{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_8120/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_8120","id":"gutenberg_8120","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8120","summary":null,"tags":["Avila (Spain) -- Biography","Category: Biographies","Category: History - Religious","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian saints -- Spain -- Avila -- Biography","Teresa, of Avila, Saint, 1515-1582"],"text":"Produced by Elizabeth T. Knuth\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Life of St. Teresa of Jesus\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: Corrections suggested in the Corrigenda,\np. [viii] of the original text, have been made.  Section number\nadded for L 3.9, since both the translator's preface and the\nindex refer to it.  Footnotes gathered at the ends of chapters.\nTypographical errors in two Scriptural quotations have been\ncorrected: In L 21 note 10, I have changed \"Qu\u00e6 pr\u00e6paravit Deus\niis qui\" to \"Qu\u00e6 pr\u00e6paravit Deus his qui;\" and in L 29 note 12,\nI have changed \"As the longing of the heart\" to \"As the longing\nof the\u00a0hart.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Life\nof\nSt. Teresa of Jesus\n\n\nRe-imprimatur.\n+ Franciscus\nArchiepiscopus Westmonast.\n\nDie 27 Sept., 1904.\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Life\nof\nSt. Teresa of Jesus,\nof the Order of Our Lady of Carmel.\nWritten by Herself.\n\nTranslated from the Spanish by\nDavid Lewis.\n\nThird Edition Enlarged.\n\nWith additional Notes and an Introduction by\nRev. Fr. Benedict Zimmerman, O.C.D.\n\nLondon: Thomas Baker.\nNew York: Benziger Bros.\nMCMIV.\n\n\n\n\n\nContents.\n\n\nChap.\n\nIntroduction to the Third Edition, by Rev. B. Zimmerman\n\nSt. Teresa's Arguments of the Chapters\n\nPreface by David Lewis\n\nAnnals of the Saint's Life\n\nPrologue\n\nI. Childhood and early Impressions--The Blessing of pious\nParents--Desire of Martyrdom--Death of the Saint's Mother\n\nII. Early Impressions--Dangerous Books and Companions--The Saint\nis placed in a Monastery\n\nIII. The Blessing of being with good people--How certain\nIllusions were removed\n\nIV. Our Lord helps her to become a Nun--Her many Infirmities\n\nV. Illness and Patience of the Saint--The Story of a Priest whom\nshe rescued from a Life of Sin\n\nVI. The great Debt she owed to our Lord for His Mercy to her--She\ntakes St. Joseph for her Patron\n\nVII. Lukewarmness--The Loss of Grace--Inconvenience of Laxity in\nReligious Houses\n\nVIII. The Saint ceases not to pray--Prayer the way to recover\nwhat is lost--All exhorted to pray--The great Advantage of\nPrayer, even to those who may have ceased from it\n\nIX. The means whereby our Lord quickened her Soul, gave her Light\nin her Darkness, and made her strong in Goodness\n\nX. The Graces she received in Prayer--What we can do\nourselves--The great Importance of understanding what our Lord is\ndoing for us--She desires her Confessors to keep her Writings\nsecret, because of the special Graces of our Lord to her, which\nthey had commanded her to describe\n\nXI. Why men do not attain quickly to the perfect Love of God--Of\nFour Degrees of Prayer--Of the First Degree--The Doctrine\nprofitable for Beginners, and for those who have no\nsensible Sweetness\n\nXII. What we can ourselves do--The Evil of desiring to attain to\nsupernatural States before our Lord calls us\n\nXIII. Of certain Temptations of Satan--Instructions\nrelating thereto\n\nXIV. The Second State of Prayer--Its supernatural Character\n\nXV. Instructions for those who have attained to the Prayer of\nQuiet--Many advance so far, but few go farther\n\nXVI. The Third State of Prayer--Deep Matters--What the Soul can\ndo that has reached it--Effects of the great Graces of our Lord\n\nXVII. The Third State of Prayer--The Effects thereof--The\nHindrance caused by the Imagination and the Memory\n\nXVIII. The Fourth State of Prayer--The great Dignity of the Soul\nraised to it by our Lord--Attainable on Earth, not by our Merit,\nbut by the Goodness of our Lord\n\nXIX. The Effects of this Fourth State of Prayer--Earnest\nExhortations to those who have attained to it not to go back nor\nto cease from Prayer, even if they fall--The great Calamity of\ngoing back\n\nXX. The Difference between Union and Rapture--What Rapture\nis--The Blessing it is to the Soul--The Effects of it\n\nXXI. Conclusion of the Subject--Pain of the Awakening--Light\nagainst Delusions\n\nXXII. The Security of Contemplatives lies in their not ascending\nto high Things if our Lord does not raise them--The Sacred\nHumanity must be the Road to the highest Contemplation--A\nDelusion in which the Saint was once entangled\n\nXXIII. The Saint resumes the History of her Life--Aiming at\nPerfection--Means whereby it may be gained--Instructions\nfor Confessors\n\nXXIV. Progress under Obedience--Her Inability to resist the\nGraces of God--God multiplies His Graces\n\nXXV. Divine Locutions--Delusions on that Subject\n\nXXVI. How the Fears of the Saint vanished--How she was assured\nthat her Prayer was the Work of the Holy Spirit\n\nXXVII. The Saint prays to be directed in a different\nway--Intellectual Visions\n\nXXVIII. Visions of the Sacred Humanity and of the glorified\nBodies--Imaginary Visions--Great Fruits thereof when they come\nfrom God\n\nXXIX. Of Visions--The Graces our Lord bestowed on the Saint--The\nAnswers our Lord gave her for those who tried her\n\nXXX. St. Peter of Alcantara comforts the Saint--Great Temptations\nand Interior Trials\n\nXXXI. Of certain outward Temptations and Appearances of Satan--Of\nthe Sufferings thereby occasioned--Counsels for those who go on\nunto Perfection\n\nXXXII. Our Lord shows St. Teresa the Place which she had by her\nSins deserved in Hell--The Torments there--How the Monastery of\nSt. Joseph was founded\n\nXXXIII. The Foundation of the Monastery hindered--Our Lord\nconsoles the Saint\n\nXXXIV. The Saint leaves her Monastery of the Incarnation for a\ntime, at the command of her superior--Consoles an afflicted Widow\n\nXXXV. The Foundation of the House of St. Joseph--Observance of\nholy Poverty therein--How the Saint left Toledo\n\nXXXVI. The Foundation of the Monastery of St. Joseph--Persecution\nand Temptations--Great interior Trial of the Saint, and\nher Deliverance\n\nXXXVII. The Effects of the divine Graces in the Soul--The\ninestimable Greatness of one Degree of Glory\n\nXXXVIII. Certain heavenly Secrets, Visions, and Revelations--The\nEffects of them in her Soul\n\nXXXIX. Other Graces bestowed on the Saint--The Promises of our\nLord to her--Divine Locutions and Visions\n\nXL. Visions, Revelations, and Locutions\n\nThe Relations.\n\nRelation.\n\nI. Sent to St. Peter of Alcantara in 1560 from the Monastery of\nthe Incarnation, Avila\n\nII. To one of her Confessors, from the House of Dona Luisa de la\nCerda, in 1562\n\nIII. Of various Graces granted to the Saint from the year 1568 to\n1571, inclusive\n\nIV. Of the Graces the Saint received in Salamanca at the end of\nLent, 1571\n\nV. Observations on certain Points of Spirituality\n\nVI. The Vow of Obedience to Father Gratian which the Saint made\nin 1575\n\nVII. Made for Rodrigo Alvarez, S.J., in the year 1575, according\nto Don Vicente de la Fuente; but in 1576, according to the\nBollandists and F. Bouix\n\nVIII. Addressed to F. Rodrigo Alvarez\n\nIX. Of certain spiritual Graces she received in Toledo and Avila\nin the years 1576 and 1577\n\nX. Of a Revelation to the Saint at Avila, 1579, and of Directions\nconcerning the Government of the Order\n\nXI. Written from Palencia in May, 1581, and addressed to Don\nAlonzo Velasquez, Bishop of Osma, who had been when Canon of\nToledo, one of the Saint's Confessors\n\n\n\n\n\nIntroduction to the Present Edition.\n\nWhen the publisher entrusted me with the task of editing this\nvolume, one sheet was already printed and a considerable portion\nof the book was in type.  Under his agreement with the owners of\nthe copyright, he was bound to reproduce the text and notes,\netc., originally prepared by Mr. David Lewis without any change,\nso that my duty was confined to reading the proofs and verifying\nthe quotations.  This translation of the Life of St. Teresa is so\nexcellent, that it could hardly be improved.  While faithfully\nadhering to her wording, the translator has been successful in\nrendering the lofty teaching in simple and clear language, an\nachievement all the more remarkable as in addition to the\ndifficulty arising from the transcendental nature of the subject\nmatter, the involved style, and the total absence of punctuation\ntend to perplex the reader.  Now and then there might be some\ndifference of opinion as to how St. Teresa's phrases should be\nconstrued, but it is not too much to say that on the whole\nMr. Lewis has been more successful than any other translator,\nwhether English or foreign.  Only in one case have I found it\nnecessary to make some slight alteration in the text, and I trust\nthe owners of the copyright will forgive me for doing so.  In\nChapter XXV., \u00a7 4, St. Teresa, speaking of the difference between\nthe Divine and the imaginary locutions, says that a person\ncommending a matter to God with great earnestness, may think that\nhe hears whether his prayer will be granted or not: y es muy\nposible, \"and this is quite possible,\" but he who has ever heard\na Divine locution will see at once that this assurance is\nsomething quite different.  Mr. Lewis, following the old Spanish\neditions, translated \"And it is most impossible,\" whereas both\nthe autograph and the context demand the wording I have ventured\nto substitute.\n\nWhen Mr. Lewis undertook the translation of St. Teresa's works,\nhe had before him Don Vicente de la Fuente's edition (Madrid,\n1861-1862), supposed to be a faithful transcript of the original.\nIn 1873 the Sociedad Foto-Tipografica-Catolica of Madrid\npublished a photographic reproduction of the Saint's autograph in\n412 pages in folio, which establishes the true text once for all.\nDon Vicente prepared a transcript of this, in which he wisely\nadopted the modern way of spelling but otherwise preserved the\noriginal text, or at least pretended to do so, for a minute\ncomparison between autograph and transcript reveals the startling\nfact that nearly a thousand inaccuracies have been allowed to\ncreep in.  Most of these variants are immaterial, but there are\nsome which ought not to have been overlooked. Thus, in Chapter\nXVIII. \u00a7 20, St. Teresa's words are: Un gran letrado de la orden\ndel glorioso santo Domingo, while Don Vicente retains the old\nreading De la orden del glorioso patriarca santo Domingo.\nMr. Lewis possessed a copy of this photographic reproduction, but\nutilised it only in one instance in his second edition. [1]\n\nThe publication of the autograph has settled a point of some\nimportance.  The Bollandists (n. 1520), discussing the question\nwhether the headings of the chapters (appended to this\nIntroduction) are by St. Teresa or a later addition, come to the\nconclusion (against the authors of the Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os)\nthat they are clearly an interpolation (clarissime patet) on\naccount of the praise of the doctrine contained in these\narguments.  Notwithstanding their high authority the Bollandists\nare in this respect perfectly wrong, the arguments are entirely\nin St. Teresa's own hand and are exclusively her own work.\nThe Book of Foundations and the Way of Perfection contain similar\narguments in the Saint's handwriting.  Nor need any surprise be\nfelt at the alleged praise of her doctrine for by saying: this\nchapter is most noteworthy (Chap. XIV.), or: this is good\ndoctrine (Chap. XXI.), etc., she takes no credit for herself\nbecause she never grows tired of repeating that she only delivers\nthe message she has received from our Lord. [2]  The Bollandists,\nnot having seen the original, may be excused, but P. Bouix (whom\nMr. Lewis follows in this matter) had no right to suppress these\narguments.  It is to be hoped that future editions of the works\nof S. Teresa will not again deprive the reader of this remarkable\nfeature of her writings.  What she herself thought of her books\nis best told by Yepes in a letter to Father Luis de Leon, the\nfirst editor of her works: \"She was pleased when her writings\nwere being praised and her Order and the convents were held in\nesteem.  Speaking one day of the Way of Perfection, she rejoiced\nto hear it praised, and said to me with great content: Some grave\nmen tell me that it is like Holy Scripture.  For being revealed\ndoctrine it seemed to her that praising her book was like\npraising God.\" [3]\n\nA notable feature in Mr. Lewis's translation is his division of\nthe chapters into short paragraphs.  But it appears that he\nrearranged the division during the process of printing, with the\nresult that a large number of references were wrong.  No labour\nhas been spared in the correction of these, and I trust that the\npresent edition will be the more useful for it.  In quoting the\nWay of Perfection and the Interior Castle (which he calls Inner\nFortress!) Mr. Lewis refers to similar paragraphs which, however,\nare to be found in no English edition.  A new translation of\nthese two works is greatly needed, and, in the case of the Way of\nPerfection, the manuscript of the Escurial should be consulted as\nwell as that of Valladolid.  Where the writings of S. John of the\nCross are quoted by volume and page, the edition referred to is\nthe one of 1864, another of Mr. Lewis's masterpieces.\nThe chapters in Ribera's Life of St. Teresa refer to the edition\nin the Acts of the Saint by the Bollandists.  These and all other\nquotations have been carefully verified, with the exception of\nthose taken from the works on Mystical theology by Antonius a\nSpiritu Sancto and Franciscus a S. Thoma, which I was unable to\nconsult.  I should have wished to replace the quotations from\nantiquated editions of the Letters of our Saint by references to\nthe new French edition by P. Gr\u00e9goire de S. Joseph (Paris,\nPoussielgue, 1900), which may be considered as the\nstandard\u00a0edition.\n\nIn note 2 to Chap. XI. Mr. Lewis draws attention to a passage in\na sermon by S. Bernard containing an allusion to different ways\nof watering a garden similar to St. Teresa's well-known\ncomparison.  Mr. Lewis's quotation is incorrect, and I am not\ncertain what sermon he may have had in view.  Something to the\npoint may be found in sermon 22 on the Canticle (Migne,\nP. L. Vol. CLXXXIII, p. 879), and in the first sermon on the\nNativity of our Lord (ibid., p. 115), and also in a sermon on the\nCanticle by one of St. Bernard's disciples (Vol. CLXXXIV.,\np. 195).  I am indebted to the Very Rev. Prior Vincent McNabb,\nO.P., for the verification of a quotation from St. Vincent Ferrer\n(Chap. XX. \u00a7 31).\n\nSince the publication of Mr. Lewis's translation the uncertainty\nabout the date of St. Teresa's profession has been cleared up.\nYepes, the Bollandists, P. Bouix, Don Vicente de la Fuente,\nMr. Lewis, and numerous other writers assume that she entered the\nconvent of the Incarnation [4] on November 2nd, 1533, and made\nher profession on November 3rd, 1534.  The remaining dates of\nevents previous to her conversion are based upon this, as will be\nseen from the chronology printed by Mr. Lewis at the end of his\nPreface and frequently referred to in the footnotes.  It rests,\nhowever, on inadequate evidence, namely on a single passage in\nthe Life [5] where the Saint says that she was not yet twenty\nyears old when she made her first supernatural experience in\nprayer.  She was twenty in March, 1535, and as this event took\nplace after her profession, the latter was supposed by Yepes and\nhis followers to have taken place in the previous November.\nEven if we had no further evidence, the fact that St. Teresa is\nnot always reliable in her calculation should have warned us not\nto rely too much upon a somewhat casual statement.  In the first\nchapter, \u00a7 7, she positively asserts that she was rather less\nthan twelve years old at the death of her mother, whereas we know\nthat she was at least thirteen years and eight months old.  As to\nthe profession we have overwhelming evidence that it took place\non the 3rd of November, 1536, and her entrance in the convent a\nyear and a day earlier.  To begin with, we have the positive\nstatement of her most intimate friends, Julian d'Avila, Father\nRibera, S.J., and Father Jerome Gratian.  Likewise do\u00f1a Maria\nPinel, nun of the Incarnation, says in her deposition: \"She\n(Teresa of Jesus) took the habit on 2 November, 1535.\" [6]\nThis is corroborated by various passages in the Saint's writings.\nThus, in Relation VII., written in 1575, she says, speaking of\nherself: \"This nun took the habit forty years ago.\"  Again in a\npassage of the Life written about the end of 1564 or the\nbeginning of the following year, [7] she mentions that she has\nbeen a nun for over twenty-eight years, which points to her\nprofession in 1536.  But there are two documents which place the\ndate of profession beyond dispute, namely the act of renunciation\nof her right to the paternal inheritance and the deed of dowry\ndrawn up before a public notary.  Both bear the date 31 October,\n1536.  The authors of the Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os thought that\nthey must have been drawn up before St. Teresa took the habit,\nand therefore placed this event in 1536 and the profession in\n1537, but neither of these documents is necessarily connected\nwith the clothing, yet both must have been completed before\nprofession.  The Constitutions of Blessed John Soreth, drawn up\nin 1462, which were observed at the convent of the Incarnation,\ncontain the following rule with regard to the reception and\ntraining of novices: [8] Consulimus quod recipiendus ante\nsusceptionem habitus expediat se de omnibus quae habet in saeculo\nnisi ex causa rationabili per priorem generalem vel provincialem\nfuerit aliter ordinatum.  There was, indeed, good reason in the\ncase of St. Teresa to postpone these legal matters.  Her father\nwas much opposed to her becoming a nun, but considering his piety\nit might have been expected that before the end of the year of\nprobation he would grant his consent (which in the event he did\nthe very day she took the habit), and make arrangements for the\ndowry.  One little detail concerning her haste in entering the\nconvent has been preserved by the Reforma and the\nBollandists, [9] though neither seem to have understood its\nmeaning.  On leaving the convent of the Incarnation for\nSt. Joseph's in 1563, St. Teresa handed the prioress of the\nformer convent a receipt for her bedding, habit and discipline.\nThis almost ludicrous scrupulosity was in conformity with a\ndecision of the general chapter of 1342 which said: Ingrediens\nordinem ad sui ipsius instantiam habeat lectisternia pro se ipso,\nsin autem recipiens solvat lectum illum.  As St. Teresa entered\nthe convent without the knowledge of her father she did not bring\nthis insignificant trousseau with her; accordingly the prioress\nbecame responsible for it and obtained a receipt when St. Teresa\nwent to the new convent.  The dowry granted by Alphonso Sanchez\nde Cepeda to his daughter consisted of twenty-five measures,\npartly wheat, partly barley, or, in lieu thereof, two hundred\nducats per annum.  Few among the numerous nuns of the Incarnation\ncould have brought a better or even an equal dowry.\n\nThe date of St. Teresa's profession being thus fixed on the 3rd\nof November, 1536, some other dates of the chronology must be\nrevised.  Her visit to Castellanos de la Canada must have taken\nplace in the early part of 1537.  But already before this time\nthe Saint had an experience which should have proved a warning to\nher, and the neglect of which she never ceased to deplore, namely\nthe vision of our Lord; [10] her own words are that this event\ntook place \"at the very beginning of her acquaintance with the\nperson\" who exercised so dangerous an influence upon her.\nMr. Lewis assigns to it the date 1542, which is impossible seeing\nthat instead of twenty-six it was only twenty-two years before\nshe wrote that passage of her life.  Moreover, it would have\nfallen into the midst of her lukewarmness (according to\nMr. Lewis's chronology) instead of the very beginning.  P. Bouix\nrightly assigns it to the year 1537, but as he is two years in\nadvance of our chronology it does not agree with the surrounding\ncircumstances as described by him.  Bearing in mind the hint\nSt. Teresa gives [11] as to her disposition immediately after her\nprofession, we need not be surprised if the first roots of her\nlukewarmness show themselves so soon.\n\nFrom Castellanos she proceeded to Hortigosa on a visit to her\nuncle.  While there she became acquainted with the book called\nTercer Abecedario.  Don Vicente remarks that the earliest edition\nknown to him was printed in 1537, which tells strongly against\nthe chronology of the Bollandists, P. Bouix, and others.\nAgain, speaking of her cure at Bezadas she gives a valuable hint\nby saying that she remained blind to certain dangers for more\nthan seventeen years until the Jesuit fathers finally undeceived\nher.  As these came to Avila in 1555 the seventeen years lead us\nback to 1538, which precisely coincides with her sojourn at\nBezadas.  She remained there until Pascua florida of the\nfollowing year.  P. Bouix and others understand by this term Palm\nSunday, but Don Vicente shows good reason that Easter Sunday is\nmeant, which in 1539 was April the 6th.  She then returned to\nAvila, more dead than alive, and remained seriously ill for\nnearly three years, until she was cured through the miraculous\nintervention of St. Joseph about the beginning of 1542.\nNow began the period of lukewarmness which was temporally\ninterrupted by the illness and death of her father, in 1544 or\n1545, and came to an end about 1555.  Don Vicente, followed by\nMr. Lewis, draws attention to what he believes to be a \"proof of\ngreat laxity of the convent,\" that St. Teresa should have been\nurged by one of her confessors to communicate as often as once a\nfortnight.  It should be understood that frequent communion such\nas we now see it practised was wholly unknown in her time.\nThe Constitutions of the Order specified twelve days on which all\nthose that were not priests should communicate, adding:\nVerumtamen fratres professi prout Deus eis devotionem contulerit\ndiebus dominicis et festis duplicibus (i.e., on feasts of our\nLady, the Apostles, etc.), communicare poterunt si qui velint.\nThus, communicating about once a month St. Teresa acted as\nordinary good Religious were wont to do, and by approaching the\nsacrament more frequently she placed herself among the more\nfervent nuns. [12]\n\nSt. Teresa wrote quite a number of different accounts of her\nlife.  The first, addressed to Father Juan de Padranos, S.J. [13]\nand dated 1557, is now lost.  The second, written for St. Peter\nof Alcantara, is Relation I. at the end of this volume; a copy of\nit, together with a continuation (Relation II.) was sent to\nFather Pedro Iba\u00f1ez in 1562.  It is somewhat difficult to admit\nthat in the very same year she wrote another, more extensive,\naccount to the same priest, which is generally called the \"first\"\nLife.  At the end of the Life such as we have it now, St. Teresa\nwrote: \"This book was finished in June, 1562,\" and Father Ba\u00f1ez\nwrote underneath: \"This date refers to the first account which\nthe Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus wrote of her life; it was not\nthen divided into chapters.  Afterwards she made this copy and\ninserted in it many things which had taken place subsequent to\nthis date, such as the foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph\nof Avila.\"  Elsewhere Father Ba\u00f1ez says: [14] \"Of one of her\nbooks, namely, the one in which she recorded her life and the\nmanner of prayer whereby God had led her, I can say that she\ncomposed it to the end that her confessors might know her the\nbetter and instruct her, and also that it might encourage and\nanimate those who learn from it the great mercy God had shown\nher, a great sinner as she humbly acknowledged herself to be.\nThis book was already written when I made her acquaintance, her\nprevious confessors having given her permission to that effect.\nAmong these was a licentiate of the Dominican Order, the Reverend\nFather Pedro Iba\u00f1ez, reader of Divinity at Avila.  She afterwards\ncompleted and recast this book.\"  These two passages of Ba\u00f1ez\nhave led the biographers of the Saint to think that she wrote her\nLife twice, first in 1561 and the following year, completing it\nin the house of Do\u00f1a Luisa de la Cerda at Toledo, in the month of\nJune; and secondly between 1563 and 1565 at St. Joseph's Convent\nof Avila.  They have been at pains to point out a number of\nplaces which could not have been in the \"first\" Life, but must\nhave been added in the second; [15] and they took it for granted\nthat the letter with which the book as we now have it concludes,\nwas addressed to Father Iba\u00f1ez in 1562, when the Saint sent him\nthe \"first\" Life.  It bears neither address nor date, but from\nits contents I am bound to conclude that it was written in 1565,\nthat it refers to the \"second\" Life, and that whomsoever it was\naddressed to, it cannot have been to Father Iba\u00f1ez, who was\nalready dead at the time. [16]  Saint Teresa asks the writer to\nsend a copy of the book to Father Juan de Avila.  Now we know\nfrom her letters that as late as 1568 this request had not been\ncomplied with, and that St. Teresa had to write twice to Do\u00f1a\nLuisa for this purpose; [17] but if she had already given these\ninstructions in 1562, it is altogether incomprehensible that she\ndid not see to it earlier, especially when the \"first\" Life was\nreturned to her for the purpose of copying and completing it.\nThe second reason which prevents me from considering this letter\nas connected with the \"first\" Life will be examined when I come\nto speak of the different ends the Saint had in view when writing\nher Life.  It is more difficult to say to whom the letter was\nreally addressed.  The Reforma suggests Father Garcia de Toledo,\nDominican, who bade the Saint write the history of the foundation\nof St. Joseph's at Avila [18] and who was her confessor at that\nconvent.  