ST. TERESA OF AVILA: AUTOBIOGRAPHY

The Life
of the
Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus

Written by Herself

Translated from the Spanish by
David Lewis

St. Teresa's Arguments of the Chapters


Chapter I. [39] —In which she tells how God [40] began to
dispose this soul from childhood for virtue, and how she was helped by
having virtuous parents.

Chapter II.—How she lost these virtues and how important it is to deal
from childhood with virtuous persons.

Chapter III.—In which she sets forth how good company was the means of
her resuming good intentions, and in what manner God began to give her
some light on the deception to which she was subjected.

Chapter IV.—She explains how, with the assistance of God, she
compelled herself to take the (Religious) habit, and how His Majesty
began to send her many infirmities.

Chapter V.—She continues to speak of the great infirmities she
suffered and the patience God gave her to bear them, and how He turned
evil into good, as is seen from something that happened at the place
where she went for a cure.

Chapter VI.—Of the great debt she owes God for giving her conformity
of her will (with His) in her trials, and how she turned towards the
glorious St. Joseph as her helper and advocate, and how much she
profited thereby.

Chapter VII.—Of the way whereby she lost the graces God had granted
her, and the wretched life she began to lead; she also speaks of the
danger arising from the want of a strict enclosure in convents of nuns.

Chapter VIII.—Of the great advantage she derived from not entirely
abandoning prayer so as not to lose her soul; and what an excellent
remedy this is in order to win back what one has lost. She exhorts
everybody to practise prayer, and shows what a gain it is, even if one
should have given it up for a time, to make use of so great a good.

Chapter IX.—By what means God began to rouse her soul and give light
in the midst of darkness, and to strengthen her virtues so that she
should not offend Him.

Chapter X.—She begins to explain the graces God gave her in prayer,
and how much we can do for ourselves, and of the importance of
understanding God's mercies towards us. She requests those to whom this
is to be sent to keep the remainder (of this book) secret, since they
have commanded her to go into so many details about the graces God has
shown her.

Chapter XI.—In which she sets forth how it is that we do not love God
perfectly in a short time. She begins to expound by means of a
comparison four degrees of prayer, of the first of which she treats
here; this is most profitable for beginners and for those who find no
taste in prayer.

Chapter XII.—Continuation of the first state. She declares how far,
with the grace of God, we can proceed by ourselves, and speaks of the
danger of seeking supernatural and extraordinary experiences before God
lifts up the soul.

Chapter XIII.—She continues to treat of the first degree, and gives
advice with respect to certain temptations sometimes sent by Satan.
This is most profitable.

Chapter XIV.—She begins to explain the second degree of prayer in
which God already gives the soul special consolations, which she shows
here to be supernatural. This is most noteworthy.

Chapter XV.—Continuing the same subject, she gives certain advice how
one should behave in the prayer of quiet. She shows that many souls
advance so far, but that few go beyond. The matters treated of in this
chapter are very necessary and profitable.

Chapter XVI.—On the third degree of prayer; she declares things of an
elevated nature; what the soul that has come so far can do, and the
effect of such great graces of God. This is calculated to greatly
animate the spirit to the praise of God, and contains advice for those
who have reached this point.

Chapter XVII.—Continues to declare matters concerning the third degree
of prayer and completes the explanation of its effects. She also treats
of the impediment caused by the imagination and the memory.

Chapter XVIII.—She treats of the fourth degree of prayer, and begins
to explain [41] in what high dignity God holds a soul that has attained
this state; this should animate those who are given to prayer, to make
an effort to reach so high a state since it can be obtained in this
world, though not by merit but only through the goodness of God [42] .

Chapter XIX.—She continues the same subject, and begins to explain the
effects on the soul of this degree of prayer. She earnestly exhorts not
to turn back nor to give up prayer even if, after having received this
favour, one should fall. She shows the damage that would result (from
the neglect of this advice). This is most noteworthy and consoling for
the weak and for sinners.

Chapter XX.—She speaks of the difference between Union and Trance, and
explains what a Trance is; she also says something about the good a
soul derives from being, through God's goodness, led so far. She speaks
of the effects of Union. [43]

Chapter XXI.—She continues and concludes this last degree of prayer,
and says what a soul having reached it feels when obliged to turn back
and live in the world, and speaks of the light God gives concerning the
deceits (of the world). This is good doctrine.

Chapter XXII.—In which she shows that the safest way for
contemplatives is not to lift up the spirit to high things but to wait
for God to lift it up. How the Sacred Humanity of Christ is the medium
for the most exalted contemplation. She mentions an error under which
she laboured for some time. This chapter is most profitable.

Chapter XXIII.—She returns to the history of her life, how she began
to practise greater perfection. This is profitable for those who have
to direct souls practising prayer that they may know how to deal with
beginners, and she speaks of the profit she derived from such
knowledge.

Chapter XXIV.—She continues the same subject and tells how her soul
improved since she began to practise obedience, and how little she was
able to resist God's graces, and how His Majesty continued to give them
more and more abundantly.

Chapter XXV.—Of the manner in which Locutions of God are perceived by
the soul without being actually heard; and of some deceits that might
take place in this matter, and how one is to know which is which. This
is most profitable for those who are in this degree of prayer, because
it is very well explained, and contains excellent doctrine.

Chapter XXVI.—She continues the same subject; explains and tells
things that have happened to her which caused her to lose fear and
convinced her that the spirit which spoke to her was a good one.

Chapter XXVII.—Of another way in which God teaches a soul, and,
without speaking, makes His Will known in an admirable manner. She goes
on to explain a vision, though not an imaginary one, and a great grace
with which God favoured her. This chapter is noteworthy.

Chapter XXVIII.—She treats of the great favours God showed her, and
how He appeared to her for the first time; she explains what an
imaginary vision is, and speaks of the powerful effects it leaves and
the signs whether it is from God. This chapter is most profitable and
noteworthy.

Chapter XXIX.—She continues and tells of some great mercies God showed
her, and what His Majesty said to her in order to assure her (of the
truth of these visions), and taught her how to answer contradictors.

Chapter XXX.—She continues the history of her life, and how God sent
her a remedy for all her anxieties by calling the holy Friar Fray Pedro
de Alcantara of the Order of the glorious St. Francis to the place
where she lived. She mentions some great temptations and interior
trials through which she sometimes had to pass.

Chapter XXXI.—She speaks of some exterior temptations and apparitions
of Satan, and how he ill-treated her. She mentions, moreover, some very
good things by way of advice to persons who are walking on the way of
perfection.

Chapter XXXII.—She narrates how it pleased God to put her in spirit in
that place of Hell she had deserved by her sins. She tells a little
[44] of what she saw there compared with what there was besides. She
begins to speak of the manner and way of founding the convent of St.
Joseph where she now lives.

Chapter XXXIII.—She continues the subject of the foundation of the
glorious St. Joseph. How she was commanded to have nothing (further) to
do with it, how she abandoned it, also the troubles it brought her and
how God consoled her in all this.

Chapter XXXIV.—She shows how at that time it happened that she
absented herself from this place and how her Superior commanded her to
go away at the request of a very noble lady who was in great
affliction. She begins to tell what happened to her there, and the
great grace God bestowed upon her in determining through her
instrumentality a person of distinction to serve Him truly; and how
that person found favour and help in her (Teresa). This is noteworthy.

Chapter XXXV.—Continuation of the foundation of this house of our
glorious Father St. Joseph; in what manner our Lord ordained that holy
poverty should be observed there; the reason why she left the lady with
whom she had been staying, and some other things that happened.

Chapter XXXVI.—She continues the same subject, and shows how the
foundation of this convent of the glorious St. Joseph was finally
accomplished, and the great contradictions and persecutions she had to
endure after the Religious had taken the habit, and the great trials
and temptations through which she passed, and how God led her forth
victorious to His own glory and praise.

