Written by Herself.
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 [1] to
keep in mind how wicked it has been; and how, among the Saints who
were converted to God, I have never found one in whom I can have any
comfort. For I see that they, after our Lord had called them, never
fell into sin again; I not only became worse, but, as it seems to me,
deliberately withstood the graces of His Majesty, because I saw that I
was thereby bound to serve Him more earnestly, knowing, at the same
time, that of myself I could not pay the least portion of my debt.
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.
1. 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).
Childhood and Early Impressions. The Blessing of Pious
Parents. Desire of Martyrdom. Death of the Saint's Mother.
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 much tenderness as
his own children. He used to say that he could not endure the pain of
seeing that she was not free. He was a man of great truthfulness;
nobody ever heard him swear or speak ill of any one; his life was
most pure.
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. [1]
3. We were three sisters and nine
brothers. [2] All, by the mercy of God,
resembled their parents in goodness except myself, though I was the
most cherished of my father. And, before I began to offend God, I
think he had some reason,--for I am filled with sorrow whenever I
think of the good desires with which our Lord inspired me, and what a
wretched use I made of them. Besides, my brothers never in any way
hindered me in the service of God.
4. One of my brothers was nearly of my own
age; [3] and he it was whom I most loved, though
I was very fond of them all, and they of me. He and I used to read
Lives of Saints together. When I read of martyrdom undergone by the
Saints for the love of God, it struck me that the vision of God was
very cheaply purchased; and I had a great desire to die a martyr's
death,--not out of any love of Him of which I was conscious, but that
I might most quickly attain to the fruition of those great joys of
which I read that they were reserved in Heaven; and I used to discuss
with my brother how we could become martyrs. We settled to go
together to the country of the Moors, [4]
begging our way for the love of God, that we might be there
beheaded; [5] and our Lord, I believe, had given
us courage enough, even at so tender an age, if we could have found
the means to proceed; but our greatest difficulty seemed to be our
father and mother.
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 words, our Lord was pleased that I should
receive an abiding impression of the way of truth when I was yet
a child.
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 [6]--and they were many--especially the
Rosary, to which my mother had a great devotion, and had made us also
in this like herself. I used to delight exceedingly, when playing
with other children, in the building of monasteries, as if we were
nuns; and I think I wished to be a nun, though not so much as I did to
be a martyr or a hermit.
7. I remember that, when my mother
died, [7] I was about twelve years old--a little
less. When I began to understand my loss, I went in my affliction to
an image of our Lady, [8] and with many tears
implored her to be my mother. I did this in my simplicity, and I
believe that it was of service to me; for I have by experience found
the royal Virgin help me whenever I recommended myself to her; and at
last she has brought me back to herself. It distresses me now, when I
think of, and reflect on, that which kept me from being earnest in the
good desires with which I began.
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.
1. See ch.
xxxvii. § 1; where the Saint says that she saw them in a vision
both in Heaven.
2. 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.
3. 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).
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.
5. 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).
6. 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. 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.
8. Our Lady of Charity, in the church
of the hospital where the poor and pilgrims were received in
Avila (Bouix).
Early Impressions. Dangerous Books and Companions. The Saint
Is Placed in a Monastery.
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 from her as I ought to
have done--almost none at all; and the evil I learned did me much
harm. She was very fond of books of chivalry; but this pastime did
not hurt her so much as it hurt me, because she never wasted her time
on them; only we, her children, were left at liberty to read them; and
perhaps she did this to distract her thoughts from her great
sufferings, and occupy her children, that they might not go astray in
other ways. It annoyed my father so much, that we had to be careful he
never saw us. I contracted a habit of reading these books; and this
little fault which I observed in my mother was the beginning of
lukewarmness in my good desires, and the occasion of my falling away
in other respects. I thought there was no harm in it when I wasted
many hours night and day in so vain an occupation, even when I kept it
a secret from my father. So completely was I mastered by this
passion, that I thought I could never be happy without a new book.
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 [1] lasted
some years; and so also did other practices, which I thought then were
not at all sinful; now, I see how wrong all this must have been.
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 about them!--for I see
now the danger of conversing, at an age when virtue should begin to
grow, with persons who, knowing nothing themselves of the vanity of
the world, provoke others to throw themselves into the midst of it.
These cousins were nearly of mine own age--a little older, perhaps.
We were always together; and they had a great affection for me. In
everything that gave them pleasure, I kept the conversation
alive,--listened to the stories of their affections and childish
follies, good for nothing; and, what was still worse, my soul began to
give itself up to that which was the cause of all its disorders. If I
were to give advice, I would say to parents that they ought to be very
careful whom they allow to mix with their children when young; for
much mischief thence ensues, and our natural inclinations are unto
evil rather than unto good.
4. So it was with me; for I had a sister much
older than myself, [2] from whose modesty and
goodness, which were great, I learned nothing; and learned every evil
from a relative who was often in the house. She was so light and
frivolous, that my mother took great pains to keep her out of the
house, as if she foresaw the evil I should learn from her; but she
could not succeed, there being so many reasons for her coming. I was
very fond of this person's company, gossiped and talked with her; for
she helped me in all the amusements I liked, and, what is more, found
some for me, and communicated to me her own conversations and her
vanities. Until I knew her, I mean, until she became friendly with
me, and communicated to me her own affairs--I was then about fourteen
years old, a little more, I think--I do not believe that I turned away
from God in mortal sin, or lost the fear of Him, though I had a
greater fear of disgrace. This latter fear had such sway over me,
that I never wholly forfeited my good name--and, as to that, there was
nothing in the world for which I would have bartered it, and nobody in
the world I liked well enough who could have persuaded me to do it.
Thus I might have had the strength never to do anything against the
honour of God, as I had it by nature not to fail in that wherein I
thought the honour of the world consisted; and I never observed that I
was failing in many other ways. In vainly seeking after it I was
extremely careful; but in the use of the means necessary for
preserving it I was utterly careless. I was anxious only not to be
lost altogether.
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 things that were neither
honourable nor pleasing unto God.
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 [3] in the city where I lived, in
which children like myself were brought up, though their way of life
was not so wicked as mine. This was done with the utmost concealment
of the true reason, which was known only to myself and one of my
kindred. They waited for an opportunity which would make the change
seem nothing out of the way; for, as my sister was married, it was not
fitting I should remain alone, without a mother, in the house.
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 positively asserted; and, as I was so much afraid about my good
name, I had taken every care to be secret; and yet I never considered
that I could conceal nothing from Him Who seeth all things. O my God,
what evil is done in the world by disregarding this, and thinking that
anything can be kept secret that is done against Thee! I am quite
certain that great evils would be avoided if we clearly understood
that what we have to do is, not to be on our guard against men, but on
our guard against displeasing Thee.
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 the estate of
matrimony; [4] and I was told by my confessors,
and others also, whom in many points I consulted, used to say, that I
was not offending God. One of the nuns [5]
slept with us who were seculars, and through her it pleased our Lord
to give me light, as I shall now explain.
1. 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."
2. 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).
3. 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).
4. 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.
5. Doña Maria Brizeño, mistress of the
secular children who were educated in the monastery
(Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. § 3).
The Blessing of Being with Good People. How Certain Illusions
Were Removed.
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." [1] She would speak of the
reward which our Lord gives to those who forsake all things for His
sake. This good companionship began to root out the habits which bad
companionship had formed, and to bring my thoughts back to the desire
of eternal things, as well as to banish in some measure the great
dislike I had to be a nun, which had been very great; and if I saw any
one weep in prayer, or devout in any other way, I envied her very
much; for my heart was now so hard, that I could not shed a tear, even
if I read the Passion through. This was a grief to me.
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 [2] in another monastery; and this made
me resolve, if I was to be a nun, not to be one in any other house
than where she was. I looked more to the pleasure of sense and vanity
than to the good of my soul. These good thoughts of being a nun came
to me from time to time. They left me very soon; and I could not
persuade myself to become one.
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 [3] in her house in the country
village where she dwelt. Her love for me was so great, that, if she
had had her will, I should never have left her. Her husband also had
a great affection for me--at least, he showed me all kindness. This
too I owe rather to our Lord, for I have received kindness everywhere;
and all my service in return is, that I am what I am.
5. On the road lived a brother of my
father [4]--a prudent and most excellent man,
then a widower. Him too our Lord was preparing for Himself. In his
old age, he left all his possessions and became a religious. He so
finished his course, that I believe him to have the vision of God. He
would have me stay with him some days. His practice was to read good
books in Spanish; and his ordinary conversation was about God and the
vanity of the world. These books he made me read to him; and, though I
did not much like them, I appeared as if I did; for in giving pleasure
to others I have been most particular, though it might be painful to
myself--so much so, that what in others might have been a virtue was
in me a great fault, because I was often extremely indiscreet. O my
God, in how many ways did His Majesty prepare me for the state wherein
it was His will I should serve Him!--how, against my own will, He
constrained me to do violence to myself! May He be blessed for
ever! Amen.
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--which was
what I desired. I was more influenced by servile fear, I think, than
by love, to enter religion.
8. The devil put before me that I could not
endure the trials of the religious life, because of my delicate
nurture. 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.
1. St. Matt. xx. 16: "Multi enim
sunt vocati, pauci vero electi."
2. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of
the incarnation, Avila (Reforma, lib. i. ch.
vii. § 7).
3. 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.
4. Don Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda. He
lived in Hortigosa, four leagues from Avila (De
la Fuente).
Our Lord Helps Her to Become a Nun. Her Many
Infirmities.
1. In those days, when I was thus resolved, I
had persuaded one of my brothers, [1] by
speaking to him of the vanity of the world, to become a friar; and we
agreed together to set out one day very early in the morning for the
monastery where that friend of mine lived for whom I had so great an
affection: [2] though I would have gone to any
other monastery, if I thought I should serve God better in it, or to
any one my father liked, so strong was my resolution now to become a
nun--for I thought more of the salvation of my soul now, and made no
account whatever of mine own ease. I remember perfectly well, and it
is quite true, that the pain I felt when I left my father's house was
so great, that I do not believe the pain of dying will be greater--for
it seemed to me as if every bone in my body were wrenched
asunder; [3] for, as I had no love of God to
destroy my love of father and of kindred, this latter love came upon
me with a violence so great that, if our Lord had not been my keeper,
my own resolution to go on would have failed me. But He gave me
courage to fight against myself, so that I executed
my purpose. [4]
2. When I took the
habit, [5] our Lord at once made me understand
how He helps those who do violence to themselves in order to serve
Him. No one observed this violence in me; they saw nothing but the
greatest good will. At that moment, because I was entering on that
state, I was filled with a joy so great, that it has never failed me
to this day; and God converted the aridity of my soul into the
greatest tenderness. Everything in religion was a delight unto me;
and it is true that now and then I used to sweep the house during
those hours of the day which I had formerly spent on my amusements and
my dress; and, calling to mind that I was delivered from such follies,
I was filled with a new joy that surprised me, nor could I understand
whence it came.
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, for He is omnipotent. May He be blessed for
ever! Amen.
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 safe.
But, as I have not deserved this, nor been so happy as to have done
it, let Thy mercy, O Lord, rest upon me.
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. [6] That friend of
whom I have spoken as being in the house went with me. She was one of
the elder nuns. In the house where I was a nun, there was no vow
of enclosure. [7]
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] more than my constitution
could bear.
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, [9] in
her house in the country, waiting for the month of April, which was
drawing near, that I might not have to go and return. The uncle of
whom I have made mention before, [10] and
whose house was on our road, gave me a book called Tercer Abecedario, [11] which
treats of the prayer of recollection. Though in the first year I had
read good books--for I would read no others, because I understood now
the harm they had done me--I did not know how to make my prayer, nor
how to recollect myself. I was therefore much pleased with the book,
and resolved to follow the way of prayer it described with all my
might. And as our Lord had already bestowed upon me the gift of tears,
and I found pleasure in reading, I began to spend a certain time in
solitude, to go frequently to confession, and make a beginning of that
way of prayer, with this book for my guide; for I had no master--I
mean, no confessor--who understood me, though I sought for such a one
for twenty years afterwards: which did me much harm, in that I
frequently went backwards, and might have been even utterly lost; for,
anyhow, a director would have helped me to escape the risks I ran of
sinning against God.
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 them. I believe it would have been a
great blessing to me if I had understood the matter. It is true that
the prayer of union lasted but a short time: I know not if it
continued for the space of an Ave Maria; but the
fruits of it remained; and they were such that, though I was then not
twenty years of age, I seemed to despise the world utterly; and so I
remember how sorry I was for those who followed its ways, though only
in things lawful.
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, [12]
that even if I would think of, or picture to myself, as I used to
labour to picture, our Lord's Humanity, I never could do it.
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 thoughts, and against the occasions and perils
of sin. On the other hand, he who has not that power is in greater
danger, and ought to occupy himself much in reading, seeing that he is
not in the slightest degree able to help himself.
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
withdrawing me from so great a blessing, if I had but books, and could
have remained alone; and I believe that, by the grace of God, it would
have been so, if I had had a master or any one to warn me against
those occasions of sin in the beginning, and, if I fell, to bring me
quickly out of them. If the devil had assailed me openly then, I
believe I should never have fallen into any grievous sin; but he was
so subtle, and I so weak, that all my good resolutions were of little
service--though, in those days in which I served God, they were very
profitable in enabling me, with that patience which His Majesty gave
me, to endure the alarming illnesses which I had to bear. I have
often thought with wonder of the great goodness of God; and my soul
has rejoiced in the contemplation of His great magnificence and mercy.
May He be blessed for ever!--for I see clearly that He has not omitted
to reward me, even in this life, for every one of my good desires. My
good works, however wretched and imperfect, have been made better and
perfected by Him Who is my Lord: He has rendered them meritorious. As
to my evil deeds and my sins, He hid them at once. The eyes of those
who saw them, He made even blind; and He has blotted them out of their
memory. He gilds my faults, makes virtue to shine forth, giving it to
me Himself, and compelling me to possess it, as it were, by force.
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.
1. 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.).
2. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of
the Incarnation, Avila.
3. See Relation, vi. § 3.
4. 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).
5. 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.
6. 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).
7. It was in 1563 that all nuns were
compelled to observe enclosure (De
la Fuente).
8. Ch. v.
§ 15.
9. Ch. iii.
§ 4.
10. Ch.
iii. § 5.
11. By Fray
Francisco de Osuna, of the Order of St. Francis (Reforma,
lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).
12. See ch.
ix. §§ 4, 7.
Illness and Patience of the Saint. The Story of a Priest Whom
She Rescued from a Life of Sin.
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 I began
to pray. Then, I had only light to see that all things that pass away
are to be lightly esteemed, and that the good things to be gained by
despising them are of great price, because they are for ever. His
Majesty heard me also in this, for in less than two years I was so
afflicted myself that the illness which I had, though of a different
kind from that of the sister, was, I really believe, not less painful
and trying for the three years it lasted, as I shall now relate.
5. When the time had come for which I was
waiting in the place I spoke of before [1]--I
was in my sister's house, for the purpose of undergoing the medical
treatment--they took me away with the utmost care of my comfort; that
is, my father, my sister, and the nun, my friend, who had come from
the monastery with me,--for her love for me was very great. At that
moment, Satan began to trouble my soul; God, however, brought forth a
great blessing out of that trouble.
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. [2] Neither did the others willingly
deceive me, only they knew no better; I thought they were learned, and
that I was not under any other obligation than that of believing them,
as their instructions to me were lax, and left me more at liberty--for
if they had been strict with me, I am so wicked, I should have sought
for others. That which was a venial sin, they told me was no sin at
all; of that which was most grievously mortal, they said it
was venial. [3]
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 [4] undeceived me in part, and those of
the Company of Jesus made me altogether so afraid, by insisting on the
erroneousness of these principles, as I shall
hereafter show. [5]
9. I began, then, by going to confession to that
priest of whom I spoke before. [6] He took an
extreme liking to me, because I had then but little to confess in
comparison with what I had afterwards; and I had never much to say
since I became a nun. There was no harm in the liking he had for me,
but it ceased to be good, because it was in excess. He clearly
understood that I was determined on no account whatever to do anything
whereby God might be seriously offended. He, too, gave me a like
assurance about himself, and accordingly our conferences were many.
But at that time, through the knowledge and fear of God which filled
my soul, what gave me most pleasure in all my conversations with
others was to speak of God; and, as I was so young, this made him
ashamed; and then, out of that great goodwill he bore me, he began to
tell me of his wretched state. It was very sad, for he had been nearly
seven years in a most perilous condition, because of his affection
for, and conversation with, a woman of that place; and yet he used to
say Mass. The matter was so public, that his honour and good name
were lost, and no one ventured to speak to him about it. I was
extremely sorry for him, because I liked him much. I was then so
imprudent and so blind as to think it a virtue to be grateful and
loyal to one who liked me. Cursed be that loyalty which reaches so
far as to go against the law of God. It is a madness common in the
world, and it makes me mad to see it. We are indebted to God for all
the good that men do to us, and yet we hold it to be an act of virtue
not to break a friendship of this kind, though it lead us to go
against Him. Oh, blindness of the world! Let me, O Lord, be most
ungrateful to the world; never at all unto Thee. But I have been
altogether otherwise through my sins.
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 that in
exchange for the gratification of their will, and of that affection
which the devil suggests, they will hesitate at nothing.
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, [7] I would not then have
done anything I knew was a mortal sin. And I think that observing
this resolution in me helped him to have that affection for me; for I
believe that all men must have a greater affection for those women
whom they see disposed to be good; and even for the attainment of
earthly ends, women must have more power over men because they are
good, as I shall show hereafter. I am convinced that the priest is in
the way of salvation. He died most piously, and completely withdrawn
from that occasion of sin. It seems that it was the will of our Lord
he should be saved by these means.
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, [8] for the cure of which I was there was
much more keen: it seemed to me, now and then, as if it had been
seized by sharp teeth. So great was the torment, that it was feared
it might end in madness. There was a great loss of strength, for I
could eat nothing whatever, only drink. I had a great loathing for
food, and a fever that never left me. I was so reduced, for they had
given me purgatives daily for nearly a month, and so parched up, that
my sinews began to shrink. The pains I had were unendurable, and I
was overwhelmed in a most deep sadness, so that I had no rest either
night or day.
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?" [9] This seemed to give
me courage.
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 prayers were made to God: blessed be He Who
heard them.
19. For a day-and-a-half the grave was open in
my monastery, waiting for my body; [10] and the
Friars of our Order, in a house at some distance from this place,
performed funeral solemnities. But it pleased our Lord I should come
to myself. I wished to go to confession at once. I communicated with
many tears; but I do not think those tears had their source in that
pain and sorrow only for having offended God, which might have
sufficed for my salvation--unless, indeed, the delusion which I
laboured under were some excuse for me, and into which I had been led
by those who had told me that some things were not mortal sins which
afterwards I found were so certainly.
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. [11]
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 out of love thou shouldst do
so out of fear. He might have slain thee a thousand times, and in a
far more perilous state. I believe I exaggerate nothing if I say a
thousand times again, though he may rebuke me who has commanded me to
restrain myself in recounting my sins; and they are glossed over
enough. I pray him, for the love of God, not to suppress one of my
faults, because herein shines forth the magnificence of God, as well
as His long-suffering towards souls. May He be blessed for evermore,
and destroy me utterly, rather than let me cease to love Him
any more!
1. 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).
2. 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."
3. See Way of Perfection,
ch. viii. § 2; but ch. v. Dalton's edition.
4. F. Vicente
Barron (Bouix).
5. See ch.
xxiii.
6. §
6.
7. §
9.
8. Ch. iv.
§ 6.
9. Job ii. 10: "Si
bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare
non suscipiamus?"
10. 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.).
11. 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).
The Great Debt She Owed to Our Lord for His Mercy to Her. She
Takes St. Joseph for Her Patron.
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. [1]
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, [2] more than eight months; and was
paralytic, though getting better, for about three years. I praised
God when I began to crawl on my hands and knees. I bore all this with
great resignation, and, if I except the beginning of my illness, with
great joy; for all this was as nothing in comparison with the pains
and tortures I had to bear at first. I was resigned to the will of
God, even if He left me in this state for ever. My anxiety about the
recovery of my health seemed to be grounded on my desire to pray in
solitude, as I had been taught; for there were no means of doing so in
the infirmary. I went to confession most frequently, spoke much about
God, and in such a way as to edify everyone; and they all marvelled at
the patience which our Lord gave me--for if it had not come from the
hand of His Majesty, it seemed impossible to endure so great an
affliction with so great a joy.
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 I felt for having
offended God, dreading it as a great chastisement. This grew upon me
afterwards to so great a degree, that I know of no torment wherewith
to compare it; and yet it was neither more nor less because of any
fear I had at any time, for it came upon me only when I remembered the
consolations of our Lord which He gave me in prayer, the great debt I
owed Him, the evil return I made: I could not bear it. I was also
extremely angry with myself on account of the many tears I shed for my
faults, when I saw how little I improved, seeing that neither my good
resolutions, nor the pains I took, were sufficient to keep me from
falling whenever I had the opportunity. I looked on my tears as a
delusion; and my faults, therefore, I regarded as the more grievous,
because I saw the great goodness of our Lord to me in the shedding of
those tears, and together with them such deep compunction.
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 world had dealt with me, I determined to ask
those of heaven to heal me--for I wished, nevertheless, to be well,
though I bore my illness with great joy. Sometimes, too, I used to
think that if I recovered my health, and yet were lost for ever, I was
better as I was. But, for all that, I thought I might serve God much
better if I were well. This is our delusion; we do not resign
ourselves absolutely to the disposition of our Lord, Who knows best
what is for our good.
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 there are many who are now of late devout to
him, [3] having had experience of
this truth.
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 that results from commending oneself to this glorious patriarch,
and being devout to him. Those who give themselves to prayer should
in a special manner have always a devotion to St. Joseph; for I know not how any man can think
of the Queen of the angels, during the time that she suffered so much
with the Infant Jesus, without giving thanks to St. Joseph for the services he rendered them
then. He who cannot find any one to teach him how to pray, let him
take this glorious Saint for his master, and he will not wander out of
the way.
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." [4] For some years past, so it seems
to me, Thou hast held me by the hand; and I see in myself desires and
resolutions--in some measure tested by experience, in many ways,
during that time--never to do anything, however slight it may be,
contrary to Thy will, though I must have frequently offended Thy
Divine Majesty without being aware of it; and I also think that
nothing can be proposed to me that I should not with great resolution
undertake for Thy love. In some things Thou hast Thyself helped me to
succeed therein. I love neither the world, nor the things of the
world; nor do I believe that anything that does not come from Thee can
give me pleasure; everything else seems to me a heavy cross.
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.
1. March 25, 1537.
2. 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.
3. 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."
4. Galat. ii. 20: "Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in
me Christus."
Lukewarmness. The Loss of Grace. Inconvenience of Laxity in
Religious Houses.
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 dangers: my soul was so
distracted by many vanities, that I was ashamed to draw near unto God
in an act of such special friendship as that of
prayer. [1] As my sins multiplied, I began to
lose the pleasure and comfort I had in virtuous things: and that loss
contributed to the abandonment of prayer. I see now most clearly, O
my Lord, that this comfort departed from me because I had departed
from Thee.
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, [2] so
far as I know. The very first movements herein gave me such pain,
that the devil would depart from me with loss, and the gain remained
with me; and thus, accordingly, he never tempted me much in this way.
Perhaps, however, if God had permitted Satan to tempt me as sharply
herein as he tempted me in other things, I should have fallen also
into this; but His Majesty has preserved me until now. May He be
blessed for evermore! It was rather a heavy affliction to me that I
should be thought so well of; for I knew my own secret.
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 hell, rather than
a help to their weakness. This is not to be understood of my
monastery; for there are so many there who in the utmost sincerity,
and in great perfection, serve our Lord, so that His Majesty,
according to His goodness, cannot but be gracious unto them; neither
is it one of those which are most open for all religious observances
are kept in it; and I am speaking only of others which I have seen
and known.
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, and that they were
going to serve our Lord, have found themselves in ten worlds at once,
without knowing what to do, or how to help themselves. Youth and
sensuality and the devil invite them and incline them to follow
certain ways which are of the essence of worldliness. They see these
ways, so to speak, considered as safe there.
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, [3] I seem to
see Him present even now. I was greatly astonished and disturbed, and
I resolved not to see that person again.
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; [4] so did Satan too, in that he
helped me to think so: he made me understand it to be impossible, and
suggested that I had imagined the vision--that it might be Satan
himself--and other suppositions of that kind. For all this, the
impression remained with me that the vision was from God, and not an
imagination; but, as it was not to my liking, I forced myself to lie
to myself; and as I did not dare to discuss the matter with any one,
and as great importunity was used, I went back to my former
conversation with the same person, and with others also, at different
times; for I was assured that there was no harm in seeing such a
person, and that I gained, instead of losing, reputation by doing so.
I spent many years in this pestilent amusement; for it never appeared
to me, when I was engaged in it, to be so bad as it really was, though
at times I saw clearly it was not good. But no one caused me the same
distraction which that person did of whom I am speaking; and that was
because I had a great affection for her.
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, [5] but the impression it made on me was
such, that I think it must have had a meaning; neither have I ever
forgotten it. Oh, the greatness of God! with what care and tenderness
didst Thou warn me in every way! and how little I profited by
those warnings!
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 should read this, that she might take warning by me. I
beseech them all, for the love of our Lord, to flee from such
recreations as these.
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 [6]--I was the occasion of much evil, not
thinking I was doing so much harm.
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: [7] a most
common temptation of beginners. With me, however, it had good
results. Loving my father so much, I longed to see him in the
possession of that good which I seemed to derive myself from prayer.
I thought that in this life there could not be a greater good than
prayer; and by roundabout ways, as well as I could, I contrived make
him enter upon it; I gave him books for that end. As he was so
good--I said so before [8]--this exercise took
such a hold upon him, that in five or six years, I think it was, he
made so great a progress that I used to praise our Lord for it. It
was a very great consolation to me. He had most grievous trials of
diverse kinds; and he bore them all with the greatest resignation. He
came often to see me; for it was a comfort to him to speak of the
things of God.
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 [9]--was the greatest temptation I ever
had, because it very nearly wrought my utter
ruin; [10] for, when I used to pray, if I
offended God one day, on the following days I would recollect myself,
and withdraw farther from the occasions of sin.
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, [11]
so that I could not take any food till past mid-day, and even
occasionally not till later; and now, since my Communions have become
more frequent, it is at night, before I lie down to rest, that the
sickness occurs, and with greater pain; for I have to bring it on with
a feather, or other means. If I do not bring it on, I suffer more;
and thus I am never, I believe, free from great pain, which is
sometimes very acute, especially about the heart; though the
fainting-fits are now but of rare occurrence. I am also, these eight
years past, free from the paralysis, and from other infirmities of
fever, which I had so often. These afflictions I now regard so
lightly, that I am even glad of them, believing that our Lord in some
degree takes His pleasure in them.
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 practice which does not require, of necessity, bodily strength,
but only love and a habit thereof; yet our Lord always furnishes an
opportunity for it, if we but seek it. I say always; for though there
may be times, as in illness, and from other causes, when we cannot be
much alone, yet it never can be but there must be opportunities when
our strength is sufficient for the purpose; and in sickness itself,
and amidst other hindrances, true prayer consists, when the soul
loves, in offering up its burden, and in thinking of Him for Whom it
suffers, and in the resignation of the will, and in a thousand ways
which then present themselves. It is under these circumstances that
love exerts itself for it is not necessarily prayer when we are alone;
and neither is it not prayer when we are not.
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, [12] I always had a desire that others
should serve God. I thought, now that I did not myself serve our Lord
according to the light I had, that the knowledge His Majesty had given
me ought not to be lost, and that others should serve Him for
me. [13] I say this in order to explain the
great blindness I was in: going to ruin myself, and labouring to
save others.
22. At this time, that illness befell my father
of which he died; [14] it lasted some days. I
went to nurse him, being more sick in spirit than he was in body,
owing to my many vanities--though not, so far as I know, to the extent
of being in mortal sin--through the whole of that wretched time of
which I am speaking; for, if I knew myself to be in mortal sin, I
would not have continued in it on any account. I suffered much myself
during his illness. I believe I rendered him some service in return
for what he had suffered in mine. Though I was very ill, I did
violence to myself; and though in losing him I was to lose all the
comfort and good of my life--he was all this to me--I was so
courageous, that I never betrayed my sorrows, concealing them till he
was dead, as if I felt none at all. It seemed as if my very soul were
wrenched when I saw him at the point of death--my love for him was
so deep.
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, [15] used to say that he had no
doubt he went straight to heaven. [16] He had
heard his confession for some years, and spoke with praise of the
purity of his conscience.
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. [17]
He sent me to Communion once a fortnight; [18]
and I, by degrees beginning to speak to him, told him about my prayer.
He charged me never to omit it: that, anyhow, it could not do me
anything but good. I began to return to it--though I did not cut off
the occasions of sin--and never afterwards gave it up. My life became
most wretched, because I learned in prayer more and more of my faults.
On one side, God was calling me; on the other, I was following the
world. All the things of God gave me great pleasure; and I was a
prisoner to the things of the world. It seemed as if I wished to
reconcile two contradictions, so much at variance one with another as
are the life of the spirit and the joys and pleasures and amusements
of sense. [19]
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
service. His supreme munificence regarded not my great sins, but
rather the desires I frequently had to please Him, and the pain I felt
because I had not the strength to bring those desires to
good effect.
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 midst of such great dangers; it seems to me that if I had had
any one with whom I could have spoken of all this, it might have
helped me not to fall. I might, at least, have been ashamed before
him--and yet I was not ashamed before God.
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 is capable of exaggeration. It seems to me
that Satan has employed this artifice--and it is of the greatest
service to him--namely, that men who really wish to love and please
God should hide the fact, while others, at his suggestion, make open
show of their malicious dispositions; and this is so common, that it
seems a matter of boasting now, and the offences committed against God
are thus published abroad.
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, and given me the opportunity of speaking
very frequently to persons given to prayer, I should have gone on
falling and rising till I tumbled into hell. I had many friends to
help me to fall; but as to rising again, I was so much left to myself,
that I wonder now I was not always on the ground. I praise God for
His mercy; for it was He only Who stretched out His hand to me. May
He be blessed for ever! Amen.
1. See Way of Perfection,
ch. xl.; but ch. xxvii. of the former editions.
2. See Relation, i.
§ 18.
3. A.D. 1537, when the Saint was
twenty-two years old (Bouix). This passage, therefore,
must be one of the additions to the second Life; for the first was
written in 1562, twenty-five years only after the vision.
4. See ch.
xxvii. § 3.
5. In the parlour of the monastery of
the Incarnation, Avila, a painting of this is preserved to this day
(De la Fuente).
6. Ch. vi. §
4.
7. See Inner Fortress, v.
iii. § 1.
8. Ch. i. §
i.
9. Ch.
xix. §§ 9, 17.
10. See § 2,
above.
11. See ch. xi. § 23: Inner
Fortress, vi. i. § 8.
12. § 16.
13. See Inner Fortress,
v. iii. § 1.
14. In 1541, when the Saint was
twenty-five years of age (Bouix).
15. F. Vicente Barron
(Reforma, lib. i. ch. xv.).
16. See ch. xxxviii. § 1.
17. See ch. xix. § 19.
18. 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.
19. See ch. xiii. §§ 7, 8.
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.
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 me sad; and when
I was praying to God, my worldly affections disturbed me. This is so
painful a struggle, that I know not how I could have borne it for a
month, let alone for so many years. Nevertheless, I can trace
distinctly the great mercy of our Lord to me, while thus immersed in
the world, in that I had still the courage to pray. I say courage,
because I know of nothing in the whole world which requires greater
courage than plotting treason against the King, knowing that He knows
it, and yet never withdrawing from His presence; for, granting that we
are always in the presence of God, yet it seems to me that those who
pray arc in His presence in a very different sense; for they, as it
were, see that He is looking upon them; while others may be for days
together without even once recollecting that God sees them.
