself; nor can it refrain from undeceiving those it loves, and whom it longs to see delivered out of the prison of this life; for that state in which the soul itself had been before neither is, nor seems to be, anything else but a prison.
34. The soul is weary of the days during which it respected points of honour, and the delusion which led it to believe that to be honour which the world calls by that name; now it sees it to be the greatest lie, and that we are all walking therein. It understands that true honour is not delusive, but real, esteeming that which is worthy of esteem, and despising that which is despicable; for everything is nothing, and less than nothing, whatever passeth away, and is not pleasing unto God. The soul laughs at itself when it thinks of the time in which it regarded money, and desired to possess it,—though, as to this, I verily believe that I never had to confess such a fault; it was fault enough to have regarded money at all. If I could purchase with money the blessings which I possess, I should make much of it; but it is plain that these blessings are gained by abandoning all things.
35. What is there that is procurable by this money which we desire? Is it anything of worth, and anything lasting? Why, then, do we desire it? A dismal resting place it provides, which costs so dear! Very often it obtains for us hell itself, fire everlasting, and torments without end. Oh, if all men would but regard it as profitless dross, how peaceful the world would be! how free from bargaining! How friendly all men would be one with another, if no regard were paid to honour and money! I believe it would be a remedy for everything.
36. The soul sees how blind men are to the
nature of pleasure—how by means of it they provide for themselves
trouble and disquietude even in this life. What restlessness! how
little satisfaction! what labour in vain! It sees, too, not only the
cobwebs that cover it, and its great faults, but also the specks of
dirt, however
37. This comparison is literally correct.
Before the soul fell into the trance, it thought itself to be careful
about not offending God, and that it did what it could in proportion
to its strength; but now that it has attained to this state, in which
the Sun of Justice shines upon it, and makes it open its eyes, it
beholds so many motes, that it would gladly close them again. It is
not so truly the child of the noble eagle, that it can gaze upon the
sun; but, for the few instants it can keep them open, it beholds
itself wholly unclean. It remembers the words: "Who shall be just
in Thy presence?"
38. It is in rapture that true humility is acquired—humility that will never say any good of self, nor suffer others to do so. The Lord of the garden, not the soul, distributes the fruit thereof, and so none remains in its hands; all the good it has, it refers to God; if it says anything about itself, it is for His glory. It knows that it possesses nothing here; and even if it wished, it cannot continue ignorant of that. It sees this, as it were, with the naked eye; for, whether it will or not, its eyes are shut against the things of this world, and open to see the truth.
Chapter XXI.
1. To bring this matter to an end, I say that
it is not necessary for the soul to give its consent here; it is
already given: the soul knows that it has given up its will into His
hands,
2. Blessed, then, is that soul which our Lord draws on to the understanding of the truth! Oh, what a state for kings! How much better it would be for them if they strove for this, rather than for great dominions! How justice would prevail under their rule! What evils would be prevented, and might have been prevented already! Here no man fears to lose life or honour for the love of God. What a grand thing this would be to him who is more bound than those beneath him to regard the honour of our Lord!—for it is kings whom the crowd must follow. To make one step in the propagation of the faith, and to give one ray of light to heretics, I would forfeit a thousand kingdoms. And with good reason: for it is another thing altogether to gain a kingdom that shall never end, because one drop of the water of that kingdom, if the soul but tastes it, renders the things of this world utterly loathsome.
3. If, then, the soul should be wholly
engulfed, what then? O Lord, if Thou wert to give me the right to
publish this abroad, people would not believe me—
4. O my God, make kings to understand how far their obligations reach! Thou hast been pleased to distinguish them on earth in such a way that—so I have heard—Thou showest signs in the heavens when Thou takest any of them away. Certainly, when I think of this, my devotion is stirred, because Thou wilt have them learn, O my King, even from this, that they must imitate Thee in their lives, seeing that, when they die, signs are visible in the heavens, as it was when Thou wert dying Thyself.
5. I am very bold; if it be wrong, you, my father, will tear this out: only believe that I should speak much more to the purpose in the presence of kings,—if I might, or thought they would listen to me,—for I recommend them greatly to God, and I wish I might be of service to them. All this makes one risk life; for I long frequently to lose mine,—and that would be to lose a little for the chance of gaining much; for surely it is not possible to live, when we see with our eyes the great delusion wherein we are walking, and the blindness in which we are living.
6. A soul that has attained to this is not
limited to
7. Strengthen Thou my soul, and prepare it, O
Good of all good; and, my Jesus, then ordain Thou the means whereby I
may do something for Thee, so that there may be not even one who can
bear to receive so much, and make no payment in return. Cost what it
may, O Lord, let me not come before Thee with hands so
empty, See ch. xxxii. § 1.
8. Oh, what it is for a soul in this state to
have to return to the commerce of the world, to see and look on the
farce of this life,
9. Oh, if we were utterly detached,—if we
never placed our happiness in anything of this world,—how the pain,
caused by living always away from God, would temper the fear of death
with the desire of enjoying the true life! Sometimes I consider, if a
person like myself—because our Lord has given this light to me, whose
love is so cold, and whose true rest is so uncertain, for I have not
deserved it by my works—frequently feels her banishment so much, what
the feelings of the Saints must have been. What must St. Paul and the Magdalene, and others like them,
have suffered, in whom the fire of the love of God has grown so
strong? Their life must have been a continual martyrdom. It seems to
me that they who bring me any comfort, and whose conversation is any
relief, are those persons in whom I find these desires—I mean,
desires with acts. I say with acts, for there are people who
10. So far, then, of the effects of those raptures which come from the Spirit of God. The truth is, that these are greater or less. I say less, because in the beginning, though the effects are wrought, they are not tested by works, and so it cannot be clear that a person has them; and perfection, too, is a thing of growth, and of labouring after freedom from the cobwebs of memory; and this requires some time. Meanwhile, the greater the growth of love and humility in the soul, the stronger the perfume of the flowers of virtues is for itself and for others. The truth is, that our Lord can so work in the soul in an instant during these raptures, that but little remains for the soul to do in order to attain to perfection. No one, who has not had experience of it, will ever be able to believe what our Lord now bestows on the soul. No effort of ours—so I think—can ever reach so far.
11. However, I do not mean to say that those persons who during many years make use of the method prescribed by writers on prayer,—who discuss the principles thereof, and the means whereby it may be acquired,—will not, by the help of our Lord, attain to perfection and great detachment with much labour; but they will not attain to it so rapidly as by the way of raptures, in which our Lord works independently of us, draws the soul utterly away from earth, and gives it dominion over all things here below, though the merits of that soul may not be greater than mine were:
I cannot use stronger language, for my merits are as nothing. Why His Majesty doeth this is, because it is His pleasure, and He doeth it according to His pleasure; even if the soul be without the fitting disposition, He disposes it for the reception of that blessing which He is giving to it. Although it be most certain that He never fails to comfort those who do well, and strive to be detached, still He does not always give these effects because they have deserved them at His hands by cultivating the garden, but because it is His will to show His greatness at times in a soil which is most worthless, as I have just said, and to prepare it for all good: and all this in such a way that it seems as if the soul was now, in a manner, unable to go back and live in sin against God, as it did before.
12. The mind is now so inured to the comprehension of that which is truth indeed, that everything else seems to it to be but child's play. It laughs to itself, at times, when it sees grave men—men given to prayer, men of religion—make much of points of honour, which itself is trampling beneath its feet. They say that discretion, and the dignity of their callings, require it of them as a means to do more good; but that soul knows perfectly well that they would do more good in one day by preferring the love of God to this their dignity, than they will do in ten years by considering it.
13. The life of this soul is a life of
trouble: the cross is always there, but the progress it makes is
great. When those who have to do with it think it has arrived at the
summit of perfection, within a little while they see it much more
advanced; for God is ever giving it grace upon grace. God is the soul
of that soul now; it is He who has the charge of it; and so He
enlightens it; for He seems to be watching over it, always attentive
to it, that it may not offend Him,—giving it grace, and stirring it
up in His service. When my soul reached this state, in which God
showed me mercy so great, my wretchedness came to an end, and
our Lord
14. I saw clearly that this did not come from myself, that I had not brought it about by any efforts of my own, and that there was not time enough for it. His Majesty, of His mere goodness, had given me strength for it. From the time our Lord began to give me the grace of raptures, until now, this strength has gone on increasing. He, of His goodness, hath held me by the hand, that I might not go back. I do not think that I am doing anything myself—certainly I do not; for I see distinctly that all this is the work of our Lord. For this reason, it seems to me that the soul in which our Lord worketh these graces,—if it walks in humility and fear, always acknowledging the work of our Lord, and that we ourselves can do, as it were, nothing,—may be thrown among any companions, and, however distracted and wicked these may be, will neither be hurt nor disturbed in any way; on the contrary, as I have just said, that will help it on, and be a means unto it whereby it may derive much greater profit.
15. Those souls are strong which are chosen by
our Lord to do good to others; still, this their strength is not their
own. When our Lord brings a soul on to this state, He communicates to
it of His greatest secrets by degrees. True revelations—the great
gifts and visions—come by ecstasies, all tending to make the soul
humble and strong, to make it despise the things of this world, and
have a clearer knowledge of the greatness of the reward which our Lord
has prepared for those who
serve Him.
16. May it please His Majesty that the great munificence with which He hath dealt with me, miserable sinner that I am, may have some weight with those who shall read this, so that they may be strong and courageous enough to give up everything utterly for God. If His Majesty repays us so abundantly, that even in this life the reward and gain of those who serve Him become visible, what will it be in the next?
Chapter XXII.
1. There is one thing I should like to say—I
think it important: and if you, my father, approve, it will serve for
a lesson that possibly may be necessary; for in some books on prayer
the writers say that the soul, though it cannot in its own strength
attain to this state,—because it is altogether a supernatural work
wrought in it by our Lord,—may nevertheless succeed, by lifting up
the spirit above all created things, and raising it upwards in
humility, after some years spent in a purgative life, and advancing in
the illuminative. I do not very well know what they mean by
illuminative: I understand it to mean the life of those who are making
progress. And they advise us much to withdraw from all bodily
imagination, and draw near to the contemplation of the Divinity; for
they say that those who have advanced so far would be embarrassed or
hindered in their way to the highest contemplation, if they regarded
even the Sacred
Humanity itself. This opinion is supposed to be
justified by the words of St. Thomas, 3
Sent. dist. 22, qu. 3, art. 1, ad quintum. "Corporalis præsentia Christi in duobus poterat esse
nociva. Primo, quantum ad fidem, quia videntes Eum in forma in qua
erat minor Patre, non ita de facili crederent Eum æqualem Patri, ut
dicit glossa super Joannem. Secundo, quantum ad dilectionem, quia Eum
non solum spiritualiter, sed etiam carnaliter diligeremus,
conversantes cum Ipso corporaliter, et hoc est de
imperfectione dilectionis." St.
This sentence is in the margin of
the original MS., not in the text, but
in the handwriting of the Saint (De
la Fuente).
2. This seems to me right enough now and then; but to withdraw altogether from Christ, and to compare His divine Body with our miseries or with any created thing whatever, is what I cannot endure. May God help me to explain myself! I am not contradicting them on this point, for they are learned and spiritual persons, understanding what they say: God, too, is guiding souls by many ways and methods, as He has guided mine. It is of my own soul that I wish to speak now,—I do not intermeddle with others,—and of the danger I was in because I would comply with the directions I was reading. I can well believe that he who has attained to union, and advances no further,—that is, to raptures, visions, and other graces of God given to souls,—will consider that opinion to be best, as I did myself: and if I had continued in it, I
believe I should never have reached the state I am in now. I hold it to be a delusion: still, it may be that it is I who am deluded. But I will tell you what happened to me.
3. As I had no director, I used to read these books, where, by little and little, I thought I might understand something. I found out afterwards that, if our Lord had not shown me the way, I should have learned but little from books; for I understood really nothing till His Majesty made me learn by experience: neither did I know what I was doing. So, in the beginning, when I attained to some degree of supernatural prayer,—I speak of the prayer of quiet,—I laboured to remove from myself every thought of bodily objects; but I did not dare to lift up my soul, for that I saw would be presumption in me, who was always so wicked. I thought, however, that I had a sense of the presence of God: this was true, and I contrived to be in a state of recollection before Him. This method of prayer is full of sweetness, if God helps us in it, and the joy of it is great. And so, because I was conscious of the profit and delight which this way furnished me, no one could have brought me back to the contemplation of the Sacred Humanity; for that seemed to me to be a real hindrance to prayer.
4. O Lord of my soul, and my Good! Jesus
Christ crucified! I never think of this opinion, which I then held,
without pain; I believe it was an act of high treason, though done in
ignorance. Hitherto, I had been all my life long so devout to the
Sacred Humanity—for this happened but lately; I mean by lately, that
it was before our Lord gave me the grace of raptures and visions. I
did not continue long of
this opinion, "I mean by lately . . . and
visions" is in the margin of the MS., but in the handwriting of the Saint
(De la Fuente).
cannot have Him graven in my soul as deeply as I wish.
5. Is it possible, O my Lord, that I could have
had the thought, if only for an hour, that Thou couldst be a hindrance
to my greatest good? Whence are all my blessings? are they not from
Thee? I will not think that I was blamable, for I was very sorry for
it, and it was certainly done in ignorance. And so it pleased Thee,
in Thy goodness, to succour me, by sending me one who has delivered me
from this delusion; and afterwards by showing Thyself to me so many
times, as I shall
relate hereafter,
6. It seems to me, that there are two considerations on which I may ground this opinion. Perhaps I am saying nothing to the purpose, yet what I say is the result of experience; for my soul was in a very evil plight, till our Lord enlightened it: all its joys were but sips; and when it had come forth therefrom, it never found itself in that company which afterwards it had in trials and temptations.
7. The first consideration is this: there is a little absence of humility—so secret and so hidden, that we do not observe it. Who is there so proud and wretched as I, that, even after labouring all his life in penances and prayers and persecutions, can possibly imagine himself not to be exceedingly rich, most abundantly rewarded, when our Lord permits him to stand with St. John at the foot of the cross? I know not into whose head it could have entered to be not satisfied with this, unless it be mine, which has gone wrong in every way where it should have gone right onwards.
8. Then, if our constitution—or perhaps sickness—will not permit us always to think of His Passion, because it is so painful, who is to hinder us from thinking of Him risen from the grave, seeing that we have Him so near us in the Sacrament, where he is glorified, and where we shall not see Him in His great weariness—scourged, streaming with blood, faint by the way, persecuted by those to whom He had done good, and not believed in by the Apostles? Certainly it is not always that one can bear to meditate on sufferings so great as were those He underwent. Behold Him here, before His ascension into heaven, without pain, all-glorious, giving strength to some and courage to others. In the most Holy Sacrament, He is our companion, as if it was not in His power to withdraw Himself for a moment from us. And yet it was in my power to withdraw from Thee, O my Lord, that I might serve Thee better! It may be that I knew Thee not when I sinned against Thee; but how could I, having once known Thee, ever think I should gain more in this way? O Lord, what an evil way I took! and I was going out of the way, if Thou hadst not brought me back to it. When I see Thee near me, I see all good things together. No trial befalls me that is not easy to bear, when I think of Thee standing before those who judged Thee.
9. With so good a Friend and Captain ever
present, Himself the first to suffer, everything can be borne. He
helps, He strengthens, He never fails, He is the true Friend. I see
clearly, and since then have always seen, that if we are to please
God, and if He is to give us His great graces, everything must pass
through the hands of His most Sacred Humanity, in whom His Majesty
said that He is
well pleased. St.
10. So, then, I would have your reverence seek no other way, even if you were arrived at the highest contemplation. This way is safe. Our Lord is He by whom all good things come to us; He will teach you. Consider His life; that is the best example. What more can we want than so good a Friend at our side, who will not forsake us when we are in trouble and distress, as they do who belong to this world! Blessed is he who truly loves Him, and who always has Him near him! Let us consider the glorious St. Paul, who seems as if Jesus was never absent from his lips, as if he had Him deep down in his heart. After I had heard this of some great Saints given to contemplation, I considered the matter carefully; and I see that they walked in no other way. St. Francis with the stigmata proves it, St. Antony of Padua with the Infant Jesus; St. Bernard rejoiced in the Sacred Humanity; so did St. Catherine of Siena, and many others, as your reverence knows better than I do.
11. This withdrawing from bodily objects must
no doubt be good, seeing that it is recommended by persons who are so
spiritual; but, in my opinion, it ought to be done only when the soul
has made very great progress; for until then it is clear that the
Creator must be sought for through His creatures. All this depends on
the grace which our Lord distributes to every soul. I do not
intermeddle here. What I would say is, that the most Sacred Humanity
of Christ is not to be counted among the objects from which we have to
withdraw. Let this be clearly understood. I wish I knew how to
explain it. See St.
John of the Cross, Mount
Carmel, bk. iii. ch. i. p. 212.
12. When God suspends all the powers of the
soul,—as we see He does in the states of prayer already
described,—it is clear that, whether we wish it or not, this presence
is withdrawn. Be it so, then. The loss
13. It is a great matter for us to have our
Lord before us as Man while we are living and in the flesh. This is
that other inconvenience which I say must be met with. The first—I
have already begun to describe it—is a little failure in humility, in
that the soul desires to rise of itself before our Lord raises it, and
is not satisfied with meditation on so excellent a subject,—seeking
to be Mary before it has laboured with Martha. If our Lord will have
a soul to be Mary, even on the first day, there is nothing to be
afraid of; but we must not be self-invited guests, as I think I said
on another occasion.
14. I now come back to the second
consideration. We are not angels, for we have a body; to seek to make
ourselves angels while we are on the earth, and so much on the earth
as I was, is an act of folly. In general, our thoughts must have
something to rest on, though the soul may go forth out of itself now
and then, or it may be very often so full of God as to be in
15. For this end, that is useful which I spoke
of before:
16. God is greatly pleased when He beholds a
soul in its humility making His Son a Mediator between itself and Him,
and yet loving Him so much as to confess its own unworthiness, even
when He would raise it up to the highest contemplation, and saying
with St. Peter:
17. I believe myself that if a soul makes any
efforts of its own to further itself in the way of the prayer of
union, and though it may seem to make immediate progress, it will
quickly fall back, because the foundations were not duly laid. I
fear, too, that such a soul will never attain to true poverty of
spirit, which consists in seeking consolation or sweetness, not in
prayer,—the consolations of the earth are already abandoned,—but
rather in sorrows, for the love of Him who always lived in sorrows
Himself;
18. I am not saying that men should not seek
to be devout, nor that they should not stand with great reverence in
the presence of God, but only that they are not to vex themselves if
they cannot find even one good thought, as I said in another
place; St.
19. What use is there in governing oneself by
oneself, when the whole will has been given up to God? I think this
less endurable now than in the first state of prayer, and it does much
greater harm; for these blessings are supernatural. If a man has a
bad voice, let him force himself ever so much to sing, he will never
improve it; but if God gives him a good voice, he has no need to try
it twice. Let us, then, pray Him always to show His mercy upon us,
with a submissive spirit, yet trusting in the goodness of God. And
now that the soul is permitted to sit at the feet of Christ, let it
contrive not to quit its place, but keep it anyhow. Let it follow the
example of the Magdalene; and when it shall be strong enough, God will
lead it into
the wilderness.
20. You, then, my father, must be content with
this until you meet with some one of more experience and better
knowledge than I am. If you see people who are beginning to taste of
God, do not trust them if they think that they advance more, and have
a deeper fruition of God, when they make efforts of their own. Oh,
when God wills it, how He discovers Himself without these little
efforts of ours! We may do what we like, but He throws the spirit
into a trance as easily as a giant takes up a straw; no resistance is
possible. What a thing to believe, that God will wait till the toad
shall fly of itself, when He has already willed it should do so!
Well, it seems to me still more difficult and hard for our spirit to
rise upwards, if God does not
21. I come, then, to this conclusion: whenever we think of Christ, we should remind ourselves of the love that made Him bestow so many graces upon us, and also how great that love is which our Lord God has shown us, in giving us such a pledge of the love He bears us; for love draws forth love. And though we are only at the very beginning, and exceedingly wicked, yet let us always labour to keep this in view, and stir ourselves up to love; for if once our Lord grants us this grace, of having this love imprinted in our hearts, everything will be easy, and we shall do great things in a very short time, and with very little labour. May His Majesty give us that love,—He knows the great need we have of it,—for the sake of that love which He bore us, and of His glorious Son, to whom it cost so much to make it known to us! Amen.
22. There is one thing I should like to ask
you, my father. How is it that, when our Lord begins to bestow upon a
soul a grace so great as this of perfect contemplation, it is not, as
it ought to be, perfect at once? Certainly, it seems it should be so;
for he who receives a grace so great ought never more to seek
consolations on earth. How is it, I ask, that a soul which has
ecstasies and so far is more accustomed to receive graces, should yet
seem to bring forth fruits still higher and higher,—and the more so,
the more it is detached,—when our Lord might have sanctified it at
once, the moment He came near it? How is it, I ask again, that the
same Lord brings it to the perfection of virtue only in the course of
time? I should be glad to learn the reason, for I know it not. I do
know, however, that in the beginning, when a trance lasts only the
twinkling of an eye, and is almost imperceptible but for
the effects
23. Very often, when thinking of this, have I
imagined the reason might be, that the soul does not despise itself
all at once, till our Lord instructs it by degrees, and makes it
resolute, and gives it the strength of manhood, so that it may trample
utterly upon everything. He gave this strength to the Magdalene in a
moment. He gives the same grace to others, according to the measure
of their abandonment of themselves into the hands of His Majesty, that
He may do with them as He will. We never thoroughly believe that God
rewards a hundredfold even in
this life. St.
24. I also thought of this comparison: supposing grace given to those who are far advanced to be the same with that given to those who are but beginners, we may then liken it to a certain food of which many persons partake: they who eat a little retain the savour of it for a moment, they who eat more are nourished by it, but those who eat much receive life and strength. Now, the soul may eat so frequently and so abundantly of this food of life as to have no pleasure in eating any other food, because it sees how much good it derives from it. Its taste is now so formed upon it, that it would rather not live than have to eat any other food; for all food but this has no other effect than to take away the sweet savour which this good food leaves behind.
25. Further, the conversation of good people does not profit us in one day as much as it does in many; and we may converse with them long enough to become like them, by the grace of God. In short, the whole matter is as His Majesty wills. He gives His grace to whom He pleases; but much depends on this: he who begins to receive this grace must make a firm resolution to detach himself from all things, and esteem this grace according to reason.
26. It seems also to me as if His Majesty were going about to try those who love Him,—now one, now another,—revealing Himself in supreme joy, so as to quicken our belief, if it should be dead, in what He will give us, saying, Behold! this is but a drop of the immense sea of blessings; for He leaves nothing undone for those He loves; and as He sees them receive it, so He gives, and He gives Himself. He loves those who love Him. Oh, how dear He is!—how good a Friend! O my soul's Lord, who can find words to describe what Thou givest to those who trust in Thee, and what they lose who come to this state, and yet dwell in themselves! Oh, let not this be so, O my Lord! for Thou doest more than this when Thou comest to a lodging so mean as mine. Blessed be Thou for ever and ever!
27. I now humbly ask you, my father, if you
mean to discuss what I have written on prayer with spiritual persons,
to see that they are so really; for if they be persons who know only
one way, or who have stood still midway, they will not be able to
understand the matter. There are also some whom God leads at once by
the highest way; these think that others might advance in the same
manner—quiet the understanding, and make bodily objects none of their
means; but these people will remain dry as a stick. Others, also,
there are who, having for a moment attained to the prayer of quiet,
think forthwith that, as they have had the one, so they may have the
other. These instead of advancing, go back, as I said
before.
Chapter XXIII.
1. I shall now return to that point in my life
where I broke off, At the end of ch. ix. The thirteen chapters interposed
between that and this—the twenty-third—are a treatise on
mystical theology.
2. When, then, I began to avoid the occasions
of sin, and to give myself more unto prayer, our Lord also began to
bestow His graces upon me, as one who desired, so it seemed, that I
too should be willing to receive them. His Majesty began to give me
most frequently the grace of the prayer of quiet, and very often that
of union, which lasted some time. But as, in these days, women have
fallen into great delusions and deceits of
Satan, She refers to Magdalene of the
Cross (Reforma de los Descalços, vol. i. lib.
i. c. xix. § 2).
3. But if I was a little distracted, I began to
be afraid, and to imagine that perhaps it was Satan that
The college of the Society at
Avila was founded in 1555; but some of the Fathers had come thither in
1553 (De la Fuente).
4. I spent some time in this state, till, after
much inward contention and fear, I determined to confer with some
spiritual person, to ask him to tell me what that method of prayer was
which I was using, and to show me whether I was in error. I was also
resolved to do everything I could not to offend God; for the want of
courage of which I was conscious, as I said
before,
5. When I saw that my fear was going so far, it struck me—because I was making progress in prayer—that this must be a great blessing, or a very great evil; for I understood perfectly that what had happened was something supernatural, because at times I was unable to withstand it; to have it when I would was also impossible. I thought to myself that there was no help for it, but in keeping my conscience pure, avoiding every occasion even of venial sins; for if it was the work of the Spirit of God, the gain was clear; and if the work of Satan, so long as I strove to please, and did not offend, our Lord, Satan could do me little harm; on the contrary, he must lose in the struggle. Determined on this course, and always praying God to help me, striving also after purity of conscience for some days, I saw that my soul had not strength to go forth alone to a perfection so great. I had certain attachments to trifles, which, though not very wrong in themselves, were yet enough to ruin all.
6. I was told of a learned
ecclesiastic, Gaspar Daza had formed a society
of priests in Avila, and was a very laborious and holy man. It was he
who said the first Mass in the monastery of St. Joseph, founded by 5t. Teresa, whom he
survived, dying Nov. 24, 1592. He committed the direction of his
priests to F. Baltasar Alvarez (Bouix). Juan of Avila
acted much in the same way when the Jesuits settled in Avila (De
la Fuente). Don Francisco de Salcedo. After
the death of his wife, he became a priest, and was chaplain and
confessor of the Carmelite nuns of St. Joseph. For twenty years of his married life
he attended regularly the theological lectures of the Dominicans, in
the house of St. Thomas. His death took
place Sept. 12, 1580, when he had been a priest for ten years
(St. Teresa's Letters, vol.
iv. letter 43, note 13: letter 368, ed. of De la Fuente).
7. This blessed and holy man, then, seems to
me, by the pains he took, to have been the beginning of salvation to
my soul. His humility in his relations with me makes me wonder; for
he had spent, I believe, nearly forty years in prayer,—it may be two
or three years less,—and all his life was ordered with that
perfection which his state admitted. His wife is so great a servant
of God, and so full of charity, that nothing is lost to him on her
account, Doña Mencia del Aguila (De
la Fuente, in a note on letter 10, vol. ii. p. 9, where he
corrects himself,—having previously called her Mencia
de Avila).
8. It was thus I contrived that the
ecclesiastic I speak of, who was so great a servant of God, and his
great friend, should come to speak to me, intending to confess to him,
and to take him for my director. When he had brought him to speak to
me, I, in the greatest confusion at finding myself in the presence of
so holy a man, revealed to him the state of my soul, and my way of
prayer. He would not be my confessor; he said that he was very much
occupied: and so, indeed, he
§ 4.
9. I believe certainly, if I had only had this ecclesiastic to confer with, that my soul would have made no progress; for the pain it gave me to see that I was not doing—and, as I thought, could not do—what he told me, was enough to destroy all hope, and make me abandon the matter altogether. I wonder at times how it was that he, being one who had a particular grace for the direction of beginners in the way of God, was not permitted to understand my case, or to undertake the care of my soul. I see it was all for my greater good, in order that I might know and converse with persons so holy as the members of the Society of Jesus.
10. After this, I arranged with that saintly
nobleman that he should come and see me now and then. It shows how
deep his humility was; for he consented to converse with a person so
wicked as I was. He began his visits, he encouraged me, and told me
that I ought not to suppose I could give up everything in one day; God
would bring it about by degrees: he himself had for some years been
unable to free himself from some
11. I am not saying this without a meaning, though I seem to be enlarging on trifles; but these trifles contribute so much towards the beginning of the soul's progress and its flight upwards, though it has no wings, as they say; and yet no one will believe it who has not had experience of it; but, as I hope in God that your reverence will help many a soul, I speak of it here. My whole salvation depended on his knowing how to treat me, on his humility, on the charity with which he conversed with me, and on his patient endurance of me when he saw that I did not mend my ways at once. He went on discreetly, by degrees showing me how to overcome Satan. My affection for him so grew upon me, that I never was more at ease than on the day I used to see him. I saw him, however, very rarely. When he was long in coming, I used to be very much distressed, thinking that he would not see me because I was so wicked.
12. When he found out my great imperfections,
they might well have been sins, though since I conversed with him I am
somewhat improved,—and when I recounted to him, in order to obtain
light from him, the great graces which God had bestowed upon me, he
told me that these things were inconsistent one with another; that
these consolations were given to people who had made great progress,
and led mortified lives; that he could not help being very much
afraid—he thought that the evil spirit might have something to do in
my case; he would not decide that question,
13. Looking into books to see if I could find
anything there by which I might recognise the prayer I practised, I
found in one of them, called the Ascent of the
Mount, Subida del Monte
Sion, by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de Laredo (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. § 7). § 6. See ch. xxv. § 18.
14. And certainly the affliction to be borne
is great, and caution is necessary, particularly in the case of
women,—for our weakness is great,—and much evil may be the result of
telling them very distinctly that the devil is busy with them; yea,
rather, the matter should be very carefully considered, and they
should be removed out of reach of the dangers that may arise. They
should be advised to keep things secret; and it is necessary, also,
that their secret should be kept. I am speaking of this as one to
whom it has been a sore trouble; for some of those with whom I spoke
of my prayer did not keep my secret, but, making inquiries one of
another, for a good purpose, did me much harm; for they made things
known which might well have remained secret, because not intended for
every one and it seemed as if I had made them
public myself. See ch. xxviii. § 18.
15. I believe that our Lord
permitted See Relation, vii.
§ 17. See ch. iv. § 6.
16. Then, when I had given him the book, and told the story of my life and of my sins, the best way I
could in general,—for I was not in confession, because he was a layman; yet I gave him clearly to understand how wicked I was,—those two servants of God, with great charity and affection, considered what was best for me. When they had made up their minds what to say,—I was waiting for it in great dread, having begged many persons to pray to God for me, and I too had prayed much during those days,—the nobleman came to me in great distress, and said that, in the opinion of both, I was deluded by an evil spirit; that the best thing for me to do was to apply to a certain father of the Society of Jesus, who would come to me if I sent for him, saying I had need of him; that I ought, in a general confession, to give him an account of my whole life, and of the state I was in,—and all with great clearness: God would, in virtue of the Sacrament of Confession, give him more light concerning me; for those fathers were very experienced men in matters of spirituality. Further, I was not to swerve in a single point from the counsels of that father; for I was in great danger, if I had no one to direct me.
17. This answer so alarmed and distressed me,
that I knew not what to do—I did nothing but cry. Being in an
oratory in great affliction, not knowing what would become of me, I
read in a book—it seemed as if our Lord had put it into my
hands—that St. Paul said, God is
faithful;
18. I communicated the whole state of my soul
to that servant of God F.
Juan de Padranos, whom St. Francis de Borja
had sent in 1555, with F. Fernando Alvarez
del Aguila, to found the house of the Society in Avila (De la
Fuente). Ribera, i. 5, says he heard that F. Juan de Padranos gave in part the Exercises
of St. Ignatius to the Saint.
19. He left me consoled and fortified: our
Lord came to my succour and to his, so that he might understand the
state I was in, and how he was to direct me. I made a firm resolution
not to swerve from anything he might command me, and to this day I
have kept it. Our Lord be praised, who has given me grace to be
obedient to
my confessors, See Relation, i. § 9.
Chapter XXIV.
1. After this my confession, my soul was so
docile that, as it seems to me, there was nothing in the world I was
not prepared to undertake. I began at once to make a change in many
things, though my confessor never pressed me—on the contrary, he
seemed to make light of it all. I was the more influenced by this,
because he led me on by the way of the love of God; he left me free,
and did not press me, unless I did so myself, out of love. I
continued thus nearly two months, doing all I could to resist the
sweetness and graces that God sent. As to my outward life, the change
was visible; for our Lord gave me courage to go
2. I began with a renewed love of the most
Sacred Humanity; my prayer began to be solid, like a house, the
foundations of which are strong; and I was inclined to practise
greater penance, having been negligent in this matter hitherto because
of my great infirmities. The holy man who heard my confession told me
that certain penances would not hurt me, and that God perhaps sent me
so much sickness because I did no penance; His Majesty would therefore
impose it Himself. He ordered me to practise certain acts of
mortification not very pleasant
for me. The Saint now treated her body
with extreme severity, disciplining herself even unto blood
(Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xx.
§ 4).
3. My soul was now sensitive to every offence I committed against God, however slight it might be; so much so, that if I had any superfluity about me, I could not recollect myself in prayer till I had got rid of it. I prayed earnestly that our Lord would hold me by the hand, and not suffer me to fall again, now that I was under the direction of His servants. I thought that would be a great evil, and that they would lose their credit through me.
4. At this time, Father Francis, who was Duke
of Gandia, St.
Francis de Borja came to Avila, where St. Teresa lived, in 1557 (De la
Fuente). This passage must have been written after the
foundation of St. Joseph, for it was not in
the first Life, as the Saint says, ch. x.
§ 11, that he kept secret the names of herself and
all others. See Relation, viii.
§ 6.
5. At this time, they changed my confessor's
residence. I felt it very much, for I thought I should go back to my
wickedness, and that it was not possible to find another such as he.
My soul was, as it were, in a desert, most sorrowful and afraid. I
knew not what to do with myself. One of my kinswomen contrived to get
me into her house, and I contrived at once to find another
confessor, Who he was is not certainly known.
The Bollandists decline to give an opinion: but F. Bouix thinks it was F. Ferdinand Alvarez, who became her confessor
on the removal of F. Juan de Padranos, and
that it was to him she confessed till she placed herself under the
direction of F. Baltasar Alvarez, the confessor of Doña Guiomar, as it
is stated in the next paragraph,—unless the confessor there mentioned
was F. Ferdinand. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa. See below,
ch. xxxii. § 13. If this confessor was F. Baltasar
Alvarez, the Saint, F. Bouix observes,
passes rapidly over the history of the year 1557, and the greater
part, perhaps, of 1558; for F. Baltasar was ordained
priest only in the latter year.
6. This father began by putting me in the way
of greater perfection. He used to say to me, that I ought to leave
nothing undone that I might be wholly pleasing unto God. He was,
however, very prudent and very gentle at the same time; for my soul
was not at all strong, but rather very weak, especially as to giving
up certain friendships, though I did not offend God by them: there was
much natural affection in them, and I thought it would be an act of
ingratitude if I broke them off. And so, as I did not offend God, I
asked him if I must be ungrateful. He told me to lay the matter
before God for a few days, and recite the hymn, "Veni, Creator," that God might enlighten me
as to the better course. One day, having prayed for some time, and
implored our Lord to help me to please
7. This was the first time that our Lord bestowed on me the grace of ecstasy. I heard these words: "I will not have thee converse with men, but with angels." This made me wonder very much; for the commotion of my spirit was great, and these words were uttered in the very depth of my soul. They made me afraid,—though, on the other hand, they gave me great comfort, which, when I had lost the fear,—caused, I believe, by the strangeness of the visitation,—remained with me.
8. Those words have been fulfilled; for I have
never been able to form friendship with, nor have any comfort in, nor
any particular love for, any persons whatever except those who, as I
believe, love God, and who strive to serve Him. It has not been in my
power to do it. It is nothing to me that they are my kindred, or my
friends, if I do not know them to be lovers of God, or persons given
to prayer. It is to me a painful cross to converse with any one.
This is the truth, so far as I
can judge. See Relation, i. § 6.
9. So I told my confessor of it, and gave up everything, according to his advice. It did a great deal of good to those with whom I used to converse, to see my determination. God be blessed for ever! Who in one moment set me free, while I had been for many years making many efforts, and had never succeeded, very often also doing such violence to myself as injured my health; but, as it was done by Him Who is almighty, and the true Lord of all, it gave me no pain whatever.
Chapter XXV.
1. It will be as well, I think, to explain
these locutions of God, and to describe what the soul feels when it
receives them, in order that you, my father, may understand the
matter; for ever since that time of which I am speaking, when our Lord
granted me that grace, it has been an ordinary occurrence until now,
as will appear by what I have yet
to say. Philip. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog.
Mystic. par. 2, tr. iii. disc. iv. art. v.: "Tres sunt modi divinæ locutionis; completur enim divina
locutio vel verbis successivis, vel verbis formalibus, vel verbis
substantialibus. Completur verbis successivis cum anima in semetipsa
multum collecta quosdam discursus internos de Deo vel de aliis divina
format directione; hujusmodi quippe discursus, quamvis ab ipsa sibi
formati, a Deo tamen dirigente procedunt. Completur verbis formalibus
cum anima vel in se collecta, vel aliis occupata, percipit quædam
verba formaliter ac distincte divinitus expressa, ad quorum
formationem anima passive penitus se habet. Completur verbis
substantialibus cum anima vel in se collecta, vel etiam distracta,
percipit quædam verba viva et efficacia, divinitus ad se directa, quæ
virtutem aut substantialem effectum per ipsa significatum fortiter ac
infallibiliter causant." See also St. John of the Cross,
Ascent
of Mount Carmel, b. ii. ch. xxviii. and the
following, p. 188.
2. The words are very distinctly formed; but by
the bodily ear they are not heard. They are, however, much more
clearly understood than they would be if they were heard by the ear.
It is impossible not to understand them, whatever resistance we
may offer. When we wish not to hear anything in this world, we
From 1555 to 1557, when the Saint
was advised by St. Francis de Borja to make
no further resistance (Bouix).
3. I should like to explain the delusions which
may happen here, though he who has had much experience will run little
or no risk, I think; but the experience must be great. I should like
to explain also how those locutions which come from the Good Spirit
differ from those which come from an evil spirit; and, further, how
they may be but an apprehension of the understanding,—for that is
possible,—or even words which the mind addressed to itself. I do not
know if it be so but even this very day I thought it possible. I know
by experience in many ways, when these locutions come from God. I
have been told things two or three years beforehand, which have all
come to pass; and in none of them have I been hitherto deceived.
There are also other things in which the Spirit of God may be clearly
traced, as I shall relate by
and by. See ch. xxvii. § 4.
4. It seems to me that a person commending a
matter to God with great love and earnestness may think that he hears
in some way or other whether his prayer will be granted or not, and
this is quite possible; but he who has heard the divine locution will
see clearly enough what this is, because there is a great
5. There is another test more decisive still. The words formed by the understanding effect nothing; but, when our Lord speaks, it is at once word and work; and though the words may not be meant to stir up our devotion, but are rather words of reproof, they dispose a soul at once, strengthen it, make it tender, give it light, console and calm it; and if it should be in dryness, or in trouble and uneasiness, all is removed, as if by the action of a hand, and even better; for it seems as if our Lord would have the soul understand that He is all-powerful, and that His words are deeds.
6. It seems to me that there is as much
difference between these two locutions as there is between speaking
and listening, neither more nor less; for when I speak, as I have just
said, § 4. § 5.
7. But it is to be observed, that if we see
visions and hear words it never is as at the time when the soul is in
union in the very rapture itself,—so it seems to me. At that moment,
as I have shown,—I think it was when I was speaking of the second
water, The doctrine here laid down is not
that of the second water,—chs. xiv. and xv.,—but that of the third, ch. xvi. The Saint herself speaks doubtfully;
and as she had but little time for writing, she could not correct nor
read again what she had written (De
la Fuente).
8. There are so many ways of ascertaining the
nature of these locutions, that if a person be once deceived, he will
not be deceived often. I mean, that a soul accustomed to them, and on
its guard, will most clearly see what they are; for, setting other
considerations aside which prove what I have said, the human locution
produces no effect, neither does the soul accept it,—though it must
admit the other, whether we like it or
not,—nor does it believe it; on
9. But as to the divine locution, we listen to
that as we do to a person of great holiness, learning, or authority,
whom we know to be incapable of uttering a falsehood. And yet this is
an inadequate illustration; for these locutions proceed occasionally
in such great majesty that, without our recollecting who it is that
utters them, they make us tremble if they be words of reproof, and die
of love if words of love. They are also, as I have
said, § 6.
10. There is no reason, therefore, why I
should dwell longer on this matter. It is a wonder to me that any
experienced person, unless he deliberately chooses to do so, can fall
into delusions. It has often happened to me, when I had doubts, to
distrust what I had heard, and to think that it was all
imagination,—but this I did afterwards: for at the moment that is
impossible,—and at a later time to see the whole fulfilled; for our
Lord makes the words dwell in the memory so that they cannot be
forgotten. Now, that which comes forth from our understanding is, as
it were, the first movement of thought, which passes away and is
forgotten; but the divine locution is a work done; and though some of
it may be forgotten, and time have lapsed, yet is not so wholly
forgotten that the memory loses all traces of what was once
spoken,—unless, indeed, after very long time, or unless the locution
were words of grace or of instruction. But as to prophetic words,
they are never
11. I repeat it, unless a soul be so wicked as to pretend that it has these locutions, which would be a great sin, and say that it hears divine words when it hears nothing of the kind, it cannot possibly fail to see clearly that itself arranges the words, and utters them to itself. That seems to me altogether impossible for any soul that has ever known the Spirit of God. If it has not, it may continue all its life long in this delusion, and imagine that it hears and understands, though I know not how that can be. A soul desires to hear these locutions, or it does not; if it does not, it is distressed because it hears them, and is unwilling to listen to them, because of a thousand fears which they occasion, and for many other reasons it has for being quiet in prayer without these interruptions. How is it that the understanding has time enough to arrange these locutions? They require time.
12. But, on the other side, the divine
locutions instruct us without loss of time, and we understand matters
which seem to require a month on our part to arrange. The
understanding itself, and the soul, stand amazed at some of the things
we understand. So it is; and he who has any experience of it will see
that what I am saying is literally true. I give God thanks that I
have been able thus to explain it. I end by saying that, in my
opinion, we may hear the locutions that proceed from the understanding
whenever we like, and think that we hear them whenever we pray. But
it is not so with the divine locutions: for many days I may desire to
hear them, and I cannot; and at other times, even when I would not, as
I said before, § 2.
13. Locutions that come from Satan not only do
not leave any good effects behind, but do leave evil effects. This
has happened to me; but not more than two or three times. Our Lord
warned me at once that they came from Satan. Over and above the great
aridity which remains in the soul after these evil locutions, there is
also a certain disquiet, such as I have had on many other occasions,
when, by our Lord's permission, I fell into great temptations and
travail of soul in diverse ways; and though I am in trouble often
enough, as I shall
show hereafter,
14. The sweetness and joy which Satan gives
are, in my opinion, of a very different kind. By means of these
sweetnesses he may deceive any one who does not, or who never did,
taste of the sweetness of God,—by which I mean a certain sweet,
strong, impressive, delightsome, and calm refreshing. Those little,
fervid bursts of tears, and other slight emotions,—for at the first
breath of persecution these flowers wither,—I do not call devotion,
though they are a good beginning, and are holy impressions; but they
are not a test to determine whether these locutions come from a good
or an evil spirit. It is therefore best for us to proceed always with
great caution; for those persons who have advanced in prayer only so
far as this may most easily fall into delusions, if they have visions
or revelations. For myself, I never had a single vision or
revelation till
15. After these locutions of the evil one, the soul is never gentle, but is, as it were, terrified, and greatly disgusted.