Chapter XXXVII.—Of the effects which remained when God granted her
some favour; together with other very good doctrine. She shows how one
ought to strive after and prize every increase in heavenly glory, and
that for no trouble whatever one should neglect a good that is to be
perpetual.

Chapter XXXVIII.—She treats of some great mercies God showed her, even
making known to her heavenly secrets by means of visions and
revelations His Majesty vouchsafed to grant her; she speaks of the
effects they caused and the great improvement resulting in her soul.

Chapter XXXIX.—She continues the same subject, mentioning great graces
granted her by God; how He promised to hear her requests on behalf of
persons for whom she should pray. Some remarkable instances in which
His Majesty thus favoured her.

Chapter XL.—Continuation of the same subject of great mercies God has
shown her. From some of these very good doctrine may be gathered, and
this, as she declares, was, besides compliance with obedience, her
principal motive (in writing this book), namely to enumerate such of
these mercies as would be instructive to souls. This chapter brings the
history of her Life, written by herself, to an end. May it be for the
glory of God. Amen.






Prologue

As I have been commanded and left at liberty to describe at length my
way of prayer, and the workings of the grace of our Lord within me, I
could wish that I had been allowed at the same time to speak distinctly
and in detail of my grievous sins and wicked life. But it has not been
so willed; on the contrary, I am laid herein under great restraint; and
therefore, for the love of our Lord, I beg of every one who shall read
this story of my life [84] 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.

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Chapter I.

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. [85]

3. We were three sisters and nine brothers. [86] 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; [87] 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, [88] begging our
way for the love of God, that we might be there beheaded; [89] 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 [90]
—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, [91] 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, [92] 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.
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[85] See [115]ch. xxxvii. S: 1; where the Saint says that she saw them
in a vision both in Heaven.

[86] 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, Dona 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 Dona 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 Nunez, and her godmother Dona
Maria del Aguila. The Bollandists and Father Bouix say that she was
baptized on the very day of her birth. But the testimony of Dona 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.

[87] 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 Descalc,os, vol. i.
lib. i. ch. iii. S: 4).

[88] 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.

[89] 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 Descalc,os, lib. i. ch. v. S: 4).

[90] 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 [116]ch. xxx. S:
24.)

[91] The last will and testament of Dona 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 Dona 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.

[92] Our Lady of Charity, in the church of the hospital where the poor
and pilgrims were received in Avila (Bouix).
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Chapter II.

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 [93]
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, [94]
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 [95] 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; [96] 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 [97] slept
with us who were seculars, and through her it pleased our Lord to give
me light, as I shall now explain.
__________________________________________________________________

[93] 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."

[94] 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 Descalc,os lib. i. ch. vii. S:
4).

[95] 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 Descalc,os lib. i. ch. vii. n. 2). There were forty
nuns in the house at this time (De la Fuente).

[96] 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
[117]ch. v. S: 11, she says that our Lord had always kept her from
seeking to be loved of men.

[97] Dona Maria Brizeno, mistress of the secular children who were
educated in the monastery (Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. S: 3).
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter III.

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." [98] 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 [99] 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 [100] 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 [101] —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.
__________________________________________________________________

[98] St. Matt. xx. 16: "Multi enim sunt vocati, pauci vero electi."

[99] Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of the incarnation, Avila (Reforma,
lib. i. ch. vii. S: 7).

[100] Maria de Cepeda, married to Don Martin Guzman y Barrientos. They
lived in Castellanos de la Canada, where they had considerable
property; but in the later years of their lives they were in straitened
circumstances (De la Fuente). See below, [118] ch. xxxiv. S: 24.

[101] Don Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda. He lived in Hortigosa, four leagues
from Avila (De la Fuente).
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter IV.

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, [102] 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: [103] 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; [104]
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. [105]

2. When I took the habit, [106] 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. [107] 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. [108]

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, [109] 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, [110] 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, [111] and whose
house was on our road, gave me a book called Tercer Abecedario, [112]
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, [113]
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.
__________________________________________________________________

[102] 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.).

[103] Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of the Incarnation, Avila.

[104] See [119]Relation, vi. S: 3.

[105] 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. S: 5).

[106] 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.

[107] 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 Canada, to the
house of her sister, Dona Maria, where she remained till the spring,
when she went to Bezadas for her cure (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. S: 2).

[108] It was in 1563 that all nuns were compelled to observe enclosure
(De la Fuente).

[109] [120]Ch. v. S: 15.

[110] [121]Ch. iii. S: 4.

[111] [122]Ch. iii. S: 5.

[112] By Fray Francisco de Osuna, of the Order of St. Francis (Reforma,
lib. i. ch. xi. S: 2).

[113] See [123]ch. ix. S:S: 4, [124]7.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter V.

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 [114] —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. [115] 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. [116]

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 [117] 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. [118]

9. I began, then, by going to confession to that priest of whom I spoke
before. [119] 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, [120] 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, [121] 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?" [122] 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; [123] 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. [124]

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!
__________________________________________________________________

[114] [125]Ch. iv. S: 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. S: 2).

[115] Schram, Theolog. Mystic., S: 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,
praestat mediocriter spiritualem theologum consulere quam spiritualem
idiotam."

[116] See Way of Perfection, ch. viii. S: 2; but ch. v. Dalton's
edition.

[117] F. Vicente Barron (Bouix).

[118] See [126]ch. xxiii.

[119] [127]S: 6.

[120] [128]S: 9.

[121] [129]Ch. iv. S: 6.

[122] Job ii. 10: "Si bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare
non suscipiamus?"

[123] 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.).

[124] Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv., says he heard Fra Banes, 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. S: 3).
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter VI.

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. [125]

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, [126] 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, [127] 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." [128] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[125] March 25, 1537.

[126] [130]Ch. v. S: 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.

[127] 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."

[128] Galat. ii. 20: "Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in
me Christus."
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter VII.

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. [129] 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, [130] 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,
[131] 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; [132] 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, [133] 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 [134] —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: [135] 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 [136] —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 [137] —was the greatest temptation I ever had,
because it very nearly wrought my utter ruin; [138] 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, [139] 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, [140] 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. [141]
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; [142]
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, [143] used to say that
he had no doubt he went straight to heaven. [144] 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. [145] He sent me to Communion once a fortnight; [146]
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. [147]

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.
__________________________________________________________________

[129] See Way of Perfection, ch. xl.; but [131]ch. xxvii. of the former
editions.

[130] See [132]Relation, i. S: 18.

[131] A.D. 1537, when the Saint was twenty-two years old (Bouix). This
passage, therefore, must he one of the additions to the second Life;
for the first was written in 1562, twenty-five years only after the
vision.

[132] See [133]ch. xxvii. S: 3.

[133] In the parlour of the monastery of the Incarnation, Avila, a
painting of this is preserved to this day (De la Fuente).

[134] [134]Ch. vi. S: 4.

[135] See Inner Fortress, v. iii. S: 1.

[136] [135]Ch. i. S: i.

[137] [136]Ch. xix. S:S: 9, [137]17.

[138] See [138]S: 2, above.

[139] See [139]ch. xi. S: 23: Inner Fortress, vi. i. S: 8.

[140] [140]S: 16.

[141] See Inner Fortress, v. iii. S: 1.

[142] In 1541, when the Saint was twenty-five years of age (Bouix).

[143] F. Vicente Barron (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xv.).

[144] See [141]ch. xxxviii. S: 1.

[145] See [142]ch. xix. S: 19.

[146] 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.

[147] See [143]ch. xiii. S:S: 7, 8.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter VIII.

The Saint Ceases Not to Pray. Prayer the Way to Recover What Is Lost.
All Exhorted to Pray. The Great Advantage of Prayer, Even to Those Who
May Have Ceased from It.

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. [148]

5. The reason, then, of my telling this at so great a length is that,
as I have just said, [149] 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; [150] 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, [151] 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, [152] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[148] [144]Ch. ix. S: 10.