It moreover believes that he it is to whom Chapter\nXXXIV. \u00a7\u00a7 8-20 refers, and this opinion appears to me plausible.\nAs to the latter point, Yepes thinks the Dominican at Toledo was\nFather Vicente Barron, the Bollandists offer no opinion, and\nMr. Lewis, in his first edition gives first the one and then the\nother.  If, as I think, Father Garcia was meant, the passage in\nChapter XVI. \u00a7 10, beginning \"O, my son,\" would concern him also,\nas well as several passages where Vuestra Merced--you, my\nFather--is addressed.  For although the book came finally into\nthe hands of Father Ba\u00f1ez, it was first delivered into those of\nthe addressee of the letter.\n\nWhether the previous paper was a mere \"Relation,\" or really a\nfirst attempt at a \"Life,\" [19] there can be no dispute about its\npurpose: St. Teresa speaks of it in the following terms: \"I had\nrecourse to my Dominican father (Iba\u00f1ez); I told him all about my\nvisions, my way of prayer, the great graces our Lord had given\nme, as clearly as I could, and begged him to consider the matter\nwell, and tell me if there was anything therein at variance with\nthe Holy Writings, and give me his opinion on the whole\nmatter.\" [20]  The account thus rendered had the object of\nenabling Father Iba\u00f1ez to give her light upon the state of her\nsoul.  But while she was drawing it up, a great change came over\nher.  During St. Teresa's sojourn at Toledo she became from a\npupil an experienced master in Mystical knowledge.  \"When I was\nthere a religious\" (probably Father Garcia de Toledo) \"with whom\nI had conversed occasionally some years ago, happened to arrive.\nWhen I was at Mass in a monastery of his Order, I felt a longing\nto know the state of his soul.\" [21]  Three times the Saint rose\nfrom her seat, three times she sat down again, but at last she\nwent to see him in a confessional, not to ask for any light for\nherself, but to give him what light she could, for she wished to\ninduce him to surrender himself more perfectly to God, and this\nshe accomplished by telling him how she had fared since their\nlast meeting.  No one who reads this remarkable chapter can help\nbeing struck by the change that has come over Teresa: the period\nof her schooling is at an end, and she is now the great teacher\nof Mystical theology.  Her humility does not allow her to speak\nwith the same degree of openness upon her achievements as she did\nwhen making known her failings, yet she cannot conceal the Gift\nof Wisdom she had received and the use she made of it.\n\nSt. Teresa's development, if extraordinary considering the degree\nof spirituality she reached, was nevertheless gradual and\nregular.  With her wonderful power of analysis, she has given us\nnot only a clear insight into her interior progress, but also a\nsketch of the development of her understanding of supernatural\nthings.  \"It is now (i.e., about the end of 1563) some five or\nsix years, I believe, since our Lord raised me to this state of\nprayer, in its fulness, and that more than once,--and I never\nunderstood it, and never could explain it; and so I was resolved,\nwhen I should come thus far in my story, to say very little or\nnothing at all.\" [22]  In the following chapter she adds: \"You,\nmy father, will be delighted greatly to find an account of the\nmatter in writing, and to understand it; for it is one grace that\nour Lord gives grace; and it is another grace to understand what\ngrace and what gift it is; and it is another and further grace to\nhave the power to describe and explain it to others.  Though it\ndoes not seem that more than the first of these--the giving of\ngrace--is necessary, it is a great advantage and a great grace to\nunderstand it.\" [23]  These words contain the clue to much that\notherwise would be obscure in the life of our Saint: great graces\nwere bestowed upon her, but at first she neither understood them\nherself nor was she able to describe them.  Hence the inability\nof her confessors and spiritual advisers to guide her.\nHer natural gifts, great though they were, did not help her much.\n\"Though you, my father, may think that I have a quick\nunderstanding, it is not so; for I have found out in many ways\nthat my understanding can take in only, as they say, what is\ngiven it to eat.  Sometimes my confessor used to be amazed at my\nignorance: and he never explained to me--nor, indeed, did I\ndesire to understand--how God did this, nor how it could be.\nNor did I ever ask.\" [24]  At first she was simply bewildered by\nthe favours shown her, afterwards she could not help knowing,\ndespite the fears of over anxious friends, that they did come\nfrom God, and that so far from imperilling her soul made a\ndifferent woman of her, but even then she was not able to explain\nto others what she experienced in herself.  But shortly before\nthe foundation of St. Joseph's convent she received the last of\nthe three graces mentioned above, the Gift of Wisdom, and the\nscene at Toledo is the first manifestation of it.\n\nThis explains the difference of the \"Life\" such as we know it\nfrom the first version or the \"Relations\" preceding it.\nWhatever this writing was, it still belonged to the period of her\nspiritual education, whereas the volume before us is the\nfirst-fruit of her spiritual Mastership.  The new light that had\ncome to her induced her confessors [25] to demand a detailed work\nembodying everything she had learned from her heavenly\nTeacher. [26]  The treatise on Mystical theology contained in\nChapters X. to XXI., the investigation of Divine locutions,\nVisions and Revelations in the concluding portion of the work\ncould have had no place in any previous writing.  While her\nexperiences before she obtained the Gift of Wisdom influenced but\nthree persons (one of them being her father), a great many\nprofited by her increased knowledge. [27]  The earlier writings\nwere but confidential communications to her confessors, and if\nthey became known to larger circles this was due to indiscretion.\nBut her \"Life\" was written from the beginning with a view to\npublication.  Allusions to this object may be found in various\nplaces [28] as well as in the letter appended to the book, [29]\nbut the decisive utterances must be sought for elsewhere, namely\nin the \"Way of Perfection.\" This work was written immediately\nafter the \"Life,\" while the Saint was as yet at the convent of\nSt. Joseph's.  It was re-written later on and is now only known\nin its final shape, but the first version, the original of which\nis preserved at the Escurial and has been reproduced\nphotographically, leaves no doubt as to the intentions of\nSt. Teresa in writing her \"Life.\"  \"I have written a few days ago\na certain Relation of my Life.  But since it might happen that my\nconfessor may not permit you (the Sisters of St. Joseph's) to\nread it, I will put here some things concerning prayer which are\nconformable to what I have said there, as well as some other\nthings which appear to me to be necessary.\" [30]  Again: \"As all\nthis is better explained in the book which I say I have written,\nthere is no need for me to speak of it with so much detail.\nI have said there all I know. Those of you who have been led by\nGod to this degree of contemplation (and I say that some have\nbeen led so far), should procure the book because it is important\nfor you, after I am dead.\" [31]  At the end she writes: \"Since\nthe Lord has taught you the way and has inspired me as to what I\nshould put in the book which I say has been written, how they\nshould behave who have arrived at this fountain of living water\nand what the soul feels there, and how God satiates her and makes\nher lose the thirst for things of this world and causes her to\ngrow in things pertaining to the service of God; that book,\ntherefore, will be of great help for those who have arrived at\nthis state, and will give them much light.  Procure it.\nFor Father Domingo Ba\u00f1ez, presentado of the Order of St. Dominic\nwho, as I say, is my confessor, and to whom I shall give this,\nhas it: if he judges that you should see this, and gives it to\nyou, he will also give you the other.\" [32]  While the first and\nsecond of these quotations may be found, somewhat weakened, in\nthe final version of the \"Way of Perfection,\" the last one is\nentirely omitted.  Nor need this surprise us, for Father Ba\u00f1ez\nhad his own ideas about the advisability of the publication of\nthe \"Life.\" In his deposition, already referred to, he says: \"It\nwas not convenient that this book should become public during her\nlifetime, but rather that it should be kept at the Holy Office\n(the Inquisition) until we knew the end of this person; it was\ntherefore quite against my will that some copies were taken while\nit was in the hands of the bishop Don Alvaro Mendoza, who, being\na powerful prelate and having received it from the said Teresa of\nJesus, allowed it to be copied and showed it to his sister, do\u00f1a\nMaria de Mendoza; thus certain persons taking an interest in\nspiritual matters and knowing already some portions of this\ntreatise (evidently the contents of the divulged Relations) made\nfurther copies, one of which became the property of the Duchess\nof Alba, do\u00f1a Maria Enriquez, and is now, I think, in the hands\nof her daughter-in-law, do\u00f1a Maria de Toledo.  All this was\nagainst my wish, and I was much annoyed with the said Teresa of\nJesus, though I knew well it was not her fault but the fault of\nthose to whom she had confided the book, and I told her she ought\nto burn the original because it would never do that the writings\nof women should become public property; to which she answered she\nwas quite aware of it and would certainly burn it if I told her\nto do so; but knowing her great humility and obedience I did not\ndare to have it destroyed but handed it to the Holy Office for\nsafe-keeping, whence it has been withdrawn since her death and\npublished in print.\" [33]  From this it will be seen that Ba\u00f1ez,\nwho had given a most favourable opinion when the \"Life\" was\ndenounced to the Inquisition (1574), resulting in the approbation\nby Cardinal de Quiroga to the great joy of St. Teresa, [34]\nreturned it to the Holy Office for safety's sake. It was\nwithdrawn by the Ven. Mother Anne of Jesus when the Order had\ndecided upon the publication of the works of the Saint, but too\nlate to be utilised then.  Father Luis de Leon, the editor, had\nto content himself with the copy already alluded to.\n\nSt. Teresa wrote her \"Life\" slowly.  It was begun in spring,\n1563, [35] and completed in May or June, 1565.  She complains\nthat she can only work at it by stealth on account of her duties\nat the distaff; [36] but the book is written with so much order\nand method, the manuscript is so free from mistakes, corrections\nand erasures, that we may conclude that while spinning she worked\nit out in her mind, so that the apparent delay proved most\nadvantageous.  In this respect the \"Life\" is superior to the\nfirst version of the \"Way of Perfection.\"  This latter work was\nprinted during her lifetime, though it appeared only after her\ndeath.  In 1586 the Definitory of the province of Discalced\nCarmelites decided upon the publication of the complete works of\nthe Saint, but for obvious reasons deemed not only the members of\nher own Order but also Dominicans and Jesuits ineligible for the\npost of editor.  Such of the manuscripts as could be found were\ntherefore confided to the Augustinian Father, Luis de Leon,\nprofessor at Salamanca, who prepared the edition but did not live\nto carry it through the press.  The fact that he did not know the\nautograph of the \"Life\" accounts for the numerous inaccuracies to\nbe found in nearly all editions, but the publication of the\noriginal should ensure a great improvement for the future.\n\nSt. Teresa's canonisation took place before the stringent laws of\nUrban VIII. came into force.  Consequently, the writings of the\nSaint were not then enquired into, the Holy See contenting itself\nwith the approbations granted by the Spanish Inquisition, and by\nthe congregation of the Rota in Rome.  A certain number of\npassages selected from various works having been denounced by\nsome Roman theologians as being contrary to the teaching of\nSt. Thomas Aquinas and other authorities, Diego Alvarez, a\nDominican, and John Rada, a Franciscan, were commissioned to\nexamine the matter and report on it.  The twelve censures with\nthe answers of the two theologians and the final judgment of the\nRota seem to have remained unknown to the Bollandists. [37]\nThe \"heavenly doctrine\" of St. Teresa is alluded to not only in\nthe Bull of canonisation but even in the Collect of the Mass of\nthe Saint.\n\nConcerning the English translations of the \"Life\" noticed by\nMr. Lewis it should be mentioned that the one ascribed to Abraham\nWoodhead is only partly his work.  Father Bede of St. Simon Stock\n(Walter Joseph Travers), a Discalced Carmelite, labouring on the\nEnglish Mission from 1660 till 1692, was anxious to complete the\ntranslation of St. Teresa's works into English.  He had not\nproceeded very far when he learnt that \"others were engaged in\nthe same task.  On enquiry he found that a new translation was\ncontemplated by two graduates of the University of Cambridge,\nconverts to the Faith, most learned and pious men, who were\nleading a solitary life, spending their time and talents in the\ncomposition of controversial and devotional works for the good of\ntheir neighbour and the glory of God.\"  One of these two men was\nWoodhead, who, however, was an Oxford man, but the name of the\nother, who must have been a Cambridge man, is not known.\nThey undertook the translation while Father Bede provided the\nfunds and bore the risks of what was then a dangerous work.\nAs there existed already two English translations of the \"Life,\"\nthe first volume to appear (1669) contained the Book of\nFoundations, to which was prefixed the history of the foundation\nof St. Joseph's from the \"Life.\"  When, therefore, the new\ntranslation of the latter appeared, in 1671, this portion of the\nbook was omitted. [38]  The translation was made direct from the\nSpanish but \"uniformly with the Italian edition.\"\n\nMr. Lewis, whose translation is the fifth, was born on the 12th\nof November, 1814, and died on January the 23rd, 1895.  The first\nedition was printed in 1870, the second in 1888.  It is\nregrettable that the latter edition, of which the present is a\nreprint, omitted the marginal notes which would have been so\nhelpful to the reader.\n\nSt. Teresa's life and character having always been a favourite\nstudy of men and women of various schools of thought, it may be\nuseful to notice here a few recent English and foreign works on\nthe subject:--\n\nThe Life of Saint Teresa, by the author of \"Devotions before and\nafter Holy Communion\" (i.e., Miss Maria Trench), London, 1875.\n\nThe Life of Saint Teresa of the Order of Our Lady of Mount\nCarmel.  Edited with a preface by the Archbishop of Westminster\n(Cardinal Manning), London, 1865.  (By Miss Elizabeth Lockhart,\nafterwards first abbess of the Franciscan convent, Notting Hill.)\nFrequently reprinted.\n\nThe Life and Letters of St. Teresa, by Henry James Coleridge,\nS.J.  Quarterly Series.  3 vols (1881, 1887, 1888).\n\nAnd, from another point of view:\n\nThe Life of St. Teresa, by Gabriela Cunninghame-Graham, 2 vols,\nLondon, 1894.\n\nHistoire de Sainte Th\u00e9r\u00e8se d'apr\u00e8s les Bollandistes.  2 vols,\nNantes, 1882.  Frequently reprinted.  The author is\nMlle. Adelaide Lecornu (born 5 July, 1852, died at the Carmelite\nconvent at Caen, 14 December, 1901.  Her name in religion was\nAdelaide-J\u00e9ronyme-Zoe-Marie du Sacr\u00e9-Coeur).\n\nAn excellent character sketch of the Saint has appeared in the\n\"Les Saints\" series (Paris, Lecoffre, 1901):\n\nSainte Th\u00e9r\u00e8se, par Henri Joly.\n\nAlthough the attempt at explaining the extraordinary phenomena in\nthe life of St. Teresa by animal Magnetism and similar obscure\ntheories had already been exploded by the Bollandists, it has\nlately been revived by Professor Don Arturo Perales Gutierrez of\nGranada, and Professor Don Fernando Segundo Brieva Salvatierra of\nMadrid, who considered her a subject of hysterical derangements.\nThe discussion carried on for some time, not only in Spain but\nalso in France, Germany, and other countries, has been ably\nsummed up and disposed of by P. Gr\u00e9goire de S. Joseph: La\npr\u00e9tendue Hyst\u00e9rie de Sainte Th\u00e9r\u00e8se. Lyons.\n\nThe Bibliographie Th\u00e9r\u00e8sienne, by Henry de Curzon (Paris, 1902)\nis, unfortunately, too incomplete, not to say slovenly, to be of\nmuch use.\n\nFinally, it is necessary to say a word about the spelling of the\nname Teresa.  In Spanish and Italian it should be written without\nan h as these languages do not admit the use of Th; in English,\nlikewise, where this combination of letters represents a special\nsound, the name should be spelt with T only.  But the present\nfashion of thus writing it in Latin, German, French, and other\nlanguages, which generally maintain the etymological spelling, is\nintolerable: The name is Greek, and was placed on the calendar in\nhonour of a noble Spanish lady, St. Therasia, who became the wife\nof a Saint, Paulinus of Nola, and a Saint herself.  See Sainte\nTh\u00e9r\u00e8se, Lettres au R. P. Bouix, by the Abb\u00e9 Postel, Paris, 1864.\nThe derivation of the name from the Hebrew Thersa can no longer\nbe defended (Father Jerome-Gratian, in Fuente, Obras, Vol. VI.,\np. 369 sqq.).\n\nBenedict Zimmerman,\nPrior O.C.D.\n\nSt. Luke's Priory,\nWincanton, Somerset.\n16th July, 1904.\n\n\n1. Chap. xxxiv., note 5.\n\n2. Chap. xviii. \u00a7 11.\n\n3. Fuente, Obras (1881), vol. vi. p. 133.\n\n4. See the licence granted by Leo X. to the prioress and convent\nof the Incarnation to build another house for the use of the said\nconvent, and to migrate thither (Vatican Archives, Dataria, Leo\nX., anno i., vol. viii., fol. 82).  Also a licence to sell or\nexchange certain property belonging to it (ibid., anno iv.,\nvol. vii., f. 274; and a charge to the Bishop of Avila concerning\na recourse of the said convent (ibid., anno vii., vol. iv.,\nf. 24).\n\n5. Chap. iv \u00a7 9.\n\n6. Lettres de Ste. Th\u00e9r\u00e8se, edit. P. Gr\u00e9goire de S. Joseph,\nvol. iii, p. 419, note 2.\n\n7. Chap. xxxvi. \u00a7 10.  The date of this part of the Life can be\neasily ascertained from the two following chapters.  In xxxvii. \u00a7\n18, St. Teresa says that she is not yet fifty years old,\nconsequently the chapter must have been written before the end of\nMarch, 1565; and in the next chapter, xxxviii. \u00a7 15, she speaks\nof the death of Father Pedro Iba\u00f1ez, which appears to have taken\nplace on 2nd February.  This, at least, is the date under which\nhis name appears in the Ann\u00e9e Dominicaine, and the Very\nRev. Prior Vincent McNabb tells me that there is every reason to\nthink that it is the date of his death.\n\n8. When about A.D. 1452 certain communities of Beguines demanded\naffiliation to the Carmelite Order, they were given the\nConstitutions of the friars without any alterations.\nThese Constitutions were revised in 1462, but neither there nor\nin the Acts of the General Chapters, so far as these are\npreserved, is there the slightest reference to convents of nuns.\nThe colophon of the printed edition (Venice, 1499) shows that\nthey held good for friars and nuns: Expliciunt sacrae\nconstitutiones novae fratrum et sororum beatae Mariae de Monte\nCarmelo.  They contain the customary laws forbidding the friars\nunder pain of excommunication, to leave the precincts of their\nconvents without due licence, but do not enjoin strict enclosure,\nwhich would have been incompatible with their manner of life and\ntheir various duties.  St. Teresa nowhere insinuates that the\nConstitutions, such as they were, were not kept at the\nIncarnation; her remarks in chap. vii. are aimed at the\nConstitutions themselves, which were never made for nuns, and\ntherefore did not provide for the needs of their convents.\n\n9. Reforma lib. i., cap. 47.  Bollandists. no. 366.\n\n10. Chap. vii. \u00a7 11.\n\n11. Chap. v. \u00a7 2.\n\n12. Constitutions of 1462. Part i., cap. x.\n\n13. Chap. xxiii. \u00a7 17.\n\n14. Deposition for the process of canonisation, written in 1591.\nFuente, Obras, vol. vi., p. 174.\n\n15. See the notes to chapters vii. \u00a7 11; xvi. \u00a7 10; xx. \u00a7 6;\nxxiv. \u00a7 4; xxvii. \u00a7 17.  At the end of chapter xxxi. we are told\non the authority of Don Vicente that the \"first\" Life must have\nended at this point.\n\n16. Bollandists, no. 1518.\n\n17. Lettres, edit. Gr\u00e9goire. I., pp. 13 (18 May, 1568); 21\n(27 May); 35 (2 November).\n\n18. Reforma, vol. i., lib. v., cap. xxxv., no. 9.  Bollandists,\nno. 1518.\n\n19. If the latter, it must have been very much shorter than the\nsecond edition, and can scarcely have contained more than the\nfirst nine chapters (perhaps verbatim) and an account of the\nvisions, locutions, etc., contained in chapters xxiii.-xxxi.,\nwithout comment.\n\n20. Chap. xxxiii. \u00a7 7.\n\n21. Chap. xxxiv. \u00a7 8.\n\n22. Chap. xvi. \u00a7 2.\n\n23. Chap. xvii. \u00a7 7.\n\n24. Chap. xxviii. \u00a7 10.\n\n25. In the Prologue to the Book of Foundations, Father Garcia de\nToledo, her confessor at St. Joseph's Convent, is said to be\nresponsible for the order to rewrite the \"Life\"; but in the\nPreface to the \"Life\" St. Teresa speaks of her \"confessors\" in\nthe plural.  Fathers Iba\u00f1ez and Ba\u00f1ez may be included in the\nnumber. See also ch. xxx. \u00a7 27.\n\n26. Chap. xviii. \u00a7 11.\n\n27. Chap. xiii. \u00a7 22.  In chap. xvi. \u00a7 12, the Saint says: \"I\nwish we five who now love one another in our Lord, had made some\nsuch arrangement, etc.\"  Fuente is of opinion that these five\nwere, besides the Saint, Father Julian de Avila, Don Francisco de\nSalcedo, St. John of the Cross, and Don Lorenzo de Cepeda,\nSt. Teresa's brother: but this is impossible at the date of this\npart of the \"Life.\"  It is more probable that she meant Francisco\nde Salcedo, Gaspar Daza, Julian de Avila, and Father Iba\u00f1ez, the\nlatter being still alive in the beginning of 1564, when this\nchapter was written.  It is more difficult to say who the three\nconfessors were whom St. Teresa desired to see the \"Life\"\n(ch. xl. \u00a7 32).  If, as I think, the book was first handed to\nFather Garcia de Toledo, the others may have been Francisco de\nSalcedo, Baltasar Alvarez, and Gaspar de Salazar.\n\n28. Chap. x. \u00a7\u00a7 11 and 12.\n\n29. This is the second reason why the letter could not have been\naddressed to Father Iba\u00f1ez in 1562.\n\n30. Edited by Don Francisco Herrero Bayona, 1883 p. 4.\n\n31. Ibid., chap. xli. (see Dalton's translation, chap. xxv.).\n\n32. Ibid., chap. lxxiii.  See the difference in Dalton's\ntranslation, chap. xlii.\n\n33. Fuente, Obras, vol. vi., p. 275.\n\n34. See the following Preface, p. xxxvii.  Lettres, ed. Gr\u00e9goire,\nii., p. 65.  P. Bertholde-Ignace, Vie de la M\u00e8re Anne de J\u00e9sus,\ni., p. 472.\n\n35. In the Prologue to the Book of Foundations, St. Teresa says\nthat Father Garcia de Toledo ordered her to rewrite the book the\nsame year in which St. Joseph's Convent was founded, i.e. 1562,\nbut seeing that she only spent a few hours there and that the\nprincipal difficulties only arose after her return to the\nIncarnation, it appears more probable that Father Garcia's\ncommand was not made until the spring of the following year, when\nshe went to live at St. Joseph's.\n\n36. Chap. x. \u00a7 11.\n\n37. See Historia Generalis Fratrum Discalceatorum Ordinis\nB. Virginis Mariae de Monte Carmelo Congregationis Eliae.\nRomae, 1668, vol. i., pp. 340-358 ad ann. 1604.\n\n38. See Carmel in England, by Rev. Father B. Zimmerman,\np. 240 sqq.\n\n\n\n\n\nSt. Teresa's Arguments of the Chapters.\n\n\nJ.H.S.\n\n\nJ.H.S. Chapter I. [1]--In which she tells how God [2] began to\ndispose this soul from childhood for virtue, and how she was\nhelped by having virtuous parents.\n\nChapter II.--How she lost these virtues and how important it is\nto deal from childhood with virtuous persons.\n\nChapter III.--In which she sets forth how good company was the\nmeans of her resuming good intentions, and in what manner God\nbegan to give her some light on the deception to which she\nwas subjected.\n\nChapter IV.--She explains how, with the assistance of God, she\ncompelled herself to take the (Religious) habit, and how His\nMajesty began to send her many infirmities.\n\nChapter V.--She continues to speak of the great infirmities she\nsuffered and the patience God gave her to bear them, and how He\nturned evil into good, as is seen from something that happened\nat the place where she went for a cure.\n\nChapter VI.--Of the great debt she owes God for giving her\nconformity of her will (with His) in her trials, and how she\nturned towards the glorious St. Joseph as her helper and\nadvocate, and how much she profited thereby.\n\nChapter VII.--Of the way whereby she lost the graces God had\ngranted her, and the wretched life she began to lead; she also\nspeaks of the danger arising from the want of a strict enclosure\nin convents of nuns.\n\nChapter VIII.--Of the great advantage she derived from not\nentirely abandoning prayer so as not to lose her soul; and what\nan excellent remedy this is in order to win back what one has\nlost.  She exhorts everybody to practise prayer, and shows what a\ngain it is, even if one should have given it up for a time, to\nmake use of so great a good.\n\nChapter IX.--By what means God began to rouse her soul and give\nlight in the midst of darkness, and to strengthen her virtues so\nthat she should not offend Him.\n\nChapter X.--She begins to explain the graces God gave her in\nprayer, and how much we can do for ourselves, and of the\nimportance of understanding God's mercies towards us.\nShe requests those to whom this is to be sent to keep the\nremainder (of this book) secret, since they have commanded her to\ngo into so many details about the graces God has shown her.\n\nChapter XI.--In which she sets forth how it is that we do not\nlove God perfectly in a short time.  She begins to expound by\nmeans of a comparison four degrees of prayer, of the first of\nwhich she treats here; this is most profitable for beginners and\nfor those who find no taste in prayer.\n\nChapter XII.--Continuation of the first state.  She declares how\nfar, with the grace of God, we can proceed by ourselves, and\nspeaks of the danger of seeking supernatural and extraordinary\nexperiences before God lifts up the soul.