16. I look upon it as a most certain truth, that the devil will never deceive, and that God will not suffer him to deceive, the soul which has no confidence whatever in itself; which is strong in faith, and resolved to undergo a thousand deaths for any one article of the creed; which in its love of the faith, infused of God once for all,—a faith living and strong,—always labours, seeking for further light on this side and on that, to mould itself on the teaching of the Church, as one already deeply grounded in the truth. No imaginable revelations, not even if it saw the heavens open, could make that soul swerve in any degree from the doctrine of the Church. If, however, it should at any time find itself wavering even in thought on this point, or stopping to say to itself, If God says this to me, it may be true, as well as what He said to the Saints—the soul must not be sure of it. I do not mean that it so believes, only that Satan has taken the first step towards tempting it; and the giving way to the first movements of a thought like this is evidently most wrong. I believe, however, that these first movements will not take place if the soul is so strong in the matter—as that soul is to whom our Lord sends these graces—that it seems as if it could crush the evil spirits in defence of the very least of the truths which the Church holds.
17. If the soul does not discern this great
strength in itself, and if the particular devotion or vision
help it
18. Nevertheless, Satan has many devices; and
so there is nothing more certain than that it is safer to be afraid,
and always on our guard, under a learned director, from whom nothing
is concealed. If we do this, no harm can befall us, though much has
befallen me through the excessive fears which possessed some people.
For instance, it happened so once to me, when many persons in whom I
had great confidence, and with good reason, had assembled
together,—five or six in number, I think,—and all very great
servants of God. It is true, my relations were with one of them only;
but by his orders made my state known to the others. They had many
conferences together about my necessities; for they had great
affection for me, and were afraid I was under a delusion. I, too, was
very much afraid whenever I was not occupied in prayer; but when I
prayed, and our Lord bestowed
19. I was in great fear myself, as I have just
said, and my disease of
the heart
20. In this distress, I quitted the
church,
21. But there was no comfort for me when I thought of the possibility that Satan could speak to me so often. Now that I was never alone for prayer, our Lord made me recollected even during conversation: He spoke what He pleased,—I could not avoid it; and, though it distressed me, I was forced to listen. I was by myself, having no one in whom I could find any comfort; unable to pray or read, like a person stunned by heavy trials, and by the dread that the evil one had deluded me; utterly disquieted and wearied, not knowing what would become of me. I have been occasionally—yea, very often—in distress, but never before in distress so great. I was in this state for four or five hours; there was no comfort for me, either from heaven or on earth—only our Lord left me to suffer, afraid of a thousand dangers.
22. O my Lord, how true a friend art Thou! how
powerful! Thou showest Thy power when Thou wilt; and Thou dost will
it always, if only we will it also. Let the whole creation praise
Thee, O Thou Lord of the world! Oh, that a voice might go forth over
all the earth, proclaiming Thy faithfulness to those who love Thee!
All things fail; but Thou, Lord of all, never failest! They who love
Thee, oh, how little they have to suffer! oh, how gently, how
tenderly, how sweetly Thou, O my Lord, dealest with them! Oh, that no
one had ever been occupied with any other love than Thine! It seems
as if Thou didst subject those who love Thee to a severe trial: but it
is in order that they may learn, in the depths of that trial, the
depths of Thy love. O my God, oh, that I had understanding and
learning, and a new language, in order to magnify Thy works, according
to the knowledge of them which my soul possesses! Everything fails
me, O my Lord; but if Thou wilt not abandon me, I will never fail
Thee. Let all the learned rise up against me,—let the whole
23. It seems to me that, in the state I was in
then, many hours would have been necessary to calm me, and that no one
could have done it. Yet I found myself, through these words alone,
tranquil and strong, courageous and confident, at rest and
enlightened; in a moment, my soul seemed changed, and I felt I could
maintain against all the world that my prayer was the work of God.
Oh, how good is God! how good is our Lord, and how powerful! He gives
not counsel only, but relief as well. His words are deeds. O my God!
as He strengthens our faith, love grows. So it is, in truth; for I
used frequently to recollect how our Lord, when the tempest arose,
commanded the winds to be still over the
sea. St.
24. Seeing, then, that our Lord is so powerful,—as I
see and know He is,—and that the evil spirits are His slaves, of which there can be no doubt, because it is of faith,—and I a servant of this our Lord and King,—what harm can Satan do unto me? Why have I not strength enough to fight against all hell? I took up the cross in my hand,—I was changed in a moment into another person, and it seemed as if God had really given me courage enough not to be afraid of encountering all the evil spirits. It seemed to me that I could, with the cross, easily defeat them altogether. So I cried out, Come on, all of you; I am the servant of our Lord: I should like to see what you can do against me.
25. And certainly they seemed to be afraid of
me, for I was left in peace: I feared them so little, that the
terrors, which until now oppressed me, quitted me altogether; and
though I saw them occasionally,—I shall speak of this by and
by, St.
John of the Cross, Spiritual
Canticle, st. 24, p. 128,
Eng. trans.
26. May it please His Majesty that we fear Him
whom we ought to fear, St.
27. May it please our Lord that I be not one of these; and may His Majesty give me grace to take that for peace which is really peace, that for honour which is really honour, and that for delight which is really a delight. Let me never mistake one thing for another—and then I snap my fingers at all the devils, for they shall be afraid of me. I do not understand those terrors which make us cry out, Satan, Satan! when we may say, God, God! and make Satan tremble. Do we not know that he cannot stir without the permission of God? What does it mean? I am really much more afraid of those people who have so great a fear of the devil, than I am of the devil himself. Satan can do me no harm whatever, but they can trouble me very much, particularly if they be confessors. I have spent some years of such great anxiety, that even now I am amazed that I was able to bear it. Blessed be our Lord, who has so effectually helped me!
Chapter XXVI.
1. I look upon the courage which our Lord has
implanted in me against evil spirits as one of the greatest mercies
which He has bestowed upon me; for a cowardly soul, afraid of anything
but sin against God, is a very unseemly thing, when we have on our
side the King omnipotent, our Lord most high, who can do all things,
and subjects all things to Himself. There is nothing to be afraid of
if we walk, as I
said before,
2. It may be so, you will say; but, then, where
is that soul so just as to please Him in everything?—and that is the
reason why we are afraid. Certainly it is not my soul, which is most
wretched, unprofitable, and full of misery. God is not like man in
His ways; He knows our weakness. But the soul perceives, by the help
of certain great signs, whether it loves God of a truth; for the love
of those souls who have come to this state is not hidden as it was at
first, but is full of high impulses, and of longings for the vision of
God, as I shall show hereafter—or rather, as I have shown
already.
3. It happened to me, on another occasion to be
grievously tried, and much spoken against on account of a certain
affair,—of which I will speak
hereafter, Ch.
xxxiii.; the foundation of the house of St. Joseph.
4. The safest course in these things is to
declare, without fail, the whole state of the soul, together with
The Bollandists, n. 185, attribute
some of the severity with which her confessor treated the Saint to the
spirit of desolation with which he was then tried himself; and, in
proof of it, refer to the account which F. Baltasar Alvarez gave of
his own prayer to the General of the Society.
5. One of my confessors, to whom I went in the
beginning, advised me once, now that my spiritual state was known to
be the work of God, to keep silence, and not speak of these things to
any one, on the ground that it was safer to keep these graces secret.
To me, the advice seemed good, because I felt it so much whenever I
had to speak of them to
my confessor; See Relation, vii.
§ 7.
6. Whenever our Lord commanded me to do one
thing in prayer, and if my confessor forbade it, our Lord Himself told
me to obey my confessor. His Majesty afterwards would change the mind
of that confessor, so that he would have me do what he had forbidden
before. When we were deprived of many books written in Spanish, and
forbidden to read them,—I felt it deeply, for some of these books
were a great comfort to me, and I could not read them in Latin,—our
Lord said to me, "Be not troubled; I will give thee a living
book." I could not understand why this was said to me, for at
that time I had never had
a vision.[8] The visions of the Saint began in
1558 (De la Fuente) or, according to Father Bouix,
in 1559.
7. Who can look upon our Lord, covered with
wounds, and bowed down under persecutions, without accepting, loving,
and longing for them? Who can behold but a part of that glory which
He will give to those who serve Him without confessing that all he may
do, and all he may suffer, are altogether as nothing,
St.
Chapter XXVII.
1. I now resume the story of my life. I was in
great pain and distress; and many prayers, as I
said,
2. I felt that I was wholly changed; I could do nothing but put myself in the hands of God: He knew what was expedient for me; let Him do with me according to His will in all things. I saw that by this way I was directed heavenwards, and that formerly I was going down to hell. I could not force myself to desire a change, nor believe that I was under the influence of Satan. Though I was doing all I could to believe the one and to desire the other, it was not in my power to do so. I offered up all my actions, if there should be any good in them, for this end; I had recourse to the Saints for whom I had a devotion, that they might deliver me from the evil one; I made novenas; I commended myself to St. Hilarion, to the Angel St. Michael, to whom I had recently become devout, for this purpose; and many other Saints I importuned, that our Lord might show me the way,—I mean, that they might obtain this for me from His Majesty.
3. At the end of two years spent in prayer by
myself and others for this end, namely, that our Lord would either
lead me by another way, or show the truth of this,—for now the
locutions of our Lord were extremely frequent,—this happened to me.
I was in prayer one day,—it was the feast of the glorious St. Peter, See ch. xxviii. § 5, and ch. xxix. § 1. The vision took place, it
seems, on the 29th June. See ch. xxix.
§ 6. See ch.
vii. § 12. See Anton. a Spiritu Sancto,
Direct.
Mystic. tr. iii. disp. v. § 3.
4. I went at once to my
confessor, § 17, infra.
5. For if I say that I see Him neither with the
eyes of the body, nor with those of the soul,—because it was not an
imaginary vision,—how is it that I can understand and maintain that
He stands beside me, and be more certain of it than if I saw Him? If
it be supposed that it is as if a person were blind, or in the dark,
and therefore unable to see another who is close to him, the
comparison is not exact. There is a certain likelihood about it,
however, but not much, because the other senses tell him who is blind
of that presence: he hears
See Relation, vii.
§ 26.
6. It is not like that presence of God which is frequently felt, particularly by those who have attained to the prayer of union and of quiet, when we seem, at the very commencement of our prayer, to find Him with whom we would converse, and when we seem to feel that He hears us by the effects and the spiritual impressions of great love and faith of which we are then conscious, as well as by the good resolutions, accompanied by sweetness, which we then make. This is a great grace from God; and let him to whom He has given it esteem it much, because it is a very high degree of prayer; but it is not vision. God is understood to be present there by the effects He works in the soul: that is the way His Majesty makes His presence felt; but here, in this vision, it is seen clearly that Jesus Christ is present, the Son of the Virgin. In the prayer of union and of quiet, certain inflowings of the Godhead are present; but in the vision, the Sacred Humanity also, together with them, is pleased to be our visible companion, and to do us good.
7. My confessor next asked me, who told me it
was Jesus Christ.
8. There is so much of heaven in this language, that it cannot well be understood on earth, though we may desire ever so much to explain it, if our Lord will not teach it experimentally. Our Lord impresses in the innermost soul that which He wills that soul to understand; and He manifests it there without images or formal words, after the manner of the vision I am speaking of. Consider well this way in which God works, in order that the soul may understand what He means—His great truths and mysteries; for very often what I understand, when our Lord explains to me the vision, which it is His Majesty's pleasure to set before me, is after this manner; and it seems to me that this is a state with which the devil can least interfere, for these reasons; but if these reasons are not good, I must be under a delusion. The vision and the language are matters of such pure spirituality, that there is no toil of the faculties, or of the senses, out of which—so seems to me—the devil can derive any advantage.
9. It is only at intervals, and for an instant, that this
occurs; for generally—so I think—the senses are
10. In the locutions of which I spoke
before,
11. It is impossible to describe the surprise of the soul when it finds that one of these graces is enough to change it utterly, and make it love nothing but Him who, without waiting for anything itself might do, renders it fit for blessings so high, communicates to it His secrets, and treats it with so much affection and love. Some of the graces He bestows are liable to suspicion because they are so marvellous, and given to one who has deserved them so little—incredible, too, without a most lively faith. I intend, therefore, to mention very few of those graces which our Lord has wrought in me, if I should not be ordered otherwise; but there are certain visions of which I shall speak, an account of which may be of some service. In doing so, I shall either dispel his fears to whom our Lord sends them, and who, as I used to do, thinks them impossible, or I shall explain the way or the road by which our Lord has led me; and that is what I have been commanded to describe.
12. Now, going back to speak of this way of
understanding, what it is seems to me to be this: it is our Lord's
will in every way that the soul should have some knowledge of what
passes in heaven; and I think that, as the blessed there without
speech understand one another,—I never knew this for certain till our
Lord of His goodness made me see it; He showed it to me in a
trance,—so is it here: God and the soul understand one another,
merely because His Majesty so wills it, without the help of other
means, to express the love there is between them both. In the same
way on earth, two persons of sound sense, if they love each other
much, can even, without any signs, understand one another only by
their looks. It must be so here, though we do not see how, as these
two lovers earnestly regard each
13. Oh, marvellous goodness of God, in that
Thou permittest eyes which have looked upon so much evil as those of
my soul to look upon Thee! May they never accustom themselves, after
looking on Thee, to look upon vile things again! and may they have
pleasure in nothing but in Thee, O Lord! Oh, ingratitude of men, how
far will it go! I know by experience that what I am saying is true,
and that all we can say is exceedingly little, when we consider what
Thou doest to the soul which Thou hast led to such a state as this. O
souls, you who have begun to pray, and you who possess the true faith,
what can you be in search of even in this life, let alone that which
is for ever, that is comparable to the least of these graces?
Consider, and it is true, that God gives Himself to those who give up
everything for Him. God is not an accepter of
persons.
14. It is a shame! And, in truth, I am
ashamed of
St.
St.
15. Of one thing, however, I will speak, and I
think of it now and then,—may it be the good pleasure of our Lord to
bring me on, so that I may have the fruition of it!—what will be the
accidental glory and the joy of the blessed who have entered on it,
when they see that, though they were late, yet they left nothing
undone which it was possible for them to do for God, who kept nothing
back they could give Him, and who gave what they gave in every way
they could, according to their strength and their measure,—they who
had more gave more. How rich will he be who gave up all his riches
for Christ! How honourable will he be who, for His sake, sought no
honours whatever, but rather took pleasure in seeing himself abased!
How wise he will be who rejoiced when men accounted him as mad!—
St.
Sap. v. 4: "Nos insensati vitam illorum
æstimabamus insaniam."
16. O world, world! how thou art gaining credit because they are few who know thee! But do we suppose that God is better pleased when men account us wise and discreet persons? We think forthwith that there is but little edification given when people do not go about, every one in his degree, with great gravity, in a dignified way. Even in the friar, the ecclesiastic, and the nun, if they wear old and patched garments, we think it a novelty, and a scandal to the weak; and even if they are very recollected and given to prayer. Such is the state of the world, and so forgotten are matters of perfection, and those grand impetuosities of the Saints. More mischief, I think, is done in this way, than by any scandal that might arise if the religious showed in their actions, as they proclaim it in words, that the world is to be held in contempt. Out of scandals such as this, our Lord obtains great fruit. If some people took scandal, others are filled with remorse: anyhow, we should have before us some likeness of that which our Lord and His Apostles endured; for we have need of it now more than ever.
17. And what an excellent likeness in the
person of that blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara, God has just taken
from us! 18th Oct. 1562. As the Saint
finished the first relation of her life in June, 1562, this is one of
the additions subsequently made.
18. He spoke of it to me and to another
person, from whom he kept few or no secrets. As for me, it was the
affection he bore me that led him to speak; for it was our Lord's will
that he should undertake my defence, and encourage me, at a time when
I was in great straits, as I said before, and shall speak of
again.
19. His poverty was extreme; and his mortification, from his youth, was such,—so he told me,—that he was three years in one of the houses of his Order without knowing how to distinguish one friar from another, otherwise than by the voice; for he never raised his eyes: and so, when he was obliged to go from one part of the house to the other, he never knew the way, unless he followed the friars. His journeys, also, were made in the same way. For many years, he never saw a woman's face. He told me that it was nothing to him then whether he saw it or not: but he was an aged man when I made his acquaintance; and his weakness was so great, that he seemed like nothing else but the roots of trees. With all his sanctity, he was very agreeable; though his words were few, unless when he was asked questions; he was very pleasant to speak to, for he had a most clear understanding.
20. Many other things I should like to say of
him, if I were not afraid, my father, that you will say, Why does she
meddle here? and it is in that fear I have written this. So I leave
the subject, only saying that his last end was like his
life—preaching to, and exhorting, his brethren. When he saw that the
end was comes he repeated
the Psalm,
21. Since then, it has pleased our Lord that I
should find more help from him than during his life. He advises me in
many matters. I have often seen him in great glory. The first time
he appeared to me, he said: "O blessed penance, which has merited
so great a reward!" with other things. A year before
See ch. xxx. § 2.
22. Behold here, then, how that life of sharp penance is perfected in such great glory: and now he is a greater comfort to me, I do believe, than he was on earth. Our Lord said to me on one occasion, that persons could not ask Him anything in his name, and He not hear them. I have recommended many things to him that he was to ask of our Lord, and I have seen my petitions granted. God be blessed for ever! Amen.
23. But how I have been talking in order to stir you up never to esteem anything in this life!—as if you did not know this, or as if you were not resolved to leave everything, and had already done it! I see so much going wrong in the world, that though my speaking of it is of no other use than to weary me by writing of it, it is some relief to me that all I am saying makes against myself. Our Lord forgive me all that I do amiss herein; and you too, my father, for wearying you to no purpose. It seems as if I would make you do penance for my sins herein.
Chapter XXVIII.
1. I now resume our subject. I spent some
days, not many, with
that vision
2. It pleased our Lord, one day that I was in prayer, to show me His Hands, and His Hands only. The beauty of them was so great, that no language can describe it. This put me in great fear; for everything that is strange, in the beginning of any new grace from God, makes me very much afraid. A few days later, I saw His divine Face, and I was utterly entranced. I could not understand why our Lord showed Himself in this way, seeing that, afterwards, He granted me the grace of seeing His whole Person. Later on, I understood that His Majesty was dealing with me according to the weakness of my nature. May He be blessed for ever! A glory so great was more than one so base and wicked could bear; and our merciful Lord, knowing this, ordered it in this way.
3. You will think, my father, that it required
no great courage to look upon Hands and Face so beautiful. But so
beautiful are glorified bodies, that the glory which surrounds them
renders those who see that which is so supernatural and beautiful
beside themselves. It was so with me: I was in such great
Philipp. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog.
Mystic. par. 2, tr. 3, disc. iv., art. 8: "Quamvis in principio
visiones a dæmone fictæ aliquam habeant pacem ac dulcedinem, in fine
tamen confusionum et amaritudinem in anima relinquunt; cujus
contrarium est in divinis visionibus, quæ sæpe turbant in principio,
sed semper in fine pacem animæ relinquunt." St. John of
the Cross, Spiritual
Canticle, st. 14, p. 84:
"In the spiritual passage from the sleep of natural ignorance to
the wakefulness of the supernatural understanding, which is the
beginning of trance or ecstasy, the spiritual vision then revealed
makes the soul fear and tremble."
4. On one of the feasts of St. Paul, See ch. xxix. § 4. "The holy Mother, Teresa of
Jesus, had these imaginary visions for many years, seeing our Lord
continually present before her in great beauty, risen from the dead,
with His wounds and the crown of thorns. She had a picture made of
Him, which she gave to me, and which I gave to Don Fernando de Toledo,
Duke of Alva" (Jerome Gratian, Union del
Alma, cap. 5.
Madrid, 1616).
5. This vision, though imaginary, I never saw
with my bodily eyes, nor, indeed, any other, but only with the eyes of
the soul. Those who understand these things better than I do, say
that the intellectual vision is more perfect than this; and this, the
imaginary vision, much more perfect than those
Anton. a Sp.
Sancto, Direct.
Mystic. tr. iii. disp. 5, § I, n. 315: "Visio corporea est infima, visio imaginaria est media,
visio intellectualis est suprema." N. 322: "Apparitio
visibilis, cum sit omnium infima, est magis exposita illusioni
diaboli, nisi forte huic visioni corporali visio intellectualis
adjungatur, ut in apparitione S. Gabrielis archangeli facta
Beatæ Virgini."
6. After the vision was over, it happened that
I too imagined—the thought came at once—I had fancied these things;
so I was distressed, because I had spoken of them to my confessor,
thinking that I might have been deceiving him. There was another
lamentation: I went to my confessor, and told him of my doubts. He
would ask me whether I told him the truth so far as I knew it; or, if
not, had I intended to deceive him? I would reply, that I told the
truth; for, to the best of my belief, I did not lie, nor did I mean
anything of the kind; neither would I tell a lie for the whole
world. See ch. xxx. § 18.
7. But our Lord made such haste to bestow this
grace upon me, and to declare the reality of it, that all doubts of
the vision being a fancy on my part were quickly taken away, and ever
since I see most clearly how silly I was. For if I were to spend many
years in devising how to picture to myself anything so beautiful, I
should never be able, nor even know how, to do it for it is beyond the
reach of any possible imagination here below: the whiteness and
brilliancy alone are inconceivable. It is not a brilliancy
which dazzles,
8. It is like most pellucid water running in a bed of crystal, reflecting the rays of the sun, compared with most muddy water on a cloudy day, flowing on the surface of the earth. Not that there is anything like the sun present here, nor is the light like that of the sun: this light seems to be natural; and, in comparison with it, every other light is something artificial. It is a light which knows no night; but rather, as it is always light, nothing ever disturbs it. In short, it is such that no man, however gifted he may be, can ever, in the whole course of his life, arrive at any imagination of what it is. God puts it before us so instantaneously, that we could not open our eyes in time to see it, if it were necessary for us to open them at all. But whether our eyes be open or shut, it makes no difference whatever; for when our Lord wills, we must see it, whether we will or not. No distraction can shut it out, no power can resist it, nor can we attain to it by any diligence or efforts of our own. I know this by experience well, as I shall show you.
9. That which I wish now to speak of is the
manner in which our Lord manifests Himself in these visions. I do not
mean that I am going to explain how it is that a light so strong can
enter the interior sense, or so distinct an image the understanding,
so as to seem to be really there; for this must be work for learned
men. Our Lord has not been pleased to let me understand how it is. I
am so ignorant myself, and so dull of understanding, that, although
people have very much
10. This is the truth: though you, my father,
may think that I have a quick understanding, it is not so; for I have
found out, in many ways, that my understanding can take in only, as
they say, what is given to it to eat. Sometimes my confessor used to
be amazed at my ignorance: and he never explained to me—nor, indeed,
did I desire to understand—how God did this, nor how it could be.
Nor did I ever ask; though, as I
have said,
11. I will therefore relate what my experience has shown me; but how our Lord brought it about, you, my father, will explain better than I can, and make clear all that is obscure, and beyond my skill to explain. Now and then it seemed to me that what I saw was an image; but most frequently it was not so. I thought it was Christ Himself, judging by the brightness in which He was pleased to show Himself. Sometimes the vision was so indistinct, that I thought it was an image; but still not like a picture, however well painted—and I have seen many good pictures. It would be absurd to suppose that the one bears any resemblance whatever to the other, for they differ as a living person differs from his portrait, which, however well drawn, cannot be lifelike, for it is plain that it is a dead thing. But let this pass, though to the purpose, and literally true.
12. I do not say this by way of comparison,
for comparisons are never exact, but because it is the
13. Here it is plain, O my Jesus, how slight
is the power of all the devils in comparison with Thine, and how he
who is pleasing unto Thee is able to tread all hell under his feet.
Here we see why the devils trembled when Thou didst go down to Limbus,
and why they might have longed for a thousand hells still lower, that
they might escape from Thy terrible Majesty. I see that it is Thy
will the soul should feel the greatness of Thy Majesty, and the power
of Thy most Sacred Humanity, united with Thy Divinity. Here, too, we
see what the day of judgment will be, when we shall behold the King in
His Majesty, and in the rigour of His justice against the wicked.
Here we learn true humility, imprinted in the soul by the sight of its
own wretchedness, of which now it cannot be ignorant. Here, also, is
confusion of face, and true repentance for sins; for though the soul
sees that our
14. My meaning is, that so exceedingly great
is the power of this vision, when our Lord shows the soul much of His
grandeur and majesty, that it is impossible, in my opinion, for any
soul to endure it, if our Lord did not succour it in a most
supernatural way, by throwing it into a trance or ecstasy, whereby the
vision of the divine presence is lost in the fruition thereof. It is
true that afterwards the vision is forgotten; but there remains so
deep an impression of the majesty and beauty of God, that it is
impossible to forget it, except when our Lord is pleased that the soul
should suffer from aridity and desolation, of which I shall speak
hereafter; Ch.
xxx. §§ 9, 10. See St. John of the
Cross, Obscure
Night, bk. ii. ch. 7.
15. This vision is to be esteemed very highly;
nor is there, in my opinion, any risk in it, because the fruits of it
show that the devil has no power here. I think he tried three or four
times to represent our Lord to me, in this way, by a false image of
Him. He
16. Thus, then, as I believe, Satan can do no
harm to anyone who has had experience of these things; for it is the
most impossible of all impossible things that all this may be the work
of the imagination. There is no ground whatever for the supposition;
for the very beauty and whiteness of one of our Lord's
Hands See § 2. § 7, supra.
17. If the vision were the work of a man's own understanding,—setting aside that such a vision would not accomplish the great results of the true one, nor, indeed, any at all,—it would be as the act of one who tries to go to sleep, and yet continues awake, because sleep has not come. He longs for it, because of some necessity or weakness in his head: and so he lulls himself to sleep, and makes efforts to procure it, and now and then thinks he has succeeded; but, if the sleep be not real, it will not support him, nor supply strength to his head: on the contrary, his head will very often be the worse for it. So will it be here, in a measure; the soul will be dissipated, neither sustained nor strengthened; on the contrary, it will be wearied and disgusted. But, in the true vision, the riches which abide in the soul cannot be described; even the body receives health and comfort.
18. I urged this argument, among others, when
they told me that my visions came from the evil one, and that I
imagined them myself,—and it was very often,—and made use of certain
illustrations, as well as I could, and as our Lord suggested to me.
But all was to little purpose; for as there were most holy persons in
the place,—in comparison with whom I was a mass of perdition,—whom
God did not lead by this way, they were at once filled with fear; they
thought it all came through my sins. And so my state was talked
about, and came to the knowledge of many; though I had spoken of it to
no one, except my confessor, or to those to whom he
commanded See ch. xxiii. § 14.
19. I said to them once, If they who thus
speak of my state were to tell me that a person with whom I had just
conversed, and whom I knew well, was not that person, but that I was
deluding myself, and that they knew it, I should certainly trust them
rather than my own eyes. But if that person left with me certain
jewels,—and if, possessing none previously, I held the
20. My confessor, who was, as I said
before, There were in Spain, and
elsewhere, many women who were hypocrites, or deluded. Among others
was the prioress of Lisbon, afterwards notorious, who deceived Luis of
Granada (De la Fuente).
21. It was a providence of God that he was
willing to stand by me and hear my confession. But he was so great a
servant of God, that he would have exposed
Ch.
xxvi. § 5; Inner Fortress, vi. 9, § 7.
22. If he had not been so holy a man, and if our Lord had not been with him, it would have, been impossible for him to bear so much; for he had to answer those who regarded me as one going to destruction; and they would not believe what he said to them. On the other hand, he had to quiet me, and relieve me of my fears; when my fears increased, he had again to reassure me; for, after every vision which was strange to me, our Lord permitted me to remain in great fear. All this was the result of my being then, and of having been, a sinner. He used to console me out of his great compassion; and, if he had trusted to his own convictions, I should not have had so much to suffer; for God revealed the whole truth to him. I believe that he received this light from the Blessed Sacrament.
23. Those servants of God who were not
satisfied had many conversations
with me. See ch. xxv. § 18.
24. I relate this in order that people may see
what a great trial it is not to find any one who knows this way of the
spirit by experience. If our Lord had not dealt so favourably with
me, I know not what would have become of me. There were some things
that were enough to take away my reason; and now and then I was
reduced to such straits that I could do nothing but lift up my eyes to
our Lord. See ch. xxx. § 6.
25. May our Lord grant that I may have pleased His Majesty a little herein; for I am sure that they pleased Him who condemned and rebuked me, and that it was all for my great good.
Chapter XXIX.
1. I have wandered far from the subject; for I undertook to give reasons why the vision was no work of the imagination. For how can we, by any efforts of ours, picture to ourselves the Humanity of Christ, and imagine His great beauty? No little time is necessary, if our conception is in any way to resemble it. Certainly, the imagination may be able to picture it, and a person may for a time contemplate that picture,—the form and the brightness of it,—and gradually make it more perfect, and so lay up that image in his memory. Who can hinder this, seeing that it could be fashioned by the understanding? But as to the vision of which I am speaking, there are no means of bringing it about; only we must behold it when our Lord is pleased to present it before us, as He wills and what He wills; and there is no possibility of taking anything away from it, or of adding anything to it; nor is there any way of effecting it, whatever we may do, nor of seeing it when we like, nor of abstaining from seeing; if we try to gaze upon it—part of the vision in particular—the vision of Christ is lost at once.
2. For two years and a half God granted me this
grace very frequently; but it is now more than three years since He
has taken away from me its continual presence, through another of a
higher nature, as I shall perhaps explain
hereafter.
3. Accordingly, willing or not willing, the vision has nothing to do with it. Our Lord clearly regards nothing but humility and confusion of face, the acceptance of what He wishes to give, and the praise of Himself, the Giver. This is true of all visions without exception: we can contribute nothing towards them—we cannot add to them, nor can we take from them; our own efforts can neither make nor unmake them. Our Lord would have us see most clearly that it is no work of ours, but of His Divine Majesty; we are therefore the less able to be proud of it: on the contrary, it makes us humble and afraid; for we see that, as our Lord can take from us the power of seeing what we would see, so also can He take from us these mercies and His grace, and we may be lost for ever. We must therefore walk in His fear while we are living in this our exile.
4. Our Lord showed Himself to me almost always
as He is after His resurrection. It was the same in the Host; only at
those times when I was in trouble, and when it was His will to
strengthen me, did He show His wounds. Sometimes I saw Him on the
cross, in the Garden, crowned with thorns,—but that was rarely;
sometimes also carrying His cross because of my necessities,—I may
say so,—or those of others; but always in His glorified body. Many
reproaches and many vexations have I borne while telling this—many
suspicions and much persecution also. So
5. Notwithstanding all this, I never could be sorry that I had had these heavenly visions; nor would I exchange even one of them for all the wealth and all the pleasures of the world. I always regarded them as a great mercy from our Lord; and to me they were the very greatest treasure,—of this our Lord assured me often. I used to go to Him to complain of all these hardships; and I came away from prayer consoled, and with renewed strength. I did not dare to contradict those who were trying me; for I saw that it made matters worse, because they looked on my doing so as a failure in humility. I spoke of it to my confessor; he always consoled me greatly when he saw me in distress.
6. As my visions grew in frequency, one of
those who used to help me before—it was to him I confessed when the
father-minister Baltasar Alvarez was
father-minister of the house of St. Giles,
Avila, in whose absence she had recourse to another father of that
house (Ribera, i. ch. 6). Y diese
higas. "Higa es una manera de menosprecio
que hacemos cerrando el puño, y mostrando el dedo pulgar por entre el
dedo indice, y el medio" (Cobarruvias,
in voce). See Book of the
Foundations, ch. viii. § 3, where the Saint refers to this
advice, and to the better advice given her later by F. Dominic Bañes,
one of her confessors. See also Inner Fortress, vi. 9,
§ 7. See ch. xxvii. § 3, and ch. xxviii. § 4.
7. It was to me a most painful thing to make a
show of contempt whenever I saw our Lord in a vision; for when I saw
Him before me, if I were to be cut in pieces, I could not believe it
was Satan. This was to me, therefore, a heavy kind of penance; and
accordingly, that I might not be so continually crossing myself, I
used to hold a crucifix in my hand. This I did almost always; but I
did not always make signs of contempt, because I felt that too much.
It reminded me of the insults which the Jews heaped upon Him; and so I
prayed Him to forgive me, seeing that I did so in obedience to him who
stood in His stead, and not to lay the blame on me, seeing that he was
one of those whom He had placed as His ministers in His Church. He
said to me that I was not to distress myself—that I did well to obey;
but He would make them see the truth of the matter. He seemed to me
to be angry when they made me give up my
prayer.
8. On one occasion, when I was holding in my
hand the cross of my rosary, He took it from me into His
The cross was made of ebony
(Ribera). It is not known where that cross is now. The
Saint gave it to her sister, Doña Juana de Ahumada, who begged it of
her. Some say that the Carmelites of Madrid possess it; and others,
those of Valladolid (De la Fuente).
9. When they had begun to insist on my putting my visions to a test like this, and resisting them, the graces I received were multiplied more and more. I tried to distract myself; I never ceased to be in prayer: even during sleep my prayer seemed to be continual; for now my love grew, I made piteous complaints to our Lord, and told Him I could not bear it. Neither was it in my power—though I desired, and, more than that, even strove—to give up thinking of Him. Nevertheless, I obeyed to the utmost of my power; but my power was little or nothing in the matter; and our Lord never released me from that obedience; but though He bade me obey my confessor, He reassured me in another way, and taught me what I was to say. He has continued to do so until now; and He gave me reasons so sufficient, that I felt myself perfectly safe.
10. Not long afterwards His Majesty began,
according to His promise, to make it clear that it was He Himself who
appeared, by the growth in me of the love of God so strong, that I
knew not who could have infused it; for it was most supernatural, and
I had not attained to it by any efforts of my own. I saw myself dying
with a desire to see God, and I knew not how to
See Relation, i. § 3.
11. It is not possible for any one to understand these impetuosities if he has not experienced them himself. They are not an upheaving of the breast, nor those devotional sensations, not uncommon, which seem on the point of causing suffocation, and are beyond control. That prayer is of a much lower order; and those agitations should be avoided by gently endeavouring to be recollected; and the soul should be kept in quiet. This prayer is like the sobbing of little children, who seem on the point of choking, and whose disordered senses are soothed by giving them to drink. So here reason should draw in the reins, because nature itself may be contributing to it and we should consider with fear that all this may not be perfect, and that much sensuality may be involved in it. The infant soul should be soothed by the caresses of love, which shall draw forth its love in a gentle way, and not, as they say, by force of blows. This love should be inwardly under control, and not as a caldron, fiercely boiling because too much fuel has been applied to it, and out of which everything is lost. The source of the fire must be kept under control, and the flame must be quenched in sweet tears, and not with those painful tears which come out of these emotions, and which do so much harm.
12. In the beginning, I had tears of this kind. They left me with a disordered head and a wearied spirit, and for a day or two afterwards unable to resume my prayer. Great discretion, therefore, is necessary at first, in order that everything may proceed gently, and that the operations of the spirit may be within; all outward manifestations should be carefully avoided.
13. These other impetuosities are very
different. It is not we who apply the fuel; the fire is already
kindled, and we are thrown into it in a moment to be consumed. It is
by no efforts of the soul that it sorrows over the wound which the
absence of our Lord has inflicted on it; it is far otherwise; for an
arrow is driven into the entrails to the very
quick, Inner Fortress, vi.
11, § 2; St. John of the Cross, Spiritual
Canticle, st. 1, p. 22,
Engl. trans. § 10.
14. This pain and bliss together carried me
out of myself, and I never could understand how it was. Oh, what a
sight a wounded soul is!—a soul, I mean, so conscious of it, as to be
able to say of itself that it is wounded for so good a cause; and
seeing distinctly that it never did anything whereby this love should
come to it, and that it does come from that exceeding love which our
Lord bears it. A spark seems to have
15. When these impetuosities are not very violent they seem to admit of a little mitigation—at least, the soul seeks some relief, because it knows not what to do—through certain penances; the painfulness of which, and even the shedding of its blood, are no more felt than if the body were dead. The soul seeks for ways and means to do something that may be felt, for the love of God; but the first pain is so great, that no bodily torture I know of can take it away. As relief is not to be had here, these medicines are too mean for so high a disease. Some slight mitigation may be had, and the pain may pass away a little, by praying God to relieve its sufferings: but the soul sees no relief except in death, by which it thinks to attain completely to the fruition of its good. At other times, these impetuosities are so violent, that the soul can do neither this nor anything else; the whole body is contracted, and neither hand nor foot can be moved: if the body be upright at the time, it falls down, as a thing that has no control over itself. It cannot even breathe; all it does is to moan—not loudly, because it cannot: its moaning, however, comes from a keen sense of pain.
16. Our Lord was pleased that I should have at
times a vision of this kind: I saw an angel close by me, on my left
side, in bodily form. This I am not accustomed to see, unless very
rarely. Though I have visions of angels frequently, yet I see them
only by an intellectual vision, such as I have spoken of
before.[13] In the MS. of the Saint preserved in the Escurial,
the word is "cherubines;" but all the editors before Don
Vicente de la Fuente have adopted the suggestion, in the margin, of
Bañes, who preferred "seraphim." F. Bouix, in his translation, corrected the
mistake; but, with his usual modesty, did not call the reader's
attention to it.
17. I saw in his hand a long spear of gold,
and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared
to me to be thrusting it at times into my
heart, See Relation, viii.
§ 16. "The most probable opinion
is, that the piercing of the heart of the Saint took place in 1559.
The hymn which she composed on that occasion was discovered in Seville
in 1700 ("En las internas entrañas").
On the high altar of the Carmelite church in Alba de Tormes, the heart
of the Saint thus pierced is to be seen; and I have seen it myself
more than once" (De la Fuente).
18. During the days that this lasted, I went
about as if beside myself. I wished to see, or speak with, no one,
but only to cherish my pain, which was to me a greater bliss than all
created things could
give me. Brev. Rom.
in fest. S. Teresiæ, Oct. 15, Lect. v.: "Tanto autem divini amoris incendio cor ejus
conflagravit, ut merito viderit Angelum ignito jaculo sibi præcordia
transverberantem." The Carmelites keep the feast of this
piercing of the Saint's heart on the 27th of August.
19. I was in this state from time to time,
whenever it was our Lord's pleasure to throw me into those deep
Chapter XXX.
1. When I saw that I was able to do little or nothing towards avoiding these great impetuosities, I began also to be afraid of them, because I could not understand how this pain and joy could subsist together. I knew it was possible enough for bodily pain and spiritual joy to dwell together; but the coexistence of a spiritual pain so excessive as this, and of joy so deep, troubled my understanding. Still, I tried to continue my resistance; but I was so little able, that I was now and then wearied. I used to take up the cross for protection, and try to defend myself against Him who, by the cross, is the Protector of us all. I saw that no one understood me. I saw it very clearly myself, but I did not dare to say so to any one except my confessor; for that would have been a real admission that I had no humility.
2. Our Lord was pleased to succour me in a
great measure,—and, for the moment, altogether,—by bringing to the
place where I was that blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara. Of him I
spoke before, and said something of his
penance. Hoja de
lata, "cierta hoja de
hierro muy delgada" (Cobarruvias, Tesoro, in voce).
3. When that widow, the servant of God and my
friend, of whom I have
already spoken, Ch.
xxiv. § 5. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa.
4. I gave him an account, as briefly as I
could, of my life, and of my way of prayer, with the utmost clearness
in my power. I have always held to this, to be perfectly frank and
exact with those to whom I make known the state of my
soul.
5. The light he threw on the matter was of the
clearest; for as to these visions, at least, which were not imaginary,
I could not understand how they could be. And it seemed that I could
not understand, too, how those could be which I saw with the eyes of
the soul; for, as I
said before,
had those very desires which in himself were fulfilled already,—for our Lord had given me very strong desires,—and also how great my resolution was, he delighted in conversing with me.
6. To a person whom our Lord has raised to this
state, there is no pleasure or comfort equal to that of meeting with
another whom our Lord has begun to raise in the same way. At that
time, however, it must have been only a beginning with me, as I
believe; and God grant I may not have gone back now. He was extremely
sorry for me. He told me that one of the greatest trials in this
world was that which I had borne,—namely, the contradiction of good
people, See ch. xxviii. § 24.
7. We made an agreement that I should write to
him and tell him how it fared with me, for the future, and that we
should pray much for each other. Such was his humility, that he held
to the prayers of a wretch like me. It made me very much ashamed of
myself. He left me in the greatest consolation and joy, bidding me
continue my prayer with confidence,
8. I could not give thanks enough to God, and
to my glorious father St. Joseph, who
seemed to me to have brought him here. He was the commissary-general
of the custody A "custody" is a division
of the province, in the Order of St. Francis, comprising a certain number of
convents.
9. I suffered at times—and even still, though not so often—the most grievous trials, together with bodily pains and afflictions arising from violent sicknesses; so much so, that I could scarcely control myself. At other times, my bodily sickness was more grievous; and as I had no spiritual pain, I bore it with great joy: but, when both pains came upon me together, my distress was so heavy, that I was reduced to sore straits.
10. I forgot all the mercies our Lord had shown me, and remembered them only as a dream, to my great distress; for my understanding was so dull, that I had a thousand doubts and suspicions whether I had ever understood matters aright, thinking that perhaps all was fancy, and that it was enough for me to have deceived myself, without also deceiving good men. I
looked upon myself as so wicked as to have been the cause, by my sins, of all the evils and all the heresies that had sprung up. This is but a false humility, and Satan invented it for the purpose of disquieting me, and trying whether he could thereby drive my soul to despair. I have now had so much experience, that I know this was his work; so he, seeing that I understand him, does not torment me in the same way as much as he used to do. That it is his work is clear from the restlessness and discomfort with which it begins, and the trouble it causes in the soul while it lasts; from the obscurity and distress, the aridity and indisposition for prayer and for every good work, which it produces. It seems to stifle the soul and trammel the body, so as to make them good for nothing.
11. Now, though the soul acknowledges itself
to be miserable, and though it is painful to us to see ourselves as we
are, and though we have most deep convictions of our own
wickedness,—deep as those spoken of just
now, § 10.
12. This invention of Satan is one of the most
painful, subtle, and crafty that I have known him to possess; I should
therefore like to warn you, my father, of it, in order that, if Satan
should tempt you herein, you may have some light, and be aware of his
devices, if your understanding should be left at liberty: because you
must not suppose that learning and knowledge are of any use here; for
though I have none of them myself, yet now that I have escaped out of
his hands I see clearly that this is folly. What I understood by it
is this: that it is our Lord's pleasure to give him leave and license,
as He gave him of old to
tempt Job;
13. It happened to me to be tempted once in
this way; and I remember it was on the day before the vigil of Corpus
Christi,—a feast to which I have great devotion, though not so great
as I ought to have. The trial then lasted only till the day of the
feast itself. But, on other occasions, it continued one, two, and
even three weeks and—I know not—perhaps longer. But I was specially
liable to it during the Holy Weeks, when it was my habit to make
prayer my joy. Then the devil seizes on my understanding in a moment;
and occasionally, by means of things so trivial that I should laugh at
them at any other time, he makes it stumble over anything he likes.