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--serving
God, and aware of the vanity of the world, all has been pleasant, as I
shall show hereafter. [1]
5. The reason, then, of my telling this at so
great a length is that, as I have just said, [2]
the mercy of God and my ingratitude, on the one hand, may become
known; and, on the other, that men may understand how great is the
good which God works in a soul when He gives it a disposition to pray
in earnest, though it may not be so well prepared as it ought to be.
If that soul perseveres in spite of sins, temptations, and relapses,
brought about in a thousand ways by Satan, our Lord will bring it at
last--I am certain of it--to the harbour of salvation, as He has
brought me myself; for so it seems to me now. May His Majesty grant I
may never go back and be lost! He who gives himself to prayer is in
possession of a great blessing, of which many saintly and good men
have written--I am speaking of mental prayer--glory be to God for it;
and, if they had not done so, I am not proud enough, though I have but
little humility, to presume to discuss it.
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; [3] let him rather believe
that His words are true Who says that, if we truly repent, and resolve
never to offend Him, He will take us into His favour
again, [4] give us the graces He gave us before,
and occasionally even greater, if our repentance deserve it. And as
to him who has not begun to pray, I implore him by the love of our
Lord not to deprive himself of so great a good.
7. Herein there is nothing to be afraid
of, but everything to hope for. Granting that such a one does not
advance, nor make an effort to become perfect, so as to merit the joys
and consolations which the perfect receive from God, yet he will by
little and little attain to a knowledge of the road which leads to
heaven. And if he perseveres, I hope in the mercy of God for him,
seeing that no one ever took Him for his friend that was not amply
rewarded; for mental prayer is nothing else, in my opinion, but being
on terms of friendship with God, frequently conversing in secret with
Him Who, we know, loves us. Now, true love and lasting friendship
require certain dispositions: those of our Lord, we know, are
absolutely perfect; ours, vicious, sensual, and thankless; and you
cannot therefore, bring yourselves to love Him as He loves you,
because you have not the disposition to do so; and if you do not love
Him, yet, seeing how much it concerns you to have His friendship, and
how great is His love for you, rise above that pain you feel at being
much with Him Who is so different from you.
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 least
for two hours daily, even though they may not remain with Thee but, as
I used to do, with a thousand distractions, and with worldly thoughts.
In return for this violence which they offer to themselves for the
purpose of remaining in a company so good as Thine--for at first they
can do no more, and even afterwards at times--Thou, O Lord, defendest
them against the assaults of evil spirits, whose power Thou
restrainest, and even lessenest daily, giving to them the victory over
these their enemies. So it is, O Life of all lives, Thou slayest none
that put their trust in Thee, and seek Thy friendship; yea, rather,
Thou sustainest their bodily life in greater vigour, and makest their
soul to live.
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
woman; but I have made a bad use of it. In the end, our Lord came to
my help; and then, when I had done this violence to myself, I found
greater peace and joy than I sometimes had when I had a desire
to pray.
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, [5] I do not speak of it here; only this
will I say: prayer is the door to those great graces which our Lord
bestowed upon me. If this door be shut, I do not see how He can
bestow them; for even if He entered into a soul to take His delight
therein, and to make that soul also delight in Him, there is no way by
which He can do so; for His will is, that such a soul should be lonely
and pure, with a great desire to receive His graces. If we put many
hindrances in the way, and take no pains whatever to remove them, how
can He come to us, and how can we have any desire that He should show
us His great mercies?
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 done much; but my
soul knew that this was not doing what I was bound to do for Him to
Whom I owed so much. I am sorry for my poor soul even now, because of
its great sufferings, and the little help it had from any one except
God, and for the wide door that man opened for it, that it might go
forth to its pastimes and pleasures, when they said that these things
were lawful.
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.
1. Ch. ix.
§ 10.
2. § 1,
above.
3. Ch.
vii. § 17; ch. xix.
§ 8.
4. Ezech. xviii. 21: "Si autem impius egerit poenitentiam, . . . vita vivet,
et non morietur. Omnium iniquitatum ejus . . . non
recordabor."
5. See ch.
x. § 2, and ch. xi.
§ 22.
The Means Whereby Our Lord Quickened Her Soul, Gave Her Light
in Her Darkness, and Made Her Strong in Goodness.
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 petition. I do certainly believe that this was of great
service to me, because I have grown better
ever since. [1]
4. This was my method of prayer: as I could not
make reflections with my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ
as within me; [2] and I used to find myself the
better for thinking of those mysteries of His life during which He was
most lonely. It seemed to me that the being alone and afflicted, like
a person in trouble, must needs permit me to come near unto Him.
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 meditation, make great progress, because it is done by
love. But to attain to this involves great labour, except to those
persons whom it is our Lord's good pleasure to lead quickly to the
prayer of quiet. I know of some. For those who walk in this way, a
book is profitable, that by the help thereof they may the more quickly
recollect themselves. It was a help to me also to look on fields,
water, and flowers. [3] In them I saw traces of
the Creator--I mean, that the sight of these things was as a book unto
me; it roused me, made me recollected, and reminded me of my
ingratitude and of my sins. My understanding was so dull, that I
could never represent in the imagination either heavenly or high
things in any form whatever until our Lord placed them before me in
another way. [4]
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 were given me. Our Lord
seems to have so ordained it, for I did not seek them myself, neither
had I ever seen them before. I had a very great devotion to St. Augustine, because the monastery in which I
lived when I was yet in the world was of his
Order; [5] and also because he had been a
sinner--for I used to find great comfort in those Saints whom, after
they had sinned, our Lord converted to Himself. I thought they would
help me, and that, as our Lord had forgiven them, so also He would
forgive me. One thing, however, there was that troubled me--I have
spoken of it before [6]--our Lord had called
them but once, and they never relapsed; while my relapses were now so
many. This it was that vexed me. But calling to mind the love that
He bore me, I took courage again. Of His mercy I never doubted once,
but I did very often of myself.
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 of great compunction and sorrow of
heart, [7] accompanied by tears, of which I am
speaking, I began in an especial way to give myself more to prayer,
and to occupy myself less with those things which did me harm--though
I did not give them up altogether. But God Himself, as I have just
said, came to my aid, and helped me to turn away from them. As His
Majesty was only waiting for some preparation on my part, the
spiritual graces grew in me as I shall now explain. It is not the
custom of our Lord to give these graces to any but to those who keep
their consciences in greater pureness. [8]
1. In the year 1555
(Bouix).
2. See ch.
iv. § 10; ch. x. § 1.
3. See Relation, i.
§ 12.
4. See ch.
iv. § 11.
5. Ch. ii.
§ 8.
6. In the Prologue.
7. §
1.
8. Ch. iv.
§ 11.
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.
1. I used to have at times, as I have
said, [1] though it used to pass quickly
away--certain commencements of that which I am going now to describe.
When I formed those pictures within myself of throwing myself at the
feet of Christ, as I said before, [2] and
sometimes even when I was reading, a feeling of the presence of God
would come over me unexpectedly, so that I could in no wise doubt
either that He was within me, or that I was wholly absorbed in Him.
It was not by way of vision; I believe it was what is called
mystical theology. 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 further than our Lord wills, and as the
blessed see how little merit they had, every one of them is satisfied
with the place assigned him: there being the very greatest difference
between one joy and another in heaven, and much greater than between
one spiritual joy and another on earth--which is, however, very great.
And in truth, in the beginning, a soul in which God works this grace
thinks that now it has scarcely anything more to desire, and counts
itself abundantly rewarded for all the service it has rendered Him.
And there is reason for this: for one of those tears--which, as I have
just said, are almost in our own power, though without God nothing can
be done--cannot, in my opinion, be purchased with all the labours of
the world, because of the great gain it brings us. And what greater
gain can we have than some testimony of our having pleased God? Let
him, then, who shall have attained to this, give praise unto
God--acknowledge himself to be one of His greatest debtors; because it
seems to be His will to take him into His house, having chosen him for
His kingdom, if he does not turn back.
4. Let him not regard certain kinds of humility
which exist, and of which I mean to speak. [3]
Some think it humility not to believe that God is bestowing His gifts
upon them. Let us clearly understand this, and that it is perfectly
clear God bestows His gifts without any merit whatever on our part;
and let us be grateful to His Majesty for them; for if we do not
recognize the gifts received at His hands, we shall never be moved to
love Him. It is a most certain truth, that the richer we see
ourselves to be, confessing at the same time our poverty, the greater
will be our progress, and the more real our humility.
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 mercy upon us. [4]
Let us believe that He Who gives these gifts will also, when the devil
begins to tempt us herein, give us the grace to detect him, and the
strength to resist him--that is, He will do so if we walk in
simplicity before God, aiming at pleasing Him only, and not men. It
is a most evident truth, that our love for a person is greater, the
more distinctly we remember the good he has done us.
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 from us, and we shall be poorer than ever. His Majesty will
give the pearls to him who shall bring them forth and employ them
usefully for himself and others. For how shall he be useful, and how
shall he spend liberally, who does not know that he is rich? It is
not possible, I think, our nature being what it is, that he can have
the courage necessary for great things who does not know that God is
on his side; for so miserable are we, so inclined to the things of
this world, that he can hardly have any real abhorrence of, with great
detachment from, all earthly things who does not see that he holds
some pledges for those things that are above. It is by these gifts
that our Lord gives us that strength which we through our sins
have lost.
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 [5] to whom I send it destroy
it; for he knows better than I do what is wrong in it. I entreat him,
for the love of our Lord, to publish abroad what I have thus far said
of my wretched life, and of my sins. I give him leave to do so; and
to all my confessors, also,--of whom he is one--to whom this is to be
sent, if it be their pleasure, even during my life, so that I may no
longer deceive people who think there must be some good in
me. [6] Certainly, I speak in all sincerity,
so far as I understand myself. Such publication will give me
great comfort.
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 [7] have authority enough to approve of
whatever right things I may say, should our Lord give me the grace to
do so; and if I should say anything of the kind, it will be His, and
not mine--because I am neither learned nor of good life, and I have no
person of learning or any other to teach me; for they only who ordered
me to write know that I am writing, and at this moment they are not
here. I have, as it were, to steal the time, and that with
difficulty, because my writing hinders me from spinning. I am living
in a house that is poor, and have many things to
do. [8] If, indeed, our Lord had given me
greater abilities and a better memory, I might then profit by what I
have seen and read; but my abilities are very slight. If, then, I
should say anything that is right, our Lord will have it said for some
good purpose; that which may be wrong will be mine, and your reverence
will strike it out.
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 freedom. If it
were not so, I should have great scruples, except in declaring my
sins: and in that matter I should have none at all. For the rest, it
is enough that I am a woman to make my sails droop: how much more,
then, when I am a woman, and a wicked one?
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 be 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, [9] have always laboured to find out
those who could give me light.
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.
1. The Saint interrupts her history
here to enter on the difficult questions of mystical theology, and
resumes it in ch. xxiii.
2. Ch. ix.
§ 4.
3. Ch.
xxx. §§ 10 and 11.
4. See ch. xiii. § 5.
5. F. Pedro Ybañez, of the Order of
St. Dominic.
6. See ch. xxxi. § 17.
7. See ch. xv. § 12.
8. See ch. xiv. § 12.
9. See ch. xxiv. § 5.
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.
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 must have many spiritual consolations. This is not
well, and we are seeking things that are incompatible one with the
other. So, because we do not give ourselves up wholly and at once,
this treasure is not given wholly and at once to us. May it be the
good pleasure of our Lord to give it us drop by drop, though it may
cost us all the trials in the world.
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 [1] of mystical
theology--I believe they call it by that name--I shall proceed with
hereafter--I have to say that the labour is greatest at first; for it
is they who toil, our Lord, indeed, giving them strength. In the
other degrees of prayer, there is more of fruition; although they who
are in the beginning, the middle, and the end, have their crosses to
carry: the crosses, however, are different. They who would follow
Christ, if they do not wish to be lost, must walk in the way He walked
Himself. Blessed labours! even here, in this life, so
superabundantly rewarded!
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]
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 way sometimes--it is a less
troublesome way than the first, and gives more water; or by a stream
or brook, whereby the garden is watered in a much better way--for the
soil is more thoroughly saturated, and there is no necessity to water
it so often, and the labour of the gardener is much less; or by
showers of rain, when our Lord Himself waters it, without labour on
our part--and this way is incomparably better than all the others of
which I have spoken.
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 as well as those
more advanced; all, however, must not do so equally, as I shall show
hereafter. [3] Beginners at first suffer much,
because they are not convinced that they are penitent for their sins;
and yet they are, because they are so sincerely resolved on serving
God. They must strive to meditate on the life of Christ, and the
understanding is wearied thereby. Thus far we can advance of
ourselves--that is, by the grace of God--for without that, as every
one knows, we never can have one good thought.
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 great an Emperor; and as
he knows that he is pleasing Him in the matter--and his purpose must
not be to please himself, but Him--let him praise Him greatly for the
trust He has in him--for He sees that, without any recompense, he is
taking so much care of that which has been confided to him; let him
help Him to carry the Cross, and let him think how He carried it all
His life long; let him not seek his kingdom here, nor ever intermit
his prayer; and so let him resolve, if this aridity should last even
his whole life long, never to let Christ fall down beneath
the Cross. [4]
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. [5] These labours have their reward, I
know it; for I am one who underwent them for many years. When I drew
but one drop of water out of this blessed well, I considered it was a
mercy of God. I know these labours are very great, and require, I
think, greater courage than many others in this world; but I have seen
clearly that God does not leave them without a great recompense, even
in this life; for it is very certain that in one hour, during which
our Lord gave me to taste His sweetness, all the anxieties which I
had to bear when persevering in prayer seem to me ever afterwards
perfectly rewarded.
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, to try those
who love Him, and to ascertain if they will drink the
chalice, [6] and help Him to carry the Cross,
before He intrusts them with His great treasures. I believe it to be
for our good that His Majesty should lead us by this way, so that we
may perfectly understand how worthless we are; for the graces which He
gives afterwards are of a dignity so great, that He will have us by
experience know our wretchedness before He grants them, that it may
not be with us as it was with Lucifer.
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, accomplish Thy will; let me never offend Thee,
nor let my virtues perish; if Thou hast given me any, it is out of Thy
mere goodness. I wish to suffer, because Thou, O Lord, hast suffered;
do Thou in every way fulfil Thy will in me, and may it never be the
pleasure of Thy Majesty that a gift of so high a price as that of Thy
love, be given to people who serve Thee only because of the sweetness
they find thereby.
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
Majesty does not give it. Let them be convinced of this, there is a
fault here; I have had experience of it, and know it to be so. Let
them believe it as an imperfection: they are not advancing in liberty
of spirit, but shrinking like cowards from the assault.
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 be used, in order to
ascertain whether ill-health be the occasion or not. The poor soul
must not be stifled. Let those who thus suffer understand that they
are ill; a change should be made in the hour of prayer, and oftentimes
that change should be continued for some days. Let souls pass out of
this desert as they can, for it is very often the misery of one that
loves God to see itself living in such wretchedness, unable to do what
it would, because it has to keep so evil a guest as the body.
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; [7] and it is of great importance that
the soul should not be dragged, as they say, but carried gently, that
it may make greater progress.
25. So, then, I come back to what I advised
before [8]--and though I repeat it often, it
matters not; it is of great importance that no one should distress
himself on account of aridities, or because his thoughts are restless
and distracted; neither should he be afflicted thereat, if he would
attain to liberty of spirit, and not be always in trouble. Let him
begin by not being afraid of the Cross, and he will see how our Lord
will help him to carry it, how joyfully he will advance, and what
profit he will derive from it all. It is now clear, if there is no
water in the well, that we at least can put none into it. It is true
we must not be careless about drawing it when there is any in it,
because at that time it is the will of God to multiply our virtues by
means thereof.
1. Ch. x.
§ 1.
2. Vide St. Bernard, in Cantic. Serm. 30. n. 7, ed. Ben.
3. Ch.
xiii. § 23.
4. See ch. xv. § 17.
5. 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."
6. St. Matt. xx. 22: "Potestis
bibere calicem?"
7. St. Matt. xi. 30: "Jugum enim
meum suave est."
8. §
18.
What We Can Ourselves Do. The Evil of Desiring to Attain to
Supernatural States Before Our Lord Calls Us.
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 God, [1] a most
excellent work, and profitable for those who are in this state,
because the understanding is active now.
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. [2] But let us rather give thanks to
our Lord, who allows us to have a desire to please Him, though our
works be poor. This practice of the presence of Christ is profitable
in all states of prayer, and is a most safe way of advancing in the
first state, and of attaining quickly to the second; and as for the
last states, it secures us against those risks which the devil
may occasion.
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. [3] These consolations being
supernatural, and the understanding inactive, the soul is then left
desolate and in great aridity. As the foundation of the whole
building is humility, the nearer we draw unto God the more this virtue
should grow; if it does not, everything is lost. It seems to be a kind
of pride when we seek to ascend higher, seeing that God descends so
low, when He allows us, being what we are, to draw near unto Him.
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; [4] and I was so worthless, that,
as to thinking even of the things of earth, God gave me grace to
understand this truth: that in me it was no slight boldness to do so.
How much more, then, the thinking of heavenly things? Others,
however, will profit in that way, particularly those who are learned;
for learning, in my opinion, is a great treasury in the matter of this
exercise, if it be accompanied with humility. I observed this a few
days ago in some learned men who had shortly before made a beginning,
and had made great progress. This is the reason why I am so very
anxious that many learned men may become spiritual. I shall speak of
this by and by. [5]
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 [6]--the understanding ceases from its
acts, because God suspends it--as I shall explain by and by, if I
can; [7] and God give me the grace to do so.
We must neither imagine nor think that we can of ourselves bring about
this suspension. That is what I say must not be done; nor must we
allow the understanding to cease from its acts; for in that case we
shall be stupid and cold, and the result will be neither the one nor
the other. For when our Lord suspends the understanding, and makes it
cease from its acts, He puts before it that which astonishes and
occupies it: so that without making any reflections, it shall
comprehend in a moment [8] more than we
could comprehend in many years with all the efforts in the world.
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; [9] for
that virtue has this excellence: there is no good work attended by
humility that leaves the soul disgusted. It seems to me that I have
made this clear enough; yet, after all, perhaps only for myself. May
our Lord open their eyes who read this, by giving them experience; and
then however slight that experience may be, they will immediately
understand it.
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 what our Lord was giving me, in order
that I might be able to speak of it, the fact is, that my dulness was
so great, that I derived no advantage whatever, much or little, from
their teaching.
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.
1. 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).
2. Ch.
xi. §§ 20, 25.
3. 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).
4. Ch. iv.
§ 10.
5. Ch.
xxxiv. § 9.
6. Ch. x.
§ 1.
7. Ch.
xvi. § 4.
8. "En un
credo."
9. § 5.
Of Certain Temptations of Satan. Instructions
Relating Thereto.
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 [1]--to
take some recreation, in order that we may with more vigour resume
our prayer.
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 confidence
in themselves. I never saw one of those lag behind on the road; and
never a cowardly soul, though aided by humility, make that progress in
many years which the former makes in a few. I am astonished at the
great things done on this road by encouraging oneself to undertake
great things, though we may not have the strength for them at once;
the soul takes a flight upwards and ascends high, though, like a
little bird whose wings are weak, it grows weary and rests.
4. At one time I used often to think of those
words of St. Paul: "That all things are
possible in God." [2] I saw clearly that
of myself I could do nothing. This was of great service to me. So
also was the saying of St. Augustine:
"Give me, O Lord, what Thou commandest, and command what Thou
wilt." [3] I was often thinking how St. Peter lost nothing by throwing himself into
the sea, though he was afterwards afraid. [4]
These first resolutions are a great matter--although it is necessary
in the beginning that we should be very reserved, controlled by the
discretion and authority of a director; but we must take care that he
be one who does not teach us to crawl like toads, nor one who may be
satisfied when the soul shows itself fit only to catch lizards.
Humility must always go before: so that we may know that this strength
can come out of no strength of our own.
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 Saints are to be admired, not to be imitated,
by us who are sinners. I, too, say the same thing; but we must see
what those actions are which we are to admire, and what those are
which we are to imitate; for it would be wrong in a person who is weak
and sickly to undertake much fasting and sharp penances to retire into
the desert, where he could not sleep, nor find anything to eat; or,
indeed, to undertake any austerities of this kind.
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, [5] to make my prayer, and, at the same
time, to live at my ease. If there had been any one to rouse me to a
higher flight, he might have brought me, so I think, to a state in
which these desires might have had their effects; but, for our sins,
so few and so rare are they whose discretion in that matter is not
excessive. That, I believe, is reason enough why those who begin do
not attain more quickly to great perfection; for our Lord never fails
us, and it is not His fault; the fault and the wretchedness of this
being all our own.
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 since I have ceased to look after my ease and
comforts. It is of great importance not to let our own thoughts
frighten us in the beginning, when we set ourselves to pray. Believe
me in this, for I know it by experience. As a warning to others, it
may be that this story of my failures may be useful.
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, [6] I made others apply
themselves to prayer, to be a source of temptation and disorder; for,
on the one hand, they heard me say great things of the blessedness of
prayer, and, on the other, saw how poor I was in virtue,
notwithstanding my prayer. They had good reasons on their side, and
afterwards they told me of it; for they knew not how these things
could be compatible one with the other. This it was that made them
not to regard that as evil which was really so in itself, namely, that
they saw me do it myself, now and then, during the time that they
thought well of me in some measure.
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, in the course of two or three years many
persons have profited, as I shall
show hereafter. [7]
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 men as better than ourselves; and we
begin to acquire that virtue in this way, by the grace of God, which
is necessary in all things--for when we have it not, all our
endeavours are in vain--and by imploring Him to give us this virtue;
for He never fails us, if we do what we can.
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, [8] place themselves in the presence of
Christ, and, without fatiguing the understanding, converse with Him,
and in Him rejoice, without wearying themselves in searching out
reasons; but let them rather lay their necessities before Him, and the
just reasons there are why He should not suffer us in His presence: at
one time this, at another time that, lest the soul should be wearied
by always eating of the same food. These meats are most savoury and
wholesome, if the palate be accustomed to them; they will furnish a
great support for the life of the soul, and they have many other
advantages also.
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 though a mere
hint is enough for his clear intellect who has commanded me to write
on the subject of prayer, yet so it is, my dulness does not allow me
to say or explain in a few words that which it is so important to
explain well. I, who have gone through so much, am sorry for those
who begin only with books; for there is a strange difference between
that which we learn by reading, and that which we learn
by experience.
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 it is
very necessary he should have a director, who ought to be a person of
experience; for if he be not, he will make many mistakes, and direct a
soul without understanding its ways, or suffering it to understand
them itself; for such a soul, knowing that obedience to a director is
highly meritorious, dares not transgress the commandments it receives.
I have met with souls cramped and tormented, because he who directed
them had no experience: that made me sorry for them. Some of them knew
not what to do with themselves; for directors who do not understand
the spirit of their penitents afflict them soul and body, and hinder
their progress. [9]
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, [10] perhaps, many times, because of its
great importance--for among all the states of prayer, however high
they may be, there is not one in which it is not often necessary to go
back to the beginning. The knowledge of our sins, and of our own
selves, is the bread which we have to eat with all the meats, however
delicate they may be, in the way of prayer; without this bread, life
cannot be sustained, though it must be taken by measure. When a soul
beholds itself resigned, and clearly understands that there is no
goodness in it--when it feels itself abashed in the presence of so
great a King, and sees how little it pays of the great debt it owes
Him--why should it be necessary for it to waste its time on
this subject? Why should it not rather proceed to other matters which
our Lord places before it, and for neglecting which there is no
reason? His Majesty surely knows better than we do what kind of food
is proper for us.
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 [11]--but at the cost of many words. A
nun begins to practise prayer; if her director be silly, and if he
should take it into his head, he will make her feel that it is better
for her to obey him than her own superior. He will do all this
without any evil purpose, thinking that he is doing right. For if he
be not a religious himself, he will think this right enough. If his
penitent be a married woman, he will tell her that it is better for
her to give herself unto prayer, when she ought to attend to her
house, although she may thereby displease her husband. And so it is,
he knows not how to make arrangements for time and business,
so that everything may be done as it ought to be done; he has no light
himself, and can therefore give none to others, however much he may
wish to do so.
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, [12] and that will be no slight cross,
without voluntarily subjecting the understanding to one whose
understanding is none of the best. At least, I have never been able
to bring myself to do it, neither does it seem to me to be right.
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 ourselves a
little more to prayer, that we are raised above the necessity of such
great hardships. Blessed be Thou, O Lord, who hast made me so
incapable and so useless; but I bless Thee still more for this--that
Thou quickenest so many to quicken us. Our prayer must therefore be
very earnest for those who give us light. What should we be without
them in the midst of these violent storms which now disturb the
Church? If some have fallen, the good will shine more and
more. [13] May it please our Lord to hold
them in His hand, and help them, that they may help us.
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, [14] the meditation on
Christ bound to the pillar, it is well we should make reflections for
a time, and consider the sufferings He there endured, for whom He
endured them, who He is who endured them, and the love with which He
bore them. But a person should not always fatigue himself in making
these reflections, but rather let him remain there with Christ, in the
silence of the understanding.
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.
1. Ch.
xi. § 24.
2. Philipp. iv. 13; "Omnia possum in Eo."
3. Confess. x. ch. 29:
"Da quod jubes, et jube
quod vis."
4. St.
Matt. xiv. 30: "Videns vero ventum
validum, timuit."
5. Ch.
vii. §§ 27, 31.
6. Ch.
vii. § 16.
7. See ch. xxxi. § 7, and ch. xxxix. § 14.
8. Ch.
xii. § 3.
9. See St. John of the Cross, Living Flame,
pp. 267, 278-284, Engl. trans.
10. See ch. xv. § 20.
11. § 18.
12. Prudence, experience, and
learning; see § 24.
13. Dan. xii. 3: "Qui autem docti fuerint, fulgebunt quasi
splendor firmamenti."
14. § 19.
The Second State of Prayer. Its Supernatural
Character.
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! [1] It binds our
love in bonds so straitly, that it is not in its power at this moment
to love anything else but Thee.
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. [2] For if it tried to make them
recollected, it would miss its way together with them, because they
are at this time like doves which are not satisfied with the food the
master of the dovecot gives them without any labouring for it on their
part, and which go forth in quest of it elsewhere, and so hardly find
it that they come back. And so the memory and the understanding come
and go, seeking whether the will is going to give them that into the
fruition ofwhich it has entered itself.
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 to it.
This, I believe, is it that makes the virtues grow the more, and also
to draw nearer to essential virtue, God Himself, from Whom all virtues
proceed; for His Majesty has begun to communicate Himself to this
soul, and will have it feel how He is communicating Himself.
7. As soon as the soul has arrived thus far, it
begins to lose the desire of earthly
things, [3] and no wonder; for it sees clearly
that, even for a moment, this joy is not to be had on earth; that
there are no riches, no dominion, no honours, no delights, that can
for one instant, even for the twinkling of an eye, minister such a
joy; for it is a true satisfaction, and the soul sees that it really
does satisfy. Now, we who are on earth, as it seems to me, scarcely
ever understand wherein our satisfaction lies, for it is always liable
to disappointment; but in this, at that time, there is none: the
disappointment cometh afterwards, when the soul sees that all is over,
and that it has no power to recover it, neither does it know how; for
if it cut itself in pieces by penance and prayer, and every other kind
of austerities, all would be of little use, if our Lord did not grant
it. God, in His great mercy, will have the soul comprehend that His
Majesty is so near to it, that it need not send messengers to Him, but
may speak to Him itself, and not with a loud crying, because so near
is He already, that He understands even the movements of its lips.
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 of earth; for He seems to be filling up the void in
our souls occasioned by our sins.
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 light upon it. And if it be not a soul much exercised in
prayer, it will find it enough to understand its state, be the books
ever so clear.
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; [4] and the soul, if not experienced
herein, will not understand the matter; and it must have so much
experience for the understanding thereof, that it is necessary it
should have attained to the highest perfection of prayer.
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; [5] and so I am writing, with very
many interruptions, by little and little at a time. I wish I had
leisure; for when our Lord gives the spirit, it is more easily and
better done; it is then as with a person working embroidery with the
pattern before her; but if the spirit be wanting, there is no more
meaning in the words than in gibberish, so to speak, though many years
may have been spent in prayer. And thus I think it a very great
advantage to be in this state of prayer when I am writing this; for I
see clearly that it is not I who speak, nor is it I who with her
understanding has arranged it; and afterwards I do not know how I came
to speak so accurately. [6] It has often
happened to me thus.
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 Good! 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. [7] O my Lord, what
does it mean? Whenever I hear these words, they always give me great
consolation, and did so even when I was most wicked.
16. Is it possible, 0 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 of the garden;
so that this miserable earth of mine becomes a heap of refuse, as it
was before. Let it not be so, O Lord!--let not a soul which Thou hast
purchased with so many labours be lost, one which Thou hast so often
ransomed anew, and delivered from between the teeth of the
hideous dragon!
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.
1. 2 Cor. v. 14: "Charitas enim Christi
urget nos."
2. See ch. xvii. § 12; Way of
Perfection, ch. liii., but xxxi. of the
old editions.
3. See Relation, i.
§ 12.
4. 2 Cor. xi. 14: "Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in
angelum lucis."
5. 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.
6. 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).
7. Prov. viii. 31: "Deliciæ meæ esse cum
filiis hominum."
Instructions for Those Who Have Attained to the Prayer of
Quiet. Many Advance So Far, But Few Go Farther.
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. [1] It thinks, because it has not
gone beyond it, that there is nothing further to wish for, but that
its abode might be there, and it would willingly say so with St. Peter. [2] It dares
not move nor stir, because it thinks that this blessing it has
received must then escape out of its hands; now and then, it could
wish it did not even breathe. [3] The poor
little soul is not aware that, as of itself it could do nothing to
draw down this blessing on itself, it is still less able to retain it
a moment longer than our Lord wills it should remain.
2. I have already said that, in the prior
recollection and quiet, [4] there is no failure
of the powers of the soul; but the soul is so satisfied in God that,
although two of its powers be distracted, yet, while the recollection
lasts, as the will abides in union with God, so its peace and quiet
are not disturbed; on the contrary, the will by degrees brings the
understanding and the memory back again; for though the will is not
yet altogether absorbed, it continues still occupied without knowing
how, so that, notwithstanding all the efforts of the memory and the
understanding, they cannot rob it of its delight and
joy [5]--yea, rather, it helps without any
labour at all to keep this little spark of the love of God from
being quenched.
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
forsake so great a good otherwise than through the blindness
occasioned by much evil.
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]
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 sweetness, that it seeks for it
in every way. But it becomes cold very soon; for, however much we try
to make the fire burn, in order to obtain this sweetness, it does not
appear that we do anything else but throw water on it, to put it out.
This spark, then, given of God, however slight it may be, causes a
great crackling; and if men do not quench it by their faults, it is
the beginning of the great fire, which sends forth--I shall speak of
it in the proper place [7]--the flames of that
most vehement love of God which His Majesty will have perfect souls
to possess.
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, [8] I know that
many souls come thus far, and that those who go farther, as they ought
to go, are so few, that I am ashamed to say it. I do not mean that
they are absolutely few: there must be many, because God is patient
with us, for some reasons; I speak of what I have seen.
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, [9] let them fear and
tremble, lest they should be doing mischief to themselves--and
God grant it be to themselves only!