[149] [145]S: 1, above.

[150] [146]Ch. vii. S: 17; [147]ch. xix. S: 8.

[151] Ezech. xviii. 21: "Si autem impius egerit poenitentiam, . . .
vita vivet, et non morietur. Omnium iniquitatum ejus . . . non
recordabor."

[152] See [148]ch. x. S: 2, and [149]ch. xi. S: 22.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter IX.

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. [153]

4. This was my method of prayer: as I could not make reflections with
my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ as within me; [154] 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. [155] 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.
[156]

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; [157] 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 [158] —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, [159] 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. [160]
__________________________________________________________________

[153] In the year 1555 (Bouix).

[154] See [150]ch. iv. S: 10; [151]ch. x. S: 1.

[155] See [152]Relation, i. S: 12.

[156] See [153]ch. iv. S: 11.

[157] [154]Ch. ii. S: 8.

[158] In the [155]Prologue.

[159] [156]S: 1.

[160] [157]Ch. iv. S: 11.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter X.

The Graces She Received in Prayer. What We Can Do Ourselves. The Great
Importance of Understanding What Our Lord Is Doing for Us. She Desires
Her Confessors to Keep Her Writings Secret, Because of the Special
Graces of Our Lord to Her, Which They Had Commanded Her to Describe.

1. I used to have at times, as I have said, [161] 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, [162] 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. [163] 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. [164] 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 [165] 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. [166] 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 [167] 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. [168] 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 he consistent with the truths of our holy Catholic faith;
if it be not, your reverence must burn it at once—for I give my
consent. I will recount my experience, in order that, if it be
consistent with those truths, your reverence may make some use of it;
if not, you will deliver my soul from delusion, so that Satan may gain
nothing there where I seemed to be gaining myself. Our Lord knows well
that I, as I shall show hereafter, [169] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[161] The Saint interrupts her history here to enter on the difficult
questions of mystical theology, and resumes it in [158]ch. xxiii.

[162] [159]Ch. ix. S: 4.

[163] [160]Ch. xxx. S:S: 10 and 11.

[164] See [161]ch. xiii. S: 5.

[165] F. Pedro Ybanez, of the Order of St. Dominic.

[166] See [162]ch. xxxi. S: 17.

[167] See [163]ch. xv. S: 12.

[168] See [164]ch. xiv. S: 12.

[169] See [165]ch. xxiv. S: 5.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XI.

Why Men Do Not Attain Quickly to the Perfect Love of God. Of Four
Degrees of Prayer. Of the First Degree. The Doctrine Profitable for
Beginners, and for Those Who Have No Sensible Sweetness.

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 [170] 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. [171]

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. [172] 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. [173]

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. [174] 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, [175] 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; [176] 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 [177] —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.
__________________________________________________________________

[170] [166]Ch. x. S: 1.

[171] 2. Vide St. Bernard, in Cantic. Serm. 30. n. 7, ed. Ben.

[172] [167]Ch. xiii. S: 23.

[173] See [168]ch. xv. S: 17.

[174] Epist. 22, ad Eustochium: "O quoties ego ipse in eremo
constitutus, et in illa vasta solitudine quae exusta solis ardoribus
horridum monachis praestat habitaculum putabam me Romanis interesse
deliciis. Sedebam solus. . . Horrebant sacco membra deformia. . . .
Ille igitur ego, qui ob Gehennae metum tali me carcere damnaveram,
scorpionum tantum socius et ferarum, saepe choris intereram puellarum,
pallebant ora jejuniis, et mens desideriis aestuabat in frigido
corpore, et ante hominem sua jam carne praemortuum sola libidinum
incendia bulliebant."

[175] St. Matt. xx. 22: "Potestis bibere calicem?"

[176] St. Matt. xi. 30: "Jugum enim meum suave est."

[177] [169]S: 18.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XII.

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, [178] 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. [179] 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. [180] 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; [181] 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. [182]

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 [183] —the
understanding ceases from its acts, because God suspends it—as I shall
explain by and by, if I can; [184] 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
[185] 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; [186] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[178] 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).

[179] [170]Ch. xi. S:S: 20, [171]25.

[180] 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).

[181] [172]Ch. iv. S: 10.

[182] [173]Ch. xxxiv. S: 9.

[183] [174]Ch. x. S: 1.

[184] [175]Ch. xvi. S: 4.

[185] "En un credo."

[186] [176]S: 5.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XIII.

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 [187] —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." [188] 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." [189] I was often thinking how St. Peter lost
nothing by throwing himself into the sea, though he was afterwards
afraid. [190] 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, [191] 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, [192] 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. [193]

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, [194] 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. [195]

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, [196] 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 [197] —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, [198] 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. [199] 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, [200] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[187] [177]Ch. xi. S: 24.

[188] Philipp. iv. 13; "Omnia possum in Eo."

[189] Confess. x. ch. 29: "Da quod jubes, et jube quod vis."

[190] St. Matt. xiv. 30: "Videns vero ventum validum, timuit."

[191] [178]Ch. vii. S:S: 27, [179]31.

[192] [180]Ch. vii. S: 16.

[193] See [181]ch. xxxi. S: 7, and [182]ch. xxxix. S: 14.

[194] [183]Ch. xii. S: 3.

[195] See St. John of the Cross, Living Flame, pp. 267, 278-284, Engl.
trans.

[196] See [184]ch. xv. S: 20.

[197] [185]S: 18.

[198] Prudence, experience, and learning; see [186]S: 24.

[199] Dan. xii. 3: "Qui autem docti fuerint, fulgebunt quasi
splendor firmamenti."

[200] [187]S: 19.
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Chapter XIV.

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! [201] 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. [202] 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, [203] 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; [204] 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; [205] 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. [206] 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. [207]
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, 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[201] 2 Cor. v. 14: "Charitas enim Christi urget nos."

[202] See [188]ch. xvii. S: 12; Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but
[189]xxxi. of the old editions.

[203] See [190]Relation, i. S: 12.

[204] 2 Cor. xi. 14: "Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in angelum
lucis."

[205] See [191]ch. x. S: 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, [192]ch. xxxii. S:
12, that the nuns occasionally quitted the monastery for a time,
because of its poverty.

[206] See [193]ch. xviii. S: 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).

[207] Prov. viii. 31: "Deliciae meae esse cum filiis hominum."
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XV.

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. [208] 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. [209] 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. [210] 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, [211]
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
[212] —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. [213]

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 [214] —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,
[215] 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, [216] 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,
[217] 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, [218] 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, [219] 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. [220]

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,
[221] 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,
[222] 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." [223] 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 [224] of
more perfect growth. [225] 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
[226] —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.
__________________________________________________________________

[208] See Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but [194]ch. xxxii of the old
edition.

[209] St. Matt. xvii. 4: "Bonum est nos hic esse."

[210] See [195]ch. xvii. S: 6.

[211] [196]Ch. x. S: 1.

[212] [197]Ch. xiv. S:S: 3, 4.

[213] [198]Ch. x. S: 9.

[214] [199]Ch. xviii. S: 4, and [200]ch. xxi. S: 9.

[215] [201]S: 3.

[216] [202]S: 5.

[217] [203]Ch. x. S: 1.

[218] St. Luke xviii. 13: "Nolebat nec oculos ad coelum levare."

[219] [204]Ch. xii. S: 5.

[220] "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. S: 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."

[221] [205]Ch. xi. S: 16.

[222] [206]Ch. xiii. S: 23.

[223] St. Matt. xvi. 24: "Tollat crucem suam et sequatur Me."

[224] "Fiel temor." In the previous editions it was filial.

[225] [207]Ch. xi. S: 1.

[226] See [208]ch. xxv.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XVI.

The Third State of Prayer. Deep Matters. What the Soul Can Do That Has
Reached It. Effects of the Great Graces of Our Lord.