The soul, laid in fetters, loses all control over itself, and all
power of thinking of anything but the absurdities he puts before it,
which, being more or less unsubstantial, inconsistent, and
disconnected, serve only to stifle the soul, so that it has no power
over itself; and accordingly—so it seems to me—the devils make a
football of
14. Faith is then as dead, and asleep, like
all the other virtues; not lost, however,—for the soul truly believes
all that the church holds; but its profession of the faith is hardly
more than an outward profession of the mouth. And, on the other hand,
temptations seem to press it down, and make it dull, so that its
knowledge of God becomes to it as that of something which it hears of
far away. So tepid is its love that, when it hears God spoken of, it
listens and believes that He is what He is, because the Church so
teaches; but it recollects nothing of its own former experience.
Vocal prayer or solitude is only a greater affliction, because the
interior suffering—whence it comes, it knows not—is unendurable,
and, as it seems to me, in some measure a counterpart of hell. So it
is, as our Lord showed me in
a vision; See ch. xxxii. § 1, &c.
15. To converse with any one is worse, for the
devil then sends so offensive a spirit of bad temper, that I think I
could eat people up; nor can I help myself. I feel that I do
something when I keep myself under control; or rather our Lord does
so, when He holds back with His hand any one in this state from saying
or doing something that may be hurtful to his neighbours and offensive
to God. Then, as to going to our confessor, that is of no use; for
the certain result is—and very often has it happened to me—what I
shall now describe. Though my confessors, with whom I had to do then,
and have to do still, are so holy, they spoke to me and reproved me
with such harshness, that they were astonished at it afterwards when I
told them of it. They said that they could not help themselves; for,
though they had resolved not to use such language, and though they
pitied me also very much,—yea, even had scruples on the subject,
because of my grievous trials of soul and body,—and were, moreover,
determined to console me, they could not refrain. They did not use
unbecoming words—I mean, words offensive to God; yet their words were
the most offensive that could be borne with in confession. They must
have aimed at mortifying me. At other times, I used to delight in
this, and was prepared to bear it; but it was then a torment
altogether. I used to think, too, that I deceived them; so I went to
them, and cautioned them very earnestly to be on their guard against
me, for it might be that I deceived them. I saw well enough that I
would not do so advisedly, nor tell them an
untruth; See ch. xxviii. § 6.
16. Sometimes, almost always,—at least, very
frequently,—I used to find rest after Communion; now and then, even,
as I drew near to the most Holy Sacrament, all at once my soul and
body would be so well, that I
was amazed. See Way of
Perfection, ch. lxi. § 2; but ch. xxxiv. § 8 of the
earlier editions.
17. On other occasions, if our Lord spoke to
me but one word, saying only, "Be not distressed, have no
fear,"—as I
said before,
18. I used to try exterior good works, in
order to occupy myself partly by violence; and I know well how weak a
soul is when grace is hiding itself. It did not distress me much,
because the sight of my own meanness gave me some satisfaction. On
other occasions, I find myself unable to pray or to fix my thoughts
with any distinctness upon God, or anything that is good, though I may
be alone; but I have a sense that I know Him. It is the understanding
and the imagination, I believe, which hurt me here; for it seems to me
that I have a good will, disposed for all good; but the understanding
is so lost, that it seems to be nothing else but a raving lunatic,
which nobody can restrain, and of which I am not mistress enough to
keep it quiet for
a minute.
19. Sometimes I laugh at myself, and recognise
my wretchedness: I watch my understanding, and leave it alone to see
what it will do. Glory be to God, for a wonder, it never runs on what
is wrong, but only on indifferent things, considering what is going on
here, or there, or elsewhere. I see then, more and more, the
exceeding great mercy of our Lord to me, when He keeps this lunatic
bound in the chains of perfect contemplation. I wonder what would
happen if those people who think I am good knew of my extravagance. I
am very sorry when I see my soul in such bad company; I long to see it
delivered therefrom, and so I say to our Lord: When, O my God, shall I
see my whole soul praising Thee, that it may have the fruition of Thee
in all its faculties? Let me be no longer, O Lord, thus torn to
pieces, and every one of them, as it
20. I dwell much on the harm which original sin has done us; that is, I believe, what has rendered us incapable of the fruition of so great a good. My sins, too, must be in fault; for, if I had not committed so many, I should have been more perfect in goodness. Another great affliction which I suffered was this: all the books which I read on the subject of prayer, I thought I understood thoroughly, and that I required them no longer, because our Lord had given me the gift of prayer. I therefore ceased to read those books, and applied myself to lives of Saints, thinking that this would improve me and give me courage; for I found myself very defective in every kind of service which the Saints rendered unto God. Then it struck me that I had very little humility, when I could think that I had attained to this degree of prayer; and so, when I could not come to any other conclusion, I was greatly distressed, until certain learned persons, and the blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara, told me not to trouble myself about the matter.
21. I see clearly enough that I have not yet begun to serve God, though He showers down upon me those very graces which He gives to many good people. I am a mass of imperfection, except in desire and in love; for herein I see well that our Lord has been gracious to me, in order that I may please Him in some measure. I really think that I love Him; but my conduct, and the many imperfections I discern in myself, make me sad.
22. My soul, also, is subject occasionally to
a certain foolishness,—that is the right name to give it,—when I
seem to be doing neither good nor evil, but following in the wake of
others, as they say, without pain or pleasure, indifferent to life and
death, pleasure and pain. I seem to have no feeling. The soul
seems to
23. It seems to me now like sailing with a
very gentle wind, when one makes much way without knowing how; for in
the other states, so great are the effects, that the soul sees almost
at once an improvement in itself, because the desires instantly are on
fire, and the soul is never satisfied. This comes from those great
impetuosities of love, spoken
of before,
24. I call to remembrance—oh, how
often!—that living water of which our Lord spoke to the Samaritan
woman. That Gospel St.
"Lord, give me this
water" (St.
25. This love is also like a great fire, which requires fuel continually, in order that it may not burn out. So those souls I am speaking of, however much it may cost them, will always bring fuel, in order that the fire may not be quenched. As for me, I should be glad, considering what I am, if I had but straw even to throw upon it. And so it is with me occasionally—and, indeed, very often. At one time, I laugh at myself; and at another, I am very much distressed. The inward stirring of my love urges me to do something for the service of God; and I am not able to do more than adorn images with boughs and flowers, clean or arrange an oratory, or some such trifling acts, so that I am ashamed of myself. If I undertook any penitential practice, the whole was so slight, and was done in such a way, that if our Lord did not accept my good will, I saw it was all worthless, and so I laughed at myself. The failure of bodily strength, sufficient to do something for God, is no light affliction for those souls to whom He, in His goodness, has communicated this fire of His love in its fulness. It is a very good penance; for when souls are not strong enough to heap fuel on this fire, and die of fear that the fire may go out, it seems to me that they become fuel themselves, are reduced to ashes, or dissolved in tears, and burn away: and this is suffering enough, though it be sweet.
26. Let him, then, praise our Lord exceedingly, who has attained to this state; who has received the bodily strength requisite for penance; who has learning, ability, and power to preach, to hear confessions, and to draw souls unto God. Such a one neither knows nor comprehends the blessing he possesses, unless he knows by experience what it is to be powerless to serve God in anything, and at the same time to be receiving much from Him. May He be blessed for ever, and may the angels glorify Him! Amen.
27. I know not if I do well to write so
much in
Chapter XXXI.
1. Now that I have described certain
temptations and troubles, interior and secret, of which Satan was the
cause, I will speak of others which he wrought almost in public, and
in which his presence could not
be ignored.
2. I was once in an oratory, when Satan, in an abominable shape, appeared on my left hand. I looked at his mouth in particular, because he spoke, and it was horrible. A huge flame seemed to issue out of his body, perfectly bright, without any shadow. He spoke in a fearful way, and said to me that, though I had escaped out of his hands, he would yet lay hold of me again. I was in great terror, made the sign of the cross as well as I could, and then the form vanished—but it reappeared instantly. This occurred twice; I did not know what to do; there was some holy water at hand; I took some, and threw it in the direction of the figure, and then Satan never returned.
3. On another occasion, I was tortured
for five
4. I know by frequent experience that there is
nothing which puts the devils to flight like holy water. They run
away before the sign of the cross also, but they return immediately:
great, then, must be the power of holy water. As for me, my soul is
conscious of a special and most distinct consolation whenever I take
it. Indeed, I feel almost always a certain refreshing, which I cannot
describe, together with an inward joy, which comforts my whole soul.
This is no fancy, nor a thing which has occurred once only; for it has
happened very often, and I have watched it very carefully. I may
compare what I feel with that which happens to a person in great heat,
and very thirsty, drinking a cup of cold water—his whole being
5. Another time, and not long ago, the same thing happened to me, though it did not last so long, and I was alone at the moment. I asked for holy water; and they who came in after the devil had gone away,—they were two nuns, worthy of all credit, and would not tell a lie for anything,—perceived a most offensive smell, like that of brimstone. I smelt nothing myself; but the odour lasted long enough to become sensible to them.
6. On another occasion, I was in choir, when,
in a moment, I became profoundly recollected. I went out in order
that the sisters might know nothing of it; yet those who were near
heard the sound of heavy blows where I was, and I heard voices myself,
as of persons in consultation, but I did not hear what they said: I
was so absorbed in prayer that I understood nothing, neither was I at
all afraid. This took place almost always when our Lord was pleased
that some soul or other, persuaded by me, advanced in the
7. There came to me a person who, for two years and a half, had been living in mortal sin of the most abominable nature I ever heard. During the whole of that time, he neither confessed it nor ceased from it; and yet he said Mass. He confessed his other sins but of this one he used to say, How can I confess so foul a sin? He wished to give it up, but he could not prevail on himself to do so. I was very sorry for him, and it was a great grief to me to see God offended in such a way. I promised him that I would pray to God for his amendment, and get others who were better than I to do the same. I wrote to one person, and the priest undertook to get the letter delivered. It came to pass that he made a full confession at the first opportunity; for our Lord God was pleased, on account of the prayers of those most holy persons to whom I had recommended him, to have pity on this soul. I, too, wretched as I am, did all I could for the same end.
8. He wrote to me, and said that he was so far improved, that he had not for some days repeated his sin; but he was so tormented by the temptation, that it seemed to him as if he were in hell already, so great were his sufferings. He asked me to pray to God for him. I recommended him to my sisters, through whose prayers I must have obtained this mercy from our Lord; for they took the matter greatly to heart; and he was a person whom no one could find out. I implored His Majesty to put an end to these torments and temptations, and to let the evil spirits torment me instead, provided I did not offend our Lord. Thus it was that for one month I was most grievously tormented;
and then it was that these two assaults of Satan, of which I have just spoken, took place.
9. Our Lord was pleased to deliver him out of this temptation, so I was informed; for I told him what happened to myself that month. His soul gained strength, and he continued free; he could never give thanks enough to our Lord and to me as if I had been of any service—unless it be that the belief he had that our Lord granted me such graces was of some advantage to him. He said that, when he saw himself in great straits, he would read my letters, and then the temptation left him. He was very much astonished at my sufferings, and at the manner of his own deliverance: even I myself am astonished, and I would suffer as much for many years for the deliverance of that soul. May our Lord be praised for ever! for the prayers of those who serve Him can do great things; and I believe the sisters of this house do serve Him. The devils must have been more angry with me only because I asked them to pray, and because our Lord permitted it on account of my sins. At that time, too, I thought the evil spirits would have suffocated me one night, and when the sisters threw much holy water about I saw a great troop of them rush away as if tumbling over a precipice. These cursed spirits have tormented me so often, and I am now so little afraid of them,—because I see they cannot stir without our Lord's permission,—that I should weary both you, my father, and myself, if I were to speak of these things in detail.
10. May this I have written be of use to the
true servant of God, who ought to despise these terrors, which Satan
sends only to make him afraid! Let him understand that each time we
despise those terrors, their force is lessened, and the soul gains
power over them. There is always some great good obtained; but I will
not speak of it, that I may not be too diffuse. I will speak,
however, of what happened to me once
11. I wish also to relate what follows, for I
was greatly alarmed at it: on Trinity Sunday, in the choir of a
certain monastery, and in a trance, I saw a great fight between evil
spirits and the angels. I could not make out what the vision meant.
In less than a fortnight, it was explained clearly enough by the
dispute that took place between persons given to prayer and many who
were not, which did great harm to that house; for it was a dispute
that lasted long and caused much trouble. On another occasion, I saw
a great multitude of evil spirits round about me, and, at the same
time, a great light, in which I was enveloped, which kept them from
coming near me. I understood it to mean that God was watching over
me, that they might not approach me so as to make me offend Him. I
knew the vision was real by what I saw occasionally in myself. The
fact is, I know now how little power the evil spirits have, provided I
am not out of the grace of God; I have scarcely any fear of them at
all, for their strength is as nothing, if they do not find the souls
they assail give up the contest, and become
12. Now and then, during the temptations I am speaking of, it seemed to me as if all my vanity and weakness in times past had become alive again within me; so I had reason enough to commit myself into the hands of God. Then I was tormented by the thought that, as these things came back to my memory, I must be utterly in the power of Satan, until my confessor consoled me; for I imagined that even the first movement towards an evil thought ought not to have come near one who had received from our Lord such great graces as I had.
13. At other times, I was much tormented—and even now I am tormented—when I saw people make much of me, particularly great people, and when they spake well of me. I have suffered, and still suffer, much in this way. I think at once of the life of Christ and of the Saints, and then my life seems the reverse of theirs, for they received nothing but contempt and ill-treatment. All this makes me afraid; I dare not lift up my head, and I wish nobody saw me at all. It is not thus with me when I am persecuted; then my soul is so conscious of strength, though the body suffers, and though I am in other ways afflicted, that I do not know how this can be; but so it is,—and my soul seems then to be a queen in its kingdom, having everything under its feet.
14. I had such a thought now and then—and,
indeed, for many days together. I regarded it as a sign of virtue and
of humility; but I see clearly now it was nothing else but a
temptation. A Dominican friar, of great learning, showed it to me
very plainly. When I considered that the graces which our Lord had
bestowed upon me might come to the knowledge of the public, my
sufferings became so excessive as greatly to disturb my soul. They
went so far, that I made up my mind, while thinking of it, that I
would rather be buried alive than have these things known.
And so,
15. Once, when I was much distressed at this,
our Lord said to me, What was I afraid of? one of two things must
happen—people would either speak ill of me, or give glory to Him. He
made me understand by this, that those who believed in the truth of
what was going on in me would glorify Him; and that those who did not
would condemn me without cause: in both ways I should be the gainer,
and I was therefore not to
distress myself.
16. This temptation became so excessive, that I wished to leave the house, and take my dower to another monastery, where enclosure was more strictly observed than in that wherein I was at this time. I had heard great things of that other house, which was of the same Order as mine; it was also at a great distance, and it would have been a great consolation to me to live where I was not known; but my confessor would never let me go. These fears deprived me in a great measure of all liberty of spirit; and I understood afterwards that this was not true humility, because it disturbed me so much. And our Lord taught me this truth; if I was convinced, and certainly persuaded, that all that was good in me came wholly and only from God, and if it did not distress me to hear the praises of others,—yea, rather, if I was pleased and comforted when I saw that God was working in them,—then neither should I be distressed if He showed forth His works in me.
17. I fell, too, into another extreme. I
begged of God, and made it a particular subject of prayer, that it
might please His Majesty, whenever any one saw any good in me, that
such a one might also become
Way of Perfection,
ch. lxv. § 2; but ch. xxxvi. of the
previous editions. See ch. x. § 10.
18. All these little fears and distresses, and semblance of humility, I now see clearly were mere imperfections, and the result of my unmortified life; for a soul left in the hands of God cares nothing about evil or good report, if it clearly comprehends, when our Lord is pleased to bestow upon it His grace, that it has nothing of its own. Let it trust the Giver; it will know hereafter why He reveals His gifts, and prepare itself for persecution, which in these times is sure to come, when it is our Lord's will it should be known of any one that He bestows upon him graces such as these; for a thousand eyes are watching that soul, while a thousand souls of another order are observed of none. In truth, there was no little ground for fear, and that fear should have been mine: I was therefore not humble, but a coward; for a soul which God permits to be thus seen of men may well prepare itself to be the world's martyr—because, if it will not die to the world voluntarily, that very world will kill it.
19. Certainly, I see nothing in the world that seems to me good except this, that it tolerates no faults in good people, and helps them to perfection by dint of complaints against them. I mean, that it requires greater courage in one not yet perfect to walk in the way of perfection than to undergo an instant martyrdom; for perfection is not attained to at once, unless our Lord grant that grace by a special privilege: yet the world, when it sees any one beginning to travel on that road, insists on his becoming perfect at once, and a thousand leagues off detects in him a fault, which after all may be a virtue. He who finds fault is doing the very same thing,—but, in his own case, viciously,—and he pronounces it to be so wrong in the other. He who aims at perfection, then, must neither eat nor sleep,—nor, as they say, even breathe; and the more men respect such a one, the more do they forget that he is still in the body; and, though they may consider him perfect, he is living on the earth, subject to its miseries, however much he may tread them under his feet. And so, as I have just said, great courage is necessary here for, though the poor soul have not yet begun to walk, the world will have it fly; and, though its passions be not wholly overcome, men will have it that they must be under restraint, even upon trying occasions, as those of the Saints are, of whom they read, after they are confirmed in grace.
20. All this is a reason for praising God, and also for great sorrow of heart, because very many go backwards who, poor souls, know not how to help themselves; and I too, I believe, would have gone back also, if our Lord had not so mercifully on His part done everything for me. And until He, of His goodness, had done all, nothing was done by me, as you, my father, may have seen already, beyond falling and rising again. I wish I knew how to explain it, because many souls, I believe, delude themselves in this matter; they would fly before God gives them wings.
21. I believe I have made this comparison on
another occasion,
22. I thought a few years ago, not only that I was detached from my kindred, but that they were a burden to me; and certainly it was so, for I could not endure their conversation. An affair of some importance had to be settled, and I had to remain with a sister of mine, for whom I had always before had a great affection. The conversation we had together, though she is better than I am, did not please me; for it could not always be on subjects I preferred, owing to the difference of our conditions—she being married. I was therefore as much alone as I could; yet I felt that her troubles gave me more trouble than did those of my neighbours, and even some anxiety. In short, I found out that I was not so detached as I thought, and that it was necessary for me to flee from dangerous occasions, in order that the virtue which our Lord had begun to implant in me might grow; and so, by His help, I have striven to do from that time till now.
23. If our Lord bestows any virtue upon us, we must make much of it, and by no means run the risk of losing it; so it is in those things which concern our good name, and many other matters. You, my father, must believe that we are not all of us detached, though we think we are; it is necessary for us never to be careless on this point. If any one detects in himself any tenderness about his good name, and yet wishes to advance in the spiritual life, let him believe me and throw this embarrassment behind his back, for it is a chain which no file can sever; only the help of God, obtained by prayer and much striving on his part, can do it. It seems to me to be a hindrance on the road, and I am astonished at the harm it does. I see some persons so holy in their works, and they are so great as to fill people with wonder. O my God, why is their soul still on the earth? Why has it not arrived at the summit of perfection? What does it mean? What keeps him back who does so much for God?
Oh, there it is!—self-respect! and the worst of it is, that these persons will not admit that they have it, merely because Satan now and then convinces them that they are under an obligation to observe it.
24. Well, then, let them believe me: for the love of our Lord, let them give heed to the little ant, who speaks because it is His pleasure. If they take not this caterpillar away, though it does not hurt the whole tree, because some virtues remain, the worm will eat into every one of them. Not only is the tree not beautiful, but it also never thrives, neither does it suffer the others near it to thrive; for the fruit of good example which it bears is not sound, and endures but a short time. I say it again and again, let our self-respect be ever so slight, it will have the same result as the missing of a note on the organ when it is played,—the whole music is out of tune. It is a thing which hurts the soul exceedingly in every way, but it is a pestilence in the way of prayer.
25. Are we striving after union with God? and
do we wish to follow the counsels of Christ,—who was loaded with
reproaches and falsely accused,—and, at the same time, to keep our
own reputation and credit untouched? We cannot succeed, for these
things are inconsistent one with another. Our Lord comes to the soul
when we do violence to ourselves, and strive to give up our rights in
many things. Some will say, I have nothing that I can give up, nor
have I any opportunity of doing so. I believe that our Lord will
never suffer any one who has made so good a resolution as this to miss
so great a blessing. His Majesty will make so many arrangements for
him, whereby he may acquire this virtue,—more frequently, perhaps,
than he will like. Let him put his hand to the work. I speak of the
little nothings and trifles which I gave up when I began—or, at
least, of some of them: the straws which I
said
26. One of my faults was this: I had a very imperfect knowledge of my Breviary and of my duties in choir, simply because I was careless and given to vanities; and I knew the other novices could have taught me. But I never asked them, that they might not know how little I knew. It suggested itself to me at once, that I ought to set a good example: this is very common. Now, however, that God has opened my eyes a little, even when I know a thing, but yet am very slightly in doubt about it, I ask the children. I have lost neither honour nor credit by it—on the contrary, I believe our Lord has been pleased to strengthen my memory. My singing of the Office was bad, and I felt it much if I had not learned the part intrusted to me,—not because I made mistakes before our Lord, which would have been a virtue, but because I made them before the many nuns who heard me. I was so full of my own reputation, that I was disturbed, and therefore did not sing what I had to sing even so well as I might have done. Afterwards, I ventured, when I did not know it very well, to say so. At first, I felt it very much; but afterwards I found pleasure in doing it. So, when I began to be indifferent about its being known that I could not sing well, it gave me no pain at all, and I sang much better. This miserable self-esteem took from me the power of doing that which I regarded as an honour, for every one regards as honourable that which he likes.
27. By trifles such as these, which are nothing,—and I am altogether nothing myself, seeing that this gave me pain,—by little and little, doing such actions, and by such slight performances,—they become of worth because done for God,—His Majesty helps us on towards greater things; and so it happened to me in the matter of humility. When I saw that all the nuns except myself were making great progress,—I
was always myself good for nothing,—I used to fold up their mantles when they left the choir. I looked on myself as doing service to angels who had been there praising God. I did so till they—I know not how—found it out; and then I was not a little ashamed, because my virtue was not strong enough to bear that they should know of it. But the shame arose, not because I was humble, but because I was afraid they would laugh at me, the matter being so trifling.
28. O Lord, what a shame for me to lay bare so
much wickedness, and to number these grains of sand, which yet I did
not raise up from the ground in Thy service without mixing them with a
thousand meannesses! The waters of Thy grace were not as yet flowing
beneath them, so as to make them ascend upwards. O my Creator, oh,
that I had anything worth recounting amid so many evil things, when I
am recounting the great mercies I received at Thy hands! So it is, O
my Lord. I know not how my heart could have borne it, nor how any one
who shall read this can help having me in abhorrence when he sees that
mercies so great had been so ill-requited, and that I have not been
ashamed to speak of these services. Ah! they are only mine, O my
Lord; but I am ashamed I have nothing else to say of myself; and that
it is that makes me speak of these wretched beginnings, in order that
he who has begun more nobly may have hope that our Lord, who has made
much of mine, will make more of his. May it please His Majesty to
give me this grace, that I may not remain for ever at the
beginning! Amen. Don Vicente de la Fuente thinks
the first "Life" ended here; that which follows was written
under obedience to her confessor, F. Garcia of Toledo, and after the
foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph, Avila.
Chapter XXXII.
1. Some considerable time after our Lord had bestowed upon me the graces I have been describing, and others also of a higher nature, I was one day in prayer when I found myself in a moment, without knowing how, plunged apparently into hell. I understood that it was our Lord's will I should see the place which the devils kept in readiness for me, and which I had deserved by my sins. It was but a moment, but it seems to me impossible I should ever forget it even if I were to live many years.
2. The entrance seemed to be by a long narrow pass, like a furnace, very low, dark, and close. The ground seemed to be saturated with water, mere mud, exceedingly foul, sending forth pestilential odours, and covered with loathsome vermin. At the end was a hollow place in the wall, like a closet, and in that I saw myself confined. All this was even pleasant to behold in comparison with what I felt there. There is no exaggeration in what I am saying.
3. But as to what I then felt, I do not know
where to begin, if I were to describe it; it is utterly inexplicable.
I felt a fire in my soul. I cannot see how it is possible to describe
it. My bodily sufferings were unendurable. I have undergone most
painful sufferings in this life, and, as the physicians say, the
greatest that can be borne, such as the contraction of my sinews when
I was paralysed, See ch. v. § 14, ch.
vi. § 1.
4. These sufferings were nothing in comparison with the anguish of my soul, a sense of oppression, of stifling, and of pain so keen, accompanied by so hopeless and cruel an infliction, that I know not how to speak of it. If I said that the soul is continually being torn from the body, it would be nothing, for that implies the destruction of life by the hands of another but here it is the soul itself that is tearing itself in pieces. I cannot describe that inward fire or that despair, surpassing all torments and all pain. I did not see who it was that tormented me, but I felt myself on fire, and torn to pieces, as it seemed to me; and, I repeat it, this inward fire and despair are the greatest torments of all.
5. Left in that pestilential place, and utterly without the power to hope for comfort, I could neither sit nor lie down: there was no room. I was placed as it were in a hole in the wall; and those walls, terrible to look on of themselves, hemmed me in on every side. I could not breathe. There was no light, but all was thick darkness. I do not understand how it is; though there was no light, yet everything that can give pain by being seen was visible.
6. Our Lord at that time would not let me see
more of hell. Afterwards, I had another most fearful vision, in which
I saw the punishment of certain sins. They were most horrible to look
at; but, because I felt none of the pain, my terror was not so great.
In the former vision, our Lord made me really feel those torments, and
that anguish of spirit, just as if I had been suffering them in the
body there. I know not how it was, but I understood distinctly that
it was a great mercy that our Lord would have me see with mine own
eyes the very place from which His compassion saved me. I have
listened to people speaking of these things, and I have
7. I was so terrified by that vision,—and that
terror is on me even now while I am writing,—that, though it took
place nearly six
years ago,
8. Ever since that time, as I was saying, everything seems endurable in comparison with one instant of suffering such as those I had then to bear in hell. I am filled with fear when I see that, after frequently reading books which describe in some manner the pains of hell, I was not afraid of them, nor made any account of them. Where was I? How could I possibly take any pleasure in those things which led me directly to so dreadful a place? Blessed for ever be Thou, O my God! and, oh, how manifest is it that Thou didst love me much more than I did love Thee! How often, O Lord, didst Thou save me from that fearful prison! and how I used to get back to it contrary to Thy will.
9. It was that vision that filled me with the very great distress which I feel at the sight of so many lost souls,—especially of the Lutherans,—for they were once members of the Church by baptism,—and also gave me the most vehement desires for the salvation of souls; for certainly I believe that, to save even one from those overwhelming torments, I would most willingly endure many deaths. If here on earth we see one whom we specially love in great trouble or pain, our very nature seems to bid us compassionate him; and if those pains be great, we are troubled ourselves. What, then, must it be to see a soul in danger of pain, the most grievous of all pains, for ever? Who can endure it? It is a thought no heart can bear without great anguish. Here we know that pain ends with life at last, and that there are limits to it; yet the sight of it moves our compassion so greatly. That other pain has no ending; and I know not how we can be calm, when we see Satan carry so many souls daily away.
10. This also makes me wish that, in a matter
which concerns us so much, we did not rest satisfied with doing less
than we can do on our part,—that we left nothing undone. May our
Lord vouchsafe to give us His grace for that end! When I consider
that, notwithstanding my very great wickedness, I took some pains to
please God, and abstained from certain things which I know the world
makes light of,—that, in short, I suffered grievous infirmities, and
with great patience, which our Lord gave me; that I was not inclined
to murmur or to speak ill of anybody; that I could not—I believe
so—wish harm to any one; that I was not, to the best of my
recollection, either avaricious or envious, so as to be grievously
offensive in the sight of God; and that I was free from many other
faults,—for, though so wicked, I had lived constantly in the fear of
God,—I had to look at the very place which the devils kept ready for
me. It is true that, considering my faults, I had deserved a
still heavier
11. When I had seen this vision, and had learned other great and hidden things which our Lord, of His goodness, was pleased to show me,—namely, the joy of the blessed and the torment of the wicked,—I longed for the way and the means of doing penance for the great evil I had done, and of meriting in some degree, so that I might gain so great a good; and therefore I wished to avoid all society, and to withdraw myself utterly from the world. I was in spirit restless, yet my restlessness was not harassing, but rather pleasant. I saw clearly that it was the work of God, and that His Majesty had furnished my soul with fervour, so that I might be able to digest other and stronger food than I had been accustomed to eat. I tried to think what I could do for God, and thought that the first thing was to follow my vocation to a religious life, which His Majesty had given me, by keeping my rule in the greatest perfection possible.
12. Though in that house in which I then lived
there were many servants of God, and God was greatly served therein,
yet, because it was very poor, the nuns left it very often and went to
other places, where, however, we could serve God in all honour and
observances of religion. The rule also was kept, not in its original
exactness, but according to the custom of the whole Order, authorised
by the Bull of Mitigation. There were other inconveniences also: we
had too many
13. It occurred once to a person with whom I
was speaking to say to me and the others that it was possible to find
means for the foundation of a monastery, if we were prepared to become
nuns like those of the
Barefooted Orders. This was said by Maria de Ocampo,
niece of St. Teresa, then living in the
monastery of the Incarnation, but not a religious; afterwards Maria
Bautista, Prioress of the Carmelites at Valladolid
(Ribera, i. 7). Ch.
xxiv. § 5. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa.
14. One day, after Communion, our Lord commanded me to labour with all my might for this end. He made me great promises,—that the monastery would be certainly built; that He would take great delight therein; that it should be called St. Joseph's;
that St. Joseph would keep guard at one door, and our Lady at the other; that Christ would be in the midst of us; that the monastery would be a star shining in great splendour; that, though the religious Orders were then relaxed, I was not to suppose that He was scantily served in them,—for what would become of the world, if there were no religious in it?—I was to tell my confessor what He commanded me, and that He asked him not to oppose nor thwart me in the matter.
15. So efficacious was the vision, and such was the nature of the words our Lord spoke to me, that I could not possibly doubt that they came from Him. I suffered most keenly, because I saw in part the great anxieties and troubles that the work would cost me, and I was also very happy in the house I was in then; and though I used to speak of this matter in past times, yet it was not with resolution nor with any confidence that the thing could ever be done. I saw that I was now in a great strait; and when I saw that I was entering on a work of great anxiety, I hesitated; but our Lord spoke of it so often to me, and set before me so many reasons and motives, which I saw could not be gainsaid,—I saw, too, that such was His will; so I did not dare do otherwise than put the whole matter before my confessor, and give him an account in writing of all that took place.
16. My confessor did not venture definitely to
bid me abandon my purpose; but he saw that naturally there was no way
of carrying it out; because my friend, who was to do it, had very
little or no means available for that end. He told me to lay the
matter before
my superior, The Provincial of the Carmelites:
F. Angel de Salasar (De la Fuente).
17. As soon as the affair began to be known here, there fell upon us a violent persecution, which cannot be very easily described—sharp sayings and keen jests. People said it was folly in me, who was so well off in my monastery; as to my friend, the persecution was so continuous, that it wearied her. I did not know what to do, and I thought that people were partly in the right. When I was thus heavily afflicted, I commended myself to God, and His Majesty began to console and encourage me. He told me that I could then see what the Saints had to go through who founded the religious Orders: that I had much heavier persecutions to endure than I could imagine, but I was not to mind them. He told me also what I was to say to my friend; and what surprised me most was, that we were consoled at once as to the past, and resolved to withstand everybody courageously. And so it came to pass; for among people of prayer, and indeed in the whole neighbourhood, there was hardly one who was not against us, and who did not think our work the greatest folly.
18. There was so much talking and confusion in
the very monastery wherein I was, that the Provincial began to think
it hard for him to set himself against everybody; so he changed his
mind, and would not acknowledge the new house. He said that the
revenue was not certain, and too little, while the opposition was
great. On the whole, it seemed that he was right; he gave it up at
last, and would have nothing to do
19. She went to a very learned man, and a very
great servant of God, of the Order of St. Dominic,
20. The servant of God told me afterwards that
he had made up his mind to insist on the abandonment of our project,
for he had already heard the popular cry: moreover, he, as everybody
did, thought it folly; and a certain nobleman also, as soon as he knew
that we had gone to him, had sent him word to consider well what he
was doing, and to give us no help; that when he began to consider the
answer he should make us, and to ponder on the matter, the object we
had in view, our manner of life, and the Order, he became convinced
that it was greatly for the service of God, and that we must not give
it up. Accordingly, his answer was that we should make haste to
settle the matter. He told us how and in what way it was to be done;
and if our means were scanty, we must trust somewhat in God. If
anyone made any objections, they were to go to him—he would answer
them; and in this way he always helped us, as I shall show by
and by.
21. This answer was a great comfort to us; so
also was the conduct of certain holy persons who were usually against
us: they were now pacified, and some of them even helped us. One of
them was the
saintly nobleman Gaspar Daza. See ch. xxiii. § 6.
22. When matters had come to this state, and always with the help of many prayers, we purchased a house in a convenient spot; and though it was small, I cared not at all for that, for our Lord had told me to go into it as well as I could,—that I should see afterwards what He would do; and how well I have seen it! I saw, too, how scanty were our means; and yet I believed our Lord would order these things by other ways, and be gracious unto us.
Chapter XXXIII.
1. When the matter was in this state—so near its conclusion, that on the very next day the papers were to be signed—then it was that the Father Provincial changed his mind. I believe that the change was divinely ordered—so it appeared afterwards; for while so many prayers were made, our Lord was perfecting His work and arranging its execution in another way. When the Provincial refused us, my confessor bade me forthwith to think no more of it, notwithstanding the great trouble and distress which our Lord knows it cost me to bring it to this state. When the work was given up and abandoned, people were the more convinced that it was altogether the foolishness of women; and the complaints against me were multiplied, although I had until then this commandment of my Provincial to justify me.
2. I was now very much disliked throughout the whole monastery, because I wished to found another with stricter enclosure. It was said I insulted my sisters; that I could serve God among them as well as elsewhere, for there were many among them much better than I; that I did not love the house, and that it would have been better if I had procured greater resources for it than for another. Some said I ought to be put in prison; others—but they were not many—defended me in some degree. I saw well enough that they were for the most part right, and now and then I made excuses for myself; though, as I could not tell them the chief reason, which was the commandment of our Lord, I knew not what to do, and so was silent.
3. In other respects God was most merciful unto me, for all this caused me no uneasiness; and I gave up our design with much readiness and joy, as if it cost me nothing. No one could believe it, not even those men of prayer with whom I conversed; for they thought I was exceedingly pained and sorry: even my confessor himself could hardly believe it. I had done, as it seemed to me, all that was in my power. I thought myself obliged to do no more than I had done to fulfil our Lord's commandment, and so I remained in the house where I was, exceedingly happy and joyful; though, at the same time, I was never able to give up my conviction that the work would be done. I had now no means of doing it, nor did I know how or when it would be done; but I firmly believed in its accomplishment.
4. I was much distressed at one time by a
letter which my confessor wrote to me, as if I had done anything in
the matter contrary to his will. Our Lord also must have meant that
suffering should not fail me there where I should feel it most; and
so, amid the multitude of my persecutions, when, as it seemed to me,
consolations should have come from my confessor, he told me that I
ought to recognise in the result that
5. Our Lord now showed me what an exceedingly
great blessing it is to be tried and persecuted for His sake; for the
growth of the love of God in my soul, which I now discerned, as well
as of many other virtues, was such as to fill me with wonder. It made
me unable to abstain from desiring trials, and yet those about me
thought I was exceedingly disheartened; and I must have been so, if
our Lord in that extremity had not succoured me with His great
compassion. Now was the beginning of those more violent impetuosities
of the love of God of which I have spoken
before, Pedro Ibañez. See ch. xxxviii. § 15.
6. Satan also contrived now that persons should hear one from another that I had had a revelation in the matter; and people came to me in great terror, saying that the times were dangerous, that something might be laid to my charge, and that I might be taken before the Inquisitors. I heard this with pleasure, and it made me laugh, because I never was afraid of them; for I knew well enough that in matters of faith I would not break the least ceremony of the Church, that I would expose myself to die a thousand times rather than that any one should see me go against it or against any truth of Holy Writ. So I told them I was not afraid of that, for my soul must be in a very bad state if there was anything the matter with it of such a nature as to make me fear the Inquisition; I would go myself and give myself up, if I thought there was anything amiss; and if I should be denounced, our Lord would deliver me, and I should gain much.
7. I had recourse to my Dominican father; for I
could rely upon him, because he was a learned man. I told him all
about my visions, my way of prayer, the great graces our Lord had
given me, as clearly as I could, and I begged him to consider the
matter well, and tell me if there was anything therein at variance
with the Holy Writings, and give me his opinion on the whole matter.
He reassured me much, and, I think, profited himself; for though he
was exceedingly good, yet, from this time forth, he gave himself more
and more to prayer, and retired to a monastery of his Order which was
very lonely, that he might apply himself more effectually to prayer,
where he remained more than two years. He was dragged out of his
solitude by obedience, to his great sorrow: his superiors
8. So, when he came back, his soul had made such great progress, and he was so advanced in the ways of the spirit, that he told me on his return he would not have missed that journey for anything in the world. And I, too, could say the same thing; for where he reassured and consoled me formerly by his mere learning, he did so now through that spiritual experience he had gained of supernatural things. And God, too, brought him here in time; for He saw that his help would be required in the foundation of the monastery, which His Majesty willed should be laid.
9. I remained quiet after this for five or six
months, neither thinking nor speaking of the matter; nor did our Lord
once speak to me about it. I know not why, but I could never rid
myself of the thought that the monastery would be founded. At the end
of that time, the
then Rector Dionisio Vasquez. Of him the
Bollandists say that he was very austere and harsh to his subjects,
notwithstanding his great learning: "homini
egregie docto ac rebus gestis claro, sed in subditos, ut ex historia
Societatis Jesu liquet, valde immiti" (n. 309). Gaspar de Salazar was made rector
of the house in Avila in 1561, therein succeeding Vasquez
(Bollandists, ibid.).
10. One day, when in great distress, because I thought my confessor did not trust me, our Lord said to me, Be not troubled; this suffering will soon be over. I was very much delighted, thinking I should die shortly; and I was very happy whenever I recalled those words to remembrance. Afterwards I saw clearly that they referred to the coming of the rector of whom I am speaking, for never again had I any reason to be distressed. The rector that came never interfered with the father-minister who was my confessor. On the contrary, he told him to console me,—that there was nothing to be afraid of,—and not to direct me along a road so narrow, but to leave the operations of the Spirit of God alone; for now and then it seemed as if these great impetuosities of the spirit took away the very breath of the soul.
11. The rector came to see me, and my confessor bade me speak to him in all freedom and openness. I used to feel the very greatest repugnance to speak of this matter; but so it was, when I went into the confessional, I felt in my soul something, I know not what. I do not remember to have felt so either before or after towards any one. I cannot tell what it was, nor do I know of anything with which I could compare it. It was a spiritual joy, and a conviction in my soul that his soul must understand mine, that it was in unison with it, and yet, as I have said, I knew not how. If I had ever spoken to him, or had heard great things of him, it would have been nothing out of the way that I should rejoice in the conviction that he would understand me; but he had never spoken to me before, nor I to him, and, indeed, he was a person of whom I had no previous knowledge whatever.
12. Afterwards, I saw clearly that my spirit
was not deceived; for my relations with him were in every way of the
utmost service to me and my soul, because his method of direction is
proper for those persons whom our Lord seems to have led far on the
way, seeing that He makes them run, and not to crawl step by step.
His plan is to render them thoroughly detached and mortified, and our
Lord has endowed him with the highest gifts herein as well as in many
other things beside. As soon as I began to have to do with him, I
knew his method at once, and saw that he had a pure and holy soul,
with a special grace of our Lord for the discernment of spirits. He
gave me great consolation. Shortly after I had begun to speak to him,
our Lord began to constrain me to return to the affair of the
monastery, and to lay before my confessor and the father-rector many
reasons and considerations why they should not stand in my way. Some
of these reasons made them afraid, for the father-rector never had a
doubt of its being the work of the Spirit of God, because he regarded
the fruits of it with great care and attention. At last, after much
consideration, they did not dare to
hinder me. St.
Teresa was commanded by our Lord to ask Father Baltasar Alvarez to
make a meditation on
13. My confessor gave me leave to prosecute
the work with all my might. I saw well enough the trouble I exposed
myself to, for I was utterly alone, and able to do so very little. We
agreed that it should be carried on with the utmost secrecy; and so I
contrived that one of
my sisters, The money was a present from her
brother, Don Lorenzo de Cepeda; and the Saint acknowledges the receipt
of it, and confesses the use made of it, in a letter to her brother,
written in Avila, Dec. 31, 1561 (De
la Fuente). One day, she went with her
sister—she was staying in her house—to hear a sermon in the church
of St. Thomas. The zealous preacher
denounced visions and revelations; and his observations were so much
to the point, that there was no need of his saying that they were
directed against St. Teresa, who was
present. Her sister was greatly hurt, and persuaded the Saint to
return to the monastery at once (Reforma, i.
ch. xlii. § 1).
14. Once when I was in one of my difficulties,
not knowing what to do, unable to pay the workmen, St. Joseph, my true father and lord, appeared to
me, and gave me to understand that money would not be wanting, and I
must hire the workmen. So I did, though I was penniless; and our
Lord, in a way that filled those who heard of it with wonder, provided
for me. The house offered me was too small,—so much so, that it
seemed as if it could never be made into a monastery,—and I wished to
buy another, but had not the means, and there was neither way nor
means to do so. I knew not what to do. There was another little
house close to the one we had, which might have formed a small church.
One day, after Communion, our Lord said to me, I have already bidden
thee to go
St.
15. As I was going to Communion on her feast,
St. Clare appeared to me in great beauty,
and bade me take courage, and go on with what I had begun; she would
help me. I began to have a great devotion to St. Clare; and she has so truly kept her word,
that a monastery of nuns of her Order in our neighbourhood helped us
to live; and, what is of more importance, by little and little she so
perfectly fulfilled my desire, that the poverty which the blessed
Saint observes in her own house is observed in this, and we are living
on alms. It cost me no small labour to have this matter settled by
the plenary sanction and authority of the Holy
Father, Pius IV., on Dec. 5, 1562,
(Bouix). See ch. xxxix.
§ 19.
16. On one of these days—it was the Feast of
the Assumption of our Lady—I was in the church of the monastery of
the Order of the glorious St. Dominic,
thinking of the events of my wretched life, and of the many sins which
in times past I had confessed in that
Joseph so distinctly, though I saw clearly that he was there, as in
the visions of which I
spoke before, See ch. xxvii. § 7.