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 about with the
understanding in search of words and reflections whereby to give God
thanks for this grace, and heaping up its sins and imperfections
together to show that it does not deserve it. All this commotion
takes place now, and the understanding comes forward, and the memory
is restless, and certainly to me these powers bring much weariness at
times; for, though my memory is not strong, I cannot control it. Let
the will quietly and wisely understand that it is not by dint of
labour on our part that we can converse to any good purpose with God,
and that our own efforts are only great logs of wood, laid on without
discretion to quench this little spark; and let it confess this, and
in humility say, O Lord, what can I do here? what has the servant to
do with her Lord, and earth with heaven? or words of love that suggest
themselves now, firmly grounded in the conviction that what it says is
truth; and let it make no account of the understanding, which is
simply tiresome.
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, except
His mere goodness, why God should grant us so great a grace, and to be
aware that we are so near Him, and to pray to His Majesty for mercies,
to make intercession for the Church, for those who had been
recommended to us, and for the souls in purgatory,--not, however, with
noise of words, but with a heartfelt desire to be heard. This is a
prayer that contains much, and by it more is obtained than by many
reflections of the understanding. Let the will stir up some of those
reasons, which proceed from reason itself, to quicken its love, such
as the fact of its being in a better state, and let it make certain
acts of love, as what it will do for Him to whom it owes so much,--and
that, as I said just now, without any noise of the understanding, in
the search after profound reflections. A little straw,--and it will
be less than straw, if we bring it ourselves,--laid on with humility,
will be more effectual here, and will help to kindle a fire more than
many fagots of most learned reasons, which, in my opinion, will put it
out in a moment.
12. This is good for those learned men who
have commanded me to write, [10] and who all,
by the goodness of God, have come to this state; for it may be that
they spend the time in making applications of passages of the
Scriptures. And though learning could not fail to be of great use to
them, both before and after prayer, still, in the very time of prayer
itself, there is little necessity for it, in my opinion, unless it be
for the purpose of making the will tepid; for the understanding then,
because of its nearness to the light, is itself illuminated; so that
even I, who am what I am, seem to be a different person. And so it
is; for it has happened to me, who scarcely understand a word of what
I read in Latin, and specially in the Psalms, when in the prayer of
quiet, not only to understand the Latin as if it were Spanish, but,
still more, to take a delight in dwelling on the meaning of that I
knew through the Spanish. We must make an exception: if these learned
men have to preach or to teach, they will do well to take advantage of
their learning, that they may help poor people of little learning, of
whom I am one. Charity is a great thing; and so always is ministering
unto souls, when done simply for God.
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, [11] makes perhaps a better act of
thanksgiving than the understanding, with all the tropes of its
rhetoric. In a word, mental prayer is not to be abandoned altogether
now, nor even vocal prayer, if at any time we wish, or can, to make
use of either of them; for if the state of quiet be profound, it
becomes difficult to speak, and it can be done only with
great pain.
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, as I said before, [12] to pass
onwards to this quiet of the will. Then, no effect whatever is
produced; it is quickly over, and aridity is the result. If it comes
from Satan, the practised soul, in my opinion, will detect it, because
it leaves trouble behind, and scant humility and poor dispositions for
those effects which are wrought if it comes from God; it leaves
neither light in the understanding nor steadiness in
the truth. [13]
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, [14] I insisted upon
it that the great affair of souls is, when they begin to pray, to
begin also to detach themselves from every kind of joy, and to enter
on it resolved only on helping to carry the cross of Christ like good
soldiers, willing to serve their King without present pay, because
they are sure of it at last, having their eyes directed to the true
and everlasting kingdom at the conquest of which we are aiming.
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, [15] in this our life
on earth, the growth of the soul is not like that of the body.
We, however, so speak of it--and, in truth, it does grow. A youth
that is grown up, whose body is formed, and who is become a man, does
not ungrow, nor does his body lessen in size; but as to the soul, it
so is by our Lord's will, so far as I have seen it in my own
experience,--but I know nothing of it in any other way. It must be in
order to humble us for our greater good, and to keep us from being
careless during our exile; seeing that he who has ascended the higher
has the more reason to be afraid, and to be less confident in himself.
A time may come when they whose will is so wrapt up in the will of
God--and who, rather than fall into a single imperfection, would
undergo torture and suffer a thousand deaths--will find it necessary,
if they would be delivered from offending God, and from the commission
of sin, to make use of the first armour of prayer, to call to mind how
everything is coming to an end, that there is a heaven and a hell, and
to make use of other reflections of that nature, when they find
themselves assailed by temptations and persecutions.
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." [16] He is our example; and
whosoever follows His counsels only to please Him has nothing to fear.
In the improvement which they detect in themselves, they who do so
will see that this is no work of Satan and if they fall, they have a
sign of the presence of our Lord in their rising again at once. They
have other signs, also, of which I am going to speak.
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 and of shame, because
our Lord Himself supplies them in a way very different from that by
which we could acquire them by our own poor reflections, which are as
nothing in comparison with that real humility arising out of the light
which our Lord here gives us, and which begets a confusion of face
that undoes us. The knowledge with which God supplies us, in order
that we may know that of ourselves we have no good in us, is perfectly
apprehended--and the more perfectly, the greater the graces. It fills
us with a great desire of advancing in prayer, and of never giving it
up, whatever troubles may arise. The soul offers to suffer
everything. A certain security, joined with humility and fear
concerning our salvation, casts out servile fear at once from the
soul, and in its place plants a loyal
fear [17] of more perfect
growth. [18] There is a visible beginning of
a love of God, utterly divested of all self-interest, together with a
longing after seasons of solitude, in order to obtain a greater
fruition of this good.
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 [19]--it has cost me
much labour to be clear about them--I do not treat of them here.
I believe, too, that, with the help of God, I shall be able to speak
somewhat to the point, because--setting aside the experience I have
had, and by which I learned much--I have had the help of some most
learned men and persons of great holiness, whom we may reasonably
believe in the matter. Souls, therefore, are not to weary themselves
so much as I did, when, by the goodness of our Lord, they may have
come to this state.
1. See Way of
Perfection, ch. liii., but ch. xxxii of
the old edition.
2. St.
Matt. xvii. 4: "Bonum est nos
hic esse."
3. See ch. xvii. § 6.
4. Ch. x.
§ 1.
5. Ch.
xiv. §§ 3, 4.
6. Ch. x.
§ 9.
7. Ch.
xviii. § 4, and ch. xxi.
§ 9.
8. § 3.
9. § 5.
10. Ch.
x. § 1.
11. St.
Luke xviii. 13: "Nolebat nec oculos ad
coelum levare."
12. Ch.
xii. § 5.
13. "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."
14. Ch.
xi. § 16.
15. Ch.
xiii. § 23.
16. St.
Matt. xvi. 24: "Tollat crucem suam et
sequatur Me."
17. "Fiel
temor." In the
previous editions it was filial.
18. Ch.
xi. § 1.
19. See ch. xxv.
The Third State of Prayer. Deep Matters. What the Soul Can
Do That Has Reached It. Effects of the Great Graces of
Our Lord.
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. [1] In this state our Lord will help
the gardener, and in such a way as to be, as it were, the Gardener
Himself, doing all the work. It is a sleep of the powers of the soul,
which are not wholly lost, nor yet understanding how they are at work.
The pleasure, sweetness, and delight are incomparably greater than in
the former state of prayer; and the reason is, that the waters of
grace have risen up to the neck of the soul, so that it can neither
advance nor retreat--nor does it know how to do so; it seeks only the
fruition of exceeding bliss. It is like a dying man with the candle
in his hand, on the point of dying the death desired. It is rejoicing
in this agony with unutterable joy; to me it seems to be nothing else
but a death, as it were, to all the things of this world, and a
fruition of God. I know of no other words whereby to describe it or
to explain it; neither does the soul then know what to do,--for it
knows not whether to speak or be silent, whether it should laugh or
weep. It is a glorious folly, a heavenly madness, wherein true wisdom
is acquired; and to the soul a kind of fruition most full
of delight. [2]
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 one of them
ventures to stir, neither can we move one of them without making great
efforts to distract ourselves--and, indeed, I do not think we can do
it at all at this time. Many words are then uttered in praise of
God--but disorderly, unless it be that our Lord orders them himself.
At least, the understanding is utterly powerless here; the soul longs
to send forth words of praise, but it has no control over itself,--it
is in a state of sweet restlessness. The flowers are already opening;
they are beginning to send forth their fragrance.
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. [3] The admirable spirit of David,
the royal prophet, must have felt in the same way, so it seems to me,
when he played on the harp, singing the praises of God. I have a very
great devotion to this glorious king; [4] and I
wish all had it, particularly those who are sinners like myself.
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 [5] who, though she was no poet, yet
composed, without any preparation, certain stanzas, full of feeling,
most expressive of her pain: they were not the work of her own
understanding; but, in order to have a greater fruition of that bliss
which so sweet a pain occasioned her, she complained of it in that way
to God. She was willing to be cut in pieces, soul and body, to show
the delight she felt in that pain. To what torments could she be then
exposed, that would not be delicious to endure for her Lord? She sees
clearly that the martyrs did little or nothing, so far as they were
concerned, when they endured their tortures, because the soul is well
aware that its strength is derived from another source.
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 to die before the end of the world.
Its own repose it counts as nothing in comparison with doing a slight
service to Thee. It knows not what to desire; but it clearly
understands that it desires nothing else but Thee.
10. O my son, [6] so
humble is he to whom this writing is directed, and who has commanded
me to write, that he suffers himself to be thus addressed,--you, my
father, only must see these things, in which I seem to have
transgressed all bounds; for no reason can keep me reasonable when our
Lord draws me out of myself. Since my communion this
morning, [7] I do not believe that I am the
person who is speaking; I seem to be dreaming the things I see, and I
wish I might never see any but people ill, as I am now. I beseech
you, my father, let us all be mad, for the love of Him who for our
sakes suffered men to say of Him that He
was mad. [8]
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 [9] to
plot wickedness and heresies against His Majesty, so we might contrive
to meet together now and then, in order to undeceive one another, to
tell each other wherein we might improve ourselves, and be more
pleasing unto God; for there is no one that knows himself as well as
he is known of others who see him, if it be with eyes of love and the
wish to do him good. I say; in secret; for language of this kind is
no longer in use; even preachers go about arranging their sermons so
as to displease no one. [10] They have a
good intention, and their work is good; yet still few amend their
lives. But how is it that they are not many who, in consequence of
these sermons, abstain from public sins? Well, I think it is because
the preachers are highly sensible men. They are not burning with the
great fire of the love of God, as the Apostles were, casting worldly
prudence aside; and so their fire throws out but little heat. I do
not say that their fire ought to burn like that of the Apostles, but I
do wish it were a stronger fire than I see it is. Do you, my father,
know wherein much of this fire consists? In the hatred of this life,
in the desertion of its honours, in being utterly indifferent whether
we lose or gain anything or everything, provided the truth be told and
maintained for the glory of God; for he who is courageously in earnest
for God, looks upon loss or gain indifferently. I do not say that I
am a person of this kind, but I wish I was.
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.
1. "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).
2. See St.
John of the Cross, Spirit.
Canticle, stanza xvii. vol. ii. p. 98, Engl. trans.
3. St.
Luke xv. 9: "Convocat amicas
et vicinas."
4. Foundations, ch.
xxix. § 9.
5. The Saint herself (De
la Fuente).
6. 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).
7. See § 3,
above.
8. St.
John x. 20: "Dæmonium habet
et insanit."
9. 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).
10. Father Bañes wrote here on the
margin of the Saint's MS,
"Legant prædicatores" (De
la Fuente).
The Third State of Prayer. The Effects Thereof. The
Hindrance Caused by the Imagination and the Memory.
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. [1] The meaning of this is
perfectly clear for those who have understanding enough to apply
it--much more clear than I can make it; and I am tired.
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 He is doing then. It happens at
times, and indeed very often, that, the will being in union, the soul
should be aware of it, and see that the will is a captive and in joy,
that the will alone is abiding in great peace,--while, on the other
hand, the understanding and the memory are so free, that they can be
employed in affairs and be occupied in works of charity. I say this,
that you, my father, may see it is so, and understand the matter when
it shall happen to yourself; at least, it carried me out of myself,
and that is the reason why I speak of it here.
6. It differs from the prayer of quiet, of
which I have spoken, [2] though it does seem as
if it were all one with it. In that prayer, the soul, which would
willingly neither stir nor move, is delighting in the holy repose of
Mary; but in this prayer it can be like Martha
also. [3] Accordingly, the soul is, as it
were, living the active and contemplative life at once, and is able to
apply itself to works of charity and the affairs of its state, and to
spiritual reading. Still, those who arrive at this state, are not
wholly masters of themselves, and are well aware that the better part
of the soul is elsewhere. It is as if we were speaking to one person,
and another speaking to us at the same time, while we ourselves are
not perfectly attentive either to the one or the other. It is a state
that is most easily ascertained, and one, when attained to, that
ministers great joy and contentment, and that prepares the soul in the
highest degree, by observing times of solitude, or of freedom from
business, for the attainment of the most tranquil quietude. It is
like the life of a man who is full, requiring no food, with his
appetite satisfied, so that he will not eat of everything set before
him, yet not so full either as to refuse to eat if he saw any
desirable food. So the soul has no satisfaction in the world,
and seeks no pleasure in it then; because it has in itself that which
gives it a greater satisfaction, greater joys in God, longings for the
satisfaction of its longing to have a deeper joy in being with
Him--this is what the soul seeks.
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 makes on the soul, and how it
labours to throw everything into disorder. As for me, I am wearied by
it, and I hate it; and very often do I implore our Lord to deprive me
of it on these occasions, if I am to be so much troubled by it. Now
and then, I say to Him: O my God, when shall my soul praise Thee
without distraction, not dissipated in this way, unable to control
itself! I understand now the mischief that sin has done, in that it
has rendered us unable to do what we desire--to be always occupied
in God. [4]
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 us so much; while the others, occupied with His Majesty,
give us rest.
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: [5] to make no more account of
it than of a madman, but let it go with its subject; for God alone can
take it from it,--in short, it is a slave here. We must bear
patiently with it, as Jacob bore with Lia; for our Lord showeth us
mercy enough when we are allowed to have Rachel with us.
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. [6] It seems to have been the good
pleasure of our Lord to explain these states of prayer, wherein the
soul finds itself, with the utmost clearness possible, I think, here
on earth.
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] in the course of time you will
rejoice greatly in that you have understood it. Meanwhile, if He does
not allow you to understand what it is, though He does give you the
possession of it, yet, with your intellect and learning, seeing that
His Majesty has given you the first, you will know what it is, by the
help of what I have written here. Unto Him be praise for ever and
ever! Amen.
1. See ch. xix. § 4.
2. Ch.
xv. § 1.
3. 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.
4. See Relation, viii.
§ 17.
5. Ch.
xiv. § 4. See also Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but
ch. xxxi. of the old editions.
6. Ch.
xiv. § 6.
7. § 7.
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.
1. May our Lord teach me words whereby I may in
some measure describe the fourth water. [1] I
have great need of His help--even more than I had while speaking of
the last; for in that the soul still feels that it is not dead
altogether. We may thus speak, seeing that to the world it is really
dead. But, as I have said, [2] it retains the
sense to see that it is in the world, and to feel its own loneliness;
and it makes use of that which is outward for the purpose of
manifesting its feelings, at least by signs. In the whole of the
prayer already spoken of, and in all the states of it, the gardener
undergoes some labour: though in the later states the labour is
attended with so much bliss and comfort of the soul, that the soul
would never willingly pass out of it,--and thus the labour is not felt
as labour, but as bliss.
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 comprehended. The senses are all occupied in this
fruition in such a way that not one of them is at liberty, so as to be
able to attend to anything else, whether outward or inward.
3. The senses were permitted before, as I have
said, [3] to give some signs of the great joy
they feel; but now, in this state, the joy of the soul is incomparably
greater, and the power of showing it is still less; for there is no
power in the body, and the soul has none, whereby this fruition can be
made known. Everything of that kind would be a great hindrance, a
torment, and a disturbance of its rest. And I say, if it really be a
union of all the faculties, that the soul, even if it wished,--I mean,
when it is in union,--cannot make it known; and if it can, then it is
not union at all.
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 word, it is Thy munificence, O my Lord, seeing that
Thou givest like Thyself. O infinite Munificence!--how magnificent
are Thy works! Even he whose understanding is not occupied with the
things of earth is amazed that he is unable to understand these
truths. Why, then, give graces so high to souls who have been such
great sinners? Truly, this passeth my understanding; and when I come
to think of it, I can get no further. Is there any way at all for me
to go on which is not a going back? For, as to giving Thee thanks for
mercies so great, I know not how to do it. Sometimes I relieve myself
by giving utterance to follies. It often happens to me, either when I
receive these graces, or when God is about to bestow them,--for, in
the midst of them, I have already said, [4] I
was able to do nothing,--that I would break out into words
like these.
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 able to win over any one
to Thee,--in short, I am a woman, not good, but wicked. It seems to
me that the talents are not only hidden, but buried, when they are
committed to earth so vile. It is not Thy wont, O Lord, to bestow
graces and mercies like these upon a soul, unless it be that it may
edify many.
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. [5] I have clearly seen that this is a
particular grace, though, as I say, it may be the same, or seem to be
so, with the other; but a little fire, also, is as much fire as a
great fire--and yet there is a visible difference between them.
Before a small piece of iron is made red-hot in a little fire, some
time must pass; but if the fire be great, the iron very quickly,
though bulky, loses its nature altogether in appearance.
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. [6]
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. [7] The truth of the matter is this: it
is extremely difficult to know how long, because the senses are in
suspense; but I think that at any time it cannot be very long before
some one of the faculties recovers itself. It is the will that
persists in the work; the other two faculties quickly begin to molest
it. As the will is calm, it entrances them again; they are quiet for
another moment, and then they recover themselves once more.
17. In this way, some hours may be, and are,
passed in prayer; for when the two faculties begin to drink deep, and
to perceive the taste of this divine wine, they give themselves up
with great readiness, in order to be the more absorbed: they follow
the will, and the three rejoice together. But this state of complete
absorption, together with the utter rest of the imagination,--for I
believe that even the imagination is then wholly at rest,--lasts only
for a short time; though the faculties do not so completely recover
themselves as not to be for some hours afterwards as if in disorder:
God, from time to time, drawing them to Himself.
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. [8]
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, [9] their operations cannot be traced.
If the soul is making a meditation on any subject, the memory of it is
lost at once, just as if it had never been thought of. If it reads,
what is read is not remembered nor dwelt upon; neither is it otherwise
with vocal prayer. Accordingly, the restless little butterfly of the
memory has its wings burnt now, and it cannot fly. The will must be
fully occupied in loving, but it understands not how it loves; the
understanding, if it understands, does not understand how it
understands--at least, it can comprehend nothing of that it
understands: it does not understand, as it seems to me, because, as I
said just now, this cannot be understood. I do not understand it at
all myself.
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: [10] and when He seemed to me to be so
near, I thought it impossible. Not to believe that He was present,
was not in my power; for it seemed to me, as it were, evident that I
felt there His very presence. Some unlearned men used to say to me,
that He was present only by His grace. I could not believe that,
because, as I am saying, He seemed to me to be present Himself: so I
was distressed. A most learned man, of the Order of the glorious
Patriarch St. Dominic, delivered me from
this doubt; for he told me that He was present, and how He communed
with us: this was a great comfort to me.
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.
1. See ch. xi. § 11.
2. Ch.
xvi. §§ 7, 8.
3. Ch.
xvii. § 5.
4. § 3.
5. See ch. xx. § 10; and Relation, viii.
§ 10.
6. See ch. xiv. § 12.
7. See Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Director. Mystic.
tr. iv. § 9, n. 72.
8. 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."
9. Ch. x.
§ 1, and ch. xviii.
§ 16.
10. See Inner Fortress,
v. ch. i. § 11.
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.
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 [1] had shed them--to perceive that
it was no dream. Thus it was with me in the beginning, when it passed
quickly away. The soul remains possessed of so much courage, that if
it were now hewn in pieces for God, it would be a great consolation to
it. This is the time of resolutions, of heroic determinations, of the
living energy of good desires, of the beginning of hatred of the
world, and of the most clear perception of its vanity. The soul makes
greater and higher progress than it ever made before in the previous
states of prayer; and grows in humility more and more, because it sees
clearly that neither for obtaining nor for retaining this grace,
great beyond all measure, has it ever done, or ever been able to do,
anything of itself. It looks upon itself as most unworthy--for in a
room into which the sunlight enters strongly, not a cobweb can be hid;
it sees its own misery; self-conceit is so far away, that it seems as
if it never could have had any--for now its own eyes behold how very
little it could ever do, or rather, that it never did anything, that
it hardly gave even its own consent, but that it rather seemed as if
the doors of the senses were closed against its will in order that it
might have more abundantly the fruition of our Lord. It is abiding
alone with Him: what has it to do but to love Him? It neither sees nor
hears, unless on compulsion: no thanks to it. Its past life stands
before it then, together with the great mercy of God, in great
distinctness; and it is not necessary for it to go forth to hunt with
the understanding, because what it has to eat and ruminate upon, it
sees now ready prepared. It sees, so far as itself is concerned, that
it has deserved hell, and that its punishment is bliss. It undoes
itself in the praises of God, and I would gladly undo myself now.
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, [2] and to pray
to God that itself may not be the only soul that is rich in them. It
begins to benefit its neighbours, as it were, without being aware of
it, or doing anything consciously: its neighbours understand the
matter, because the odour of the flowers has grown so strong as to
make them eager to approach them. They understand that this soul is
full of virtue: they see the fruit, how delicious it is, and they wish
to help that soul to eat it.
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 prayer, and does not correct
his evil ways; but if he does not give up prayer, let him be assured
of this--prayer will bring him to the haven of light.
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 [3]--I gave it up
for a year and a half--at least, for a year, but I do not remember
distinctly the other six months. This could not have been, neither
was it, anything else but to throw myself down into hell; there was no
need of any devils to drag me thither. O my God, was there ever
blindness so great as this? How well Satan prepares his measures for
his purpose, when he pursues us in this way! The traitor knows that
he has already lost that soul which perseveres in prayer, and that
every fall which he can bring about helps it, by the goodness of God,
to make greater progress in His service. Satan has some interest
in this.
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," [4] I began to think what a
deep truth it was. Satan never was strong enough to tempt me in any
way to doubt of Thy goodness, or of any article of the faith: on the
contrary, it seems to me that the more these truths were above nature,
the more firmly I held them, and my devotion grew; when I thought of
Thy omnipotence, I accepted all Thy wonderful works, and I say it
again, I never had a doubt. Then, as I was thinking how it could be
just in Thee to allow so many, who, as I said, are Thy most faithful
servants, to remain without those consolations and graces which Thou
hast given to me, who am what I am, Thou, O my Lord, didst answer me:
Serve thou Me, and meddle not with this.
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 [5] of this way of hearing, and of
other matters, I say nothing here; for to do so would be to digress
from my subject, and I have already made digressions enough. I
scarcely know what I have said, nor can it be otherwise; but you, my
father, must bear with these interruptions; for when I consider what
God must have borne with from me, and when I see the state I am in, it
is not strange that I should wander in what I am saying, and what I
have still to say.
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! [6]
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. [7] He filled me with such thoughts
as these: How could I make my prayer, who was so wicked, and yet had
received so many mercies? It was enough for me to recite the Office,
as all others did; but as I did not that much well, how could I desire
to do more? I was not reverential enough, and made too little of the
mercies of God. There was no harm in these thoughts and feelings in
themselves; but to act upon them, that was an exceedingly great
wickedness. Blessed be Thou, O Lord; for Thou camest to my help. This
seems to me to be in principle the temptation of Judas, only that
Satan did not dare to tempt me so openly. But he might have led me by
little and little, as he led Judas, to the same pit
of destruction.
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 learned man, has greatly merited in the eyes of God; for it was
he who roused me from this slumber. He made me--I think I said so
before [8]--go to Communion once a fortnight,
and be less given to evil; I began to be converted, though I did not
cease to offend our Lord all at once: however, as I had not lost my
way, I walked on in it, though slowly, falling and rising again; and
he who does not cease to walk and press onwards, arrives at last, even
if late. To lose one's way is--so it seems to me--nothing else but
the giving up of prayer. God, of His mercy, keeps us from this!
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 [9]--to expose themselves to
dangerous occasions, notwithstanding the noble desires and resolutions
they may have.
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. [10]
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, [11] the soul
exposes itself to dangers, and begins, in the fulness of its zeal, to
give away without discretion the fruit of its garden, thinking that
now it has no reason to be afraid for itself. Yet this does not come
out of pride; for the soul clearly understands that of itself it can
do no good thing; but rather out of an excessive confidence in God,
without discretion: because the soul does not see itself to be
unfledged. It can go forth out of its nest, and God Himself may take
it out, but still it cannot fly, because the virtues are not strong,
and itself has no experience wherewith to discern the dangers; nor is
it aware of the evil which trusting to itself may do it.
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, [12] and would gladly speak of
again and again. Let it rely on the goodness of God, which is
greater than all the evil we can do. When we, acknowledging our own
vileness, desire to return into His grace, He remembers our
ingratitude no more,--no, not even the graces He has given us, for the
purpose of chastising us, because of our misuse of them; yea, rather,
they help to procure our pardon the sooner, as of persons who have
been members of His household, and who, as they say, have eaten of
His bread.
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!
1. See ch. xx. § 2.
2. See ch. xvii. § 3.
3. Ch.
vii. § 17, and ch. viii.
§ 5.
4. Psalm cxviii. 137: "Thou art
just, O Lord, and Thy judgment is right."
5. See ch.
xxv.
6. See ch.
viii. § 1.
7. Ch.
vii. § 17.
8. Ch.
vii. § 27.
9. Ch.
xxxi. § 21.
10. Ch.
xx. § 33, and ch. xxv.
§ 24.
11. Ch. xix.
§ 4.
12. See § 16.
The Difference Between Union and Rapture. What Rapture Is.
The Blessing It Is to the Soul. The Effects of It.
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. [1] I mean, that all these are only
different names for that one and the same thing, which is also called
ecstasy. [2] It is more excellent
than union, the fruits of it are much greater, and its other
operations more manifold; for union is uniform in the beginning, the
middle, and the end, and is so also interiorly. But as raptures have
ends of a much higher kind, they produce effects both within and
without. [3] As our Lord has explained the
other matters, so also may He explain this; for certainly, if He had
not shown me in what way and by what means this explanation was in
some measure possible, I should never have been able to do it.
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, [4]--and as a
cloud, rising up to heaven, takes the soul with Him, and begins to
show it the treasures of the kingdom which He has prepared for it. I
know not whether the comparison be accurate or not; but the fact is,
that is the way in which it is brought about. During rapture, the
soul does not seem to animate the body, the natural heat of which is
perceptibly lessened; the coldness increases, though accompanied with
exceeding joy and sweetness. [5]
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 I felt that our Lord was about to repeat the act, and once,
in particular, during a sermon,--it was the feast of our house, some
great ladies being present,--I threw myself on the ground; then the
nuns came around me to hold me; but still the rapture
was observed.
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. [6]
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 further, I confess that it
threw me into great fear, very great indeed at first; for when I saw
my body thus lifted up from the earth, how could I help it? Though
the spirit draws it upwards after itself, and that with great
sweetness, if unresisted, the senses are not lost; at least, I was so
much myself as to be able to see that I was being lifted up. The
majesty of Him who can effect this so manifests itself, that the hairs
of my head stand upright, [7] and a great fear
comes upon me of offending God, who is so mighty. This fear is bound
up in exceedingly great love, which is acquired anew, and directed to
Him, who, we see, bears so great a love to a worm so vile, and who
seems not to be satisfied with attracting the soul to Himself in so
real a way, but who will have the body also, though it be mortal and
of earth so foul, such as it is through our sins, which are
so great.
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 much
sweetness and delight. [8] Even now I have
that sweetness occasionally; but it is the pain of which I speak that
is the most frequent and the most common. It varies in its intensity.
I will now speak of it when it is sharpest; for I shall speak later
on [9] of the great shocks I used to feel when
our Lord would throw me into those trances, and which are, in my
opinion, as different from this pain as the most corporeal thing is
from the most spiritual; and I believe that I am not exaggerating
much. For though the soul feels that pain, it is in company with the
body; [10] both soul and body apparently
share it, and it is not attended with that extremity of abandonment
which belongs to this.
12. As I said
before, [11] we have no part in causing this
pain; but very often there springs up a desire unexpectedly,--I know
not how it comes,--and because of this desire, which pierces the soul
in a moment, the soul begins to be wearied, so much so that it rises
upwards above itself, and above all created things. God then so
strips it of everything, that, do what it may, there is nothing on
earth that can be its companion. Neither, indeed, would it wish to
have any; it would rather die in that loneliness. If people spoke to
it, and if itself made every effort possible to speak, it would be of
little use: the spirit, notwithstanding all it may do, cannot be
withdrawn from that loneliness; and though God seems, as it were, far
away from the soul at that moment, yet He reveals His grandeurs at
times in the strangest way conceivable. That way is indescribable; I
do not think any one can believe or comprehend it who has not
previously had experience of it. It is a communication made, not to
console, but to show the reason why the soul must be weary; because it
is far away from the Good which in itself comprehends all good.
13. In this communication the desire grows,
so also does the bitterness of that loneliness wherein the soul
beholds itself, suffering a pain so sharp and piercing that, in that
very loneliness in which it dwells, it may literally say of
itself,--and perhaps the royal prophet said so, being in that very
loneliness himself, except that our Lord may have granted to him,
being a saint, to feel it more deeply,--"Vigilavi, et factus sum
sicut passer solitarius in tecto." [12]
These words presented themselves to me in such a way that I thought I
saw them fulfilled in myself. It was a comfort to know that others
had felt this extreme loneliness; how much greater my comfort, when
these persons were such as David was! The soul is then--so I
think--not in itself, but on the house-top, or on the roof, above
itself, and above all created things; for it seems to me to have its
dwelling higher than even in the highest part of itself.
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?" [13] And
it is to be remembered, that I did not know how to express in Spanish
the meaning of those words. Afterwards, when I understood what it
was, I used to console myself with the thought, that our Lord, without
any effort of mine, had made me remember them. At other times, I used
to recollect a saying of St. Paul's, to the
effect that he was crucified to the
world. [14] I do not mean that this is true
of me: I know it is not; but I think it is the state of the enraptured
soul. No consolation reaches it from heaven, and it is not there
itself; it wishes for none from earth, and it is not there either; but
it is, as it were, crucified between heaven and earth, enduring its
passion: receiving no succour from either.
15. Now, the succour it receives from
heaven--which, as I have said, [15] is a most
marvellous knowledge of God, above all that we can desire--brings with
it greater pain; for the desire then so grows, that, in my opinion,
its intense painfulness now and then robs the soul of all sensation;
only, it lasts but for a short time after the senses are suspended. It
seems as if it were the point of death; only, the agony carries with
it so great a joy, that I know of nothing wherewith to compare it. It
is a sharp martyrdom, full of sweetness; for if any earthly thing be
then offered to the soul, even though it may be that which it
habitually found most sweet, the soul will have none of it; yea, it
seems to throw it away at once. The soul sees distinctly that it
seeks nothing but God; yet its love dwells not on any attribute of Him
in particular; it seeks Him as He is, and knows not what it seeks. I
say that it knows not, because the imagination forms no representation
whatever; and, indeed, as I think, during much of that time the
faculties are at rest. Pain suspends them then, as joy suspends them
in union and in a trance.
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 bones
were out of joint. [16] Well, I think
sometimes, if it continues as at present, that it will end, in the
good pleasure of our Lord, by putting an end to my life; for the pain
seems to me sharp enough to cause death; only, I do not
deserve it.
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, [17] and I
think I may say that this pain is as great as any,--so the desire not
to be parted, which possesses soul and body, is that which raises the
cry for succour in order to breathe, and by speaking of it, by
complaining, and distracting itself, causes the soul to seek means of
living very much against the will of the spirit, or the higher part of
the soul, which would not wish to be delivered from this pain.