\n\nChapter XIII.--She continues to treat of the first degree, and\ngives advice with respect to certain temptations sometimes sent\nby Satan.  This is most profitable.\n\nChapter XIV.--She begins to explain the second degree of prayer\nin which God already gives the soul special consolations, which\nshe shows here to be supernatural.  This is most noteworthy.\n\nChapter XV.--Continuing the same subject, she gives certain\nadvice how one should behave in the prayer of quiet.  She shows\nthat many souls advance so far, but that few go beyond.\nThe matters treated of in this chapter are very necessary\nand profitable.\n\nChapter XVI.--On the third degree of prayer; she declares things\nof an elevated nature; what the soul that has come so far can do,\nand the effect of such great graces of God.  This is calculated\nto greatly animate the spirit to the praise of God, and contains\nadvice for those who have reached this point.\n\nChapter XVII.--Continues to declare matters concerning the third\ndegree of prayer and completes the explanation of its effects.\nShe also treats of the impediment caused by the imagination and\nthe memory.\n\nChapter XVIII.--She treats of the fourth degree of prayer, and\nbegins to explain [3] in what high dignity God holds a soul that\nhas attained this state; this should animate those who are given\nto prayer, to make an effort to reach so high a state since it\ncan be obtained in this world, though not by merit but only\nthrough the goodness of God. [4]\n\nChapter XIX.--She continues the same subject, and begins to\nexplain the effects on the soul of this degree of prayer.\nShe earnestly exhorts not to turn back nor to give up prayer even\nif, after having received this favour, one should fall.\nShe shows the damage that would result (from the neglect of this\nadvice). This is most noteworthy and consoling for the weak and\nfor sinners.\n\nChapter XX.--She speaks of the difference between Union and\nTrance, and explains what a Trance is; she also says something\nabout the good a soul derives from being, through God's goodness,\nled so far.  She speaks of the effects of Union. [5]\n\nChapter XXI.--She continues and concludes this last degree of\nprayer, and says what a soul having reached it feels when obliged\nto turn back and live in the world, and speaks of the light God\ngives concerning the deceits (of the world).  This is\ngood doctrine.\n\nChapter XXII.--In which she shows that the safest way for\ncontemplatives is not to lift up the spirit to high things but to\nwait for God to lift it up.  How the Sacred Humanity of Christ is\nthe medium for the most exalted contemplation.  She mentions an\nerror under which she laboured for some time.  This chapter is\nmost profitable.\n\nChapter XXIII.--She returns to the history of her life, how she\nbegan to practise greater perfection.  This is profitable for\nthose who have to direct souls practising prayer that they may\nknow how to deal with beginners, and she speaks of the profit she\nderived from such knowledge.\n\nChapter XXIV.--She continues the same subject and tells how her\nsoul improved since she began to practise obedience, and how\nlittle she was able to resist God's graces, and how His Majesty\ncontinued to give them more and more abundantly.\n\nChapter XXV.--Of the manner in which Locutions of God are\nperceived by the soul without being actually heard; and of some\ndeceits that might take place in this matter, and how one is to\nknow which is which.  This is most profitable for those who are\nin this degree of prayer, because it is very well explained, and\ncontains excellent doctrine.\n\nChapter XXVI.--She continues the same subject; explains and tells\nthings that have happened to her which caused her to lose fear\nand convinced her that the spirit which spoke to her was a\ngood one.\n\nChapter XXVII.--Of another way in which God teaches a soul, and,\nwithout speaking, makes His Will known in an admirable manner.\nShe goes on to explain a vision, though not an imaginary one, and\na great grace with which God favoured her.  This chapter\nis noteworthy.\n\nChapter XXVIII.--She treats of the great favours God showed her,\nand how He appeared to her for the first time; she explains what\nan imaginary vision is, and speaks of the powerful effects it\nleaves and the signs whether it is from God.  This chapter is\nmost profitable and noteworthy.\n\nChapter XXIX.--She continues and tells of some great mercies God\nshowed her, and what His Majesty said to her in order to assure\nher (of the truth of these visions), and taught her how to\nanswer contradictors.\n\nChapter XXX.--She continues the history of her life, and how God\nsent her a remedy for all her anxieties by calling the holy Friar\nFray Pedro de Alcantara of the Order of the glorious St. Francis\nto the place where she lived.  She mentions some great\ntemptations and interior trials through which she sometimes had\nto pass.\n\nChapter XXXI.--She speaks of some exterior temptations and\napparitions of Satan, and how he ill-treated her.  She mentions,\nmoreover, some very good things by way of advice to persons who\nare walking on the way of perfection.\n\nChapter XXXII.--She narrates how it pleased God to put her in\nspirit in that place of Hell she had deserved by her sins.\nShe tells a little [6] of what she saw there compared with what\nthere was besides.  She begins to speak of the manner and way\nof founding the convent of St. Joseph where she now lives.\n\nChapter XXXIII.--She continues the subject of the foundation of\nthe glorious St. Joseph.  How she was commanded to have nothing\n(further) to do with it, how she abandoned it, also the troubles\nit brought her and how God consoled her in all this.\n\nChapter XXXIV.--She shows how at that time it happened that she\nabsented herself from this place and how her Superior commanded\nher to go away at the request of a very noble lady who was in\ngreat affliction.  She begins to tell what happened to her there,\nand the great grace God bestowed upon her in determining through\nher instrumentality a person of distinction to serve Him truly;\nand how that person found favour and help in her (Teresa).\nThis is noteworthy.\n\nChapter XXXV.--Continuation of the foundation of this house of\nour glorious Father St. Joseph; in what manner our Lord ordained\nthat holy poverty should be observed there; the reason why she\nleft the lady with whom she had been staying, and some other\nthings that happened.\n\nChapter XXXVI.--She continues the same subject, and shows how the\nfoundation of this convent of the glorious St. Joseph was finally\naccomplished, and the great contradictions and persecutions she\nhad to endure after the Religious had taken the habit, and the\ngreat trials and temptations through which she passed, and how\nGod led her forth victorious to His own glory and praise.\n\nChapter XXXVII.--Of the effects which remained when God granted\nher some favour; together with other very good doctrine.\nShe shows how one ought to strive after and prize every increase\nin heavenly glory, and that for no trouble whatever one should\nneglect a good that is to be perpetual.\n\nChapter XXXVIII.--She treats of some great mercies God showed\nher, even making known to her heavenly secrets by means of\nvisions and revelations His Majesty vouchsafed to grant her; she\nspeaks of the effects they caused and the great improvement\nresulting in her soul.\n\nChapter XXXIX.--She continues the same subject, mentioning great\ngraces granted her by God; how He promised to hear her requests\non behalf of persons for whom she should pray.  Some remarkable\ninstances in which His Majesty thus favoured her.\n\nChapter XL.--Continuation of the same subject of great mercies\nGod has shown her.  From some of these very good doctrine may be\ngathered, and this, as she declares, was, besides compliance with\nobedience, her principal motive (in writing this book), namely to\nenumerate such of these mercies as would be instructive to souls.\nThis chapter brings the history of her Life, written by herself,\nto an end.  May it be for the glory of God.  Amen.\n\n\n1. St. Teresa wrote no title, either of the whole book or of the\nPreface, but only the monogram J.H.S., which is repeated at the\nbeginning of the first chapter and at the end of the last,\nprevious to the letter with which the volume concludes.\n\n2. \"El Se\u00f1or\" is everywhere translated by \"God\" in distinction to\n\"Nuestro Se\u00f1or,\" \"Our Lord.\"\n\n3. \"In an excellent manner,\" scored through by the Saint herself.\n\n4. \"To be read with great care, as it is explained in a most\ndelicate way, and contains many noteworthy points,\" also scored\nthrough by St. Teresa herself.\n\n5. \"This is most admirable,\" scored through by the Saint.\n\n6. \"Una cifra,\" a mere nothing.\n\n\n\n\n\nPreface by David Lewis.\n\n\nSt. Teresa was born in Avila on Wednesday, March 28, 1515.\nHer father was Don Alfonso Sanchez de Cepeda, and her mother Do\u00f1a\nBeatriz Davila y Ahumada.  The name she received in her baptism\nwas common to both families, for her great-grandmother on the\nfather's side was Teresa Sanchez, and her grandmother on her\nmother's side was Teresa de las Cuevas.  While she remained in\nthe world, and even after she had become a nun in the monastery\nof the Incarnation, which was under the mitigated rule, she was\nknown as Do\u00f1a Teresa Sanchez Cepeda Davila y Ahumada; for in\nthose days children took the name either of the father or of the\nmother, as it pleased them.  The two families were noble, but\nthat of Ahumada was no longer in possession of its former wealth\nand power. [1]  Do\u00f1a Beatriz was the second wife of Don Alfonso,\nand was related in the fourth degree to the first wife, as\nappears from the dispensation granted to make the marriage valid\non the 16th of October, 1509.  Of this marriage Teresa was the\nthird child.\n\nDo\u00f1a Beatriz died young, and the eldest daughter, Maria de\nCepeda, took charge of her younger sisters--they were two--and\nwas as a second mother to them till her marriage, which took\nplace in 1531, when the Saint was in her sixteenth year.  But as\nshe was too young to be left in charge of her father's house, and\nas her education was not finished, she was sent to the\nAugustinian monastery, the nuns of which received young girls,\nand brought them up in the fear of God. [2]  The Saint's own\naccount is that she was too giddy and careless to be trusted at\nhome, and that it was necessary to put her under the care of\nthose who would watch over her and correct her ways.\nShe remained a year and a half with the Augustinian nuns, and all\nthe while God was calling her to Himself.  She was not willing to\nlisten to His voice; she would ask the nuns to pray for her that\nshe might have light to see her way; \"but for all this,\" she\nwrites, \"I wished not to be a nun.\" [3]  By degrees her will\nyielded, and she had some inclination to become a religious at\nthe end of the eighteen months of her stay, but that was all.\nShe became ill; her father removed her, and the struggle within\nherself continued,--on the one hand, the voice of God calling\nher; on the other, herself labouring to escape from her vocation.\n\nAt last, after a struggle which lasted three months, she made up\nher mind, and against her inclination, to give up the world.\nShe asked her father's leave, and was refused.  She besieged him\nthrough her friends, but to no purpose.  \"The utmost I could get\nfrom him,\" she says, \"was that I might do as I pleased after his\ndeath.\" [4]  How long this contest with her father lasted is not\nknown, but it is probable that it lasted many months, for the\nSaint was always most careful of the feelings of others, and\nwould certainly have endured much rather than displease a father\nwhom she loved so much, and who also loved her more than his\nother children. [5]\n\nBut she had to forsake her father, and so she left her father's\nhouse by stealth, taking with her one of her brothers, whom she\nhad persuaded to give himself to God in religion.  The brother\nand sister set out early in the morning, the former for the\nmonastery of the Dominicans, and the latter for the Carmelite\nmonastery of the Incarnation, in Avila.  The nuns received her\ninto the house, but sent word to her father of his child's\nescape.  Don Alfonso, however, yielded at once, and consented to\nthe sacrifice which he was compelled to make.\n\nIn the monastery of the Incarnation the Saint was led on, without\nher own knowledge, to states of prayer so high, that she became\nalarmed about herself.  In the purity and simplicity of her soul,\nshe feared that the supernatural visitations of God might after\nall be nothing else but delusions of Satan. [6]  She was so\nhumble, that she could not believe graces so great could be given\nto a sinner like herself.  The first person she consulted in her\ntrouble seems to have been a layman, related to her family, Don\nFrancisco de Salcedo.  He was a married man, given to prayer, and\na diligent frequenter of the theological lectures in the\nmonastery of the Dominicans.  Through him she obtained the help\nof a holy priest, Gaspar Daza, to whom she made known the state\nof her soul.  The priest, hindered by his other labours, declined\nto be her director, and the Saint admits that she could have made\nno progress under his guidance. [7]  She now placed herself in\nthe hands of Don Francis, who encouraged her in every way, and,\nfor the purpose of helping her onwards in the way of perfection,\ntold her of the difficulties he himself had met with, and how by\nthe grace of God he had overcome them.\n\nBut when the Saint told him of the great graces which God\nbestowed upon her, Don Francis became alarmed; he could not\nreconcile them with the life the Saint was living, according to\nher own account. He never thought of doubting the Saint's\naccount, and did not suspect her of exaggerating her\nimperfections in the depths of her humility: \"he thought the evil\nspirit might have something to do\" with her, [8] and advised her\nto consider carefully her way of prayer.\n\nDon Francis now applied again to Gaspar Daza, and the two friends\nconsulted together; but, after much prayer on their part and on\nthat of the Saint, they came to the conclusion that she \"was\ndeluded by an evil spirit,\" and recommended her to have recourse\nto the fathers of the Society of Jesus, lately settled in Avila.\n\nThe Saint, now in great fear, but still hoping and trusting that\nGod would not suffer her to be deceived, made preparations for a\ngeneral confession; and committed to writing the whole story of\nher life, and made known the state of her soul to F.  Juan de\nPadranos, one of the fathers of the Society.  F. Juan understood\nit all, and comforted her by telling her that her way of prayer\nwas sound and the work of God.  Under his direction she made\ngreat progress, and for the further satisfaction of her\nconfessor, and of Don Francis, who seems to have still retained\nsome of his doubts, she told everything to St. Francis de Borja,\nwho on one point changed the method of direction observed by\nF. Juan.  That father recommended her to resist the supernatural\nvisitations of the spirit as much as she could, but she was not\nable, and the resistance pained her; [9] St. Francis told her she\nhad done enough, and that it was not right to prolong\nthat resistance. [10]\n\nThe account of her life which she wrote before she applied to the\nJesuits for direction has not been preserved; but it is possible\nthat it was made more for her own security than for the purpose\nof being shown to her confessor.\n\nThe next account is Relation I., made for St. Peter of Alcantara,\nand was probably seen by many; for that Saint had to defend her,\nand maintain that the state of her soul was the work of God,\nagainst those who thought that she was deluded by Satan.  Her own\nconfessor was occasionally alarmed, and had to consult others,\nand thus, by degrees, her state became known to many; and there\nwere some who, were so persuaded of her delusions, that they\nwished her to be exorcised as one possessed of an evil\nspirit, [11] and at a later time her friends were afraid that she\nmight be denounced to the Inquisitors. [12]\n\nDuring the troubles that arose when it became known that the\nSaint was about to found the monastery of St. Joseph, and therein\nestablish the original rule of her Order in its primitive\nsimplicity and austerity, she went for counsel to the Father Fra\nPedro Iba\u00f1ez, [13] the Dominican, a most holy and learned priest.\nThat father not only encouraged her, and commended her work, but\nalso ordered her to give him in writing the story of her\nspiritual life.  The Saint readily obeyed, and began it in the\nmonastery of the Incarnation, and finished it in the house of\nDo\u00f1a Luisa de la Cerda, in Toledo, in the month of June, 1562.\nOn the 24th of August, the feast of St. Bartholomew, in the same\nyear, the Reform of the Carmelites began in the new monastery of\nSt. Joseph in Avila.\n\nWhat the Saint wrote for Fra Iba\u00f1ez has not been found.  It is,\nno doubt, substantially preserved in her Life, as we have it now,\nand is supposed to have reached no further than the end of\nch. xxxi.  What follows was added by direction of another\nDominican father, confessor of the Saint in the new monastery of\nSt. Joseph, Fra Garcia of Toledo, who, in 1562, bade her \"write\nthe history of that foundation, and other matters.\"\n\nBut as the Saint carried a heavy burden laid on her by God, a\nconstant fear of delusion, she had recourse about the same time\nto the Inquisitor Soto, who advised her to write a history of her\nlife, send it to Juan of Avila, the \"Apostle of Andalucia,\" and\nabide by his counsel.  As the direction of Fra Garcia of Toledo\nand the advice of the Inquisitor must have been given, according\nto her account, about the same time, the Life, as we have it now,\nmust have occupied her nearly six years in the writing of it,\nwhich may well be owing to her unceasing care in firmly\nestablishing the new monastery of St. Joseph.  The book at last\nwas sent to Blessed Juan of Avila by her friend Do\u00f1a Luisa de la\nCerda, and that great master of the spiritual life wrote the\nfollowing censure of it:\n\n\"The grace and peace of Jesus Christ be with you always.\n\n\"1. When I undertook to read the book sent me, it was not so much\nbecause I thought myself able to judge of it, as because I\nthought I might, by the grace of our Lord, learn something from\nthe teachings it contains: and praised be Christ; for, though I\nhave not been able to read it with the leisure it requires,\nI have been comforted by it, and might have been edified by it,\nif the fault had not been mine.  And although, indeed, I may have\nbeen comforted by it, without saying more, yet the respect due to\nthe subject and to the person who has sent it will not allow me,\nI think, to let it go back without giving my opinion on it, at\nleast in general.\n\n\"2. The book is not fit to be in the hands of everybody, for it\nis necessary to correct the language in some places, and explain\nit in others; and there are some things in it useful for your\nspiritual life and not so for others who might adopt them, for\nthe special ways by which God leads some souls are not meant for\nothers.  These points, or the greater number of them, I have\nmarked for the purpose of arranging them when I shall be able to\ndo so, and I shall not fail to send them to you; for if you were\naware of my infirmities and necessary occupations, I believe they\nwould make you pity me rather than blame me for the omission.\n\n\"3. The doctrine of prayer is for the most part sound, and you\nmay rely on it, and observe it; and the raptures I find to\npossess the tests of those which are true.  What you say of God's\nway of teaching the soul, without respect to the imagination and\nwithout interior locutions, is safe, and I find nothing to object\nto it.  St. Augustine speaks well of it.\n\n\"4. Interior locutions in these days have been a delusion of\nmany, and exterior locutions are the least safe.  It is easy\nenough to see when they proceed from ourselves, but to\ndistinguish between those of a good and those of an evil spirit\nis more difficult.  There are many rules given for finding out\nwhether they come from our Lord or not, and one of them is, that\nthey should be sent us in a time of need, or for some good end,\nas for the comforting a man under temptation or in doubt, or as a\nwarning of coming danger.  As a good man will not speak\nunadvisedly, neither will God; so, considering this, and that the\nlocutions are agreeable to the holy writings and the teaching of\nthe Church, my opinion is that the locutions mentioned in the\nbook came from God.\n\n\"5. Imaginary or bodily visions are those which are most\ndoubtful, and should in no wise be desired, and if they come\nundesired still they should be shunned as much as possible, yet\nnot by treating them with contempt, unless it be certain that\nthey come from an evil spirit; indeed, I was filled with horror,\nand greatly distressed, when I read of the gestures of contempt\nthat were made. [14]  People ought to entreat our Lord not to\nlead them by the way of visions, but to reserve for them in\nHeaven the blessed vision of Himself and the saints, and to guide\nthem here along the beaten path as He guides His faithful\nservants, and they must take other good measures for avoiding\nthese visions.\n\n\"6. But if the visions continue after all this is done, and if\nthe soul derives good from them, and if they do not lead to\nvanity, but deeper humility, and if the locutions be at one with\nthe teaching the Church, and if they continue for any time, and\nthat with inward satisfaction--better felt than described--there\nis no reason for avoiding them.  But no one ought to rely on his\nown judgment herein; he should make everything known to him who\ncan give him light.  That is the universal remedy to be had\nrecourse to in such matters, together with hope in God, Who will\nnot let a soul that wishes to be safe lie under a delusion, if it\nbe humble enough to yield obedience to the opinion of others.\n\n\"7. Nor should any one cause alarm by condemning them forthwith,\nbecause he sees that the person to whom they are granted is not\nperfect, for it is nothing new that our Lord in His goodness\nmakes wicked people just, yea, even grievous sinners; by giving\nthem to taste most deeply of His sweetness.  I have seen it so\nmyself.  Who will set bounds to the goodness of our\nLord?--especially when these graces are given, not for merit, nor\nbecause one is stronger; on the contrary, they are given to one\nbecause he is weaker; and as they do not make one more holy, they\nare not always given to the most holy.\n\n\"8. They are unreasonable who disbelieve these things merely\nbecause they are most high things, and because it seems to them\nincredible that infinite Majesty humbles Himself to these loving\nrelations with one of His creatures. It is written, God is love,\nand if He is love, then infinite love and infinite goodness, and\nwe must not be surprised if such a love and such a goodness\nbreaks out into such excesses of love as disturb those who know\nnothing of it.  And though many know of it by faith, still, as to\nthat special experience of the loving, and more than loving,\nconverse of God with whom He will, if not had, how deep it\nreaches can never be known; and so I have seen many persons\nscandalized at hearing of what God in His love does for His\ncreatures.  As they are themselves very far away from it, they\ncannot think that God will do for others what He is not doing for\nthem.  As this is an effect of love, and that a love which causes\nwonder, reason requires we should look upon it as a sign of its\nbeing from God, seeing that He is wonderful in His works, and\nmost especially in those of his compassion; but they take\noccasion from this to be distrustful, which should have been a\nground of confidence, when other circumstances combine as\nevidences of these visitations being good.\n\n\"9. It seems from the book, I think, that you have resisted, and\neven longer than was right.  I think, too, that these locutions\nhave done your soul good, and in particular that they have made\nyou see your own wretchedness and your faults more clearly, and\namend them.  They have lasted long, and always with spiritual\nprofit.  They move you to love God, and to despise yourself, and\nto do penance.  I see no reasons for condemning them, I incline\nrather to regard them as good, provided you are careful not to\nrely altogether on them, especially if they are unusual, or bid\nyou do something out of the way, or are not very plain.  In all\nthese and the like cases you must withhold your belief in them,\nand at once seek for direction.\n\n\"10. Also it should be considered that, even if they do come from\nGod, Satan may mix with them suggestions of his own; you should\ntherefore be always suspicious of them.  Also, when they are\nknown to be from God, men must not rest much on them, seeing that\nholiness does not lie in them, but in a humble love of God and\nour neighbour; everything else, however good, must be feared, and\nour efforts directed to the gaining of humility, goodness, and\nthe love of our Lord.  It is seemly, also, not to worship what is\nseen in these visions, but only Jesus Christ, either as in Heaven\nor in the Sacrament, or, if it be a vision of the Saints, then to\nlift up the heart to the Holy One in Heaven, and not to that\nwhich is presented to the imagination: let it suffice that the\nimagination may be made use of for the purpose of raising me up\nto that which it makes me see.\n\n\"11. I say, too, that the things mentioned in this book befall\nother persons even in this our day, and that there is great\ncertainty that they come from God, Whose arm is not shortened\nthat He cannot do now what He did in times past, and that in weak\nvessels, for His own glory.\n\n\"12. Go on your road, but always suspecting robbers, and asking\nfor the right way; give thanks to our Lord, Who has given you His\nlove, the knowledge of yourself, and a love of penance and the\ncross, making no account of these other things.  However, do not\ndespise them either, for there are signs that most of them come\nfrom our Lord, and those that do not come from Him will not hurt\nyou if you ask for direction.