17. When they had been with me for a
while,—I, too, in the greatest delight and joy, greater than I had
ever had before, as I think, and with which I wished never to part,—I
saw them, so it seemed, ascend up to heaven, attended by a great
multitude of angels. I was left in great loneliness, though so
comforted and raised up, so recollected in prayer and softened, that I
was for some time unable to move or speak—being, as it were, beside
myself. I was now possessed by a strong desire to be consumed for the
love of God, and by other affections of the same kind. Everything took
place in such a way that I could never have a doubt—though I often
tried—that the vision came
from God. "Nuestro
Señor," "our Lord," though inserted in the printed
editions after the word "God," is not in the MS., according to Don V. de la Fuente.
18. As to that which the Queen of the Angels spoke about obedience, it is this: it was painful to me not to subject the monastery to the Order, and our Lord had told me that it was inexpedient to do so. He told me the reasons why it was in no wise convenient that I should do it but I must send to Rome in a certain way, which He also explained; He would take care that I found help there: and so I did. I sent to Rome, as our Lord directed me,—for we should never have succeeded otherwise,—and most favourable was the result.
19. And as to subsequent events, it was very
convenient to be under
the Bishop, Don Alvaro de Mendoza, Bishop of Avila, afterwards
of Palencia. See ch. xxxvi. § 15; Way of
Perfection, ch. v. § 10; Foundations, ch. xxxi.
§ 1.
Chapter XXXIV.
1. Now, though I was very careful that no one
should know what we were doing, all this work could not be carried on
so secretly as not to come to the knowledge of divers persons; some
believed, in it, others did not, I was in great fear lest the
Provincial should be spoken to about it when he came, and find himself
compelled to order me to give it up; and if he did so, it would have
been abandoned at once. Our Lord provided against it in this way. In
a large city, more than twenty leagues distant, was a lady in great
distress on account of her
husband's death. Doña Luisa de la Cerda, sister of
the Duke of Medina-Coeli, was now the widow of Arias Pardo, Marshal of
Castille, Lord of Malagon and Paracuellos. Don Arias was nephew
of Cardinal Tabera, Archbishop of Toledo (De
la Fuente).
2. The Provincial sent me an order, charging me in virtue of my obedience to go immediately, with one companion. I knew of it on Christmas night. It caused me some trouble and much suffering to see that they sent for me because they thought there was some good in me; I, knowing myself to be so wicked, could not bear it. I commended myself earnestly to God, and during Matins, or the greater part of them, was lost in a profound trance. Our Lord told me I must go without fail, and give no heed to the opinions of people, for they were few who would not be rash in their counsel; and though I should have troubles, yet God would be served greatly: as to the monastery, it was expedient I should be absent till the Brief came, because Satan had contrived a great plot against the coming of the Provincial; that I was to have no fear,—He would help me. I repeated this to the rector, and he told me that I must go by all means, though others were saying I ought not to go, that it was a trick of Satan to bring some evil upon me there, and that I ought to send word to the Provincial.
3. I obeyed the rector, and went without fear, because of what I had understood in prayer, though in the greatest confusion when I thought of the reasons why they sent for me, and how very much they were deceived. It made me more and more importunate with our Lord that He would not abandon me. It was a great comfort that there was a house of the Society of Jesus there whither I was going, and so I thought I should be in some degree safe under the direction of those fathers, as I had been here.
4. It was the good pleasure of our Lord that
the lady who sent for me should be so much consoled that a visible
improvement was the immediate result she was comforted every day more
and more. This was very remarkable, because, as I said before,
her suffering
5. I derived very great advantages from this, and I said so. I saw that she was a woman, and as much liable to passion and weakness as I was; that rank is of little worth, and the higher it is, the greater the anxiety and trouble it brings. People must be careful of the dignity of their state, which will not suffer them to live at ease; they must eat at fixed hours and by rule, for everything must be according to their state, and not according to their constitutions; and they have frequently to take food fitted more for their state than for their liking.
6. So it was that I came to hate the very wish
to be a great lady. God deliver me from this wicked, artificial
life!—though I believe that this lady, notwithstanding that she was
one of the chief personages of the realm, was a woman of great
simplicity, and that few were more humble than she was. I was very
sorry for her, for I saw how often she had to submit to much that was
disagreeable to her, because of the requirements of her rank. Then,
as to servants, though this
7. It was our Lord's pleasure that the household of that lady improved in the service of His Majesty during my stay there, though I was not exempted from some trials and some jealousies on the part of some of its members, because of the great affection their mistress had for me. They perhaps must have thought I had some personal interest to serve. Our Lord must have permitted such matters, and others of the same kind, to give me trouble, in order that I might not be absorbed in the comforts which otherwise I had there; and He was pleased to deliver me out of it all with great profit to my soul.
8. When I was there, a religious person of
great consideration, and with whom I had conversed occasionally some
years ago, F. Vicente Barron, Dominican (see
ch. v. § 8), according to F. Bouix, on the authority of Ribera and Yepez;
but the Carmelite Father, Fr. Antonio of St. Joseph, in his note on the first Fragment
(Letters, vol. iv. p. 408), says that it was Fr. Garcia
of Toledo, brother of Don Fernando, Duke of Alva; and Don Vicente de
la Fuente thinks the opinion of Fr. Antonio the
more probable.
9. The fact is, that it was not in his power
not to insist, nor in mine, I believe, to refuse to speak; for
notwithstanding all the trouble and shame I used to feel formerly, I
spoke of my state, to him, and to the rector whom I have referred to
before,
10. So it happened with respect to this
religious. He asked me to pray much for him to God. There was no
necessity for his doing so, because I could not do anything else, and
so I went back to my place where I was in the habit of praying alone,
and began to pray to our Lord, being extremely recollected, in that my
simple, silly way, when I speak without knowing very often what I am
saying. It is love that speaks, and my soul is so beside itself, that
I do not regard the
11. Oh, the great goodness and compassion of God! How He regards not the words, but the desire and the will with which they are spoken! How He suffered such a one as I am to speak so boldly before His Majesty! May He be blessed for evermore!
12. I remember that during those hours of
prayer on that very night I was extremely distressed by the thought
whether I was in the grace of God, and that I could never know whether
I was so or not,—not that I wished to know it; I wished, however, to
die, in order that I might not live a life in which I was not sure
that I was not dead in sin, for there could be no death more dreadful
for me than to think that I had sinned against God. I was in great
straits at this thought. I implored Him not to suffer me to fall into
sin, with great sweetness, dissolved in tears. Then I heard that I
might console myself,
and trust Father Bouix says that here the
word "confiar," "trust," in the
printed text, has been substituted by some one for the words "estar cierta," "be certain," which
he found in the MS. But Don Vicente
de la Fuente retains the old reading "confiar," and makes no observation on the
alleged discrepancy between the MS. and the printed text. The observation
of F. Bouix, however, is more important,
and deserves credit,—for Don Vicente may have failed, through mere
inadvertence, to see what F. Bouix saw;
and it is also to be remembered that Don Vicente does not say that the
MS. on this point has been so closely
inspected as to throw any doubt on the positive testimony of F. Bouix. Six years after this note was written
Don Vicente published a facsimile by photography of the original text
in the handwriting of the Saint, preserved in the Escurial. The words
are not "confiar," but "estar cierta."
13. I was now confident that our Lord would
grant my prayer as to that religious. He bade me repeat certain words
to him. This I felt much, because I knew not how to speak to him; for
this carrying messages to a third person, as I have
said,
14. May His Majesty hold him in His hand! If
he will go on—and I trust in our Lord he will do so, now that he is
so well grounded in the knowledge of himself—he will be one of the
most distinguished servants of God, to the great profit of many souls,
because he
15. He must not be astonished at this, nor
think it impossible: all things are possible to our
Lord;
16. Now as to this father I am speaking of, as our Lord has given him light in many things, so has he laboured to find out by study that which in this matter can be by study ascertained; for he is a very learned man, and that of which he has no experience himself he seeks to find out from those who have it,—and our Lord helps him by increasing his faith, and so he has greatly benefited himself and some other souls, of whom mine is one. As our Lord knew the trials I had to undergo, His Majesty seems to have provided that, when He took away unto Himself some of those who directed me, others might remain, who helped me in my great afflictions, and rendered me great services.
17. Our Lord wrought a complete change in this father, so much so that he scarcely knew himself, so to speak. He has given him bodily health, so that he may do penance, such as he never had before; for he was sickly. He has given him courage to undertake good works, with other gifts, so that he seems to have received a most special vocation from our Lord. May He be blessed for ever!
18. All these blessings, I believe, came to
him through the graces our Lord bestowed upon him in prayer; for they
are real. It has been our Lord's pleasure already to try him in
certain difficulties, out of which he has come forth like one who
knows the true worth of that merit which is gained by suffering
persecutions. I trust in the munificence of our Lord that great good
will, by his means, accrue to some of his Order and to the Order
itself. This is beginning to be understood. I have had great visions
on the subject, and our Lord has told me wonderful things of him and
of the Rector of the Society of Jesus, whom I am speaking
of,
19. I was with him once in the parlour, when in my soul and spirit I felt what great love burned within him, and became as it were lost in ecstasy by considering the greatness of God, who had raised that soul in so short a time to a state so high. It made me ashamed of myself when I saw him listen with so much humility to what I was saying about certain matters of prayer, when I had so little myself that I could speak on the subject to one like him. Our Lord must have borne with me in this on account of the great desire I had to see that religious making great progress. My interview with him did me great good,—it seems as if it left a new fire in my soul, burning with desire to serve our Lord as in the beginning. O my Jesus! what is a soul on fire with Thy love! How we ought to prize it, and implore our Lord to let it live long upon earth! He who has this love should follow after such souls, if it be possible.
20. It is a great thing for a person ill of
this disease to find another struck down by it,—it comforts him much
to see that he is not alone; they help one another greatly to suffer
and to merit. They are strong with a double strength who are resolved
to risk a thousand lives for God, and who long for an opportunity of
losing them. They are like soldiers who, to acquire booty, and
therewith enrich themselves, wish for war, knowing well that they
cannot become rich without it. This is their work—to suffer. Oh,
what a blessing it is when our Lord gives light to understand how
great is the gain of suffering for Him! This is never understood till
we have left all things; for if anybody is attached to any one thing,
that is a proof
21. I now return to that which I had begun to speak of. I was in the greatest joy, beholding that soul. It seemed as if our Lord would have me see clearly the treasures He had laid up in it; and so, when I considered the favour our Lord had shown me, in that I should be the means of so great a good, I recognised my own unworthiness for such an end. I thought much of the graces our Lord had given him, and held myself as indebted for them more than if they had been given to myself. So I gave thanks to our Lord, when I saw that His Majesty had fulfilled my desires and heard my petition that He would raise up persons like him. And now my soul, no longer able to bear the joy that filled it, went forth out of itself, losing itself that it might gain the more. It lost sight of the reflections it was making; and the hearing of that divine language which the Holy Ghost seemed to speak threw me into a deep trance, which almost deprived me of all sense, though it did not last long. I saw Christ, in exceeding great majesty and glory, manifesting His joy at what was then passing. He told me as much, and it was His pleasure that I should clearly see that He was always present at similar interviews, and how much He was pleased when people thus found their delight in speaking of Him.
22. On another occasion, when far away from
this place, I saw him carried by angels in great glory. I understood
by that vision that his soul was making great progress: so it was; for
an evil report was spread abroad against him by one to whom he had
rendered a great service, and whose reputation and whose soul he
23. All the prophecies spoken of
before, Ch.
xxx. § 3. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa.
24. One of my
brothers-in-law Don Martin de Guzman y
Barrientos, husband of Maria de Cepeda, the
Saint's sister.
25. I do not think it was quite eight days afterwards when, after Communion, our Lord appeared to me, and was pleased that I should see Him receive my sister into glory. During all those years, after our Lord had spoken to me, until her death, what I then learnt with respect to her was never forgotten either by myself or by my friend, who, when my sister was thus dead, came to me in great amazement at the fulfilment of the prophecy. God be praised for ever, who takes such care of souls that they may not be lost!
Chapter XXXV.
1. When I was staying with this
lady, Maria of Jesus was the daughter of
a Reporter of Causes in the Chancery of Granada; but his name and that
of his wife are not known. Maria married, but became a widow soon
afterwards. She then became a novice in the Carmelite monastery in
Granada, and during her noviciate had revelations, like those of St. Teresa, about a reform of the Order. Her
confessor made light of her revelations, and she then referred them to
F. Gaspar de Salazar, a confessor of St. Teresa, who was then in Granada. He approved
of them, and Maria left the noviciate, and went to Rome with two holy
women of the Order of St. Francis. The
three made the journey on foot, and, moreover, barefooted. Pope Pius
IV. heard her prayer, and, looking at her torn and bleeding feet, said
to her, "Woman of strong courage, let it be as thou wilt."
She returned to Granada, but both the Carmelites and the city refused
her permission to found her house there, and some went so far as to
threaten to have her publicly whipped. Doña Leonor de Mascareñas gave
her a house in Alcala de Henares, of which she took possession Sept.
11, 1562; but the house was formally constituted July 23, 1563, and
subjected to the Bishop ten days after
(Reforma, i. c. 59; and Don
Vicente, vol. i. p. 255). The latter says that the Chronicler
is in error when he asserts that this monastery of Maria of Jesus
was endowed.
2. Until I spoke to her, I never knew that our
rule, before it was mitigated, required of us that we should possess
nothing; The sixth chapter of the rule is:
"Nullus fratrum sibi aliquid proprium, esse dicat,
sed sint vobis omnia communia." See ch. xxxii. § 13. The Constitutions which the Saint
read in the Monastery of the Incarnation must have been the
Constitutions grounded on the Mitigated Rule which was sanctioned by
Eugenius IV. (Romani Pontificis,
A.D. 1432). See Relation, i.
§ 10.
3. As for myself, I never doubted that this was the better part; for I had now for some time wished it were possible in my state to go about begging, for the love of God—to have no house of my own, nor anything else. But I was afraid that others—if our Lord did not give them the same desire—might live in discontent. Moreover, I feared that it might be the cause of some distraction: for I knew some poor monasteries not very recollected, and I did not consider that their not being recollected was the cause of their poverty, and that their poverty was not the cause of their distraction: distraction never makes people richer, and God never fails those who serve Him. In short, I was weak in faith; but not so this servant of God.
4. As I took the advice of many in everything, I found scarcely any one of this opinion—neither my confessor, nor the learned men to whom I spoke of it. They gave me so many reasons the other way, that I did not know what to do. But when I saw what the rule required, and that poverty was the more perfect way, I could not persuade myself to allow an endowment. And though they did persuade me now and then that they were right, yet, when I returned to my prayer, and saw Christ on the cross, so poor and destitute, I could not bear to be rich, and I implored Him with tears so to order matters that I might be poor as He was.
5. I found that so many inconveniences resulted
from an endowment, and saw that it was the cause of so much trouble,
and even distraction, that I did nothing but dispute with the learned.
I wrote to that
6. At this time, because of my entreaties,—for the lady had never seen the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara,—it pleased our Lord to bring him to her house. As he was a great lover of poverty, and had lived in it for so many years, he knew well the treasures it contains, and so he was a great help to me; he charged me on no account whatever to give up my purpose. Now, having this opinion and sanction,—no one was better able to give it, because he knew what it was by long experience,—I made up my mind to seek no further advice.
7. One day, when I was very earnestly
commending the matter to God, our Lord told me that I must by no means
give up my purpose of founding the monastery in poverty; it was His
will, and the will of His Father: He would help me. I was in a
trance; and the effects were such, that I could have no doubt it came
from God. On another occasion, He said to me that endowments bred
confusion, with other things in praise of poverty; and assured me that
whosoever served Him would never be in want of the necessary means of
living: and this want, as I
have said,
8. At this time, my Provincial withdrew the
order and the obedience, in virtue of which I was staying in that
house.
9. When I was rejoicing that I was not in that
trouble, our Lord said to me that I was on no account to keep away;
that as I longed for a cross, there was one ready for me, and that a
heavy one: that I was not to throw it away, but go on with resolution;
He would help me, and I must go at once. I was very much distressed,
and did nothing but weep, because I thought that my cross was to be
the office of prioress; and, as I have just said, I could not persuade
myself that it
10. But our Lord had ordered it otherwise. I had to go at once, because the uneasiness I felt was very great; and I was unable to pray, and thought I was failing in obedience to the commandments of our Lord, and that as I was happy and contented where I was, I would not go to meet trouble. All my service of God there was lip-service: why did I, having the opportunity of living in greater perfection, neglect it? If I died on the road, let me die. Besides, my soul was in great straits, and our Lord had taken from me all sweetness in prayer. In short, I was in such a state of torment, that I begged the lady to let me go; for my confessor, when he saw the plight I was in, had already told me to go, God having moved him as He had moved me. The lady felt my departure very much, and that was another pain to bear; for it had cost her much trouble, and diverse importunities of the Provincial, to have me in her house.
11. I considered it a very great thing for her to have given her consent, when she felt it so much; but, as she was a person who feared God exceedingly,—and as I told her, among many other reasons, that my going away tended greatly to His service, and held out the hope that I might possibly return,—she gave way, but with much sorrow. I was now not sorry myself at coming away, for I knew that it was an act of greater perfection, and for the service of God. So the pleasure I had in pleasing God took away the pain of quitting that lady,—whom I saw suffering so keenly,—and others to whom I owed much, particularly my confessor of the Society of Jesus, in whom I found all I
needed. But the greater the consolations I lost for our Lord's
sake, the greater was my joy in losing them. I could not understand
it, for I had a clear consciousness of these two contrary
feelings—pleasure, consolation, and joy in that which weighed down my
soul with sadness. I was joyful and tranquil, and had opportunities
of spending many hours in prayer; and I saw that I was going to throw
myself into a fire; for our Lord had already told me that I was going
to carry a heavy cross,—though I never thought it would be so heavy
as I afterwards found it to be,—yet I went forth rejoicing. I was
distressed because I had not already begun the fight, since it was our
Lord's will that I should be in it. Thus His Majesty gave me
strength, and established it in
my weakness.
12. As I have just said, I could not understand how this could be. I thought of this illustration: if I were possessed of a jewel, or any other thing which gave me great pleasure, and it came to my knowledge that a person whom I loved more than myself, and whose satisfaction I preferred to my own, wished to have it, it would give me great pleasure to deprive myself of it, because I would give all I possessed to please that person. Now, as the pleasure of giving pleasure to that person surpasses any pleasure I have in that jewel myself, I should not be distressed in giving away that or anything else I loved, nor at the loss of that pleasure which the possession of it gave me. So now, though I wished to feel some distress when I saw that those whom I was leaving felt my going so much, yet, notwithstanding my naturally grateful disposition,—which, under other circumstances, would have been enough to have caused me great pain,—at this time, though I wished to feel it, I could feel none.
13. The delay of another day was so
serious a
See Way of
Perfection, ch. xxii.; but ch. xiii. ed. Doblado. St.
14. O my Lord! how Thou dost show Thy power!
There is no need to seek reasons for Thy will; for with Thee, against
all natural reason, all things are possible: so that thou teachest
clearly there is no need of anything
When the workmen were busy with
the building, a nephew of the Saint, the child of her sister and Don
Juan de Ovalle, was struck by some falling stones and killed. The
workmen took the child to his mother: and the Saint, then in the house
of Doña Guiomar de Ulloa, was sent for. Doña Guiomar took the dead
boy into her arms, gave him to the Saint, saying that it was a
grievous blow to the father and mother, and that she must obtain his
life from God. The Saint took the body, and, laying it in her lap,
ordered those around her to cease their lamentations, of whom her
sister was naturally the loudest, and be silent. Then, covering her
face and her body with her veil, she prayed to God, and God gave the
child his life again. The little boy soon after ran up to his aunt
and thanked her for what she had done. In after years the child used
to say to the Saint that, as she had deprived him of the bliss of
heaven by bringing him back to life, she was bound to see that he did
not suffer loss. Don Gonzalo died three years after St. Teresa, when he was twenty-eight years of age
(Reforma, i. c. 42, § 2).
15. May our Lord of His mercy make us see what
a poor security we have in the midst of dangers so manifest, when we
live like the rest of the world; and that true security consists in
striving to advance in the way of God! Let us fix our eyes upon Him,
and have
Chapter XXXVI.
1. Having now left that
city, See ch. xxxiv. § 2. The Brief was dated
Feb. 7, 1562, the third year of Pius IV. (De
la Fuente). The Brief was addressed to Doña
Aldonza de Guzman, and to Doña Guiomar de Ulloa,
her daughter. St.
Peter of Alcantara. "Truly this is the house of St. Joseph," were the Saint's words when he
saw the rising monastery; "for I see it is the little hospice of
Bethlehem" (De la Fuente). In less than three months,
perhaps; for St. Peter died in the
sixty-third year of his age, Oct. 18, 1562, and in less than
eight weeks after the foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph.
2. Everything was done in the utmost secrecy;
and if it had not been so, I do not see how anything could have been
done at all; for the people of the city were against us, as it
appeared afterwards. Our Lord ordained that one of my
brothers-in-law When he saw that the Saint had
made all her arrangements, he knew the meaning of his illness, and
said to her, "It is not necessary I should be ill any longer"
(Ribera, i. c. 8).
3. I had much trouble in persuading this person
and that to allow the foundation; I had to nurse the sick man, and
obtain from the workmen the hasty preparation of the house, so that it
might have the form of a monastery; but much remained still to be
done. My friend was
not here, Doña Guiomar de Ulloa was now in
her native place, Ciudad Toro.
4. When everything was settled, our Lord was
pleased that some of us should take the habit on St. Bartholomew's Day. The most Holy Sacrament
began to dwell in the house at the same
time. The Mass was said by Gaspar
Daza. See infra, § 18;
Reforma, i. c. xlvi. § 3. The bell which the Saint had
provided for the convent weighed less than three pounds, and remained
in the monastery for a hundred years, till it was sent, by order of
the General, to the monastery of Pastrana, where the general chapters
were held. There the friars assembled at the sound of the bell, which
rang for the first Mass of the Carmelite Reform
(Reforma, i. c. xlvi. § 1). They were Doña Ines and Doña Ana
de Tapia, cousins of the Saint. There were present also Don Gonzalo
de Aranda, Don Francisco Salcedo, Julian of Avila, priest; Doña Juana
de Ahumada, the Saint's sister; with her husband, Juan de Ovalle. The
Saint herself retained her own habit, making no change, because she
had not the permission of her superiors
(Reforma, i. c. xlvi. § 2).
did nothing without the advice of learned men, in order that I
might not break, in a single point, my vow of obedience. As these
persons considered what I was doing to be most advantageous for the
whole Order, on many accounts, they told me—though I was acting
secretly, and taking care my superiors should know nothing—that I
might go on. If they had told me that there was the slightest
imperfection in the whole matter, I would have given up the founding
of a thousand monasteries,—how much more, then, this one! I am
certain of this; for though I longed to withdraw from everything more
and more, and to follow my rule and vocation in the greatest
perfection and seclusion, yet I wished to do so only conditionally:
for if I should have learnt that it would be for the greater honour of
our Lord to abandon it, I would have done so, as I did before on one
occasion,
5. I felt as if I were in bliss, when I saw the
most Holy Sacrament reserved, with four poor
orphans, The first of these was Antonia
de Henao, a penitent of St. Peter of
Alcantara, and who wished to enter a religious house far away from
Avila, her home. St. Peter kept her for
St. Teresa. She was called from this day
forth Antonia of the Holy Ghost. The second was Maria de la Paz,
brought up by Doña Guiomar de Ulloa. Her name was Maria of the Cross.
The third was Ursola de los Santos. She retained her family name as
Ursola of the Saints. It was Gaspar Daza who brought her to the
Saint. The fourth was Maria de Avila, sister of Julian the priest,
and she was called Mary of St. Joseph. It
was at this house, too, that the Saint herself exchanged her ordinary
designation of Doña Teresa de Ahumada for Teresa of Jesus
(Reforma, i. c. xlvi. § 2).
6. When all was done—it might have been about
three or four hours afterwards—Satan returned to the spiritual fight
against me, as I shall now relate. He suggested to me that perhaps I
had been wrong in what I had done; perhaps I had failed in my
obedience, in having brought it about without the commandment of the
Provincial. I did certainly think that the Provincial would be
displeased because I had placed the monastery under the jurisdiction
of the Bishop
7. The devil also would have me ask myself how I could think of shutting myself up in so strict a house, when I was subject to so many infirmities; how could I bear so penitential a life, and leave a house large and pleasant, where I had been always so happy, and where I had so many friends?—perhaps I might not like those of the new monastery; I had taken on myself a heavy obligation, and might possibly end in despair. He also suggested that perhaps it was he himself who had contrived it, in order to rob me of my peace and rest, so that, being unable to pray, I might be disquieted, and so lose my soul. Thoughts of this kind he put before me; and they were so many, that I could think of nothing else; and with them came such distress, obscurity, and darkness of soul as I can never describe. When I found myself in this state, I went and placed myself before the most Holy Sacrament, though I could not pray to Him; so great was my anguish, that I was like one in the agony of death. I could not make the matter known to any one, because no confessor had as yet been appointed.
8. O my God, how wretched is this life! No joy is lasting; everything is liable to change. Only a moment ago, I do not think I would have exchanged my joy with any man upon earth; and the very grounds of that joy so tormented me now, that I knew not what to do with myself. Oh, if we did but consider carefully the events of our life, every one of us would learn from experience how little we ought to make either of its pleasures or of its pains! Certainly this was, I believe, one of the most distressing moments I ever passed in all my life; my spirit seemed to forecast the great sufferings in store for me, though they never were so heavy as this was, if it had continued. But our Lord would not let His poor servant suffer, for in all my troubles He never failed to succour me; so it was now.
He gave me a little light, so that I might see it was the work of the devil, and might understand the truth,—namely, that it was nothing else but an attempt on his part to frighten me with his lies. So I began to call to mind my great resolutions to serve our Lord, and my desire to suffer for His sake; and I thought that if I carried them out, I must not seek to be at rest; that if I had my trials, they would be meritorious; and that if I had troubles, and endured them in order to please God, it would serve me for purgatory. What was I, then, afraid of? If I longed for tribulations, I had them now; and my gain lay in the greatest opposition. Why, then, did I fail in courage to serve One to whom I owed so much?
9. After making these and other reflections, and doing great violence to myself, I promised before the most Holy Sacrament to do all in my power to obtain permission to enter this house, and, if I could do it with a good conscience, to make a vow of enclosure. When I had done this, the devil fled in a moment, and left me calm and peaceful, and I have continued so ever since; and the enclosure, penances, and other rules of this house are to me, in their observance, so singularly sweet and light, the joy I have is so exceedingly great, that I am now and then thinking what on earth I could have chosen which should be more delightful. I know not whether this may not be the cause of my being in better health than I was ever before, or whether it be that our Lord, because it is needful and reasonable that I should do as all the others do, gives me this comfort of keeping the whole rule, though with some difficulty. However, all who know my infirmities, are astonished at my strength. Blessed be He who giveth it all, and in whose strength I am strong!
10. Such a contest left me greatly fatigued,
and laughing at Satan; for I saw clearly it was he. As I have never
known what it is to be discontented because
11. Then, when this was over, I wished to rest
myself a little after our dinner; for during the whole of that night I
had scarcely rested at all, and for some nights previously I had had
much trouble and anxiety, while every day was full of toil; for the
news of what we had done had reached my monastery, and was spread
through the city. There arose a great outcry, for the reasons I
mentioned before,
12. When I came and told the prioress what I had done, she was softened a little. They all sent for the Provincial, and the matter was reserved for him. When he came, I was summoned to judgment, rejoicing greatly at seeing that I had something to suffer for our Lord. I did not think I had offended against His Majesty, or against my Order, in anything I had done;
on the contrary, I was striving with all my might to exalt my Order, for which I would willingly have died,—for my whole desire was that its rule might be observed in all perfection. I thought of Christ receiving sentence, and I saw how this of mine would be less than nothing. I confessed my fault, as if I had been very much to blame; and so I seemed to every one who did not know all the reasons. After the Provincial had rebuked me sharply—though not with the severity which my fault deserved, nor according to the representations made to him—I would not defend myself, for I was determined to bear it all; on the contrary, I prayed him to forgive and punish, and be no longer angry with me.
13. I saw well enough that they condemned me on some charges of which I was innocent, for they said I had founded the monastery that I might be thought much of, and to make myself a name, and for other reasons of that kind. But on other points I understood clearly that they were speaking the truth, as when they said that I was more wicked than the other nuns. They asked, how could I, who had not kept the rule in that house, think of keeping it in another of stricter observance? They said I was giving scandal in the city, and setting up novelties. All this neither troubled nor distressed me in the least, though I did seem to feel it, lest I should appear to make light of what they were saying.
14. At last the Provincial commanded me to explain my conduct before the nuns, and I had to do it. As I was perfectly calm, and our Lord helped me, I explained everything in such a way that neither the Provincial nor those who were present found any reason to condemn me. Afterwards I spoke more plainly to the Provincial alone; he was very much satisfied, and promised, if the new monastery prospered, and the city became quiet, to give me leave to live in it. Now the outcry in the city was very great, as I
am going to tell. Two or three days after this, the governor, certain members of the council of the city and of the Chapter, came together, and resolved that the new monastery should not be allowed to exist, that it was a visible wrong to the state, that the most Holy Sacrament should be removed, and that they would not suffer us to go on with our work.
15. They assembled all the Orders—that is,
two learned men from each—to give their opinion. Some were silent,
others condemned; in the end, they resolved that the monastery should
be broken up.
Only one F. Domingo Bañes, the great
commentator on St. Thomas. On the margin
of the MS., Bañes has with his own
hand written: "This was at the end of August, 1562. I was
present, and gave this opinion. I am writing this in May" (the
day of the month is not legible) "1575, and the mother has now
founded nine monasteries en gran religion"
(De la Fuente). At this time Bañes did not know, and had
never seen, the Saint; he undertook her defence simply because he saw
that her intentions were good, and the means she made use of for
founding the monastery lawful, seeing that she had received the
commandment to do so from the Pope. Bañes testifies thus in the
depositions made in Salamanca in 1591 in the Saint's process. See
vol. ii. p. 376 of Don Vicente's edition.
16. I was no more distressed by what they said of me than if they had said nothing; but I was afraid the monastery would be destroyed: that was painful; so also was it to see those persons who helped me lose their credit and suffer so much annoyance. But as to what was said of myself I was rather glad, and if I had had any faith I should not have been troubled at all. But a slight failing in one virtue is enough to put all the others to sleep. I was therefore extremely distressed during the two days on which those assemblies of which I have spoken were held. In the extremity of my trouble, our Lord said to me: "Knowest thou not that I am the Almighty? what art thou afraid of?" He made me feel assured that the monastery would not be broken up, and I was exceedingly comforted. The informations taken were sent up to the king's council, and an order came back for a report on the whole matter.
17. Here was the beginning of a grand lawsuit:
the city sent delegates to the court, and some must be sent also to
defend the monastery: but I had no money, nor did I know what to do.
Our Lord provided for us for the Father Provincial never ordered me
not to meddle in the matter. He is so great a lover of all that is
good, that, though he did not help us, he would not be against our
work. Neither did he authorise me to enter the house till he saw how
it would end. Those servants of God who were in it were left alone,
and did more by their prayers than I did with all my negotiations,
though the affair needed the utmost attention. Now and then
everything seemed to fail; particularly one day, before the Provincial
came, when the prioress ordered me to meddle no more with it, and to
give it up altogether. I betook myself to God, and said, "O Lord,
this house is not mine; it was founded for Thee; and now that there is
no one to take up the cause, do Thou protect it." I now felt
myself in peace, and as free from anxiety as if the whole world
were on
See Ch. xxxix. § 25.
18. A very great servant of God, and a lover
of all perfection,
a priest Ch.
xxiii. § 6; Gaspar Daza (ibid.).
19. I wondered at what Satan did against a few
poor women, and also how all people thought that merely twelve women,
with a prioress, could be so hurtful to the city,—for they were not
to be more,—I say this to those who opposed us,—and living such
austere lives; for if any harm or error came of it, it would all fall
upon them. Harm to the city there could not be in any way; and yet
the people thought
20. The night before the settlement was to be
made, I was in prayer,—the discussion of the terms of it had already
begun,—when our Lord said to me that I must do nothing of the kind;
for if we began with an endowment, they would never allow us to resign
it. He said some other things also. The same night, the holy friar,
Peter of Alcantara, appeared to me. He was then
dead.
21. At this time I had already seen him twice
since his death, and the great glory he was in, and so I was not
afraid,—on the contrary, I was very glad; for he always appeared as a
glorified body in great happiness, and the vision made me very happy
too. I remember that he told me, the first time I saw him, among
other things, when speaking of the greatness of his joy, that the
penance he had done was a blessed thing for him,
22. After this, another personage—a great servant of God, and with good intentions—came forward, who, now that the matter was in good train, advised us to put it in the hands of learned men. This brought on trouble enough; for some of those who helped me agreed to do so; and this plot of Satan was one of the most difficult of all to unravel. Our Lord was my helper throughout. Writing thus briefly, it is impossible for me to explain what took place during the two years that passed between the beginning and the completion of the monastery: the last six months and the first six months were the most painful.
23. When at last the city was somewhat calm,
the licentiate father, the Dominican
friar "El Padre
Presentado, Dominico. Presentado en algunas Religiones es cierto
titulo de grado que es respeto del Maestro como Licenciado"
(Cobarruvias, in voce Presente). The
father was Fra Pedro Ibañez. See ch.
xxxviii. § 15.
He remained here as long as we wanted him, and on going away he
prevailed, by some means, on the Father Provincial to permit me to
enter this house, and to take with me some of the
nuns From the monastery of the
Incarnation. These were Ana of St. John,
Ana of All the Angels, Maria Isabel, and Isabel of St. Paul. St. Teresa
was a simple nun, living under obedience to the prioress of St. Joseph, Ana of St. John, and intended so to remain. But the
nuns applied to the Bishop of Avila and to the Provincial of the
Order, who, listening to the complaints of the sisters, compelled the
Saint to be their prioress. See Reforma, i. c.
xlix. § 4.
24. While praying in the church, before I went into the house, and being as it were in a trance, I saw Christ; who, as it seemed to me, received me with great affection, placed a crown on my head, and thanked me for what I had done for His Mother. On another occasion, when all of us remained in the choir in prayer after Compline, I saw our Lady in exceeding glory, in a white mantle, with which she seemed to cover us all. I understood by that the high degree of glory to which our Lord would raise the religious of this house.
25. When we had begun to sing the Office, the
people began to have a great devotion to the monastery; more nuns were
received, and our Lord began to stir up those who had been our
greatest persecutors to become great benefactors, and give alms to us.
In this way they came to approve of what they had condemned; and so,
by degrees, they withdrew from the lawsuit, and would say that they
now felt it to be a work of God, since His Majesty had been pleased to
carry it on in the face of so much opposition. And now there is not
one who thinks that it would have been right not to have founded the
monastery: so they make a point of furnishing us with alms; for
without any asking on
26. It is the greatest consolation to me to find myself among those who are so detached. Their occupation is to learn how they may advance in the service of God. Solitude is their delight; and the thought of being visited by any one, even of their nearest kindred, is a trial, unless it helps them to kindle more and more their love of the Bridegroom. Accordingly, none come to this house who do not aim at this; otherwise they neither give nor receive any pleasure from their visits. Their conversation is of God only; and so he whose conversation is different does not understand them, and they do not understand him.
27. We keep the rule of our Lady of Carmel, not the rule of the Mitigation, but as it was settled by Fr. Hugo, Cardinal of Santa Sabina, and given in the year 1248, in the fifth year of the pontificate of Innocent IV., Pope. All the trouble we had to go through, as it seems to me, will have been endured to good purpose.
28. And now, though the rule be somewhat
severe,—for we never eat flesh except in cases of necessity, fast
eight months in the year, and practise some other austerities besides,
according to the
primitive rule, "Jejunium
singulis diebus, exceptis Dominicis, observetis a Festo Exaltationis
Sanctæ Crucis usque ad diem Dominicæ Resurrectionis, nisi infirmitas
vel debilitas corporis, aut alia justa causa, jejunium solvi suadeat;
quia necessitas non habet legem. Ab esu carnium abstineatis, nisi pro
infirmitatis aut debilitatis remedio sint sumantur." That
is the tenth section of the rule.
29. The other house, which the holy woman of
whom I spoke before See ch. xxxv. § 1. Maria of Jesus had
founded her house in Alcala de Henares; but the austerities practised
in it, and the absence of the religious mitigations which long
experience had introduced, were too much for the fervent nuns there
assembled. Maria of Jesus begged Doña Leonor de Mascareñas to
persuade St. Teresa to come to Alcala. The
Saint went to the monastery, and was received there with joy, and even
entreated to take the house under her own government
(Reforma, ii. c. x. §§ 3, 4).
30. I think you must be wearied, my father, by
the tedious history of this monastery; and yet it is most concise, if
you compare it with our labours, and the wonders which our Lord has
wrought here. There are many who can bear witness to this on oath. I
therefore beg of your reverence, for the love of God, should you think
fit to destroy the rest of this my writing, to preserve that part of
it which relates to this monastery, and give it, when I am dead, to
the sisters who may then be living in it. It will encourage them
greatly, who shall come here both to serve God and to labour, that
what has been thus begun may not fall to decay, but ever grow and
thrive, when they see how much our Lord has done through one so mean
and vile as I. As our Lord has been so particularly gracious to us in
the foundation of this house it seems to me that she will do very
wrong, and that she will be heavily chastised of God, who shall be the
first to relax the perfect observance of the rule, which our Lord has
here begun and countenanced, so that it may be kept
31. This is to be the perpetual aim of those who are here, to be alone with Him alone. They are not to be more in number than thirteen: I know this number to be the best, for I have had many opinions about it; and I have seen in my own experience, that to preserve our spirit, living on alms, without asking of anyone, a larger number would be inexpedient. May they always believe one who with much labour, and by the prayers of many people, accomplished that which must be for the best! That this is most expedient for us will be seen from the joy and cheerfulness, and the few troubles, we have all had in the years we have lived in this house, as well as from the better health than usual of us all. If any one thinks the rule hard, let her lay the fault on her want of the true spirit, and not on the rule of the house, seeing that delicate persons, and those not saints,—because they have the true spirit,—can bear it all with so much sweetness. Let others go to another monastery, where they may save their souls in the way of their own spirit.
Chapter XXXVII.
1. It is painful to me to recount more of the
graces which our Lord gave me than these already spoken of; and they
are so many, that nobody can believe they were ever given to one so
wicked: but in obedience
The Saint, having interrupted her
account of her interior life in order to give the history of the
foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph,
Avila,—the first house of the Reformed Carmelites,—here resumes that
account broken off at the end of § 10 of
ch. xxxii.
2. In the first place, it must be understood
that, in those graces which God bestows on the soul, there are diverse
degrees of joy: for in some visions the joy and sweetness and comfort
of them so far exceed those of others, that I am amazed at the
different degrees of fruition even in this life; for it happens that
the joy and consolation which God gives in a vision or a trance are so
different, that it seems impossible for the soul to be able to desire
anything more in this world: and, so, in fact, the soul does not
desire, nor would it ask for, a greater joy. Still, since our Lord
has made me understand how great a difference there is in heaven
itself between the fruition of one and that of another, I see clearly
enough that here also, when our Lord wills, He gives not by
measure;
3. And so I say that if I were asked which I
preferred, to endure all the trials of the world until the end of it,
and then receive one slight degree of glory additional, or without any
suffering of any kind to enter into glory of a slightly lower degree,
I would accept—oh, how willingly!—all those trials for one
4. It is also to be observed that, in every vision or revelation which our Lord in His mercy sent me, a great gain accrued to my soul, and that in some of the visions this gain was very great. The vision of Christ left behind an impression of His exceeding beauty, and it remains with me to this day. One vision alone of Him is enough to effect this; what, then, must all those visions have done, which our Lord in His mercy sent me? One exceedingly great blessing has resulted therefrom, and it is this,—I had one very grievous fault, which was the source of much evil; namely, whenever I found anybody well disposed towards myself, and I liked him, I used to have such an affection for him as compelled me always to remember and think of him, though I had no intention of offending God: however, I was pleased to see him, to think of him and of his good qualities. All this was so hurtful, that it brought my soul to the very verge of destruction.
5. But ever since I saw the great
beauty
6. This has happened to me with some of my
confessors, for I always have a great affection for those who have the
direction of my soul. As I really saw in them only the
representatives of God, I thought my will was always there where it is
most occupied; and as I felt very safe in the matter, I always showed
myself glad to see them. See ch. xl. § 24; Way of
Perfection, ch. vii. § 1; but ch. iv. of the
previous editions.
7. My love of, and trust in, our Lord, after I
had seen Him in a vision, began to grow, for my converse
8. O King of glory, and Lord of all kings! oh,
how Thy kingly dignity is not hedged about by trifles of this kind!
Thy kingdom is for ever. We do not require chamberlains to introduce
us into Thy presence. The very vision of Thy person shows us at once
that Thou alone art to be called Lord. Thy Majesty is so manifest
that there is no need of a retinue or guard to make us confess that
Thou art King. An earthly king without attendants would be hardly
acknowledged; and though he might wish ever so much to be recognised,
people will not own him when he appears as others; it is necessary
that his dignity should be visible, if people are to believe in it.
This is reason enough why kings should affect so much state; for if
they had none, no one would respect them; this their
9. O my Lord! O my King! who can describe Thy Majesty? It is impossible not to see that Thou art Thyself the great Ruler of all, that the beholding of Thy Majesty fills men with awe. But I am filled with greater awe, O my Lord, when I consider Thy humility, and the love Thou hast for such as I am. We can converse and speak with Thee about everything whenever we will; and when we lose our first fear and awe at the vision of Thy Majesty, we have a greater dread of offending Thee,—not arising out of the fear of punishment, O my Lord, for that is as nothing in comparison with the loss of Thee!
10. Thus far of the blessings of this vision,
without speaking of others, which abide in the soul when it is past.
If it be from God, the fruits thereof show it, when the soul receives
light; for, as I have
often said, See ch. xx. § 14.
11. It is only just now it happened to me to
be for eight days in a state wherein it seemed that I did not, and
could not, confess my obligations to God, or remember His mercies; but
my soul was so stupefied, and occupied with I know not what nor how:
not that I had any bad thoughts; only I was so incapable of good
thoughts, that I was laughing at myself, and even rejoicing to see how
mean a soul can be if God is not always working in
it. See ch. xxx. § 19.
12. I believe that now the best course is to
be absolutely resigned, confessing that we can do nothing, and so
apply ourselves—as I
said before See ch. xxx. §§ 18, 25.
13. It is true I have this day been rejoicing in our Lord, and have dared to complain of His Majesty. I said unto Him: How is it, O my God, that it is not enough for Thee to detain me in this wretched life, and that I should have to bear with it for the love of Thee, and be willing to live where everything hinders the fruition of Thee; where, besides, I must eat and sleep, transact business, and converse with every one, and all for Thy love? how is it, then,—for Thou well knowest, O my Lord, all this to be the greatest torment unto me,—that, in the rare moments when I am with Thee, Thou hidest Thyself from me? How is this consistent with Thy compassion? How can that love Thou hast for me endure this? I believe, O Lord, if it were possible for me to hide myself from Thee, as Thou hidest Thyself from me—I think and believe so—such is Thy love, that Thou wouldest not endure it at my hands. But Thou art with me, and seest me always. O my Lord, I beseech Thee look to this; it must not be; a wrong is done to one who loves Thee so much.