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 of my
knowledge it comes to pass in this way. See, my father, what rest I
can have in this life, now that what I once had in prayer and
loneliness--therein our Lord used to comfort me--has become in general
a torment of this kind; while, at the same time, it is so full of
sweetness, that the soul, discerning its inestimable worth, prefers it
to all those consolations which it formerly had. It seems also to be
a safer state, because it is the way of the cross; and involves, in my
opinion, a joy of exceeding worth, because the state of the body in it
is only pain. It is the soul that suffers and exults alone in that
joy and contentment which suffering supplies.
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, [18] is not anything that I have
acquired myself, because it is exceedingly supernatural, and I think I
would not barter it for all the graces of which I shall speak further
on: I do not say for all of them together, but for any one of them
separately. And it must not be forgotten that, as I have just said,
these impetuosities came upon me after I had received those graces
from our Lord [19] which I am speaking of now,
and all those described in this book, and it is in this state our Lord
keeps me at this moment. [20]
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. [21] For though the
senses fail but rarely, it has happened to me occasionally to lose
them wholly--seldom, however, and then only for a short time. But in
general they are in disorder; and though they have no power whatever
to deal with outward things, there remains the power of hearing and
seeing; but it is as if the things heard and seen were at a great
distance, far away.
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, [22]
this utter transformation of the soul in God continues only for an
instant; yet while it continues no faculty of the soul is aware
of it, or knows what is passing there. Nor can it be understood while
we are living on the earth--at least, God will not have us understand
it, because we must be incapable of understanding it. I know it
by experience.
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, [23]--the rapture is
not continuous, the soul is frequently absorbed, or, to speak more
correctly, our Lord absorbs it in Himself; and when He has held it
thus for a moment, the will alone remains in union with Him. The
movements of the two other faculties seem to me to be like those of
the needle of sun-dials, which is never at rest; yet when the Sun of
Justice will have it so, He can hold it still.
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 and
the memory occasionally astray. The truth is that, in general, they
are inebriated with the praises of God, or with searching to
comprehend or understand that which has passed over them. And yet
even for this they are not thoroughly awake, but are rather like one
who has slept long, and dreamed, and is hardly yet awake.
28. I dwell so long on this point because I
know that there are persons now, even in this
place, [24] to whom our Lord is granting
these graces; and if their directors have had no experience in the
matter, they will think, perhaps, that they must be as dead persons
during the trance--and they will think so the more if they have no
learning. It is piteous to see what those confessors who do not
understand this make people suffer. I shall speak of it by and
by. [25] Perhaps I do not know what I am
saying. You, my father, will understand it, if I am at all correct;
for our Lord has admitted you to the experience of it: yet, because
that experience is not very great, it may be, perhaps, that you have
not considered the matter so much as I have done.
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, [26] our Lord will have the body
rejoice, because it is obedient in that which the soul requires of it.
When we recover our consciousness, the faculties may remain, if the
rapture has been deep, for a day or two, and even for three days, so
absorbed, or as if stunned,--so much so, as to be in appearance no
longer themselves.
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 standard of Christ is
raised up aloft, which seems to be nothing else but the going up, or
the carrying up, of the Captain of the fort to the highest tower of
it, there to raise up the standard of God. The soul, as in a place of
safety, looks down on those below; it fears no dangers now--yea,
rather, it courts them, as one assured beforehand of victory. It sees
most clearly how lightly are the things of this world to be esteemed,
and the nothingness thereof. The soul now seeks not, and possesses
not, any other will but that of doing our Lord's
will, [27] and so it prays Him to let it be
so; it gives to Him the keys of its own will. Lo, the gardener is now
become the commander of a fortress! The soul will do nothing but the
will of our Lord; it will not act as the owner even of itself, nor of
anything, not even of a single apple in the orchard; only, if there be
any good thing in the garden, it is at His Majesty's disposal; for
from henceforth the soul will have nothing of its own,--all it seeks
is to do everything for His glory, and according to His will.
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. [28]
I have seen it myself, and I know it by experience, that the soul in
rapture is mistress of everything, and acquires such freedom in one
hour, and even in less, as to be unable to recognize itself. It sees
distinctly that all this does not belong to it, neither knows it
how it came to possess so great a good; but it clearly perceives the
very great blessing which every one of these raptures always brings.
No one will believe this who has not had experience of it, and so they
do not believe the poor soul: they saw it lately so wicked, and now
they see it pretend to things of so high an order; for it is not
satisfied with serving our Lord in the common way,--it must do so
forthwith in the highest way it can. They consider this a temptation
and a folly; yet they would not be astonished, if they knew that it
comes not from the soul, but from our Lord, to whom it has given up
the keys of its will.
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! [29] It is plain that this is the
flight of the spirit rising upwards above all created things, and
chiefly above itself: but it is a sweet flight, a delicious flight--a
flight without noise.
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 slight they may be; for the sun shines most clearly; and
thus, however much the soul may have laboured at its own perfection,
it sees itself to be very unclean, if the rays of the sun fall really
upon it. The soul is like water in a vessel, which appears pellucid
when the sun does not shine through it; but if it does, the water then
is found to be full of motes.
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?" [30] When it looks on
this Divine Sun, the brightness thereof dazzles it,--when it looks on
itself, its eyes are blinded by the dust: the little dove is blind.
So it happens very often: the soul is utterly blinded, absorbed,
amazed, dizzy at the vision of so much grandeur.
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.
1. 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."
2. "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).
3. 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."
4. The words between the dashes are
in the handwriting of the Saint--not however, in the text, but on the
margin (De la Fuente).
5. 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.
6. This passage could not have been
in the first Life; for that was written before she had ever
been Prioress.
7. Job. iv. 15: "Inhorruerunt pili carnis meæ." (See St. John of the Cross. Spiritual
Canticle, sts. 14, 15, vol. ii
p. 83, Engl. trans.)
8. See ch.
xxix.
9. See ch. xx.
§ 21.
10. § 9, supra.
11. § 10.
12. Psalm ci. 8: "I have
watched, and become as a sparrow alone on
the house-top."
13. Psalm xli. 4: "Ubi est Deus tuus?"
14. Galat. vi. 14: "In cruce Jesu Christi: per quem mihi mundus crucifixus
est, et ego mundo."
15. §§ 9 and 12.
16. Daniel x. 16: "In visione tua dissolutæ sunt compages meæ."
See St. John of the Cross, Spiritual
Canticle, st. 14, vol. ii. p.
84, Engl. trans.; and also Relation, viii. § 13, where
this is repeated.
17. Ch. v.
§ 18.
18. § 12.
19. 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).
20. See § 11.
21. See Relation, viii.
§ 8.
22. Ch.
xviii. § 16.
23. Ch.
xviii. § 17.
24. Avila.
25. Ch.
xxv. § 18.
26. § 9.
27. "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).
28. 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."
29. Psalm liv. 7: "Quis dabit mihi pennas
sicut columbæ?"
30. Job iv. 17: "Numquid homo Dei
comparatione justificabitur?"
Conclusion of the Subject. Pain of the Awakening. Light
Against Delusions.
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, [1] and that it cannot deceive Him,
because He knoweth all things. It is not here as it is in the world,
where all life is full of deceit and double-dealing. When you think
you have gained one man's good will, because of the outward show he
makes, you afterwards learn that all was a lie. No one can live in
the midst of so much scheming, particularly if there be any interests
at stake.
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--as they do not
believe many who are able to speak of it in a way very different from
mine; but I should satisfy myself, at least. I believe I should count
my life as nothing, if I might make others understand but one of these
truths. I know not what I shall do afterwards, for I cannot trust
myself; though I am what I am, I have a violent desire, which is
wasting me, to say this to those who are in authority. And now that I
can do no more, I betake myself to Thee, O my Lord, to implore a
remedy for all. Thou knowest well that I would gladly divest myself of
all the graces which Thou hast given me,--provided I remained in a
condition never to offend Thee,--and give them up to those who are
kings; for I know it would then be impossible for them to allow what
they allow now, or fail to receive the very greatest blessings.
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 the desires it has to serve God; for His Majesty gives it
strength to bring those desires to good effect. Nothing can be put
before it into which it will not throw itself, if only it thinks that
God may be served thereby: and yet it is doing nothing, because, as I
said before, [2] it sees clearly that all is
nothing, except pleasing God. The trial is, that those who are so
worthless as I am, have no trial of the kind. May it be Thy good
pleasure, O my God, that the time may come in which I may be able to
pay one farthing at least, of the heavy debt I owe Thee! Do Thou, O
Lord, so dispose matters according to Thy will, that this Thy servant
may do Thee some service. Other women there have been who did heroic
deeds for Thee; I am good only to talk; and so it has not been Thy
pleasure, O my God, that I should do any thing: all ends in talk and
desires--that is all my service. And yet even in this I am not free,
because it is possible I might fail altogether.
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, [3] seeing that the reward of every one
will be according to his works. [4] Behold my
life, behold my good name and my will; I have given them all to Thee;
I am Thine: dispose of me according to Thy will. I see well enough, O
Lord, how little I can do; but now, having drawn near to Thee,--having
ascended to this watchtower, from which the truth may be seen,--and
while Thou departest not from me, I can do all things; but if Thou
departest from me, were it but for a moment, I shall go thither where
I was once--that is, to hell. [5]
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, [6] so ill-ordered; to
waste its time in attending to the body by sleeping and
eating! [7] All is wearisome; it cannot run
away,--it sees itself chained and imprisoned; it feels then most
keenly the captivity into which the body has brought us, and the
wretchedness of this life. It understands the reason why St. Paul prayed to God to deliver him from
it. [8] The soul cries with the Apostle, and
calls upon God to deliver it, as I said on another
occasion. [9] But here it often cries with so
much violence, that it seems as if it would go out of the body in
search of its freedom, now that they do not take it away. It is as a
slave sold into a strange land; and what distresses it most is, that
it cannot find many who make the same complaint and the same prayer:
the desire of life is more common.
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 think
themselves detached, and who say so of themselves,--and it must be so,
for their vocation demands it, as well as the many years that are
passed since some of them began to walk in the way of perfection,--but
my soul distinguishes clearly, and afar off, between those who are
detached in words, and those who make good those words by deeds. The
little progress of the former, and the great progress of the latter,
make it plain. This is a matter which a person of any experience can
see into most clearly.
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 gave me strength to rise above it. The former occasions of
sin, as well as the persons with whom I was accustomed to distract
myself, did me no more harm than if they had never existed; on the
contrary, that which ordinarily did me harm, helped me on. Everything
contributed to make me know God more, and to love Him; to make me see
how much I owed Him, as well as to be sorry for being what I
had been.
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. [10]
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?
1. Ch.
xx. § 30.
2. Ch.
xx. § 34.
3. Exod. xxiii. 15: "Non apparebis in conspectu
meo vacuus."
4. Apoc. ii. 23: "Dabo unicuique vestrum secundum
opera sua."
5. See ch. xxxii. § 1.
6. "Farsa de esta
vida tan mal concertada."
7. Inner Fortress, iv.
ch. i. § 11.
8. Rom. vii. 24: "Quis me liberabit de corpore
mortis hujus?"
9. Ch.
xvi. § 7.
10. 1 Cor. ii. 9: "Quæ præparavit Deus his qui
diligunt Illum."
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.
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. [1] They
defend their opinion [2] by bringing forward
the words [3] of our Lord to the Apostles,
concerning the coming of the Holy Ghost; I mean that Coming which was
after the Ascension. If the Apostles had believed, as they believed
after the Coming of the Holy Ghost, that He is both God and Man, His
bodily Presence would, in my opinion, have been no hindrance; for
those words were not said to the Mother of God, though she loved Him
more than all. [4] They think that, as this
work of contemplation is wholly spiritual, any bodily object whatever
can disturb or hinder it. They say that the contemplative should
regard himself as being within a definite space, God everywhere
around, and himself absorbed in Him. This is what we should
aim at.
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, [5] and
so I returned to my habit of delighting in our Lord, particularly at
Communion. I wish I could have His picture and image always before my
eyes, since I 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] that I
might clearly perceive how great my delusion was, and also tell it to
many persons; which I have done, as well as describe it as I am doing
now. I believe myself that this is the reason why so many souls,
after advancing to the prayer of union, make no further progress, and
do not attain to very great liberty of spirit.
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. [7] I know this
by repeated experience: our Lord has told it me. I have seen clearly
that this is the door [8] by which we are to
enter, if we would have His supreme Majesty reveal to us His
great secrets.
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. [9]
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 is a blessed one, because it
takes place in order that we may have a deeper fruition of what we
seem to have lost; for at that moment the whole soul is occupied in
loving Him whom the understanding has toiled to know; and it loves
what it has not comprehended, and rejoices in what it could not have
rejoiced in so well, if it had not lost itself, in order, as I am
saying, to gain itself the more. But that we should carefully and
laboriously accustom ourselves not to strive with all our might to
have always--and please God it be always!--the most Sacred Humanity
before our eyes,--this, I say, is what seems to me not to be right: it
is making the soul, as they say, to walk in the air; for it has
nothing to rest on, how full soever of God it may think itself
to be.
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. [10] This little mote of
want of humility, though in appearance a mere nothing, does a great
deal of harm to those who wish to advance in contemplation.
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 need of
no created thing by the help of which it may recollect itself. But
this is not so common a case; for when we have many things to do, when
we are persecuted and in trouble, when we cannot have much rest, and
when we have our seasons of dryness, Christ is our best Friend; for we
regard Him as Man, and behold Him faint and in trouble, and He is our
Companion; and when we shall have accustomed ourselves in this way, it
is very easy to find Him near us, although there will be occasions
from time to time when we can do neither the one nor the other.
15. For this end, that is useful which I spoke
of before: [11] we must not show ourselves as
labouring after spiritual consolations; come what may, to embrace the
cross is the great thing. The Lord of all consolation was Himself
forsaken: they left Him alone in His sorrows. Do not let us forsake
Him; for His hand will help us to rise more than any efforts we can
make; and He will withdraw Himself when He sees it be expedient for
us, and when He pleaseth will also draw the soul forth out of itself,
as I said before. [12]
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: [13] "Go
Thou away from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man." I know this by
experience: it was thus that God directed my soul. Others may walk,
as I said before, [14] by another and a
shorter road. What I have understood of the matter is this: that the
whole foundation of prayer must be laid in humility, and that the more
a soul humbles itself in prayer, the more God lifts it up. I do not
remember that He ever showed me any of those marvellous mercies, of
which I shall speak hereafter, [15] at any
other time than when I was as one brought to
nothing, [16] by seeing how wicked I was.
Moreover, His Majesty contrived to make me understand matters that
helped me to know myself, but which I could never have even imagined
of myself.
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; [17] and in being calm in the midst
of sorrows and aridities. Though the soul may feel it in some
measure, there is no disquiet, nor any of that pain which some persons
suffer, who, if they are not always labouring with the understanding
and with a sense of devotion, think everything lost,--as if their
efforts merited so great a blessing!
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; [18] for we are unprofitable
servants. [19] What do we think we can do?
Our Lord grant that we understand this, and that we may be those
little asses who drive the windlass I spoke
of: [20] these, though their eyes are
bandaged, and they do not understand what they are doing, yet draw up
more water than the gardener can draw with all his efforts. We must
walk in liberty on this road, committing ourselves into the hands of
God. If it be His Majesty's good pleasure to raise us and
place us among His chamberlains and secret councillors, we must go
willingly; if not, we must serve Him in the lower offices of His
house, and not sit down on the upper
seats. [21] As I have sometimes
said, [22] God is more careful of us than we
are ourselves, and knows what each one of us is fit for.
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. [23]
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 raise it, seeing that it is burdened
with earth, and hindered in a thousand ways. Its willingness to rise
is of no service to it; for, though an aptness for flying be more
natural to it than to a toad, yet is it so sunk in the mire as to have
lost it by its own fault.
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 it produces, the degree of strength which God then gives
is very different from that which He gives when this grace is a trance
of longer duration.
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. [24]
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. [25] So, throughout, experience and
discretion are necessary. May our Lord, of His goodness, bestow them
on us!
1. See Inner Fortress,
vi. 7, § 4.
2. 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."
3. St.
John xvi. 7: "Expedit vobis ut Ego vadam; si enim
non abiero, Paracletus non veniet ad vos."
4. This sentence is in the margin of
the original MS., not in the text, but
in the handwriting of the Saint (De
la Fuente).
5. "I mean by lately . . . and
visions" is in the margin of the MS., but in the handwriting of the Saint
(De la Fuente).
6. Ch.
xxviii. § 4.
7. St.
Matt. iii. 17: "Hic est Filius Meus dilectus, in
quo Mihi complacui."
8. St. John x. 7, 9: "Ego
sum ostium."
9. See St.
John of the Cross, Mount Carmel,
bk. iii. ch. i. p. 212.
10. Ch.
xii. §§ 5, 7.
11. Ch.
xv. § 21.
12. Ch.
xx. § 2.
13. St.
Luke v. 8: "Exi a me, quia homo peccator
sum, Domine."
14. Ch.
xii. § 6.
15. Ch.
xxviii.
16. Psalm lxxii. 22: "Et ego ad nihilum redactus sum,
et nescivi."
17. Isaias liii. 3: "Virum dolorum, et
scientem infirmitatem."
18. Ch.
xi. § 15.
19. St.
Luke xvii. 10: "Servi
inutiles sumus."
20. Ch.
xi. § 11.
21. St.
Luke xiv. 8: "Non discumbas in primo
loco." See Way of Perfection, ch. xxvi. § 1;
but ch. xvii. of the old editions.
22. Ch.
xi. § 23, ch. xviii.
§ 6.
23. Os. ii. 14: "Ducam eam in solitudinem."
24. St.
Matt. xix. 29: "Qui reliquerit domum, . . .
centuplum accipiet."
25. Ch.
xii. § 5.
The Saint Resumes the History of Her Life. Aiming at
Perfection. Means Whereby It May Be Gained. Instructions
for Confessors.
1. I shall now return to that point in my life
where I broke off, [1] having made, I believe,
a longer digression than I need have made, in order that what is still
to come may be more clearly understood. Henceforth, it is another and
a new book,--I mean, another and a new life. Hitherto, my life was my
own; my life, since I began to explain these methods of prayer, is the
life which God lived in me,--so it seems to me; for I feel it to be
impossible that I should have escaped in so short a time from ways and
works that were so wicked. May our Lord be praised, who has delivered
me from myself!
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, [2] I began to be afraid, because the
joy and sweetness which I felt were so great, and very often beyond my
power to avoid. On the other hand, I felt in myself a very deep
conviction that God was with me, especially when I was in prayer. I
saw, too, that I grew better and stronger thereby.
3. But if I was a little distracted, I began to
be afraid, and to imagine that perhaps it was Satan that suspended my
understanding, making me think it to be good, in order to withdraw me
from mental prayer, hinder my meditation on the Passion, and debar me
the use of my understanding: this seemed to me, who did not comprehend
the matter, to be a grievous loss but, as His Majesty was pleased to
give me light to offend Him no more, and to understand how much I owed
Him, this fear so grew upon me, that it made me seek diligently for
spiritual persons with whom I might treat of my state. I had already
heard of some; for the Fathers of the Society of Jesus had come
hither; [3] and I, though I knew none of them,
was greatly attracted by them, merely because I had heard of their way
of life and of prayer; but I did not think myself fit to speak to
them, or strong enough to obey them; and this made me still more
afraid; for to converse with them, and remain what I was, seemed to me
somewhat rude.
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, [4] made me so timid. Was there ever
delusion so great as mine, O my God, when I withdrew from good in
order to become good! The devil must lay much stress on this in the
beginning of a course of virtue; for I could not overcome my
repugnance. He knows that the whole relief of the soul consists in
conferring with the friends of God. Hence it was that no time was
fixed in which I should resolve to do this. I waited to grow better
first, as I did before when I ceased to
pray, [5]--and perhaps I never should have
become better; for I had now sunk so deeply into the petty ways of an
evil habit,--I could not convince myself that they were wrong,--that I
needed the help of others, who should hold out a hand to raise me up.
Blessed be Thou, O Lord!--for the first hand outstretched to me
was Thine.
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, [6] dwelling in this city, whose
goodness and pious life our Lord was beginning to make known to the
world. I contrived to make his acquaintance through a saintly
nobleman [7] living in the same place. This
latter is a married man; but his life is so edifying and virtuous, so
given to prayer, and so full of charity, that the goodness and
perfection of it shine forth in all he does: and most justly so; for
many souls have been greatly blessed through him, because of his great
gifts, which, though his condition of a layman be a hindrance to him,
never lie idle. He is a man of great sense, and very gentle with all
people; his conversation is never wearisome, but so sweet and
gracious, as well as upright and holy, that he pleases everybody very
much with whom he has any relations. He directs it all to the great
good of those souls with whom he converses and he seems to have no
other end in view but to do all he may be permitted to do for all men,
and make them content.
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, [8]--in short, she was the chosen wife
of one who God knew would serve Him so well. Some of their kindred
are married to some of mine. Besides, I had also much communication
with another great servant of God, married to one of my
first cousins.
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 was. He began with a holy resolution to
direct me as if I was strong,--I ought to have been strong, according
to the method of prayer which he saw I used,--so that I should in
nothing offend God. When I saw that he was resolved to make me break
off at once with the petty ways I spoke of
before, [9] and that I had not the courage to
go forth at once in the perfection he required of me, I was
distressed; and when I perceived that he ordered the affairs of my
soul as if I ought to be perfect at once, I saw that much more care
was necessary in my case. In a word, I felt that the means he would
have employed were not those by which my soul could be helped onwards;
for they were fitted for a soul more perfect than mine; and though the
graces I had received from God were very many, I was still at the very
beginning in the matter of virtue and of mortification.
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 very slight imperfections. O
humility! what great blessings thou bringest to those in whom thou
dwellest, and to them who draw near to those who possess thee! This
holy man--for I think I may justly call him so--told me of weaknesses
of his own, in order to help me. He, in his humility, thought them
weaknesses; but, if we consider his state, they were neither faults
nor imperfections; yet, in my state, it was a very great fault to be
subject to them.
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, however, but he would have
me carefully consider my whole method of prayer, and then tell him of
it. That was the difficulty: I did not understand it myself, and so I
could tell him nothing of my prayer; for the grace to understand
it--and, understanding it, to describe it--has only lately been given
me of God. This saying of his, together with the fear I was in,
distressed me exceedingly, and I cried; for certainly I was anxious to
please God, and I could not persuade myself that Satan had anything to
do with it. But I was afraid, on account of my great sins, that God
might leave me blind, so that I should understand nothing.
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, [10] and in that part of it
which relates to the union of the soul with God, all those marks which
I had in myself, in that I could not think of anything. This is what
I most dwelt on--that I could think of nothing when I was in prayer.
I marked that passage, and gave him the book, that he, and the
ecclesiastic mentioned before, [11] saint and
servant of God, might consider it, and tell me what I should do. If
they thought it right, I would give up that method of prayer
altogether; for why should I expose myself to danger, when, at the end
of nearly twenty years, during which I had used it, I had gained
nothing, but had fallen into a delusion of the devil? It was better
for me to give it up. And yet this seemed to me hard; for I had
already discovered what my soul would become without prayer.
Everything seemed full of trouble. I was like a person in the middle
of a river, who, in whatever direction he may turn, fears a still
greater danger, and is well-nigh drowned. This is a very great trial,
and I have gone through many like it, as I shall show
hereafter; [12] and though it does not seem
to be of any importance, it will perhaps be advantageous to understand
how the spirit is to be tried.
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. [13]
15. I believe that our Lord
permitted [14] this to be done without sin on
their part, in order that I might suffer. I do not say that they
revealed anything I discussed with them in confession; still, as they
were persons to whom, in my fears, I gave a full account of myself, in
order that they might give me light, I thought they ought to have been
silent. Nevertheless, I never dared to conceal anything from such
persons. My meaning, then, is, that women should be directed with
much discretion; their directors should encourage them, and bide the
time when our Lord will help them, as He has helped me. If He had
not, the greatest harm would have befallen me, for I was in great fear
and dread; and as I suffered from disease of the
heart, [15] I am astonished that all this did
not do me a great deal of harm.
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; [16] that He will never permit Satan
to deceive those who love Him. This gave me great consolation. I
began to prepare for my general confession, and to write out all the
evil and all the good: a history of my life, as clearly as I
understood it, and knew how to make it, omitting nothing whatever. I
remember, when I saw I had written so much evil, and scarcely anything
that was good, that I was exceedingly distressed and sorrowful. It
pained me, also, that the nuns of the community should see me
converse with such holy persons as those of the Society of Jesus; for
I was afraid of my own wickedness, and I thought I should be obliged
to cease from it, and give up my amusements; and that if I did not do
so, I should grow worse: so I persuaded the sacristan and the portress
to tell no one of it. This was of little use, after all; for when I
was called down there was one at the door, as it happened, who told it
to the whole convent. But what difficulties and what terrors Satan
troubles them with who would draw near unto God!
18. I communicated the whole state of my soul
to that servant of God [17] and he was a great
servant of His, and very prudent. He understood all I told him,
explained it to me, and encouraged me greatly. He said that all was
very evidently the work of the Spirit of God; only it was necessary
for me to go back again to my prayer, because I was not well grounded,
and had not begun to understand what mortification meant,--that was
true, for I do not think I knew it even by name,--that I was by no
means to give up prayer; on the contrary, I was to do violence to
myself in order to practise it, because God had bestowed on me such
special graces as made it impossible to say whether it was, or was
not, the will of our Lord to do good to many through me. He went
further, for he seems to have prophesied of that which our Lord
afterwards did with me, and said that I should be very much to blame
if I did not correspond with the graces which God bestowed upon me.
It seems to me that the Holy Ghost was speaking by his mouth in order
to heal my soul, so deep was the impression he made. He made me very
much ashamed of myself, and directed me by a way which seemed to
change me altogether. What a grand thing it is to understand a soul!
He told me to make my prayer every day on some mystery of
the Passion, and that I should profit by it, and to fix my thoughts on
the Sacred Humanity only, resisting to the utmost of my power those
recollections and delights, to which I was not to yield in any way
till he gave me further directions in the matter.
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, [18] however
imperfectly!--and they have almost always been those blessed men of
the Society of Jesus; though, as I said, I have but imperfectly obeyed
them. My soul began to improve visibly, as I am now going to say.
1. At the end of ch. ix. The thirteen chapters interposed
between that and this--the twenty-third--are a treatise on
mystical theology.
2. She refers to Magdalene of the
Cross (Reforma de los Descalços, vol. i. lib.
i. c. xix. § 2).
3. 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. Ch.
vii. § 37.
5. Ch.
xix. §§ 7, 8.
6. 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).
7. 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).
8. 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).
9. § 4.
10. Subida del Monte
Sion, by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de Laredo (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. § 7).
11. § 6.
12. See ch. xxv. § 18.
13. See ch. xxviii. § 18.
14. See Relation, vii.
§ 17.
15. See ch. iv. § 6.
16. 1 Cor. x. 13: "Fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos tentari
supra id quod potestis."
17. 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.
18. See Relation, i. § 9.
Progress Under Obedience. Her Inability to Resist the Graces
of God. God Multiplies His Graces.
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 through with certain
things, of which those who knew me--and even those in the
community--said that they seemed to them extreme; and, indeed,
compared with what I had been accustomed to do, they were extreme:
people, therefore, had reason to say so. Yet, in those things which
were of obligation, considering the habit I wore, and the profession I
had made, I was still deficient. By resisting the sweetness and joys
which God sent me, I gained this, that His Majesty taught me Himself;
for, previously, I used to think that, in order to obtain sweetness in
prayer, it was necessary for me to hide myself in secret places, and
so I scarcely dared to stir. Afterwards, I saw how little that was to
the purpose; for the more I tried to distract myself, the more our
Lord poured over me that sweetness and joy which seemed to me to be
flowing around me, so that I could not in any way escape from it: and
so it was. I was so careful about this resistance, that it was a pain
to me. But our Lord was more careful to show His mercies, and during
those two months to reveal Himself more than before, so that I might
the better comprehend that it was no longer in my power to
resist Him.
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. [1] I
did so, because I felt that our Lord was enjoining it all, and giving
him grace to command me in such a way as to make me obedient
unto him.
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, [2] came here; he had left all he
possessed some years before, and had entered the Society of Jesus. My
confessor, and the nobleman of whom I spoke
before, [3] contrived that he should visit me,
in order that I might speak to him, and give him an account of my way
of prayer; for they knew him to be greatly favoured and comforted of
God: he had given up much, and was rewarded for it even in this life.
When he had heard me, he said to me that it was the work of the Spirit
of God, [4] and that he thought it was not
right now to prolong that resistance; that hitherto it had been safe
enough,--only, I should always begin my prayer by meditating on some
part of the Passion and that if our Lord should then raise up my
spirit, I should make no resistance, but suffer His Majesty to raise
it upwards, I myself not seeking it. He gave both medicine and
advice, as one who had made great progress himself; for experience is
very important in these matters. He said that further resistance
would be a mistake. I was exceedingly consoled; so, too, was the
nobleman, who rejoiced greatly when he was told that it was the work
of God. He always helped me and gave me advice according to his
power,--and that power was great.
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, [5] in the Society of Jesus. It
pleased our Lord that I should commence a friendship with a noble
lady, [6] a widow, much given to prayer, who
had much to do with the fathers. She made her own
confessor [7] hear me, and I remained in her
house some days. She lived near, and I delighted in the many
conferences I had with the fathers; for merely by observing the
holiness of their way of life, I felt that my soul
profited exceedingly.
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 Him in all things, I began the
hymn; and as I was saying it, I fell into a trance--so suddenly, that
I was, as it were, carried out of myself. I could have no doubt about
it, for it was most plain.
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. [8]
From that day forth, I have had courage so great as to leave all
things for God, who in one moment--and it seems to me but a
moment--was pleased to change His servant into another person.
Accordingly, there was no necessity for laying further commands upon
me in this matter. When my confessor saw how much I clung to these
friendships, he did not venture to bid me distinctly to give them up.
He must have waited till our Lord did the work--as He did Himself.
Nor did I think myself that I could succeed; for I had tried before,
and the pain it gave me was so great that I abandoned the attempt, on
the ground that there was nothing unseemly in those attachments. Now
our Lord set me at liberty, and gave me strength also to use it.
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.
1. The Saint now treated her body
with extreme severity, disciplining herself even unto blood
(Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xx.
§ 4).
2. 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.
3. Ch.
xxiii. § 6.
4. See Relation, viii.
§ 6.
5. 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.
6. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa. See below,
ch. xxxii. § 13.
7. 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.
8. See Relation, i. § 6.
Divine Locutions. Discussions on That Subject.
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. [1]
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 can
stop our ears, or give attention to something else: so that, even if
we do hear, at least we can refuse to understand. In this locution of
God addressed to the soul there is no escape, for in spite of
ourselves we must listen; and the understanding must apply itself so
thoroughly to the comprehension of that which God wills we should
hear, that it is nothing to the purpose whether we will it or not; for
it is His will, Who can do all things. We should understand that His
will must be done; and He reveals Himself as our true Lord, having
dominion over us. I know this by much experience; for my resistance
lasted nearly two years, [2] because of the
great fear I was in: and even now I resist occasionally; but it is of
no use.
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. [3]
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 difference
between the two. If it be anything which the understanding has
fashioned, however cunningly it may have done so, he sees that it is
the understanding which has arranged that locution, and that it is
speaking of itself. This is nothing else but a word uttered by one,
and listened to by another: in that case, the understanding will see
that it has not been listening only, but also forming the words; and
the words it forms are something indistinct, fantastic, and not clear
like the divine locutions. It is in our power to turn away our
attention from these locutions of our own, just as we can be silent
when we are speaking; but, with respect to the former, that cannot
be done.