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. [227] 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. [228]

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. [229] 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; [230] 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 [231] 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, [232] 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,
[233] 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. [234]

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 [235] 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. [236] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[227] "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).

[228] See St. John of the Cross, [209]Spirit. Canticle, stanza xvii.
vol. ii. p. 98, Engl. trans.

[229] St. Luke xv. 9: "Convocat amicas et vicinas."

[230] Foundations, ch. xxix. S: 9.

[231] The Saint herself (De la Fuente).

[232] This was either F. Ybanez or the Inquisitor Soto, if the
expression did not occur in the first Life. F. Dom. Banes struck out
"son," and wrote "father" in its place, omitting the words, "so humble
is he" (De la Fuente).

[233] See [210]S: 3, above.

[234] St. John x. 20: "Daemonium habet et insanit."

[235] 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).

[236] Father Banes wrote here on the margin of the Saint's MS, "Legant
praedicatores" (De la Fuente).
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XVII.

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. [237] 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, [238]
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.
[239] 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. [240]

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: [241] 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. [242] 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, [243] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[237] See [211]ch. xix. S: 4.

[238] [212]Ch. xv. S: 1.

[239] See [213]Relation, viii. S: 6; and Way of Perfection, ch. liii.,
but [214]ch xxxi. of former editions. See also Concept. of the Love of
God, ch. vii.

[240] See [215]Relation, viii. S: 17.

[241] [216]Ch. xiv. S: 4. See also Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but
[217]ch. xxxi. of the old editions.

[242] [218]Ch. xiv. S: 6.

[243] [219]S: 7.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XVIII.

The Fourth State of Prayer. The Great Dignity of the Soul Raised to It
by Our Lord. Attainable on Earth, Not by Our Merit, But by the Goodness
of Our Lord.

1. May our Lord teach me words whereby I may in some measure describe
the fourth water. [244] 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, [245] 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, [246] 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, [247]
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. [248] 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. [249]

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. [250] 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. [251]

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, [252] 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: [253] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[244] See [220]ch. xi. S: 11.

[245] [221]Ch. xvi. S:S: 7, 8.

[246] [222]Ch. xvii. S: 5.

[247] [223]S: 3.

[248] See [224]ch. xx. S: 10; and [225]Relation, viii. S: 10.

[249] See [226]ch. xiv. S: 12.

[250] See Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Director. Mystic. tr. iv. S: 9, n. 72.

[251] Thomas `a 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. `a 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 prae claritate
nimia quodammodo offuscatur intellectus, unde prae altissima et
supereminentissima Dei cognitione videtur anima potius Deum ignorare
quam cognoscere."

[252] [227]Ch. x. S: 1, and [228]ch. xviii. S: 16.

[253] See Inner Fortress, v. ch. i. S: 11.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XIX.

The Effects of This Fourth State of Prayer. Earnest Exhortations to
Those Who Have Attained to It Not to Go Back, Nor to Cease from Prayer,
Even If They Fall. The Great Calamity of Going Back.

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 [254] 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, [255]
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 [256] —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," [257] 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 [258] 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! [259]

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. [260] 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 [261] —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
[262] —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. [263]

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, [264] 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, [265] 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!
__________________________________________________________________

[254] See [229]ch. xx. S: 2.

[255] See [230]ch. xvii. S: 3.

[256] [231]Ch. vii. S: 17, and [232]ch. viii. S: 5.

[257] Psalm cxviii. 137: "Thou art just, O Lord, and Thy judgment
is right."

[258] See [233]ch. xxv.

[259] See [234]ch. viii. S: 1.

[260] [235]Ch. vii. S: 17.

[261] [236]Ch. vii. S: 27.

[262] [237]Ch. xxxi. S: 21.

[263] [238]Ch. xx. S: 33, and [239]ch. xxv. S: 24.

[264] [240]Ch. xix. S: 4.

[265] See [241]S: 16.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XX.

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. [266] I mean, that all
these are only different names for that one and the same thing, which
is also called ecstasy. [267] 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. [268] 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, [269] —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. [270]

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. [271]

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, [272] 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. [273] 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 [274] 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; [275] 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, [276] 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." [277] 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?" [278]
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. [279] 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,
[280] 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. [281] 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,
[282] 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, [283] 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 [284] 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.
[285]

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. [286] 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, [287] 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, [288] —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, [289] 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. [290] 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, [291] 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, [292] 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. [293] 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! [294] 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?" [295] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[266] See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v.; Philippus a SS. Trinitate,
Theolog. Mystic. par. iii. tr. i, disp. iii., art. 3; "Haec oratio
raptus superior est praecedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam oratione
unionis ordinariae, et habet effectus multoexcellentiores et multas
alias operationes."

[267] "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).

[268] 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."

[269] The words between the dashes are in the handwriting of the
Saint—not however, in the text, but on the margin (De la Fuente).

[270] See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v. "Primus effectus orationis
ecstaticae 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, S: 4, n. 150.

[271] This passage could not have been in the first Life; for that was
written before she had ever been Prioress.

[272] Job. iv. 15: "Inhorruerunt pili carnis meae." (See St. John of
the Cross. [242]Spiritual Canticle, sts. 14, 15, vol. ii p. 83,
Engl. trans.)

[273] See [243]ch. xxix.

[274] See [244]ch. xx. S: 21.

[275] [245]S: 9, supra.

[276] [246]S: 10.

[277] Psalm ci. 8: "I have watched, and become as a sparrow alone on
the house-top."

[278] Psalm xli. 4: "Ubi est Deus tuus?"

[279] Galat. vi. 14: "In cruce Jesu Christi: per quem mihi mundus
crucifixus est, et ego mundo."

[280] [247]S:S: 9 and [248]12.

[281] Daniel x. 16: "In visione tua dissolutae sunt compages meae." See
St. John of the Cross, [249]Spiritual Canticle, st. 14, vol. ii. p. 84,
Engl. trans.; and also [250]Relation, viii. S: 13, where this is
repeated.

[282] [251]Ch. v. S: 18.

[283] [252]S: 12.

[284] 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).

[285] See [253]S: 11.

[286] See [254]Relation, viii. S: 8.

[287] [255]Ch. xviii. S: 16.

[288] [256]Ch. xviii. S: 17.

[289] Avila.

[290] [257]Ch. xxv. S: 18.

[291] [258]S: 9.

[292] "Other will . . . Lord's will." These words—in Spanish, "Otra
voluntad, sino hacer la de nuestro Senor"—are not in the handwriting
of the Saint; perhaps it was Father Banes who wrote them. The MS. is
blurred, and the original text seems to have been, "libre alvedrio ni
guerra" (De la Fuente).

[293] 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."

[294] Psalm liv. 7: "Quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columbae?"

[295] Job iv. 17: "Numquid homo Dei comparatione justificabitur?"
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXI.

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, [296] 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, [297] 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, [298] seeing that the reward of every
one will be according to his works. [299] 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. [300]

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, [301]
so ill-ordered; to waste its time in attending to the body by sleeping
and eating! [302] 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. [303] The soul cries with the Apostle, and calls upon God to
deliver it, as I said on another occasion. [304] 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. [305]

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?
__________________________________________________________________

[296] [259]Ch. xx. S: 30.

[297] [260]Ch. xx. S: 34.

[298] Exod. xxiii. 15: "Non apparebis in conspectu meo vacuus."

[299] Apoc. ii. 23: "Dabo unicuique vestrum secundum opera sua."

[300] See [261]ch. xxxii. S: 1.

[301] "Farsa de esta vida tan mal concertada."

[302] Inner Fortress, iv. ch. i. S: 11.

[303] Rom. vii. 24: "Quis me liberabit de corpore mortis hujus?"

[304] [262]Ch. xvi. S: 7.

[305] 1 Cor. ii. 9: "Quae praeparavit Deus his qui diligunt Illum."
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXII.