14. I happened to utter these words, and
others of the same kind, when I should have been thinking rather how
my place in hell was pleasant in comparison with the place I deserved.
But now and then my love makes me foolish, so that I lose my senses;
only it is
15. Can we be thus bold with the kings of this world? And yet I am not surprised that we dare not thus speak to a king, for it is only reasonable that men should be afraid of him, or even to the great lords who are his representatives. The world is now come to such a state, that men's lives ought to be longer than they are if we are to learn all the new customs and ceremonies of good breeding, and yet spend any time in the service of God. I bless myself at the sight of what is going on. The fact is, I did not know how I was to live when I came into this house. Any negligence in being much more ceremonious with people than they deserve is not taken as a jest; on the contrary, they look upon it as an insult deliberately offered; so that it becomes necessary for you to satisfy them of your good intentions, if there happens, as I have said, to have been any negligence; and even then, God grant they may believe you.
16. I repeat it,—I certainly did not know how to live; for my poor soul was worn out. It is told to employ all its thoughts always on God, and that it is necessary to do so if it would avoid many dangers. On the other hand, it finds it will not do to fail in any one point of the world's law, under the penalty of affronting those who look upon these things as touching their honour. I was worn out in unceasingly giving satisfaction to people; for, though I tried my utmost, I could not help failing in many ways in matters which, as I have said, are not slightly thought of in the world.
17. Is it true that in religious houses no
explanations are necessary, for it is only reasonable we should be
excused these observances? Well, that is not so; for there are people
who say that monasteries ought to be courts in politeness and
instruction. I certainly cannot understand it. I thought that
perhaps some
18. I know not where this will stop: I am not yet fifty, and yet I have seen so many changes during my life, that I do not know how to live. What will they do who are only just born, and who may live many years? Certainly I am sorry for those spiritual people who, for certain holy purposes, are obliged to live in the world; the cross they have to carry is a dreadful one. If they could all agree together, and make themselves ignorant, and be willing to be considered so in these sciences, they would set themselves free from much trouble. But what folly am I about! from speaking of the greatness of God I am come to speak of the meanness of the world! Since our Lord has given me the grace to quit it, I wish to leave it altogether. Let them settle these matters who maintain these follies with so much labour. God grant that in the next life, where there is no changing, we may not have to pay for them! Amen.
Chapter XXXVIII.
1. One night I was so unwell that I thought I might be excused making my prayer; so I took my rosary, that I might employ myself in vocal prayer, trying not to be recollected in my understanding, though outwardly I was recollected, being in my oratory. These little precautions are of no use when our Lord will have it otherwise. I remained there but a few moments thus, when I was rapt in spirit with such violence that I could make no resistance whatever. It seemed to me that I was taken up to heaven; and the first persons I saw there were my father and my mother. I saw other things also; but the time was no longer than that in which the Ave Maria might be said, and I was amazed at it, looking on it all as too great a grace for me. But as to the shortness of the time, it might have been longer, only it was all done in a very short space.
2. I was afraid it might be an illusion; but as I did not think so, I knew not what to do, because I was very much ashamed to go to my confessor about it. It was not, as it seemed to me, because I was humble, but because I thought he would laugh at me, and say: Oh, what a St. Paul!—she sees the things of heaven; or a St. Jerome. And because these glorious Saints had had such visions, I was so much the more afraid, and did nothing but cry; for I did not think it possible for me to see what they saw. At last, though I felt it exceedingly, I went to my confessor; for I never dared to keep secret anything of this kind, however much it distressed me to speak of them, owing to the great fear I had of being deceived. When my confessor saw how much I was suffering, he consoled me greatly, and gave me plenty of good reasons why I should have no fear.
3. It happened, also, as time went on, and it happens now from time to time, that our Lord showed me still greater secrets. The soul, even if it would, has neither the means not the power to see more than what He shows it; and so, each time, I saw nothing more than what our Lord was pleased to let me see. But such was the vision, that the least part of it was enough to make my soul amazed, and to raise it so high that it esteems and counts as nothing all the things of this life. I wish I could describe, in some measure, the smallest portion of what I saw; but when I think of doing it, I find it impossible; for the mere difference alone between the light we have here below, and that which is seen in a vision,—both being light,—is so great, that there is no comparison between them; the brightness of the sun itself seems to be something exceedingly loathsome. In a word, the imagination, however strong it may be, can neither conceive nor picture to itself this light, nor any one of the things which our Lord showed me in a joy so supreme that it cannot be described; for then all the senses exult so deeply and so sweetly that no description is possible; and so it is better to say nothing more.
4. I was in this state once for more than an
hour, our Lord showing me wonderful things. He seemed as if He would
not leave me. He said to me, "See, My daughter, what they lose
who are against Me; do not fail to tell them of it." Ah, my Lord,
how little good my words will do them, who are made blind by their own
conduct, if Thy Majesty will not give them light! Some, to whom Thou
hast given it, there are, who have profited by the knowledge of Thy
greatness; but as they see it revealed to one so wicked and base as I
am, I look upon it as a great thing if there should be any found to
believe me. Blessed be Thy name, and blessed be Thy compassion; for I
can trace, at least in my own soul, a visible improvement. Afterwards
I wished I had continued in that trance for ever, and
5. When I was staying with that lady of whom I
have been speaking, Ch.
xxxiv. Doña Luisa de la Cerda, at Toledo.
6. A soul in this state attains to a certain freedom, which is so complete that none can understand it who does not possess it. It is a real and true detachment, independent of our efforts; God effects it all Himself; for His Majesty reveals the truth in such a way, that it remains so deeply impressed on our souls as to make it clear that we of ourselves could not thus acquire it in so short a time.
7. The fear of death, also, was now very slight
in me, who had always been in great dread of it; now it seems to me
that death is a very light thing for one who serves God, because the
soul is in a moment delivered thereby out of its prison, and at rest.
This elevation of the spirit, and the vision of things so high, in
these trances seem to me to have a great likeness to the flight of the
soul from the body, in that it finds itself in a moment in the
possession of these good things. We put aside the agonies of its
dissolution, of which no great
8. It seems to me, also, that the rapture was a
great help to recognise our true home, and to see that we are pilgrims
here;
9. In a word, it is a very great mercy which
our Lord gives to that soul to which He grants the like visions, for
they help it in much, and also in carrying a heavy cross, since
nothing satisfies it, and everything is against it; and if our Lord
did not now and then suffer these visions to be forgotten, though they
recur again and again to the memory, I know not how life could be
borne. May He be blessed and praised for
10. The mercies, then, hitherto described, are not, in my opinion, so great as those which I am now going to speak of, on many accounts, because of the great blessings they have brought with them, and because of the great fortitude which my soul derived from them; and yet every one separately considered is so great, that there is nothing to be compared with them.
11. One day—it was the eve of Pentecost—I
went after Mass to a very lonely spot, where I used to pray very
often, and began to read about the feast in the book of a
Carthusian;
12. While thinking of these things, my soul was carried away with extreme violence, and I knew not why. It seemed as if it would have gone forth out of the body, for it could not contain itself, nor was it able to hope for so great a good. The impetuosity was so excessive that I had no power left, and, as I think, different from what I had been used to. I knew not what ailed my soul, nor what it desired, for it was so changed. I leaned for support, for I could not sit, because my natural strength had utterly failed.
13. Then I saw over my head a dove, very different from those we usually see, for it had not the same plumage, but wings formed of small shells shining brightly. It was larger than an ordinary dove; I thought I heard the rustling of its wings. It hovered above me during the space of an Ave Maria. But such was the state of my soul, that in losing itself it lost also the sight of the dove. My spirit grew calm with such a guest; and yet, as I think, a grace so wonderful might have disturbed and frightened it; and as it began to rejoice in the vision, it was delivered from all fear, and with the joy came peace, my soul continuing entranced. The joy of this rapture was exceedingly great; and for the rest of that festal time I was so amazed and bewildered that I did not know what I was doing, nor how I could have received so great a grace. I neither heard nor saw anything, so to speak, because of my great inward joy. From that day forth I perceived in myself a very great progress in the highest love of God, together with a great increase in the strength of my virtues. May He be blessed and praised for ever! Amen.
14. On another occasion I saw that very dove above the head of one of the Dominican fathers; but it seemed to me that the rays and brightness of the wings were far greater. I understood by this that he was to draw souls unto God.
15. At another time I saw our Lady putting
a cope
F. Pedro Ibañez. See ch. xxxiii. § 5, ch. xxxvi. § 23. "This father died Prior of Trianos," is
written on the margin of the MS. by
F. Bañes (De la Fuente). St.
Joseph, Avila, where St. Teresa was living
at this time. See below, § 41.
16. Since then he has appeared to me more than once in exceedingly great glory, and told me certain things. He was so given to prayer, that when he was dying, and would have interrupted it if he could because of his great weakness, he was not able to do so; for he was often in a trance. He wrote to me not long before he died, and asked me what he was to do; for as soon as he had said Mass he fell into a trance which lasted a long time, and which he could not hinder. At last God gave him the reward of the many services of his whole life.
17. I had certain visions, too, of the great
graces which our Lord bestowed upon that rector of the Society of
Jesus, of whom I have spoken already more than
once; F.
Gaspar de Salazar: see ch. xxxiii. §
9, ch. xxxiv. § 2. It appears
from the 179th letter of the Saint (lett. 20, vol. i. of the Doblado
edition) that F. Salazar was reported to
his Provincial, F. Juan Suarez, as having
desire to quit the Society for the Carmelite Order.
18. I have seen great things of members of the Order to which this father belongs, which is the Society of Jesus, and of the whole Order itself; I have occasionally seen them in heaven with white banners in their hands, and I have had other most wonderful visions, as I am saying, about them, and therefore have a great veneration for this Order; for I have had a great deal to do with those who are of it, and I see that their lives are conformed to that which our Lord gave me to understand about them.
19. One night, when I was in prayer, our Lord spoke to me certain words, whereby He made me remember the great wickedness of my past life. They filled me with shame and distress; for though they were not spoken with severity, they caused a feeling and a painfulness which were too much for me: and we feel that we make greater progress in the knowledge of ourselves when we hear one of these words, than we can make by a meditation of many days on our own misery, because these words impress the truth upon us at the same time in such a way that we cannot resist it. He set before me the former inclinations of my will to vanities, and told me to make much of the desire I now had that my will, which had been so ill employed, should be fixed on Him, and that He would accept it.
20. On other occasions He told me to
remember how
21. To return to what I was speaking of. When our Lord made me remember my wicked life, I wept; for as I considered that I had then never done any good, I thought He might be about to bestow upon me some special grace; because most frequently, when I receive any particular mercy from our Lord, it is when I have been previously greatly humiliated, in order that I may the more clearly see how far I am from deserving it. I think our Lord must do it for that end.
22. Almost immediately after this I was so
raised up in spirit that I thought myself to be, as it were, out of
the body; at least, I did not know that I was living in
it.
23. I have had this vision on three
other occasions,
24. I must have spoken now and then of the
effects of visions, See ch.
xxviii.
25. O my Lord! ah, if Thou didst not throw a veil over Thy greatness, who would dare, being so foul and miserable, to come in contact with Thy great Majesty? Blessed be Thou, O Lord; may the angels and all creation praise Thee, who orderest all things according to the measure of our weakness, so that, when we have the fruition of Thy sovereign mercies, Thy great power may not terrify us, so that we dare not, being a frail and miserable race, persevere in that fruition!
26. It might happen to us as it did to the labourer—I know it to be a certain fact—who found a treasure beyond his expectations, which were mean. When he saw himself in possession of it, he was seized with melancholy, which by degrees brought him to his grave through simple distress and anxiety of mind, because he did not know what to do with his treasure. If he had not found it all at once, and if others had given him portions of it by degrees, maintaining him thereby, he might have been more happy than he had been in his poverty, nor would it have cost him his life.
27. O Thou Treasure of the poor! how marvellously Thou sustainest souls, showing to them, not all at once, but by little and little, the abundance of Thy riches! When I behold Thy great Majesty hidden beneath that which is so slight as the Host is, I am filled with wonder, ever since that vision, at Thy great wisdom; and I know not how it is that our Lord gives me the strength and courage necessary to draw near to him, were it not that He who has had such compassion on me, and still has, gives me strength, nor would it be possible for me to be silent, or refrain from making known marvels so great.
28. What must be the thoughts of a wretched
person such as I am, full of abominations, and who has spent her life
with so little fear of God, when she draws near to our Lord's great
Majesty, at the moment He is pleased to show Himself to my soul? How
can I open my mouth, that has uttered so many words against Him, to
receive that most glorious Body, purity and compassion itself? The
love that is visible in His most beautiful Face, sweet and tender,
pains and distresses the soul, because it has not served Him, more
than all the terrors of His Majesty. What should have been my
thoughts, then, on those two occasions when I saw what I have
described? Truly, O my Lord and my joy, I am going to say that in
some way, in these great afflictions of my soul, I have
done something
The biographers of the Saint say
that she often found, on returning from an ecstasy, certain passages
written, but not by herself; this seems to be alluded to here
(De la Fuente).
29. Once, when I was going to Communion, I saw
with the eyes of the soul, more distinctly than with those of the
body, two devils of most hideous shape; their horns seemed to
encompass the throat of the poor priest; and I beheld my Lord, in that
great majesty of which I
have spoken, § 22. St.
John of the Cross, Ascent
of Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. xxvi. vol. i.
p. 183.
30. Our Lord Himself told me to pray for that
priest; that He had allowed this in order that I might understand the
power of the words of consecration, and how God failed not to be
present, however wicked the priest might be who uttered them; and that
I might see His great goodness in that He left Himself
31. At another time I had a vision of a different kind, which frightened me very much. I was in a place where a certain person died, who as I understood had led a very bad life, and that for many years. But he had been ill for two years, and in some respects seemed to have reformed. He died without confession; nevertheless, I did not think he would be damned. When the body had been wrapped in the winding-sheet, I saw it laid hold of by a multitude of devils, who seemed to toss it to and fro, and also to treat it with great cruelty. I was terrified at the sight, for they dragged it about with great hooks. But when I saw it carried to the grave with all the respect and ceremoniousness common to all, I began to think of the goodness of God, who would not allow that person to be dishonoured, but would have the fact of his being His enemy concealed.
32. I was almost out of my senses at the sight. During the whole of the funeral service, I did not see one of the evil spirits. Afterwards, when the body was about to be laid in the grave, so great a multitude of them was therein waiting to receive it, that I was beside myself at the sight, and it required no slight courage on my part not to betray my distress. I thought of the treatment which that soul would receive, when the devils had such power over the wretched body. Would to God that all who live in mortal sin might see what I then saw,—it was a fearful sight; it would go, I believe, a great way towards making them lead better lives.
33. All this made me know more of what I owe to God, and of the evils from which He has delivered me. I was in great terror. I spoke of it to my confessor, and I thought it might be an illusion of Satan, in order to take away my good opinion of that person, who yet was not accounted a very good Christian. The truth is, that, whether it was an illusion or not, it makes me afraid whenever I think of it.
34. Now that I have begun to speak of the visions I had concerning the dead, I will mention some matters which our Lord was pleased to reveal to me in relation to certain souls. I will confine myself to a few for the sake of brevity, and because they are not necessary; I mean that they are not for our profit. They told me that one who had been our Provincial—he was then of another province—was dead. He was a man of great virtue, with whom I had had a great deal to do, and to whom I was under many obligations for certain kindnesses shown me. When I heard that he was dead, I was exceedingly troubled, because I trembled for his salvation, seeing that he had been superior for twenty years. That is what I dread very much; for the cure of souls seems to me to be full of danger. I went to an oratory in great distress, and gave up to him all the good I had ever done in my whole life,—it was little enough,—and prayed our Lord that His merits might fill up what was wanting, in order that this soul might be delivered up from purgatory.
35. While I was thus praying to our Lord as
well as I could, he seemed to me to rise up from the depths of the
earth on my right hand, and I saw him ascend to heaven in exceeding
great joy. He was a very old man then, but I saw him as if he were
only thirty years old, and I thought even younger, and there was a
brightness in his face. This vision passed away very quickly; but I
was so exceedingly comforted by it, that I could never again mourn his
death, although
36. I had this vision about a fortnight after he was dead; nevertheless, I did not omit to obtain prayers for him and I prayed myself, only I could not pray with the same earnestness that I should have done if I had not seen that vision. For when our Lord showed him thus to me, it seemed to me afterwards, when I prayed for him to His Majesty,—and I could not help it,—that I was like one who gave alms to a rich man. Later on I heard an account of the death he died in our Lord—he was far away from here; it was one of such great edification, that he left all wondering to see how recollected, how penitent, and how humble he was when he died.
37. A nun, who was a great servant of God,
died in this house. On the next day one of the sisters was reciting
the lesson in the Office of the Dead, which was said in choir for that
nun's soul, and I was standing myself to assist her in singing the
versicle, when, in the middle of the lesson, I saw the departed nun as
I believe, in a vision; her soul seemed to rise on my right hand like
the soul of the Provincial, and ascend to heaven. This vision was not
imaginary, like the preceding, but like those others of which I have
spoken before; See ch.
xxvii.
38. Another nun died in this same house of
mine, she was about eighteen or twenty years of age, and had always
been sickly. She was a great servant of God, attentive in choir, and
a person of great virtue. I certainly thought that she would not go
to purgatory, on account of her exceeding merits, because the
infirmities under which she had laboured were many. While I was
saying the Office, before she was buried,—
39. I was once in one of the colleges of the
Society of Jesus, and in one of those great sufferings which, as I
have said,
40. Another brother of our Order, a good friar, was very ill; and when I was at Mass, I became recollected and saw him dead, entering into heaven without going through purgatory. He died, as I afterwards learned, at the very time of my vision. I was amazed that he had not gone to purgatory. I understood that, having become a friar and carefully kept the rule, the Bulls of the Order had been of use to him, so that he did not pass into purgatory. I do not know why I came to have this revealed to me; I think it must be because I was to learn that it is not enough for a man to be a friar in his habit—I mean, to wear the habit—to attain to that state of high perfection which that of a friar is.
41. I will speak no more of these things,
because as I have
just said, § 34. § 15. Fr.
Pedro Ibañez.
Chapter XXXIX.
1. I was once importuning our Lord exceedingly to restore the sight of a person who had claims upon me, and who was almost wholly blind. I was very sorry for him, and afraid our Lord would not hear me because of my sins. He appeared to me as at other times, and began to show the wound in His left hand; with the other He drew out the great nail that was in it, and it seemed to me that, in drawing the nail, He tore the flesh. The greatness of the pain was manifest, and I was very much distressed thereat. He said to me, that He who had borne that for my sake would still more readily grant what I asked Him, and that I was not to have any doubts about it. He promised me there was nothing I should ask that He would not grant; that He knew I should ask nothing that was not for His glory, and that He would grant me what I was now praying for. Even during the time when I did not serve Him, I should find, if I considered it, I had asked nothing that He had not granted in an ampler manner than I had known how to ask; how much more amply still would He grant what I asked for, now that He knew I loved Him! I was not to doubt. I do not think that eight days passed before our Lord restored that person to sight. My confessor knew it forthwith. It might be that it was not owing to my prayer; but, as I had had the vision, I have a certain conviction that it was a grace accorded to me. I gave thanks to His Majesty.
2. Again, a person was exceedingly ill of a
most painful disease; but, as I do not know what it was, I do not
describe it by its name here. What he had gone
Ch.
xxxiii. § 10. F. Gaspar de Salazar.
3. I was once in the deepest distress, because
I knew that a person to whom I was under great obligations was about
to commit an act highly offensive to God and dishonourable to himself.
He was determined upon it. I was so much harassed by this that I did
not know what to do in order to change his purpose; and it seemed to
me as if nothing could be done. I implored God, from the bottom of my
heart, to find a way to hinder it; but till I found it I could find no
relief for the pain I felt. In my distress, I went to a very lonely
hermitage,—one of those belonging to this monastery,—in which there
is a picture of Christ bound to the pillar; and there, as I was
imploring our Lord to grant me this grace, I heard a voice of
exceeding gentleness, speaking, as it were, in a
whisper.
4. When my fears had subsided, and that was
immediately, I became conscious of an inward calmness, a joy and
delight, which made me marvel how the mere hearing a voice,—I heard
it with my bodily ears,—without understanding a word, could have such
an effect on the soul. I saw by this that my prayer was
5. I knew of a person who had resolved to serve God in all earnestness, and had for some days given himself to prayer, in which he bad received many graces from our Lord, but who had abandoned his good resolutions because of certain occasions of sin in which he was involved, and which he would not avoid; they were extremely perilous. This caused me the utmost distress, because the person was one for whom I had a great affection, and one to whom I owed much. For more than a month I believe I did nothing else but pray to God for his conversion. One day, when I was in prayer, I saw a devil close by in a great rage, tearing to pieces some paper which he had in his hands. That sight consoled me greatly, because it seemed that my prayer had been heard. So it was, as I learnt afterwards; for that person had made his confession with great contrition, and returned to God so sincerely, that I trust in His Majesty he will always advance further and further. May He be blessed for ever! Amen.
6. In answer to my prayers, our Lord has very often rescued souls from mortal sins and led others on to greater perfection. But as to the delivering of souls out of purgatory, and other remarkable acts, so many are the mercies of our Lord herein, that were I to speak of them I should only weary myself and my reader. But He has done more by me for the salvation of souls than for the health of the body. This is very well known, and there are many to bear witness to it.
7. At first it made me scrupulous, because I
could not help thinking that our Lord did these things in answer to my
prayer; I say nothing of the chief reason of all—His pure compassion.
But now these graces are so many, and so well known to others, that
it gives
8. But what amazes me most is this: however
much I may wish to pray for those graces which our Lord sees not to be
expedient, I cannot do it; and if I try, I do so with little
earnestness, force, and spirit: it is impossible to do more, even if I
would. But it is not so as to those which His Majesty intends to
grant. These I can pray for constantly, and with great importunity;
though I do not carry them in my memory, they seem to present
themselves to me
at once. See St.
John of the Cross, Ascent
of Mount Carmel, bk. iii. ch. i, p. 210).
9. There is a great difference between these two ways of praying, and I know not how to explain it. As to the first, when I pray for those graces which our Lord does not mean to grant,—even though they concern me very nearly,—I am like one whose tongue is tied; who, though he would speak, yet cannot; or, if he speaks, sees that people do not listen to him. And yet I do not fail to force myself to pray, though not conscious of that fervour which I have when praying for those graces which our Lord intends to give. In the second case, I am like one who speaks clearly and intelligibly to another, whom he sees to be a willing listener.
10. The prayer that is not to be heard is, so
to speak, like vocal prayer; the other is a prayer of contemplation so
high that our Lord shows Himself in such a way as to make us feel He
hears us, and that He delights in our prayer, and that He is about to
grant our petition. Blessed be He for ever who gives me so much and
to whom I give so little! For what is he worth, O my Lord, who does
not utterly abase himself to nothing for Thee? How much, how much,
how much,—I might say so a thousand times,—I fall short of this! It
is on this account that I do not wish
11. When I was staying in the house of that
lady of whom I have
spoken before,
12. But, O my God, how is it that we too often
judge even spiritual things, as we do those of the world, by our own
understanding, wresting them grievously
13. I am certainly convinced that he will not remain under this delusion who possesses the gift of discerning spirits, and to whom our Lord has given real humility; for such a one will judge of them by the fruits, by the good resolutions and love,—and our Lord gives him light to understand the matter; and herein He regards the progress and advancement of souls, not the years they may have spent in prayer; for one person may make greater progress in six months than another in twenty years, because, as I said before, our Lord gives to whom He will, particularly to him who is best disposed.
14. I see this in certain persons of tender years who have come to this monastery,—God touches their hearts, and gives them a little light and love. I speak of that brief interval in which He gives them sweetness in prayer, and then they wait for nothing further, and make light of every difficulty, forgetting the necessity even of food; for they shut themselves up for ever in a house that is unendowed, as persons who make no account of their life, for His sake, who, they know, loves them. They give up everything, even their own will; and it never enters into their mind that they might be discontented in so small a house, and where enclosure is so strictly observed. They offer themselves wholly in sacrifice to God.
15. Oh, how willingly do I admit that they are
better than I am! and how I ought to be ashamed of
16. I wish, therefore, we reminded ourselves of those long years which have gone by since we made our religious profession. I say this to those persons, also, who have given themselves long ago to prayer, but not for the purpose of distressing those who in a short time have made greater progress than we have made, by making them retrace their steps, so that they may proceed only as we do ourselves. We must not desire those who, because of the graces God has given them, are flying like eagles, to become like chickens whose feet are tied. Let us rather look to His Majesty, and give these souls the reins, if we see that they are humble; for our Lord, who has had such compassion upon them, will not let them fall into the abyss.
17. These souls trust themselves in the hands of God, for the truth, which they learn by faith, helps them to do it; and shall not we also trust them to Him, without seeking to measure them by our measure which is that of our meanness of spirit? We must not do it; for if we cannot ascend to the heights of their great love and courage,—without experience none can comprehend them—let us humble ourselves, and not condemn them; for, by this seeming regard to their progress, we hinder our own, and miss the opportunity our Lord gives us to humble ourselves, to ascertain our own shortcomings, and learn how much more detached and more near to God these souls must be than we are, seeing that His Majesty draws so near to them Himself.
18. I have no other intention here, and I wish to have no other, than to express my preference for the prayer that in a short time results in these great effects, which show themselves at once; for it is impossible they should enable us to leave all things only to please God, if they were not accompanied with a vehement love. I would rather have that prayer than that which lasted many years, but which at the end of the time, as well as at the beginning, never issued in a resolution to do anything for God, with the exception of some trifling services, like a grain of salt, without weight or bulk, and which a bird might carry away in its mouth. Is it not a serious and mortifying thought that we are making much of certain services which we render our Lord, but which are too pitiable to be considered, even if they were many in number? This is my case, and I am forgetting every moment the mercies of our Lord. I do not mean that His Majesty will not make much of them Himself, for He is good; but I wish I made no account of them myself, or even perceived that I did them, for they are nothing worth.
19. But, O my Lord, do Thou forgive me, and blame me not, if I try to console myself a little with the little I do, seeing that I do not serve Thee at all; for if I rendered Thee any great services, I should not think of these trifles. Blessed are they who serve Thee in great deeds; if envying these, and desiring to do what they do, were of any help to me, I should not be so far behind them as I am in pleasing Thee; but I am nothing worth, O my Lord; do Thou make me of some worth, Thou who lovest me so much.
20. During one of those days, when this
monastery, which seems to have cost me some labour, was fully founded
by the arrival of the Brief from Rome, which empowered us to live
without an endowment; See ch. xxxiii. § 15.
21. I say, then, there is danger in counting the years we have given to prayer; for, granting that there is nothing in it against humility, it seems to me to imply something like an appearance of thinking that we have merited, in some degree, by the service rendered. I do not mean that there is no merit in it at all, nor that it will not be well rewarded; yet if any spiritual person thinks, because he has given himself to prayer for many years, that he deserves any spiritual consolations, I am sure he will never attain to spiritual perfection. Is it not enough that a man has merited the protection of God, which keeps him from committing those sins into which he fell before he began to pray, but he must also, as they say, sue God for His own money?
22. This does not seem to me to be deep
humility, and yet it may be that it is; however, I look on it as
23. I do not mean that the soul makes no
progress in time, or that God will not reward it, if its prayer has
been humble; but I do mean that we should forget the number of years
we have been praying, because all that we can do is utterly worthless
in comparison with one drop of blood out of those which our Lord shed
for us. And if the more we serve Him, the more we become His debtors,
what is it, then, we are asking for? for, if we pay one farthing of
the debt, He gives us back a thousand ducats. For the love of God,
let us leave these questions alone, for they belong to Him.
Comparisons are always bad, even in earthly things; what, then, must
they be in that, the knowledge of which God has reserved to Himself?
His Majesty showed this clearly enough, when those who came late and
those who came early to His vineyard received the
same wages. St.
24. I have sat down so often to write, and
have been so many days writing these three leaves,—for, as I have
said, The Saint had this vision when she
was in the house of Doña Luisa de la Cerda in Toledo, and it was
fulfilled in the opposition she met with in the foundation of St. Joseph of Avila. See ch. xxxvi. § 18.
25. I was in prayer, and saw myself on a wide
plain all alone. Round about me stood a great multitude of all kinds
of people, who hemmed me in on every side; all of them seemed to have
weapons of war in their hands, to hurt me; some had spears, others
swords; some had daggers, and others very long rapiers. In short, I
could not move away in any direction without
26. At first the vision seemed to have no results; but it has been of the greatest help to me, since I understood what it meant. Not long afterwards, I saw myself, as it were, exposed to the like assault, and I saw that the vision represented the world, because everything in it takes up arms against the poor soul. We need not speak of those who are not great servants of our Lord, nor of honours, possessions, and pleasures, with other things of the same nature; for it is clear that the soul, if it be not watchful, will find itself caught in a net,—at least, all these things labour to ensnare it; more than this, so also do friends and relatives, and—what frightens me most—even good people. I found myself afterwards so beset on all sides, good people thinking they were doing good, and I knowing not how to defend myself, nor what to do.
27. O my God, if I were to say in what way,
and in how many ways, I was tried at that time, even after that trial
of which I have just spoken, what a warning I should be giving to men
to hate the whole world utterly! It was the greatest of all the
persecutions I had to undergo. I saw myself occasionally so hemmed in
on every side, that I could do nothing else but lift up my eyes to
heaven, and cry
unto God.
28. On one occasion I was exceedingly disquieted and troubled, unable to recollect myself, fighting and struggling with my thoughts, running upon matters which did not relate to perfection; and, moreover, I did not think I was so detached from all things as I used to be. When I found myself in this wretched state, I was afraid that the graces I had received from our Lord were illusions, and the end was that a great darkness covered my soul. In this my distress our Lord began to speak to me: He bade me not to harass myself, but learn, from the consideration of my misery, what it would be if He withdrew Himself from me, and that we were never safe while living in the flesh. It was given me to understand how this fighting and struggling are profitable to us, because of the reward, and it seemed to me as if our Lord were sorry for us who live in the world. Moreover, He bade me not to suppose that He had forgotten me; He would never abandon me, but it was necessary I should do all that I could myself.
29. Our Lord said all this with great tenderness and sweetness; He also spoke other most gracious words, which I need not repeat. His Majesty, further showing His great love for me, said to me very often: "Thou art Mine, and I am thine." I am in the habit of saying myself, and I believe in all sincerity: "What do I care for myself?—I care only for Thee, O my Lord."
30. These words of our Lord, and the
consolation He gives me, fill me with the utmost shame, when I
remember what I am. I have said it before,
I think,
and I still say now and then to my confessor, that it requires greater courage to receive these graces than to endure the heaviest trials. When they come, I forget, as it were, all I have done, and there is nothing before me but a picture of my wretchedness, and my understanding can make no reflections; this, also, seems to me at times to be supernatural.
31. Sometimes I have such a vehement longing for Communion; I do not think it can be expressed. One morning it happened to rain so much as to make it seem impossible to leave the house. When I had gone out, I was so beside myself with that longing, that if spears had been pointed at my heart, I should have rushed upon them; the rain was nothing. When I entered the church I fell into a deep trance, and saw heaven open—not a door only, as I used to see at other times. I beheld the throne which, as I have told you, my father, I saw at other times, with another throne above it, whereon, though I saw not, I understood by a certain inexplicable knowledge that the Godhead dwelt.
32. The throne seemed to me to be supported by
certain animals; I believe I saw the form of them: I thought they
might be the Evangelists. But how the throne was arrayed, and Him who
sat on it I did not see, but only an exceedingly great multitude of
angels, who seemed to me more beautiful, beyond all comparison, than
those I had seen in heaven. I thought they were, perhaps, the
seraphim or cherubim, for they were very different in their glory, and
seemingly all on fire. The difference is great, as I said
before;
could understand nothing, and see how everything was nothing in comparison with that. So it was; my soul afterwards was vexed to see that it could rest on any created thing: how much more, then, if it had any affection thereto; for everything seemed to me but an ant-hill. I communicated, and remained during Mass. I know not how it was: I thought I had been but a few minutes, and was amazed when the clock struck; I had been two hours in that trance and joy.
33. I was afterwards amazed at this fire,
which seems to spring forth out of the true love of God; for though I
might long for it, labour for it, and annihilate myself in the effort
to obtain it, I can do nothing towards procuring a single spark of it
myself, because it all comes of the good pleasure of His Majesty, as I
said on
another occasion.
34. Once, when I was doubting, as I said just
now, § 28.
35. He gave me also to understand that, when
such and so many persons had told me the visions were from God, I
should do wrong if I did not
believe them.
36. Once, when I was reciting the psalm Quicumque vult,
37. One day—it was the Feast of the
Assumption of the Queen of the Angels, and our Lady—our Lord was
pleased to grant me this grace. In a trance He made me behold her
going up to heaven, the joy and solemnity of her reception there, as
well as the place where she now is. To describe it is more than I can
do; the joy that filled my soul at the sight of such great glory was
excessive. The effects of the vision were great; it made me long to
endure still greater
38. Once, in one of the colleges of the Society of Jesus, when the brothers of the house were communicating, I saw an exceedingly rich canopy above their heads. I saw this twice; but I never saw it when others were receiving Communion.
Chapter XL.
1. One day, in prayer, the sweetness of which
was so great that, knowing how unworthy I was of so great a blessing,
I began to think how much I had deserved to be in that place which I
had seen prepared for me in hell,—for, as I said
before, St.
2. Our Lord be praised, so I found it; for after this vision I look upon everything which does not tend to the service of God as vanity and lies. I cannot tell how much I am convinced of this, nor how sorry I am for those whom I see living in darkness, not knowing the truth. I derived other great blessings also from this, some of which I will here speak of, others I cannot describe.
3. Our Lord at the same time uttered a special word of most exceeding graciousness. I know not how it was done, for I saw nothing; but I was filled, in a way which also I cannot describe, with exceeding strength and earnestness of purpose to observe with all my might everything contained in the divine writings. I thought that I could rise above every possible hindrance put in my way.
4. Of this divine truth, which was put before me I know not how, there remains imprinted within me a truth—I cannot give it a name—which fills me with a new reverence for God; it gives me a notion of His Majesty and power in a way which I cannot explain. I can understand that it is something very high. I had a very great desire never to speak of anything but of those deep truths which far surpass all that is spoken of here in the world,—and so the living in it began to be painful to me.
5. The vision left me in great tenderness, joy,
and humility. It seemed to me, though I knew not how, that our Lord
now gave me great things; and I had no suspicion whatever of any
illusion. I saw nothing; but I understood how great a blessing it is
to make no account of anything which does not lead us nearer
6. All this I am speaking of I learnt at times by means of words uttered; at other times I learnt some things without the help of words, and that more clearly than those other things which were told me in words. I understood exceedingly deep truths concerning the Truth, more than I could have done through the teaching of many learned men. It seems to me that learned men never could have thus impressed upon me, nor so clearly explained to me, the vanity of this world.
7. The Truth of which I am speaking, and which I was given to see, is Truth Itself, in Itself. It has neither beginning nor end. All other truths depend on this Truth, as all other loves depend on this love, and all other grandeurs on this grandeur. I understood it all, notwithstanding that my words are obscure in comparison with that distinctness with which it pleased our Lord to show it to me. What think you must be the power of His Majesty, seeing that in so short a time it leaves so great a blessing and such an impression on the soul? O Grandeur! Majesty of mine! what is it Thou art doing, O my Lord Almighty! Consider who it is to whom Thou givest blessings so great! Dost Thou not remember that this my soul has been an abyss of lies and a sea of vanities, and all my fault? Though Thou hadst given me a natural hatred of lying yet I did involve myself in many lying ways. How is this, O my God? how can it be that mercies and graces so great should fall to the lot of one who has so ill deserved them at Thy hands?
8. Once, when I was with the whole community
reciting the Office, my soul became suddenly recollected, and seemed
to me all bright as a mirror, clear behind, sideways, upwards, and
downwards; and in the centre
9. I understood by it, that, when a soul is in mortal sin, this mirror becomes clouded with a thick vapour, and utterly obscured, so that our Lord is neither visible nor present, though He is always present in the conservation of its being. In heretics, the mirror is, as it were, broken in pieces, and that is worse than being dimmed. There is a very great difference between seeing this and describing it, for it can hardly be explained. But it has done me great good; it has also made me very sorry on account of those times when I dimmed the lustre of my soul by my sins, so that I could not see our Lord.
10. This vision seems to me very profitable to
recollected persons, to teach them to look upon our Lord as being in
the innermost part of their soul. It is a method of looking upon Him
which penetrates us more thoroughly, and is much more fruitful, than
that of looking upon Him as external to us, as I have said
elsewhere, "Ecce quantum
spatiatus sum in memoria mea quærens Te, Domine; et non Te inveni
extra eam. . . . Ex quo didici Te, manes in memoria mea, et illic Te
invenio cum reminiscor Tui et delector in Te"
(Confess.
x. 24). See Inner Fortress, Sixth Mansion,
ch. iv.
11. I should like to point out one result of a
deep trance; it may be that some are aware of it. When the time is
over during which the soul was in union, wherein all its powers were
wholly absorbed,—it lasts, as I
have said,
12. Experience is necessary throughout, so
also is a spiritual director; for when the soul has reached this
point, there are many matters which must be referred to the director.
If, after seeking such a one, the soul cannot find him, our Lord will
not fail that soul, seeing that He has not failed me, who am what I
am: They are not many, I believe, who know by experience so many
things, and without experience it is useless to treat a soul at all,
for nothing will come of it, save only trouble and distress. But our
Lord will take this also into account, and for that reason it is
always best to refer the matter to the director. I have already more
than once said this, Ch.
xxv. § 18, ch. xxvi. § 4. See
St. John of the Cross, Mount
Carmel, bk. ii. ch. xxii.
13. Once, when in prayer, I had a vision, for a moment,—I saw nothing distinctly, but the vision was most clear,—how all things are seen in God and how all things are comprehended in Him. I cannot in any way explain it, but the vision remains most deeply impressed on my soul, and is one of those grand graces which our Lord wrought in me, and one of those which put me to the greatest shame and confusion whenever I call my sins to remembrance. I believe, if it had pleased our Lord that I had seen this at an earlier time, or if they saw it who sin against Him, we should have neither the heart nor the daring to do so. I had the vision, I repeat it, but I cannot say that I saw anything; however, I must have seen something, seeing that I explain it by an illustration, only it must have been in a way so subtile and delicate that the understanding is unable to reach it, or I am so ignorant in all that relates to these visions, which seem to be not imaginary. In some of these visions there must be something imaginary, only, as the powers of the soul are then in a trance, they are not able afterwards to retain the forms, as our Lord showed them to it then, and as He would have it rejoice in them.
14. Let us suppose the Godhead to be a most
brilliant diamond, much larger than the whole world, or a mirror like
that to which I compared the soul in a former
vision, § 8.
15. So it is, whenever I remember it, I do not know how to bear it, and I was then so ashamed of myself that I knew not where to hide myself. Oh, that some one could make this plain to those who commit most foul and filthy sins, that they may remember their sins are not secret, and that God most justly resents them, seeing that they are wrought in the very presence of His Majesty, and that we are demeaning ourselves so irreverently before Him! I saw, too, how completely hell is deserved for only one mortal sin, and how impossible it is to understand the exceeding great wickedness of committing it in the sight of majesty so great, and how abhorrent to His nature such actions are. In this we see more and more of His mercifulness, who, though we all know His hatred of sin, yet suffers us to live.
16. The vision made me also reflect, that if one such vision as this fills the souls with such awe, what will it be in the day of judgment, when His Majesty will appear distinctly, and when we too shall look on the sins we have committed! O my God, I have been, oh, how blind! I have often been amazed at what I have written; and you, my father, be you not amazed at anything, but that I am still living,—I, who see such things, and know myself to be what I am. Blessed for ever be He who has borne with me so long!
17. Once, in prayer, with much recollection,
sweetness, and repose, I saw myself, as it seemed to me, surrounded by
angels, and was close unto God. I began to intercede with His Majesty
on behalf of the
18. I was praying before the most Holy
Sacrament one day; I had a vision of a Saint, whose Order was in some
degree fallen. In his hands he held a large book, which he opened, and
then told me to read certain words, written in large and very legible
letters; they were to this effect: "In times to come this Order
will flourish; it will have
many martyrs." Yepez says that the Order here
spoken of is the Carmelite, and Ribera understands the Saint to refer
to that of St. Dominic. The Bollandists,
n. 1638–1646, on the whole, prefer the authority of Ribera to that of
Yepez and give good reasons for their preference, setting aside as
insufficient the testimony of Fray Luis of the
Assumption, who says he heard himself from the Venerable Anne of St. Bartholomew that the Order in question is the
Order of our Lady of Mount Carmel. Don Vicente, the Spanish editor,
rejects the opinion of Ribera, on the ground that it could not have
been truly said of the Dominicans in the sixteenth century that the
Order was in "some degree fallen," for it was in a most
flourishing state. He therefore was inclined to believe that the
Saint referred to the Augustinians or to the Franciscans. But, after
he had printed this part of his book, he discovered among the MSS. in the public library of Madrid a
letter of Anne of St. Bartholomew,
addressed to Fray Luis of the Assumption, in
which the saintly companion of St. Teresa
says that the "Order was ours." Don Vicente has published the
letter in the Appendix, p. 566.
19. On another occasion, when I was at Matins in choir, six or seven persons, who seemed to me to be of this Order, appeared and stood before me with swords in their hands. The meaning of that, as I think, is that they are to be defenders of the faith; for at another time, when I was in prayer, I fell into a trance, and stood in spirit on a wide plain, where many persons were fighting; and the members of this Order were fighting with great zeal. Their faces were beautiful, and as it were on fire. Many they laid low on the ground defeated, others they killed. It seemed to me to be a battle with heretics.
20. I have seen this glorious Saint
occasionally, and he has told me certain things, and thanked me for
praying for his Order, and he has promised to pray for me to our Lord.
I do not say which Orders these
21. I was once asked by a person to pray God to let him know whether his acceptance of a bishopric would be for the service of God. After Communion our Lord said to me: "When he shall have clearly and really understood that true dominion consists in possessing nothing, he may then accept it." I understood by this that he who is to be in dignity must be very far from wishing or desiring it, or at least he must not seek it.
22. These and many other graces our Lord has given, and is giving continually, to me a sinner. I do not think it is necessary to speak of them, because the state of my soul can be ascertained from what I have written; so also can the spirit which our Lord has given me. May He be blessed for ever, who has been so mindful of me!
23. Our Lord said to me once, consoling me,
that I was not to distress myself,—this He said most
lovingly,—because in this life we could not continue in the same
state.
24. I was one day thinking whether it was a
want of detachment in me to take pleasure in the company of those who
had the care of my soul, and to have an affection for them, and to
comfort myself with those whom I see to be very great servants of
God. See ch. xxxvii. §§ 4, 6.