\n\n\"13. I cannot believe that I have written this in my own\nstrength, for I have none, but it is the effect of your prayers.\nI beg of you, for the love of Jesus Christ our Lord, to burden\nyourself with a prayer for me; He knows that I am asking this in\ngreat need, and I think that is enough to make you grant my\nrequest.  I ask your permission to stop now, for I am bound to\nwrite another letter.  May Jesus be glorified in all and\nby all! Amen.\n\n\"Your servant, for Christ's sake.\n\"Juan de Avila\n\n\"Montilla, 12th Sept., 1568.\"\n\nHer confessors, having seen the book, \"commanded her to make\ncopies of it,\" [15] one of which has been traced into the\npossession of the Duke and Duchess of Alva.\n\nThe Princess of Eboli, in 1569, obtained a copy from the Saint\nherself, after much importunity; but it was more out of vanity or\ncuriosity, it is to be feared, than from any real desire to learn\nthe story of the Saint's spiritual life, that the Princess\ndesired the boon.  She and her husband promised to keep it from\nthe knowledge of others, but the promise given was not kept.\nThe Saint heard within a few days later that the book was in the\nhands of the servants of the Princess, who was angry with the\nSaint because she had refused to admit, at the request of the\nPrincess, an Augustinian nun into the Order of Carmel in the new\nfoundation of Pastrana.  The contents of the book were bruited\nabroad, and the visions and revelations of the Saint were said to\nbe of a like nature with those of Magdalene of the Cross, a\ndeluded and deluding nun.  The gossip in the house of the\nPrincess was carried to Madrid, and the result was that the\nInquisition began to make a search for the book. [16]  It is not\nquite clear, however, that it was seized at this time.\n\nThe Princess became a widow in July, 1573, and insisted on\nbecoming a Carmelite nun in the house she and her husband, Ruy\nGomez, had founded in Pastrana.  When the news of her resolve\nreached the monastery, the mother-prioress, Isabel of St.\nDominic, exclaimed, \"The Princess a nun! I look on the house as\nruined.\"  The Princess came, and insisted on her right as\nfoundress; she had compelled a friar to give her the habit before\nher husband was buried, and when she came to Pastrana she began\nher religious life by the most complete disobedience and\ndisregard of common propriety.  Don Vicente's description of her\nis almost literally correct, though intended only for a general\nsummary of her most childish conduct:\n\n\"On the death of the Prince of Eboli, the Princess would become a\nnun in her monastery of Pastrana.  The first day she had a fit of\nviolent fervour; on the next she relaxed the rule; on the third\nshe broke it, and conversed with secular people within the\ncloisters.  She was also so humble that she required the nuns to\nspeak to her on their knees, and insisted upon their receiving\ninto the house as religious whomsoever she pleased.\nHereupon complaints were made to St. Teresa, who remonstrated\nwith the Princess, and showed her how much she was in the wrong,\nwhereupon she replied that the monastery was hers; but the Saint\nproved to her that the nuns were not, and had them removed\nto Segovia.\" [17]\n\nThe nuns were withdrawn from Pastrana in April, 1574, and then\nthe anger of the Princess prevailed; she sent the Life of the\nSaint, which she had still in her possession, to the Inquisition,\nand denounced it as a book containing visions, revelations, and\ndangerous doctrines, which the Inquisitors should look into and\nexamine: The book was forthwith given to theologians for\nexamination, and two Dominican friars, of whom Ba\u00f1es was one,\nwere delegated censors of it by the\u00a0Inquisition. [18]\n\nFra Ba\u00f1es did not know the Saint when he undertook her defence in\nAvila against the authorities of the city, eager to destroy the\nmonastery of St. Joseph; [19] but from that time forth he was one\nof her most faithful friends, strict and even severe, as became a\nwise director who had a great Saint for his penitent.\nHe testifies in the process of her beatification that he was firm\nand sharp with her; while she herself was the more desirous of\nhis counsel, the more he humbled her, and the less he appeared to\nesteem her. [20]  When he found that copies of her life were in\nthe hands of secular people,--he had probably also heard of the\nmisconduct of the Princess of Eboli,--he showed his displeasure\nto the Saint, and told her he would burn the book, it being\nunseemly that the writings of women should be made public.\nThe Saint left it in his hands, but Fra Ba\u00f1es, struck with her\nhumility, had not the courage to burn it; he sent it to the Holy\nOffice in Madrid. [21]  Thus the book was in a sense denounced\ntwice,--once by an enemy, the second time by a friend, to save\nit.  Both the Saint and her confessor, Fra Ba\u00f1es, state that the\ncopy given up by the latter was sent to the Inquisition in\nMadrid, and Fra Ba\u00f1es says so twice in his deposition.\nThe Inquisitor Soto returned the copy to Fra Ba\u00f1es, desiring him\nto read it, and give his opinion thereon.  Fra Ba\u00f1es did so, and\nwrote his \"censure\" of the book on the blank leaves at the end.\nThat censure still remains, and is one of the most important,\nbecause given during the lifetime of the Saint, and while many\npersons were crying out against her.  Ba\u00f1es wished it had been\npublished when the Saint's Life was given to the world by Fra\nLuis de Leon; but notwithstanding its value, and its being\npreserved in the book which is in the handwriting of the Saint,\nno one before Don Vicente made it known.  It was easy enough to\npraise the writings of St. Teresa, and to admit her sanctity,\nafter her death.  Fra Ba\u00f1es had no external help in the applause\nof the many, and he had to judge the book as a theologian, and\nthe Saint as one of his ordinary penitents.  When he wrote, he\nwrote like a man whose whole life was spent, as he tells us\nhimself, \"in lecturing and disputing.\" [22]\n\nThat censure is as follows:\n\n\"1. This book, wherein Teresa of Jesus, Carmelite nun, and\nfoundress of the Barefooted Carmelites, gives a plain account of\nthe state of her soul, in order to be taught and directed by her\nconfessors, has been examined by me, and with much attention, and\nI have not found anywhere in it anything which, in my opinion, is\nerroneous in doctrine.  On the contrary, there are many things in\nit highly edifying and instructive for those who give themselves\nto prayer.  The great experience of this religious, her\ndiscretion also and her humility, which made her always seek for\nlight and learning in her confessors, enabled her to speak with\nan accuracy on the subject of prayer that the most learned men,\nthrough their want of experience, have not always attained to.\nOne thing only there is about the book that may reasonably cause\nany hesitation till it shall be very carefully examined;\nit contains many visions and revelations, matters always to be\nafraid of, especially in women, who are very ready to believe of\nthem that they come from God, and to look on them as proofs of\nsanctity, though sanctity does not lie in them.  On the contrary,\nthey should be regarded as dangerous trials for those who are\naiming at perfection, because Satan is wont to transform himself\ninto an angel of light, [23] and to deceive souls which are\ncurious and of scant humility, as we have seen in our day:\nnevertheless, we must not therefore lay down a general rule that\nall revelations and visions come from the devil.  If it were so,\nSt. Paul could not have said that Satan transforms himself into\nan angel of light, if the angel of light did not sometimes\nenlighten us.\n\n\"2. Saints, both men and women, have had revelations, not only in\nancient, but also in modern times; such were St. Dominic,\nSt. Francis, St. Vincent Ferrer, St. Catherine of Siena,\nSt. Gertrude, and many others that might be named; and as the\nChurch of God is, and is to be, always holy to the end, not only\nbecause her profession is holiness, but because there are in her\njust persons and perfect in holiness, it is unreasonable to\ndespise visions and revelations, and condemn them in one sweep,\nseeing they are ordinarily accompanied with much goodness and a\nChristian life.  On the contrary, we should follow the saying of\nthe Apostle in 1 Thess. v. 19-22: 'Spiritum nolite extinguere.\nProphetias nolite spernere.  Omnia [autem] probate: quod bonum\nest tenete.  Ab omni specie mala abstinete vos.'  He who will\nread St. Thomas on that passage will see how carefully they are\nto be examined who, in the Church of God, manifest any particular\ngift that may be profitable or hurtful to our neighbour, and how\nwatchful the examiners ought to be lest the fire of the Spirit of\nGod should be quenched in the good, and others cowed in the\npractices of the perfect Christian life.\n\n\"3. Judging by the revelations made to her, this woman, even\nthough she may be deceived in something, is at least not herself\na deceiver, because she tells all the good and the bad so simply,\nand with so great a wish to be correct, that no doubt can be made\nas to her good intention; and the greater the reason for trying\nspirits of this kind, because there are persons in our day who\nare deceivers with the appearance of piety, the more necessary it\nis to defend those who, with the appearance, have also the\nreality, of piety.  For it is a strange thing to see how lax and\nworldly people delight in seeing those discredited who have an\nappearance of goodness.  God complained of old, by the Prophet\nEzekiel, ch. xiii., of those false prophets who made the just to\nmourn and who flattered sinners, saying: 'Maerere fecisti cor\njusti mendaciter, quem Ego non contristavi: et comfortastis manus\nimpii.'  In a certain sense this may be said of those who\nfrighten souls who are going on by the way of prayer and\nperfection, telling them that this way is singular and full of\ndanger, that many who went by it have fallen into delusions, and\nthat the safest way is that which is plain and common, travelled\nby all.\n\n\"4. Words of this kind, clearly, sadden the hearts of those who\nwould observe the counsels of perfection in continual prayer, so\nfar as it is possible for them, and in much fasting, watching,\nand disciplines; and, on the other hand, the lax and the wicked\ntake courage and lose the fear of God, because they consider the\nway on which they are travelling as the safer: and this is their\ndelusion,--they call that a plain and safe road which is the\nabsence of the knowledge and consideration of the dangers and\nprecipices amidst which we are all of us journeying in this\nworld.  Nevertheless, there is no other security than that which\nlies in our knowing our daily enemies, and in humbly imploring\nthe compassion of God, if we would not be their prisoners.\nBesides, there are souls whom God, in a way, constrains to enter\non the way of perfection, and who, if they relaxed in their\nfervour, could not keep a middle course, but would immediately\nfall into the other extreme of sins, and for souls of this kind\nit is of the utmost necessity that they should watch and pray\nwithout ceasing; and, in short, there is nobody whom lukewarmness\ndoes not injure.  Let every man examine his own conscience, and\nhe will find this to be the truth.\n\n\"5. I firmly believe that if God for a time bears with the\nlukewarm, it is owing to the prayers of the fervent, who are\ncontinually crying, 'et ne nos inducas in tentationem.'  I have\nsaid this, not for the purpose of honouring those whom we see\nwalking in the way of contemplation; for it is another extreme\ninto which the world falls, and a covert persecution of goodness,\nto pronounce those holy forthwith who have the appearance of it.\nFor that would be to furnish them with motives for vain-glory,\nand would do little honour to goodness; on the contrary, it would\nexpose it to great risks, because, when they fall who have been\nobjects of praise, the honour of goodness suffers more than if\nthose people had not been so esteemed.  And so I look upon this\nexaggeration of their holiness who are still living in the world\nto be a temptation of Satan.  That we should have a good opinion\nof the servants of God is most just, but let us consider them\nalways as people in danger, however good they may be, and that\ntheir goodness is not so evident that we can be sure of it\neven now.\n\n\"6. Considering myself that what I have said is true, I have\nalways proceeded cautiously in the examination of this account of\nthe prayer and life of this nun, and no one has been more\nincredulous than myself as to her visions and revelations,--not\nso, however as to her goodness and her good desires, for herein I\nhave had great experience of her truthfulness, her obedience,\nmortification, patience, and charity towards her persecutors, and\nof her other virtues, which any one who will converse with her\nwill discern; and this is what may be regarded as a more certain\nproof of her real love of God than these visions and revelations.\nI do not, however, undervalue her visions, revelations, and\necstasies; on the contrary, I suspect them to be the work of God,\nas they have been in others who were Saints.  But in this case it\nis always safer to be afraid and wary; for if she is confident\nabout them, Satan will take occasion to interfere, and that which\nwas once, perhaps, the work of God, may be changed into something\nelse, and that will be the devil's.\n\n\"7. I am of opinion that this book is not to be shown to every\none, but only to men of learning, experience, and Christian\ndiscretion.  It perfectly answers the purpose for which it was\nwritten, namely, that the nun should give an account of the state\nof her soul to those who had the charge of it, in order that she\nmight not fall into delusions.  Of one thing I am very sure, so\nfar as it is possible for a man to be,--she is not a deceiver;\nshe deserves, therefore, for her sincerity, that all should be\nfavourable to her in her good purposes and good works.\nFor within the last thirteen years she has, I believe, founded a\ndozen monasteries of Barefooted Carmelite nuns, the austerity and\nperfection of which are exceeded by none other; of which they who\nhave been visitors of them, as the Dominican Provincial, master\nin theology, [24] Fra Pedro Fernandez, the master Fra Hernando\ndel Castillo, and many others, speak highly.  This is what I\nthink, at present, concerning the censure of this book,\nsubmitting my judgment herein to that of Holy Church our mother,\nand her ministers.\n\n\"Given in the College of St. Gregory, Valladolid, on the sixth\nday of July, 1575.\n\n\"Fra Domingo Ba\u00f1es.\"\n\nThe book remained in the keeping of the Inquisition, and the\nSaint never saw it again.  But she heard of it from the\nArchbishop of Toledo, Cardinal Quiroga, President of the Supreme\nCourt of the Inquisition, when she applied to him for license to\nfound a monastery in Madrid.  Jerome of the Mother of God was\nwith her; and heard the Cardinal's reply.  His Eminence said he\nwas glad to see her; that a book of hers had been in the Holy\nOffice for some years, and had been rigorously examined; that he\nhad read it himself, and regarded it as containing sound and\nwholesome doctrine.  He would grant the license, and do whatever\nhe could for the Saint.  When she heard this, she wished to\npresent a petition to the Inquisition for the restitution of her\nbook; but Gratian thought it better to apply to the Duke of Alba\nfor the copy which he had, and which the Inquisitors had allowed\nhim to retain and read.  The Duke gave his book to Fra Jerome,\nwho had copies of it made for the use of the monasteries both of\nmen and women. [25]\n\nAnne of Jesus, in 1586, founding a monastery of her Order in\nMadrid,--the Saint had died in 1582,--made inquiries about the\nbook, and applied to the Inquisition for it, for she was resolved\nto publish the writings of her spiritual mother.  The Inquisitors\nmade no difficulty, and consented to the publication.  In this\nshe was seconded by the Empress Maria, daughter of Charles V.,\nand widow of Maximilian II., who had obtained one of the copies\nwhich Fra Jerome of the Mother of God had ordered to be made.\nFra Nicholas Doria, then Provincial, asked Fra Luis de Leon, the\nAugustinian, to edit the book, who consented.  He was allowed to\ncompare the copy furnished him with the original in the keeping\nof the Inquisition; but his edition has not been considered\naccurate, notwithstanding the facilities given him, and his great\nreverence for the Saint. It was published in Salamanca,\nA.D. 1588.\n\nWith the Life of the Saint, Fra Luis de Leon received certain\npapers in the handwriting of the Saint, which he published as an\nadditional chapter.  Whether he printed all he received, or\nmerely made extracts, may be doubtful, but anyhow that chapter is\nsingularly incomplete.  Don Vicente de la Fuente, from whose\nedition (Madrid, 1861, 1862) this translation has been made,\nomitted the additional chapter of Fra Luis de Leon, contrary to\nthe practice of his predecessors.  But he has done more, for he\nhas traced the paragraphs of that chapter to their sources, and\nhas given us now a collection of papers which form almost another\nLife of the Saint, to which he has given their old name of\nRelations, [26] the name which the Saint herself had given\nthem. [27]  Some of them are usually printed among the Saint's\nletters, and portions of some of the others are found in the\nLives of the Saint written by Ribera and Yepes, and in the\nChronicle of the Order; the rest was published for the first time\nby Don Vicente: the arrangement of the whole is due to him.\n\nThe Relations are ten in the Spanish edition, and eleven in the\ntranslation.  The last, the eleventh, has hitherto been left\namong the letters, and Don Vicente, seemingly not without some\nhesitation, so left it; but as it is of the like nature with the\nRelations, it has now been added to them.\n\nThe original text, in the handwriting of the Saint, is preserved\nin the Escurial, not in the library, but among the relics of the\nChurch.  Don Vicente examined it at his leisure, and afterwards\nfound in the National Library in Madrid an authentic and exact\ntranscript of it, made by order of Ferdinand VI.  His edition is,\ntherefore, far better than any of its predecessors; but it is\npossible that even now there may still remain some verbal errors\nfor future editors to correct.  The most conscientious diligence\nis not a safeguard against mistakes.  F. Bouix says that in\nch. xxxiv. \u00a7 12, the reading of the original differs from that of\nthe printed editions; yet Don Vicente takes no notice of it, and\nretains the common reading. It is impossible to believe that\nF. Bouix has stated as a fact that which is not.  Again, in\nch. xxxix. \u00a7 29, the printed editions have after the words, \"Thou\nart Mine, and I am thine,\" \"I am in the habit\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. sincerity;\"\nbut Don Vicente omits them.  This may have been an oversight, for\nin general he points out in his notes all the discrepancies\nbetween the printed editions and the original text.\n\nA new translation of the Life of St. Teresa seems called for now,\nbecause the original text has been collated since the previous\ntranslations were made, and also because those translations are\nexceedingly scarce.  The first is believed to be this--it is a\nsmall quarto:\n\n\"The Lyf of the Mother Teresa of Jesus, Foundresse of the\nMonasteries of the Discalced or Bare-footed Carmelite Nunnes and\nFryers of the First Rule.\n\"Written by herself at the commaundement of her ghostly father,\nand now translated into English out of Spanish.  By W.M., of the\nSociety of Jesus.\n\"Imprinted in Antwerp by Henry Jaye.  Anno MDCXI.\"\n\nSome thirty years afterwards, Sir Tobias Matthew, S.J.,\ndissatisfied, as he says, with the former translation, published\nanother, with the following title; the volume is a small octavo\nin form:\n\n\"The Flaming Hart, or the Life of the glorious St. Teresa,\nFoundresse of the Reformation of the Order of the All-Immaculate\nVirgin Mother, our B. Lady of Mount Carmel.\n\"This History of her Life was written by the Saint in Spanish,\nand is newly translated into English in the year of our Lord\nGod 1642.\n\n'Aut mori aut pati:\nEither to dye or else to suffer.'--Chap. xl.\n\n\"Antwerpe, printed by Joannes Meursius.  Anno MDCXLII.\"\n\nThe next translation was made by Abraham Woodhead, and published\nin 1671, without the name of the translator, or of the printer,\nor of the place of publication.  It is in quarto, and bears the\nfollowing title:\n\n\"The Life of the Holy Mother St. Teresa, Foundress of the\nReformation of the Discalced Carmelites according to the\nPrimitive Rule.  Printed in the year MDCLXXI.\"\n\nIt is not said that the translation was made from the Spanish,\nand there are grounds for thinking it to have been made from the\nItalian.  Ch. xxxii. is broken off at the end of \u00a7 10; and\nch. xxxiii., therefore, is ch. xxxvii.  That which is there\nomitted has been thrown into the Book of the Foundations, which,\nin the translation of Mr. Woodhead, begins with \u00a7 11 of\nch. xxxii. of the Life, as it also does in the Italian\ntranslation. It is due, however, to Mr. Woodhead to say that he\nhas printed five of the Relations separately, not as letters, but\nas what they really are, and with that designation.\n\nThe last translation is that of the Very Reverend John Dalton,\nCanon of Northampton, which is now, though twice published,\nalmost as scarce as its predecessors.  The title is:\n\n\"The Life of St. Teresa, written by herself, and translated\nfrom the Spanish by the Rev. John Dalton.  London, MDCCCLI.\"\n\nSeptuagesima, 1870.\n\n\n1. Fr. Anton. a St. Joseph, in his note on letter 16, but letter\n41, vol. iv. ed. Doblado.\n\n2. Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os. lib. i. ch. vii. \u00a7 3.\n\n3. Ch. iii. \u00a7 2.\n\n4. Ch. iii. \u00a7 9.\n\n5. Ch. i. \u00a7 3.\n\n6. Ch. xxiii. \u00a7 2.\n\n7. Ch. xxiii. \u00a7 8.\n\n8. Id. \u00a7 12.\n\n9. Ch. xxiv. \u00a7 1.\n\n10. Id. \u00a7 4.\n\n11. Ch. xxix. \u00a7 4.\n\n12. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 6.\n\n13. The Saint held him in great reverence, and in one of her\nletters--lett. 355, but lett. 100, vol. ii. ed. Doblado--calls\nhim a founder of her Order, because of the great services he had\nrendered her, and told her nuns of Seville that they need not be\nveiled in his presence, though they must be so in the presence of\neverybody else, and even the friars of the Reform.\n\n14. See Life, ch. xxix. \u00a7 6.\n\n15. Rel. vii. \u00a7 9.\n\n16. Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os, lib. ii. c. xxviii. \u00a7 6.\n\n17. Introduccion al libro de la Vida, vol. i. p. 3.\n\n18. Jerome Gratian, Lucidario, c. iv.\n\n19. Life, ch. xxxvi. \u00a7 15.\n\n20. The Saint says of herself, Rel. vii. \u00a7 18, that \"she took the\ngreatest pains not to submit the state of her soul to any one who\nshe thought would believe that these things came from God, for\nshe was instantly afraid that the devil would deceive them both.\"\n\n21. Rel. vii. \u00a7 16.\n\n22. \"Como hombre criado toda mi vida en leer y disputar\" (De la\nFuente, ii. p. 376).\n\n23. 2 Cor. xi. 14: \"Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in\nangelum lucis.\"\n\n24. The other theologian appointed by the Inquisition, with Fra\nBa\u00f1es, to examine the \"Life.\"\n\n25. This took place in the year 1580, according to the Chronicler\nof the Order (Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os, lib. v. c. xxxv. \u00a7 4);\nand the Bollandists (n. 1536) accept his statement.  Fra Jerome\nsays he was Provincial of his Order at the time; and as he was\nelected only on the 4th of March, 1581, according to the\nChronicler and the Bollandists, it is more likely that the\naudience granted to them by the Cardinal took place in 1581.\n\n26. Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os, lib. v. c. xxxiv. \u00a7 4: \"Relaciones\nde su espiritu.\"\n\n27. Rel. ii. \u00a7 18.\n\n\n\n\n\nAnnals of the Saint's Life.\n\nBy Don Vicente de la Fuente.\n\nThese are substantially the same with those drawn up by the\nBollandists, but they are fuller and more minute, and furnish a\nmore detailed history of the Saint.\n\n\n1515.  St. Teresa is born in Avila, March 28th. [1]\n\n1522.  She desires martyrdom, and leaves her father's house with\none of her brothers.\n\n1527.  [2] Death of her mother.\n\n1529.  Writes romances of chivalry, and is misled by a\nthoughtless cousin.\n\n1531.  Her sister Maria's marriage, and her removal from home to\nthe Augustinian monastery, where she remains till the autumn of\nnext year.\n\n1533. [3]  Nov. 2, enters the monastery of the Incarnation.\n\n1534.  Nov. 3, makes her profession.\n\n1535.  Goes to Castellanos de la Ca\u00f1ada, to her sister's house,\nwhere she remains till the spring of 1536, when she goes\nto Bezadas.\n\n1537.  Returns to Avila on Palm Sunday.  In July seriously ill,\nand in a trance for four days, when in her father's house.\nParalysed for more than two years.\n\n1539.  Is cured of her paralysis by St. Joseph.\n\n1541.  Begins to grow lukewarm, and gives up mental prayer.\n\n1542.  Our Lord appears to her in the parlour of the monastery,\n\"stern and grave \" [ch. vii. \u00a7 11, see note there].\n\n1555.  Ceases to converse with secular people, moved thereto by\nthe sight of a picture of our Lord on the cross [ch. ix. \u00a7 1].\nThe Jesuits come to Avila and the Saint confesses to F. Juan\nde Padranos.\n\n1556.  Beginning of the supernatural visitations.\n\n1557.  St. Francis de Borja comes to Avila, and approves of the\nspirit of the Saint.\n\n1558.  First rapture of the Saint [ch. xxiv. \u00a7 7].  The vision of\nHell [ch. xxxii. \u00a7 1].  Father Alvarez ordained priest.\n\n1559.  She takes F. Alvarez for her confessor.  The transpiercing\nof her heart [ch. xxix. \u00a7 17].  Vision of our Lord risen from the\ndead [ch. xxvii. \u00a7 3, ch. xxviii. \u00a7 2].\n\n1560.  The vow of greater perfection.  St. Peter of Alcantara\napproves of her spirit, and St. Luis Beltran encourages her to\nproceed with her plan of founding a new monastery.\n\n1561.  F. Gaspar de Salazar, S.J., comes to Avila; her sister\nDo\u00f1a Juana comes to Avila from Alba de Tormes to help the Saint\nin the new foundation [ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 13].  