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] I go on with my understanding
arranging what I am saying; but if I am spoken to by others, I do
nothing else but listen, without any labour. The human locution is as
something which we cannot well make out, as if we were half asleep;
but the divine locution is a voice so clear that not a syllable of its
utterance is lost. It may occur, too, when the understanding and the
soul are so troubled and distracted that they cannot form one sentence
correctly; and yet grand sentences, perfectly arranged, such as the
soul in its most recollected state never could have formed, are
uttered, and at the first word, as I said, [5]
change it utterly. Still less could it have formed them if they are
uttered in an ecstasy, when the faculties of the soul are suspended;
for how should the soul then comprehend anything, when it remembers
nothing?--yea, rather, how can it remember them then, when the memory
can hardly do anything at all, and the imagination is, as it
were, suspended?
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, [6]--all the faculties of the soul are
suspended; and, as I think, neither vision, nor understanding, nor
hearing, is possible at that time. The soul is then wholly in the
power of another; and in that instant--a very brief one, in my
opinion--our Lord leaves it free for nothing whatever; but when this
instant is passed, the soul continuing still entranced, then is the
time of which I am speaking; for the faculties, though not completely
suspended, are so disposed that they are scarcely active, being, as it
were, absorbed, and incapable of making any reflections.
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 the contrary, it is known to be a delusion of the understanding,
and is therefore put away as we would put away the ravings of
a lunatic.
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, [7] matters of which the memory has not
the least recollection; and expressions so full are uttered so
rapidly, that much time must have been spent in arranging them, if we
formed them ourselves; and so it seems to me that we cannot possibly
be ignorant at the time that we have never formed them ourselves
at all.
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 forgotten, in my opinion; at least, I have never
forgotten any,--and yet my memory is weak.
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, [8] hear them, I must. It seems
to me that any one disposed to deceive people by saying that he heard
from God that which he has invented himself, might as easily say that
he heard it with his bodily ears. It is most certainly true that I
never imagined there was any other way of hearing or understanding
till I had proof of it in myself; and so, as I have said
before, [9] it gave me trouble enough.
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, [10] yet
this disquiet is such that I know not whence it comes; only the soul
seems to resist, is troubled and distressed, without knowing why; for
the words of Satan are good, and not evil. I am thinking whether this
may not be so because one spirit is conscious of the presence
of another.
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 God had led me on to the prayer of union,--unless it
be on that occasion, of which I have spoken
before, [11] now many years ago, when I saw
our Lord. Oh, that His Majesty had been pleased to let me then
understand that it was a true vision, as I have since understood it
was! it would have been no slight blessing to me.
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 not onwards, then it must not look upon it as safe. For
though at first the soul is conscious of no harm, great harm may by
degrees ensue; because, so far as I can see, and by experience
understand, that which purports to come from God is received only in
so far as it corresponds with the sacred writings; but if it varies
therefrom ever so little, I am incomparably more convinced that it
comes from Satan than I am now convinced it comes from God, however
deep that conviction may be. In this case, there is no need to ask
for signs, nor from what spirit it proceeds, because this varying is
so clear a sign of the devil's presence, that if all the world were to
assure me that it came from God, I would not believe it. The fact is,
that all good seems to be lost out of sight, and to have fled from the
soul, when the devil has spoken to it; the soul is thrown into a state
of disgust, and is troubled, able to do no good thing whatever--for if
it conceives good desires, they are not strong; its humility is
fictitious, disturbed, and without sweetness. Any one who has ever
tasted of the Spirit of God will, I think, understand 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 His graces upon me, I was instantly
reassured. My confessor told me they were all of opinion that I was
deceived by Satan; that I must communicate less frequently, and
contrive to distract myself in such a way as to be less alone.
19. I was in great fear myself, as I have just
said, and my disease of the heart [12]
contributed thereto, so that very often I did not dare to remain alone
in my cell during the day. When I found so many maintain this, and
myself unable to believe them, I had at once a most grievous scruple;
for it seemed to me that I had very little humility, especially as
they all led lives incomparably better than mine: they were also
learned men. Why should I not believe them? I did all I could to
believe them. I reflected on my wicked life, and therefore what they
said to me must be true.
20. In this distress, I quitted the
church, [13] and entered an oratory. I had
not been to Communion for many days, nor had I been alone, which was
all my comfort. I had no one to speak to, for every one was against
me. Some, I thought, made a mock of me when I spoke to them of my
prayer, as if I were a person under delusions of the imagination;
others warned my confessor to be on his guard against me; and some
said it was clear the whole was an operation of Satan. My confessor,
though he agreed with them for the sake of trying me, as I understood
afterwards, always comforted me: and he alone did so. He told me
that, if I did not offend God, my prayer, even if it was the work of
Satan, could do me no harm; that I should be delivered from it. He
bade me pray much to God: he himself, and all his penitents, and many
others did so earnestly; I, too, with all my might, and as many as I
knew to be servants of God, prayed that His Majesty would be pleased
to lead me by another way. This lasted, I think, about two years; and
this was the subject of my continual prayer to our Lord.
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 creation
persecute me,--let the evil spirits torment me,--but do Thou, O Lord,
fail me not; for I know by experience now the blessedness of that
deliverance which Thou dost effect for those who trust only in Thee.
In this distress,--for then I had never had a single vision,--these
Thy words alone were enough to remove it, and give me perfect peace:
"Be not afraid, my daughter: it is I; and I will not abandon thee.
Fear not." [14]
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. [15] So I said to myself: Who is He,
that all my faculties should thus obey Him? Who is He, that gives
light in such darkness in a moment; who softens a heart that seemed to
be made of stone; who gives the waters of sweet tears, where for a
long time great dryness seems to have prevailed; who inspires these
desires; who bestows this courage? What have I been thinking of? what
am I afraid of? what is it? I desire to serve this my Lord; I aim at
nothing else but His pleasure; I seek no joy, no rest, no other good
than that of doing His will. I was so confident that I had no other
desire, that I could safely assert it.
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, [16]--I was never again afraid of them--on
the contrary, they seemed to be afraid of
me. [17] I found myself endowed with a certain
authority over them, given me by the Lord of all, so that I cared no
more for them than for flies. They seem to be such cowards; for their
strength fails them at the sight of any one who despises them. These
enemies have not the courage to assail any but those whom they see
ready to give in to them, or when God permits them to do so, for the
greater good of His servants, whom they may try and torment.
26. May it please His Majesty that we fear Him
whom we ought to fear, [18] and understand
that one venial sin can do us more harm than all hell together; for
that is the truth. The evil spirits keep us in terror, because we
expose ourselves to the assaults of terror by our attachments to
honours, possessions, and pleasures. For then the evil spirits,
uniting themselves with us,--we become our own enemies when we love
and seek what we ought to hate,--do us great harm. We ourselves put
weapons into their hands, that they may assail us; those very weapons
with which we should defend ourselves. It is a great pity. But if,
for the love of God, we hated all this, and embraced the cross, and
set about His service in earnest, Satan would fly away before such
realities, as from the plague. He is the friend of lies, and a lie
himself. [19] He will have nothing to do
with those who walk in the truth. When he sees the understanding of
any one obscured, he simply helps to pluck out his eyes; if he sees
any one already blind, seeking peace in vanities,--for all the things
of this world are so utterly vanity, that they seem to be but the
playthings of a child,--he sees at once that such a one is a child; he
treats him as a child, and ventures to wrestle with him--not once,
but often.
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!
1. 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. From 1555 to 1557, when the Saint
was advised by St. Francis de Borja to make
no further resistance (Bouix).
3. See ch. xxvii. § 4.
4. § 4.
5. § 5.
6. 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).
7. § 6.
8. § 2.
9. Ch.
vii. § 12.
10. Ch.
xxviii. § 6, ch. xxx.
§ 10.
11. Ch.
vii. § 11.
12. Ch.
iv. § 6, ch. v. § 14.
13. It was the church of the
Jesuits (Bouix).
14. See Inner Fortress,
vi. 3, § 5.
15. St.
Matt. viii. 26; "Imperavit ventis et mari, et facta
est tranquillitas magna."
16. Ch.
xxxi. § 2.
17. St.
John of the Cross, Spiritual Canticle, st. 24, p. 128, Eng. trans.
18. St.
Matt. x. 26, 28; "Ne ergo timueritis eos, . . .
sed potius timete Eum."
19. St.
John viii. 44: "Mendax est, et
pater ejus."
How the Fears of the Saint Vanished. How She Was Assured That
Her Prayer Was the Work of the Holy Spirit.
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, [1] in the truth,
in the sight of His Majesty, with a pure conscience. And for this
end, as I said in the same place, I would have myself all fears, that
I may not for one instant offend Him who in that instant is able to
destroy us. If His Majesty is pleased with us, whoever resists us--be
he who he may--will be utterly disappointed.
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. [2] Everything wearies, everything
distresses, everything torments the soul, unless it be suffered with
God, or for God. There is no rest which is not a weariness, because
the soul knows itself to be away from its true rest; and so love is
made most manifest, and, as I have just said, impossible to hide.
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, [3]--by almost everybody in the
place where I am living, and by the members of my Order. When I was
in this distress, and afflicted by many occasions of disquiet wherein
I was placed, our Lord spoke to me, saying: "What art thou afraid
of? knowest thou not that I am almighty? I will do what I have
promised thee." And so, afterwards, was it done. I found myself
at once so strong, that I could have undertaken anything, so it
seemed, immediately, even if I had to endure greater trials for His
service, and had to enter on a new state of suffering. These
locutions are so frequent, that I cannot count them; many of them are
reproaches, and He sends them when I fall into imperfections. They
are enough to destroy a soul. They correct me, however; for His
Majesty--as I said before [4]--gives both
counsel and relief. There are others which bring my former sins into
remembrance,--particularly when He is about to bestow upon me some
special grace,--in such a way that the soul beholds itself as being
really judged; for those reproaches of God put the truth before it so
distinctly, that it knows not what to do with itself. Some are
warnings against certain dangers to myself or others; many of them are
prophecies of future things, three or four years beforehand; and all
of them have been fulfilled: some of them I could mention. Here,
then, are so many reasons for believing that they come from God, as
make it impossible, I believe, for anybody to mistake them.
4. The safest course in these things is to
declare, without fail, the whole state of the soul, together with the
graces our Lord gives me, to a confessor who is learned, and obey him.
I do so; and if I did not, I should have no peace. Nor is it right
that we women, who are unlearned, should have any: there can be no
danger in this, but rather great profit. This is what our Lord has
often commanded me to do, and it is what I have often done. I had a
confessor [5] who mortified me greatly, and
now and then distressed me: he tried me heavily, for he disquieted me
exceedingly; and yet he was the one who, I believe, did me the most
good. Though I had a great affection for him, I was occasionally
tempted to leave him; I thought that the pain he inflicted on me
disturbed my prayer. Whenever I was resolved on leaving him, I used
to feel instantly that I ought not to do so; and one reproach of our
Lord would press more heavily upon me than all that my confessor did.
Now and then, I was worn out--torture on the one hand, reproaches on
the other. I required it all, for my will was but little subdued.
Our Lord said to me once, that there was no obedience where there was
no resolution to suffer; that I was to think of His sufferings, and
then everything would be easy.
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; [6] I was
also so ashamed of myself, that I felt it more keenly at times to
speak of them than I should have done in confessing grave sins,
particularly when the graces I had to reveal were great. I thought
they did not believe me, and that they were laughing at me. I felt it
so much,--for I look on this as an irreverent treatment of the marvels
of God,--that I was glad to be silent. I learned then that I had been
ill-advised by that confessor, because I ought never to hide anything
from my confessor; for I should find great security if I told
everything; and if I did otherwise, I might at any time fall
into delusions. [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] But, a
very few days afterwards, I understood it well enough; for I had so
much to think of, and such reasons for self-recollection in what I saw
before me and our Lord dealt so lovingly with me, in teaching me in so
many ways, that I had little or no need whatever of books. His
Majesty has been to me a veritable Book, in which I saw all truth.
Blessed be such a Book, which leaves behind an impression of what is
read therein, and in such a way that it cannotbe forgotten!
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, when we may hope
for such a reward? Who can look at the torments of lost souls without
acknowledging the torments of this life to be joyous delights in
comparison, and confessing how much they owe to our Lord in having
saved them so often from the place of
torments? [9] But as, by the help of God, I
shall speak more at large of certain things, I wish now to go on with
the story of my life. Our Lord grant that I have been clear enough in
what I have hitherto said! I feel assured that he will understand me
who has had experience herein, and that he will see I have partially
succeeded; but as to him who has had no such experience, I should not
be surprised if he regarded it all as folly. It is enough for him
that it is I who say it, in order to be free from blame; neither will
I blame any one who shall so speak of it. Our Lord grant that I may
never fail to do His will! Amen.
1. Ch.
xxv. § 26.
2. Ch.
xv. § 6.
3. Ch.
xxxiii.; the foundation of the house of St. Joseph.
4. Ch.
xxv. § 23.
5. 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.
6. See Relation, vii.
§ 7.
7. St.
John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. 22,
§ 14.
8. The visions of the Saint began in
1558 (De la Fuente) or, according to Father Bouix,
in 1559.
9. St.
Luke xvi. 28: "Ne et ipsi veniant in hunc
locum tormentorum."
The Saint Prays to Be Directed by a Different Way.
Intellectual Visions.
1. I now resume the story of my life. I was in
great pain and distress; and many prayers, as I
said, [1] were made on my behalf, that our Lord
would lead me by another and a safer way; for this, they told me, was
so suspicious. The truth is, that though I was praying to God for
this, and wished I had a desire for another way, yet, when I saw the
progress I was making, I was unable really to desire a change,--though
I always prayed for it,--excepting on those occasions when I was
extremely cast down by what people said to me, and by the fears with
which they filled me.
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, [2]--when I saw
Christ close by me, or, to speak more correctly, felt Him; for I saw
nothing with the eyes of the body, nothing with the eyes of the soul.
He seemed to me to be close beside me; and I saw, too, as I believe,
that it was He who was speaking to me. As I was utterly ignorant that
such a vision was possible, [3] I was extremely
afraid at first, and did nothing but weep; however, when He spoke to
me but one word to reassure me, I recovered myself, and was, as usual,
calm and comforted, without any fear whatever. Jesus Christ seemed to
be by my side continually, and, as the vision was not imaginary, I saw
no form; but I had a most distinct feeling that He was always on my
right hand, a witness of all I did; and never at any time, if I was
but slightly recollected, or not too much distracted, could I be
ignorant of His near presence. [4]
4. I went at once to my
confessor, [5] in great distress, to tell him
of it. He asked in what form I saw our Lord. I told him I saw no
form. He then said: "How did you know that it was Christ?" I
replied, that I did not know how I knew it; but I could not help
knowing that He was close beside me,--that I saw Him distinctly, and
felt His presence,--that the recollectedness of my soul was deeper in
the prayer of quiet, and more continuous,--that the effects thereof
were very different from what I had hitherto experienced,--and that it
was most certain. I could only make comparisons in order to explain
myself; and certainly there are no comparisons, in my opinion, by
which visions of this kind can be described. Afterwards I learnt from
Friar Peter of Alcantara, a holy man of great spirituality,--of whom I
shall speak by and by, [6]--and from others of
great learning, that this vision was of the highest order, and one
with which Satan can least interfere; and therefore there are no words
whereby to explain,--at least, none for us women, who know so little:
learned men can explain it better.
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 the other speak or move, or he touches him;
but in these visions there is nothing like this. The darkness is not
felt; only He renders Himself present to the soul by a certain
knowledge of Himself which is more clear than the
sun. [7] I do not mean that we now see either
a sun or any brightness, only that there is a light not seen, which
illumines the understanding so that the soul may have the fruition of
so great a good. This vision brings with it great blessings.
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] I replied that He often
told me so Himself; but, even before He told me so, there was an
impression on my understanding that it was He; and before this He used
to tell me so, and I saw Him not. If a person whom I had never seen,
but of whom I had heard, came to speak to me, and I were blind or
in the dark, and told me who he was, I should believe him; but I could
not so confidently affirm that he was that person, as I might do if I
had seen him. But in this vision I could do so, because so clear a
knowledge is impressed on the soul that all doubt seems impossible,
though He is not seen. Our Lord wills that this knowledge be so
graven on the understanding, that we can no more question His presence
than we can question that which we see with our eyes: not so much
even; for very often there arises a suspicion that we have imagined
things we think we see; but here, though there may be a suspicion in
the first instant, there remains a certainty so great, that the doubt
has no force whatever. So also is it when God teaches the soul in
another way, and speaks to it without speaking, in the way I
have described.
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 not taken away, and
the faculties are not suspended: they preserve their ordinary state.
It is not always so in contemplation; on the contrary, it is very
rarely so; but when it is so, I say that we do nothing whatever
ourselves: no work of ours is then possible; all that is done is
apparently the work of our Lord. It is as if food had been received
into the stomach which had not first been eaten, and without our
knowing how it entered; but we do know well that it is there, though
we know not its nature, nor who it was that placed it there. In this
vision, I know who placed it; but I do not know how He did it. I
neither saw it, nor felt it; I never had any inclination to desire
it, and I never knew before that such a thing was possible.
10. In the locutions of which I spoke
before, [9] God makes the understanding
attentive, though it may be painful to understand what is said; then
the soul seems to have other ears wherewith it hears; and He forces it
to listen, and will not let it be distracted. The soul is like a
person whose hearing was good, and who is not suffered to stop his
ears, while people standing close beside him speak to him with a loud
voice. He may be unwilling to hear, yet hear he must. Such a person
contributes something of his own; for he attends to what is said to
him; but here there is nothing of the kind: even that little, which is
nothing more than the bare act of listening, which is granted to it in
the other case, is now out of its power. It finds its food prepared
and eaten; it has nothing more to do but to enjoy it. It is as if one
without ever learning, without taking the pains even to learn to read,
and without studying any subject whatever, should find himself in
possession of all knowledge, not knowing how or whence it came to him,
seeing that he had never taken the trouble even to learn the alphabet.
This last comparison seems to me to throw some light on this heavenly
gift; for the soul finds itself learned in a moment, and
the mystery of the most Holy Trinity so clearly revealed to it,
together with other most deep doctrines, that there is no theologian
in the world with whom it would hesitate to dispute for the truth of
these matters.
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 the other: the bridegroom says so to
the bride in the Canticle, so I believe, and I have heard that it is
spoken of there. [10]
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. [11] He loves all; there is no
excuse for any one, however wicked he may be, seeing that He hath thus
dealt with me, raising me to the state I am in. Consider, that what I
am saying is not even an iota of what may be said; I say only that
which is necessary to show the kind of the vision and of the grace
which God bestows on the soul; for that cannot be told which it feels
when our Lord admits it to the understanding of His secrets and of His
mighty works. The joy of this is so far above all conceivable joys,
that it may well make us loathe all the joys of earth; for they are
all but dross; and it is an odious thing to make them enter into the
comparison, even if we might have them for ever. Those which our Lord
gives, what are they? One drop only of the waters of the overflowing
river which He is reserving for us.
14. It is a shame! And, in truth, I am
ashamed of myself; if shame could have a place in heaven, I should
certainly be the most ashamed there. Why do we seek blessings and
joys so great, bliss without end, and all at the cost of our good
Jesus? Shall we not at least weep with the daughters of
Jerusalem, [12] if we do not help to carry
his cross with the Cyrenean? [13] Is it by
pleasure and idle amusements that we can attain to the fruition of
what He purchased with so much blood? It is impossible. Can we think
that we can, by preserving our honour, which is vanity, recompense Him
for the sufferings He endured, that we might reign with Him for ever?
This is not the way; we are going by the wrong road utterly, and we
shall never arrive there. You, my father, must lift up your voice,
and utter these truths aloud, seeing that God has taken from me the
power of doing it. I should like to utter them to myself for ever. I
listened to them myself, and came to the knowledge of God so late, as
will appear by what I have written, that I am ashamed of myself when I
speak of this; and so I should like to be silent.
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!--they
did so of Wisdom Itself! [14] How few there
are of this kind now, because of our sins! Now, indeed, they are all
gone whom people regarded as mad, [15]
because they saw them perform heroic acts, as true lovers
of Christ.
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! [16] The world cannot bear such
perfection now; it is said that men's health is grown feebler, and
that we are not now in those former times. But this holy man lived in
our day; he had a spirit strong as those of another age, and so he
trampled on the world. If men do not go about barefooted,
nor undergo sharp penances, as he did, there are many ways, as I have
said before, [17] of trampling on the world;
and our Lord teaches them when He finds the necessary courage. How
great was the courage with which His Majesty filled the Saint I am
speaking of! He did penance--oh, how sharp it was!--for
seven-and-forty years, as all men know. I should like to speak of it,
for I know it to be all true.
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. [18] He told me, I think, that for
forty years he slept but an hour and a half out of the twenty-four,
and that the most laborious penance he underwent, when he began, was
this of overcoming sleep. For that purpose, he was always either
kneeling or standing. When he slept, he sat down, his head resting
against a piece of wood driven into the wall. Lie down he could not,
if he wished it; for his cell, as every one knows, was only four feet
and a half in length. In all these years, he never covered his head
with his hood, even when the sun was hottest, or the rain heaviest.
He never covered his feet: the only garment he wore was made of
sackcloth, and that was as tight as it could be, with nothing between
it and his flesh; over this, he wore a cloak of the same stuff. He
told me that, in the severe cold, he used to take off his cloak, and
open the door and the window of his cell, in order that when he put
his cloak on again, after shutting the door and the window, he might
give some satisfaction to his body in the pleasure it might have in
the increased warmth. His ordinary practice was to eat but once in
three days. He said to me, "Why are you astonished at it? it is
very possible for any one who is used to it." One of his
companions told me that he would be occasionally eight days without
eating: that must have been when he was in prayer; for he was subject
to trances, and to the impetuosities of the love of God, of which I
was once a witness myself.
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, [19]
"Lætatus sum in his quæ dicta sunt
mihi;" and then, kneeling down, he died.
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 his death,
he appeared to me being then far away. I knew he was about to die,
and so I sent him word to that effect, when he was some leagues from
here. When he died, he appeared to me, and said that he was going to
his rest. I did not believe it. I spoke of it to some persons, and
within eight days came the news that he was dead--or, to speak more
correctly, he had begun to live
for evermore. [20]
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.
1. Ch.
xxv. § 20.
2. See ch. xxviii. § 5, and ch. xxix. § 1. The vision took place, it
seems, on the 29th June. See ch. xxix.
§ 6.
3. See ch.
vii. § 12.
4. See Anton. a Spiritu Sancto,
Direct.
Mystic. tr. iii. disp. v. § 3.
5. See Inner Fortress,
vi. 8, § 3.
6. § 17, infra.
7. See Relation, vii.
§ 26.
8. Inner Fortress, vi.
8, § 3.
9. Ch.
xxv. § 1.
10. Cant. vi. 4: "Averte oculos tuos a me, quia ipsi me avolare
fecerunt." St. John of the
Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. xxix. n. 6,
Engl. trans.
11. Acts x. 34: "Non est personarum
acceptor Deus."
12. St.
Luke xxiii. 28: "Filiæ Jerusalem, nolite flere
super Me, sed super vos ipsas flete."
13. St.
Matt. xxvii. 32: "Hunc angariaverunt ut tolleret
crucem Ejus."
14. St.
John x. 20: "Dæmonium habet et insanit: quid
Eum auditis?"
15. Sap. v. 4: "Nos insensati vitam illorum
æstimabamus insaniam."
16. 18th Oct. 1562. As the Saint
finished the first relation of her life in June, 1562, this is one of
the additions subsequently made.
17. Ch.
xiv. § 7.
18. Ch.
xxvi. § 3, ch. xxxii.
§ 16.
19. Psalm cxxi. The words in the
MS. are: "Letatun sun yn is que dita sun miqui" (De
la Fuente).
20. See ch. xxx. § 2.
Visions of the Sacred Humanity, and of the Glorified Bodies.
Imaginary Visions. Great Fruits Thereof When They Come
from God.
1. I now resume our subject. I spent some
days, not many, with that vision [1]
continually before me. It did me so much good, that I never ceased to
pray. Even when I did cease, I contrived that it should be in such a
way as that I should not displease Him whom I saw so clearly present,
an eye-witness of my acts. And though I was occasionally afraid,
because so much was said to me about delusions, that fear lasted not
long, because our Lord reassured me.
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 fear,
trouble, and perplexity at the sight. Afterwards there ensued a sense
of safety and certainty, together with other results, so that all fear
passed immediately away. [2]
4. On one of the feasts of St. Paul, [3] when I was
at Mass, there stood before me the most Sacred
Humanity, [4] as painters represent Him after
the resurrection, in great beauty and majesty, as I particularly
described it to you, my father, when you had insisted on it. It was
painful enough to have to write about it, for I could not describe it
without doing great violence to myself. But I described it as well as
I could, and there is no reason why I should now recur to it. One
thing, however, I have to say: if in heaven itself there were nothing
else to delight our eyes but the great beauty of glorified bodies,
that would be an excessive bliss, particularly the vision of the
Humanity of Jesus Christ our Lord. If here below, where His Majesty
shows Himself to us according to the measure which our wretchedness
can bear, it is so great, what must it be there, where the fruition of
it is complete!
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 visions which are seen
by the bodily eyes. The latter kind of visions, they say, is the
lowest; and it is by these that the devil can most delude
us. [5] I did not know it then; for I wished,
when this grace had been granted me, that it had been so in such a way
that I could see it with my bodily eyes, in order that my confessor
might not say to me that I indulged in fancies.
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. [6] This he knew well enough; and,
accordingly, he contrived to quiet me; and I felt so much the going to
him with these doubts, that I cannot tell how Satan could have put it
into my head that I invented those things for the purpose of
tormenting myself.
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, but a delicate whiteness and a brilliancy infused,
furnishing the most excessive delight to the eyes, never wearied
thereby, nor by the visible brightness which enables us to see a
beauty so divine. It is a light so different from any light here
below, that the very brightness of the sun we see, in comparison with
the brightness and light before our eyes, seems to be something so
obscure, that no one would ever wish to open his eyes again.
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 wished to explain it to me, I have never been
able to understand how it can be.
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, [7]
I had converse for many years with men of great learning. But I did
ask them if this or that were a sin or not: as for everything else,
the thought that God did it all was enough for me. I saw there was no
reason to be afraid, but great reason to praise Him. On the other
hand, difficulties increase my devotion; and the greater the
difficulty the greater the increase.
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 truth itself,
as there is the same difference here that there is between a living
subject and the portrait thereof, neither more nor less: for if what I
saw was an image, it was a living image,--not a dead man, but the
living Christ: and He makes me see that He is God and man,--not as He
was in the sepulchre, but as He was when He had gone forth from it,
risen from the dead. He comes at times in majesty so great, that no
one can have any doubt that it is our Lord Himself, especially after
Communion: we know that He is then present, for faith says so. He
shows Himself so clearly to be the Lord of that little dwelling-place,
that the soul seems to be dissolved and lost in Christ. O my Jesus,
who can describe the majesty wherein Thou showest Thyself! How
utterly Thou art the Lord of the whole world, and of heaven, and of a
thousand other and innumerable worlds and heavens, the creation of
which is possible to Thee! The soul understands by that majesty
wherein Thou showest Thyself that it is nothing for Thee to be Lord of
all this.
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 Lord shows how He loves it, yet it knows not where to
go, and so is utterly dissolved.
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; [8] for then it seems to forget God
Himself. The soul is itself no longer, it is always inebriated; it
seems as if a living love of God, of the highest kind, made a new
beginning within it; for though the former vision, which I said
represented God without any likeness of
Him, [9] is of a higher kind, yet because of
our weakness, in order that the remembrance of the vision may last,
and that our thoughts may be well occupied, it is a great matter that
a presence so divine should remain and abide in our imagination.
These two kinds of visions come almost always together, and they do so
come; for we behold the excellency and beauty and glory of the most
Holy Humanity with the eyes of the soul. And in the other way I have
spoken of,--that of intellectual vision,--we learn how He is God, is
mighty, can do all things, commands all things, governs all things,
and fills all things with His love.
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 takes the appearance of flesh, but he cannot counterfeit the
glory which it has when the vision is from God. Satan makes his
representations in order to undo the true vision which the soul has
had: but the soul resists instinctively; is troubled, disgusted, and
restless; it loses that devotion and joy it previously had, and cannot
pray at all. In the beginning, it so happened to me three or four
times. These satanic visions are very different things; and even he
who shall have attained to the prayer of quiet only will, I believe,
detect them by those results of them which I described when I was
speaking of locutions. [10] They are most
easily recognised; and if a soul consents not to its own delusion, I
do not think that Satan will be able to deceive it, provided it walks
in humility and singleness of heart. He who shall have had the true
vision, coming from God, detects the false visions at once; for,
though they begin with a certain sweetness and joy, the soul rejects
them of itself; and the joy which Satan ministers must be, I think,
very different--it shows no traces of pure and holy love: Satan very
quickly betrays himself.
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 [11] are beyond our imagination
altogether. How is it that we see present before us, in a moment,
what we do not remember, what we have never thought of, and, moreover,
what, in a long space of time, the imagination could not compass,
because, as I have just said, [12] it far
transcends anything we can comprehend in this life? This, then, is
not possible. Whether we have any power in the matter or not will
appear by what I am now going to say.
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 [13] me to speak of it.
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 jewels in my
hand as pledges of a great love,--and if I were now rich, instead of
poor as before,--I should not be able to believe this that they said,
though I might wish it. These jewels I could now show them, for all
who knew me saw clearly that my soul was changed,--and so my confessor
said; for the difference was very great in every way--not a pretence,
but such as all might most clearly observe. As I was formerly so
wicked, I said, I could not believe that Satan, if he wished to
deceive me and take me down to hell, would have recourse to means so
adverse to his purpose as this, of rooting out my faults, implanting
virtues and spiritual strength; for I saw clearly that I had become at
once another person through the instrumentality of these visions.
20. My confessor, who was, as I said
before, [14] one of the fathers of the Society
of Jesus, and a really holy man, answered them in the same way,--so I
learnt afterwards. He was a most discreet man, and of great humility;
but this great humility of his brought me into serious trouble: for,
though he was a man much given to prayer, and learned, he never
trusted his own judgment, because our Lord was not leading him by this
way. He had, therefore, much to suffer on my account, in many ways.
I knew they used to say to him that he must be on his guard against
me, lest Satan should delude him through a belief in anything I might
say to him. They gave instances of others who were
deluded. [15] All this distressed me. I
began to be afraid I should find no one to hear my
confession, [16] and that all would avoid me.
I did nothing but weep.
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 himself to anything for His
sake. So he told me that if I did not offend God, nor swerve from the
instructions he gave me, there was no fear I should be deserted by
him. He encouraged me always, and quieted me. He bade me never to
conceal anything from him; and I never
did. [17] He used to say that, so long as I
did this, the devil, if it were the devil, could not hurt me; on the
contrary, out of that evil which Satan wished to do me, our Lord would
bring forth good. He laboured with all his might to make me perfect.
As I was very much afraid myself, I obeyed him in everything, though
imperfectly. He had much to suffer on my account during three years
of trouble and more, because he heard my confession all that time; for
in the great persecutions that fell upon me, and the many harsh
judgments of me which our Lord permitted,--many of which I did not
deserve,--everything was carried to him, and he was found fault with
because of me,--he being all the while utterly blameless.