25. This was a great comfort to me, because, now and then, I wished to abstain from converse with all people; for it seemed to me that I was attached to them. Always, in all things, did our Lord console me, even to the showing me how I was to treat those who were weak, and some other people also. Never did He cease to take care of me. I am sometimes distressed to see how little I do in His service, and how I am forced to spend time in taking care of a body so weak and worthless as mine is, more than I wish.
26. I was in prayer one night, when it was
time to go to sleep. I was in very great pain, and my usual sickness
was coming on. See ch. vii. § 18.
27. When I was thus distressed, our Lord
appeared unto me. He comforted me greatly, and told me I must do this
for His love, and bear it; my life was necessary now. And so, I
believe, I have never known real pain since I resolved to serve my
Lord and my Consoler with all my strength; for though he would leave
me to suffer a little, yet He would console
28. At other times I am in such a state that I
do not feel that I am living, nor yet do I desire to die but I am
lukewarm, and darkness surrounds me on every side, as I said
before;
29. Now, however,—to God be the glory!—though many speak against me, but out of a zeal for goodness, and though some are afraid to speak to me, and even to hear my confession, and though others have much to say about me, because I see that our Lord willed by this means to provide help for many souls,—and also because I see clearly and keep in mind how much He would suffer, if only for the gaining of one,—I do not care about it at all.
30. I know not why it is so, but perhaps the
reason may in some measure be that His Majesty has placed
31. He has made my life to me now a kind of sleep; for almost always what I see seems to me to be seen as in a dream, nor have I any great sense either of pleasure or of pain. If matters occur which may occasion either, the sense of it passes away so quickly that it astonishes me, and leaves an impression as if I had been dreaming,—and this is the simple truth; for if I wished afterwards to delight in that pleasure, or be sorry over that pain, it is not in my power to do so: just as a sensible person feels neither pain nor pleasure in the memory of a dream that is past; for now our Lord has roused my soul out of that state which, because I was not mortified nor dead to the things of this world, made me feel as I did, and His Majesty does not wish me to become blind again.
32. This is the way I live now, my lord and
father; do you, my father, pray to God that He would take me to
Himself, or enable me to serve Him. May it please His Majesty that
what I have written may be of some use to you, my father! I have so
little time, See ch. xiv. § 12.
33. May His Majesty ever be your protector, and make you so great a saint that your spirit and light may show the way to me a miserable creature, so wanting in humility and so bold as to have ventured to write on subjects so high! May our Lord grant I have not fallen into any errors in the matter, for I had the intention and the desire to be accurate and obedient, and also that through me He might, in some measure, have glory,—because that is what I have been praying for these many years; and as my good works are inefficient for that end, I have ventured to put in order this my disordered life. Still, I have not wasted more time, nor given it more attention, than was necessary for writing it; yet I have put down all that has happened to me with all the simplicity and sincerity possible.
34. May our Lord, who is all-powerful, grant—and He can if He will—that I may attain to the doing of His will in all things! May He never suffer this soul to be lost, which He so often, in so many ways, and by so many means, has rescued from hell and drawn unto Himself! Amen.
I.H.S.
The Holy Spirit be ever with you, my
father. This letter, which seems to have
accompanied the "Life," is printed among the other letters of
the Saint, and is addressed to her confessor, the Dominican friar,
Pedro Ibañez. It is the fifteenth letter in the first volume of the
edition of Madrid; but it is not dated there.
Your reverence will do in all things that which to you shall seem good, and you will look upon yourself as under an obligation to take care of one who trusts her soul to your keeping. I will pray for the soul of your reverence to our Lord, so long as I live.
You will, therefore, be diligent in His service, in order that you may be able to help me; for your reverence will see by what I have written how profitable it is to give oneself, as your reverence has begun to do, wholly unto Him who gives Himself to us so utterly without measure.
Blessed be His Majesty for ever! I hope of His mercy we shall see one another one day, when we, your reverence and myself, shall see more clearly the great mercies He has shown us, and when we shall praise Him for ever and ever. Amen. This book was finished in June, 1562.
"This date refers to the first account which the holy Mother
Teresa of Jesus wrote of her life; it was not then divided into
chapters. Afterwards she made this copy, and inserted in it many
things which had taken place subsequent to this date, such as the
foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph
of Avila, as in p. 169. I.e. of the MS. See p. 337 of this translation.
The
Relations or Manifestations
of Her
Spiritual State
Which
St. Teresa Submitted to Her Confessors.
The Relations.
Relation I.
Fra Anton. a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this Relation, usually published among the letters of the Saint, ed. Doblado, vol. ii. letter 11, says it was written for St. Peter of Alcantara when he came to Avila in 1560, at the time when the Saint was so severely tried by her confessors and the others who examined her spirit, and were convinced that her prayer was a delusion of Satan: see the Life, ch. xxv. § 18. The following notes were discovered among the papers of the Saint in the monastery of the Incarnation, and are supposed to refer to this Relation. The Chronicler of the Order, Fra Francis a Sancta Maria, is inclined to the belief that they were written by St. Peter of Alcantara, to whom the Relation is addressed, and the more so because Ribera does not claim them for any member of the Society, notwithstanding the reference to them in §§ 22, 28.
"1. The end God has in view is the drawing a soul to himself; that of the devil is the withdrawing it from God. Our Lord never does anything whereby anyone may be separated from Him, and the devil does nothing whereby any one may be made to draw near unto God. All the visions and the other operations in the soul of this person draw her nearer unto God, and make her more humble and obedient.
"2. It is the teaching of St. Thomas that an angel of light may be recognised by the peace and quietness he leaves in the soul. She is never visited in this way, but she afterwards abides in peace and joy; so much so, that all the pleasures of earth together are not comparable to one of these visitations.
"3. She never commits a fault, nor falls into an imperfection, without being instantly rebuked by Him who speaks interiorly to her.
"4. She has never prayed for nor wished for them: all she wishes for is to do the will of God our Lord in all things.
"5. Everything herein is consistent with the Scriptures and the teaching [note continues, p. 404.] of the Church, and most true, according to the most rigorous principles of scholastic theology.
"6. This soul is most pure and sincere, with the most fervent desires of being pleasing unto God, and of trampling on every earthly thing.
"7. She has been told that whatever she shall ask of God, being good, she shall have. She has asked much, and things not convenient to put on paper lest it should be wearisome; all of which our Lord has granted.
"8. When these operations are from God, they are always directed to the good of the recipient, to that of the community, or of some other. That she has profited by them she knows by experience, and she knows it, too, of other persons also.
"9. No one converses with her, if he be not in evil dispositions, who is not moved thereby to devotion, even though she says nothing about it.
"10. She is growing daily in the perfection of virtues, and learns by these things the way of a higher perfection. And thus, during the whole time in which she had visions, she was making progress, according to the doctrine of St. Thomas.
"11. The spirit that speaks to her soul never tells her anything in the way of news, or what is unbecoming, but only that which tends to edification.
"12. She has been told of some persons that they were full of devils: but this was for the purpose of enabling her to understand the state of a soul which has sinned mortally against our Lord.
"13. The devil's method is, when he attempts to deceive a soul, to advise that soul never to speak of what he says to it; but the spirit that speaks to this soul warns her to be open with learned men, servants of our Lord, and that the devil may deceive her if she should conceal anything through shame.
"14. So great is the progress of her soul in this way, and the edification she ministers in the good example given, that more than forty nuns in her monastery practise great recollection.
"15. These supernatural things occur after long praying, when she is absorbed in God, on fire with His love, or at Communion.
"16. They kindle in her a most earnest desire to be on the right road, and to escape the delusions of Satan.
"17. They are in her the cause of the deepest humility; she understands that what she receives comes to her from the hand of our Lord, and how little worth she is herself.
"18. When they are withheld, anything that occurs is wont to pain and distress her; but when she is in this state, she remembers nothing; all she is conscious of is a great longing for suffering, and so great is it that she is amazed at it.
"19. They are to her sources of joy and consolation in her troubles, when people speak ill of her, and in her infirmities—and she has fearful pains about the heart, sicknesses, and many other afflictions, all of which leave her when she has these visions.
"20. With all this, she undergoes great penances, fasting, the discipline, and mortifications.
"21. All that on earth may give her any pleasure, and her trials, which are many, she bears with equal tranquillity of mind, without losing the peace and quiet of her soul.
"22. Her resolution never to offend our Lord is so earnest that she has made a vow never to leave undone what she knows herself, or is told by those who understand the matter better, to be the more perfect. And though she holds the members of the Society to be saints, and believes that our Lord [note continues, p. 405.] made use of them to bestow on her graces so great, she told me that, if she knew it would be more perfect to have nothing more to do with them, she would never speak to them again, nor see them, notwithstanding the fact that it was through them that her mind had been quieted and directed in these things.
"23. The sweetnesses she commonly receives, her sense of God, her languishing with love, are certainly marvellous, and through these she is wont to be enraptured the whole day long.
"24. She frequently falls into a trance when she hears God spoken of with devotion and earnestness, and cannot resist the rapture, do what she can; and in that state her appearance is such that she excites very great devotion.
"25. She cannot bear to be directed by any one who will not tell her of her faults, and rebuke her; all that she accepts with great humility.
"26. Moreover, she cannot endure people who are in a state of perfection, if they do not labour to become perfect, according to the spirit of their rule.
"27. She is most detached from her kindred, has no desire to converse with people, and loves solitude. She has a great devotion to the saints, and on their feasts, and on the days on which the Church celebrates the mysteries of the faith, is filled with most fervent affections for our Lord.
"28. If all the members of the Society, and all the servants of God upon earth, tell her that her state is an effect of the operations of Satan, or were to say so, she is in fear and trembling before the visions occur; but as soon as she is in prayer, and recollected, she cannot be persuaded, were they to tear her into a thousand pieces, that it is any other than God who is working in her and speaking to her.
"29. God has given her a most wonderfully strong and valiant spirit: she was once timid; now she tramples on all the evil spirits. She has put far away from herself all the littleness and silliness of women; she is singularly free from scruples, and most sincere.
"30. Besides, our Lord has given her the gift of most sweet tears, great compassion for her neighbours, the knowledge of her own faults, a great reverence for good people, and self-abasement; and I am certain that she has done good to many, of whom I am one.
"31. She is continually reminding herself of God, and has a sense of His presence. All the locutions have been verified, and every one of them accomplished; and this is a very great test.
"32. Her visions are a source of great clearness in her understanding, and an admirable illumination in the things of God.
"33. It was said to her that she should lead those who were trying her spirit to look into the Scriptures, and that they would not find that any soul desirous of pleasing God had been so long deceived."
1. The method of prayer I observe at present is
this: when I am in prayer, it is very rarely that I can use the
understanding, because the soul becomes at once recollected, remains
in repose, or falls into a trance, so that I cannot in any way have
the use of the faculties
2. It often happens, when I am not even thinking
of the things of God, but engaged in other matters, and when prayer
seems to be beyond my power, whatever efforts I might make, because of
the great aridity I am in, bodily pains contributing thereto, that
this recollection or elevation of spirit comes upon me so suddenly
that I cannot withstand it, and the fruits and blessings it brings
with it are in a moment mine: and this, without my having had a
vision, or heard anything, or knowing where I am, except that when
3. At other times certain excessive
impetuosities occur, accompanied with a certain fainting away of the
soul for God, so that I have no control over
myself;
4. At other times there come upon me certain
desires to serve God, with a vehemence so great that I cannot describe
it, and accompanied with a certain pain at seeing how unprofitable I
am. It seems to me then that there is nothing in the world, neither
death, nor martyrdom, that I could not easily endure. This
conviction, too, is not the result of any reflection, but comes in a
moment. I am wholly changed, and I know not whence cometh such great
courage. I think I should live to raise my voice, and publish to
5. Again, it has happened, when these longings to serve Him come upon me, that I wish to do penance, but I am not able. It would be a great relief to me, and it does relieve and cheer me, though what I do is almost nothing, because of my bodily weakness; and yet, if I were to give way to these my longings, I believe I should observe no moderation.
6. Sometimes, if I have to speak to any one, I
am greatly distressed, and I suffer so much that it makes me weep
abundantly; for my whole desire is to be alone, and solitude comforts
me, though at times I neither pray nor read, and
conversation—particularly of kindred and connections—seems
oppressive, and myself to be as a slave, except when I speak to those
whose conversation is of prayer and matters of the soul,—in these I
find comfort and joy; See Life, ch. xxiv. § 8, and ch. xxxi. § 22.
7. At other times it gives me much pain that I
must eat and sleep, and that I see I cannot forego these things, being
less able to do so than any one. I submit
8. All these desires, with an increase in virtue, have been given me by our Lord since He raised me to this prayer of quiet, and sent these raptures. I find myself so improved that I look on myself as being a mass of perdition before this. These raptures and visions leave me in possession of the blessings I shall now speak of; and I maintain that, if there be any good in me, they are the occasions of it.
9. I have made a very strong resolution never to
offend God, not even venially. I would rather die a thousand deaths
than do anything of the kind knowingly. I am resolved never to leave
undone anything I may consider to be the more perfect, or more for the
honour of our Lord, if he who has the care of my soul and directs me
tells me I may do it. Cost me what pain it might, I would not leave
such an act undone for all the treasure of the world. If I were to do
so, I do not think I could have the face to ask anything of God our
Lord, or to make my prayer; and yet, for all this, I have many faults
and imperfections. I am obedient to my
confessor,
10. I have a longing for poverty, though not
free from imperfection; however, I believe, if I had wealth, I would
not reserve any revenue, nor hoard money for myself, nor do I care for
it; I wish to have only what is necessary. Nevertheless, I feel that
I am very defective in this virtue; for, though I desire nothing for
myself, I should like to have something to give away: still, I desire
no revenue, nor anything
for myself. See Life, ch. xxxv.
§ 2.
11. In almost all the visions I have had, I have found good, if it be not a delusion of Satan; herein I submit myself to the judgment of my confessors.
12. As to fine and beautiful things, such as
water, fields, perfume, music, etc., I think I would rather not have
them, so great is the difference between them and what I am in the
habit of seeing, and so all pleasure in them is gone from
me. See Life, ch. ix. § 6, and ch. xiv. § 7.
13. If I speak or converse with people in the world—for I cannot help it—even about prayer, and if the conversation be long, though to pass away the time, I am under great constraint if it be not necessary, for it gives me much pain.
14. Amusements, of which I used to be fond, and worldly things, are all disagreeable to me now, and I cannot look at them.
15. The longings, which I said I
have, See § 3,
above.
16. When I see persons making great progress,
and thus resolved, detached, and courageous, I love them much; and I
should like to have my conversation with such persons, and I think
they help me on. People who are afraid, and seemingly cautious in
those things, the doing of which is perfectly reasonable here, seem to
vex me, and drive me to pray to God and the saints to make them
undertake such things as these which now frighten us. Not that I am
good for anything myself, but because I believe that God helps those
who, for His sake, apply themselves to great things, and that He never
abandons any one who puts his trust in Him only. And I should like to
find any one who would help me to believe so, and to be without
thought about food and raiment, but leave it all in the hands
of God. St.
17. This leaving in the hands of God the supply of all I need is not to be understood as excluding all labour on my part, but merely solicitude—I mean, the solicitude of care. And since I have attained to this liberty, it goes well with me, and I labour to forget myself as much as I can. I do not think it is a year ago since our Lord gave me this liberty.
18.
Vainglory See Life, ch. vii.
§ 2.
19. When I speak of these things a few days
after, they seem to me as if they had happened to another person.
Previously, I thought it a wrong to me that they should be known to
others; but I see now that
20. When I am in prayer, and even almost always when I am able to reflect at all, I cannot, even if I tried, pray to God for rest, or desire it; for I see that His life was one of suffering, and that I ask Him to send me, giving me first the grace to bear it.
21. Everything of this kind, and of the highest perfection, seems to make so deep an impression on me in prayer, that I am amazed at the sight of truths so great and so clear that the things of the world seem to be folly; and so it is necessary for me to take pains to reflect on the way I demeaned myself formerly in the things of the world, for it seems to me folly to feel for deaths and the troubles of the world,—at least, that sorrow for, or love of, kindred and friends should last long. I say I have to take pains when I am considering what I was, and what I used to feel.
22. If I see people do anything which clearly
seems to be sin, I cannot make up my mind that they have offended God;
and if I dwell upon this at all,—which happens rarely or never,—I
never can make up my mind, though I see it plainly enough. It seems
to me that everybody is as anxious to serve God as I am. And herein
God has been very gracious unto me, for I never dwell on an evil deed,
to remember it afterwards and if I do remember it, I see some virtue
or other in that person. In this way these things never weary me,
except generally: but heresies do; they distress
23. I find, also, that I am improved in the
matter of that excessive neatness which I was wont to
observe, See Life, ch. ii. § 2.
24. All this I have described, together with a
very constant dwelling in thought on God, is the ordinary state of my
soul, so far as I can understand it. And if I must be busy about
something else, without my seeking it, as I said
before, § 2,
above.
25. For some days—they are not many, however—for three, or four, or five, all my good and fervent thoughts, and my visions, seem to be withdrawn, yea, even forgotten, so that, if I were to seek for it, I know of no good that can ever have been in me. It seems to have been all a dream, or, at least, I can call nothing to mind. Bodily pains at the same time distress me. My understanding is troubled, so that I cannot think at all about God, neither do I know under what law I live. If I read anything, I do not understand it; I seem to be full of faults, and without any resolution whatever to practise virtue; and the great resolution I used to have is come to this, that I seem to be unable to resist the least temptation or slander of the world. It suggests itself to me then that I am good for nothing, if any one would have me undertake more than the common duties. I give way to sadness, thinking I
have deceived all those who trusted me at all. I should like to hide myself where nobody could see me; but my desire for solitude arises from want of courage, not from love of virtue. It seems to me that I should like to dispute with all who contradict me; I am under the influence of these impressions, only God has been so gracious unto me, that I do not offend more frequently than I was wont to do, nor do I ask Him to deliver me from them, but only, if it be His will I should always suffer thus, to keep me from offending Him; and I submit myself to His will with my whole heart, and I see that it is a very great grace bestowed upon me that He does not keep me constantly in this state.
26. One thing astonishes me; it is that, while
I am in this state, through a single word of those I am in the habit
of hearing, or a single vision, or a little self-recollection, lasting
but an Ave Maria, or through my drawing near to communicate, I find my
soul and body so calm, so sound, the understanding so clear, and
myself possessing all the strength and all the good desires I usually
have. And this I have had experience of very often—at least when I
go to Communion; it is more than six months ago that I felt a clear
improvement in my
bodily health, See Life, ch. xx.
§ 29.
27. All these things of which I am speaking
make me believe that it comes from God; for when I see what I once
was, that I was in the way of being lost, and that soon, my soul
certainly is astonished at these things, without knowing whence these
virtues came to me; I did not know myself, and saw that all was a
28. Also, when I see any one who knows anything
about me, I wish to let him know my whole
life, See Life, ch. xxxi.
§ 17. See Life, ch. xxv.
§ 20. See Life, ch. xxv. §§ 18, 22.
29. However, I can think that Satan now and then may intermeddle here, and so it is, as I have seen and said; but he produces different results, nor can he, as it seems to me, deceive any one possessed of any experience. Nevertheless, I say that, though I do certainly believe this to be from God, I would never do anything, for any consideration whatever, that is not judged by him who has the charge of my soul to be for the better service of our Lord, and I never had any intention but to obey without concealing anything, for that is my duty. I am very often rebuked for my faults, and that in such a way as to pierce me to the very quick; and I am warned when there is, or when there may be, any danger in what I am doing. These rebukes and warnings have done me much good, in often reminding me of my former sins, which make me exceedingly sorry.
30. I have been very long, but this is the truth,—that, when I rise from my prayer, I see that I have received blessings which seem too briefly described. Afterwards I fall into many imperfections, and am unprofitable and very wicked. And perhaps I have no perception of what is good, but am deluded; still, the difference in my life is notorious, and compels me to think over all I have said—I mean, that which I verily believe I have felt. These are the perfections which I feel our Lord has wrought in me, who am so wicked and so imperfect. I refer it all to your judgment, my father, for you know the whole state of my soul.
Relation II.
Addressed, it is believed, to her confessor, F. Pedro Ibañez. This Relation corresponds with ch. xxxiv. of the Life (De la Fuente).
Jesus.
I think it is more than a year since this was written; God has all this time protected me with His hand, so that I have not become worse; on the contrary, I see a great change for the better in all I have to say: may He be praised for it all!
1. The visions and revelations have not ceased,
but they are of a much higher kind. Our Lord has taught me a way of
prayer, wherein I find myself far more advanced, more detached from
the things of this life, more courageous, and more
free. See Life, ch. xxvii.
2. As to poverty, God seems to have wrought
great things in me; for I would willingly be without even what is
necessary, unless given me as an alms; and therefore my longing is
extreme that I may be in such a state as to depend on alms alone for
my food. It seems to me that to live, when I am certain of food and
raiment without fail, is not so complete an observance of my vow or of
the counsel of Christ as it would be to live where no revenue is
possessed, and I should be in
3. I think I am much more compassionate towards the poor than I used to be, having a great pity for them and a desire to help them; for if I regarded only my good will, I should give them even the habit I wear. I am not fastidious with respect to them, even if I had to do with them or touched them with my hands,—and this I now see is a gift of God; for though I used to give alms for His love, I had no natural compassion. I am conscious of a distinct improvement herein.
4. As to the evil speaking directed against me,—which is considerable, and highly injurious to me, and done by many,—I find myself herein also very much the better. I think that what they say makes scarcely any more impression upon me than it would upon an idiot. I think at times, and nearly always, that it is just. I feel it so little that I see nothing in it that I might offer to God, as I learn by experience that my soul gains greatly thereby; on the contrary, the evil speaking seems to be a favour. And thus, the first time I go to prayer, I have no ill-feeling against them; the first time I hear it, it creates in me a little resistance, but it neither disturbs nor moves me; on the contrary, when I see others occasionally disturbed, I am sorry for them. So it is, I put myself out of the question; for all the wrongs of this life seem to me so light, that it is not possible to feel them, because I imagine myself to be dreaming, and see that all this will be nothing when I awake.
5. God is giving me more earnest desires, a greater love of solitude, a much greater detachment, as I said, with the visions; by these He has made me know what all that is, even if I gave up all the friends I have, both men and women and kindred. This is the least part of it: my kindred are rather a very great weariness to me; I leave them in all freedom and joy, provided it be to render the least service unto God; and thus on every side I find peace.
6. Certain things, about which I have been
warned in prayer, have been perfectly verified. Thus, considering the
graces received from God, I find myself very much better; but,
considering my service to Him in return, I am exceedingly worthless,
for I have received greater consolation than I have given, though
sometimes that gives me grievous pain. My penance is very scanty, the
respect shown me great, much against my own will very
often. See Life, ch. xxxi.
§ 15.
7. It is now nine months, more or less, since I wrote this with mine own hand; since then I have not turned my back on the graces which God has given me; I think I have received, so far as I can see, a much greater liberty of late. Hitherto I thought I had need of others, and I had more reliance on worldly helps. Now I clearly understand that all men are bunches of dried rosemary, and that there is no safety in leaning on them, for if they are pressed by contradictions or evil speaking they break down. And so I know by experience that the only way not to fall is to cling to the cross, and put our trust in Him who was nailed thereto. I find Him a real Friend, and with Him I find myself endowed with such might that, God never failing me, I think I should be able to withstand the whole world if it were against me.
8. Having a clear knowledge of this truth,
I used
9. In the very grievous trials, persecutions,
and contradictions of
these months, The Saint is supposed to refer to
the troubles she endured during the foundation of the monastery of
St. Joseph.
10. When I desire anything, I am accustomed naturally to desire it with some vehemence; now my desires are so calm, that I do not even feel that I am pleased when I see them fulfilled. Sorrow and joy, excepting in that which relates to prayer, are so moderated, that I seem to be without sense, and in that state I remain for some days.
11. The vehement longings to do penance which come, and have come, upon me are great; and if I do any penance, I feel it to be so slight in comparison with that longing, that I regard it sometimes, and almost always, as a special consolation; however, I do but little, because of my great weakness.
12. It is a very great pain to me very often,
and at this moment most grievous, that I must take food, particularly
if I am in prayer. It must be very great, for it makes me weep much,
and speak the language of affliction, almost without being aware of
it, and that is what I am not in the habit of doing, for I do not
remember that I ever did so in the very heaviest trials
13. I feel in myself a very earnest desire, more so than usual, that God may find those who will serve Him, particularly learned men, in all detachment, and who will not cleave to anything of this world, for I see it is all a mockery; for when I see the great needs of the Church, I look upon it as a mockery to be distressed about aught else. I do nothing but pray to God for such men, because I see that one person, who is wholly perfect in the true fervour of the love of God, will do more good than many who are lukewarm.
14. In matters concerning the faith, my courage seems to me much greater. I think I could go forth alone by myself against the Lutherans, and convince them of their errors. I feel very keenly the loss of so many souls. I see many persons making great progress; I see clearly it was the pleasure of God that such progress should have been helped by me; and I perceive that my soul, of His goodness, grows daily more and more in His love.
15. I think I could not be led away by
vainglory, even if I seriously tried, and I do not see how I could
imagine any one of my virtues to be mine, for it is not long since I
was for many years without any at all; and now so far as I am
concerned, I do nothing but receive graces, without rendering any
service in return, being the most worthless creature in the world.
And so it is that I consider at times how all, except myself, make
progress; I am good for nothing in myself. This is not humility only,
but the simple truth; and the knowledge of my being so worthless makes
me sometimes think with fear that I must be under some delusion. Thus
I see clearly that all my gain has come through the revelations and
the raptures, in which I am nothing myself, and do no more to effect
them than the canvas does for the picture painted on it. This makes
me feel secure and be at
16. There are days wherein I remember times
without number the words of St. Paul,
17. Everything that I have learnt in prayer, though it may be two years previously, I have seen fulfilled. What I see and understand of the grandeurs of God, and of the way He has shown them, is so high, that I scarcely ever begin to think of them but my understanding fails me,—for I am as one that sees things far higher than I can understand,—and I become recollected.
18. God so keeps me from offending Him, that I am verily amazed at times. I think I discern the great care He takes of me, without my taking scarcely any care at all, being as I was, before these things happened to me, a sea of wickedness and sins, and without a thought that I was mistress enough of myself to leave them undone. And the reason why I would have this known is that the great power of God might be made manifest. Unto Him be praise for ever and ever! Amen.
Jesus.
This Relation here set forth, not in my handwriting, is one that I
gave to my confessor, and which he with his own hand copied, without
adding or diminishing a word. He was a most spiritual man and a
theologian: I discussed the state of my soul with him, and he with
other learned men, among whom was Father
Mancio. A celebrated Dominican, professor
of theology in Salamanca (Bouix).
Relation III.
1. When I was in the monastery of Toledo, and
some people were advising me not to allow any but noble persons to be
buried there, Alonzo Ramirez wished to have the
right of burial in the new monastery, but the nobles of Toledo looked
on his request as unreasonable. See Foundations,
chs. xv. and xvi.
2. After Communion, the second day of Lent, in
St. Joseph of Malagon, our Lord Jesus
Christ appeared to me in an imaginary vision, as He is I wont to do;
and when I was looking upon Him I saw that He had
See Way of Perfection,
ch. viii.; but ch. v. of the
previous editions.
3. Our Lord told me something I was to tell another, and as I was considering how I did not understand it at all,—though I prayed to Him, and was thinking it might be from Satan,—He said to me that it was not, and that He Himself would warn me when the time came.
4. Once, when I was thinking how much more purely they live who withdraw themselves from all business, and how ill it goes with me, and how many faults I must be guilty of, when I have business to transact, I heard this: "It cannot be otherwise, My daughter; but strive thou always after a good intention in all things, and detachment; lift up thine eyes to Me, and see that all thine actions may resemble Mine."
5. Thinking how it was that I scarcely ever fell into a trance of late in public, I heard this: "It is not necessary now; thou art sufficiently esteemed for My purpose; we are considering the weakness of the wicked."
6. One Tuesday after the
Ascension, In the copy kept in Toledo, the day
is Tuesday after the Assumption (De
la Fuente). St.
7. Once, when I was about to communicate,—it was shortly before I had this vision,—the Host being still in the ciborium, for It had not yet been given me, I saw something like a dove, which moved its wings with a sound. It disturbed me so much, and so carried me away out of myself, that it was with the utmost difficulty I received the Host. All this took place in St. Joseph of Avila. It was Father Francis Salcedo who was giving me the most Holy Sacrament. Hearing Mass another day, I saw our Lord glorious in the Host; He said to me that his sacrifice was acceptable unto Him.
8. I heard this once: "The time will
come when
9. I retain to this day, which is the
Commemoration of St. Paul, the presence of
the Three Persons of which I spoke in the
beginning; See § 6.
10. A few days after this, thinking whether
they were right who disapproved of my going out to make new
foundations, and whether it would not be better for me if I occupied
myself always with prayer, I heard this: "During this life, the
true gain consists not in striving after greater joy in Me, but in
doing My will." It seemed to me, considering what St. Paul says about women, how they should stay
at home,
11. One day after the octave of the Visitation,
in one of the hermitages of Mount Carmel, praying to God for one of my
brothers, I said to our Lord,—I do not know whether it was only in
thought or not, for my brother was in a place where his salvation was
in peril,—"If I saw one of Thy brethren, O Lord, in this danger,
what would I not do to help him!" It seemed to me there was
nothing that I could do which I would not have done. Our Lord said to
me: "O daughter, daughter! the nuns of the Incarnation are thy
sisters, and thou holdest back. Take courage, then. Behold, this is
what I would have thee do: it is not so difficult as it seems; and
though it seems to thee that by going thither thy foundations will be
ruined, yet it is by thy going that both these and the monastery of
the Incarnation will gain; resist not, for My power
is great." This took place in 1571, when the
Saint had been appointed prioress of the monastery of the Incarnation
at Avila; the very house she had left in order to found that of St. Joseph, to keep the rule in
its integrity.
12. Once, when thinking of the great penance
practised by Doña Catalina
de Cardona,
13. Once, when I was in prayer, He showed me by
a certain kind of intellectual vision the condition of a soul in a
state of grace: in its company I saw by intellectual vision the most
Holy Trinity, from whose
14. One day, in very great distress about the state of the Order, and casting about for means to succour it, our Lord said to me: "Do thou what is in thy power, and leave Me to Myself, and be not disquieted by anything; rejoice in the blessing thou hast received, for it is a very great one. My Father is pleased with thee, and the Holy Ghost loves thee."
15. "Thou art ever desiring trials, and, on the other hand, declining them. I order things according to what I know thy will is, and not according to thy sensuality and weakness. Be strong, for thou seest how I help thee; I have wished thee to gain this crown. Thou shalt see the Order of the Virgin greatly advanced in thy days." I heard this from our Lord about the middle of February, 1571.
16. On the eve of St. Sebastian, the first year of my being in the
monastery of
the Incarnation Maria de Velasco y Aragon,
Countess of Osorno (Ribera, lib. iii. c. 1). See Relation iv. § 2.
17. On the octave of the Holy Ghost, our Lord
was gracious unto me, and gave me hopes of this
house,
18. On the feast of the Magdalene, our Lord again confirmed a grace I had received in Toledo, electing me, in the absence of a certain person, in her place.
19. In the monastery of the Incarnation, and in
the second year of my being prioress there, on the octave of St. Martin, when I was going to Communion, the
Father, Fr. John of
the Cross, St.
John of the Cross, at the instance of the Saint, was sent to Avila,
with another father of the reformed Carmelites, to be confessor of the
nuns of the Incarnation, who then disliked the observance of the
primitive rule.
20. Then appearing to me, as on other occasions, in an imaginary vision, most interiorly, He held out His right hand and said: "Behold this nail! it is the pledge of thy being My bride from this day forth. Until now thou hadst not merited it; from henceforth thou shalt regard My honour, not only as of one who is Thy Creator, King, and God, but as thine, My veritable bride; My honour is thine, and thine is Mine." This grace had such an effect on me, that I could not contain myself: I became as one that is foolish, and said to our Lord: "Either ennoble my vileness or cease to bestow such mercies on me, for certainly I do not think that nature can bear them." I remained thus the whole day, as one utterly beside herself. Afterwards I became conscious of great progress, and greater shame and distress to see that I did nothing in return for graces so great.
21. Our Lord said this to me one day:
"Thinkest thou, My daughter, that meriting lies in fruition? No;
merit lies only in doing, in suffering, and in loving. You never
heard that St. Paul had the fruition of
heavenly joys more than once; while he was often in
sufferings.
Relation IV.
1. I found myself the whole of yesterday in
great desolation, and, except at Communion, did not feel that it was
the day of the Resurrection. Last night,
Isabel of Jesus, born in Segovia,
and whose family name was Jimena, told Ribera (vide
lib. iv. c. v.) that she was the singer, being then a novice
in Salamanca.
2. I was in this great pain till this morning;
and, being in prayer, I fell into a profound trance; and it seemed to
me that our Lord had taken me up in spirit to His Father, and said to
Him: "Whom Thou hast given to Me, I give to
Thee;" See Relation, iii.
§ 16.
3. As you, my father, went away yesterday so soon, and I consider the many affairs which detain you, so that it is impossible for me to have recourse to you for comfort even when necessary,—for I see that your occupations are most urgent,—I was for some time in pain and sadness. As I was then in desolation,—as I said before,—that helped me; and as nothing on earth, I thought, had any attractions for me, I had a scruple, and feared I was beginning to lose that liberty. This took place last night; and to-day our Lord answered my doubt, and said to me "that I was not to be surprised; for as men seek for companions with whom they may speak of their sensual satisfactions, so the soul—when there is any one who understands it—seeks those to whom it may communicate its pleasures and its pains, and is sad and mourns when it can find none." He said to me: "Thou art prosperous now, and thy works please Me." As He remained with me for some time, I remembered that I had told you, my father, that these visions pass quickly away; He said to me "that there was a difference between these and the imaginary visions, and that there could not be an invariable law concerning the graces He bestowed on us; for it was expedient to give them now in one way, now in another."
4. After Communion, I saw our Lord most
distinctly close beside me; and He began to comfort me with great
sweetness, and said to me, among other things: "Thou beholdest Me
present, My daughter,—it is I. Show me thy hands." And to me He
seemed to take them and to put them to His side, and said: "Behold
My wounds; thou art not without Me. Finish the short course of thy
life." By some things He said to me, I understood that, after His
Ascension, He never came down to the earth except in the most
See above, § 1.
5. On Palm Sunday, at Communion, I was in a deep trance,—so much so, that I was not able even to swallow the Host; and, still having It in my mouth, when I had come a little to myself, I verily believed that my mouth was all filled with Blood; and my face and my whole body seemed to be covered with It, as if our Lord had been shedding It at that moment. I thought It was warm, and the sweetness I then felt was exceedingly great; and our Lord said to me: "Daughter, My will is that My Blood should profit thee; and be not thou afraid that My compassion will fail thee. I shed It in much suffering, and, as thou seest, thou hast the fruition of It in great joy. I reward thee well for the pleasure thou gavest me to-day." He said this because I have been in the habit of going to Communion, if possible, on this day for more than thirty years, and of labouring to prepare my soul to be the host of our Lord; for I considered the cruelty of the Jews to be very great, after giving Him so grand a reception, in letting Him go so far for supper; and I used to picture Him as remaining with me, and truly in a poor lodging, as I see now. And thus I used to have such foolish thoughts—they must have been acceptable to our Lord, for this was one of the visions which I regard as most certain; and, accordingly it has been a great blessing to me in the matter of Communion.
6. Previous to this, I had been, I believe,
for three
Relation V.
1. "What is it that distresses thee, little
sinner? Am I not thy God? Dost thou not see how ill I am treated
here? If thou lovest Me, why art thou not sorry for Me? Daughter,
light is very different from darkness. I am faithful; no one will be
lost without knowing it. He must be deceiving himself who relies on
spiritual sweetnesses; the true safety lies in the witness of a good
conscience.
On Union.
2. "Do not suppose, My daughter, that to be
near to Me is union; for they who sin against Me are near Me, though
they do not wish it. Nor is union the joys and comforts of
union, See St.
John of the Cross, Mount
Carmel, bk. ii. ch. v.
3. To return to union; I understood it to be a
spirit, pure and raised up above all the things of earth, with nothing
remaining in it that would swerve from the will of God, being a spirit
and a will resigned to His will, and in detachment from all things,
occupied in God in such a way as to leave no trace of any love of
self, or of any created
thing whatever.
4. You will show me in writing, my father, what you think of this, and how I am in the wrong, and send me this paper back.
5. I had read in a book that it was an
imperfection to possess pictures well painted,—and I would not,
therefore, retain in my cell one that I had; and also, before I had
read this, I thought that it was poverty to possess none, except those
made of paper,—and, as I read this afterwards, I would not have any
of any other material. I learnt from our Lord, when I was not
thinking at all about this, what I am going to say: "that this
mortification was not right. Which is better, poverty or charity?
But as love was the better, whatever kindled love in me, that I must
not give up, nor take away from my nuns; for the book spoke of much
adorning and curious devices—not of
pictures. See St.
John of the Cross, Mount
Carmel, bk. iii. ch. xxxiv.
6. One day, after the feast of St. Matthew, The §§ 6, 7, and 8 are the
thirteenth letter of the second volume, ed. Doblado. See Relation iii.
§ 13.
7. It seems to us ignorant women that the Persons of the most Holy Trinity are all Three, as we see Them painted, in one Person, after the manner of those pictures, which represent a body with three faces; and thus it causes such astonishment in us that we look on it as impossible, and so there is nobody who dares to think of it; for the understanding is perplexed, is afraid it may come to doubt the truth, and that robs us of a great blessing.
8. What I have seen is this: Three distinct
Persons each one by Himself visible, and by Himself
speaking. Anton.
a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this passage, is anxious to save the
Thomist doctrine that one of the Divine Persons cannot be seen without
the other, and so he says that the Saint speaks of the Three Persons
as she saw Them—not as They are in Themselves.
9. If our Lord had not been so gracious with me
as He has been, I do not think I should have had the courage to do
what has been done, nor strength to undergo the labours endured, with
the contradictions and the opinions of men. And accordingly, since
the beginning of the foundations, I have lost the fears I formerly
had, thinking that I was under delusions,—and I had a conviction that
it was the work of God: having this, I ventured upon difficult things,
though always with advice and under obedience. I see in this that
when our Lord willed to make a beginning of the Order,
10. Antiochus was unendurable to himself, and
to those who were about him, because of the stench of his
many sins.
11. Confession is for faults and sins, and not
for virtues, nor for anything of the kind relating to prayer. These
things are to be treated of out of confession with one who understands
the matter,—and let the prioress see to this; and the nun must
explain the straits she is in, in order that the proper helps may be
found for her; for Cassian says that he who does not know the fact, as
well as he who has never seen or learnt, that men can swim, will
think, when he sees people throw themselves into the river, that they
will all be drowned. Cassian, Collat. vii. cap.
iv. p. 311: "Nec enim si quis ignarus natandi,
sciens pondus corporis sui ferre aquarum liquorem non posse,
experimento suæ voluerit imperitiæ definire, neminem penitus posse
liquidis elementis solida carne
circumdatum sustineri."
12. Our Lord would have Joseph tell the vision to his brethren, and have it known, though it was to cost Joseph so much.
13. How the soul has a sense of fear when God
is about to bestow any great grace upon it; that sense is the worship
of the spirit, as that of
the four Anton. a Sancto Joseph says that the Saint
meant to write four-and-twenty, in allusion to
14. How, when the faculties are suspended, it
is to be understood that certain matters are suggested to the soul, to
be by it recommended to God; that an angel suggests them, of whom it
is said in the Scriptures that he was burning incense and offering up
the prayers of
the saints.
15. How there are no sins where there is no knowledge; and thus our Lord did not permit the king to sin with the wife of Abraham, for he thought that she was his sister, not his wife.
Relation VI.
1. In the year 1575, in the month of April, when
I was founding the monastery of Veas, Fra Jerome of the Mother of God
Gratian happened to
come thither.
2. When I had resolved on this, I found myself
in peace and comfort so great that I was amazed, and assured of our
Lord's will; for I do not think that Satan could fill the soul with
peace and comfort such as this: and so, whenever I think of it, I
praise our Lord, and remember the words, "posuit
fines
tuos pacem,"
3. It must have been about a month after this my
resolve was made, on the second day after Pentecost, when I was going
to found the monastery in Seville, that we heard Mass in a hermitage
in Ecija, and rested there during the hottest part of the day. Those
who were with me remained in the hermitage while I was by myself in
the sacristy belonging to it. I began to think of one great grace
which I received of the Holy Ghost, on one of the vigils of His
feast, Perhaps the Saint refers to what
she has written in her Life,
ch. xxxviii. §§ 11, 12.
4. I give God thanks, who has created one capable of this work: I have the greatest confidence that His Majesty will bestow on him great graces; and I myself am so happy and joyous, that I seem to be in every way free from myself; and though I thought that my obedience would be a burden, I have attained to the greatest freedom. May our Lord be praised for ever!
Relation VII.
1. This nun took the habit forty years ago, and
from the first began to reflect on the mysteries of the Passion
2. This made her much more willing to serve Him: she was never under the influence of fear, and made no account of it, but had always a great desire to see God honoured, and His glory increased. To that end were all her prayers directed, without making any for herself; for she thought that it mattered little if she had to suffer in purgatory in exchange for the increase of His glory even in the slightest degree.
3. In this she spent about two-and-twenty years in great aridities, and never did it enter into her thoughts to desire anything else; for she regarded herself as one who, she thought, did not deserve even to think about God, except that His Majesty was very merciful to her in allowing her to remain in His presence, saying her prayers, reading also in good books.
4. It must be about eighteen years since she began to arrange about the first monastery of Barefooted Carmelites which she founded. It was in Avila, three or two years before,—I believe it is three,—she began to think that she occasionally heard interior locutions, and had visions and revelations interiorly. She saw with the eyes of the soul, for she never saw anything with her bodily eyes, nor heard anything with her bodily ears; twice, she thinks, she heard a voice, but she understood not what was said. It was a sort of making things present when she saw these things interiorly; they passed away like a meteor most frequently. The vision, however, remained so impressed on her mind, and produced such effects, that it was as if she saw those things with her bodily eyes, and more.
5. She was then by nature so very timid, that
she would not dare to be alone even by day, at times. And
See Life, ch. xxiv.
§ 4.
6. With the Father Fra Peter of Alcantara, who
was a holy man of the Barefooted Friars of St. Francis, she had many communications, and he
it was who insisted so much upon it that her spirit should be regarded
as good. They were more than six years trying her spirit minutely, as
it is already described at very great
length, See Life, ch. xxv.
§ 18.
7. Many prayers were made, and many Masses were
said, that our Lord would lead her by
another way, See Life, ch. xxv. § 20, and ch. xxvii. § 1.
for her fear was very great when she was not in prayer; though in
everything relating to the state of her soul she was very much better,
and a great difference was visible, there was no vainglory, nor had
she any temptation thereto, nor to pride; on the contrary, she was
very much ashamed and confounded when she saw that people knew of her
state, and except with her confessors or any one who would give her
light, she never spoke of these things, and it was more painful to
speak of them than if they had been grave sins; for it seemed to her
that people must laugh
at her, See Life, ch. xxvi.