Restores her nephew to\nLife [ch. xxxv. \u00a7 14, note].  Fra Iba\u00f1ez bids her write her Life.\nReceives a sum of money from her brother in Peru, which enables\nher to go on with the building of the new house.\n\n1562.  Goes to Toledo, to the house of Do\u00f1a Luisa de la Cerda,\nand finishes the account of her Life.  Makes the acquaintance of\nFra Ba\u00f1es, afterwards her principal director, and Fra Garcia of\nToledo, both Dominicans.  Receives a visit from Maria of Jesus.\nHas a revelation that her sister, Do\u00f1a Maria, will die suddenly\n[ch. xxxiv. \u00a7 24].  Returns to Avila and takes possession of the\nnew monastery, August 24.  Troubles in Avila.  The Saint ordered\nback to the monastery of the Incarnation.  Is commanded by Fra\nGarcia of Toledo to write the history of the foundation of\nSt. Joseph.\n\n\n1. In the same year St. Philip was born in Florence.  St. Teresa\ndied in 1582, and St. Philip in 1595; but they were canonised on\nthe same day, with St. Isidore, St. Ignatius, and St. Francis\nXavier.  The three latter were joined together in the three final\nconsistories held before the solemn proclamation of their\nsanctity, and St. Teresa and St. Philip were joined together in\nthe same way in the final consistories held specially, as usual,\nfor them.\n\n2. This must be an error.  See ch. i. \u00a7 7, note 7.\n\n3. There is a difficulty about this.  The Bollandists maintain\nthat she went to the monastery of the Incarnation in the year\n1533.  On the other hand Ribera, her most accurate\nbiographer--with whom Fra Jerome agrees,--says that she left her\nfather's house in 1535, when she was more than twenty years of\nage; Yepes, that she was not yet twenty; and the Second Relation\nof the Rota, that she was in her twentieth year.  The Bull of\nCanonisation and the Office in the Breviary also say that she was\nin her twentieth year, that is, A.D. 1534.  The Chronicler of the\nOrder differs from all and assigns the year 1536 as the year in\nwhich she entered the monastery.\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Life\nof the\nHoly Mother Teresa of Jesus.\nWritten by Herself.\n\n\nPrologue.\n\n\nAs I have been commanded and left at liberty to describe at\nlength my way of prayer, and the workings of the grace of our\nLord within me, I could wish that I had been allowed at the same\ntime to speak distinctly and in detail of my grievous sins and\nwicked life.  But it has not been so willed; on the contrary, I\nam laid herein under great restraint; and therefore, for the love\nof our Lord, I beg of every one who shall read this story of my\nlife [1] to keep in mind how wicked it has been; and how, among\nthe Saints who were converted to God, I have never found one in\nwhom I can have any comfort.  For I see that they, after our Lord\nhad called them, never fell into sin again; I not only became\nworse, but, as it seems to me, deliberately withstood the graces\nof His Majesty, because I saw that I was thereby bound to serve\nHim more earnestly, knowing, at the same time, that of myself I\ncould not pay the least portion of my debt.\n\nMay He be blessed for ever Who waited for me so long! I implore\nHim with my whole heart to send me His grace, so that in all\nclearness and truth I may give this account of myself which my\nconfessors command me to give; and even our Lord Himself, I know\nit, has also willed it should be given for some time past, but I\nhad not the courage to attempt it.  And I pray it may be to His\npraise and glory, and a help to my confessors; who, knowing me\nbetter, may succour my weakness, so that I may render to our Lord\nsome portion of the service I owe Him.  May all creatures praise\nHim for ever! Amen.\n\n\n1. The Saint, in a letter written November 19, 1581, to Don Pedro\nde Castro, then canon of Avila, speaking of this book, calls it\nthe book \"Of the compassions of God\"--Y ansi intitule ese libro\nDe las Misericordias de Dios.  That letter is the 358th in the\nedition of Don Vicente de la Fuente, and the 8th of the fourth\nvolume of the Doblado edition of Madrid.  \"Vitam igitur suam\ninternam et supernaturalem magis pandit quam narrat actiones\nsuas mere humanas\" (Bollandists, n. 2).\n\n\n\nChapter I.\n\n\nChildhood and Early Impressions.  The Blessing of Pious Parents.\nDesire of Martyrdom.  Death of the Saint's Mother.\n\n\n1. I had a father and mother, who were devout and feared God.\nOur Lord also helped me with His grace.  All this would have been\nenough to make me good, if I had not been so wicked.  My father\nwas very much given to the reading of good books; and so he had\nthem in Spanish, that his children might read them.  These books,\nwith my mother's carefulness to make us say our prayers, and to\nbring us up devout to our Lady and to certain Saints, began to\nmake me think seriously when I was, I believe, six or seven years\nold.  It helped me, too, that I never saw my father and mother\nrespect anything but goodness.  They were very good themselves.\nMy father was a man of great charity towards the poor, and\ncompassion for the sick, and also for servants; so much so, that\nhe never could be persuaded to keep slaves, for he pitied them so\nmuch: and a slave belonging to one of his brothers being once in\nhis house, was treated by him with as much tenderness as his own\nchildren.  He used to say that he could not endure the pain of\nseeing that she was not free.  He was a man of great\ntruthfulness; nobody ever heard him swear or speak ill of any\none; his life was most pure.\n\n2. My mother also was a woman of great goodness, and her life was\nspent in great infirmities.  She was singularly pure in all her\nways.  Though possessing great beauty, yet was it never known\nthat she gave reason to suspect that she made any account\nwhatever of it; for, though she was only three-and-thirty years\nof age when she died, her apparel was already that of a woman\nadvanced in years.  She was very calm, and had great sense.\nThe sufferings she went through during her life were grievous,\nher death most Christian. [1]\n\n3. We were three sisters and nine brothers. [2]  All, by the\nmercy of God, resembled their parents in goodness except myself,\nthough I was the most cherished of my father.  And, before I\nbegan to offend God, I think he had some reason,--for I am filled\nwith sorrow whenever I think of the good desires with which our\nLord inspired me, and what a wretched use I made of them.\nBesides, my brothers never in any way hindered me in the service\nof God.\n\n4. One of my brothers was nearly of my own age; [3] and he it was\nwhom I most loved, though I was very fond of them all, and they\nof me.  He and I used to read Lives of Saints together.  When I\nread of martyrdom undergone by the Saints for the love of God, it\nstruck me that the vision of God was very cheaply purchased; and\nI had a great desire to die a martyr's death,--not out of any\nlove of Him of which I was conscious, but that I might most\nquickly attain to the fruition of those great joys of which I\nread that they were reserved in Heaven; and I used to discuss\nwith my brother how we could become martyrs.  We settled to go\ntogether to the country of the Moors, [4] begging our way for the\nlove of God, that we might be there beheaded; [5] and our Lord, I\nbelieve, had given us courage enough, even at so tender an age,\nif we could have found the means to proceed; but our greatest\ndifficulty seemed to be our father and mother.\n\n5. It astonished us greatly to find it said in what we were\nreading that pain and bliss were everlasting.  We happened very\noften to talk about this; and we had a pleasure in repeating\nfrequently, \"For ever, ever, ever.\"  Through the constant\nuttering of these words, our Lord was pleased that I should\nreceive an abiding impression of the way of truth when I was yet\na child.\n\n6. As soon as I saw it was impossible to go to any place where\npeople would put me to death for the sake of God, my brother and\nI set about becoming hermits; and in an orchard belonging to the\nhouse we contrived, as well as we could, to build hermitages, by\npiling up small stones one on the other, which fell down\nimmediately; and so it came to pass that we found no means of\naccomplishing our wish.  Even now, I have a feeling of devotion\nwhen I consider how God gave me in my early youth what I lost by\nmy own fault.  I gave alms as I could--and I could but little.\nI contrived to be alone, for the sake of saying my\nprayers [6]--and they were many--especially the Rosary, to which\nmy mother had a great devotion, and had made us also in this like\nherself.  I used to delight exceedingly, when playing with other\nchildren, in the building of monasteries, as if we were nuns; and\nI think I wished to be a nun, though not so much as I did to be a\nmartyr or a hermit.\n\n7. I remember that, when my mother died, [7] I was about twelve\nyears old--a little less.  When I began to understand my loss, I\nwent in my affliction to an image of our Lady, [8] and with many\ntears implored her to be my mother.  I did this in my simplicity,\nand I believe that it was of service to me; for I have by\nexperience found the royal Virgin help me whenever I recommended\nmyself to her; and at last she has brought me back to herself.\nIt distresses me now, when I think of, and reflect on, that which\nkept me from being earnest in the good desires with which\nI began.\n\n8. O my Lord, since Thou art determined to save me--may it be the\npleasure of Thy Majesty to effect it!--and to bestow upon me so\nmany graces, why has it not been Thy pleasure also--not for my\nadvantage, but for Thy greater honour--that this habitation,\nwherein Thou hast continually to dwell, should not have\ncontracted so much defilement?  It distresses me even to say\nthis, O my Lord, because I know the fault is all my own, seeing\nthat Thou hast left nothing undone to make me, even from my\nyouth, wholly Thine.  When I would complain of my parents, I\ncannot do it; for I saw nothing in them but all good, and\ncarefulness for my welfare.  Then, growing up, I began to\ndiscover the natural gifts which our Lord had given me--they were\nsaid to be many; and, when I should have given Him thanks for\nthem, I made use of every one of them, as I shall now explain, to\noffend Him.\n\n\n1. See ch. xxxvii. \u00a7 1; where the Saint says that she saw them in\na vision both in Heaven.\n\n2. Alfonso Sanchez de Cepeda, father of the Saint, married first\nCatalina del Peso y Henao, and had three children--one daughter,\nMaria de Cepeda, and two sons.  After the death of Catalina, he\nmarried Beatriz Davila y Ahumada, by whom he had nine\nchildren--seven boys and two girls.  The third of these, and the\neldest of the daughters, was the Saint, Do\u00f1a Teresa Sanchez\nCepeda Davila y Ahumada.  In the Monastery of the Incarnation,\nwhere she was a professed nun for twenty-eight years, she was\nknown as Do\u00f1a Teresa; but in the year 1563, when she left her\nmonastery for the new foundation of St. Joseph, of the Reform of\nthe Carmelites, she took for the first time the name of Teresa of\nJesus (De la Fuente).  The Saint was born March 28, 1515, and\nbaptized on the 4th of April, in the church of St. John; on which\nday Mass was said for the first time in the Monastery of the\nIncarnation, where the Saint made her profession.  Her godfather\nwas Vela Nu\u00f1ez, and her godmother Do\u00f1a Maria del Aguila.\nThe Bollandists and Father Bouix say that she was baptized on the\nvery day of her birth.  But the testimony of Do\u00f1a Maria de Pinel,\na nun in the Monastery of the Incarnation, is clear: and Don\nVicente de La Fuente, quoting it, vol. i. p. 549, says that this\ndelay of baptism was nothing singular in those days, provided\nthere was no danger of death.\n\n3. Rodrigo de Cepeda, four years older than the Saint, entered\nthe army, and, serving in South America, was drowned in the river\nPlate, Rio de la Plata.  St. Teresa always considered him a\nmartyr, because he died in defence of the Catholic faith (Ribera,\nlib. i. ch. iii.).  Before he sailed for the Indies, he made his\nwill, and left all his property to the Saint, his sister (Reforma\nde los Descal\u00e7os, vol. i. lib. i. ch. iii. \u00a7 4).\n\n4. The Bollandists incline to believe that St. Teresa may not\nhave intended to quit Spain, because all the Moors were not at\nthat time driven out of the country.  The Bull of the Saint's\ncanonization, and the Lections of the Breviary, say that she left\nher father's house, ut in Africam trajiceret.\n\n5. The two children set out on their strange journey--one of them\nseven, the other eleven, years old--through the Adaja Gate; but\nwhen they had crossed the bridge, they were met by one of their\nuncles, who brought them back to their mother, who had already\nsent through Avila in quest of them.  Rodrigo, like Adam, excused\nhimself, and laid the blame on the woman (Ribera,\nlib. i. ch. iii.).  Francisco de Santa Maria, chronicler of the\nOrder, says that the uncle was Francisco Alvarez de Cepeda\n(Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os, lib. i. ch. v. \u00a7 4).\n\n6. She was also marvellously touched by the story of the\nSamaritan woman at the well, of whom there was a picture in her\nroom (Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv.).  She speaks of this later on.\n(See ch. xxx. \u00a7 24.)\n\n7. The last will and testament of Do\u00f1a Beatriz de Ahumada was\nmade November 24, 1528 and she may have died soon after.\nIf there be no mistake in the copy of that instrument, the Saint\nmust have been more than twelve years old at that time.\nDon Vicente, in a note, says, with the Bollandists, that Do\u00f1a\nBeatriz died at the end of the year 1526, or in the beginning of\n1527; but it is probable that, when he wrote that note, he had\nnot read the copy of the will, which he has printed in the first\nvolume of the Saint's writings, p. 550.\n\n8. Our Lady of Charity, in the church of the hospital where\nthe poor and pilgrims were received in Avila (Bouix).\n\n\n\nChapter II.\n\n\nEarly Impressions.  Dangerous Books and Companions.  The Saint Is\nPlaced in a Monastery.\n\n\n1. What I shall now speak of was, I believe, the beginning of\ngreat harm to me.  I often think how wrong it is of parents not\nto be very careful that their children should always, and in\nevery way, see only that which is good; for though my mother was,\nas I have just said, so good herself, nevertheless I, when I came\nto the use of reason, did not derive so much good from her as I\nought to have done--almost none at all; and the evil I learned\ndid me much harm.  She was very fond of books of chivalry; but\nthis pastime did not hurt her so much as it hurt me, because she\nnever wasted her time on them; only we, her children, were left\nat liberty to read them; and perhaps she did this to distract her\nthoughts from her great sufferings, and occupy her children, that\nthey might not go astray in other ways.  It annoyed my father so\nmuch, that we had to be careful he never saw us.  I contracted a\nhabit of reading these books; and this little fault which I\nobserved in my mother was the beginning of lukewarmness in my\ngood desires, and the occasion of my falling away in other\nrespects.  I thought there was no harm in it when I wasted many\nhours night and day in so vain an occupation, even when I kept it\na secret from my father.  So completely was I mastered by this\npassion, that I thought I could never be happy without a\nnew book.\n\n2. I began to make much of dress, to wish to please others by my\nappearance.  I took pains with my hands and my hair, used\nperfumes, and all vanities within my reach--and they were many,\nfor I was very much given to them.  I had no evil intention,\nbecause I never wished any one to offend God for me.\nThis fastidiousness of excessive neatness [1] lasted some years;\nand so also did other practices, which I thought then were not at\nall sinful; now, I see how wrong all this must have been.\n\n3. I had some cousins; for into my father's house no others were\nallowed an entrance.  In this he was very cautious; and would to\nGod he had been cautious about them!--for I see now the danger of\nconversing, at an age when virtue should begin to grow, with\npersons who, knowing nothing themselves of the vanity of the\nworld, provoke others to throw themselves into the midst of it.\nThese cousins were nearly of mine own age--a little older,\nperhaps.  We were always together; and they had a great affection\nfor me.  In everything that gave them pleasure, I kept the\nconversation alive,--listened to the stories of their affections\nand childish follies, good for nothing; and, what was still\nworse, my soul began to give itself up to that which was the\ncause of all its disorders.  If I were to give advice, I would\nsay to parents that they ought to be very careful whom they allow\nto mix with their children when young; for much mischief thence\nensues, and our natural inclinations are unto evil rather than\nunto good.\n\n4. So it was with me; for I had a sister much older than\nmyself, [2] from whose modesty and goodness, which were great, I\nlearned nothing; and learned every evil from a relative who was\noften in the house.  She was so light and frivolous, that my\nmother took great pains to keep her out of the house, as if she\nforesaw the evil I should learn from her; but she could not\nsucceed, there being so many reasons for her coming.  I was very\nfond of this person's company, gossiped and talked with her; for\nshe helped me in all the amusements I liked, and, what is more,\nfound some for me, and communicated to me her own conversations\nand her vanities.  Until I knew her, I mean, until she became\nfriendly with me, and communicated to me her own affairs--I was\nthen about fourteen years old, a little more, I think--I do not\nbelieve that I turned away from God in mortal sin, or lost the\nfear of Him, though I had a greater fear of disgrace.\nThis latter fear had such sway over me, that I never wholly\nforfeited my good name--and, as to that, there was nothing in the\nworld for which I would have bartered it, and nobody in the world\nI liked well enough who could have persuaded me to do it.  Thus I\nmight have had the strength never to do anything against the\nhonour of God, as I had it by nature not to fail in that wherein\nI thought the honour of the world consisted; and I never observed\nthat I was failing in many other ways.  In vainly seeking after\nit I was extremely careful; but in the use of the means necessary\nfor preserving it I was utterly careless. I was anxious only not\nto be lost altogether.\n\n5. This friendship distressed my father and sister exceedingly.\nThey often blamed me for it; but, as they could not hinder that\nperson from coming into the house, all their efforts were in\nvain; for I was very adroit in doing anything that was wrong.\nNow and then, I am amazed at the evil one bad companion can\ndo,--nor could I believe it if I did not know it by\nexperience,--especially when we are young: then is it that the\nevil must be greatest.  Oh, that parents would take warning by\nme, and look carefully to this! So it was; the conversation of\nthis person so changed me, that no trace was left of my soul's\nnatural disposition to virtue, and I became a reflection of her\nand of another who was given to the same kind of amusements.\n\n6. I know from this the great advantage of good companions; and I\nam certain that if at that tender age I had been thrown among\ngood people, I should have persevered in virtue; for if at that\ntime I had found any one to teach me the fear of God, my soul\nwould have grown strong enough not to fall away. Afterwards, when\nthe fear of God had utterly departed from me, the fear of\ndishonour alone remained, and was a torment to me in all I did.\nWhen I thought that nobody would ever know, I ventured upon many\nthings that were neither honourable nor pleasing unto God.\n\n7. In the beginning, these conversations did me harm--I believe\nso.  The fault was perhaps not hers, but mine; for afterwards my\nown wickedness was enough to lead me astray, together with the\nservants about me, whom I found ready enough for all evil.\nIf any one of these had given me good advice, I might perhaps\nhave profited by it; but they were blinded by interest, as I was\nby passion.  Still, I was never inclined to much evil,--for I\nhated naturally anything dishonourable,--but only to the\namusement of a pleasant conversation.  The occasion of sin,\nhowever, being present, danger was at hand, and I exposed to it\nmy father and brothers.  God delivered me out of it all, so that\nI should not be lost, in a manner visibly against my will, yet\nnot so secretly as to allow me to escape without the loss of my\ngood name and the suspicions of my father.\n\n8. I had not spent, I think, three months in these vanities, when\nthey took me to a monastery [3] in the city where I lived, in\nwhich children like myself were brought up, though their way of\nlife was not so wicked as mine.  This was done with the utmost\nconcealment of the true reason, which was known only to myself\nand one of my kindred.  They waited for an opportunity which\nwould make the change seem nothing out of the way; for, as my\nsister was married, it was not fitting I should remain alone,\nwithout a mother, in the house.\n\n9. So excessive was my father's love for me, and so deep my\ndissembling, that he never would believe me to be so wicked as I\nwas; and hence I was never in disgrace with him.  Though some\nremarks were made, yet, as the time had been short, nothing could\nbe positively asserted; and, as I was so much afraid about my\ngood name, I had taken every care to be secret; and yet I never\nconsidered that I could conceal nothing from Him Who seeth all\nthings.  O my God, what evil is done in the world by disregarding\nthis, and thinking that anything can be kept secret that is done\nagainst Thee!  I am quite certain that great evils would be\navoided if we clearly understood that what we have to do is, not\nto be on our guard against men, but on our guard against\ndispleasing Thee.\n\n10. For the first eight days, I suffered much; but more from the\nsuspicion that my vanity was known, than from being in the\nmonastery; for I was already weary of myself--and, though I\noffended God, I never ceased to have a great fear of Him, and\ncontrived to go to confession as quickly as I could.  I was very\nuncomfortable; but within eight days, I think sooner, I was much\nmore contented than I had been in my father's house.  All the\nnuns were pleased with me; for our Lord had given me the grace to\nplease every one, wherever I might be.  I was therefore made much\nof in the monastery.  Though at this time I hated to be a nun,\nyet I was delighted at the sight of nuns so good; for they were\nvery good in that house--very prudent, observant of the rule,\nand recollected.\n\n11. Yet, for all this, the devil did not cease to tempt me; and\npeople in the world sought means to trouble my rest with messages\nand presents.  As this could not be allowed, it was soon over,\nand my soul began to return to the good habits of my earlier\nyears; and I recognized the great mercy of God to those whom He\nplaces among good people.  It seems as if His Majesty had sought\nand sought again how to convert me to Himself.  Blessed be Thou,\nO Lord, for having borne with me so long!  Amen.\n\n12. Were it not for my many faults, there was some excuse for me,\nI think, in this: that the conversation I shared in was with one\nwho, I thought, would do well in the estate of matrimony; [4] and\nI was told by my confessors, and others also, whom in many points\nI consulted, used to say, that I was not offending God.  One of\nthe nuns [5] slept with us who were seculars, and through her it\npleased our Lord to give me light, as I shall now explain.\n\n\n1. The Saint throughout her life was extremely careful of\ncleanliness.  In one of her letters to Father Jerome Gratian of\nthe Mother of God (No. 323, Letter 28, vol. iii. ed. Doblado),\nshe begs him, for the love of God, to see that the Fathers had\nclean cells and table; and the Ven. Mother Anne of\nSt. Bartholomew, in her life (Bruxelles, 1708, p. 40), says that\nshe changed the Saint's linen on the day of her death, and was\nthanked by her for her carefulness.  \"Her soul was so pure,\" says\nthe Ven. Mother, \"that she could not bear anything that was\nnot clean.\"\n\n2. Maria de Cepeda, half-sister of the Saint.  She was married to\nDon Martin de Guzman y Barrientos; and the contract for the dowry\nwas signed January 11, 1531 (Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os\nlib. i. ch. vii. \u00a7 4).\n\n3. The Augustinian Monastery of Our Lady of Grace.  It was\nfounded in 1509 by the venerable Fra Juan of Seville,\nVicar-General of the Order (Reforma de los Descal\u00e7os\nlib. i. ch. vii. n. 2).  There were forty nuns in the house at\nthis time (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n4. Some have said that the Saint at this time intended, or\nwished, to be married; and Father Bouix translates the passage\nthus: \"une alliance honorable pour moi.\"  But it is more probable\nthat the Saint had listened only to the story of her cousin's\nintended marriage; for in ch. v. \u00a7 11, she says that our Lord had\nalways kept her from seeking to be loved of men.\n\n5. Do\u00f1a Maria Brize\u00f1o, mistress of the secular children who were\neducated in the monastery (Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. \u00a7 3).\n\n\n\nChapter III.\n\n\nThe Blessing of Being with Good People.  How Certain Illusions\nWere Removed.\n\n\n1. I began gradually to like the good and holy conversation of\nthis nun.  How well she used to speak of God! for she was a\nperson of great discretion and sanctity.  I listened to her with\ndelight.  I think there never was a time when I was not glad to\nlisten to her.  She began by telling me how she came to be a nun\nthrough the mere reading of the words of the Gospel \"Many are\ncalled, and few are chosen.\" [1]  She would speak of the reward\nwhich our Lord gives to those who forsake all things for His\nsake.  This good companionship began to root out the habits which\nbad companionship had formed, and to bring my thoughts back to\nthe desire of eternal things, as well as to banish in some\nmeasure the great dislike I had to be a nun, which had been very\ngreat; and if I saw any one weep in prayer, or devout in any\nother way, I envied her very much; for my heart was now so hard,\nthat I could not shed a tear, even if I read the Passion through.