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. [18]
As I spoke to them carelessly, so they misunderstood my meaning in
many things. I had a great regard for one of them; for my soul owed
him more than I can tell. He was a most holy man, and I felt it most
acutely when I saw that he did not understand me. He had a great
desire for my improvement, and hoped our Lord would enlighten me. So,
then, because I spoke, as I was saying, without careful consideration,
they looked upon me as deficient in humility; and when they detected
any of my faults--they might have detected many--they condemned me at
once. They used to put certain questions to me, which I answered
simply and carelessly. Then they concluded forthwith that I wished to
teach them, and that I considered myself to be a learned woman. All
this was carried to my confessor,--for certainly they desired my
amendment--and so he would reprimand me. This lasted some time, and I
was distressed on many sides; but, with the graces which our Lord gave
me, I bore it all.
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. [19] The contradiction of good
people, which a wretched woman, weak, wicked, and timid as I am, must
bear with, seems to be nothing when thus described; but I, who in the
course of my life passed through very great trials, found this one of
the heaviest. [20]
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.
1. Ch.
xxvii. § 3.
2. 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."
3. See ch. xxix. § 4.
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. 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. See ch. xxx. § 18.
7. Ch.
xxv. § 18.
8. Ch.
xxx. §§ 9, 10. See St. John of the
Cross, Obscure Night, bk. ii. ch. 7.
9. Ch.
xxvii. § 3.
10. Ch.
xxv. § 8.
11. See § 2.
12. § 7, supra.
13. See ch. xxiii. § 14.
14. Ch.
xxiv. § 5.
15. 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).
16. Inner Fortress, vi.
1, § 4.
17. Ch.
xxvi. § 5; Inner Fortress, vi. 9, § 7.
18. See ch. xxv. § 18.
19. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: "Sed cum ignoremus quid agere debeamus, hoc solum
habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus
ad Te."
20. See ch. xxx. § 6.
Of Visions. The Graces Our Lord Bestowed on the Saint. The
Answers Our Lord Gave Her for Those Who Tried Her.
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. [1] And though I saw Him speaking
to me, and though I was contemplating His great beauty, and the
sweetness with which those words of His came forth from His divine
mouth,--they were sometimes uttered with severity,--and though I was
extremely desirous to behold the colour of His eyes, or the form of
them, so that I might be able to describe them, yet I never attained
to the sight of them, and I could do nothing for that end; on the
contrary, I lost the vision altogether. And though I see that He
looks upon me at times with great tenderness, yet so strong is His
gaze, that my soul cannot endure it; I fall into a trance so deep,
that I lose the beautiful vision, in order to have a greater fruition
of it all.
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 certain were they to whom I
spoke that I had an evil spirit, that some would have me exorcised. I
did not care much for this; but I felt it bitterly when I saw that my
confessors were afraid to hear me, or when I knew that they were told
of anything about me.
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 [2] could not hear me--began to
say that I was certainly under the influence of Satan. He bade me,
now that I had no power of resisting, always to make the sign of the
cross when I had a vision, to point my finger at it by way of
scorn, [3] and be firmly persuaded of its
diabolic nature. If I did this, the vision would not recur. I was to
be without fear on the point; God would watch over me, and take the
vision away. [4] This was a great hardship for
me; for, as I could not believe that the vision did not come from God,
it was a fearful thing for me to do; and I could not wish, as I said
before, that the visions should be withheld. However, I did at last as
I was bidden. I prayed much to our Lord, that He would deliver me
from delusions. I was always praying to that effect, and with many
tears. I had recourse also to St. Peter
and St. Paul; for our Lord had said to
me--it was on their feast that He had appeared to me the first
time [5]--that they would preserve me from
delusion. I used to see them frequently most distinctly on my left
hand; but that vision was not imaginary. These glorious Saints were
my very good lords.
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. [6] He told me to say to them that
this was tyranny. He gave me reasons for believing that the vision
was not satanic; some of them I mean to repeat by and by.
8. On one occasion,when I was holding in my
hand the cross of my rosary, He took it from me into His own hand. He
returned it; but it was then four large stones incomparably more
precious than diamonds; for nothing can be compared with what is
supernatural. Diamonds seem counterfeits and imperfect when compared
with these precious stones. The five wounds were delineated on them
with most admirable art. He said to me, that for the future that
cross would appear so to me always; and so it did. I never saw the
wood of which it was made, but only the precious stones. They were
seen, however, by no one else,--only
by myself. [7]
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 seek that life
otherwise than by dying. Certain great
impetuosities [8] of love, though not so
intolerable as those of which I have spoken
before, [9] nor yet of so great worth,
overwhelmed me. I knew not what to do; for nothing gave me pleasure,
and I had no control over myself. It seemed as if my soul were really
torn away from myself. Oh, supreme artifice of our Lord! how tenderly
didst Thou deal with Thy miserable slave! Thou didst hide Thyself from
me, and didst yet constrain me with Thy love, with a death so sweet,
that my soul would never wish it over.
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, [10] and into the heart at times, so
that the soul knows not what is the matter with it, nor what it wishes
for. It understands clearly enough that it wishes for God, and that
the arrow seems tempered with some herb which makes the soul hate
itself for the love of our Lord, and willingly lose its life for Him.
It is impossible to describe or explain the way in which God wounds
the soul, nor the very grievous pain inflicted, which deprives it of
all self-consciousness; yet this pain is so sweet, that there is no
joy in the world which gives greater delight. As I have just
said, [11] the soul would wish to be always
dying of this wound.
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 fallen suddenly upon it, that
has set it all on fire. Oh, how often do I remember, when in this
state, those words of David: "Quemadmodum
desiderat cervus ad fontes
aquarum"! [12] They seem to me to
be literally true of myself.
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] It was our Lord's will that in
this vision I should see the angel in this wise. He was not large,
but small of stature, and most beautiful--his face burning, as if he
were one of the highest angels, who seem to be all of fire: they must
be those whom we call cherubim. [14] Their
names they never tell me; but I see very well that there is in heaven
so great a difference between one angel and another, and between these
and the others, that I cannot explain 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, [15] and to pierce my very entrails;
when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me
all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it
made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this
excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is
satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but
spiritual; though the body has its share in it, even a large one. It
is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul
and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who
may think that I am lying. [16]
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. [17]
19. I was in this state from time to time,
whenever it was our Lord's pleasure to throw me into those deep
trances, which I could not prevent even when I was in the company of
others, and which, to my deep vexation, came to be publicly known.
Since then, I do not feel that pain so much, but only that which I
spoke of before,--I do not remember the
chapter, [18]--which is in many ways very
different from it, and of greater worth. On the other hand, when this
pain, of which I am now speaking, begins, our Lord seems to lay hold
of the soul, and to throw it into a trance, so that there is no time
for me to have any sense of pain or suffering, because fruition ensues
at once. May He be blessed for ever, who hath bestowed such great
graces on one who has responded so ill to blessings so great!
1. Ch.
xl.
2. 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).
3. 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).
4. 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.
5. See ch. xxvii. § 3, and ch. xxviii. § 4.
6. Ch.
xxv. § 18.
7. 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).
8. See Relation, i. § 3.
9. Ch.
xx. § 11.
10. Inner Fortress, vi.
11, § 2; St. John of the Cross,
Spiritual Canticle, st. 1,
p. 22, Engl. trans.
11. § 10.
12. Psalm xli. 2: "As the
longing of the hart for the fountains of waters, so is the longing of
my soul for Thee, O my God."
13. Ch.
xxvii. § 3.
14. 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.
15. See Relation, viii.
§ 16.
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).
17. 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.
18. Ch.
xx. § 11.
St. Peter of Alcantara Comforts the
Saint. Great Temptations and Interior Trials.
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. [1] Among other things, I have been
assured that he wore continually, for twenty years, a girdle made of
iron. [2] He is the author of certain little
books, in Spanish, on prayer, which are now in common use; for, as he
was much exercised therein, his writings are very profitable to those
who are given to prayer. He kept the first rule of the blessed St. Francis in all its rigour, and did those
things besides of which I spoke before.
3. When that widow, the servant of God and my
friend, of whom I have already spoken, [3] knew
that so great a man had come, she took her measures. She knew the
straits I was in, for she was an eye-witness of my afflictions, and
was a great comfort to me. Her faith was so strong, that she could
not help believing that what others said was the work of the devil was
really the work of the Spirit of God; and as she is a person of great
sense and great caution, and one to whom our Lord is very bountiful in
prayer, it pleased His Majesty to let her see what learned men failed
to discern. My confessors gave me leave to accept relief in some
things from her, because in many ways she was able to afford it. Some
of those graces which our Lord bestowed on me fell to her lot
occasionally, together with instructions most profitable for her soul.
So, then, when she knew that the blessed man was come, without saying
a word to me, she obtained leave from the Provincial for me to stay
eight days in her house, in order that I might the more easily confer
with him. In that house, and in one church or another, I had many
conversations with him the first time he came here; for, afterwards, I
had many communications with him at diverse times.
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. [4] Even my first impulses I wish them
to know; and as for doubtful and suspicious matters, I used to make
the most of them by arguing against myself. Thus, then, without
equivocation or concealment, I laid before him the state of my soul.
I saw almost at once that he understood me, by reason of his own
experience. That was all I required; for at that time I did not know
myself as I do now,so as to give an account of my state. It was at a
later time that God enabled me to understand myself, and describe the
graces which His Majesty bestows upon me. It was necessary, then,
that he who would clearly understand and explain my state should have
had experience of it himself.
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, [5] those
visions only seemed to me to be of consequence which were seen with
the bodily eyes: and of these I had none. The holy man enlightened me
on the whole question, explained it to me, and bade me not to be
distressed, but to praise God, and to abide in the full conviction
that this was the work of the Spirit of God; for, saving the faith,
nothing could be more true, and there was nothing on which I could
more firmly rely. He was greatly comforted in me, was most kind and
serviceable, and ever afterwards took great care of me, and told me of
his own affairs and labours; and when he saw that I 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, [6]--and that more was in reserve for
me: I had need, therefore, of some one--and there was no one in this
city--who understood me; but he would speak to my confessor, and to
that married nobleman, already spoken of, [7]
who was one of those who tormented me most, and who, because of his
great affection for me, was the cause of all these attacks. He was a
holy but timid man, and could not feel safe about me, because he had
seen how wicked I was, and that not long before. The holy man did so;
he spoke to them both, explained the matter, and gave them reasons why
they should reassure themselves, and disturb me no more. My confessor
was easily satisfied,--not so the nobleman; for though they were not
enough to keep him quiet, yet they kept him in some measure from
frightening me so much as he used to do.
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, and without any doubt that it was
the work of God. If I should have any doubts, for my greater
security, I was to make them known to my confessor, and, having done
so, be in peace. Nevertheless, I was not able at all to feel that
confidence, for our Lord was leading me by the way of fear; and so,
when they told me that the devil had power over me, I believed them.
Thus, then, not one of them was able to inspire me with confidence on
the one hand, or fear on the other, in such a way as to make me
believe either of them, otherwise than as our Lord allowed me.
Accordingly, though the holy friar consoled and calmed me, I did not
rely so much on him as to be altogether without fear, particularly
when our Lord forsook me in the afflictions of my soul, of which I
will now speak. Nevertheless, as I have said, I was very
much consoled.
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 [8] of St. Joseph, to whom, and to our Lady, I used to
pray much.
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, [9] and really felt,--yet true humility
is not attended with trouble; it does not disturb the soul; it causes
neither obscurity nor aridity: on the contrary, it consoles. It is
altogether different, bringing with it calm, sweetness, and light. It
is no doubt painful; but, on the other hand, it is consoling, because
we see how great is the mercy of our Lord in allowing the soul to have
that pain, and how well the soul is occupied. On the one hand, the
soul grieves over its offences against God; on the other, His
compassion makes it glad. It has light, which makes it ashamed of
itself; and it gives thanks to His Majesty, who has borne with it so
long. That other humility, which is the work of Satan, furnishes no
light for any good work; it pictures God as bringing upon everything
fire and sword; it dwells upon His justice; and the soul's faith in
the mercy of God--for the power of the devil does not reach so far as
to destroy faith--is of such a nature as to give me no consolation: on
the contrary, the consideration of mercies so great helps to increase
the pain, because I look upon myself as bound to render
greater service.
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; [10]
though in my case, because of my wretchedness, the temptation is not
so sharp.
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 it, and the soul is unable to escape out of their hands.
It is impossible to describe the sufferings of the soul in this state.
It goes about in quest of relief, and God suffers it to find none.
The light of reason, in the freedom of its will, remains, but it is
not clear; it seems to me as if its eyes were covered with a veil. As
a person who, having travelled often by a particular road, knows,
though it be night and dark, by his past experience of it, where he
may stumble, and where he ought to be on his guard against that risk,
because he has seen the place by day, so the soul avoids offending
God: it seems to go on by habit--that is, if we put out of sight the
fact that our Lord holds it by the hand, which is the true explanation
of the matter.
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; [11]
for the soul itself is then burning in the fire, knowing not who has
kindled it, nor whence it comes, nor how to escape it, nor how to put
it out: if it seeks relief from the fire by spiritual reading, it
cannot find any, just as if it could not read at all. On one
occasion, it occurred to me to read a life of a Saint, that I might
forget myself, and be refreshed with the recital of what he had
suffered. Four or five times, I read as many lines; and, though they
were written in Spanish, I understood them less at the end than I did
when I began: so I gave it up. It so happened to me on more occasions
than one, but I have a more distinct recollection of this.
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; [12] but everything made me afraid.
One of them, on one occasion, when he had heard me speak of this
temptation, told me not to distress myself; for, even if I wished to
deceive him, he had sense enough not to be deceived. This gave me
great comfort.
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. [13]
It seemed to be nothing else but an instantaneous dispersion of the
darkness that covered my soul: when the sun rose, I saw how silly I
had been.
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, [14]--I was made
whole at once; or, if I saw a vision, I was as if I had never been
amiss. I rejoiced in God, and made my complaint to Him, because He
permitted me to undergo such afflictions; yet the recompense was
great; for almost always, afterwards, His mercies descended upon me in
great abundance. The soul seemed to come forth as gold out of the
crucible, most refined, and made glorious to behold, our Lord dwelling
within it. These trials afterwards are light, though they once seemed
to be unendurable; and the soul longs to undergo them again, if that
be more pleasing to our Lord. And though trials and persecutions
increase, yet, if we bear them without offending our Lord, rejoicing
in suffering for His sake, it will be all the greater gain: I,
however, do not bear them as they ought to be borne, but rather in a
most imperfect way. At other times, my trials came upon me--they come
still--in another form; and then it seems to me as if the very
possibility of thinking a good thought, or desiring the accomplishment
of it, were utterly taken from me: both soul and body are altogether
useless and a heavy burden. However, when I am in this state, I do not
suffer from the other temptations and disquietudes, but only from a
certain loathing of I know not what, and my soul finds pleasure
in nothing.
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. [15]
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 were, running in a different
direction. This has been often the case with me, but I think that my
scanty bodily health was now and then enough to bring it about.
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 me like a little ass, which feeds and thrives, because it
accepts the food which is given it, and eats it without reflection.
The soul in this state must be feeding on some great mercies of God,
seeing that its miserable life is no burden to it, and that it bears
it patiently but it is conscious of no sensible movements or results,
whereby it may ascertain the state it is in.
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, [16]
in those to whom God grants them. It is like those little wells I
have seen flowing, wherein the upheaving of the sand never ceases.
This illustration and comparison seem to me to be a true description
of those souls who attain to this state; their love is ever active,
thinking what it may do; it cannot contain itself, as the water
remains not in the earth, but is continually welling upwards. So is
the soul, in general; it is not at rest, nor can it contain itself,
because of the love it has: it is so saturated therewith, that it
would have others drink of it, because there is more than enough for
itself, in order that they might help it to praise God.
24. I call to remembrance--oh, how
often!--that living water of which our Lord spoke to the Samaritan
woman. That Gospel [17] has a great attraction
for me; and, indeed, so it had even when I was a little child, though
I did not understand it then as I do now. I used to pray much to our
Lord for that living water; and I had always a picture of it,
representing our Lord at the well, with this inscription, "Domine, da
mihi aquam." [18]
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 detail. But as you, my father, bade me again not to be
troubled by the minuteness of my account, nor to omit anything, I go
on recounting clearly and truly all I can call to mind. But I must
omit much; for if I did not, I should have to spend more time--and, as
I said before, [19] I have so little to
spend, and perhaps, after all, nothing will be gained.
1. Ch.
xxvii. §§ 17, 18, 19.
2. Hoja de
lata, "cierta hoja de
hierro muy delgada" (Cobarruvias, Tesoro, in voce).
3. Ch.
xxiv. § 5. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa.
4. Ch.
xxvi. § 5.
5. Ch.
vii. § 12.
6. See ch. xxviii. § 24.
7. Ch.
xxiii. § 7.
8. A "custody" is a division
of the province, in the Order of St. Francis, comprising a certain number of
convents.
9. § 10.
10. Job i.
11. See ch. xxxii. § 1, &c.
12. See ch. xxviii. § 6.
13. See Way of
Perfection, ch. lxi. § 2; but ch. xxxiv. § 8 of the
earlier editions.
14. Ch.
xx. § 21, ch. xxv. § 22, ch. xxvi. § 3.
15. "Un
Credo."
16. Ch.
xxix. § 11.
17. St.
John iv. 5-42: the Gospel of Friday after the Third
Sunday in Lent, where the words are, "hanc aquam."
18. "Lord, give me this
water" (St. John iv. 15). See ch. i. § 6; and Way of
Perfection, ch. xxix. § 5; ch. xix. § 5 of the
earlier editions.
19. Ch.
xiv. § 12.
Of Certain Outward Temptations and Appearances of Satan. Of
the Sufferings Thereby Occasioned. Counsels for Those Who Go on
Unto Perfection.
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. [1]
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 hours with such terrible pains, such inward and outward
sufferings, that it seemed to me as if I could not bear them. Those
who were with me were frightened; they knew not what to do, and I
could not help myself. I am in the habit, when these pains and my
bodily suffering are most unendurable, to make interior acts as well
as I can, imploring our Lord, if it be His will, to give me patience,
and then to let me suffer on, even to the end of the world. So, when
I found myself suffering so cruelly, I relieved myself by making those
acts and resolutions, in order that I might be able to endure the
pain. It pleased our Lord to let me understand that it was the work
of Satan; for I saw close beside me a most frightful little negro,
gnashing his teeth in despair at losing what he attempted to seize.
When I saw him, I laughed, and had no fear; for there were some then
present who were helpless, and knew of no means whereby so great a
pain could be relieved. My body, head, and arms were violently
shaken; I could not help myself: but the worst of all was the interior
pain, for I could find no ease in any way. Nor did I dare to ask for
holy water, lest those who were with me should be afraid, and find out
what the matter really was.
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 is
refreshed. I consider that everything ordained by the Church is very
important; and I have a joy in reflecting that the words of the Church
are so mighty, that they endow water with power, so that there shall
be so great a difference between holy water and water that has never
been blessed. Then, as my pains did not cease, I told them, if they
would not laugh, I would ask for some holy water. They brought me
some, and sprinkled me with it; but I was no better. I then threw
some myself in the direction of the negro, when he fled in a moment.
All my sufferings ceased, just as if some one had taken them from me
with his hand; only I was wearied, as if I had been beaten with many
blows. It was of great service to me to learn that if, by our Lord's
permission, Satan can do so much evil to a soul and body not in his
power, he can do much more when he has them in his possession. It
gave me a renewed desire to be delivered from a fellowship
so dangerous.
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 spiritual
life. Certainly, what I am now about to describe happened to me once;
there are witnesses to testify to it, particularly my present
confessor, for he saw the account in a letter. I did not tell him
from whom the letter came, but he knew perfectly who the
person was.
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 on the night of All Souls. I was
in an oratory, and, having said one Nocturn, was saying some very
devotional prayers at the end of our Breviary, when Satan put himself
on the book before me, to prevent my finishing my prayer. I made the
sign of the cross, and he went away. I then returned to my prayer, and
he, too, came back; he did so, I believe, three times, and I was not
able to finish the prayer without throwing holy water at him. I saw
certain souls at that moment come forth out of purgatory--they must
have been near their deliverance, and I thought that Satan might in
this way have been trying to hinder their release. It is very rarely
that I saw Satan assume a bodily form; I know of his presence through
the vision I have spoken of before, [2] the
vision wherein no form is seen.
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 cowards; it is in this
case that they show their power.
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,
when I began to be profoundly recollected, or to fall into a trance,
which I could not resist even in public, I was so ashamed of myself,
that I would not appear where people might see me.
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. [3]
This made me quite calm, and it comforts me whenever I think
of it.
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 acquainted with my sins, in order that he
might see that His graces were bestowed on me without any merit on my
part: and I always greatly desire this. My confessor told me not to
do it. But almost to this day, if I saw that any one thought well of
me, I used in a roundabout way, or any how, as I could, to contrive he
should know of my sins: [4] that seemed to
relieve me. But they have made me very scrupulous on this point.
This, it appears to me, was not an effect of humility, but oftentimes
the result of temptation. It seemed to me that I was deceiving
everybody--though, in truth, they deceived themselves, by thinking
that there was any good in me. [5] I did not
wish to deceive them, nor did I ever attempt it, only our Lord
permitted it for some end; and so, even with my confessors, I never
discussed any of these matters if I did not see the necessity of it,
for that would have occasioned very considerable scruples.
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, [6] but it is to the purpose
here, for I see certain souls are very greatly afflicted on that
ground. When these souls begin, with great fervour, courage, and
desire, to advance in virtue,--some of them, at least outwardly,
giving up all for God,--when they see in others, more advanced than
themselves, greater fruits of virtue given them by our Lord,--for we
cannot acquire these of ourselves,--when they see in all the books
written on prayer and on contemplation an account of what we have to
do in order to attain thereto, but which they cannot accomplish
themselves,--they lose heart. For instance, they read that we must
not be troubled when men speak ill of us, that we are to be then more
pleased than when they speak well of us; that we must despise our own
good name, be detached from our kindred; avoid their company, which
should be wearisome to us, unless they be given to prayer; with many
other things of the same kind. The disposition to practise this must
be, in my opinion, the gift of God; for it seems to me a supernatural
good, contrary to our natural inclinations. Let them not distress
themselves; let them trust in our Lord: what they now desire, His
Majesty will enable them to attain to by prayer, and by doing what
they can themselves; for it is very necessary for our weak nature that
we should have great confidence, that we should not be fainthearted,
nor suppose that, if we do our best, we shall fail to obtain the
victory at last. And as my experience here is large, I will say, by
way of caution to you, my father, do not think--though it may seem
so--that a virtue is acquired when we have not tested it by its
opposing vice: we must always be suspicious of ourselves, and never
negligent while we live; for much evil clings to us if, as I said
before, [7] grace be not given to us fully to
understand what everything is: and in this life there is nothing
without great risks.
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 [8] I threw into the fire; for I am not
able to do more. All this our Lord accepted: may He be blessed
for evermore!
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. [9]
1. 2 Cor. ii. 11: "Non enim ignoramus
cogitationes ejus."
2. Ch.
xxvii. § 4.
3. See Inner Fortress,
vi. ch. iv. § 12.
4. Way of Perfection,
ch. lxv. § 2; but ch. xxxvi. of the previous editions.
5. See ch. x. § 10.
6. Ch.
xiii. § 3.
7. Ch.
xx. § 38.
8. Ch.
xxx. § 25.
9. 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.
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.
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, [1] without speaking of others
of different kinds, yea, even those of which I have also
spoken, [2] inflicted on me by Satan;
yet all these were as nothing in comparison with what I felt then,
especially when I saw that there would be no intermission, nor any end
to them.
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 at other times
dwelt on the various torments of hell, though not often, because my
soul made no progress by the way of fear; and I have read of the
diverse tortures, and how the devils tear the flesh with red-hot
pincers. But all is as nothing before this; it is a wholly different
matter. In short, the one is a reality, the other a picture; and all
burning here in this life is as nothing in comparison with the fire
that is there.
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, [3] the natural
warmth of my body is chilled by fear even now when I think of it. And
so, amid all the pain and suffering which I may have had to bear, I
remember no time in which I do not think that all we have to suffer in
this world is as nothing. It seems to me that we complain without
reason. I repeat it, this vision was one of the grandest mercies of
our Lord. It has been to me of the greatest service, because it has
destroyed my fear of trouble and of the contradiction of the world,
and because it has made me strong enough to bear up against them, and
to give thanks to our Lord, who has been my Deliverer, as it now seems
to me, from such fearful and everlasting pains.
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 chastisement; but for all that, I repeat it, the torment
was fearful, and we run a great risk whenever we please ourselves. No
soul should take either rest or pleasure that is liable to fall every
moment into mortal sin. Let us, then, for the love of God, avoid all
occasions of sin, and our Lord will help us, as He has helped me. May
it please His Majesty never to let me out of His hands, lest I should
turn back and fall, now that I have seen the place where I must dwell
if I do. I entreat our Lord, for His Majesty's sake, never to permit
it. Amen.
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 comforts, as it seemed to me; for the house was large and
pleasant. But this inconvenience of going out, though it was I that
took most advantage of it, was a very grievous one for me; for many
persons, to whom my superiors could not say no, were glad to have me
with them. My superiors, thus importuned, commanded me to visit these
persons; and thus it was so arranged that I could not be long together
in the monastery. Satan, too, must have had a share in this, in order
that I might not be in the house, where I was of great service to
those of my sisters to whom I continually communicated the
instructions which I received from my confessors.
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. [4]
I, having this desire, began to discuss the matter with that widowed
lady who was my companion,--I have spoken of her
before, [5]--and she had the same wish that I
had. She began to consider how to provide a revenue for the home. I
see now that this was not the way,--only the wish we had to do so made
us think it was; but I, on the other hand, seeing that I took the
greatest delight in the house in which I was then living, because it
was very pleasant to me, and, in my own cell, most convenient for my
purpose, still held back. Nevertheless, we agreed to commit the
matter with all earnestness to God.
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, [6] and do what he
might bid me do. I never spoke of my visions to my superior, but that
lady who desired to found the monastery communicated with him. The
Provincial was very much pleased, for he loves the whole Order, gave
her every help that was necessary, and promised to acknowledge the
house. Then there was a discussion about the revenues of the
monastery, and for many reasons we never would allow more than
thirteen sisters together. Before we began our arrangements, we wrote
to the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara, telling him all that was taking
place; and he advised us not to abandon our work, and gave us his
sanction on all points.
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 with it. It was a very great pain
to us,--for we seemed now to have received the first blow,--and in
particular to me, to find the Provincial against us; for when he
approved of the plan, I considered myself blameless before all. They
would not give absolution to my friend, if she did not abandon the
project; for they said she was bound to remove the scandal.
19. She went to a very learned man, and a very
great servant of God, of the Order of St. Dominic, [7] to whom
she gave an account of all this matter. This was even before the
Provincial had withdrawn his consent; for in this place we had no one
who would give us advice; and so they said that it all proceeded
solely from our obstinacy. That lady gave an account of everything,
and told the holy man how much she received from the property of her
husband. Having, a great desire that he would help us,--for he was
the most learned man here, and there are few in his Order more learned
than he,--I told him myself all we intended to do, and some of my
motives. I never said a word of any revelation whatever, speaking
only of the natural reasons which influenced me; for I would not have
him give an opinion otherwise than on those grounds. He asked us to
give him eight days before he answered, and also if we had made up our
minds to abide by what he might say. I said we had; but though I said
so, and though I thought so, I never lost a certain confidence that
the monastery would be founded. My friend had more faith than I;
nothing they could say could make her give it up. As for myself,
though, as I said, it seemed to me impossible that the work should be
finally abandoned, yet my belief in the truth of the revelation went
no further than in so far as it was not against what is contained in
the sacred writings, nor against the laws of the Church, which we are
bound to keep. Though the revelation seemed to me to have come
really from God, yet, if that learned man had told me that we could
not go on without offending God and going against our conscience, I
believe I should have given it up, and looked out for some other way;
but our Lord showed me no other way than this.
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. [8]
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 [9] of whom I
spoke before; [10] he looked on it--so,
indeed, it was--as a means of great perfection, because the whole
foundation was laid in prayer. He saw also very many difficulties
before us, and no way out of them,--yet he gave up his own opinion,
and admitted that the work might be of God. Our Lord Himself must
have touched his heart, as He also did that of the doctor, the priest
and servant of God, to whom, as I said
before, [11] I first spoke, who is an example
to the whole city,--being one whom God maintains there for the relief
and progress of many souls: he, too, came now to give us
his assistance.
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.
1. See ch. v. § 14, ch.
vi. § 1.
2. Ch.
xxxi. § 3.
3. In 1558 (De
la Fuente).
4. 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).
5. Ch.
xxiv. § 5. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa.
6. The Provincial of the Carmelites:
F. Angel de Salasar (De la Fuente).
7. F. Pedro Ibañez (De
la Fuente).
8. Ch.
xxxiii. § 8.
9. Francis de Salcedo.
10. Ch.
xxiii. § 6.
11. Gaspar Daza. See ch. xxiii. § 6.
The Foundation of the Monastery Hindered. Our Lord Consoles
the Saint.
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 all was a dream; that I ought to
lead a new life by ceasing to have anything to do for the future with
it, or even to speak of it any more, seeing the scandal it had
occasioned. He made some further remarks, all of them very painful.
This was a greater affliction to me than all the others together. I
considered whether I had done anything myself, and whether I was to
blame for anything that was an offence unto God; whether all my
visions were illusions, all my prayers a delusion, and I, therefore,
deeply deluded and lost. This pressed so heavily upon me, that I was
altogether disturbed and most grievously distressed. But our Lord,
who never failed me in all the trials I speak of, so frequently
consoled and strengthened me, that I need not speak of it here. He
told me then not to distress myself; that I had pleased God greatly,
and had not sinned against Him throughout the whole affair; that I was
to do what my confessors required of me, and be silent on the subject
till the time came to resume it. I was so comforted and so happy, that
the persecution which had befallen me seemed to be as nothing
at all.
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, [1] as well as of those profounder
trances. I kept silence, however, and never spoke of those graces to
any one. The saintly Dominican [2] was as
confident as I was that the work would be done; and as I would not
speak of it, in order that nothing might take place contrary to the
obedience I owed my confessor, he communicated with my companion, and
they wrote letters to Rome and made their preparations.
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 required his
services; for he was a man of great ability. I, too, on my part, felt
his retirement very much, because it was a great loss to me, though I
did not disturb him. But I knew it was a gain to him; for when I was
so much distressed at his departure, our Lord bade me be comforted,
not to take it to heart, for he was gone under good guidance.
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 [3] of the
Society of Jesus having gone away, His Majesty brought into his place
another, [4] of great spirituality, high
courage, strong understanding, and profound learning, at the very time
when I was in great straits. As he who then heard my confession had a
superior over him--the fathers of the Society are extremely strict
about the virtue of obedience and never stir but in conformity with
the will of their superiors,--so he would not dare, though he
perfectly understood my spirit, and desired the accomplishment of my
purpose, to come to any resolution; and he had many reasons to justify
his conduct. I was at the same time subject to such great
impetuosities of spirit, that I felt my chains extremely heavy;
nevertheless, I never swerved from the commandment he gave me.
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. [5]
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, [6] who lived
out of the town, should buy a house, and prepare it as if for herself,
with money which our Lord provided for us. [7]
I made it a great point to do nothing against obedience; but I knew
that if I spoke of it to my superiors all was lost, as on the former
occasion, and worse even might happen. In holding the money, in
finding the house, in treating for it, in putting it in order, I had
so much to suffer; and, for the most part, I had to suffer alone,
though my friend did what she could: she could do but little, and that
was almost nothing. Beyond giving her name and her countenance, the
whole of the trouble was mine; and that fell upon me in so many ways,
that I am astonished now how I could have borne
it. [8] Sometimes, in my affliction, I used
to say: O my Lord, how is it that Thou commandest me to do that which
seems impossible?--for, though I am a woman, yet, if I were free, it
might be done; but when I am tied in so many ways, without money, or
the means of procuring it, either for the purpose of the Brief or for
any other,--what, O Lord, can I do?