§ 5.
8. About thirteen years ago, more or less, after
the house of St. Joseph was founded, into
which she had gone from the other monastery, came the present Bishop
of Salamanca, Inquisitor, I think, of Toledo, previously of Seville,
Soto by name. Don Francisco de Soto y Salazar was
a native of Bonilli de la Sierra, and Vicar-General of the Bishops of
Astorga and Avila, and Canon of Avila; Inquisitor of Cordova, Seville,
and Toledo; Bishop, successively, of Albarracin, Segorve, and
Salamanca. He died at Merida, in 1576, poisoned, it was suspected, by
the sect of the Illuminati, who were alarmed at his faithful zeal and
holy life (Palafox, note to letter 19, vol. i. ed.
Doblado). "She went to the Inquisitor, Don Francisco Soto de
Salazar—he was afterwards Bishop of Salamanca—and said to him: 'My
lord, I am subject to certain extraordinary processes in prayer, such
as ecstasies, raptures, and revelations, and do not wish to be deluded
or deceived by Satan, or to do anything that is not absolutely safe.
I give myself up to the Inquisition to try me, and examine my ways of
going on, submitting myself to its orders.' The Inquisitor replied:
'Señora, the business of the Inquisition is not to try the spirit, nor
to examine ways of prayer, but to correct heretics. Do you, then,
commit your experience to writing, in all simplicity and truth, and
send it to the Father-Master Avila, who is a man of great spirituality
and learning, and extremely conversant with matters of prayer; and
when you shall have his answer, you may be sure there is nothing to be
afraid of'" (Jerome Gratian, Lucidario, cap. iii.).
9. He told her, when he saw how distressed she
was, to give an account of it all, and of her whole life, without
omitting anything, to the Master Avila, who was a man of great
learning in the way of prayer, and to rest content with the answer he
should give. She did so, and described her sins and her life. He
wrote to her and comforted her, giving her great security. The
account I gave was such that all those learned men who saw it—they
were my confessors—said that it was very profitable for instruction
in spiritual things; and they commanded her to make copies of it, and
write another little book This book is the Way of
Perfection, written by direction of F. Bañes.
10. Notwithstanding all this, she was not without fears at times, for she thought that spiritual men also might be deceived like herself. She told her confessor that he might discuss these things with certain learned men, though they were not much given to prayer, for she had no other desire but that of knowing whether what she experienced was in conformity with the sacred writings or not. Now and then she took comfort in thinking that—though she herself, because of her sins, deserved to fall into delusions—our Lord would not suffer so many good men, anxious to give her light, to be led into error.
11. Having this in view, she began to
communicate with fathers of the Order of the glorious St. Dominic, to which, before these things took
place, she had been to confession—she does not say to them, but to
the Order. The Saint had such great affection
for the Order of St. Dominic, that she used
to say of herself, "Yo soy la Dominica
in passione," meaning thereby that she was
in her heart a Dominicaness, and a child of the Order
(Palafox, note to letter 16, vol. i.
ed. Doblado). When this father had read the
Life, he had it copied, with the assent of F. Gratian,
and gave the copy thus made to the Duchess of Alba (De
la Fuente).
12. She went to confession also to Fra Philip de Meneses, when she founded the monastery of Valladolid, for he was rector of the college of St. Gregory. He, having before that heard of her state, had gone to Avila, that he might speak to her,—it was an act of great charity,—being desirous of ascertaining whether she was deluded, so that he might enlighten her, and, if she was not, defend her when he heard her spoken against; and he was much satisfied.
13. She also conferred particularly with Salinas, Dominican Provincial, a man of great spirituality;
with another licentiate named Lunar, who was prior of St. Thomas of Avila; and, in Segovia, with a reader, Fra Diego de Yangües.
14. Of these Dominicans some never failed to give themselves greatly to prayer, and perhaps all did. Some others also she consulted; for in so many years, and because of the fear she was in, she had opportunities of doing so, especially as she went about founding monasteries in so many places. Her spirit was tried enough, for everybody wished to be able to enlighten her, and thereby reassured her and themselves. She always, at all times, wished to submit herself to whatever they enjoined her, and she was therefore distressed when, as to these spiritual things, she could not obey them. Both her own prayer, and that of the nuns she has established, are always carefully directed towards the propagation of the faith; and it was for that purpose, and for the good of her Order, that she began her first monastery.
15. She used to say that, if any of these things tended to lead her against the Catholic faith and the law of God, she would not need to seek for learned men nor tests, because she would see at once that they came from Satan. She never undertook anything merely because it came to her in prayer; on the contrary, when her confessors bade her do the reverse, she did so without being in the least troubled thereat, and she always told them everything. For all that they told her that these things came from God, she never so thoroughly believed them that she could swear to it herself, though it did seem to her that they were spiritually safe, because of the effects thereof, and of the great graces which she at times received; but she always desired virtues more than anything else; and this it is that she has charged her nuns to desire, saying to them that the most humble and mortified will be the most spiritual.
16. All that is told and written
she communicated
17. The reason why so much is known about her
is that, as she was in fear about herself, and described her state to
so many, these talked to one another on the subject and also the
accident that happened to what she had
written.
18. She took the greatest pains not to submit the state of her soul to any one who she thought would believe that these things came from God, for she was instantly afraid that the devil would deceive them both. If she saw any one timid about these things, to him she laid bare her secrets with the greater joy; though also it gave her pain when, for the purpose of trying her, these things were treated with contempt, for she thought some were really from God, and she would not have people, even if they had good cause, condemn them so absolutely; neither would she have them believe that all were from God; and because she knew perfectly well that delusion was possible, therefore it was that she never thought herself altogether safe in a matter wherein there might be danger.
19. She used to strive with all her might never in any way to offend God, and was always obedient;
and by these means she thought she might obtain her deliverance, by the help of God, even if Satan were the cause.
20. Ever since she became subject to these supernatural visitations, her spirit is always inclined to seek after that which is most perfect, and she had almost always a great desire to suffer; and in the persecutions she underwent, and they were many, she was comforted, and had a particular affection for her persecutors. She had a great desire to be poor and lonely, and to depart out of this land of exile in order to see God. Through these effects, and others like them, she began to find peace, thinking that a spirit which could leave her with these virtues could not be an evil one, and they who had the charge of her soul said so; but it was a peace that came from diminished weariness, not from the cessation of fear.
21. The spirit she is of never urged her to
make any of these things known, but to be always
obedient. § 4.
22. Being thus in distress such as cannot be
described, at the mere hearing interiorly these
words,
23. That her sins are so many, and her service of God so scanty, must be the reason why she is not tempted to vainglory. There never was anything in any of these spiritual visitations that was not wholly pure and clean, nor does she think it can be otherwise if the spirit be good and the visitations supernatural, for she utterly neglects the body and never thinks of it, being wholly intent upon God.
24. She is also living in great fear about sinning against God, and doing His will in all things; this is her continual prayer. And she is, she thinks, so determined never to swerve from this, that there is nothing her confessors might enjoin her, which she considers to be for the greater honour of our Lord, that she would not undertake and perform, by the help of our Lord. And confident that His Majesty helps those who have resolved to advance His service and glory, she thinks no more of herself and of her own progress, in comparison with that, than if she did not exist, so far as she knows herself, and her confessors think so too.
25. All that is written in this paper is the simple truth, and they, and all others who have had anything to do with her for these twenty years, can justify it. Most frequently her spirit urged her to praise God, and she wished that all the world gave itself up to that, even though it should cost her exceedingly. Hence the desire she has for the good of souls; and from considering how vile are the things of this world, and how precious are interior things, with which nothing can be compared, she has attained to a contempt of the world.
26. As for the vision about which you, my
father, wish to know something, it is of this kind: she sees nothing
either outwardly or inwardly, for the vision is not imaginary: but,
without seeing anything, she understands what it is, and where it is,
more clearly than if she saw it, only nothing in particular presents
itself to her. She is like a person who feels that another is close
beside her; but because she is in the dark she sees him not, yet is
certain that he is there present. Still, this comparison is not
exact; for he who is in the dark, in some way or other, through
hearing a noise or having seen that person before, knows he is there,
or knew it before; but here there is nothing of the kind, for without
a word, inward or outward, the soul clearly perceives who it is, where
he is, and occasionally what
he means. See Life, ch. xxvii.
§ 5.
Relation VIII.
1. These interior things of the spirit are so difficult to describe, and, still more, in such a way as to be understood,—the more so as they pass quickly away,—that, if obedience did not help me, it would be a chance if I succeeded, especially in such difficult things. I implore you, my father, to take for granted that it is not in my mind to think this to be correct, for it may well be that I do not understand the matter; but what I can assure you of is this, that I will speak of nothing I have not had experience of at times, and, indeed, often.
2. I think it will please you, my father, if I begin by discussing that which is at the root of supernatural things; for that which relates to devotion, tenderness, tears, and meditations, which is in our power here to acquire by the help of our Lord, is understood.
3. The first prayer of which I was
conscious,—in my opinion, supernatural,—so I call that which no
skill or effort of ours, however much we labour, can attain to, though
we should prepare ourselves for it, and that preparation must be of
great service,—is a certain interior
recollection
4. Out of this recollection grow a certain quietude and inward peace most full of comfort; for the soul is in such a state that it does not seem to it that it wants anything; for even speaking wearies it,—I mean by this, vocal prayer and meditation; it would do nothing but love. This lasts some time, and even a long time.
5. Out of this prayer comes usually what is called a sleep of the faculties; but they are not so absorbed nor so suspended as that it can be called a trance; nor is it altogether union.
6. Sometimes, and even often, the soul is aware
that the will alone is in union; and this it sees very clearly,—that
is, it seems so to it. The will is wholly intent upon God, and the
soul sees that it has no power to rest on, or do, anything else; and
at the same time the two other faculties are at liberty to attend to
other matters of the service of God,—in a word, Martha and Mary are
together. See Life, ch. xvii.
§ 5. Compare Life, ch. xxiv.
§ 4.
7. When all the faculties of the soul are in
union, it is a very different state of things; for they can
then do
8. Raptures and trance, in my opinion, are all
one, only I am in the habit of using the word trance instead of
rapture, because the latter word frightens people; and, indeed, the
union of which I am speaking may also be called a trance. The
difference between union and trance is this, that the latter lasts
longer and is more visible outwardly, because the breathing gradually
diminishes, so that it becomes impossible to speak or to open the
eyes; and though this very thing occurs when the soul is in union,
there is more violence in a trance for the natural warmth vanishes, I
know not how, when the rapture is deep; and in all these kinds of
prayer there is more or less of this. When it is deep, as I was
saying, the hands become cold, and sometimes stiff and straight as
pieces of wood; as to the body, if the rapture comes on when it is
standing or kneeling, it
remains so; See Life, ch. xx.
§ 23.
9. It seems to me that our Lord will have the soul know more of that, the fruition of which it has, in a trance than in union, and accordingly in a rapture the soul receives most commonly certain revelations of His Majesty, and the effects thereof on the soul are great,—a forgetfulness of self, through the longing it has that God our Lord, who is so high, may be known and praised. In my opinion, if the rapture be from God, the soul cannot fail to obtain a deep conviction of its own helplessness, and of its wretchedness and ingratitude, in that it has not served Him who, of His own goodness only, bestows upon it graces so great; for the feeling and the sweetness are so high above all things that may be compared therewith that, if the recollection of them did not pass away, all the satisfactions of earth would be always loathsome to it; and hence comes the contempt for all the things of the world.
10. The difference between trance and
transport
11. The flight of the spirit—I know not how to
call it—is a rising upwards from the very depths of the soul. I
remember only this comparison, and I made use of it before, as you
know, my father, in that writing where these and other ways of prayer
are explained at length, See Life, chs. xx. and xxi.
12. This little bird of the spirit seems to
have escaped out of this wretchedness of the flesh, out of the prison
of this body, and now, disentangled therefrom, is able to be the more
intent on that which our Lord is giving it. The flight of the spirit
is something so fine, of such inestimable worth, as the soul perceives
it, that all delusion therein seems impossible, or anything of the
kind, when it occurs. It was afterwards
13. By impetus I mean that desire which at
times rushes into the soul, without being preceded by prayer, and this
is most frequently the case; it is a sudden remembering that the soul
is away from God, or of a word it has heard to that effect. This
remembering is occasionally so strong and vehement that the soul in a
moment becomes as if the reason were gone, just like a person who
suddenly hears most painful tidings of which he knew not before, or is
surprised; such a one seems deprived of the power of collecting his
thoughts for his own comfort, and is as one lost. So is it in this
state, except that the suffering arises from this, that there abides
in the soul a conviction that it would be well worth dying in it. It
seems that whatever the soul then perceives does but increase its
suffering, and that our Lord will have its whole being find no comfort
in anything, nor remember that it is His will that it should live: the
soul seems to itself to be in great and indescribable loneliness, and
abandoned of all, because the world, and all that is in it, gives it
pain; and because it finds no companionship in any created thing, the
soul seeks its Creator alone, and this it sees to be impossible unless
it dies; and as it must not kill itself, it is dying to die, and there
is really a risk of death, and it sees itself hanging between heaven
and earth, not knowing what to do with itself. And from time to time
God gives it a certain knowledge of Himself, that it may see what it
loses, in a way so strange that no explanation of it is possible; and
there is no pain in the world—at least I have felt none—that is
equal or like unto this, for if it lasts but half an hour the whole
body is out of
Life, ch. xx. § 16;
Inner Fortress, vi. c. xi.
14. But nothing of all this is felt till the impetus shall have passed away. He to whom it comes has enough to do in enduring that which is going on within him, nor do I believe that he would feel if he were grievously tortured: he is in possession of all his senses, can speak, and even observe; walk about he cannot,—the great blow of that love throws him down to the ground. If we were to die to have this, it would be of no use, for it cannot be except when God sends it. It leaves great effects and blessings in the soul. Some learned men say that it is this, others that it is that, but no one condemns it. The Father-Master d'Avila wrote to me and said it was good, and so say all. The soul clearly understands that it is a great grace from our Lord; were it to occur more frequently, life would not last long.
15. The ordinary impetus is, that this desire of serving God comes on with a certain tenderness, accompanied with tears, out of a longing to depart from this land of exile; but as the soul retains its freedom, wherein it reflects that its living on is according to our Lord's will, it takes comfort in that thought, and offers its life to Him, beseeching Him that it may last only for His glory. This done, it bears all.
16. Another prayer very common is a certain
kind of wounding; See Life, ch. xxix.
§ 17.
but as I cannot explain it except by comparing it with other pains, I make use of these clumsy expressions,—for such they are when applied to this suffering. I cannot, however, explain it in any other way. It is, therefore, neither to be written of nor spoken of, because it is impossible for any one to understand it who has not had experience of it,—I mean, how far the pain can go; for the pains of the spirit are very different from those of earth. I gather, therefore, from this, that the souls in hell and purgatory suffer more than we can imagine, by considering these pains of the body.
17. At other times, this wound of love seems to
issue from the inmost depth of the soul; great are the effects of it;
and when our Lord does not inflict it, there is no help for it,
whatever we may do to obtain it; nor can it be avoided when it is His
pleasure to inflict it. The effects of it are those longings after
God, so quick and so fine that they cannot be described and when the
soul sees itself hindered and kept back from entering, as it desires,
on the fruition of God, it conceives a great loathing for the body, on
which it looks as a thick wall which hinders it from that fruition
which it then seems to have entered upon within itself, and unhindered
by the body. It then comprehends the great evil that has befallen us
through the sin of Adam in robbing us of
this liberty. See Life, ch. xvii.
§ 9.
18. This prayer I had before the raptures and the great impetuosities I have been speaking of. I forgot to say that these great impetuosities scarcely ever leave me, except through a trance or great sweetness in our Lord, whereby He comforts the soul, and gives it courage to live on for His sake.
19. All this that I speak of cannot be the
effect of the imagination; and I have some reasons for saying this,
but it would be wearisome to enter on them: whether it be good or not
is known to our Lord. The
20. I see clearly that the Persons are distinct, as I saw it yesterday when you, my father, were talking to the Father Provincial; only I saw nothing, and heard nothing, as, my father, I have already told you. But there is a strange certainty about it, though the eyes of the soul see nothing; and when the presence is withdrawn, that withdrawal is felt. How it is, I know not; but I do know very well that it is not an imagination, because I cannot reproduce the vision when it is over, even if I were to perish in the effort; but I have tried to do so. So is it with all that I have spoken of here, so far as I can see; for, as I have been in this state for so many years, I have been able to observe, so that I can say so with this confidence. The truth is,—and you, my father, should attend to this,—that, as to the Person who always speaks, I can certainly say which of Them He seems to me to be; of the others I cannot say so much. One of Them I know well has never spoken. I never knew why, nor do I busy myself in asking more of God than He is pleased to give, because in that case, I believe, I should be deluded by Satan, at once; nor will I ask now, because of the fear I am in.
21. I think the First spoke to me at times; but
as I do not remember that very well now, nor what it was that He
spoke, I will not venture to say so. It is all written,—you, my
father, know where,—and more at large than it is here; I know not
whether in the same words
or not. See Relation, iii.
§ 6.
22. What, my father, you say about the water, I
know not; nor have I heard where the earthly paradise
See St. John of the Cross, Ascent
of Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. xxii.
23. I remember another way of prayer which I had before the one I mentioned first,—namely, a presence of God, which is not a vision at all. It seems that any one, if he recommends himself to His Majesty, even if he only prays vocally, finds Him; every one, at all times, can do this, if we except seasons of aridity. May He grant I may not by my own fault lose mercies so great, and may He have compassion on me!
Relation IX.
1. I had begun to go to confession to a certain
person F. Yepes, then prior of St. Jerome's, Toledo (De
la Fuente). Don Alonzo Velasquez, canon of
Toledo, to whom Relation xi. is addressed.
The Saint speaks of this in a letter to Fra Gratian in 1576. The
letter is numbered 82 in the edition of Don Vicente, and 23 in the
fourth volume of the edition of Doblado.
2. One day,—it was the Feast of the Presentation,—I was praying earnestly to God for a certain person, and thinking that after all the possession of property and of freedom was unfitting for that high sanctity which I wished him to attain to; I reflected on his weak health, and on the spiritual health which he communicated to souls; and I heard these words: "He serves Me greatly; but the great thing is to follow Me stripped of everything, as I was on the cross. Tell him to trust in Me." These last words were said because I thought he could not, with his weak health, attain to such perfection.
3. Once, when I was thinking of the pain it was to me to eat meat and do no penance, I understood that there was at times more of self-love in that feeling than of a desire for penance.
4. Once, when I was in great distress because of my offences against God, He said to me: "All thy sins in My sight are as if they were not. For the future, be strong; for thy troubles are not over."
5. One day, in prayer, I felt my soul in God in such a way that it seemed to me as if the world did not exist, I was so absorbed in Him. He made me then understand that verse of the Magnificat, "Et exultavit spiritus meus," so that I can never forget it.
6. Once, when I was thinking how people sought to destroy this monastery of the Barefooted Carmelites, and that they purposed, perhaps, to bring about the destruction of them all by degrees, I heard: "They do purpose it; nevertheless, they will never see it done, but very much the reverse."
7. Once, in deep recollection, I was praying to
God for Eliseus;
8. Having one day conversed with a person who
had given up much for God, and calling to mind that I had given up
nothing for Him, and had never served Him in anything, as I was bound
to do, and then considering the many graces He had wrought in my soul,
I began to be exceedingly weary; and our Lord said to me: "Thou
knowest of the betrothal between thee and Myself, and therefore all I
have is thine; and so I give thee all the labours and sorrows I
endured, and thou canst therefore ask of My Father as if they were
thine." Though I have heard that we are partakers
therein, 1 St.
Peter iv. 13: "Communicantes Christi
passionibus, gaudete." This took place in 1575, when she
was going to found her monastery in Seville (Ribera, l.
iv. c. v. n. 110).
9. On the Feast of the Magdalene, when thinking
of the great love I am bound to have for our Lord, according to the
words He spoke to, me in reference to this Saint, and having great
desires to imitate her, our Lord was very gracious unto me, and said,
I was to be henceforward strong; for I had to serve Him more than I
had hitherto done. See § 4,
above.
10. On one occasion, I understood how our Lord was in all things, and how He was in the soul; and the illustration of a sponge filled with water was suggested to me.
11. When my brothers came,—and I owe so much
to one of them, This was in 1575, when the Saint
was founding the monastery of Seville; and the brother was Don
Lorenzo, returned from the Indies, and who now placed himself under
the direction of his sister (De la Fuente). In the Chapter "De la Clausura," § 16: "De tratar con deudos se desvien lo mas
que pudieren."
12. After Communion, on St. Augustine's Day, I
understood, and, as it were, saw,—I cannot tell how, unless it was by an intellectual vision which passed rapidly away,—how the Three Persons of the most Holy Trinity, whom I have always imprinted in my soul, are One. This was revealed in a representation so strange, and in a light so clear, that the impression made upon me was very different from that which I have by faith. From that time forth I have never been able to think of One of the Three Divine Persons without thinking of the Three; so that to-day, when I was considering how, the Three being One, the Son alone took our flesh upon Him, our Lord showed me how, though They are One, They are also distinct. These are marvels which make the soul desire anew to be rid of the hindrances which the body interposes between it and the fruition of them. Though this passes away in a moment, there remains a gain to the soul incomparably greater than any it might have made by meditation during many years; and all without knowing how it happens.
13. I have a special joy on the Feast of our Lady's Nativity. When this day was come, I thought it would be well to renew our vows; and thereupon I saw our Lady, by an illuminative vision; and it seemed as if we made them before her and that they were pleasing unto her. I had this vision constantly for some days, and our Lady was by me on my left hand. One day, after Communion, it seemed to me that my soul was really one with the most Holy Body of our Lord, then present before me; and that wrought a great work and blessing in me.
14. I was once thinking whether I was to be
sent to reform a
certain monastery; The monastery of Paterna, of the
unreformed Carmelites. This was in 1576 (De
la Fuente).
15. Once, having a desire to render some service to our Lord, I considered that I could serve Him but poorly, and said to myself: "Why, O Lord, dost Thou desire my works?" And He answered: "To see thy good will, My child."
16. Once our Lord gave me light in a matter that I was very glad to understand, and I immediately forgot it, so that I was never able to call it again to mind; and so, when I was trying to remember it, I heard: "Thou knowest now that I speak to thee from time to time. Do not omit to write down what I say; for, though it may not profit thee, it may be that it will profit others." As I was thinking whether I, for my sins, had to be of use to others, and be lost myself, He said to me: "Have no fear."
17. I was once recollected in that
companionship which I ever have in my soul, and it seemed to me that
God was present therein in such a way that I remembered how St. Peter said: "Thou art Christ, the Son of
the living God;"
18. When I was in such distress, because of the
troubles of our father, Fra Jerome Gratian. This took
place during the persecution that fell on the reformed Carmelites at
the end of the year 1575, and during the following year. See the last paragraph of this Relation (De la
Fuente; see, also, Relation
vi. § 1).
19. Once, with that presence of the Three
Persons which I have in my soul, I was in light so clear that no doubt
of the presence of the true and living God was possible; and I then
came to the knowledge of things which afterwards I could not speak of.
One of these things was, how the person of the Son only took human
flesh. I cannot, as I have just said, explain it at all; for some of
these things were wrought in the secret recesses of the soul, and the
understanding seems to grasp them only as one who is in his sleep, or
half awake, thinks he comprehends what is told him. I was thinking
how hard it was to remain alive, seeing that it was living on that
robbed us of that marvellous companionship; and so I said to myself:
"O Lord, show me some way whereby I may bear this life!" He
said unto me: "Think, my child, when life is over, thou canst not
serve Me as thou art serving Me now, and eat for Me, and sleep for Me.
Whatsoever thou doest, let it be done for Me as if thou wert no longer
living, but I; for that is what St. Paul said."
20. Once, after Communion, I saw how His Father
within our soul accepts the most Holy Body of Christ. I have
understood and seen how the Divine Persons are there, and how pleasing
is this offering of His Son, because He has His joy and delight in
Him, so to speak, here on earth; for it is not the Humanity only that
is with us in our, souls, but the Divinity as well, and thus is it so
pleasing and acceptable unto Him, and gives us graces so great. I
understood also that He accepts the sacrifice, though the priest be in
sin; but then the grace of it is not communicated to his soul as it is
to their souls who are in a state of grace: not that the inflowings of
grace, which proceed from this Communion wherein the Father accepts
the sacrifice, cease to flow in their strength, but because of his
fault who
21. During the Octave of All
Saints,
22. The next night after this, reading in a
book, I found another saying of St. Paul,
with which I began to be comforted; and being slightly recollected, I
remained thinking how I had our Lord before present within me, so that
I truly saw Him to be the living God. While thinking on this He spoke
to me, and I saw Him in my inmost being, as it were beside my
Don Vicente says, that here is a
proof—if any were wanting—that the Saint wrote this after her
sojourn in Seville; because in Avila and in Castile and Aragon the
expression is, "our Lady of Dolors;" while in Andalucia it is
our Lady of Anguish—"Nuestra Señora de
las Angustias."
23. I was one night in great distress, because
it was then a long time since I had heard anything of my
father;
24. One day, after he came, when I was at night giving thanks to our Lord for the many mercies He had given unto me, He said to me: "O my child, what canst thou ask that I have not done?"
25. Our Lord said to me one day, in the monastery of Veas, that I was to present my petition to Him, for I was His bride. He promised to grant whatever I might ask of Him, and, as a pledge, gave me a very beautiful ring, with a stone set in it like an amethyst, but of a brilliancy very unlike, which He put on my finger. I write this to my own confusion, considering the goodness of God, and my wretched life; for I have deserved hell. Ah! my daughters, pray to God for me, and be devout to St. Joseph, who can do much. This folly I write . . . folly I write. . . .
26. On the eve of St. Laurence, at Communion, I was so distracted
and dissipated in mind, that I had no power over it, and began to envy
those who dwell in desert places; thinking that, as they see and hear
nothing, they are exempt from distractions. I heard this: "Thou
art greatly deceived, My daughter; on the contrary, the temptations of
Satan are more violent there. Have patience while life lasts, it
cannot be helped." While dwelling on this, I became suddenly
recollected, and I saw a great light within me, so that I thought I
was in another world, and my spirit found itself interiorly in a
forest and in a garden of delights, which made me remember those words
of the Canticle: This was the name given to Fra
Jerome Gratian, when the Saint was driven, by the persecution raised
against her, to distinguish her friends by other designations than
those by which they were usually known: this fragment cannot have been
written before the year 1578 (De la Fuente). See the
last section. Don Vicente published §§ 25 and 26 as fragments
separately (vol. i. pp. 524–526); but, as they seem to form a part of
the series of events spoken of in this Relation, they have been
placed here.
27. The day after the presentation of the
Brief, Fra Jerome Gratian exhibited the
brief which made him Visitor-Apostolic to the unreformed Carmelites,
who were very angry thereat, and rude in their vexation. See § 26.
Relation X.
In St. Joseph of Avila, on Pentecost
eve, in the hermitage of Nazareth, thinking of one of the greatest
graces our Lord had given me on that day some twenty years
before,
The first is, the superiors of the monasteries are to be of one mind.
The second, even if they have many monasteries, to have but few friars in each.
The third, to converse little with people in the world, and that only for the good of their souls.
The fourth, to teach more by works than by words.
This happened in the year 1579; and because it is a great truth, I have put my name to it.
Teresa de Jesús.
Relation XI.
This Relation is usually printed among the letters of the Saint, and Don Vicente did not change the practice, assigning as his reason the Saint's reference in § 4 to certain transactions in which she was engaged. The letter is the 333rd (336th in the second edition), and the 4th of vol. ii., ed. Doblado, and is probably the latest account of the state of her soul, for she died on October 4 in the following year.
Jesus.
1. Oh, that I could clearly explain to your
Lordship the peace and quiet my soul has found! for it has so great a
certainty of the fruition of God, that it seems to be as if already in
possession,
2. Though this be so, yet, in all that relates to health and the care of the body, it seems to me that I am more careful than I was, that I mortify myself less in my food, and do fewer penances: it is not so with the desires I had; they seem to be greater. All this is done that I may be the better able to serve God in other things, for I offer to Him very often, as a great sacrifice, the care I take of my body, and that wearies me much, and I try it sometimes in acts of mortification; but, after all, this cannot be done without losing health, and I must not neglect what my superiors command. Herein, and in the wish for health, much self-love also must insinuate itself; but, as it seems to me, I feel that it would give me more pleasure, and it gave me more pleasure when I was strong, to do penance, for, at least, I seemed to be doing something, and was giving a good example, and I was free from the vexation which arises out of the fact that I am not serving God at all. Your Lordship will see what it will be best to do in the matter.
3. The imaginary visions have ceased, but the intellectual vision of the Three Persons and of the Sacred Humanity seems ever present, and that, I believe, is a vision of a much higher kind; and I understand now, so I think, that the visions I had came from God, because they prepared my soul for its present state; they were given only because I was so wretched and so weak: God led me by the way which He saw was necessary; but they are, in my opinion, of great worth when they come from God.
4. The interior locutions have not left me,
for, whenever it is necessary, our Lord gives me certain directions;
and now, in Palencia, were it not for these, there would have been
committed a great blunder, though not
a sin. This relates to the taking of the
hermitage of our Lady de la Calle, in Palencia (De la
Fuente). See Foundations, ch. xxix.
5. The acts and desires do not seem to be so vigorous as they used to be, for, though they are great, I have one much greater to see the will of God accomplished and His glory increased; for as the soul is well aware that His Majesty knoweth what is expedient herein, and is so far removed from all self-seeking, these acts and desires quickly end, and, as it seems to me, have no strength. Hence the fear I have at times though without disquietude and pain as formerly, that my soul is dulled, and that I am doing nothing, because I can do no penance; acts of desire for suffering, for martyrdom, and of the vision of God, have no strength in them, and, most frequently, I cannot make them. I seem to live only for eating and drinking, and avoiding pain in everything; and yet this gives me none, except that sometimes, as I said before, I am afraid that this is a delusion; but I cannot believe it, because so far as I can see, I am not under the sway of any strong attachment to any created thing, not even to all the bliss of heaven, but only to the love of God; and this does not grow less,—on the contrary, I believe it is growing, together with the longing that all men may serve Him.
6. But, for all this, one thing amazes me: I have not the feelings I had formerly, so strong and so interior, which tormented me when I saw souls go to their ruin, and when I used to think I had offended God. I cannot have these feelings now, though I believe my desire that God be not sinned against is not less than it was.
7. Your Lordship must consider that in all this, in my present as well as in my previous state, I can do no more, and that it is not in my power to serve Him better: I might do so, if I were not so wicked. I may say, also, that if I were now to make great efforts to wish to die, I could not, nor can I make the acts I used to make, nor feel the pains I felt for having offended God, nor the great fears I had for so many years when
I thought I was under a delusion: and accordingly, I have no need
of learned men, or of speaking to anybody at all, only to satisfy
myself that I am going the right road now, and whether I can do
anything. I have consulted certain persons on this point, with whom I
had taken counsel on the others, with Fra Dominic [i.e., Bañes], the
Master Medina, and certain members of the Society. I will be
satisfied with the answer which you, my Lord, may give me, because of
the great trust I have in your Lordship. Consider it carefully, for
the love of God! Neither do I cease to learn that certain souls of
people connected with me when they died are in heaven: of others I
learn nothing. Oh, in what solitude I find myself when I consider
that the comparison of which I spoke to you, concerning the return
from Egypt, does not apply to the child at my
mother's breast. "La soledad
que me hace pensar no se puede dar aquel sentido à el que mama los
pechos de mi madre, la ida de Egito!" This passage, Don
Vicente observes, was omitted in all editions prior to his; he does
not know what it means; and the translator can give no corresponding
English words. [Transcriber's note: The Spanish quoted here was
printed in the body of the text, p. 479; English rendition supplied from Corrigenda, p. [viii].]
8. I am at peace within; and my likings and
dislikings have so little power to take from me the Presence of the
Three Persons, of which, while it continues, it is so impossible to
doubt, that I seem clearly to know by experience what is recorded by
St. John, that God will make His dwelling
in the soul:
might help, by my prayers, to make but one soul love Him more, and praise Him, and that only for a short time, I think that of more importance than to dwell in glory.
The unworthy servant and daughter of your Lordship,
Teresa de Jesús.
Index.
Abecedario, Tercer, iv. 8.
Agony in raptures, xx. 15.
Ahumada, de, Antonio, iv. 1.
Ahumada, de, Doña Beatriz, mother of St. Teresa, death of, i. 7; seen in heaven by the Saint, xxxviii. 1.
Ahumada, de, Juana, sister of the Saint, xxxiii. 13.
Alcala, monastery founded in, xxxvi. 29, note.
Alcantara. See St. Peter of Alcantara.
Almsgiving of the Saint, i. 6, Rel. ii. 3.
Alvarez, F. Baltasar, xxiv. 6, xxv. 18; mortifies the Saint, xxvi. 4; humility of, xxviii. 20; promise of, to protect the Saint, xxviii. 21; always consoled the Saint, xxix. 5; hesitates about the new foundation, xxxii. 16; commands the Saint to abandon it, xxxiii. 4; orders her to proceed, xxxiii. 13.
Alvarez, F. Rodrigo, Rel. viii.
Amendment of life, the work of prayer, viii. 6–12.
Amusements, vii. 1, Rel. i. 14.
Angels and evil spirits, vision of, xxxi. 11.
Angel, the Saint's vision of the, xxix. 16–18.
Answers to the Saint's prayers, xxxix. 1–7.
Antony, St., of Padua, xxii. 10.
Aranda, de, Don Gonzalo, xxxvi. 18.
Aridity, how it comes on in the second state of prayer, xv. 15.
Art, the, of serving God, xii. 2.
Ascent of the Mount, xxiii. 13.
Assumption, the, vision of, xxxix. 37.
Attachments, evil effects of worldly, xi. 5; xxiii. 5.
Augustin, St., Confessions of, ix. 8; effect of reading them on the Saint, ix. 9; saying of, xiii. 4.
Avila, birthplace of St. Teresa, troubled by the new foundation: xxxvi. 14.
Avila, Bl., Juan of, Rel. vii. 9.
Báñes, Fr. Dom., xxxvi. 15; transmits the Saint's writings to the Inquisition, Rel. vii. 16.
Barrientos. See Martin.
Barron, Fra Vicente, confessor of the Saint's father, vii. 26; hears the confession of the Saint, vii. 27, xix. 19.
Beauty of our Lord, xxviii. 2, xxix. 2, xxxvii. 5; unimaginable, xxviii. 7.
Beginners, must toil, xi. 13; and persevere, xi. 15–17; not to be afraid of the cross, xi. 25; must be content, xii. 2; certain temptations of, vii. 16, xiii. 9; must begin humbly, xv. 19.
Bernard, St., xxii. 10.
Betrothal spiritual, of the Saint, Rel. ix. 8, 25.
Bird, the soul likened to a, xviii. 13, xix. 22.
Bishopric, a, the Saint consulted about the acceptance of, xl. 21.
Blessed, the, joys of, x. 3.
Blindness healed through the prayer of the Saint, xxxix. 1.
Body, the, shares the joy of the soul in certain states of prayer, xvii. 14, xviii. 15; state of, in raptures, xx. 2, 4, 23; our Lord seen by the Saint always in His glorified, xxix. 4.
Book, a living, xxvi. 6.
Books insufficient without a director, xxii. 3.
Borja, de, St. Francis. See Francis.
Brief, the, sanctioning the observances of St. Joseph's, xxxiv. 2, xxxvi. 1, xxxix. 20.
Brizeño, Doña Maria, ii. 12; influences the Saint, iii. 1.
Bulls, the Sabbatine, xxxviii. 40.
Cardona, de, Doña Catalina, Rel. iii. 12.
Carmel, the Order of, vision concerning, Rel. iii. 14; advice to, Rel. x.
Caterpillar of self-respect, xxxi. 24.
Catherine, St., of Siena, xxii. 10.
Censoriousness of the world, xxxi. 19.
Cepeda, de, Alfonso Sanchez, father of the Saint, fond of spiritual books, i. 1; gives his daughter Maria in marriage, ii. 4, note, 8; places the Saint at school in a monastery, ii. 8; would not consent to her becoming a nun, iii. 9; takes her to Bezadas to be cured, v. 5, 6; brings her to his house in Avila, v. 15; hinders her from making her confession in an illness, v. 17; persuaded by the Saint to practise mental prayer, vii. 16; makes progress therein, vii. 20; holy death of, vii. 22–25; seen in heaven by the Saint, xxxviii. 1.
Cepeda, de, Don Lorenzo, finds money for the new monastery of St. Joseph, xxxiii. 13.
Cepeda, de, Maria, sister of the Saint, ii. 4; sudden death of, xxxiv. 24; seen in heaven by the Saint, xxxiv. 25.
Cerda, de la, Doña Luisa, xxxiv. 1; attracted by the Saint, xxxiv. 4; visited by St. Peter of Alcantara, xxxv. 6; tries to amuse the Saint by showing her diamonds, xxxviii. 5; the Saint's watchfulness over herself in the house of, xxxix. 11.
Cheerfulness, importance of, xii. 1.
Cherubim, xxix. 16.
Choice of a director, xiii. 28, 29.
Church, the, ceremonies of, xxxi. 4; the Saint's reverence for, xxxiii. 6.
Clare, St., encourages the Saint, xxxiii. 15.
Comforts, worldly, the Saint's fear of, xxxiv. 4.
Communion, effects of the Saint's, xvi. 3–10, xviii. 10–18, xxx. 16, xxxviii. 24, Rel. iv. 5, Rel. ix. 13; the Saint's longing for, xxxix. 31; graces of, Rel. ix. 20.
Complaint, loving, of the Saint, xxxvii. 13.
Confession, frequent, of the Saint, v. 17; matter of, Rel. v. 11.
Confessors, the Saint's difficulty in finding, iv. 8, 13; harm done by ill-instructed, v. 6, 20, vi. 6; one of them misleads the Saint, viii. 15; unskilful, xx. 28; wrong counsel of, xxvi. 5; of the Saint harsh with her, xxx. 15; obedience of the Saint to her, xxiii. 19, xxxiii. 4, 5, Rel, i. 9; the Saint rebuked for her affection to her, xxxvii. 6; names of the Saint's, Rel. vii. 5, 11, 12, 13.
Consecration, power of the words of, xxxviii. 30.
Consolations, xi. 21; not to be sought for, xxii. 15.
Contemplation, xxii. 1; why granted to imperfect souls, xxii. 22, 23.
Contempt, Satan shuns, xxxi. 10; the Saint directed to treat her visions with, xxix. 6.
Contradiction of good people, xxviii. 24, xxx. 6.
Conversation, worldly, vii. 10; danger of, ii. 5, vii. 10; delight of our Lord in spiritual, xxxiv. 20.
Conversion of a wicked priest, v. 12; of a sinner, xxxix. 5.
Courage of the Saint, viii. 10; necessity of, x. 8; effects of, xiii. 3; necessary in the way of perfection, xxxi. 19.
Covetousness, xxxiii. 14.
Cowardice, spiritual, xiii. 6.
Creator, the, traces of, in things visible, ix. 6.
Crosses, xi. 8; desired by souls in the prayer of imperfect union, xvi. 9.
Cross, the, way of, xi. 8, xv. 17, 21; necessity of carrying, xxvii. 14.
Daza, Gaspar, xxiii. 6; thought the Saint was deluded by an evil spirit, xxiii. 16; approved of the new foundation, xxxii. 21.
Delusion, a, into which the Saint fell, xxii. 3; the Saint always prayed to be delivered from, xxix. 6.
Delusions incidental to locutions, xxv. 3, 11.
Desires, good, xiii. 8, xxi. 9, Rel. xi. 5.
Desolation, spiritual, of the Saint, xxx. 10.
Detachment, blessing of, xi. 2, xxxiv. 20; necessity of, for prayer, xi. 16, xv. 17; of the perfect, xv. 18; an effect of raptures, xviii. 8, xx. 10; takes away the fear of death, xxxviii. 7; the Saint's, from kindred, xxxi. 22, Rel. ii. 5, Rel. ix. 11; from directors, Rel. iv. 3.
Detraction, avoided by the Saint, vi. 4, vii. 3; insensibility to, Rel. ii. 4.
Detractors, the Saint prays for her, xix. 11.
Devotion, sweetness in, never asked for by the Saint, ix. 10; but once, ix. 11; those who seek it censured, xi. 21; the Saint's, increased by difficulties, xxviii. 10.
Die, either to, or suffer, xl. 27.
Direction, unskilful, viii. 15, 16; importance of, xiii. 4; methods of wrong, xiii. 25; not to be the same for all, xxxix. 16.
Directors ought to be experienced, xiii. 21; and prudent, xiii. 24; and learned, xiii. 26; choice of, xiii. 28; charity of, xiii. 29; should be secret, xxiii. 14; and humble, xxxiv. 15; should be trusted, xxxix. 35; necessary, xl. 12; the Saint preferred those who distrusted her, Rel. vii. 18.
Discouragements, xi. 15; must be resisted, xix. 6; certain causes of, xxxi. 21.
Discretion, xi. 23, xiii. 2; excessive, xiii. 8.
Distraction of the understanding in the prayer of quiet, xv. 10, xxx. 19; in monasteries not caused by poverty, xxxv. 3.
Distrust of self, viii. 18, ix. 3; necessity of, xix. 20.
"Domine, da mihi aquam," xxx. 24.
Dominicans, the, help St. Teresa, v. 8, Rel. vii. 11–14.
Dominion, true, xl. 21.
Dove, vision of a, xxxviii. 13, 14.
Ecija, vow of the Saint in the hermitage of, Rel. vi. 3.
Ecstasy, xx. 1; how wrought, xx. 2; fear during, xx. 9; first, of the Saint, xxiv. 7.
Egypt, flesh-pots of, xv. 5.
Elevation of the spirit not to be attempted in union, xviii. 8.
Eliseus. See Jerome, Fra, of the Mother of God.
Enclosure, observance of, how important, vii. 5.
Endowments not accepted by the Saint for her monasteries, xxxv. 4, 5; offered for St. Joseph, xxxvi. 19; and forbidden by a Brief, xxxix. 20.
Envy, a holy, xxxix. 19.
Exorcisms, the Saint threatened with, Boll. 211, xxix. 4.
Experience, more valuable than books, xiv. 10; a safeguard against delusion, xiv. 11.
Faith, the, Satan was never able to make the Saint doubt, xix. 13; blessed effects of, xxv. 16.
Falls turn to our good, xix. 8.
Fear, xxv. 27; of God, xxvi. 1.
Founders of religious Orders, xxxii. 17.
Francis, St., xxii. 10.
Francis, St., de Borja visits the Saint, xxiv. 4; consulted by her, Rel. vii. 5.
Friendship, advantages of spiritual, vii. 33–37, xxx. 6; with God, xv. 8; the Saint's detachment from, xxiv. 8.
Friendship, worldly, dangers of, ii. 4, v. 9; deceitfulness of, xxi. 1.