\nThis was a grief to me.\n\n2. I remained in the monastery a year and a half, and was very\nmuch the better for it.  I began to say many vocal prayers, and\nto ask all the nuns to pray for me, that God would place me in\nthat state wherein I was to serve Him; but, for all this, I\nwished not to be a nun, and that God would not be pleased I\nshould be one, though at the same time I was afraid of marriage.\nAt the end of my stay there, I had a greater inclination to be a\nnun, yet not in that house, on account of certain devotional\npractices which I understood prevailed there, and which I thought\noverstrained.  Some of the younger ones encouraged me in this my\nwish; and if all had been of one mind, I might have profited by\nit.  I had also a great friend [2] in another monastery; and this\nmade me resolve, if I was to be a nun, not to be one in any other\nhouse than where she was.  I looked more to the pleasure of sense\nand vanity than to the good of my soul.  These good thoughts of\nbeing a nun came to me from time to time.  They left me very\nsoon; and I could not persuade myself to become one.\n\n3. At this time, though I was not careless about my own good, our\nLord was much more careful to dispose me for that state of life\nwhich was best for me.  He sent me a serious illness, so that I\nwas obliged to return to my father's house.\n\n4. When I became well again, they took me to see my sister [3] in\nher house in the country village where she dwelt. Her love for me\nwas so great, that, if she had had her will, I should never have\nleft her.  Her husband also had a great affection for me--at\nleast, he showed me all kindness.  This too I owe rather to our\nLord, for I have received kindness everywhere; and all my service\nin return is, that I am what I am.\n\n5. On the road lived a brother of my father [4]--a prudent and\nmost excellent man, then a widower.  Him too our Lord was\npreparing for Himself.  In his old age, he left all his\npossessions and became a religious.  He so finished his course,\nthat I believe him to have the vision of God.  He would have me\nstay with him some days.  His practice was to read good books in\nSpanish; and his ordinary conversation was about God and the\nvanity of the world.  These books he made me read to him; and,\nthough I did not much like them, I appeared as if I did; for in\ngiving pleasure to others I have been most particular, though it\nmight be painful to myself--so much so, that what in others might\nhave been a virtue was in me a great fault, because I was often\nextremely indiscreet.  O my God, in how many ways did His Majesty\nprepare me for the state wherein it was His will I should serve\nHim!--how, against my own will, He constrained me to do violence\nto myself!  May He be blessed for ever!  Amen.\n\n6. Though I remained here but a few days, yet, through the\nimpression made on my heart by the words of God both heard and\nread, and by the good conversation of my uncle, I came to\nunderstand the truth I had heard in my childhood, that all things\nare as nothing, the world vanity, and passing rapidly away.\nI also began to be afraid that, if I were then to die, I should\ngo down to hell.  Though I could not bend my will to be a nun, I\nsaw that the religious state was the best and the safest.\nAnd thus, by little and little, I resolved to force myself\ninto it.\n\n7. The struggle lasted three months.  I used to press this reason\nagainst myself: The trials and sufferings of living as a nun\ncannot be greater than those of purgatory, and I have well\ndeserved to be in hell.  It is not much to spend the rest of my\nlife as if I were in purgatory, and then go straight to\nHeaven--which was what I desired.  I was more influenced by\nservile fear, I think, than by love, to enter religion.\n\n8. The devil put before me that I could not endure the trials of\nthe religious life, because of my delicate nurture.  I defended\nmyself against him by alleging the trials which Christ endured,\nand that it was not much for me to suffer something for His sake;\nbesides, He would help me to bear it.  I must have thought so,\nbut I do not remember this consideration.  I endured many\ntemptations during these days.  I was subject to fainting-fits,\nattended with fever,--for my health was always weak.  I had\nbecome by this time fond of good books, and that gave me life.\nI read the Epistles of St. Jerome, which filled me with so much\ncourage, that I resolved to tell my father of my purpose,--which\nwas almost like taking the habit; for I was so jealous of my\nword, that I would never, for any consideration, recede from a\npromise when once my word had been given.\n\n9. My father's love for me was so great, that I could never\nobtain his consent; nor could the prayers of others, whom I\npersuaded to speak to him, be of any avail.  The utmost I could\nget from him was that I might do as I pleased after his death.\nI now began to be afraid of myself, and of my own weakness--for I\nmight go back.  So, considering that such waiting was not safe\nfor me, I obtained my end in another way, as I shall now relate.\n\n\n1. St. Matt. xx. 16: \"Multi enim sunt vocati, pauci vero\u00a0electi.\"\n\n2. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of the incarnation, Avila\n(Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. \u00a7 7).\n\n3. Maria de Cepeda, married to Don Martin Guzman y Barrientos.\nThey lived in Castellanos de la Ca\u00f1ada, where they had\nconsiderable property; but in the later years of their lives they\nwere in straitened circumstances (De la Fuente).  See below,\nch. xxxiv. \u00a7 24.\n\n4. Don Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda.  He lived in Hortigosa, four\nleagues from Avila (De la Fuente).\n\n\n\nChapter IV.\n\n\nOur Lord Helps Her to Become a Nun.  Her Many Infirmities.\n\n\n1. In those days, when I was thus resolved, I had persuaded one\nof my brothers, [1] by speaking to him of the vanity of the\nworld, to become a friar; and we agreed together to set out one\nday very early in the morning for the monastery where that friend\nof mine lived for whom I had so great an affection: [2] though I\nwould have gone to any other monastery, if I thought I should\nserve God better in it, or to any one my father liked, so strong\nwas my resolution now to become a nun--for I thought more of the\nsalvation of my soul now, and made no account whatever of mine\nown ease.  I remember perfectly well, and it is quite true, that\nthe pain I felt when I left my father's house was so great, that\nI do not believe the pain of dying will be greater--for it seemed\nto me as if every bone in my body were wrenched asunder; [3] for,\nas I had no love of God to destroy my love of father and of\nkindred, this latter love came upon me with a violence so great\nthat, if our Lord had not been my keeper, my own resolution to go\non would have failed me.  But He gave me courage to fight against\nmyself, so that I executed my purpose. [4]\n\n2. When I took the habit, [5] our Lord at once made me understand\nhow He helps those who do violence to themselves in order to\nserve Him.  No one observed this violence in me; they saw nothing\nbut the greatest good will.  At that moment, because I was\nentering on that state, I was filled with a joy so great, that it\nhas never failed me to this day; and God converted the aridity of\nmy soul into the greatest tenderness.  Everything in religion was\na delight unto me; and it is true that now and then I used to\nsweep the house during those hours of the day which I had\nformerly spent on my amusements and my dress; and, calling to\nmind that I was delivered from such follies, I was filled with a\nnew joy that surprised me, nor could I understand whence it came.\n\n3. Whenever I remember this, there is nothing in the world,\nhowever hard it may be, that, if it were proposed to me, I would\nnot undertake without any hesitation whatever; for I know now, by\nexperience in many things, that if from the first I resolutely\npersevere in my purpose, even in this life His Majesty rewards it\nin a way which he only understands who has tried it.  When the\nact is done for God only, it is His will before we begin it that\nthe soul, in order to the increase of its merits, should be\nafraid; and the greater the fear, if we do but succeed, the\ngreater the reward, and the sweetness thence afterwards\nresulting.  I know this by experience, as I have just said, in\nmany serious affairs; and so, if I were a person who had to\nadvise anybody, I would never counsel any one, to whom good\ninspirations from time to time may come, to resist them through\nfear of the difficulty of carrying them into effect; for if a\nperson lives detached for the love of God only, that is no reason\nfor being afraid of failure, for He is omnipotent.  May He be\nblessed for ever!  Amen.\n\n4. O supreme Good, and my Rest, those graces ought to have been\nenough which Thou hadst given me hitherto, seeing that Thy\ncompassion and greatness had drawn me through so many windings to\na state so secure, to a house where there are so many servants of\nGod, from whom I might learn how I may advance in Thy service.\nI know not how to go on, when I call to mind the circumstances of\nmy profession, the great resolution and joy with which I made it,\nand my betrothal unto Thee.  I cannot speak of it without tears;\nand my tears ought to be tears of blood, my heart ought to break,\nand that would not be much to suffer because of the many offences\nagainst Thee which I have committed since that day.  It seems to\nme now that I had good reasons for not wishing for this dignity,\nseeing that I have made so sad a use of it.  But Thou, O my Lord,\nhast been willing to bear with me for almost twenty years of my\nevil using of Thy graces, till I might become better.  It seems\nto me, O my God, that I did nothing but promise never to keep any\nof the promises then made to Thee.  Yet such was not my\nintention: but I see that what I have done since is of such a\nnature, that I know not what my intention was.  So it was and so\nit happened, that it may be the better known, O my Bridegroom,\nWho Thou art and what I am.\n\n5. It is certainly true that very frequently the joy I have in\nthat the multitude of Thy mercies is made known in me, softens\nthe bitter sense of my great faults.  In whom, O Lord, can they\nshine forth as they do in me, who by my evil deeds have shrouded\nin darkness Thy great graces, which Thou hadst begun to work in\nme?  Woe is me, O my Maker!  If I would make an excuse, I have\nnone to offer; and I only am to blame.  For if I could return to\nThee any portion of that love which Thou hadst begun to show unto\nme, I would give it only unto Thee, and then everything would\nhave been safe.  But, as I have not deserved this, nor been so\nhappy as to have done it, let Thy mercy, O Lord, rest upon me.\n\n6. The change in the habits of my life, and in my food, proved\nhurtful to my health; and though my happiness was great, that was\nnot enough.  The fainting-fits began to be more frequent; and my\nheart was so seriously affected, that every one who saw it was\nalarmed; and I had also many other ailments.  And thus it was I\nspent the first year, having very bad health, though I do not\nthink I offended God in it much.  And as my illness was so\nserious--I was almost insensible at all times, and frequently\nwholly so--my father took great pains to find some relief; and as\nthe physicians who attended me had none to give, he had me taken\nto a place which had a great reputation for the cure of other\ninfirmities.  They said I should find relief there. [6]\nThat friend of whom I have spoken as being in the house went with\nme. She was one of the elder nuns.  In the house where I was a\nnun, there was no vow of enclosure. [7]\n\n7. I remained there nearly a year, for three months of it\nsuffering most cruel tortures--effects of the violent remedies\nwhich they applied.  I know not how I endured them; and indeed,\nthough I submitted myself to them, they were, as I shall\nrelate, [8] more than my constitution could bear.\n\n8. I was to begin the treatment in the spring, and went thither\nwhen winter commenced.  The intervening time I spent with my\nsister, of whom I spoke before, [9] in her house in the country,\nwaiting for the month of April, which was drawing near, that I\nmight not have to go and return.  The uncle of whom I have made\nmention before, [10] and whose house was on our road, gave me a\nbook called Tercer Abecedario, [11] which treats of the prayer of\nrecollection.  Though in the first year I had read good\nbooks--for I would read no others, because I understood now the\nharm they had done me--I did not know how to make my prayer, nor\nhow to recollect myself.  I was therefore much pleased with the\nbook, and resolved to follow the way of prayer it described with\nall my might.  And as our Lord had already bestowed upon me the\ngift of tears, and I found pleasure in reading, I began to spend\na certain time in solitude, to go frequently to confession, and\nmake a beginning of that way of prayer, with this book for my\nguide; for I had no master--I mean, no confessor--who understood\nme, though I sought for such a one for twenty years afterwards:\nwhich did me much harm, in that I frequently went backwards, and\nmight have been even utterly lost; for, anyhow, a director would\nhave helped me to escape the risks I ran of sinning against God.\n\n9. From the very beginning, God was most gracious unto me.\nThough I was not so free from sin as the book required, I passed\nthat by; such watchfulness seemed to me almost impossible.  I was\non my guard against mortal sin--and would to God I had always\nbeen so!--but I was careless about venial sins, and that was my\nruin.  Yet, for all this, at the end of my stay there--I spent\nnearly nine months in the practice of solitude--our Lord began to\ncomfort me so much in this way of prayer, as in His mercy to\nraise me to the prayer of quiet, and now and then to that of\nunion, though I understood not what either the one or the other\nwas, nor the great esteem I ought to have had of them.  I believe\nit would have been a great blessing to me if I had understood the\nmatter.  It is true that the prayer of union lasted but a short\ntime: I know not if it continued for the space of an Ave Maria;\nbut the fruits of it remained; and they were such that, though I\nwas then not twenty years of age, I seemed to despise the world\nutterly; and so I remember how sorry I was for those who followed\nits ways, though only in things lawful.\n\n10. I used to labour with all my might to imagine Jesus Christ,\nour Good and our Lord, present within me.  And this was the way I\nprayed.  If I meditated on any mystery of His life, I represented\nit to myself as within me, though the greater part of my time I\nspent in reading good books, which was all my comfort; for God\nnever endowed me with the gift of making reflections with the\nunderstanding, or with that of using the imagination to any good\npurpose: my imagination is so sluggish, [12] that even if I would\nthink of, or picture to myself, as I used to labour to picture,\nour Lord's Humanity, I never could do it.\n\n11. And though men may attain more quickly to the state of\ncontemplation, if they persevere, by this way of inability to\nexert the intellect, yet is the process more laborious and\npainful; for if the will have nothing to occupy it, and if love\nhave no present object to rest on, the soul is without support\nand without employment--its isolation and dryness occasion great\npain, and the thoughts assail it most grievously.  Persons in\nthis condition must have greater purity of conscience than those\nwho can make use of their understanding; for he who can use his\nintellect in the way of meditation on what the world is, on what\nhe owes to God, on the great sufferings of God for him, his own\nscanty service in return, and on the reward God reserves for\nthose who love Him, learns how to defend himself against his own\nthoughts, and against the occasions and perils of sin.  On the\nother hand, he who has not that power is in greater danger, and\nought to occupy himself much in reading, seeing that he is not in\nthe slightest degree able to help himself.\n\n12. This way of proceeding is so exceedingly painful, that if the\nmaster who teaches it insists on cutting off the succours which\nreading gives, and requires the spending of much time in prayer,\nthen, I say, it will be impossible to persevere long in it: and\nif he persists in his plan, health will be ruined, because it is\na most painful process.  Reading is of great service towards\nprocuring recollection in any one who proceeds in this way; and\nit is even necessary for him, however little it may be that he\nreads, if only as a substitute for the mental prayer which is\nbeyond his reach.\n\n13. Now I seem to understand that it was the good providence of\nour Lord over me that found no one to teach me.  If I had, it\nwould have been impossible for me to persevere during the\neighteen years of my trial and of those great aridities because\nof my inability to meditate.  During all this time, it was only\nafter Communion that I ever ventured to begin my prayer without a\nbook--my soul was as much afraid to pray without one, as if it\nhad to fight against a host.  With a book to help me--it was like\na companion, and a shield whereon to receive the blows of many\nthoughts--I found comfort; for it was not usual with me to be in\naridity: but I always was so when I had no book; for my soul was\ndisturbed, and my thoughts wandered at once.  With one, I began\nto collect my thoughts, and, using it as a decoy, kept my soul in\npeace, very frequently by merely opening a book--there was no\nnecessity for more.  Sometimes, I read but little; at other\ntimes, much--according as our Lord had pity on me.\n\n14. It seemed to me, in these beginnings of which I am speaking,\nthat there could be no danger capable of withdrawing me from so\ngreat a blessing, if I had but books, and could have remained\nalone; and I believe that, by the grace of God, it would have\nbeen so, if I had had a master or any one to warn me against\nthose occasions of sin in the beginning, and, if I fell, to bring\nme quickly out of them.  If the devil had assailed me openly\nthen, I believe I should never have fallen into any grievous sin;\nbut he was so subtle, and I so weak, that all my good resolutions\nwere of little service--though, in those days in which I served\nGod, they were very profitable in enabling me, with that patience\nwhich His Majesty gave me, to endure the alarming illnesses which\nI had to bear.  I have often thought with wonder of the great\ngoodness of God; and my soul has rejoiced in the contemplation of\nHis great magnificence and mercy.  May He be blessed for\never!--for I see clearly that He has not omitted to reward me,\neven in this life, for every one of my good desires.  My good\nworks, however wretched and imperfect, have been made better and\nperfected by Him Who is my Lord: He has rendered them\nmeritorious.  As to my evil deeds and my sins, He hid them at\nonce.  The eyes of those who saw them, He made even blind; and He\nhas blotted them out of their memory.  He gilds my faults, makes\nvirtue to shine forth, giving it to me Himself, and compelling me\nto possess it, as it were, by force.\n\n15. I must now return to that which has been enjoined me.  I say,\nthat if I had to describe minutely how our Lord dealt with me in\nthe beginning, it would be necessary for me to have another\nunderstanding than that I have: so that I might be able to\nappreciate what I owe to Him, together with my own ingratitude\nand wickedness; for I have forgotten it all.\n\nMay He be blessed for ever Who has borne with me so long!  Amen.\n\n\n1. Antonio de Ahumada; who, according to the most probable\nopinion, entered the Dominican monastery of St. Thomas, Avila.\nIt is said that he died before he was professed.  Some said he\njoined the Hieronymites; but this is not so probable (De la\nFuente).  Ribera, however, says that he did enter the novitiate\nof the Hieronymites. but died before he was out of it\n(lib. i. ch. vi.).\n\n2. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of the Incarnation, Avila.\n\n3. See Relation, vi. \u00a7 3.\n\n4. The nuns sent word to the father of his child's escape, and of\nher desire to become a nun, but without any expectation of\nobtaining his consent.  He came to the monastery forthwith, and\n\"offered up his Isaac on Mount Carmel\" (Reforma,\nlib. i. ch. viii. \u00a7 5).\n\n5. The Saint entered the Monastery of the Incarnation Nov. 2,\n1533, and made her profession Nov. 3, 1534 (Bollandists and\nBouix).  Ribera says she entered November 2, 1535; and the\nchronicler of the Order, relying on the contract by which her\nfather bound himself to the monastery, says that she took the\nhabit Nov. 2, 1536, and that Ribera had made a mistake.\n\n6. Her father took her from the monastery in the autumn of 1535,\naccording to the Bollandists, but of 1538, according to the\nchronicler, who adds, that she was taken to her uncle's\nhouse--Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda--in Hortigosa, and then to\nCastellanos de la Ca\u00f1ada, to the house of her sister, Do\u00f1a Maria,\nwhere she remained till the spring, when she went to Bezadas for\nher cure (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. \u00a7 2).\n\n7. It was in 1563 that all nuns were compelled to observe\nenclosure (De la Fuente).\n\n8. Ch. v. \u00a7 15.\n\n9. Ch. iii. \u00a7 4.\n\n10. Ch. iii. \u00a7 5.\n\n11. By Fray Francisco de Osuna, of the Order of St. Francis\n(Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. \u00a7 2).\n\n12. See ch. ix. \u00a7\u00a7 4, 7.\n\n\n\nChapter V.\n\n\nIllness and Patience of the Saint.  The Story of a Priest Whom\nShe Rescued from a Life of Sin.\n\n\n1. I forgot to say how, in the year of my novitiate, I suffered\nmuch uneasiness about things in themselves of no importance; but\nI was found fault with very often when I was blameless.  I bore\nit painfully and with imperfection; however, I went through it\nall, because of the joy I had in being a nun.  When they saw me\nseeking to be alone, and even weeping over my sins at times, they\nthought I was discontented, and said so.\n\n2. All religious observances had an attraction for me, but I\ncould not endure any which seemed to make me contemptible.\nI delighted in being thought well of by others, and was very\nexact in everything I had to do.  All this I thought was a\nvirtue, though it will not serve as any excuse for me, because I\nknew what it was to procure my own satisfaction in everything,\nand so ignorance does not blot out the blame.  There may be some\nexcuse in the fact that the monastery was not founded in great\nperfection.  I, wicked as I was, followed after that which I saw\nwas wrong, and neglected that which was good.\n\n3. There was then in the house a nun labouring under a most\ngrievous and painful disorder, for there were open ulcers in her\nbody, caused by certain obstructions, through which her food was\nrejected.  Of this sickness she soon died.  All the sisters, I\nsaw, were afraid of her malady.  I envied her patience very much;\nI prayed to God that He would give me a like patience; and then,\nwhatever sickness it might be His pleasure to send, I do not\nthink I was afraid of any, for I was resolved on gaining eternal\ngood, and determined to gain it by any and by every means.\n\n4. I am surprised at myself, because then I had not, as I\nbelieve, that love of God which I think I had after I began to\npray.  Then, I had only light to see that all things that pass\naway are to be lightly esteemed, and that the good things to be\ngained by despising them are of great price, because they are for\never.  His Majesty heard me also in this, for in less than two\nyears I was so afflicted myself that the illness which I had,\nthough of a different kind from that of the sister, was, I really\nbelieve, not less painful and trying for the three years it\nlasted, as I shall now relate.\n\n5. When the time had come for which I was waiting in the place I\nspoke of before [1]--I was in my sister's house, for the purpose\nof undergoing the medical treatment--they took me away with the\nutmost care of my comfort; that is, my father, my sister, and the\nnun, my friend, who had come from the monastery with me,--for her\nlove for me was very great.  At that moment, Satan began to\ntrouble my soul; God, however, brought forth a great blessing out\nof that trouble.\n\n6. In the place to which I had gone for my cure lived a priest of\ngood birth and understanding, with some learning, but not much.\nI went to confession to him, for I was always fond of learned\nmen, although confessors indifferently learned did my soul much\nharm; for I did not always find confessors whose learning was as\ngood as I could wish it was.  I know by experience that it is\nbetter, if the confessors are good men and of holy lives, that\nthey should have no learning at all, than a little; for such\nconfessors never trust themselves without consulting those who\nare learned--nor would I trust them myself: and a really learned\nconfessor never deceived me. [2]  Neither did the others\nwillingly deceive me, only they knew no better; I thought they\nwere learned, and that I was not under any other obligation than\nthat of believing them, as their instructions to me were lax, and\nleft me more at liberty--for if they had been strict with me, I\nam so wicked, I should have sought for others. That which was a\nvenial sin, they told me was no sin at all; of that which was\nmost grievously mortal, they said it was venial. [3]\n\n7. This did me so much harm, that it is no wonder I should speak\nof it here as a warning to others, that they may avoid an evil so\ngreat; for I see clearly that in the eyes of God I was without\nexcuse, that the things I did being in themselves not good, this\nshould have been enough to keep me from them.  I believe that\nGod, by reason of my sins, allowed those confessors to deceive\nthemselves and to deceive me.  I myself deceived many others by\nsaying to them what had been said to me.