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 in anyhow. And then, as if exclaiming, said: Oh,
covetousness of the human race, thinking that even the whole earth is
too little for it! how often have I slept in the open air, because I
had no place to shelter Me! [9] I was
alarmed, and saw that He had good reasons to complain. I went to the
little house, arranged the divisions of it, and found that it would
make a sufficient, though small, monastery. I did not care now to add
to the site by purchase, and so I did nothing but contrive to have it
prepared in such a way that it could be lived in. Everything was
coarse, and nothing more was done to it than to render it not hurtful
to health--and that must be done everywhere.
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, [10] so that it shall never be
otherwise, and we possess no revenues. Our Lord is doing more for
us--perhaps we owe it to the prayers of this blessed Saint; for,
without our asking anybody, His Majesty supplies most abundantly all
our wants. May He be blessed for ever! Amen.
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 house. I fell into so profound
a trance, that I was as it were beside myself. I sat down, and it
seemed as if I could neither see the Elevation nor hear Mass. This
afterwards became a scruple to me. I thought then, when I was in that
state, that I saw myself clothed with a garment of excessive whiteness
and splendour. At first I did not see who was putting it on me.
Afterwards I saw our Lady on my right hand, and my father St. Joseph on my left, clothing me with that
garment. I was given to understand that I was then cleansed from my
sins. When I had been thus clad--I was filled with the utmost delight
and joy--our Lady seemed at once to take me by both hands. She said
that I pleased her very much by being devout to the glorious St. Joseph; that I might rely on it my desires
about the monastery were accomplished, and that our Lord and they too
would be greatly honoured in it; that I was to be afraid of no failure
whatever, though the obedience under which it would be placed might
not be according to my mind, because they would watch over us, and
because her Son had promised to be with
us [11]--and, as a proof of this, she would
give me that jewel. She then seemed to throw around my neck a most
splendid necklace of gold, from which hung a cross of great value.
The stones and gold were so different from any in this world, that
there is nothing wherewith to compare them. The beauty of them is
such as can be conceived by no imagination,--and no understanding can
find out the materials of the robe, nor picture to itself the
splendours which our Lord revealed, in comparison with which all the
splendours of earth, so to say, are a daubing of soot. This beauty,
which I saw in our Lady, was exceedingly grand, though I did not trace
it in any particular feature, but rather in the whole form of her
face. She was clothed in white and her garments shone with excessive
lustre that was not dazzling, but soft. I did not see St. Joseph so distinctly, though I saw clearly
that he was there, as in the visions of which I spoke
before, [12] in which nothing is seen. Our
Lady seemed to be very young.
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. [13] It
left me in the greatest consolation and peace.
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, [14] but at
that time I did not know him, nor did I know what kind of a superior
he might be. It pleased our Lord that he should be as good and
favourable to this house as it was necessary he should be on account
of the great opposition it met with at the beginning, as I shall show
hereafter, [15] and also for the sake of
bringing it to the condition it is now in. Blessed be He who has done
it all! Amen.
1. Ch.
xxi. § 6, ch. xxix. §§
10, 11.
2. Pedro Ibañez. See ch. xxxviii. § 15.
3. 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).
4. Gaspar de Salazar was made rector
of the house in Avila in 1561, therein succeeding Vasquez
(Bollandists, ibid.).
5. St.
Teresa was commanded by our Lord to ask Father Baltasar Alvarez to
make a meditation on Psalm xci. 6: "Quam
magnificata sunt opera Tua." The Saint obeyed, and the
meditation was made. From that moment, as F. Alvarez afterwards told Father de Ribera
(Life of St. Teresa, i. ch.
vii.), there was no further hesitation on the part of the
Saint's confessor.
6. Juana de Ahumada, wife of Juan
de Ovalle.
7. 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).
8. 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).
9. St.
Luke ix. 58: "Filius autem hominis non habet ubi
caput reclinet."
10. Pius IV., on Dec. 5, 1562,
(Bouix). See ch. xxxix.
§ 19.
11. Ch.
xxxii. § 14.
12. See ch. xxvii. § 7.
13. "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.
14. Don Alvaro de Mendoza, Bishop of Avila, afterwards
of Palencia.
15. See ch. xxxvi. § 15; Way of
Perfection, ch. v. § 10; Foundations, ch. xxxi.
§ 1.
The Saint Leaves Her Monastery of the Incarnation for a Time,
at the Command of Her Superior. Consoles an
Afflicted Widow.
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. [1] She was in such extreme affliction,
that fears were entertained about her life. She had heard of me, a
poor sinner,--for our Lord had provided that,--and men spoke well to
her of me, for the sake of other good works which resulted from it.
This lady knew the Provincial well; and as she was a person of some
consideration, and knew that I lived in a monastery the nuns of which
were permitted to go out, our Lord made her desire much to see me.
She thought that my presence would be a consolation to her, and that
she could not be comforted otherwise. She therefore strove by all the
means in her power to get me into her house, sending messages to the
Provincial, who was at a distance far away.
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 had reduced her to great straits. Our Lord must have
done this in answer to the many prayers which the good people of my
acquaintance made for me, that I might prosper in my work. She had a
profound fear of God, and was so good, that her great devotion
supplied my deficiencies. She conceived a great affection for me--I,
too, for her, because of her goodness; but all was as it were a cross
for me; for the comforts of her house were a great torment, and her
making so much of me made me afraid. I kept my soul continually
recollected--I did not dare to be careless: nor was our Lord careless
of me; for while I was there, He bestowed the greatest graces upon me,
and those graces made me so free, and filled me with such contempt for
all I saw,--and the more I saw, the greater my contempt,--that I never
failed to treat those ladies, whom to serve would have been a great
honour for me, with as much freedom as if I had been their equal.
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 lady had very good servants, how slight is
that little trust that may be put in them! One must not be conversed
with more than another; otherwise, he who is so favoured is envied by
the rest. This of itself is a slavery, and one of the lies of the
world is that it calls such persons masters, who, in my eyes, are
nothing else but slaves in a thousand ways.
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, [2] happened to arrive. When I was
at Mass, in a monastery of his Order, near the house in which I was
staying, I felt a longing to know the state of his soul,--for I wished
him to be a great servant of God,--and I rose up in order to go and
speak to him. But as I was then recollected in prayer, it seemed to
me a waste of time--for what had I to do in that matter?--and so I
returned to my place. Three times, I think I did this, and at last my
good angel prevailed over the evil one, and I went and asked for him;
and he came to speak to me in one of the confessionals. We began by
asking one another of our past lives, for we had not seen one another
for many years. I told him that my life had been one in which my soul
had had many trials. He insisted much on my telling him what those
trials were. I said that they were not to be told, and that I was not
to tell them. He replied that the Dominican
father, [3] of whom I have spoken, knew them,
and that, as they were great friends, he could learn them from him,
and so I had better tell them without hesitation.
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, [4] without any difficulty whatever; on
the contrary, it was a great consolation to me; and so I told him all
in confession. He seemed to me then more prudent than ever; though I
had always looked upon him as a man of great understanding. I
considered what high gifts and endowments for great services he had,
if he gave himself wholly unto God. I had this feeling now for many
years, so that I never saw any one who pleased me much without wishing
at once he were given wholly unto God; and sometimes I feel this so
keenly, that I can hardly contain myself. Though I long to see
everybody serve God, yet my desire about those who please me is very
vehement, and so I importune our Lord on their behalf.
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 distance between it and God. That love which I
know His Majesty has for it makes it forget itself, and think itself
to be one with Him; and so, as being one with Him, and not divided
from Him, the soul speaks foolishly. When I had prayed with many
tears that the soul of this religious might serve Him truly,--for,
though I considered it good, it was not enough for me; I would have it
much better,--I remember I said, "O Lord, Thou must not refuse me
this grace; behold him,--he is a fit person to be our friend."
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 [5] that I was
in a state of grace, because a love of God like mine, together with
the graces and feelings with which His Majesty filled my soul, was of
such a nature as to be inconsistent with a state of mortal sin.
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, [6] is what I have always felt the most,
especially when I did not know how that person would take them, nor
whether he would not laugh at me. This placed me in great
difficulties, but at last I was so convinced I ought to do it, that I
believe I made a promise to God I would not neglect that message; and
because of the great shame I felt, I wrote it out, and gave it in that
way. The result showed clearly enough that it was a message from God,
for that religious resolved with great earnestness to give himself to
prayer, though he did not do so at once. Our Lord would have him for
Himself, so He sent me to tell him certain truths which, without my
understanding them, were so much to the purpose that he was
astonished. Our Lord must have prepared him to receive them as from
His Majesty; and though I am but a miserable sinner myself, yet I made
many supplications to our Lord to convert him thoroughly, and to make
him hate the pleasures and the things of this life. And so he
did--blessed be God!--for every time that he spoke to me I was in a
manner beside myself; and if I had not seen it, I should never have
believed that our Lord would have given him in so short a time graces
so matured, and filled him so full of God, that he seemed to be alive
to nothing on earth.
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 has in a short time had great experience in spiritual
things: that is a gift of God, which He gives when He will and as He
will, and it depends not on length of time nor extent of service. I
do not mean that time and service, are not great helps, but very often
our Lord will not give to some in twenty years the grace of
contemplation, while He gives it to others in one,--His Majesty
knoweth why. We are under a delusion when we think that in the course
of years we shall come to the knowledge of that which we can in no way
attain to but by experience; and thus many are in error, as I have
said [7] when they would understand
spirituality without being spiritual themselves. I do not mean that a
man who is not spiritual, if he is learned, may not direct one that is
spiritual; but it must be understood that in outward and inward
things, in the order of nature, the direction must be an act of
reason; and in supernatural things, according to the teaching of the
sacred writings. In other matters, let him not distress himself, nor
think that he can understand that which he understandeth not; neither
let him quench the Spirit; [8] for now another
Master, greater than he, is directing these souls, so that they are
not left without authority over them.
15. He must not be astonished at this, nor
think it impossible: all things are possible to our
Lord; [9] he must strive rather to strengthen
his faith, and humble himself, because in this matter our Lord imparts
perhaps a deeper knowledge to some old woman than to him, though he
may be a very learned man. Being thus humble, he will profit souls
and himself more than if he affected to be a contemplative without
being so; for, I repeat it, if he have no experience, if he have not a
most profound humility, whereby he may see that he does not
understand, and that the thing is not for that reason impossible, he
will do himself but little good, and still less to his penitent. But
if he is humble, let him have no fear that our Lord will allow either
the one or the other to fall into delusion.
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, [10] and also of two other religious of
the Order of St. Dominic, particularly of
one who, to his own profit, has actually learned of our Lord certain
things which I had formerly understood of him. But there were greater
things made known of him to whom I am now referring: one of them I
will now relate.
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 that he sets some value upon it; and if he sets any
value upon it, it is painful to be compelled to give it up. In that
case, everything is imperfect and lost. The saying is to the purpose
here,--he who follows what is lost, is lost himself; and what greater
loss, what greater blindness, what greater calamity, can there be than
making much of that which is nothing!
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 had
saved. He bore it with much joy. He did also other things greatly to
the honour of God, and underwent more persecutions. I do not think it
expedient now to speak further on this point; if, however, you, my
father, who know all, should hereafter think otherwise, more might be
said to the glory of our Lord.
23. All the prophecies spoken of
before, [11] relating to this house, as well
as others, of which I shall speak hereafter, relating to it and to
other matters, have been accomplished. Some of them our Lord revealed
to me three years before they became known, others earlier and others
later. But I always made them known to my confessor, and to the widow
my friend; for I had leave to communicate with her, as I said
before. [12] She, I know, repeated them to
others, and these know that I lie not. May God never permit me, in
any matter whatever,--much more in things of this importance,--to say
anything but the whole truth!
24. One of my
brothers-in-law [13] died suddenly; and as I
was in great distress at this, because he had no opportunity of making
his confession, our Lord said to me in prayer that my sister also was
to die in the same way; that I must go to her, and make her prepare
herself for such an end. I told this to my confessor; but as he would
not let me go, I heard the same warning again; and now, when he saw
this, he told me I might go, and that I should lose nothing by going.
My sister was living in the country; and as I did not tell her why I
came, I gave her what light I could in all things. I made her go
frequently to confession, and look to her soul in everything. She was
very good, and did as I asked her. Four or five years after she had
begun this practice, and keeping a strict watch over her conscience,
she died, with nobody near her, and without being able to go to
confession. This was a blessing to her, for it was little more than a
week since she had been to her accustomed confession. It was a great
joy to me when I heard of her death. She was but a short time
in purgatory.
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!
1. 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. 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.
3. Pedro Ibañez
(Bouix).
4. Ch.
xxxiii. § 11.
5. 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."
6. Ch.
xxxiii. § 12.
7. Ch.
xiv. § 10.
8. 1 Thess. v. 19: "Spiritum nolite extinguere."
9. St.
Matt. xix. 26: "Apud Deum autem omnia
possibilia sunt."
10. F. Gaspar
de Salazar.
11. Ch.
xxvi. § 3.
12. Ch.
xxx. § 3. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa.
13. Don Martin de Guzman y
Barrientos, husband of Maria de Cepeda, the
Saint's sister.
The Foundation of the House of St. Joseph. The Observation of Holy Poverty
Therein. How the Saint Left Toledo.
1. When I was staying with this
lady, [1] already spoken of, in whose house I
remained more than six months, our Lord ordained that a holy
woman [2] of our Order should hear of me, who
was more than seventy leagues away from the place. She happened to
travel this way, and went some leagues out of her road that she might
see me. Our Lord had moved her in the same year, and in the same
month of the year, that He had moved me, to found another monastery of
the Order; and as He had given her this desire, she sold all she
possessed, and went to Rome to obtain the necessary faculties. She
went on foot, and barefooted. She is a woman of great penance and
prayer, and one to whom our Lord gave many graces; and our Lady
appeared to her, and commanded her to undertake this work. Her
progress in the service of our Lord was so much greater than mine,
that I was ashamed to stand in her presence. She showed me Briefs she
brought from Rome, and during the fortnight she remained with me we
laid our plan for the founding of these monasteries.
2. Until I spoke to her, I never knew that our
rule, before it was mitigated, required of us that we should possess
nothing; [3] nor was I going to found a
monastery without revenue, [4] for my intention
was that we should be without anxiety about all that was necessary for
us, and I did not think of the many anxieties which the possession of
property brings in its train. This holy woman, taught of our Lord,
perfectly understood--though she could not read--what I was ignorant
of, notwithstanding my having read the
Constitutions [5] so often; and when she told
me of it, I thought it right, though I feared they would never consent
to this, but would tell me I was committing follies, and that I ought
not to do anything whereby I might bring suffering upon others. If
this concerned only myself, nothing should have kept me back,--on the
contrary, it would have been my great joy to think that I was
observing the counsels of Christ our Lord; for His Majesty had already
given me great longings for poverty. [6]
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 Dominican friar [7] who was
helping us, and he sent back two sheets by way of reply, full of
objections and theology against my plan, telling me that he had
thought much on the subject. I answered that, in order to escape from
my vocation, the vow of poverty I had made, and the perfect observance
of the counsels of Christ, I did not want any theology to help me, and
in this case I should not thank him for his learning. If I found any
one who would help me, it pleased me much. The lady in whose house I
was staying was a great help to me in this matter. Some at first told
me that they agreed with me; afterwards, when they had considered the
matter longer, they found in it so many inconveniences that they
insisted on my giving it up. I told them that, though they changed
their opinion so quickly, I would abide by the first.
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] I
never feared myself. Our Lord changed the dispositions also of the
licentiate,--I am speaking of the Dominican
friar, [9]--who, as I said, wrote to me that I
should not found the monastery without an endowment. Now, I was in
the greatest joy at hearing this; and having these opinions in my
favour, it seemed to me nothing less than the possession of all the
wealth of the world, when I had resolved to live in poverty for the
love of God.
8. At this time, my Provincial withdrew the
order and the obedience, in virtue of which I was staying in that
house. [10] He left it to me to do as I
liked: if I wished to return I might do so; if I wished to remain I
might also do so for a certain time. But during that time the
elections in my monastery [11] would take
place and I was told that many of the nuns wished to lay on me the
burden of superiorship. The very thought of this alone was a great
torment to me; for though I was resolved to undergo readily any kind
of martyrdom for God, I could not persuade myself at all to accept
this; for, putting aside the great trouble it involved,--because the
nuns were so many,--and other reasons, such as that I never wished for
it, nor for any other office,--on the contrary, had always refused
them,--it seemed to me that my conscience would be in great danger;
and so I praised God that I was not then in my convent. I wrote to my
friends and asked them not to vote for me.
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 would be at all good for my soul--nor could I see any
means by which it would be. I told my confessor of it, and he
commanded me to return at once: that to do so was clearly the most
perfect way; and that, because the heat was very great,--it would be
enough if I arrived before the election,--I might wait a few days, in
order that my journey might do me no harm.
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]
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
matter in the affairs of this holy house, that I know not how they
would have been settled if I had waited. Oh, God is great! I am
often lost in wonder when I consider and see the special help which
His Majesty gave me towards the establishment of this little cell of
God,--for such I believe it to be,--the lodging wherein His Majesty
delights; for once, when I was in prayer, He told me that this house
was the paradise of his delight. [13] It
seems, then, that His Majesty has chosen these whom he has drawn
hither, among whom I am living very much ashamed of
myself. [14] I could not have even wished for
souls such as they are for the purpose of this house, where enclosure,
poverty, and prayer are so strictly observed; they submit with so much
joy and contentment, that every one of them thinks herself unworthy of
the grace of being received into it,--some of them particularly; for
our Lord has called them out of the vanity and dissipation of the
world, in which, according to its laws, they might have lived
contented. Our Lord has multiplied their joy, so that they see
clearly how He had given them a hundredfold for the one thing they
have left, [15] and for which they cannot
thank His Majesty enough. Others He has advanced from well to better.
To the young He gives courage and knowledge, so that they may desire
nothing else, and also to understand that to live away from all things
in this life is to live in greater peace even here below. To those
who are no longer young, and whose health is weak, He gives--and has
given--the strength to undergo the same austerities and penance with
all the others.
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 but of loving Thee
[16] in earnest, and really giving up
everything for Thee, in order that Thou, O my Lord, might make
everything easy. It is well said that Thou feignest to make Thy law
difficult: [17] I do not see it, nor do I
feel that the way that leadeth unto Thee is narrow. I see it as a
royal road, and not a pathway; a road upon which whosoever really
enters, travels most securely. No mountain passes and no cliffs are
near it: these are the occasions of sin. I call that a pass,--a
dangerous pass,--and a narrow road, which has on one side a deep
hollow, into which one stumbles, and on the other a precipice, over
which they who are careless fall, and are dashed to pieces. He who
loves Thee, O my God, travels safely by the open and royal road, far
away from the precipice: he has scarcely stumbled at all, when Thou
stretchest forth Thy hand to save him. One fall--yea, many falls--if
he does but love Thee, and not the things of the world, are not enough
to make him perish; he travels in the valley of humility. I cannot
understand what it is that makes men afraid of the way
of perfection.
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 no fear that the Sun of justice will ever set, or suffer us
to travel to our ruin by night, unless we first look away from Him.
People are not afraid of living in the midst of lions, every one of
whom seems eager to tear them: I am speaking of honours, pleasures,
and the like joys, as the world calls them: and herein the devil seems
to make us afraid of ghosts. I am astonished a thousand times, and
ten thousand times would I relieve myself by weeping, and proclaim
aloud my own great blindness and wickedness, if, perchance, it might
help in some measure to open their eyes. May He, who is almighty, of
His goodness open their eyes, and never suffer mine to be
blind again!
1. Doña Luisa de
la Cerda.
2. 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.
3. The sixth chapter of the rule is:
"Nullus fratrum sibi aliquid proprium, esse dicat,
sed sint vobis omnia communia."
4. See ch. xxxii. § 13.
5. 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).
6. See Relation, i.
§ 10.
7. F. Pedro Ibañez.
8. Ch.
xi. § 3.
9. F. Pedro Ibañez.
10. The house of Doña Luisa,
in Toledo.
11. The monastery of the
Incarnation, Avila.
12. 2 Cor. xii. 9: "Virtus in
infirmitate perficitur."
13. See Way of
Perfection, ch. xxii.; but ch. xiii. ed. Doblado.
14. See Foundations,
ch. I, § 1.
15. St.
Matt. xix. 29: "Et omnis qui reliquerit
domum . . . propter nomen Meum, centuplum accipiet, et vitam
æternam possidebit."
16. 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).
17. Psalm xciii. 20: "Qui fingis laborem in præcepto."
The Foundation of the Monastery of St. Joseph. Persecution and Temptations. Great
Interior Trial of the Saint, and Her Deliverance.
1. Having now left that
city, [1] I travelled in great joy, resolved
to suffer most willingly whatever our Lord might be pleased to lay
upon me. On the night of my arrival here, [2]
came also from Rome the commission and the Brief for the erection of
the monastery. [3] I was astonished myself,
and so were those who knew how our Lord hastened my coming, when they
saw how necessary it was, and in what a moment our Lord had brought me
back. [4] I found here the Bishop and the
holy friar, [5] Peter of Alcantara, and that
nobleman, [6] the great servant of God, in
whose house the holy man was staying; for he was a man who was in the
habit of receiving the servants of God in his house. These two
prevailed on the Bishop to accept the monastery, which was no small
thing, because it was founded in poverty; but he was so great a lover
of those whom he saw determined to serve our Lord, that he was
immediately drawn to give them His protection. It was the approbation
of the holy old man, [7] and the great trouble
he took to make now this one, now that one, help us, that did the
whole work. If I had not come at the moment, as I have just said, I
do not see how it could have been done; for the holy man was here but
a short time,--I think not quite eight days,--during which he was also
ill; and almost immediately afterwards our Lord took him to
Himself. [8] It seems as if His Majesty
reserved him till this affair was ended, because now for some time--I
think for more than two years--he had been very ill.
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 [9] should be ill, and his wife
away, and himself in such straits that my superiors gave me leave to
remain with him. Nothing, therefore, was found out, though some
persons had their suspicions;--still, they did not believe. It was
very wonderful, for his illness lasted only no longer than was
necessary for our affair; and when it was necessary he should recover
his health, that I might be disengaged, and he leave the house empty,
our Lord restored him; and he was astonished at
it himself. [10]
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, [11] for we
thought it best she should be away, in order the better to hide our
purpose. I saw that everything depended on haste, for many, reasons,
one of which was that I was afraid I might be ordered back to my
monastery at any moment. I was troubled by so many things, that I
suspected my cross had been sent me, though it seemed but a light one
in comparison with that which I understood our Lord meant me
to carry.
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. [12] With full sanction and authority,
then, our monastery of our most glorious father St. Joseph was founded in the year
1562. [13] I was there myself to give the
habit, with two nuns [14] of the house to
which we belonged, who happened then to be absent from it. As the
house which thus became a monastery was that of my brother-in-law--I
said before [15] that he had bought it, for
the purpose of concealing our plan--I was there myself with the
permission of my superiors; and I 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, [16] in all peace
and contentment.
5. I felt as if I were in bliss, when I saw the
most Holy Sacrament reserved, with four poor
orphans, [17]--for they were received without
a dowry,--and great servants of God, established in the house. It was
our aim from the beginning to receive only those who, by their
example, might be the foundation on which we could build up what we
had in view--great perfection and prayer--and effect a work which I
believed to be for the service of our Lord, and to the honour of the
habit of His glorious Mother. This was my anxiety. It was also a
great consolation to me that I had done that which our Lord had so
often commanded me to do, and that there was one church more in this
city dedicated to my glorious father St. Joseph. Not that I thought I had done
anything myself, for I have never thought so, and do not think so even
now; I always looked upon it as the work of our Lord. My part in it
was so full of imperfections, that I look upon myself rather as a
person in fault than as one to whom any thanks are due. But it was a
great joy to me when I saw His Majesty make use of me, who am so
worthless, as His instrument in so grand a work. I was therefore in
great joy,--so much so, that I was, as it were, beside myself, lost
in prayer.
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 [18] without telling him of it
beforehand; though, as he would not acknowledge the monastery himself,
and as I had not changed mine, it seemed to me that perhaps he would
not care much about the matter. Satan also suggested whether the nuns
would be contented to live in so strict a house, whether they could
always find food, whether I had not done a silly thing, and what had I
to do with it, when I was already in a monastery? All our Lord had
said to me, all the opinions I had heard, and all the prayers which
had been almost uninterrupted for more than two years, were completely
blotted out of my memory, just as if they had never been. The only
thing I remembered was my own opinion; and every virtue, with faith
itself, was then suspended within me, so that I was without strength
to practise any one of them, or to defend myself against so
many blows.
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 I am a nun--no, not for an
instant--during more than twenty-eight years of religion, I believe
that our Lord suffered me to be thus tempted, that I might understand
how great a mercy He had shown me herein, and from what torment He had
delivered me, and that if I saw any one in like trouble I might not be
alarmed at it, but have pity on her, and be able to console her.
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, [19] and there was some
apparent ground for it. The prioress [20]
sent for me to come to her immediately. When I received the order, I
went at once, leaving the nuns in great distress. I saw clearly
enough that there were troubles before me; but as the work was really
done, I did not care much for that. I prayed and implored our Lord to
help me, and my father St. Joseph to bring
me back to his house. I offered up to him all I was to suffer,
rejoicing greatly that I had the opportunity of suffering for his
honour and of doing him service. I went persuaded that I should be
put in prison at once but this would have been a great comfort,
because I should have nobody to speak to, and might have some rest and
solitude, of which I was in great need; for so much intercourse with
people had worn me out.
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 [21]--he was of the
Order of St. Dominic, and objected, not to
the monastery itself, but to the foundation of it in poverty--said
that there was no reason why it should be thus dissolved, that the
matter ought to be well considered, that there was time enough, that
it was the affair of the bishop, with other things of that kind. This
was of great service to us, for they were angry enough to proceed to
its destruction at once, and it was fortunate they did not. In short,
the monastery must exist; our Lord was pleased to have it, and all of
them could do nothing against His will. They gave their reasons, and
showed their zeal for good, and thus, without offending God, made me
suffer together with all those who were in favour of the monastery;
there were not many, but they suffered much persecution. The
inhabitants were so excited, that they talked of nothing else; every
one condemned me, and hurried to the Provincial and to
my monastery.
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 my side in the matter; and at once I looked upon it
as safe. [22]
18. A very great servant of God, and a lover
of all perfection, a priest [23] who had
helped me always, went to the court on this business, and took great
pains. That holy nobleman [24] of whom I have
often spoken laboured much on our behalf, and helped us in every way.
He had much trouble and persecution to endure, and I always found a
father in him, and do so still. All those who helped us, our Lord
filled with such fervour as made them consider our affair as their
own, as if their own life and reputation were at stake; and yet it was
nothing to them, except in so far as it regarded the service of our
Lord. His Majesty visibly helped the priest I have spoken of
before, [25] who was also one of those who
gave us great help when the Bishop sent him as his representative to
one of the great meetings. There he stood alone against all; at last
he pacified them by means of certain propositions, which obtained us a
little respite. But that was not enough; for they were ready to spend
their lives, if they could but destroy the monastery. This servant of
God was he who gave the habit and reserved the most Holy Sacrament,
and he was the object of much persecution. This attack lasted about
six months: to relate in detail the heavy trials we passed through
would be too tedious.
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 there was so much in it, that they opposed us with
a good conscience. At last they resolved they would tolerate us if we
were endowed, and in consideration of that would suffer us to remain.
I was so distressed at the trouble of all those who were on our
side--more than at my own--that I thought it would not be amiss, till
the people were pacified, to accept an endowment, but afterwards to
resign it. At other times, too, wicked and imperfect as I am, I
thought that perhaps our Lord wished it to be so, seeing that, without
accepting it, we could not succeed; and so I consented to
the compromise.
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. [26] But he had written to me before
his death--for he knew the great opposition and persecution we had to
bear--that he was glad the foundation was so much spoken against; it
was a sign that our Lord would be exceedingly honoured in the
monastery, seeing that Satan was so earnest against it; and that I was
by no means to consent to an endowment. He urged this upon me twice
or thrice in that letter, and said that if I persisted in this
everything would succeed according to my wish.
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, in that it had
obtained so great a reward. But, as I think I have spoken of this
before, [27] I will now say no more than that
he showed himself severe on this occasion: he merely said that I was
on no account to accept an endowment, and asked why it was I did not
take his advice. He then disappeared. I remained in astonishment,
and the next day told the nobleman--for I went to him in all my
trouble, as to one who did more than others for us in the
matter,--what had taken place, and charged him not to consent to the
endowment, but to let the lawsuit go on. He was more firm on this
point than I was, and was therefore greatly pleased; he told me
afterwards how much he disliked the compromise.
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 [28] who helped us, exerted himself most
skilfully on our behalf. Though not here at the time, our Lord
brought him here at a most convenient moment for our service, and it
seems that His Majesty brought him for that purpose only. He told me
afterwards that he had no reasons for coming, and that he heard of our
affair as if by chance. 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 [29]--such a permission seemed
impossible in so short a time for the performance of the Divine
Office--and the training of those who were in this house: the day of
our coming was a most joyful day
for me. [30]
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 our part, without begging of any one, our Lord
moves them to, succour us; and so we always have what is necessary for
us, and I trust in our Lord it will always be
so. [31] As the sisters are few in number, if
they do their duty as our Lord at present by His grace enables them to
do, I am confident that they will always have it, and that they need
not be a burden nor troublesome to anybody; for our Lord will care for
them, as He has hitherto done.
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, [32]--yet
the sisters think it light on many points, and so they have other
observances, which we have thought necessary for the more perfect
keeping of it. And I trust in our Lord that what we have begun will
prosper more and more, according to the promise of His Majesty.
29. The other house, which the holy woman of
whom I spoke before [33] laboured to
establish, has been also blessed of our Lord, and is founded in
Alcala: it did not escape serious opposition, nor fail to endure many
trials. I know that all duties of religion are observed in it,
according to our primitive rule. Our Lord grant that all may be to
the praise and glory of Himself and of the glorious Virgin Mary, whose
habit we wear. Amen.
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 with so much
sweetness: it is most evident that the observance of it is easy, and
that it can be kept with ease, by the arrangement made for those who
long to be alone with their Bridegroom Christ, in order to live for
ever in Him.
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.
1. Toledo.
2. Avila. In the beginning of
June, 1562.
3. See ch. xxxiv. § 2. The Brief was dated
Feb. 7, 1562, the third year of Pius IV. (De
la Fuente).
4. The Brief was addressed to Doña
Aldonza de Guzman, and to Doña Guiomar de Ulloa,
her daughter.
5. Don Alvaro de Mendoza (De
la Fuente).
6. Don Francisco
de Salcedo.
7. 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).
8. 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.
9. Don Juan de Ovalle.
10. 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).
11. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa was now in
her native place, Ciudad Toro.
12. The Mass was said by Gaspar
Daza. See infra, § 18;
Reforma, i. c. xlvi. § 3.
13. 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).
14. 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).
15. Ch.
xxxiii. § 13.
16. Ch.
xxxiii. § 3.
17. 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).
18. See Foundations,
ch. ii. § 1, and ch. xxxi, § 1.
19. Ch.
xxxiii. §§ 1, 2.
20. Of the Incarnation.
21. 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.
22. See Ch. xxxix. § 25.
23. Gonzalo de Aranda (De
la Fuente).
24. Don Francisco de
Salcedo (ibid.).
25. Ch.
xxiii. § 6; Gaspar Daza (ibid.).
26. He died Oct.
18, 1562.
27. Ch.
xxvii. § 21.
28. "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.
29. 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.
30. Mid-Lent of 1563.
31. See Way of
Perfection, ch. ii.