The Security of Contemplatives Lies in Their Not Ascending to High
Things if Our Lord Does Not Raise Them. The Sacred Humanity Must Be the
Road to the Highest Contemplation. A Delusion in Which the Saint Was
Once Entangled.

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. [306] They defend their opinion [307] by bringing forward the
words [308] 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. [309] 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, [310] 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, [311] 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. [312] I
know this by repeated experience: our Lord has told it me. I have seen
clearly that this is the door [313] 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. [314]

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. [315] 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: [316] 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. [317]

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: [318] "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, [319] 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,
[320] at any other time than when I was as one brought to nothing,
[321] 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; [322] 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; [323] for we are unprofitable
servants. [324] 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: [325] 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.
[326] As I have sometimes said, [327] 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.
[328]

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. [329]

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. [330] So, throughout, experience and discretion
are necessary. May our Lord, of His goodness, bestow them on us!
__________________________________________________________________

[306] See Inner Fortress, vi. 7, S: 4.

[307] This opinion is supposed to be justified by the words of St.
Thomas, 3 Sent. dist. 22, qu. 3, art. 1, ad quintum. "Corporalis
praesentia 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 aequalem 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."

[308] St. John xvi. 7: "Expedit vobis ut Ego vadam; si enim non abiero,
Paracletus non veniet ad vos."

[309] This sentence is in the margin of the original MS., not in the
text, but in the handwriting of the Saint (De la Fuente).

[310] "I mean by lately . . . and visions" is in the margin of the MS.,
but in the handwriting of the Saint (De la Fuente).

[311] [263]Ch. xxviii. S: 4.

[312] St. Matt. iii. 17: "Hic est Filius Meus dilectus, in quo Mihi
complacui."

[313] St. John x. 7, 9: "Ego sum ostium."

[314] See St. John of the Cross, [264]Mount Carmel, bk. iii. ch. i.
p. 212.

[315] [265]Ch. xii. S:S: 5, [266]7.

[316] [267]Ch. xv. S: 21.

[317] [268]Ch. xx. S: 2.

[318] St. Luke v. 8: "Exi a me, quia homo peccator sum, Domine."

[319] [269]Ch. xii. S: 6.

[320] [270]Ch. xxviii.

[321] Psalm lxxii. 22: "Et ego ad nihilum redactus sum, et nescivi."

[322] Isaias liii 3: "Virum dolorum, et scientem infirmitatem."

[323] [271]Ch. xi. S: 15.

[324] St. Luke xvii. 10: "Servi inutiles sumus."

[325] [272]Ch. xi. S: 11.

[326] St. Luke xiv. 8: "Non discumbas in primo loco." See Way of
Perfection, ch. xxvi. S: 1; but [273]ch. xvii. of the old editions.

[327] [274]Ch. xi. S: 23, [275]ch. xviii. S: 6.

[328] Os. ii. 14: "Ducam eam in solitudinem."

[329] St. Matt. xix. 29: "Qui reliquerit domum, . . .
centuplum accipiet."

[330] [276]Ch. xii. S: 5.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXIII.

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, [331]
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, [332] 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; [333] 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, [334] 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, [335] —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, [336] 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 [337] 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, [338] —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, [339] 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, [340] 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, [341] 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; [342] 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. [343]

15. I believe that our Lord permitted [344] 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, [345] 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;
[346] 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
[347] 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, [348] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[331] At the end of [277]ch. ix. The thirteen chapters interposed
between that and this—the twenty-third—are a treatise on
mystical theology.

[332] She refers to Magdalene of the Cross (Reforma de los Descalc,os,
vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. S: 2).

[333] The college of the Society at Avila was founded in 1555; but some
of the Fathers had come thither in 1553 (De la Fuente).

[334] [278]Ch. vii. S: 37.

[335] [279]Ch. xix. S:S: 7, 8.

[336] 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).

[337] 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).

[338] Dona 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).

[339] [280]S: 4.

[340] Subida del Monte Sion, by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de
Laredo (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. S: 7).

[341] [281]S: 6.

[342] See [282]ch. xxv. S: 18.

[343] See [283]ch. xxviii. S: 18.

[344] See [284]Relation, vii. S: 17.

[345] See [285]ch. iv. S: 6.

[346] 1 Cor. x. 13: "Fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos
tentari supra id quod potestis."

[347] 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.

[348] See [286]Relation, i. S: 9.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXIV.

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.
[349] 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, [350] 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, [351] 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, [352] 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, [353] in the Society of Jesus. It
pleased our Lord that I should commence a friendship with a noble lady,
[354] a widow, much given to prayer, who had much to do with the
fathers. She made her own confessor [355] 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. [356] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[349] The Saint now treated her body with extreme severity,
disciplining herself even unto blood (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xx.
S: 4).

[350] 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, [287]ch. x. S: 11, that he kept secret the names of herself
and all others.

[351] [288]Ch. xxiii. S: 6.

[352] See [289]Relation, viii. S: 6.

[353] 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 Dona Guiomar, as it is stated in
the next paragraph,—unless the confessor there mentioned was
F. Ferdinand.

[354] Dona Guiomar de Ulloa. See below, [290]ch. xxxii. S: 13.

[355] 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.

[356] See [291]Relation, i. S: 6.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXV.

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. [357]

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, [358] 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. [359]

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, [360] 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, [361]
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, [362] —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, [363] 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, [364] 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, [365] 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, [366]
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,
[367] 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 [368] 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, [369] 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." [370]

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.
[371] 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, [372] —I was never
again afraid of them—on the contrary, they seemed to be afraid of me.
[373] 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,
[374] 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. [375] 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!
__________________________________________________________________

[357] Philip. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. par. 2, tr. iii. disc.
iv. art. v.: "Tres sunt modi divinae 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 quaedam
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 quaedam verba
viva et efficacia, divinitus ad se directa, quae virtutem aut
substantialem effectum per ipsa significatum fortiter ac infallibiliter
causant." See also St. John of the Cross, [292]Ascent of Mount Carmel,
b. ii. ch. xxviii. and [293]the following, p. 188.

[358] From 1555 to 1557, when the Saint was advised by St. Francis de
Borja to make no further resistance (Bouix).

[359] See [294]ch. xxvii. S: 4.

[360] [295]S: 4.

[361] [296]S: 5.

[362] The doctrine here laid down is not that of the second
water,—[297]chs. xiv. and [298]xv.,—but that of the third, [299]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).

[363] [300]S: 6.

[364] [301]S: 2.

[365] [302]Ch. vii. S: 12.

[366] [303]Ch. xxviii. S: 6, [304]ch. xxx. S: 10.

[367] [305]Ch. vii. S: 11.

[368] [306]Ch. iv. S: 6, [307]ch. v. S: 14.

[369] It was the church of the Jesuits (Bouix).

[370] See Inner Fortress, vi. 3, S: 5.

[371] St. Matt. viii. 26; "Imperavit ventis et mari, et facta est
tranquillitas magna."

[372] [308]Ch. xxxi. S: 2.

[373] St. John of the Cross, [309]Spiritual Canticle, st. 24, p. 128,
Eng. trans.

[374] St. Matt. x. 26, 28; "Ne ergo timueritis eos, . . . sed potius
timete Eum."

[375] St. John viii. 44: "Mendax est, et pater ejus."
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXVI.

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,
[376] 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. [377] 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, [378] —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 [379] — 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 [380] 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; [381] 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. [382]

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.[[310]8] [383] 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? [384] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[376] [311]Ch. xxv. S: 26.

[377] [312]Ch. xv. S: 6.

[378] [313]Ch. xxxiii.; the foundation of the house of St. Joseph.

[379] [314]Ch. xxv. S: 23.

[380] 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.

[381] See [315]Relation, vii. S: 7.

[382] St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. 22, S: 14.

[383] The visions of the Saint began in 1558 (De la Fuente) or,
according to Father Bouix, in 1559.