Garden, the prayer in the, ix. 5; the soul likened to a, xi. 10, xiv. 13.
Gifts of God, the, importance of discerning, x. 4; demand our gratitude, x. 7; supply strength, x. 8; a grace to understand, xvii. 7; the Saint erroneously advised to conceal, xxvi. 5; given according to His will, xxxiv. 14, xxxix. 12; the Saint's joy when others received, xxxiv. 21.
God, sense of the presence of, x. 1; helps those who love Him, xi. 19; never fails those who trust Him, xiii. 15; munificence of, xviii. 5; the Saint has a vision of, xl. 13, 14; pain of absence from, Rel. iv. 6.
Grace, prayer the door of, viii. 13; comes after trials, xi. 18; the Saint's distress because she could not know whether she was in a state of, xxxiv. 12; vision of a soul in, Rel. iii. 13.
Guzman, de, y Barrientos, Don Martin, sudden death of, xxxiv. 24.
Hardships of the religious life, xiii. 30.
Health, anxiety about, v. 3–8; importance of, in the spiritual life, xi. 23; to be made little of, xiii. 9.
Heaven, Queen of, xix. 9; revealed in raptures, xxxiii. 16, xxxviii. 8.
Hell, a vision of, xxx. 14, xxxii. 1; effects of, on the Saint, xxxii. 7–10.
Heretics, self-condemned, vii. 8; evil state of, xxxii. 9; resemble a broken mirror, xl. 9.
Hilarion, St., the Saint commends herself to, xxvii. 2.
Honour, point of, xxi. 12.
Hugo, Fra, Cardinal of Santa Sabina, xxxvi. 27.
Humanity, the Sacred, xii. 3, xxii. 1; mistake of the Saint concerning, xxii. 3; source of all grace, xxii. 9; never to be lost sight of in prayer, xxii. 11; the Saint directed to fix her thoughts on, xxiii. 18; the Saint renews her love of, xxiv. 2; vision of, xxviii. 4, xxxviii. 22.
Humility, advantages of, vii. 37, xii. 9; false kinds of, x. 4, xiii. 4; the foundation of the Christian life, xii. 5; worth more than all the science in the world, xv. 13; grows most in the state of perfect union, xix. 2; dangers of false, xix. 15–23; acquired in raptures, xx. 38; foundation of prayer must be laid in, xxii. 16; a false, the most crafty device of Satan, xxx. 12; asking for consolations not consistent with, xxxix. 21–23.
Hypocrisy, the Saint not tempted to, vii. 2, Rel. i. 18.
Ibañez, Fra Pedro, x. 10, note, xvi. 10; note 6; consulted by the Saint about the new foundation, xxxii. 19; encourages the Saint to persevere, xxxii. 20; confident of success, xxxiii. 5; departs from Avila, xxxiii. 7; advises the Saint to accept an endowment for the new foundation, xxxv. 5; changes his opinion, xxxv. 7; and helps the Saint, xxxvi. 23; seen by the Saint in a vision, xxxviii. 15, 16.
Illness of St. Teresa, iv. 6, v. 4; extreme severity of, v. 14.
Image of our Lord not to be mocked, xxix. 7.
Images, devotion of the Saint to, vii. 3; effects of, on her, ix. 1–3; great blessing of, ix. 7.
Imagination of St. Teresa not active, ix. 6; wearisome to her, xvii. 9.
Imitation of the Saints, xiii. 5–9.
Imperfections, rooting up of, xiv. 14.
Impetuosities in prayer, xxix. 11–13, Rel. i. 3, Rel. viii. 13.
Impetuosities of divine love, xxix. 10, 11, 13, xxxiii. 9; physical effects of, xxix. 15.
Incarnation, the monastery of the, the Saint enters, iv. 1; the nuns of, complain of the Saint, xix. 12; the Saint tempted to leave, xxxi. 16; the rule not strictly observed in, xxxii. 12; the Saint's affection for, xxxii. 13, xxxiii. 3; nuns of, object to the new foundation, xxxiii. 2; election of prioress, xxxv. 8; the Saint returns to, from Toledo, xxxv. 10, xxxvi. 1; troubled because of the new foundation, xxxvi. 11.
Indisposition, bodily, evil effects of, on the spiritual life, xi. 23.
Ingratitude, delusion arising from the dread of, xxiv. 6; the Saint bewails her, xiv. 16.
Inquisition, the, threats of denouncing the Saint to, xxxiii. 6.
Inspirations, good, not to be resisted, iv. 3.
Intentions, good, no excuse for an evil act, v. 12.
Jerome, Fra, of the Mother of God, Rel. vi. 1–3, Rel. ix. 7, 21, 23, 26.
Jerome, St., xi. 17, xxxviii. 2; the Saint reads the letters of, iii. 8.
Jesus, the Society of, helps the Saint, v. 8; sought by her, xxiii. 3, 19; visions concerning, xxxviii. 17, 39.
Job, patience of, v. 16; trial of, xxx. 12.
John, St., of the Cross, Rel. iii. 19.
Joseph, St., great devotion of the Saint to, vi. 9, xxx. 8, xxxvi. 5; the teacher of prayer, vi. 12; encourages the Saint, xxxiii. 14; vision of, xxxiii. 16.
Joseph, St., the monastery of, purchase of the site of, xxxii. 22; not to be subject to the Order, xxxiii. 18; paradise of God's delight, xxxv. 13; foundation of, xxxvi. 4; destruction of, threatened by the council of the city, xxxvi. 14; obtains the good will of the people, xxxvi. 25; goodness of the nuns of, xxxix. 14.
Joys, of prayer, x. 3; of visions, xxvii. 13; of the saved, xxvii. 15.
Judas, temptation of, xix. 16.
Judgment, day of, xl. 16.
Kindred, detachment from, xxxi. 22, Rel. ix. 11.
Kings, obligations of, xxi. 2, 4; wherein lies the power of, xxxvii. 8.
Labourer, story of a, xxxviii. 26.
Laxity in religious houses, vii. 6–10.
Learning, accompanied with humility, a help to prayer, xii. 6; useful in directors, xiii. 24–26; the Saint wishes for, xiv. 9; not necessary in prayer, xv. 12.
Lie, a, Satan is, xxv. 26; the Saint's hatred of, xxviii. 6.
Life, the, of the Saint, under what circumstances written, x. 11.
Life, weariness of, xxi. 8; the illuminative, xxii. 1.
Light of visions, xxviii. 7, xxxviii. 3.
Locutions, divine, xix. 14, xxv. 1, 2; delusions incidental to, xxv. 3, 11; efficacy of, xxv. 5, 12; human, xxv. 8; Satanic, xxv. 13; tests of the Satanic, xxv. 17; nature of, xxvi. 3; state of the understanding during, xxvii. 10; effects of the divine, xxxviii. 19–21.
Locutions heard by the Saint, xviii. 18, xix. 13, xxiv. 7, xxv. 22, xxvi. 3, 6, xxix. 7, xxx. 17, xxxi. 15, xxxii. 17, xxxiii. 10, 14, xxxv. 7, 9, xxxvi. 20, xxxviii. 4, 19, 20, xxxix. 29, 34, xl. 1, 21, 24, Rel. iii. 1, passim, Rel. iv. 4, 5, 6, Rel. ix. 1, passim.
Lord, our, accounted mad, xxvii. 15.
Love, joyous, in seeing a picture of Christ, ix. 7; servants of, xi. 1; wherein it consists, xi. 20; vehement in perfect souls, xv. 6; effects of divine, xxii. 21; makes itself known without words, xxvii. 12; impetuosities of, xxix. 10, 11; fire of, xxx. 25.
Loyalty, worldly, v. 9.
Ludolf of Saxony, xxxviii. 11.
Lukewarmness, vii. 1.
Lutherans, xxxii. 9, Rel. ii. 14; destroyers of images, Rel. v. 5.
Madness, spiritual, xvi. 1–8, xxvii. 15.
Magdalene, the, ix. 2, xxi. 9; her example to be followed, xxii. 19.
Mancio, F., Rel. ii. 18.
Mantles of the religious folded by the Saint, xxxi. 27.
Maria of Jesus, xxxv. 1; founds a house in Alcala de Henares, xxxvi. 29.
Martin, Don, Guzman y Barrientos, marries a sister of the Saint, ii. 4, note, iii. 4; sudden death of, xxxiv. 24.
Martyrdom desired by the Saint, i. 4.
Martyrs, the, sufferings of, xvi. 6.
Mary and Martha, xvii. 6, xxii. 13.
Meditation, advantage of, iv. 11; fruits of, xi. 20; example of a, xiii. 19; the perfect may have to return to, xv. 20.
Memory, the, in the prayer of imperfect union, xvii. 5, 9; troublesome, but not hurtful, xvii. 11.
Mendoza, de, Don Alvaro, Bishop of Avila, xxxiii. 19; protects the new monastery of St. Joseph, xxxvi. 18.
Men, great, difficult of access, xxxvii. 7.
Mercies of God, the remembrance of, xv. 23.
Michael, St., the Saint commends herself to, xxvii. 2.
Misdirection, a, corrected by the Saint, xiii. 22.
Mitigation, the Bull of, xxxii. 12; disused in the new monastery, xxxvi. 27, 28.
Monasteries, courts in politeness, xxxvii. 17.
Munificence of God, xviii. 5, xxii. 26.
Neatness, excessive, ii. 2, Rel. i. 23.
Novices in St. Joseph's, xxxix. 15.
Novitiate of the Saint, v. 1.
Nun, illness of a, in the monastery of the Incarnation, v. 3; visions concerning a, xxxviii. 37, 38.
Obedience, the Saint writes under, xviii. 10; strict observance of, in the Society of Jesus, xxxiii. 9; of the Saint to her confessors, xxiii. 19, Rel. i. 9, 29, Rel. vii. 14.
Objects, natural, moved the Saint to devotion, ix. 6.
Ocampo, de, Mary, xxxii. 13, note.
Office, the divine, the Saint's imperfect knowledge of, xxxi. 26.
Order, vision concerning a certain, xl. 18, 19.
Osorno, Countess of, Rel. iii. 16.
Ovalle, de, Don Juan, xxxv. 14, note; providential illness of, xxxvi. 2.
Padranos, de, Juan, xxiii. 18; directs the Saint, xxiv. 1; removed from Avila, xxiv. 5.
Pain of raptures, xx. 11; sweetness of, xx. 19.
Paradise of His delight, xxxv. 13.
"Passer solitarius," xx. 13.
Passion, the, devotion of the Saint to, ix. 5; meditation on, xiii. 19, 20, xxii. 8.
Patience of a nun, v. 3; of the Saint, v. 16; of God, viii. 8.
Penance, necessity of, xxvii. 14; of the Saint, xxiv. 2, Rel. i. 5, Rel. ii. 11, Rel. xi. 2.
Perfection, xxi. 10; true safety lies in, xxxv. 15; not always attained to because of many years spent in prayer, xxxix. 21.
Persecution, of the Saint, xix. 12, xxxvi. 12; blessings of, xxxiii. 5.
Perseverance in prayer, viii. 5; fruits of, xi. 6; reward of, certain, xi. 17; the Saint prays for, xiv. 17; and recommends, xix. 7.
Peter, St., of Alcantara, xxvii. 4; penitential life of, xxvii. 17–21, xxx. 2; power of, with God, xxvii. 22; understands and comforts the Saint, xxx. 5, 7, Rel. vii. 6; quiets a scruple of the Saint, xxx. 20; approves of the new foundation, xxxii. 16; and of the observance of poverty in it, xxxv. 6; in Avila when the Saint came back from Toledo, xxxvi. 1; death of, xxxvi. 1, note; appears to the Saint, xxxvi. 20, 21; said that women make greater progress than men, xl. 12.
Phoenix, the, xxxix. 33.
Pilgrims, xxxviii. 8.
Pillar, the, meditations on Christ at, xiii. 19, 31.
Politeness, monasteries courts in, xxxvii. 17.
Poverty, effects of defective, xi. 3; of spirit, xxii. 17; the Saint's love of, xxxv. 3, Rel. i. 10, Rel. ii. 2.
Prayer, mental, viii. 7; blessings of, viii. 12; joys of, x. 3; the Saint's four states of, xi. 12; fruit of mental, xi. 20; vocal, xii. 3; doctrine of, difficult, xiii. 18; importance of persevering in, xv. 5; must have its foundations in humility, xxii. 16; of the Saint continued in sleep, xxix. 9; effects of intercessory, xxxi. 9; two kinds of, xxxix. 8–10; the Saint's method of, Rel. i. 1.
Preachers, xvi. 12.
Presence of God, the, xviii. 20; practice of the, xii. 3; effects of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 8; different from vision, xxvii. 6.
Priest, conversion of an evil-living, v. 9, xxxi. 7; vision concerning a, xxxviii. 29.
Progress made in the way of raptures, xxi. 11.
Prophecies made to the Saint, xxxiv. 23; fulfilled, Rel. ii. 6, 17.
Provincial, the, of the Carmelites offers to accept the new foundation, xxxii. 16; then declines it, xxxii. 18; sends the Saint to Toledo, xxxiv. 2; recalls her, xxxv. 8; reprimands the Saint, xxxvi. 12; allows the Saint to live in the new monastery, xxxvi. 23; death of, xxxviii. 34–36.
Purgatory, the Saint saw certain souls who were not sent to, xxxviii. 41; and delivers others from, xxxix. 6.
Queen of heaven, the, devotion to, xix. 9.
Quiet, the prayer of, iv. 9, ix. 6, xiv. 1, passim; disturbed by the memory and the understanding, xiv. 5; joy of the soul in, xiv. 7; few souls pass beyond, xv. 3, 7; great fruits of, xv. 6; how the soul is to order itself in, xv. 9; difference between the true and false, xv. 15.
Rank, slavery of, xxxiv. 6.
Rapture, xx. 1; irresistible, xx. 3, xxii. 20; effects of, xx. 9, 30; pain of, xx. 11; loneliness of the soul in, xx. 13; characteristics of, xx. 23; duration of, xx. 25; physical effects of, xx. 29, Rel. i. 26, iv. 1; made the Saint long for heaven, xxxviii. 8; good effects of, Rel. i. 8, 15.
Reading, spiritual, i. 1, iv. 12, 13; persevered in by the Saint, viii. 14; long unprofitable to her, xii. 10; impossible in the prayer of perfect union, xviii. 14; a delight, Rel. i. 7.
Recollection, prayer of, xiv. 2, Rel. viii. 3.
Recreation, xiii. 1.
Reflections, making, when dangerous in prayer, xv. 11.
Reform, the Carmelite, beginning of, xxxii. 13.
Religious must despise the world, xxvii. 16.
Resignation of the Saint, xxi. 6, Rel. i. 20.
Revelations, the Saint never spoke of her, when she consulted her confessors, xxxii. 19.
Rosary, the, of the Saint, xxix. 8.
Rule, the Carmelite, mitigation of, xxxii. 12; restored by the Saint, xxxvi. 27; observance of, xxxvi. 30, 31.
Salasar, de, Angel. See Provincial.
Salazar, de, Gaspar, Rector of the Society of Jesus in Avila, xxxiii. 9; understands the state of the Saint, xxxiii. 11; bids the Saint go to Toledo, xxxiv. 2; vision of the Saint concerning, xxxviii. 17.
Salcedo, de, Don Francisco, xxiii. 6; gives spiritual advice to the Saint, xxiii. 11; fears delusions, xxiii. 12; helps the Saint in her new foundation, xxxii. 21, xxxvi. 21; hospitable, xxxvi. 1; gives Communion to the Saint when a priest, Rel. iii. 7.
Samaria, the woman of, xxx. 24.
Satan, subtlety of, iv. 14; an artifice of, vii. 12, 35; suggests a false humility, xiii. 5; and a carefulness for health, xiii. 9; afraid of learned directors who are humble, xiii. 26; efforts of, to deceive, how thwarted, xv. 16; tempted the Saint to give up prayer, xix. 8; a lie, xxv. 26; unable to counterfeit intellectual visions, xxvii. 4–8; tries to counterfeit imaginary visions, xxviii. 15; appears to the Saint, xxxi. 2; dislikes contempt, xxxi. 10; wiles of, Rel. i. 29.
Scandal, xxvii. 16.
Scorn, signs of, not to be made during visions, xxix. 6.
Self, contempt of, necessary in the spiritual life, xxxi. 23.
Self-denial, necessity of, xxxi. 25.
Self-knowledge, xiii. 23.
Self-love, xi. 2; strong and hurtful, xi. 4, 5.
Self-respect, harm of, xxi. 12.
Senses, the, suspension of, in the prayer of perfect union, xviii. 19.
Sensitiveness, xi. 4.
Sermons, viii. 17; without simplicity, xvi. 12.
Shame, good fruits of, v. 9.
Sicknesses of the Saint, xxx. 9.
Sickness sent for penance, xxiv. 2.
Sight restored at the prayer of the Saint, xxxix. 1.
Sincerity of the Saint, Rel. i. 28.
Sin, occasions of, viii. 14; pain occasioned by the sins of others, xiii. 14; original, xxx. 20; the Saint, by her prayers, hinders a great, xxxix. 3; wickedness of, xl. 15; vision of a soul in, Rel. iii. 13.
Sins, the Saint consents to the divulging of her, x. 10.
Solitude, longings for, i. 6, vi. 5, Rel. i. 6.
Sorcery, v. 10.
Soto, de, the Inquisitor, Rel. vii. 8.
Soul, our own, the first object, xiii. 13, 14; likened to a garden, xi. 10, xiv. 13; in the prayer of quiet, xv. 1; growth of, xv. 20; powers of, in the prayer of imperfect union, xvi. 1, 4; beside itself, xvi. 1–5; crucifixion of, in raptures, xx. 14; detachment of the enraptured, xx. 33; strengthened in raptures, xxi. 14; effects of visions in, xxvii. 11; helplessness of, without God, xxxvii. 11; vision of a lost soul, xxxviii. 31; the Saint's vision of her own, xl. 8; and of, in a state of grace, Rel. iii. 13, Rel. v. 6.
Spirit, liberty of, xi. 25; poverty of, xxii. 17; flight of the, xviii. 8, Rel. viii. 11.
Spirits, evil, put to flight, xxv. 25; by holy water, xxxi. 4.
Spirituality influenced by bodily health, xi. 24.
Suarez, Juana, iii. 2; accompanies the Saint to Bezadas, iv. 6.
Sufferings, physical, of the Saint, iv. 7, v. 4, 14, vi. 1; of raptures, xx. 16; the Saint longs for, xl. 27.
Sweetness, spiritual, never sought by the Saint but once, ix. 11; seekers of, censured, xi. 21; of the pain of raptures, xx. 19; the Saint unable to resist it at times, xxiv. 1.
Tears, gift of, iv. 8, xxix. 11; of the Saint before a picture of the Passion, ix. 1; in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 5; in the prayer of perfect union, xix. 1, 2; the Saint prays God to accept her, xix. 10.
Temptation, power of, xxx. 13.
Tenderness of soul, x. 2.
Teresa, St., desires martyrdom, i. 4; placed in a monastery, ii. 8; unwilling to become a nun, ii. 10; becomes more fervent, iii. 2; is resolved to follow her vocation, iii. 6; first fervours of, iv. 2; failure of health, iv. 6; God sends her an illness, v. 4; suffers grievously, vi. 1; afraid of prayer, vi. 5; leads her father to prayer, vii. 16; present at her father's death, vii. 22; perseveres in prayer, viii. 2; found it hard to pray, viii. 10; delights in sermons, viii. 17; devout to the Magdalene, ix. 2; never doubted of God's mercy, ix. 8; depreciates herself, x. 9; willing to have her sins divulged, x. 10; always sought for light, x. 13; complains of her memory, xi. 9; unable to explain the state of her soul, xii. 10; supernaturally enlightened, xii. 11; reads books on prayer to no purpose, xiv. 10; writes with many hindrances, xiv. 12, xl. 32; bewails her ingratitude, xiv. 16; scarcely understood a word of Latin, xv. 12; understands her state in the prayer of imperfect union, xvi. 3; and describes it, xvi. 6; bewails her unworthiness, xviii. 6; writes under obedience, xviii. 10; confesses ignorance, xviii. 20; abandons her prayers for a time, xix. 8; evil spoken of, xix. 12; misled by false humility, xix. 23; prays to be delivered from raptures, xx. 5, 6; never cared for money, xx. 34; gives up her whole being to God, xxi. 7; unable to learn from books, xxii. 3; afraid of delusions, xxiii. 3; is directed by a layman, xxiii. 10; severe to herself, xxiv. 2; her first ecstasy, xxiv. 7; had no visions before the prayer of union, xxv. 14; told by her confessor that she was deluded by Satan, xxv. 18; prays to be led by a different spiritual way, xxv. 20, xxvii. 3, Rel. vii. 7; not afraid of Satan, xxv. 27; spoken against, xxvi. 3; troubles of, because of visions, xxvii. 4, xxviii. 6; her defence when told that her visions were false, xxviii. 18, 19; afraid nobody would hear her confession, xxviii. 20; harshly judged by her directors, xxviii. 23; would not exchange her visions for all the pleasures of the world, xxix. 5; vehemence of her love, xxix. 10; her supernatural wound, xxix. 17; manifests her spiritual state to St. Peter of Alcantara, xxx. 4; bodily trials of, xxx. 17; finds no relief in exterior occupations, xxx. 18; buffeted by Satan, xxxi. 3; converts a great sinner, xxxi. 7; troubled because well thought of, xxxi. 13–17; her singing of the Office, xxxi. 26; commanded to labour for the reform of her Order, xxxii. 14; commanded to abandon her purpose, xxxiii. 1; her vision in the Dominican church, Avila, xxxiii. 16; goes to Toledo, xxxiv. 3; the nuns wish to have her as their Prioress, xxxv. 8; restores a child to life, xxxv. 14, note; begins the Reform, xxxvi. 4; her grievous trial, xxxvi. 6, 7; her health improved, xxxvi. 9; would suffer all things for one additional degree of glory, xxxvii. 3; her affection for her confessors, xxxvii. 6; supernaturally helped when writing, xxxviii. 28; obtains sight for a blind person, xxxix. 1; and the cure of one of her kindred, xxxix. 2; her spiritual state became known without her consent, xl. 28; submits all her writings to the Roman Church, Rel. vii. 16.
Theology, mystical, x. 1, xi. 8, xii. 8; the Saint says she does not know the terms of, xviii. 4.
Thomas, St., assisted at the deathbed of Fra P. Ibañez, xxxviii. 15.
Throne, vision of a, xxxix. 31, 32.
Trance, a, xviii. 17, xx. 1; outward effects of, xl. 11; gradual, Rel. viii. 10.
Transport, Rel. viii. 10.
Trials followed by graces, xi. 18; promised to the Saint, xxxv. 9; shown her in a vision, xxxix. 25.
Trinity, the, mystery of, revealed to the Saint, xxxix. 36; visions of, Rel. iii. 6, Rel. v. 6–8, Rel. viii. 20, Rel. ix. 12.
Truth, divine, xl. 3–7.
Ulloa, de, Doña Guiomar, xxiv. 5; takes the Saint to her house, xxx. 3; helps the Saint to accomplish the reform, xxxii. 13; is refused absolution, xxxii. 18.
Understanding, the, use of in prayer, xiii. 17; disorderly, xv. 10; powerless in the state of imperfect union, xvi. 4; and of the perfect union, xviii. 19; the Saint speaks humbly of her, xxviii. 10.
Union, imperfect, prayer of, xvi. 1; a mystical death, ib.; the soul resigned therein, xvii. 1; how it differs from the prayer of quiet, xvii. 5, 6; another degree of, xvii. 7; the labour of the soul lessens in the later states of, xviii. 1.
Union, perfect, prayer of, xviii. 1; the senses wholly absorbed in, xviii. 3, 14; duration of, xviii. 16; fruits of, xix. 4.
Union, prayer of, iv. 9; followed by visions in the Saint, xxv. 14.
Union, what it is, Rel. v. 2; of the faculties of the soul, Rel. viii. 7.
Vainglory, vii. 2, 34, x. 5, Rel. i. 18, Rel. ii. 15, Rel. vii. 23.
Vanity of possessions, xx. 35; the Saint's watchfulness over herself herein, xxxix. 11.
Virtue, growth of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 6; and in that of imperfect union, xvii. 4.
Visions, our Lord seen in, vii. 11, xxv. 14, xxvii. 3, xxviii. 2; intellectual, xxvii. 4; different from the sense of the presence of God, xxvii. 6; joy of, xxvii. 13; imaginary, xxviii. 5; effects of, in the soul, xxviii. 13; Satan tried to simulate, xxviii. 15; effects of, in the Saint, xxviii. 19; cessation of the Saint's imaginary, xxix. 2; of the Sacred Humanity, effects of, xxxviii. 23.
Water, holy, puts evil spirits to flight, xxxi. 4, 5, 9, 10.
Water, the first, xi. 13; the second, xiv. 1; the third, xvi. 1; the fourth, xviii. 1.
Will, the state of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 4, xv. 2, 10; in the prayer of imperfect union, xviii. 16.
Women, great care necessary in the direction of, xxiii. 14, 15; make greater progress than men, xl. 12.
World, the, contempt of, x. 7, xxvii. 16; customs of, wearisome, xxxvii. 15, 16; hard on good people, xxxi. 19; vanity of, Rel. i. 21.
Wound of the soul, Rel. viii. 16; of love, Rel. viii. 17.
Ybañez. See Ibañez.
Yepes, Rel. ix. 1.
Zeal, indiscreet, xiii. 11.
Indexes
Index of Scripture References
Genesis
Exodus
2 Chronicles
Job
Psalms
38:3 41:2 41:4 54:7 72:22 91:6 93:20 101:8 118:137 121 147:14
Proverbs
Ecclesiastes
Song of Solomon
Daniel
Matthew
3:17 5:18 6:31 8:26 10:26 10:28 11:30 14:30 16:16 16:24 17:2 17:4 19:26 19:29 19:29 20:9-14 20:16 20:22 27:32
Luke
5:8 9:58 14:8 15:9 16:28 17:10 18:13 23:28
John
3:34 3:34 4:5-42 4:15 8:44 10:7 10:9 10:20 10:20 13:16 14:23 14:23 16:7
Acts
Romans
1 Corinthians
2 Corinthians
1:12 2:11 5:14 11:14 11:14 11:27 12:2 12:9
Galatians
Ephesians
Philippians
1 Thessalonians
Titus
Revelation
2 Maccabees
Index of Citations
- "De la Clausura,": 1
- Acta: 1
- Année Dominicaine: 1
- Arte de servir a Dios: 1
- Arte para servir a Dios: 1
- Ascent of Mount Carmel: 1 2 3 4
- Ascent of the Mount: 1
- Bibliographie Thérèsienne: 1
- Bolland: 1
- Bollandists: 1 2 3 4
- Book of Foundations: 1 2
- Book of the Foundations: 1 2 3 4
- Bouix: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
- Breviarium Romanum: 1
- Carmel in England: 1
- Chap. xl.: 1
- Cobarruvias: 1 2
- Collationes: 1
- Concept. of the Love of God: 1
- Confessiones: 1 2
- Confessions: 1 2
- De Canoniz.: 1
- De Contemplatione Divina: 1
- De la Fuente: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28
- De la Fuente: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
- Directorium Mysticum: 1 2 3 4 5 6
- Don Vicente: 1
- Fortress of the Soul: 1 2
- Foundations: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
- Histoire de Sainte Thérèse d'après les Bollandistes: 1
- Historia Generalis Fratrum Discalceatorum Ordinis B. Virginis Mariae de Monte Carmelo Congregationis Eliae: 1
- Inner Fortress: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
- Institutiones theologiæ mysticæ ad usum directorum animarum, curatorum, omniumque perfectioni christianæ studentium: 1
- Instructio de vita spirituali: 1
- Interior Castle: 1
- La prétendue Hystérie de Sainte Thérèse: 1
- Letters: 1
- Lettres: 1 2
- Life: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46
- Life of Christ: 1
- Living Flame: 1
- Lucidario: 1 2
- Magnificat: 1
- Medulla Mystica: 1 2 3
- Morals: 1
- Mount Carmel: 1 2 3 4 5 6
- Obras: 1 2 3 4
- Obscure Night: 1
- Palafox: 1 2
- Reforma: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22
- Reforma de los Descalços: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
- Relation: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22
- Ribera: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
- Romani Pontificis: 1
- Saint: 1 2 3 4
- Sainte: 1
- Sainte Thérèse: 1
- Sainte Thérèse, Lettres au R. P. Bouix: 1
- Spiritual: 1
- Spiritual Canticle: 1 2 3 4 5
- Subida del Monte Sion: 1
- Tercer Abecedario: 1 2
- Tesoro: 1
- The Art of Serving God: 1
- The Blessed Sacrament: 1
- The Life of Saint Teresa: 1
- The Life of Saint Teresa of the Order of Our Lady of Mount Carmel: 1
- Theolog. Mystic.: 1 2 3 4
- Theolog. Mystic. Disc. Proem.: 1
- Union del Alma: 1
- Vie de la Mère Anne de Jésus: 1
- Way of Perfection: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
- ad Eustochium: 1
- in Cantica: 1
Index of Latin Words and Phrases
- "Ad eum veniemus, et mansionem apud eum faciemus.": 1
- "Ad imaginem et similitudinem Nostram.": 1
- "Advenas et peregrinos.": 1
- "Apud Deum autem omnia possibilia sunt.": 1
- "Averte oculos tuos a me, quia ipsi me avolare fecerunt.": 1
- "Bonum est nos hic esse.": 1
- "Charitas enim Christi urget nos.": 1
- "Communicantes Christi passionibus, gaudete.": 1
- "Concaluit cor meum intra me.": 1
- "Convocat amicas et vicinas.": 1
- "Corporalis præsentia Christi in duobus poterat esse nociva. Primo, quantum ad fidem, quia videntes Eum in forma in qua erat minor Patre, non ita de facili crederent Eum æqualem Patri, ut dicit glossa super Joannem. Secundo, quantum ad dilectionem, quia Eum non solum spiritualiter, sed etiam carnaliter diligeremus, conversantes cum Ipso corporaliter, et hoc est de imperfectione dilectionis.": 1
- "Cum ipsa [S. Teresa] scire vellet, quid in illa mystica unione operaretur intellectus, respondit [Christus] illi, cum non possit comprehendere quod intelligit, est non intelligere intelligendo: tum quia præ claritate nimia quodammodo offuscatur intellectus, unde præ altissima et supereminentissima Dei cognitione videtur anima potius Deum ignorare quam cognoscere.": 1
- "Da quod jubes, et jube quod vis.": 1
- "Dabo unicuique vestrum secundum opera sua.": 1
- "Deliciæ meæ esse cum filiis hominum.": 1
- "Domine, da mihi aquam,": 1
- "Domine, da mihi aquam.": 1
- "Ducam eam in solitudinem.": 1
- "Dæmonium habet et insanit.": 1
- "Dæmonium habet et insanit: quid Eum auditis?": 1
- "Ecce quantum spatiatus sum in memoria mea quærens Te, Domine; et non Te inveni extra eam. . . . Ex quo didici Te, manes in memoria mea, et illic Te invenio cum reminiscor Tui et delector in Te": 1
- "Ego sum ostium.": 1
- "Et ego ad nihilum redactus sum, et nescivi.": 1
- "Et exultavit spiritus meus,": 1
- "Et omnis qui reliquerit domum . . . propter nomen Meum, centuplum accipiet, et vitam æternam possidebit.": 1
- "Et transfiguratus est ante eos.": 1
- "Eum nemo poterat propter intolerantiam foetoris portare, . . . . nec ipse jam foetorem suum ferre posset.": 1
- "Exi a me, quia homo peccator sum, Domine.": 1
- "Expedit vobis ut Ego vadam; si enim non abiero, Paracletus non veniet ad vos.": 1
- "Fidelis autem Deus est qui non patietur vos tentari supra id quod potestis.": 1
- "Fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos tentari supra id quod potestis.": 1
- "Filius autem hominis non habet ubi caput reclinet.": 1
- "Filiæ Jerusalem, nolite flere super Me, sed super vos ipsas flete.": 1
- "Gloria nostra hæc est, testimonium conscientiæ nostræ.": 1
- "Hic est Filius Meus dilectus, in quo Mihi complacui.": 1
- "Hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus ad Te.": 1
- "Hunc angariaverunt ut tolleret crucem Ejus.": 1
- "Hæc oratio raptus superior est præcedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam oratione unionis ordinariæ, et habet effectus multoexcellentiores et multas alias operationes.": 1
- "Imperavit ventis et mari, et facta est tranquillitas magna.": 1
- "In cruce Jesu Christi: per quem mihi mundus crucifixus est, et ego mundo.": 1
- "In labore et ærumna, in vigiliis multis.": 1
- "In visione tua dissolutæ sunt compages meæ.": 1
- "Inhorruerunt pili carnis meæ.": 1 2
- "Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in angelum lucis.": 1 2
- "Jejunium singulis diebus, exceptis Dominicis, observetis a Festo Exaltationis Sanctæ Crucis usque ad diem Dominicæ Resurrectionis, nisi infirmitas vel debilitas corporis, aut alia justa causa, jejunium solvi suadeat; quia necessitas non habet legem. Ab esu carnium abstineatis, nisi pro infirmitatis aut debilitatis remedio sint sumantur.": 1
- "Jugum enim meum suave est.": 1
- "Justus es, Domine, et rectum judicium tuum,": 1
- "Legant prædicatores": 1
- "Licet oratio raptus idem sit apud mysticos ac oratio volatus, seu elevationis spiritus seu extasis; reipsa tamen raptus aliquid addit super extasim; nam extasis importat simplicem excessum mentis in seipso secundum quem aliquis extra suam cognitionem ponitur. Raptus vero super hoc addit violentiam quandam ab aliquo extrinseco.": 1
- "Lætatus sum in his quæ dicta sunt mihi;": 1
- "Magni doctores scholastici, si non sint spirituales, vel omni rerum spiritualium experientia careant, non solent esse magistri spirituales idonei—nam theologia scholastica est perfectio intellectus; mystica, perfectio intellectus et voluntatis: unde bonus theologus scholasticus potest esse malus theologus mysticus. In rebus tamen difficilibus, dubiis, spiritualibus, præstat mediocriter spiritualem theologum consulere quam spiritualem idiotam.": 1
- "Mansionem apud eum faciemus.": 1
- "Mendax est, et pater ejus.": 1
- "Multi enim sunt vocati, pauci vero electi.": 1
- "Ne ergo timueritis eos, . . . sed potius timete Eum.": 1
- "Ne et ipsi veniant in hunc locum tormentorum.": 1
- "Nec enim si quis ignarus natandi, sciens pondus corporis sui ferre aquarum liquorem non posse, experimento suæ voluerit imperitiæ definire, neminem penitus posse liquidis elementis solida carne circumdatum sustineri.": 1
- "Nescit homo utrum amore an odio dignus sit.": 1
- "Nolebat nec oculos ad coelum levare.": 1
- "Nolite ergo solliciti esse, dicentes: Quid manducabimus. . . . aut quo operiemur?": 1
- "Non apparebis in conspectu meo vacuus.": 1
- "Non discumbas in primo loco.": 1
- "Non enim ad mensuram dat Deus spiritum.": 1 2
- "Non enim ignoramus cogitationes ejus.": 1
- "Non est personarum acceptor Deus.": 1
- "Non est servus major domino suo.": 1
- "Nos insensati vitam illorum æstimabamus insaniam.": 1
- "Nostra autem conversatio in coelis est.": 1
- "Nullus fratrum sibi aliquid proprium, esse dicat, sed sint vobis omnia communia.": 1
- "Numquid homo Dei comparatione justificabitur?": 1
- "Nunquam in eodem statu permanet.": 1
- "O quoties ego ipse in eremo constitutus, et in illa vasta solitudine quæ exusta solis ardoribus horridum monachis præstat habitaculum putabam me Romanis interesse deliciis. Sedebam solus. . . Horrebant sacco membra deformia. . . . Ille igitur ego, qui ob Gehennæ metum tali me carcere damnaveram, scorpionum tantum socius et ferarum, sæpe choris intereram puellarum, pallebant ora jejuniis, et mens desideriis æstuabat in frigido corpore, et ante hominem sua jam carne præmortuum sola libidinum incendia bulliebant.": 1
- "Omnia possum in Eo.": 1
- "Passer solitarius,": 1
- "Pignus hæreditatis nostræ.": 1
- "Potestis bibere calicem?": 1
- "Primus effectus orationis ecstaticæ est in corpore, quod ita remanet, ac si per animam non informaretur, infrigidatur enim calore naturali deficiente, clauduntur suaviter oculi, et alii sensus amittuntur: contingit tamen quod corpus infirmum in hac oratione sanitatem recuperat.": 1
- "Quam magnificata sunt opera Tua.": 1
- "Quamvis in principio visiones a dæmone fictæ aliquam habeant pacem ac dulcedinem, in fine tamen confusionum et amaritudinem in anima relinquunt; cujus contrarium est in divinis visionibus, quæ sæpe turbant in principio, sed semper in fine pacem animæ relinquunt.": 1
- "Quasi dicat: cum intellectus non possit Dei immensam illam claritatem et incomprehensibilem plenitudinem comprehendere, hoc ipsum est illam conspicere ac intelligere, intelligere se non posse intellectu cognoscere: quod quidem nihil aliud est quam Deum sub ratione incomprehensibilitatis videre ac cognoscere.": 1
- "Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum": 1
- "Qui autem docti fuerint, fulgebunt quasi splendor firmamenti.": 1
- "Qui fingis laborem in præcepto.": 1
- "Qui reliquerit domum, . . . centuplum accipiet.": 1
- "Quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columbæ?": 1
- "Quis me liberabit de corpore mortis hujus?": 1
- "Quæ præparavit Deus his qui diligunt Illum.": 1
- "Sed cum ignoremus quid agere debeamus, hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus ad Te.": 1
- "Servi inutiles sumus.": 1
- "Si autem impius egerit poenitentiam, . . . vita vivet, et non morietur. Omnium iniquitatum ejus . . . non recordabor.": 1
- "Si bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare non suscipiamus?": 1
- "Si dicerent tibi aliquid quod sit contra fidem, et contra Scripturam Sacram, aut contra bonos mores, ahhorreas earum visionem et judicia, tanquam stultas dementias, et earum raptus, sicut rabiamenta": 1
- "Sibilus auræ tenuis.": 1
- "Sive in corpore nescio, sive extra corpus nescio.": 1
- "Sobrias, domus curam habentes.": 1
- "Spiritum nolite extinguere.": 1
- "Sunt et alli testes de visu affirmantes quod quando beata Teresa scribebat libros, facies ejus resplendebat.": 1
- "Tanto autem divini amoris incendio cor ejus conflagravit, ut merito viderit Angelum ignito jaculo sibi præcordia transverberantem.": 1
- "Tollat crucem suam et sequatur Me.": 1
- "Tres sunt modi divinæ locutionis; completur enim divina locutio vel verbis successivis, vel verbis formalibus, vel verbis substantialibus. Completur verbis successivis cum anima in semetipsa multum collecta quosdam discursus internos de Deo vel de aliis divina format directione; hujusmodi quippe discursus, quamvis ab ipsa sibi formati, a Deo tamen dirigente procedunt. Completur verbis formalibus cum anima vel in se collecta, vel aliis occupata, percipit quædam verba formaliter ac distincte divinitus expressa, ad quorum formationem anima passive penitus se habet. Completur verbis substantialibus cum anima vel in se collecta, vel etiam distracta, percipit quædam verba viva et efficacia, divinitus ad se directa, quæ virtutem aut substantialem effectum per ipsa significatum fortiter ac infallibiliter causant.": 1
- "Tu es Christus, Filius Dei vivi.": 1
- "Ubi est Deus tuus?": 1
- "Veni, Creator,": 1
- "Veniat dilectus meus in hortum suum, et comedat.": 1
- "Veniat dilectus meus in hortum suum.": 1
- "Videns vero ventum validum, timuit.": 1
- "Virtus in infirmitate perficitur.": 1
- "Virum dolorum, et scientem infirmitatem.": 1
- "Visio corporea est infima, visio imaginaria est media, visio intellectualis est suprema." N. 322: "Apparitio visibilis, cum sit omnium infima, est magis exposita illusioni diaboli, nisi forte huic visioni corporali visio intellectualis adjungatur, ut in apparitione S. Gabrielis archangeli facta Beatæ Virgini.": 1
- "Vitam igitur suam internam et supernaturalem magis pandit quam narrat actiones suas mere humanas": 1
- "Vivo autem, jam non ego: vivit vero in me Christus.": 1
- "Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in me Christus.": 1 2
- "Volo autem et huic novissimo dare sicut et tibi.": 1
- "defectus lucis in intellectu, et firmitatis in voluntate.": 1
- "hanc aquam.": 1
- "homini egregie docto ac rebus gestis claro, sed in subditos, ut ex historia Societatis Jesu liquet, valde immiti": 1
- "nec intellectui lux nec voluntati firmitas;": 1
- "posuit fines tuos pacem,": 1
- 'Maerere fecistis cor justi mendaciter, quem Ego non contristavi: et comfortastis manus impii.': 1
- 'Spiritum nolite extinguere. Prophetias nolite spernere. Omnia [autem] probate: quod bonum est tenete. Ab omni specie mala abstinete vos.': 1
- 'et ne nos inducas in tentationem.': 1
- Acta: 1
- Ave Maria: 1
- Breviarium Romanum: 1
- Collationes: 1
- Confessiones: 1 2
- Corrigenda: 1
- De Canoniz.: 1
- De Contemplatione Divina: 1
- Directorium Mysticum: 1 2 3 4 5 6
- Historia Generalis Fratrum Discalceatorum Ordinis B. Virginis Mariae de Monte Carmelo Congregationis Eliae: 1
- Id est: 1
- Idem: 1 2
- Institutiones theologiæ mysticæ ad usum directorum animarum, curatorum, omniumque perfectioni christianæ studentium: 1
- Instructio de vita spirituali: 1
- Magnificat: 1
- Medulla Mystica: 1 2 3
- Patrologia Latina: 1
- Quicumque vult: 1
- Romae: 1
- Romani Pontificis: 1
- Salve: 1
- Sermo: 1
- ad Eustochium: 1
- festo: 1
- ibidem: 1
- in Cantica: 1
- in passione: 1
- in voce: 1
- unum aut unus apex non præteribit a lege.: 1
Index of French Words and Phrases
- "Les Saints": 1
- "une alliance honorable pour moi.": 1
- Année Dominicaine: 1
- Bibliographie Thérèsienne: 1
- Histoire de Sainte Thérèse d'après les Bollandistes: 1
- La prétendue Hystérie de Sainte Thérèse: 1
- Lettres: 1 2
- Mademoiselle: 1
- Sainte: 1
- Sainte Thérèse: 1
- Sainte Thérèse, Lettres au R. P. Bouix: 1
- Vie de la Mère Anne de Jésus: 1
Index of Pages of the Print Edition
i ii iii v vi vii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi xvii xviii xix xx xxi xxii xxiii xxiv xxv xxvi xxvii xxix xxx xxi xxxii xxxiii xxxiv xxxv xxxvi xxxvii xxxviii xxxix xl xli xlii xliii xlv xlvi xlvii 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 401 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489