32. "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.
33. 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).
The Effects of the Divine Graces in the Soul. The Inestimable
Greatness of One Degree of Glory.
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 to our Lord, who has commanded me to do
it, [1] and you, my fathers, I will speak of
some of them to His glory. May it please His Majesty it may be to the
profit of some soul! For if our Lord has been thus gracious to
so--miserable a thing as myself, what will He be to those who shall
serve Him truly? Let all people resolve to please His Majesty, seeing
that He gives such pledges as these even in
this life. [2]
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 wish that I myself
observed no measure in serving His Majesty, and in using my whole life
and strength and health therein; and I would not have any fault of
mine rob me of the slightest degree of fruition.
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 slight
degree of fruition in the contemplation of the greatness of God; for I
know that he who understands Him best, loves Him and praises Him best.
I do not mean that I should not be satisfied, and consider myself most
blessed, to be in heaven, even if I should be in the lowest place; for
as I am one who had that place in hell, it would be a great mercy of
our Lord to admit me at all; and may it please His Majesty to bring me
thither, and take away His eyes from beholding my grievous sins. What
I mean is this,--if it were in my power, even if it cost me
everything, and our Lord gave me the grace to endure much affliction,
I would not through any fault of mine lose one degree of glory. Ah,
wretched that I am, who by so many faults had forfeited all!
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 [4] of our Lord, I never saw any one
who in comparison with Him seemed even endurable, or that could occupy
my thoughts. For if I but turn mine eyes inwardly for a moment to the
contemplation of the image which I have within me, I find myself so
free, that from that instant everything I see is loathsome in
comparison with the excellences and graces of which I had a vision in
our Lord. Neither is there any sweetness, nor any kind of pleasure,
which I can make any account of, compared with that which comes from
hearing but one word from His divine mouth. What, then, must it be
when I hear so many? I look upon it as impossible--unless our Lord,
for my sins, should permit the loss of this remembrance--that I should
have the power to occupy myself with anything in such a way as that I
should not instantly recover my liberty by thinking of our Lord.
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. [5] They, on the
other hand, servants of God, and fearing Him, were afraid that I was
attaching and binding myself too much to them, though in a holy way,
and treated me with rudeness. This took place after I had become so
ready to obey them; for before that time I had no affection whatever
for them. I used to laugh to myself, when I saw how much they were
deceived. Though I was not always putting before them how little I
was attached to anybody, as clearly as I was convinced of it myself,
yet I did assure them of it; and they, in their further relations with
me, acknowledged how much I owed to our Lord in the matter. These
suspicions of me always arose in the beginning.
7. My love of, and trust in, our Lord, after I
had seen Him in a vision, began to grow, for my converse with Him was
so continual. I saw that, though He was God, He was man also; that He
is not surprised at the frailties of men, that He understands our
miserable nature, liable to fall continually, because of the first
sin, for the reparation of which He had come. I could speak to Him as
to a friend, though He is my Lord, because I do not consider Him as
one of our earthly Lords, who affect a power they do not possess, who
give audience at fixed hours, and to whom only certain persons may
speak. If a poor man have any business with these, it will cost him
many goings and comings, and currying favour with others, together
with much pain and labour before he can speak to them. Ah, if such a
one has business with a king! Poor people, not of gentle blood,
cannot approach him, for they must apply to those who are his friends,
and certainly these are not persons who tread the world under their
feet; for they who do this speak the truth, fear nothing, and ought to
fear nothing; they are not courtiers, because it is not the custom of
a court, where they must be silent about those things they dislike,
must not even dare to think about them, lest they should fall
into disgrace.
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 semblance of
power is not in themselves, and their authority must come to them
from others.
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, [6] the will
of our Lord is that the soul should be in darkness, and not see this
light. It is, therefore, nothing to be wondered at that I, knowing
myself to be so wicked as I am, should be afraid.
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. [7] The soul sees clearly that God is not
away from it in this state, and that it is not in those great
tribulations which I have spoken of as being occasionally mine.
Though it heaps up fuel, and does the little it can do of itself, it
cannot make the fire of the love of God burn: it is a great mercy that
even the smoke is visible, showing that it is not altogether quenched.
Our Lord will return and kindle it; and until then the soul--though it
may lose its breath in blowing and arranging the fuel--seems to be
doing nothing but putting it out more and more.
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 [8]--to
something else which is meritorious. Our Lord, it may be, takes away
from the soul the power of praying, that it may betake itself to
something else, and learn by experience how little it can do in its
own strength.
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 with all the sense I have that I make these complaints, and
our Lord bears it all. Blessed be so good a King!
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 saint may have said that they ought to be courts to teach
those who wish to be the courtiers of heaven, and that these people
misunderstood their meaning; for if a man be careful to please God
continually, and to hate the world, as he ought to do, I do not see
how he can be equally careful to please those who live in the world in
these matters which are continually changing. If they could be learnt
once for all, it might be borne with: but as to the way of addressing
letters, there ought to be a professor's chair founded, from which
lectures should be given, so to speak, teaching us how to do it; for
the paper should on one occasion be left blank in one corner, and on
another in another corner; and a man must be addressed as the
illustrious who was not hitherto addressed as the magnificent.
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.
1. 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. Ephes. i. 14: "Pignus hæreditatis nostræ."
3. St.
John iii. 34: "Non enim ad mensuram dat
Deus spiritum."
4. Ch.
xxviii. §§ 1-5.
5. See ch. xl. § 24; Way of
Perfection, ch. vii. § 1; but ch. iv. of the
previous editions.
6. See ch. xx. § 14.
7. See ch. xxx. § 19.
8. See ch. xxx. §§ 18, 25.
Certain Heavenly Secrets, Visions, and Revelations. The
Effects of Them in Her Soul.
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 that I had not
returned to consciousness, because of an abiding sense of contempt for
everything here below; all seemed to be filth; and I see how meanly we
employ ourselves who are detained on earth.
5. When I was staying with that lady of whom I
have been speaking, [1] it happened to me once
when I was suffering from my heart,--for, as I have
said, [2] I suffered greatly at one time,
though not so much now,--that she, being a person of great charity,
brought out her jewels set in gold, and precious stones of great
price, and particularly a diamond, which she valued very much. She
thought this might amuse me; but I laughed to myself, and was very
sorry to see what men made much of; for I thought of what our Lord had
laid up for us, and considered how impossible it was for me, even if I
made the effort, to have any appreciation whatever of such things,
provided our Lord did not permit me to forget what He was keeping
for us.
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 account is to be made; for they who
love God in truth, and are utterly detached from the things of this
life, must die with the greater sweetness.
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; [3] it is a great thing to see what is
going on there and to know where we have to live; for if a person has
to go and settle in another country, it is a great help to him, in
undergoing the fatigues of his journey, that he has discovered it to
be a country where he may live in the most perfect peace. Moreover,
it makes it easy for us to think of the things of heaven, and to have
our conversation there. [4] It is a great
gain, because the mere looking up to heaven makes the soul
recollected; for as our Lord has been pleased to reveal heaven in some
degree, my soul dwells upon it in thought; and it happens occasionally
that they who are about me, and with whom I find consolation, are
those whom I know to be living in heaven, and that I look upon them
only as really alive; while those who are on earth are so dead, that
the whole world seems unable to furnish me with companions,
particularly when these impetuosities of love are upon me. Everything
seems a dream, and what I see with the bodily eyes an illusion. What
I have seen with the eyes of the soul is that which my soul desires;
and as it finds itself far away from those things, that is death.
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 ever and ever! I implore
His Majesty by that Blood which His Son shed for me, now that, of His
good pleasure, I know something of these great blessings, and begin to
have the fruition of them, that it may not be with me as it was with
Lucifer, who by his own fault forfeited it all. I beseech Thee, for
Thine own sake, not to suffer this; for I am at times in great fear,
though at others, and most frequently, the mercy of God reassures me,
for He who has delivered me from so many sins will not withdraw His
hand from under me, and let me be lost. I pray you, my father, to beg
this grace for me always.
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; [5] and reading of the marks by
which beginners, proficients, and the perfect may know that they have
the Holy Ghost, it seemed to me, when I had read of these three
states, that by the goodness of God, so far as I could understand, the
Holy Ghost was with me. I praised God for it; and calling to mind how
on another occasion, when I read this, I was very deficient,--for I
saw most distinctly at that time how deficient I was then from what I
saw I was now,--I recognised herein the great mercy of our Lord to me,
and so began to consider the place which my sins had earned for me in
hell, and praised God exceedingly, because it seemed as if I did not
know my own soul again, so great a change had come over it.
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 of exceeding whiteness on that Licentiate of the same Order, of
whom I have made mention more than once. [6]
She told me that she gave him that cope in consideration of the
service he had rendered her by helping to found this
house, [7] that it was a sign that she would
preserve his soul pure for the future, and that he should not fall
into mortal sin. I hold it for certain that so it came to pass, for he
died within a few years; his death and the rest of his life were so
penitential, his whole life and death so holy, that, so far as
anything can be known, there cannot be a doubt on the subject. One of
the friars present at his death told me that, before he breathed his
last, he said to him that St. Thomas was
with him. [8] He died in great joy, longing
to depart out of this land of exile.
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; [9] but I will not say anything of them
now, lest I should be too tedious. It was his lot once to be in great
trouble, to suffer great persecution and distress. One day, when I
was hearing Mass, I saw Christ on the Cross at the elevation of the
Host. He spoke certain words to me, which I was to repeat to that
father for his comfort, together with others, which were to warn him
beforehand of what was coming, and to remind him of what He had
suffered on his behalf, and that he must prepare for suffering. This
gave him great consolation and courage; and everything came to pass
afterwards as our Lord had told me.
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 I used to think it an honourable thing to go against His honour;
and, again, to remember my debt to Him, for when I was most rebellious
He was bestowing His graces upon me. If I am doing anything
wrong--and my wrong-doings are many--His Majesty makes me see it in
such a way that I am utterly confounded; and as I do so often, that
happens often also. I have been found fault with by my confessors
occasionally; and on betaking myself to prayer for consolation, have
received a real reprimand.
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. [10] I had a vision of the most Sacred
Humanity in exceeding glory, greater than I had ever seen It in
before. I beheld It in a wonderful and clear way in the bosom of the
Father. I cannot tell how it was, for I saw myself, without seeing,
as it seemed to me, in the presence of God. My amazement was such
that I remained, as I believe, some days before I could recover
myself. I had continually before me, as present, the Majesty of the
Son of God, though not so distinctly as in the vision. I understood
this well enough; but the vision remained so impressed on my
imagination, that I could not get rid of it for some time, though it
had lasted but a moment; it is a great comfort to me, and also a
great blessing.
23. I have had this vision on three other
occasions, and it is, I think, the highest vision of all the visions
which our Lord in His mercy showed me. The fruits of it are the very
greatest, for it seems to purify the soul in a wonderful way, and
destroy, as it were utterly, altogether the strength of our sensual
nature. It is a grand flame of fire, which seems to burn up and
annihilate all the desires of this life. For though now--glory be to
God!--I had no desire after vanities, I saw clearly in the vision how
all things are vanity, and how hollow are all the dignities of earth;
it was a great lesson, teaching me to raise up my desires to the Truth
alone. It impresses on the soul a sense of the presence of God such
as I cannot in any way describe, only it is very different from that
which it is in our own power to acquire on earth. It fills the soul
with profound astonishment at its own daring, and at any one else
being able to dare to offend His most awful Majesty.
24. I must have spoken now and then of the
effects of visions, [11] and of other matters
of the same kind, and I have already said that the blessings they
bring with them are of various degrees; but those of this vision are
the highest of all. When I went to Communion once I called to mind the
exceeding great majesty of Him I had seen, and considered that it was
He who is present in the most Holy Sacrament, and very often our Lord
was pleased to show Himself to me in the Host; the very hairs on my
head stood, [12] and I thought I should come
to nothing.
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
in Thy service. Ah! I know not what I am saying, for I am writing
this as if the words were not mine, [13]
because I am troubled, and in some measure beside myself, when I call
these things to remembrance. If these thoughts were really mine, I
might well say that I had done something for Thee, O my Lord; but as I
can have no good thought if Thou givest it not, no thanks are due to
me; I am the debtor, O Lord, and it is Thou who art the
offended One.
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, [14]
held in the hands of that priest, in the Host he was about to give me.
It was plain that those hands were those of a sinner, and I felt that
the soul of that priest was in mortal sin. What must it be, O my
Lord, to look upon Thy beauty amid shapes so hideous! The two devils
were so frightened and cowed in Thy presence, that they seemed as if
they would have willingly run away, hadst Thou but given them leave.
So troubled was I by the vision, that I knew not how I could go to
Communion. I was also in great fear, for I thought, if the vision was
from God, that His Majesty would not have allowed me to see the evil
state of that soul. [15]
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 in the very
hands of His enemy, for my good and for the good of all. I understood
clearly how the priests are under greater obligations to be holy than
other persons; and what a horrible thing it is to receive this most
Holy Sacrament unworthily, and how great is the devil's dominion over
a soul in mortal sin. It did me a great service, and made me fully
understand what I owe to God. May He be blessed for evermore!
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 many persons were distressed at it, for he was very
much beloved. So greatly comforted was my soul, that nothing disturbed
it, neither could I doubt the truth of the vision; I mean that it was
no illusion.
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; [16] it is not less certain,
however, than the other visions I had.
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,--she had been dead about
four hours,--I saw her rise in the same place and ascend
to heaven.
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, [17] I occasionally had, and still
have, both in soul and body, and then so grievously that I was not
able, as it seemed to me, to have even one good thought. The night
before, one of the brothers of that house had died in it; and I, as
well as I could, was commending his soul to God, and hearing the Mass
which another father of that Society was saying for him when I became
recollected at once, and saw him go up to heaven in great glory, and
our Lord with him. I understood that His Majesty went with him by way
of special grace.
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, [18] there is no
necessity for it, though our Lord has been so gracious to me as to
show me much. But in all the visions I had, I saw no souls escape
purgatory except this Carmelite father, the holy friar Peter of
Alcantara, and that Dominican father of whom I spoke
before. [19] It pleased our Lord to let me
see the degree of glory to which some souls have been raised, showing
them to me in the places they occupy. There is a great difference
between one place and another.
1. Ch.
xxxiv. Doña Luisa de la Cerda, at Toledo.
2. Ch. iv.
§ 6.
3. 1 St.
Peter ii. 11: "Advenas
et peregrinos."
4. Philipp. iii. 20: "Nostra autem conversatio in
coelis est."
5. The Life of Christ,
by Ludolf of Saxony.
6. 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).
7. St.
Joseph, Avila, where St. Teresa was living
at this time.
8. See below, § 41.
9. 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.
10. 2 Cor. xii. 2: "Sive in corpore nescio, sive extra
corpus nescio."
11. See ch.
xxviii.
12. Job iv. 15: "Inhorruerunt pili carnis meæ."
13. 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).
14. § 22.
15. St.
John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,
bk. ii. ch. xxvi. vol. i. p. 183.
16. See ch.
xxvii.
17. Ch.
xxx. § 9.
18. § 34.
19. § 15. Fr.
Pedro Ibañez.
Other Graces Bestowed on the Saint. The Promises of Our Lord
to Her. Divine Locutions and Visions.
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 through for two months
was beyond all endurance; and his pain was so great that he tore his
own flesh. My confessor, the rector of whom I have
spoken, [1] went to see him; he was very sorry
for him, and told me that I must anyhow go myself and visit him; he
was one whom I might visit, for he was my kinsman. I went, and was
moved to such a tender compassion for him that I began, with the
utmost importunity, to ask our Lord to restore him to health. Herein
I saw clearly how gracious our Lord was to me, so far as I could
judge; for immediately, the next day, he was completely rid of
that pain.
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. [2] My whole body trembled, for it
made me afraid. I wished to understand what was said, but I could
not, for it all passed away in a moment.
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 granted; and
so it was; and I was freed from my anxieties about a matter not yet
accomplished, as it afterwards was, as completely as if I saw it done.
I told my confessors of it, for I had two at this time, both of them
learned men, and great servants of God.
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 me no pain to think so. I bless His Majesty, and abase myself,
because I am still more deeply in His debt; and I believe that He
makes my desire to serve Him grow, and my love revive.
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. [3]
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 to live,--though there be other
reasons also,--because I do not live according to the obligations
which bind me to Thee. What imperfections I trace in myself! what
remissness in Thy service! Certainly, I could wish occasionally I had
no sense, that I might be unconscious of the great evil that is in me.
May He who can do all things help me!
11. When I was staying in the house of that
lady of whom I have spoken before, [4] it was
necessary for me to be very watchful over myself, and keep continually
in mind the intrinsic vanity of all the things of this life, because
of the great esteem I was held in, and of the praises bestowed on me.
There was much there to which I might have become attached, if I had
looked only to myself; but I looked to Him who sees things as they
really are, not to let me go out of His hand. Now that I speak of
seeing things as they really are, I remember how great a trial it is
for those to whom God has granted a true insight into the things of
earth to have to discuss them with others. They wear so many
disguises, as our Lord once told me,--and much of what I am saying of
them is not from myself, but rather what my Heavenly Master has taught
me; and therefore, in speaking of them, when I say distinctly I
understood this, or our Lord told me this, I am very scrupulous
neither to add nor to take away one single syllable; so, when I do not
clearly remember everything exactly, that must be taken as coming from
myself, and some things, perhaps, are so altogether. I do not call
mine that which is good, for I know there is no other good in me but
only that which our Lord gave me when I was so far from deserving it:
I call that mine which I speak without having had it made known to me
by revelation.
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 from their true meaning? We
think we may measure our progress by the years which we have given to
the exercise of prayer; we even think we can prescribe limits to Him
who bestows His gifts not by measure [5] when
He wills, and who in six months can give to one more than to another
in many years. This is a fact which I have so frequently observed in
many persons, that I am surprised how any of us can deny it.
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 myself before God!
What His Majesty has not been able to accomplish in me in so many
years,--it is long ago since I began to pray, and He to bestow His
graces upon me,--He accomplished in them in three months, and in some
of them even in three days, though he gives them much fewer graces
than He gave to me: and yet His Majesty rewards them well; most
assuredly they are not sorry for what they have done for Him.
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; [6] and I was comforting
myself at seeing the whole affair concluded, and thinking of all the
trouble I had had, and giving thanks to our Lord for having been
pleased to make some use of me,--it happened that I began to consider
all that we had gone through. Well, so it was; in every one of my
actions, which I thought were of some service, I traced so many faults
and imperfections, now and then but little courage, very frequently a
want of faith; for until this moment, when I see everything
accomplished, I never absolutely believed; neither, however, on the
other hand, could I doubt what our Lord said to me about the
foundation of this house. I cannot tell how it was; very often the
matter seemed to me, on the one hand, impossible; and, on the other
hand, I could not be in doubt; I mean, I could not believe that it
would not be accomplished. In short, I find that our Lord Himself, on
His part, did all the good that was done, while I did all the evil. I
therefore ceased to think of the matter, and wished never to be
reminded of it again, lest I should do myself some harm by dwelling on
my many faults. Blessed be He who, when He pleases, draws good out of
all my failings! Amen.
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 great
boldness, for I, who have very little humility, have never ventured
upon it. It may be that I never asked for it, because I had never
served Him; perhaps, if I had served Him, I should have been more
importunate than all others with our Lord for my reward.
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. [7]
24. I have sat down so often to write, and
have been so many days writing these three leaves,--for, as I have
said, [8] I had, and have still, but few
opportunities,--that I forgot what I had begun with, namely, the
following vision. [9]
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 exposing myself to the
hazard of death, and I was alone, without any one to take my part. In
this my distress of mind, not knowing what to do, I lifted up my eyes
to heaven, and saw Christ, not in heaven, but high above me in the
air, holding out His hand to me, and there protecting me in such a way
that I was no longer afraid of all that multitude, neither could they,
though they wished it, do me any harm.
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. [10] I recollected
well what I had seen in the vision, and it helped me greatly not to
trust much in any one, for there is no one that can be relied on
except God. In all my great trials, our Lord--He showed it to
me--sent always some one on His part to hold out his hand to help me,
as it was shown to me in the vision, so that I might attach myself to
nothing, but only please our Lord; and this has been enough to sustain
the little virtue I have in desiring to serve Thee: be Thou blessed
for evermore!
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, [11] 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; [12] and the joy I then felt cannot be
described, either in writing or by word of mouth; it is inconceivable
to any one what has not had experience of it. I felt that everything
man can desire was all there together, and I saw nothing; they told
me, but I know not who, that all I could do there was to understand
that I 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. [13] It seems to
burn up the old man, with his faults, his lukewarmness, and misery; so
that it is like the phoenix, of which I have read that it comes forth,
after being burnt, out of its own ashes into a new life. Thus it is
with the soul: it is changed into another, whose desires are
different, and whose strength is great. It seems to be no longer what
it was before, and begins to walk renewed in purity in the ways of our
Lord. When I was praying to Him that thus it might be with me, and
that I might begin His service anew, He said to me: "The
comparison thou hast made is good; take care never to forget it, that
thou mayest always labour to advance."
34. Once, when I was doubting, as I said just
now, [14] whether these visions came from God
or not, our Lord appeared, and, with some severity, said to me: "O
children of men, how long will you remain hard of heart!" I was
to examine myself carefully on one subject,--whether I had given
myself up wholly to Him, or not. If I had,--and it was so,--I
was to believe that He would not suffer me to perish. I was very much
afflicted when He spoke thus, but He turned to me with great
tenderness and sweetness, and bade me not to distress myself, for He
knew already that, so far as it lay in my power, I would not fail in
anything that was for His service; that He Himself would do what I
wished,--and so He did grant what I was then praying for; that I was
to consider my love for Him, which was daily growing in me, for I
should see by this that these visions did not come from Satan; that I
must not imagine that God would ever allow the devil to have so much
power over the souls of His servants as to give them such clearness of
understanding and such peace as I had.
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. [15]
36. Once, when I was reciting the psalm Quicumque vult, [16] I was given
to understand the mystery of One God and Three Persons with so much
clearness, that I was greatly astonished and consoled at the same
time. This was of the greatest help to me, for it enabled me to know
more of the greatness and marvels of God; and when I think of the most
Holy Trinity, or hear It spoken of, I seem to understand the mystery,
and a great joy it is.
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 trials: and I had a vehement desire to serve our
Lady, because of her great merits.
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.
1. Ch.
xxxiii. § 10. F. Gaspar de Salazar.
2. 3 Kings xix. 12: "Sibilus auræ tenuis."
3. See St.
John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,
bk. iii. ch. i, p. 210).
4. Ch.
xxxiv. § 1.
5. St.
John iii. 34: "Non enim ad mensuram dat
Deus spiritum."
6. See ch. xxxiii. § 15.
7. St.
Matt. xx. 9-14: "Volo autem et huic novissimo dare
sicut et tibi."
8. Ch.
xiv. § 12.
9. 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.
10. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: "Hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus
ad Te."
11. Ch.
xx. § 4.
12. Ch.
xxix. § 16.
13. Ch.
xxix. § 13.
14. § 28.
15. See ch. xxviii. §§ 19, 20.
16. Commonly called the Creed of
St. Athanasius.
Visions, Revelations, and Locutions.
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, [1] I never forget the way I saw
myself there,--as I was thinking of this, my soul began to be more and
more on fire, and I was carried away in spirit in a way I cannot
describe. It seemed to me as if I had been absorbed in, and filled
with, that grandeur of God which, on another occasion, I had
felt. [2] In that majesty it was given me to
understand one truth, which is the fulness of all truth, but I cannot
tell how, for I saw nothing. It was said to me, I saw not by whom,
but I knew well enough it was the Truth Itself: "This I am doing
to thee is not a slight matter; it is one of those things for which
thou owest Me much; for all the evil in the world comes from ignorance
of the truths of the holy writings in their clear simplicity, of which
not one iota shall pass away." [3] I
thought that I had always believed this, and that all the faithful
also believed it. Then he said,: "Ah, My daughter, they are few
who love Me in truth; for if men loved Me, I should not hide My
secrets from them. Knowest thou what it is to love Me in truth? It is
to admit everything to be a lie which is not pleasing unto Me. Now
thou dost not understand it, but thou shalt understand it clearly
hereafter, in the profit it will be to thy soul."
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 unto God.
I also understood what it is for a soul to be walking in the truth, in
the presence of the Truth itself. What I understood is this: that our
Lord gave me to understand that He is Himself the very Truth.
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 of it I saw Christ our Lord, as I usually
see Him. It seemed to me that I saw Him distinctly in every part of
my soul, as in a mirror, and at the same time the mirror was all
sculptured--I cannot explain it--in our Lord Himself by a most loving
communication which I can never describe. I know that this vision was
a great blessing to me, and is still whenever I remember it,
particularly after Communion.
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, [4] and as it is laid down in books
on prayer, where they speak of where we are to seek God. The glorious
St. Augustin, [5]
in particular, says so, when he says that neither in the streets of
the city, nor in pleasures, nor in any place whatever where he sought
Him, did he find Him as he found Him within himself. This is clearly
the best way; we need not go up to heaven, nor any further than our
own selves, for that would only distress the spirit and distract the
soul, and bring but little fruit.
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, [6]
but a moment,--the soul continues still to be recollected, unable to
recover itself even in outward things; for the two powers--the memory
and the understanding--are, as it were, in a frenzy, extremely
disordered. This, I say, happens occasionally, particularly in the
beginnings. I am thinking whether it does not result from this: that
our natural weakness cannot endure the vehemence of the spirit, which
is so great, and that the imagination is enfeebled. I know it to be
so with some. I think it best for these to force themselves to give
up prayer at that time, and resume it afterwards, when they may
recover what they have lost, and not do everything at once, for in
that case much harm might come of it. I know this by experience, as
well as the necessity of considering what our health can bear.
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, [7] and even all I am
saying now, only I do not distinctly remember it; but I do see that
it is of great importance, particularly to women, that they should go
to their confessor, and that he should be a man of experience herein.
There are many more women than men to whom our Lord gives these
graces; I have heard the holy friar Peter of Alcantara say so, and,
indeed, I know it myself. He used to say that women made greater
progress in this way than men did; and he gave excellent reasons for
his opinion, all in favour of women; but there is no necessity for
repeating them here.
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] only in a way so high that I
cannot possibly describe it; and that all our actions are seen in that
diamond, which is of such dimensions as to include everything, because
nothing can be beyond it. It was a fearful thing for me to see, in so
short a time, so many things together in that brilliant diamond, and a
most piteous thing too, whenever I think of it, to see such foul
things as my sins present in the pure brilliancy of that light.
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 church. I was given to understand the great services
which a particular Order would render in the latter days, and the
courage with which its members would maintain the faith.
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." [9]
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 are,--our Lord, if it so pleased Him,
could make them known,--lest the others should be aggrieved. Let
every Order, or every member of them by himself, labour, that by his
means our Lord would so bless his own Order that it may serve Him in
the present grave necessities of His Church. Blessed are they whose
lives are so spent.
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. [10] At one time I should be fervent,
at another not; now disquieted, and again at peace, and tempted; but I
must hope in Him, and fear not.
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. [11] Our Lord said to me: "It is
not a virtue in a sick man to abstain from thanking and loving the
physician who seems to restore him to health when he is in danger of
death. What should I have done without these persons? The
conversation of good people was never hurtful; my words should always
be weighed, and holy; and I was not to cease my relations with them,
for they would do me good rather than harm."
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. [12] I saw myself so great a
slave to myself, and, on the other hand, the spirit asked for time for
itself. I was so much distressed that I began to weep exceedingly,
and to be very sorry. This has happened to me not once only, but, as
I am saying, very often; and it seems to make me weary of myself, so
that at the time I hold myself literally in abhorrence. Habitually,
however, I know that I do not hate myself, and I never fail to take
that which I see to be necessary for me. May our Lord grant that I do
not take more than is necessary!--I am afraid I do.
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 me in such a way that I am
doing nothing when I long for troubles. And it seems to me there is
nothing worth living for but this, and suffering is what I most
heartily pray to God for. I say to Him sometimes, with my whole
heart: "O Lord, either to die or to suffer! I ask of Thee nothing
else for myself." It is a comfort to me to hear the clock strike,
because I seem to have come a little nearer to the vision of God, in
that another hour of my life has passed away.
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; [13] for I am very often in great
trouble. It pleased our Lord that the graces He wrought in me should
be published abroad, [14] as He told me some
years ago they should be. It was a great pain to me, and I have borne
much on that account even to this day, as you, my father, know,
because every man explains them in his own sense. But my comfort
herein is that it is not my fault that they are become known, for I
was extremely cautious never to speak of them but to my confessors, or
to persons who I knew had heard of them from them. I was silent,
however, not out of humility, but because, as I said
before, [15] it gave me great pain to speak of
them even to my confessors.
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 me in this
corner out of the way, where the enclosure is so strict, and where I
am as one that is dead. I thought that no one would remember me, but
I am not so much forgotten as I wish I was, for I am forced to speak
to some people. But as I am in a house where none may see me, it
seems as if our Lord had been pleased to bring me to a haven, which I
trust in His Majesty will be secure. Now that I am out of the world,
with companions holy and few in number, I look down on the world as
from a great height, and care very little what people say or know
about me. I think much more of one soul's advancement, even if it
were but slight, than of all that people may say of me; and since I am
settled here it has pleased our Lord that all my desires tend
to this.
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, [16] and therefore my trouble
has been great in writing; but it will be a blessed trouble if I have
succeeded in saying anything that will cause one single act of praise
to our Lord. If that were the case, I should look upon myself as
sufficiently rewarded, even if you, my father, burnt at once what I
have written. I would rather it were not burnt before those three saw
it, whom you, my father, know of, because they are, and have been, my
confessors; for if it be bad, it is right they should lose the good
opinion they have of me; and if it be good, they are good and learned
men, and I know they will recognise its source, and give praise to Him
who hath spoken through me.
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. [17] Amen. It would not be anything
improper if I were to magnify my labour in writing this, to oblige you
to be very careful to recommend me to our Lord; for indeed I may well
do so, considering what I have gone through in giving this account of
myself, and in retracing my manifold wretchedness. But, still, I can
say with truth that I felt it more difficult to speak of the graces
which I have received from our Lord than to speak of my offences
against His Majesty. You, my father, commanded me to write at length;
that is what I have done, on condition that you will do what you
promised, namely, destroy everything in it that has the appearance of
being wrong. I had not yet read it through after I had written it,
when your reverence sent for it. Some things in it may not be very
clearly explained, and there may be some repetitions; for the time I
could give to it was so short, that I could not stop to see what I was
writing. I entreat your reverence to correct it and have it copied,
if it is to be sent on to the Father-Master,
Avila, [18] for perhaps some one may recognise
the handwriting. I wish very much you would order it so that he might
see it, for I began to write it with a view to that I shall be greatly
comforted if he shall think that I am on a safe road, now that, so far
as it concerns me, there is nothing more to be done.
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. [19]--Fray Do Bañes."
1. Ch.
xxxii. § 1.
2. Ch.
xxviii. § 14.
3. St.
Matt. v. 18: "Iota unum aut
unus apex non præteribit a lege."
4. Ch. iv.
§ 10.
5. "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.
6. Ch.
xx. § 26.
7. Ch.
xxv. § 18, ch. xxvi. § 4. See
St. John of the Cross, Mount
Carmel, bk. ii. ch. xxii.
8. § 8.
9. 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.
10. Job xiv. 2: "Nunquam in eodem
statu permanet."
11. See ch. xxxvii. §§ 4, 6.
12. See ch. vii. § 18.
13. Ch.
xxx. § 10.
14. Ch.
xxxi. §§ 16, 17.
15. Ch.
xxviii. § 6.
16. See ch. xiv. § 12.
17. 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.
18. Juan de Avila, commonly called
the Apostle of Andalusia.
19. 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.