[384] St. Luke xvi. 28: "Ne et ipsi veniant in hunc locum tormentorum."
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXVII.

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, [385] 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, [386] —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, [387] 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. [388]

4. I went at once to my confessor, [389] 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, [390]
—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. [391] 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. [392] 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, [393] 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. [394]

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. [395] 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, [396] if we do not help to carry his cross
with the Cyrenean? [397] 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!
[398] How few there are of this kind now, because of our sins! Now,
indeed, they are all gone whom people regarded as mad, [399] 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! [400] 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, [401] 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. [402] 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, [403] "Laetatus sum in his quae 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. [404]

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.
__________________________________________________________________

[385] [316]Ch. xxv. S: 20.

[386] See [317]ch. xxviii. S: 5, and [318]ch. xxix. S: 1. The vision
took place, it seems, on the 29th June. See [319]ch. xxix. S: 6.

[387] See [320]ch. vii. S: 12.

[388] See Anton. a Spiritu Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iii. disp. v.
S: 3.

[389] See Inner Fortress, vi. 8, S: 3.

[390] [321]S: 17, infra.

[391] See [322]Relation, vii. S: 26.

[392] Inner Fortress, vi. 8, S: 3.

[393] [323]Ch. xxv. S: 1.

[394] 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.

[395] Acts x. 34: "Non est personarum acceptor Deus."

[396] St. Luke xxiii. 28: "Filiae Jerusalem, nolite flere super Me, sed
super vos ipsas flete."

[397] St. Matt. xxvii. 32: "Hunc angariaverunt ut tolleret
crucem Ejus."

[398] St. John x. 20: "Daemonium habet et insanit: quid Eum auditis?"

[399] Sap. v. 4: "Nos insensati vitam illorum aestimabamus insaniam."

[400] 18th Oct. 1562. As the Saint finished the first relation of her
life in June, 1562, this is one of the additions subsequently made.

[401] [324]Ch. xiv. S: 7.

[402] [325]Ch. xxvi. S: 3, [326]ch. xxxii. S: 16.

[403] Psalm cxxi. The words in the MS. are: "Letatun sun yn is que dita
sun miqui" (De la Fuente).

[404] See [327]ch. xxx. S: 2.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXVIII.

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 [405] 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.
[406]

4. On one of the feasts of St. Paul, [407] when I was at Mass, there
stood before me the most Sacred Humanity, [408] 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. [409] 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. [410] 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, [411] 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; [412] 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, [413] 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.
[414] 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 [415] 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, [416] 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 [417] 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, [418] 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. [419]
All this distressed me. I began to be afraid I should find no one to
hear my confession, [420] 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. [421] 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. [422] 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. [423] 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. [424]

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.
__________________________________________________________________

[405] [328]Ch. xxvii. S: 3.

[406] Philipp. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. par. 2, tr. 3, disc.
iv., art. 8: "Quamvis in principio visiones a daemone fictae aliquam
habeant pacem ac dulcedinem, in fine tamen confusionum et amaritudinem
in anima relinquunt; cujus contrarium est in divinis visionibus, quae
saepe turbant in principio, sed semper in fine pacem animae
relinquunt." St. John of the Cross, [329]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."

[407] See [330]ch. xxix. S: 4.

[408] "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).

[409] Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iii. disp. 5, S: 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 Beatae Virgini."

[410] See [331]ch. xxx. S: 18.

[411] [332]Ch. xxv. S: 18.

[412] [333]Ch. xxx. S:S: 9, 10. See St. John of the Cross, [334]Obscure
Night, bk. ii. ch. 7.

[413] [335]Ch. xxvii. S: 3.

[414] [336]Ch. xxv. S: 8.

[415] See [337]S: 2.

[416] [338]S: 7, supra.

[417] See [339]ch. xxiii. S: 14.

[418] [340]Ch. xxiv. S: 5.

[419] 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).

[420] Inner Fortress, vi. 1, S: 4.

[421] [341]Ch. xxvi. S: 5; Inner Fortress, vi. 9, S: 7.

[422] See [342]ch. xxv. S: 18.

[423] 2 Paralip. xx. 12: "Sed cum ignoremus quid agere debeamus, hoc
solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus ad Te."

[424] See [343]ch. xxx. S: 6.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXIX.

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. [425] 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 [426] 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, [427] 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. [428] 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 [429] —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. [430] 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. [431]

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 [432] of love, though not so intolerable as those of
which I have spoken before, [433] 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, [434] 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, [435] 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"! [436] 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.[[344]13] [437] 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. [438] 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, [439] 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. [440]

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.
[441]

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, [442] —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!
__________________________________________________________________

[425] [345]Ch. xl.

[426] 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).

[427] Y diese higas. "Higa es una manera de menosprecio que hacemos
cerrando el puno, y mostrando el dedo pulgar por entre el dedo indice,
y el medio" (Cobarruvias, in voce).

[428] See Book of the Foundations, ch. viii. S: 3, where the Saint
refers to this advice, and to the better advice given her later by
F. Dominic Banes, one of her confessors. See also Inner Fortress, vi.
9, S: 7.

[429] See [346]ch. xxvii. S: 3, and [347]ch. xxviii. S: 4.

[430] [348]Ch. xxv. S: 18.

[431] The cross was made of ebony (Ribera). It is not known where that
cross is now. The Saint gave it to her sister, Dona 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).

[432] See [349]Relation, i. S: 3.

[433] [350]Ch. xx. S: 11.

[434] Inner Fortress, vi. 11, S: 2; St. John of the Cross,
[351]Spiritual Canticle, st. 1, p. 22, Engl. trans.

[435] [352]S: 10.

[436] 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."

[437] [353]Ch. xxvii. S: 3.

[438] 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 Banes, 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.

[439] See [354]Relation, viii. S: 16.

[440] "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
entranas"). 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).

[441] Brev. Rom. in fest. S. Teresiae, Oct. 15, Lect. v.: "Tanto autem
divini amoris incendio cor ejus conflagravit, ut merito viderit Angelum
ignito jaculo sibi praecordia transverberantem." The Carmelites keep
the feast of this piercing of the Saint's heart on the 27th of August.

[442] [355]Ch. xx. S: 11.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXX.

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. [443] Among other things, I have been assured that he wore
continually, for twenty years, a girdle made of iron. [444] 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, [445] 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. [446] 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, [447] 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, [448] —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, [449] 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 [450] 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, [451] 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; [452] 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; [453]
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; [454] 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. [455] 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, [456] —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. [457]

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, [458] 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 [459] 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." [460]

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, [461] I have so little
to spend, and perhaps, after all, nothing will be gained.
__________________________________________________________________

[443] [356]Ch. xxvii. S:S: 17, 18, 19.

[444] Hoja de lata, "cierta hoja de hierro muy delgada" (Cobarruvias,
Tesoro, in voce).

[445] [357]Ch. xxiv. S: 5. Dona Guiomar de Ulloa.

[446] [358]Ch. xxvi. S: 5.

[447] [359]Ch. vii. S: 12.

[448] See [360]ch. xxviii. S: 24.

[449] [361]Ch. xxiii. S: 7.

[450] A "custody" is a division of the province, in the Order of St.
Francis, comprising a certain number of convents.

[451] [362]S: 10.

[452] Job i.

[453] See [363]ch. xxxii. S: 1, &c.

[454] See [364]ch. xxviii. S: 6.

[455] See Way of Perfection, ch. lxi. S: 2; but ch. xxxiv. S: 8 of the
earlier editions.

[456] [365]Ch. xx. S: 21, [366]ch. xxv. S: 22, [367]ch. xxvi. S: 3.

[457] "Un Credo."

[458] [368]Ch. xxix. S: 11.

[459] St. John iv. 5-42: the Gospel of Friday after the Third Sunday in
Lent, where the words are, "hanc aquam."

[460] "Lord, give me this water" (St. John iv. 15). See [369]ch. i. S:
6; and Way of Perfection, ch. xxix. S: 5; ch. xix. S: 5 of the
earlier editions.

[461] [370]Ch. xiv. S: 12.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXI.

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. [462]

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, [463]
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. [464] 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: [465]
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. [466] 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, [467]
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, [468] 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 [469] 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. [470]
__________________________________________________________________

[462] 2 Cor. ii. 11: "Non enim ignoramus cogitationes ejus."

[463] [371]Ch. xxvii. S: 4.

[464] See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. iv. S: 12.

[465] Way of Perfection, ch. lxv. S: 2; but [372]ch. xxxvi. of the
previous editions.

[466] See [373]ch. x. S: 10.

[467] [374]Ch. xiii. S: 3.

[468] [375]Ch. xx. S: 38.

[469] [376]Ch. xxx. S: 25.

[470] Don Vicente de la Fuente thinks the first "Life" ended here; that
which follows was written under obedience to her confessor, F. Garcia
of Toledo, and after the foundation of the monastery of St.
Joseph, Avila.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXII.

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, [471] without speaking
of others of different kinds, yea, even those of which I have also
spoken, [472] 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, [473] 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. [474] I, having this desire, began to discuss the
matter with that widowed lady who was my companion,—I have spoken of
her before, [475] —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, [476] 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, [477] 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. [478]

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 [479] of whom I spoke before; [480] 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, [481] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[471] See [377]ch. v. S: 14, [378]ch. vi. S: 1.

[472] [379]Ch. xxxi. S: 3.

[473] In 1558 (De la Fuente).

[474] 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).

[475] [380]Ch. xxiv. S: 5. Dona Guiomar de Ulloa.

[476] The Provincial of the Carmelites: F. Angel de Salasar (De
la Fuente).

[477] F. Pedro Ibanez (De la Fuente).

[478] [381]Ch. xxxiii. S: 8.

[479] Francis de Salcedo.

[480] [382]Ch. xxiii. S: 6.

[481] Gaspar Daza. See [383]ch. xxiii. S: 6.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXIII.

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, [482] as well as of those profounder trances. I kept
silence, however, and never spoke of those graces to any one. The
saintly Dominican [483] 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
[484] of the Society of Jesus having gone away, His Majesty brought
into his place another, [485] 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. [486]

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, [487] 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. [488] 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. [489] 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! [490] 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, [491] 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 [492]
—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, [493] 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. [494] 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, [495] 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, [496] and also for the sake of bringing it to the
condition it is now in. Blessed be He who has done it all! Amen.
__________________________________________________________________

[482] [384]Ch. xxi. S: 6, [385]ch. xxix. S:S: 10, 11.

[483] Pedro Ibanez. See [386]ch. xxxviii. S: 15.

[484] 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).

[485] Gaspar de Salazar was made rector of the house in Avila in 1561,
therein succeeding Vasquez (Bollandists, ibid.).

[486] 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.

[487] Juana de Ahumada, wife of Juan de Ovalle.

[488] 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).

[489] 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. S: 1).

[490] St. Luke ix. 58: "Filius autem hominis non habet ubi
caput reclinet."

[491] Pius IV., on Dec. 5, 1562, (Bouix). See [387]ch. xxxix. S: 19.

[492] [388]Ch. xxxii. S: 14.

[493] See [389]ch. xxvii. S: 7.

[494] "Nuestro Senor," "our Lord," though inserted in the printed
editions after the word "God," is not in the MS., according to Don
V. de la Fuente.

[495] Don Alvaro de Mendoza, Bishop of Avila, afterwards of Palencia.

[496] See [390]ch. xxxvi. S: 15; Way of Perfection, ch. v. S: 10;
Foundations, ch. xxxi. S: 1.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXIV.

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. [497] 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, [498] 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, [499] 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, [500] 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 [501]
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, [502] 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 [503] 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; [504] 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; [505] 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, [506] 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, [507] 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. [508] 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 [509] 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!
__________________________________________________________________

[497] Dona 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).

[498] F. Vicente Barron, Dominican (see [391]ch. v. S: 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.

[499] Pedro Ibanez (Bouix).

[500] [392]Ch. xxxiii. S: 11.

[501] 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."

[502] [393]Ch. xxxiii. S: 12.

[503] [394]Ch. xiv. S: 10.

[504] 1 Thess. v. 19: "Spiritum nolite extinguere."

[505] St. Matt. xix. 26: "Apud Deum autem omnia possibilia sunt."

[506] F. Gaspar de Salazar.

[507] [395]Ch. xxvi. S: 3.

[508] [396]Ch. xxx. S: 3. Dona Guiomar de Ulloa.

[509] Don Martin de Guzman y Barrientos, husband of Maria de Cepeda,
the Saint's sister.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXV.

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, [510] already spoken of, in whose
house I remained more than six months, our Lord ordained that a holy
woman [511] 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; [512] nor was
I going to found a monastery without revenue, [513] 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 [514] 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. [515]

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 [516] 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,
[517] I never feared myself. Our Lord changed the dispositions also of
the licentiate,—I am speaking of the Dominican friar, [518] —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. [519] 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 [520] 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. [521]

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.
[522] It seems, then, that His Majesty has chosen these whom he has
drawn hither, among whom I am living very much ashamed of myself. [523]
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, [524] 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 [525] 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: [526] 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!
__________________________________________________________________

[510] Dona Luisa de la Cerda.

[511] 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. Dona Leonor de Mascarenas 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.

[512] The sixth chapter of the rule is: "Nullus fratrum sibi aliquid
proprium, esse dicat, sed sint vobis omnia communia."

[513] See [397]ch. xxxii. S: 13.

[514] 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).

[515] See [398]Relation, i. S: 10.

[516] F. Pedro Ibanez.

[517] [399]Ch. xi. S: 3.

[518] F. Pedro Ibanez.

[519] The house of Dona Luisa, in Toledo.

[520] The monastery of the Incarnation, Avila.

[521] 2 Cor. xii. 9: "Virtus in infirmitate perficitur."

[522] See Way of Perfection, ch. xxii.; but ch. xiii. ed. Doblado.

[523] See Foundations, ch. I, S: 1.

[524] St. Matt. xix. 29: "Et omnis qui reliquerit domum . . . propter
nomen Meum, centuplum accipiet, et vitam aeternam possidebit."

[525] 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 Dona Guiomar de Ulloa, was
sent for. Dona 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, S: 2).

[526] Psalm xciii. 20: "Qui fingis laborem in praecepto."
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXVI.

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, [527] 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, [528] came also from Rome the
commission and the Brief for the erection of the monastery. [529] 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. [530] I found here the Bishop and the holy
friar, [531] Peter of Alcantara, and that nobleman, [532] 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, [533] 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. [534] 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 [535] 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. [536]

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,
[537] 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. [538] With full sanction
and authority, then, our monastery of our most glorious father St.
Joseph was founded in the year 1562. [539] I was there myself to give
the habit, with two nuns [540] 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 [541] 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, [542] 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, [543] —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 [544] 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, [545] and there was
some apparent ground for it. The prioress [546] 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
[547] —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. [548]

18. A very great servant of God, and a lover of all perfection, a
priest [549] who had helped me always, went to the court on this
business, and took great pains. That holy nobleman [550] 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,
[551] 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. [552] 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, [553] 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 [554] 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 [555] —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. [556]

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. [557] 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, [558] —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 [559]
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.
__________________________________________________________________

[527] Toledo.

[528] Avila. In the beginning of June, 1562.

[529] See [400]ch. xxxiv. S: 2. The Brief was dated Feb. 7, 1562, the
third year of Pius IV. (De la Fuente).

[530] The Brief was addressed to Dona Aldonza de Guzman, and to Dona
Guiomar de Ulloa, her daughter.

[531] Don Alvaro de Mendoza (De la Fuente).

[532] Don Francisco de Salcedo.

[533] 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).

[534] 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.

[535] Don Juan de Ovalle.

[536] 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).

[537] Dona Guiomar de Ulloa was now in her native place, Ciudad Toro.

[538] The Mass was said by Gaspar Daza. See infra, [401]S: 18; Reforma,
i. c. xlvi. S: 3.

[539] 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. S: 1).

[540] They were Dona Ines and Dona Ana de Tapia, cousins of the Saint.
There were present also Don Gonzalo de Aranda, Don Francisco Salcedo,
Julian of Avila, priest; Dona 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. S: 2).

[541] [402]Ch. xxxiii. S: 13.

[542] [403]Ch. xxxiii. S: 3.

[543] 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 Dona 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 Dona Teresa de
Ahumada for Teresa of Jesus (Reforma, i. c. xlvi. S: 2).

[544] See Foundations, ch. ii. S: 1, and ch. xxxi, S: 1.

[545] [404]Ch. xxxiii. S:S: 1, 2.

[546] Of the Incarnation.

[547] F. Domingo Banes, the great commentator on St. Thomas. On the
margin of the MS., Banes 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 Banes 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. Banes 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.

[548] See [405]Ch. xxxix. S: 25.

[549] Gonzalo de Aranda (De la Fuente).

[550] Don Francisco de Salcedo (ibid.).

[551] [406]Ch. xxiii. S: 6; Gaspar Daza (ibid.).

[552] He died Oct. 18, 1562.

[553] [407]Ch. xxvii. S: 21.

[554] "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 Ibanez. See
[408]ch. xxxviii. S: 15.

[555] 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. S: 4.

[556] Mid-Lent of 1563.

[557] See [409]Way of Perfection, ch. ii.

[558] "Jejunium singulis diebus, exceptis Dominicis, observetis a Festo
Exaltationis Sanctae Crucis usque ad diem Dominicae 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.

[559] See [410]ch. xxxv. S: 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
Dona Leonor de Mascarenas 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. S:S: 3, 4).
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXVII.

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, [560] 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.
[561]

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; [562] 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 [563] 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. [564] 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, [565] 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. [566] 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 [567] —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.
__________________________________________________________________

[560] 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 [411]S: 10 of ch. xxxii.

[561] Ephes. i. 14: "Pignus haereditatis nostrae."

[562] St. John iii. 34: "Non enim ad mensuram dat Deus spiritum."

[563] [412]Ch. xxviii. S:S: 1-5.

[564] See [413]ch. xl. S: 24; Way of Perfection, ch. vii. S: 1; but
[414]ch. iv. of the previous editions.

[565] See [415]ch. xx. S: 14.

[566] See [416]ch. xxx. S: 19.

[567] See [417]ch. xxx. S:S: 18, [418]25.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXVIII.

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,
[568] it happened to me once when I was suffering from my heart,—for,
as I have said, [569] 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; [570] 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. [571] 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; [572] 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. [573] She told me that she gave him that cope
in consideration of the service he had rendered her by helping to found
this house, [574] 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. [575] 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; [576] 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. [577] 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, [578]
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, [579] 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, [580]
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, [581] 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. [582]

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;
[583] 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, [584] 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,
[585] 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.
[586] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[568] [419]Ch. xxxiv. Dona Luisa de la Cerda, at Toledo.

[569] [420]Ch. iv. S: 6.

[570] 1 St. Peter ii. 11: "Advenas et peregrinos."

[571] Philipp. iii. 20: "Nostra autem conversatio in coelis est."

[572] The Life of Christ, by Ludolf of Saxony.

[573] F. Pedro Ibanez. See [421]ch. xxxiii. S: 5, [422]ch. xxxvi. S:
23. "This father died Prior of Trianos," is written on the margin of
the MS. by F. Banes (De la Fuente).

[574] St. Joseph, Avila, where St. Teresa was living at this time.

[575] See below, [423]S: 41.

[576] F. Gaspar de Salazar: see [424]ch. xxxiii. S: 9, [425]ch. xxxiv.
S: 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.

[577] 2 Cor. xii. 2: "Sive in corpore nescio, sive extra
corpus nescio."

[578] See [426]ch. xxviii.

[579] Job iv. 15: "Inhorruerunt pili carnis meae."

[580] 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).

[581] [427]S: 22.

[582] St. John of the Cross, [428]Ascent of Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch.
xxvi. vol. i. p. 183.

[583] See [429]ch. xxvii.

[584] [430]Ch. xxx. S: 9.

[585] [431]S: 34.

[586] [432]S: 15. Fr. Pedro Ibanez.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XXXIX.

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, [587] 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. [588] 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. [589]

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, [590] 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 [591] 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; [592] 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. [593]

24. I have sat down so often to write, and have been so many days
writing these three leaves,—for, as I have said, [594] I had, and have
still, but few opportunities,—that I forgot what I had begun with,
namely, the following vision. [595]

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. [596] 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, [597]

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; [598] 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. [599]
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, [600] 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. [601]

36. Once, when I was reciting the psalm Quicumque vult, [602] 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.
__________________________________________________________________

[587] [433]Ch. xxxiii. S: 10. F. Gaspar de Salazar.

[588] 3 Kings xix. 12: "Sibilus aurae tenuis."

[589] See St. John of the Cross, [434]Ascent of Mount Carmel, bk. iii.
ch. i, p. 210).

[590] [435]Ch. xxxiv. S: 1.

[591] St. John iii. 34: "Non enim ad mensuram dat Deus spiritum."

[592] See [436]ch. xxxiii. S: 15.

[593] St. Matt. xx. 9-14: "Volo autem et huic novissimo dare sicut
et tibi."

[594] [437]Ch. xiv. S: 12.

[595] The Saint had this vision when she was in the house of Dona 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 [438]ch. xxxvi.
S: 18.

[596] 2 Paralip. xx. 12: "Hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros
dirigamus ad Te."

[597] [439]Ch. xx. S: 4.

[598] [440]Ch. xxix. S: 16.

[599] [441]Ch. xxix. S: 13.

[600] [442]S: 28.

[601] See [443]ch. xxviii. S:S: 19, 20.

[602] Commonly called the Creed of St. Athanasius.
__________________________________________________________________

Chapter XL.

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, [603] 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.
[604] 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." [605] 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, [606] and as it is laid down
in books on prayer, where they speak of where we are to seek God. The
glorious St. Augustin, [607] 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, [608] 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, [609] 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, [610] 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." [611]

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. [612] 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. [613] 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. [614] 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; [615] for I am very often
in great trouble. It pleased our Lord that the graces He wrought in me
should be published abroad, [616] 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, [617] 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, [618] 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. [619] 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, [620] 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. [621] —Fray Do Banes."
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[603] [444]Ch. xxxii. S: 1.

[604] [445]Ch. xxviii. S: 14.

[605] St. Matt. v. 18: "Iota unum aut unus apex non praeteribit
a lege."

[606] [446]Ch. iv. S: 10.

[607] "Ecce quantum spatiatus sum in memoria mea quaerens 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.

[608] [447]Ch. xx. S: 26.

[609] [448]Ch. xxv. S: 18, [449]ch. xxvi. S: 4. See St. John of the
Cross, [450]Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. xxii.

[610] [451]S: 8.

[611] 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.

[612] Job xiv. 2: "Nunquam in eodem statu permanet."

[613] See [452]ch. xxxvii. S:S: 4, [453]6.

[614] See [454]ch. vii. S: 18.

[615] [455]Ch. xxx. S: 10.

[616] [456]Ch. xxxi. S:S: 16, 17.

[617] [457]Ch. xxviii. S: 6.

[618] See [458]ch. xiv. S: 12.

[619] 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 Ibanez. It is the fifteenth
letter in the first volume of the edition of Madrid; but it is not
dated there.

[620] Juan de Avila, commonly called the Apostle of Andalusia.

[621] I.e. of the MS. See [459]p. 337 of this translation.
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