\n\n8. I continued in this blindness, I believe, more than seventeen\nyears, till a most learned Dominican Father [4] undeceived me in\npart, and those of the Company of Jesus made me altogether so\nafraid, by insisting on the erroneousness of these principles, as\nI shall hereafter show. [5]\n\n9. I began, then, by going to confession to that priest of whom I\nspoke before. [6]  He took an extreme liking to me, because I had\nthen but little to confess in comparison with what I had\nafterwards; and I had never much to say since I became a nun.\nThere was no harm in the liking he had for me, but it ceased to\nbe good, because it was in excess.  He clearly understood that I\nwas determined on no account whatever to do anything whereby God\nmight be seriously offended.  He, too, gave me a like assurance\nabout himself, and accordingly our conferences were many.  But at\nthat time, through the knowledge and fear of God which filled my\nsoul, what gave me most pleasure in all my conversations with\nothers was to speak of God; and, as I was so young, this made him\nashamed; and then, out of that great goodwill he bore me, he\nbegan to tell me of his wretched state.  It was very sad, for he\nhad been nearly seven years in a most perilous condition, because\nof his affection for, and conversation with, a woman of that\nplace; and yet he used to say Mass.  The matter was so public,\nthat his honour and good name were lost, and no one ventured to\nspeak to him about it.  I was extremely sorry for him, because I\nliked him much.  I was then so imprudent and so blind as to think\nit a virtue to be grateful and loyal to one who liked me.\nCursed be that loyalty which reaches so far as to go against the\nlaw of God.  It is a madness common in the world, and it makes me\nmad to see it.  We are indebted to God for all the good that men\ndo to us, and yet we hold it to be an act of virtue not to break\na friendship of this kind, though it lead us to go against Him.\nOh, blindness of the world!  Let me, O Lord, be most ungrateful\nto the world; never at all unto Thee.  But I have been altogether\notherwise through my sins.\n\n10. I procured further information about the matter from members\nof his household; I learned more of his ruinous state, and saw\nthat the poor man's fault was not so grave, because the miserable\nwoman had had recourse to enchantments, by giving him a little\nimage made of copper, which she had begged him to wear for love\nof her around his neck; and this no one had influence enough to\npersuade him to throw away.  As to this matter of enchantments, I\ndo not believe it to be altogether true; but I will relate what I\nsaw, by way of warning to men to be on their guard against women\nwho will do things of this kind.  And let them be assured of\nthis, that women--for they are more bound to purity than men--if\nonce they have lost all shame before God, are in nothing whatever\nto be trusted; and that in exchange for the gratification of\ntheir will, and of that affection which the devil suggests, they\nwill hesitate at nothing.\n\n11. Though I have been so wicked myself, I never fell into\nanything of this kind, nor did I ever attempt to do evil; nor, if\nI had the power, would I have ever constrained any one to like\nme, for our Lord kept me from this.  But if He had abandoned me,\nI should have done wrong in this, as I did in other things--for\nthere is nothing in me whereon anyone may rely.\n\n12. When I knew this, I began to show him greater affection: my\nintention was good, but the act was wrong, for I ought not to do\nthe least wrong for the sake of any good, how great soever it may\nbe.  I spoke to him most frequently of God; and this must have\ndone him good--though I believe that what touched him most was\nhis great affection for me, because, to do me a pleasure, he gave\nme that little image of copper, and I had it at once thrown into\na river.  When he had given it up, like a man roused from deep\nsleep, he began to consider all that he had done in those years;\nand then, amazed at himself, lamenting his ruinous state, that\nwoman came to be hateful in his eyes.  Our Lady must have helped\nhim greatly, for he had a very great devotion to her Conception,\nand used to keep the feast thereof with great solemnity.\nIn short, he broke off all relations with that woman utterly, and\nwas never weary of giving God thanks for the light He had given\nhim; and at the end of the year from the day I first saw him,\nhe died.\n\n13. He had been most diligent in the service of God; and as for\nthat great affection he had for me, I never observed anything\nwrong in it, though it might have been of greater purity.\nThere were also occasions wherein he might have most grievously\noffended, if he had not kept himself in the near presence of God.\nAs I said before, [7] I would not then have done anything I knew\nwas a mortal sin.  And I think that observing this resolution in\nme helped him to have that affection for me; for I believe that\nall men must have a greater affection for those women whom they\nsee disposed to be good; and even for the attainment of earthly\nends, women must have more power over men because they are good,\nas I shall show hereafter.  I am convinced that the priest is in\nthe way of salvation.  He died most piously, and completely\nwithdrawn from that occasion of sin.  It seems that it was the\nwill of our Lord he should be saved by these means.\n\n14. I remained three months in that place, in the most grievous\nsufferings; for the treatment was too severe for my constitution.\nIn two months--so strong were the medicines--my life was nearly\nworn out; and the severity of the pain in the heart, [8] for the\ncure of which I was there was much more keen: it seemed to me,\nnow and then, as if it had been seized by sharp teeth.  So great\nwas the torment, that it was feared it might end in madness.\nThere was a great loss of strength, for I could eat nothing\nwhatever, only drink.  I had a great loathing for food, and a\nfever that never left me.  I was so reduced, for they had given\nme purgatives daily for nearly a month, and so parched up, that\nmy sinews began to shrink.  The pains I had were unendurable, and\nI was overwhelmed in a most deep sadness, so that I had no rest\neither night or day.\n\n15. This was the result; and thereupon my father took me back.\nThen the physicians visited me again.  All gave me up; they said\nI was also consumptive.  This gave me little or no concern; what\ndistressed me were the pains I had--for I was in pain from my\nhead down to my feet.  Now, nervous pains, according to the\nphysicians, are intolerable; and all my nerves were shrunk.\nCertainly, if I had not brought this upon myself by my sins, the\ntorture would have been unendurable.\n\n16. I was not more than three months in this cruel distress, for\nit seemed impossible that so many ills could be borne together.\nI now am astonished at myself, and the patience His Majesty gave\nme--for it clearly came from Him--I look upon as a great mercy of\nour Lord.  It was a great help to me to be patient, that I had\nread the story of Job, in the Morals of St. Gregory (our Lord\nseems to have prepared me thereby); and that I had begun the\npractice of prayer, so that I might bear it all, conforming my\nwill to the will of God.  All my conversation was with God.\nI had continually these words of Job in my thoughts and in my\nmouth: \"If we have received good things of the hand of our Lord,\nwhy should we not receive evil things?\" [9]  This seemed to give\nme courage.\n\n17. The feast of our Lady, in August, came round; from April\nuntil then I had been in great pain, but more especially during\nthe last three months.  I made haste to go to confession, for I\nhad always been very fond of frequent confession.  They thought I\nwas driven by the fear of death; and so my father, in order to\nquiet me, would not suffer me to go.  Oh, the unreasonable love\nof flesh and blood!  Though it was that of a father so Catholic\nand so wise--he was very much so, and this act of his could not\nbe the effect of any ignorance on his part--what evil it might\nhave done me!\n\n18. That very night my sickness became so acute, that for about\nfour days I remained insensible.  They administered the Sacrament\nof the last Anointing, and every hour, or rather every moment,\nthought I was dying; they did nothing but repeat the Credo, as if\nI could have understood anything they said.  They must have\nregarded me as dead more than once, for I found afterwards drops\nof wax on my eyelids.  My father, because he had not allowed me\nto go to confession, was grievously distressed.  Loud cries and\nmany prayers were made to God: blessed be He Who heard them.\n\n19. For a day-and-a-half the grave was open in my monastery,\nwaiting for my body; [10] and the Friars of our Order, in a house\nat some distance from this place, performed funeral solemnities.\nBut it pleased our Lord I should come to myself.  I wished to go\nto confession at once.  I communicated with many tears; but I do\nnot think those tears had their source in that pain and sorrow\nonly for having offended God, which might have sufficed for my\nsalvation--unless, indeed, the delusion which I laboured under\nwere some excuse for me, and into which I had been led by those\nwho had told me that some things were not mortal sins which\nafterwards I found were so certainly.\n\n20. Though my sufferings were unendurable, and my perceptions\ndull, yet my confession, I believe, was complete as to all\nmatters wherein I understood myself to have offended God. This\ngrace, among others, did His Majesty bestow on me, that ever\nsince my first Communion never in confession have I failed to\nconfess anything I thought to be a sin, though it might be only a\nvenial sin.  But I think that undoubtedly my salvation was in\ngreat peril, if I had died at that time--partly because my\nconfessors were so unlearned, and partly because I was so very\nwicked.  It is certainly true that when I think of it, and\nconsider how our Lord seems to have raised me up from the dead, I\nam so filled with wonder, that I almost tremble with fear. [11]\n\n21. And now, O my soul, it were well for thee to look that danger\nin the face from which our Lord delivered thee; and if thou dost\nnot cease to offend Him out of love thou shouldst do so out of\nfear.  He might have slain thee a thousand times, and in a far\nmore perilous state.  I believe I exaggerate nothing if I say a\nthousand times again, though he may rebuke me who has commanded\nme to restrain myself in recounting my sins; and they are glossed\nover enough. I pray him, for the love of God, not to suppress one\nof my faults, because herein shines forth the magnificence of\nGod, as well as His long-suffering towards souls.  May He be\nblessed for evermore, and destroy me utterly, rather than let me\ncease to love Him any more!\n\n\n1. Ch. iv. \u00a7 6.  The person to whom she was taken was a woman\nfamous for certain cures she had wrought, but whose skill proved\nworse than useless to the Saint (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. \u00a7 2).\n\n2. Schram, Theolog. Mystic., \u00a7 483.  \"Magni doctores scholastici,\nsi non sint spirituales, vel omni rerum spiritualium experientia\ncareant, non solent esse magistri spirituales idonei--nam\ntheologia scholastica est perfectio intellectus; mystica,\nperfectio intellectus et voluntatis: unde bonus theologus\nscholasticus potest esse malus theologus mysticus.  In rebus\ntamen difficilibus, dubiis, spiritualibus, pr\u00e6stat mediocriter\nspiritualem theologum consulere quam spiritualem idiotam.\"\n\n3. See Way of Perfection, ch. viii. \u00a7 2; but\nch. v. Dalton's edition.\n\n4. F. Vicente Barron (Bouix).\n\n5. See ch. xxiii.\n\n6. \u00a7 6.\n\n7. \u00a7 9.\n\n8. Ch. iv. \u00a7 6.\n\n9. Job ii. 10: \"Si bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare\nnon\u00a0suscipiamus?\"\n\n10. Some of the nuns of the Incarnation were in the house, sent\nthither from the monastery; and, but for the father's disbelief\nin her death, would have taken her home for burial (Ribera,\nlib. i. ch. iv.).\n\n11. Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv., says he heard Fra Ba\u00f1es, in a\nsermon, say that the Saint told him she had, during these four\ndays, seen hell in a vision.  And the chronicler says that though\nthere was bodily illness, yet it was a trance of the soul at the\nsame time (vol. i. lib. i. ch. xii. \u00a7 3).\n\n\n\nChapter VI.\n\n\nThe Great Debt She Owed to Our Lord for His Mercy to Her.\nShe Takes St. Joseph for Her Patron.\n\n\n1. After those four days, during which I was insensible, so great\nwas my distress, that our Lord alone knoweth the intolerable\nsufferings I endured.  My tongue was bitten to pieces; there was\na choking in my throat because I had taken nothing, and because\nof my weakness, so that I could not swallow even a drop of water;\nall my bones seemed to be out of joint, and the disorder of my\nhead was extreme.  I was bent together like a coil of ropes--for\nto this was I brought by the torture of those days--unable to\nmove either arm, or foot, or hand, or head, any more than if I\nhad been dead, unless others moved me; I could move, however, I\nthink, one finger of my right hand.  Then, as to touching me,\nthat was impossible, for I was so bruised that I could not endure\nit.  They used to move me in a sheet, one holding one end, and\nanother the other.  This lasted till Palm Sunday. [1]\n\n2. The only comfort I had was this--if no one came near me, my\npains frequently ceased; and then, because I had a little rest, I\nconsidered myself well, for I was afraid my patience would fail:\nand thus I was exceedingly happy when I saw myself free from\nthose pains which were so sharp and constant, though in the cold\nfits of an intermittent fever, which were most violent, they were\nstill unendurable.  My dislike of food was very great.\n\n3. I was now so anxious to return to my monastery, that I had\nmyself conveyed thither in the state I was in.  There they\nreceived alive one whom they had waited for as dead; but her body\nwas worse than dead: the sight of it could only give pain.  It is\nimpossible to describe my extreme weakness, for I was nothing but\nbones.  I remained in this state, as I have already said, [2]\nmore than eight months; and was paralytic, though getting better,\nfor about three years.  I praised God when I began to crawl on my\nhands and knees.  I bore all this with great resignation, and, if\nI except the beginning of my illness, with great joy; for all\nthis was as nothing in comparison with the pains and tortures I\nhad to bear at first.  I was resigned to the will of God, even if\nHe left me in this state for ever.  My anxiety about the recovery\nof my health seemed to be grounded on my desire to pray in\nsolitude, as I had been taught; for there were no means of doing\nso in the infirmary.  I went to confession most frequently, spoke\nmuch about God, and in such a way as to edify everyone; and they\nall marvelled at the patience which our Lord gave me--for if it\nhad not come from the hand of His Majesty, it seemed impossible\nto endure so great an affliction with so great a joy.\n\n4. It was a great thing for me to have had the grace of prayer\nwhich God had wrought in me; it made me understand what it is to\nlove Him.  In a little while, I saw these virtues renewed within\nme; still they were not strong, for they were not sufficient to\nsustain me in justice.  I never spoke ill in the slightest degree\nwhatever of any one, and my ordinary practice was to avoid all\ndetraction; for I used to keep most carefully in mind that I\nought not to assent to, nor say of another, anything I should not\nlike to have said of myself.  I was extremely careful to keep\nthis resolution on all occasions though not so perfectly, upon\nsome great occasions that presented themselves, as not to break\nit sometimes.  But my ordinary practice was this: and thus those\nwho were about me, and those with whom I conversed, became so\nconvinced that it was right, that they adopted it as a habit.\nIt came to be understood that where I was, absent persons were\nsafe; so they were also with my friends and kindred, and with\nthose whom I instructed.  Still, for all this, I have a strict\naccount to give unto God for the bad example I gave in other\nrespects. May it please His Majesty to forgive me, for I have\nbeen the cause of much evil; though not with intentions as\nperverse as were the acts that followed.\n\n5. The longing for solitude remained, and I loved to discourse\nand speak of God; for if I found any one with whom I could do so,\nit was a greater joy and satisfaction to me than all the\nrefinements--or rather to speak more correctly, the real\nrudeness--of the world's conversation.  I communicated and\nconfessed more frequently still, and desired to do so; I was\nextremely fond of reading good books; I was most deeply penitent\nfor having offended God; and I remember that very often I did not\ndare to pray, because I was afraid of that most bitter anguish\nwhich I felt for having offended God, dreading it as a great\nchastisement.  This grew upon me afterwards to so great a degree,\nthat I know of no torment wherewith to compare it; and yet it was\nneither more nor less because of any fear I had at any time, for\nit came upon me only when I remembered the consolations of our\nLord which He gave me in prayer, the great debt I owed Him, the\nevil return I made: I could not bear it.  I was also extremely\nangry with myself on account of the many tears I shed for my\nfaults, when I saw how little I improved, seeing that neither my\ngood resolutions, nor the pains I took, were sufficient to keep\nme from falling whenever I had the opportunity.  I looked on my\ntears as a delusion; and my faults, therefore, I regarded as the\nmore grievous, because I saw the great goodness of our Lord to me\nin the shedding of those tears, and together with them such\ndeep compunction.\n\n6. I took care to go to confession as soon as I could; and, as I\nthink, did all that was possible on my part to return to a state\nof grace.  But the whole evil lay in my not thoroughly avoiding\nthe occasions of sin, and in my confessors, who helped me so\nlittle.  If they had told me that I was travelling on a dangerous\nroad, and that I was bound to abstain from those conversations, I\nbelieve, without any doubt, that the matter would have been\nremedied, because I could not bear to remain even for one day in\nmortal sin, if I knew it.\n\n7. All these tokens of the fear of God came to me through prayer;\nand the greatest of them was this, that fear was swallowed up of\nlove--for I never thought of chastisement.  All the time I was so\nill, my strict watch over my conscience reached to all that is\nmortal sin.\n\n8. O my God! I wished for health, that I might serve Thee better;\nthat was the cause of all my ruin.  For when I saw how helpless I\nwas through paralysis, being still so young, and how the\nphysicians of this world had dealt with me, I determined to ask\nthose of heaven to heal me--for I wished, nevertheless, to be\nwell, though I bore my illness with great joy.  Sometimes, too, I\nused to think that if I recovered my health, and yet were lost\nfor ever, I was better as I was.  But, for all that, I thought I\nmight serve God much better if I were well.  This is our\ndelusion; we do not resign ourselves absolutely to the\ndisposition of our Lord, Who knows best what is for our good.\n\n9. I began by having Masses and prayers said for my\nintention--prayers that were highly sanctioned; for I never liked\nthose other devotions which some people, especially women, make\nuse of with a ceremoniousness to me intolerable, but which move\nthem to be devout.  I have been given to understand since that\nthey were unseemly and superstitious; and I took for my patron\nand lord the glorious St. Joseph, and recommended myself\nearnestly to him.  I saw clearly that both out of this my present\ntrouble, and out of others of greater importance, relating to my\nhonour and the loss of my soul, this my father and lord delivered\nme, and rendered me greater services than I knew how to ask for.\nI cannot call to mind that I have ever asked him at any time for\nanything which he has not granted; and I am filled with amazement\nwhen I consider the great favours which God hath given me through\nthis blessed Saint; the dangers from which he hath delivered me,\nboth of body and of soul.  To other Saints, our Lord seems to\nhave given grace to succour men in some special necessity; but to\nthis glorious Saint, I know by experience, to help us in all: and\nour Lord would have us understand that as He was Himself subject\nto him upon earth--for St. Joseph having the title of father, and\nbeing His guardian, could command Him--so now in heaven He\nperforms all his petitions.  I have asked others to recommend\nthemselves to St. Joseph, and they too know this by experience;\nand there are many who are now of late devout to him, [3] having\nhad experience of this truth.\n\n10. I used to keep his feast with all the solemnity I could, but\nwith more vanity than spirituality, seeking rather too much\nsplendour and effect, and yet with good intentions.  I had this\nevil in me, that if our Lord gave me grace to do any good, that\ngood became full of imperfections and of many faults; but as for\ndoing wrong, the indulgence of curiosity and vanity, I was very\nskilful and active therein.  Our Lord forgive me!\n\n11. Would that I could persuade all men to be devout to this\nglorious Saint; for I know by long experience what blessings he\ncan obtain for us from God.  I have never known any one who was\nreally devout to him, and who honoured him by particular\nservices, who did not visibly grow more and more in virtue; for\nhe helps in a special way those souls who commend themselves to\nhim.  It is now some years since I have always on his feast asked\nhim for something, and I always have it.  If the petition be in\nany way amiss, he directs it aright for my greater good.\n\n12. If I were a person who had authority to write, it would be a\npleasure to me to be diffusive in speaking most minutely of the\ngraces which this glorious Saint has obtained for me and for\nothers.  But that I may not go beyond the commandment that is\nlaid upon me, I must in many things be more brief than I could\nwish, and more diffusive than is necessary in others; for, in\nshort, I am a person who, in all that is good, has but little\ndiscretion.  But I ask, for the love of God, that he who does not\nbelieve me will make the trial for himself--when he will see by\nexperience the great good that results from commending oneself to\nthis glorious patriarch, and being devout to him.  Those who give\nthemselves to prayer should in a special manner have always a\ndevotion to St. Joseph; for I know not how any man can think of\nthe Queen of the angels, during the time that she suffered so\nmuch with the Infant Jesus, without giving thanks to St. Joseph\nfor the services he rendered them then.  He who cannot find any\none to teach him how to pray, let him take this glorious Saint\nfor his master, and he will not wander out of the way.\n\n13. May it please our Lord that I have not done amiss in\nventuring to speak about St. Joseph; for, though I publicly\nprofess my devotion to him, I have always failed in my service to\nhim and imitation of him.  He was like himself when he made me\nable to rise and walk, no longer a paralytic; and I, too, am like\nmyself when I make so bad a use of this grace.\n\n14. Who could have said that I was so soon to fall, after such\ngreat consolations from God--after His Majesty had implanted\nvirtues in me which of themselves made me serve Him--after I had\nbeen, as it were, dead, and in such extreme peril of eternal\ndamnation--after He had raised me up, soul and body, so that all\nwho saw me marvelled to see me alive?  What can it mean, O my\nLord?  The life we live is so full of danger!  While I am writing\nthis--and it seems to me, too, by Thy grace and mercy--I may say\nwith St. Paul, though not so truly as he did: \"It is not I who\nlive now, but Thou, my Creator, livest in me.\" [4]  For some\nyears past, so it seems to me, Thou hast held me by the hand; and\nI see in myself desires and resolutions--in some measure tested\nby experience, in many ways, during that time--never to do\nanything, however slight it may be, contrary to Thy will, though\nI must have frequently offended Thy Divine Majesty without being\naware of it; and I also think that nothing can be proposed to me\nthat I should not with great resolution undertake for Thy love.\nIn some things Thou hast Thyself helped me to succeed therein.\nI love neither the world, nor the things of the world; nor do I\nbelieve that anything that does not come from Thee can give me\npleasure; everything else seems to me a heavy cross.\n\n15. Still, I may easily deceive myself, and it may be that I am\nnot what I say I am; but Thou knowest, O my Lord, that, to the\nbest of my knowledge, I lie not.  I am afraid, and with good\nreason, lest Thou shouldst abandon me; for I know now how far my\nstrength and little virtue can reach, if Thou be not ever at hand\nto supply them, and to help me never to forsake Thee.  May His\nMajesty grant that I be not forsaken of Thee even now, when I am\nthinking all this of myself!\n\n16. I know not how we can wish to live, seeing that everything is\nso uncertain.  Once, O Lord, I thought it impossible to forsake\nThee so utterly; and now that I have forsaken Thee so often, I\ncannot help being afraid; for when Thou didst withdraw but a\nlittle from me, I fell down to the ground at once.  Blessed for\never be Thou!  Though I have forsaken Thee, Thou hast not\nforsaken me so utterly but that Thou hast come again and raised\nme up, giving me Thy hand always.  Very often, O Lord, I would\nnot take it: very often I would not listen when Thou wert calling\nme again, as I am going to show.\n\n\n1. March 25, 1537.\n\n2. Ch. v. \u00a7 17.  The Saint left her monastery in 1535; and in the\nspring of 1536 went from her sister's house to Bezadas; and in\nJuly of that year was brought back to her father's house in\nAvila, wherein she remained till Palm Sunday, 1537, when she\nreturned to the Monastery of the Incarnation.  She had been\nseized with paralysis there, and laboured under it nearly three\nyears, from 1536 to 1539, when she was miraculously healed\nthrough the intercession of St. Joseph (Bolland, n. 100, 101).\nThe dates of the Chronicler are different from these.\n\n3. Of the devotion to St. Joseph, F. Faber (The Blessed\nSacrament, bk. ii. p. 199, 3rd ed.) says that it took its rise in\nthe West, in a confraternity in Avignon.  \"Then it spread over\nthe church. Gerson was raised up to be its doctor and theologian,\nand St. Teresa to be its Saint, and St. Francis of Sales to be\nits popular teacher and missionary.  The houses of Carmel were\nlike the holy house of Nazareth to it; and the colleges of the\nJesuits, its peaceful sojourns in dark Egypt.\"\n\n4. Galat. ii. 20: \"Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in\nme\u00a0Christus.\"\n\n\n\nChapter VII.\n\n\nLukewarmness.  The Loss of Grace.  Inconvenience of Laxity in\nReligious Houses.\n\n\n1. So, then, going on from pastime to pastime, from vanity to\nvanity, from one occasion of sin to another, I began to expose\nmyself exceedingly to the very greatest dangers: my soul was so\ndistracted by many vanities, that I was ashamed to draw near unto\nGod in an act of such special friendship as that of prayer. [1]\nAs my sins multiplied, I began to lose the pleasure and comfort I\nhad in virtuous things: and that loss contributed to the\nabandonment of prayer.  I see now most clearly, O my Lord, that\nthis comfort departed from me because I had departed from Thee.\n\n2. It was the most fearful delusion into which Satan could plunge\nme--to give up prayer under the pretence of humility.  I began to\nbe afraid of giving myself to prayer, because I saw myself so\nlost.  I thought it would be better for me, seeing that in my\nwickedness I was one of the most wicked, to live like the\nmultitude--to say the prayers which I was bound to say, and that\nvocally: not to practise mental prayer nor commune with God so\nmuch; for I deserved to be with the devils, and was deceiving\nthose who were about me, because I made an outward show of\ngoodness; and therefore the community in which I dwelt is not to\nbe blamed; for with my cunning I so managed matters, that all had\na good opinion of me; and yet I did not seek this deliberately by\nsimulating devotion; for in all that relates to hypocrisy and\nostentation--glory be to God!--I do not remember that I ever\noffended Him, [2] so far as I know.  The very first movements\nherein gave me such pain, that the devil would depart from me\nwith loss, and the gain remained with me; and thus, accordingly,\nhe never tempted me much in this way.  Perhaps, however, if God\nhad permitted Satan to tempt me as sharply herein as he tempted\nme in other things, I should have fallen also into this; but His\nMajesty has preserved me until now.  May He be blessed for\nevermore!  It was rather a heavy affliction to me that I should\nbe thought so well of; for I knew my own secret.\n\n3. The reason why they thought I was not so wicked was this: they\nsaw that I, who was so young, and exposed to so many occasions of\nsin, withdrew myself so often into solitude for prayer, read\nmuch, spoke of God, that I liked to have His image painted in\nmany places, to have an oratory of my own, and furnish it with\nobjects of devotion, that I spoke ill of no one, and other things\nof the same kind in me which have the appearance of virtue.  Yet\nall the while--I was so vain--I knew how to procure respect for\nmyself by doing those things which in the world are usually\nregarded with respect.\n\n4. In consequence of this, they gave me as much liberty as they\ndid to the oldest nuns, and even more, and had great confidence\nin me; for as to taking any liberty for myself, or doing anything\nwithout leave--such as conversing through the door, or in secret,\nor by night--I do not think I could have brought myself to speak\nwith anybody in the monastery in that way, and I never did it;\nfor our Lord held me back.  It seemed to me--for I considered\nmany things carefully and of set purpose--that it would be a very\nevil deed on my part, wicked as I was, to risk the credit of so\nmany nuns, who were all good--as if everything else I did was\nwell done!  In truth, the evil I did was not the result of\ndeliberation, as this would have been, if I had done it, although\nit was too much so.\n\n5. Therefore, I think that it did me much harm to be in a\nmonastery not enclosed.  The liberty which those who were good\nmight have with advantage--they not being obliged to do more than\nthey do, because they had not bound themselves to\nenclosure--would certainly have led me, who am wicked, straight\nto hell, if our Lord, by so many remedies and means of His most\nsingular mercy, had not delivered me out of that danger--and it\nis, I believe, the very greatest danger--namely, a monastery of\nwomen unenclosed--yea, more, I think it is, for those who will be\nwicked, a road to hell, rather than a help to their weakness.\nThis is not to be understood of my monastery; for there are so\nmany there who in the utmost sincerity, and in great perfection,\nserve our Lord, so that His Majesty, according to His goodness,\ncannot but be gracious unto them; neither is it one of those\nwhich are most open for all religious observances are kept in it;\nand I am speaking only of others which I have seen and known.\n\n6. I am exceedingly sorry for these houses, because our Lord must\nof necessity send His special inspirations not merely once, but\nmany times, if the nuns therein are to be saved, seeing that the\nhonours and amusements of the world are allowed among them, and\nthe obligations of their state are so ill-understood.  God grant\nthey may not count that to be virtue which is sin, as I did so\noften!  It is very difficult to make people understand this; it\nis necessary our Lord Himself should take the matter seriously\ninto His own hands.\n\n7. If parents would take my advice, now that they are at no pains\nto place their daughters where they may walk in the way of\nsalvation without incurring a greater risk than they would do if\nthey were left in the world, let them look at least at that which\nconcerns their good name.  Let them marry them to persons of a\nmuch lower degree, rather than place them in monasteries of this\nkind, unless they be of extremely good inclinations, and God\ngrant that these inclinations may come to good! or let them keep\nthem at home.  If they will be wicked at home, their evil life\ncan be hidden only for a short time; but in monasteries it can be\nhidden long, and, in the end, it is our Lord that discovers it.\nThey injure not only themselves, but all the nuns also.  And all\nthe while the poor things are not in fault; for they walk in the\nway that is shown them.  Many of them are to be pitied; for they\nwished to withdraw from the world, and, thinking to escape from\nthe dangers of it, and that they were going to serve our Lord,\nhave found themselves in ten worlds at once, without knowing what\nto do, or how to help themselves.  Youth and sensuality and the\ndevil invite them and incline them to follow certain ways which\nare of the essence of worldliness.  They see these ways, so to\nspeak, considered as safe there.\n\n8. Now, these seem to me to be in some degree like those wretched\nheretics who will make themselves blind, and who will consider\nthat which they do to be good, and so believe, but without really\nbelieving; for they have within themselves something that tells\nthem it is wrong.\n\n9. Oh, what utter ruin! utter ruin of religious persons--I am not\nspeaking now more of women than of men--where the rules of the\nOrder are not kept; where the same monastery offers two roads:\none of virtue and observance, the other of inobservance, and both\nequally frequented!  I have spoken incorrectly: they are not\nequally frequented; for, on account of our sins, the way of the\ngreatest imperfection is the most frequented; and because it is\nthe broadest, it is also the most in favour.  The way of\nreligious observance is so little used, that the friar and the\nnun who would really begin to follow their vocation thoroughly\nhave reason to fear the members of their communities more than\nall the devils together.  They must be more cautious, and\ndissemble more, when they would speak of that friendship with God\nwhich they desire to have, than when they would speak of those\nfriendships and affections which the devil arranges in\nmonasteries.  I know not why we are astonished that the Church is\nin so much trouble, when we see those, who ought to be an example\nof every virtue to others, so disfigure the work which the spirit\nof the Saints departed wrought in their Orders.  May it please\nHis Divine Majesty to apply a remedy to this, as He sees it to be\nneedful!  Amen.\n\n10. So, then, when I began to indulge in these conversations, I\ndid not think, seeing they were customary, that my soul must be\ninjured and dissipated, as I afterwards found it must be, by such\nconversations.  I thought that, as receiving visits was so common\nin many monasteries, no more harm would befall me thereby than\nbefell others, whom I knew to be good.  I did not observe that\nthey were much better than I was, and that an act which was\nperilous for me was not so perilous for them; and yet I have no\ndoubt there was some danger in it, were it nothing else but a\nwaste of time.\n\n11. I was once with a person--it was at the very beginning of my\nacquaintance with her when our Lord was pleased to show me that\nthese friendships were not good for me: to warn me also, and in\nmy blindness, which was so great, to give me light.  Christ stood\nbefore me, stern and grave, giving me to understand what in my\nconduct was offensive to Him.  I saw Him with the eyes of the\nsoul more distinctly than I could have seen Him with the eyes of\nthe body.  The vision made so deep an impression upon me, that,\nthough it is more than twenty-six years ago, [3] I seem to see\nHim present even now.  I was greatly astonished and disturbed,\nand I resolved not to see that person again.\n\n12. It did me much harm that I did not then know it was possible\nto see anything otherwise than with the eyes of the body; [4] so\ndid Satan too, in that he helped me to think so: he made me\nunderstand it to be impossible, and suggested that I had imagined\nthe vision--that it might be Satan himself--and other\nsuppositions of that kind.  For all this, the impression remained\nwith me that the vision was from God, and not an imagination;\nbut, as it was not to my liking, I forced myself to lie to\nmyself; and as I did not dare to discuss the matter with any one,\nand as great importunity was used, I went back to my former\nconversation with the same person, and with others also, at\ndifferent times; for I was assured that there was no harm in\nseeing such a person, and that I gained, instead of losing,\nreputation by doing so.  I spent many years in this pestilent\namusement; for it never appeared to me, when I was engaged in it,\nto be so bad as it really was, though at times I saw clearly it\nwas not good.  But no one caused me the same distraction which\nthat person did of whom I am speaking; and that was because I had\na great affection for her.\n\n13. At another time, when I was with that person, we saw, both of\nus, and others who were present also saw, something like a great\ntoad crawling towards us, more rapidly than such a creature is in\nthe habit of crawling.  I cannot understand how a reptile of that\nkind could, in the middle of the day, have come forth from that\nplace; it never had done so before, [5] but the impression it\nmade on me was such, that I think it must have had a meaning;\nneither have I ever forgotten it.  Oh, the greatness of God! with\nwhat care and tenderness didst Thou warn me in every way! and how\nlittle I profited by those warnings!\n\n14. There was in that house a nun, who was related to me, now\ngrown old, a great servant of God, and a strict observer of the\nrule.  She too warned me from time to time; but I not only did\nnot listen to her, but was even offended, thinking she was\nscandalized without cause.  I have mentioned this in order that\nmy wickedness and the great goodness of God might be understood,\nand to show how much I deserved hell for ingratitude so great,\nand, moreover, if it should be our Lord's will and pleasure that\nany nun at any time should read this, that she might take warning\nby me.  I beseech them all, for the love of our Lord, to flee\nfrom such recreations as these.\n\n15. May His Majesty grant I may undeceive some one of the many I\nled astray when I told them there was no harm in these things,\nand assured them there was no such great danger therein. I did so\nbecause I was blind myself; for I would not deliberately lead\nthem astray.  By the bad example I set before them--I spoke of\nthis before [6]--I was the occasion of much evil, not thinking I\nwas doing so much harm.\n\n16. In those early days, when I was ill, and before I knew how to\nbe of use to myself, I had a very strong desire to further the\nprogress of others: [7] a most common temptation of beginners.\nWith me, however, it had good results.  Loving my father so much,\nI longed to see him in the possession of that good which I seemed\nto derive myself from prayer.  I thought that in this life there\ncould not be a greater good than prayer; and by roundabout ways,\nas well as I could, I contrived make him enter upon it; I gave\nhim books for that end.  As he was so good--I said so\nbefore [8]--this exercise took such a hold upon him, that in five\nor six years, I think it was, he made so great a progress that I\nused to praise our Lord for it.  It was a very great consolation\nto me. He had most grievous trials of diverse kinds; and he bore\nthem all with the greatest resignation.  He came often to see me;\nfor it was a comfort to him to speak of the things of God.\n\n17. And now that I had become so dissipated, and had ceased to\npray, and yet saw that he still thought I was what I used to be,\nI could not endure it, and so undeceived him.  I had been a year\nand more without praying, thinking it an act of greater humility\nto abstain.  This--I shall speak of it again [9]--was the\ngreatest temptation I ever had, because it very nearly wrought my\nutter ruin; [10] for, when I used to pray, if I offended God one\nday, on the following days I would recollect myself, and withdraw\nfarther from the occasions of sin.\n\n18. When that blessed man, having that good opinion of me, came\nto visit me, it pained me to see him so deceived as to think that\nI used to pray to God as before.  So I told him that I did not\npray; but I did not tell him why.  I put my infirmities forward\nas an excuse; for though I had recovered from that which was so\ntroublesome, I have always been weak, even very much so; and\nthough my infirmities are somewhat less troublesome now than they\nwere, they still afflict me in many ways; specially, I have been\nsuffering for twenty years from sickness every morning, [11] so\nthat I could not take any food till past mid-day, and even\noccasionally not till later; and now, since my Communions have\nbecome more frequent, it is at night, before I lie down to rest,\nthat the sickness occurs, and with greater pain; for I have to\nbring it on with a feather, or other means.  If I do not bring it\non, I suffer more; and thus I am never, I believe, free from\ngreat pain, which is sometimes very acute, especially about the\nheart; though the fainting-fits are now but of rare occurrence.\nI am also, these eight years past, free from the paralysis, and\nfrom other infirmities of fever, which I had so often.  These\nafflictions I now regard so lightly, that I am even glad of them,\nbelieving that our Lord in some degree takes His pleasure\nin them.\n\n19. My father believed me when I gave him that for a reason, as\nhe never told a lie himself; neither should I have done so,\nconsidering the relation we were in.  I told him, in order to be\nthe more easily believed, that it was much for me to be able to\nattend in choir, though I saw clearly that this was no excuse\nwhatever; neither, however, was it a sufficient reason for giving\nup a practice which does not require, of necessity, bodily\nstrength, but only love and a habit thereof; yet our Lord always\nfurnishes an opportunity for it, if we but seek it.  I say\nalways; for though there may be times, as in illness, and from\nother causes, when we cannot be much alone, yet it never can be\nbut there must be opportunities when our strength is sufficient\nfor the purpose; and in sickness itself, and amidst other\nhindrances, true prayer consists, when the soul loves, in\noffering up its burden, and in thinking of Him for Whom it\nsuffers, and in the resignation of the will, and in a thousand\nways which then present themselves.  It is under these\ncircumstances that love exerts itself for it is not necessarily\nprayer when we are alone; and neither is it not prayer when we\nare not.\n\n20. With a little care, we may find great blessings on those\noccasions when our Lord, by means of afflictions, deprives us of\ntime for prayer; and so I found it when I had a good conscience.\nBut my father, having that opinion of me which he had, and\nbecause of the love he bore me, believed all I told him;\nmoreover, he was sorry for me; and as he had now risen to great\nheights of prayer himself, he never remained with me long; for\nwhen he had seen me, he went his way, saying that he was wasting\nhis time.  As I was wasting it in other vanities, I cared little\nabout this.\n\n21. My father was not the only person whom I prevailed upon to\npractise prayer, though I was walking in vanity myself.  When I\nsaw persons fond of reciting their prayers, I showed them how to\nmake a meditation, and helped them and gave them books; for from\nthe time I began myself to pray, as I said before, [12] I always\nhad a desire that others should serve God.  I thought, now that I\ndid not myself serve our Lord according to the light I had, that\nthe knowledge His Majesty had given me ought not to be lost, and\nthat others should serve Him for me. [13]  I say this in order to\nexplain the great blindness I was in: going to ruin myself, and\nlabouring to save others.\n\n22. At this time, that illness befell my father of which he\ndied; [14] it lasted some days.  I went to nurse him, being more\nsick in spirit than he was in body, owing to my many\nvanities--though not, so far as I know, to the extent of being in\nmortal sin--through the whole of that wretched time of which I am\nspeaking; for, if I knew myself to be in mortal sin, I would not\nhave continued in it on any account.  I suffered much myself\nduring his illness.  I believe I rendered him some service in\nreturn for what he had suffered in mine.  Though I was very ill,\nI did violence to myself; and though in losing him I was to lose\nall the comfort and good of my life--he was all this to me--I was\nso courageous, that I never betrayed my sorrows, concealing them\ntill he was dead, as if I felt none at all.  It seemed as if my\nvery soul were wrenched when I saw him at the point of death--my\nlove for him was so deep.\n\n23. It was a matter for which we ought to praise our Lord--the\ndeath that he died, and the desire he had to die; so also was the\nadvice he gave us after the last anointing, how he charged us to\nrecommend him to God, and to pray for mercy for him, how he bade\nus serve God always, and consider how all things come to an end.\nHe told us with tears how sorry he was that he had not served Him\nhimself; for he wished he was a friar--I mean, that he had been\none in the Strictest Order that is.  I have a most assured\nconviction that our Lord, some fifteen days before, had revealed\nto him he was not to live; for up to that time, though very ill,\nhe did not think so; but now, though he was somewhat better, and\nthe physicians said so, he gave no heed to them, but employed\nhimself in the ordering of his soul.\n\n24. His chief suffering consisted in a most acute pain of the\nshoulders, which never left him: it was so sharp at times, that\nit put him into great torture.  I said to him, that as he had so\ngreat a devotion to our Lord carrying His cross on His shoulders,\nhe should now think that His Majesty wished him to feel somewhat\nof that pain which He then suffered Himself. This so comforted\nhim, that I do not think I heard him complain afterwards.\n\n25. He remained three days without consciousness; but on the day\nhe died, our Lord restored him so completely, that we were\nastonished: he preserved his understanding to the last; for in\nthe middle of the creed, which he repeated himself, he died.\nHe lay there like an angel--such he seemed to me, if I may say\nso, both in soul and disposition: he was very good.\n\n26. I know not why I have said this, unless it be for the purpose\nof showing how much the more I am to be blamed for my wickedness;\nfor after seeing such a death, and knowing what his life had\nbeen, I, in order to be in any wise like unto such a father,\nought to have grown better.  His confessor, a most learned\nDominican, [15] used to say that he had no doubt he went straight\nto heaven. [16]  He had heard his confession for some years, and\nspoke with praise of the purity of his conscience.\n\n27. This Dominican father, who was a very good man, fearing God,\ndid me a very great service; for I confessed to him.  He took\nupon himself the task of helping my soul in earnest, and of\nmaking me see the perilous state I was in. [17]  He sent me to\nCommunion once a fortnight; [18] and I, by degrees beginning to\nspeak to him, told him about my prayer.  He charged me never to\nomit it: that, anyhow, it could not do me anything but good.\nI began to return to it--though I did not cut off the occasions\nof sin--and never afterwards gave it up.  My life became most\nwretched, because I learned in prayer more and more of my faults.\nOn one side, God was calling me; on the other, I was following\nthe world.  All the things of God gave me great pleasure; and I\nwas a prisoner to the things of the world.  It seemed as if I\nwished to reconcile two contradictions, so much at variance one\nwith another as are the life of the spirit and the joys and\npleasures and amusements of sense. [19]\n\n28. I suffered much in prayer; for the spirit was slave, and not\nmaster; and so I was not able to shut myself up within\nmyself--that was my whole method of prayer--without shutting up\nwith me a thousand vanities at the same time.  I spent many years\nin this way; and I am now astonished that any one could have\nborne it without abandoning either the one or the other.  I know\nwell that it was not in my power then to give up prayer, because\nHe held me in His hand Who sought me that He might show me\ngreater mercies.\n\n29. O my God! if I might, I would speak of the occasions from\nwhich God delivered me, and how I threw myself into them again;\nand of the risks I ran of losing utterly my good name, from which\nHe delivered me.  I did things to show what I was; and our Lord\nhid the evil, and revealed some little virtue--if so be I had\nany--and made it great in the eyes of all, so that they always\nheld me in much honour.  For although my follies came\noccasionally into light, people would not believe it when they\nsaw other things, which they thought good.  The reason is, that\nHe Who knoweth all things saw it was necessary it should be so,\nin order that I might have some credit given me by those to whom\nin after years I was to speak of His service.  His supreme\nmunificence regarded not my great sins, but rather the desires I\nfrequently had to please Him, and the pain I felt because I had\nnot the strength to bring those desires to good effect.\n\n30. O Lord of my soul! how shall I be able to magnify the graces\nwhich Thou, in those years, didst bestow upon me?  Oh, how, at\nthe very time that I offended Thee most, Thou didst prepare me in\na moment, by a most profound compunction, to taste of the\nsweetness of Thy consolations and mercies!  In truth, O my King,\nThou didst administer to me the most delicate and painful\nchastisement it was possible for me to bear; for Thou knewest\nwell what would have given me the most pain.  Thou didst chastise\nmy sins with great consolations.  I do not believe I am saying\nfoolish things, though it may well be that I am beside myself\nwhenever I call to mind my ingratitude and my wickedness.\n\n31. It was more painful for me, in the state I was in, to receive\ngraces, when I had fallen into grievous faults, than it would\nhave been to receive chastisement; for one of those faults, I am\nsure, used to bring me low, shame and distress me, more than many\ndiseases, together with many heavy trials, could have done.\nFor, as to the latter, I saw that I deserved them; and it seemed\nto me that by them I was making some reparation for my sins,\nthough it was but slight, for my sins are so many.  But when I\nsee myself receive graces anew, after being so ungrateful for\nthose already received, that is to me--and, I believe, to all who\nhave any knowledge or love of God--a fearful kind of torment.  We\nmay see how true this is by considering what a virtuous mind must\nbe. Hence my tears and vexation when I reflected on what I felt,\nseeing myself in a condition to fall at every moment, though my\nresolutions and desires then--I am speaking of that\ntime--were strong.\n\n32. It is a great evil for a soul to be alone in the midst of\nsuch great dangers; it seems to me that if I had had any one with\nwhom I could have spoken of all this, it might have helped me not\nto fall.  I might, at least, have been ashamed before him--and\nyet I was not ashamed before God.\n\n33. For this reason, I would advise those who give themselves to\nprayer, particularly at first, to form friendships; and converse\nfamiliarly, with others who are doing the same thing.  It is a\nmatter of the last importance, even if it lead only to helping\none another by prayer: how much more, seeing that it has led to\nmuch greater gain!  Now, if in their intercourse one with\nanother, and in the indulgence of human affections even not of\nthe best kind, men seek friends with whom they may refresh\nthemselves, and for the purpose of having greater satisfaction in\nspeaking of their empty joys, I know no reason why it should not\nbe lawful for him who is beginning to love and serve God in\nearnest to confide to another his joys and sorrows; for they who\nare given to prayer are thoroughly accustomed to both.\n\n34. For if that friendship with God which he desires be real, let\nhim not be afraid of vain-glory; and if the first movements\nthereof assail him, he will escape from it with merit; and I\nbelieve that he who will discuss the matter with this intention\nwill profit both himself and those who hear him, and thus will\nderive more light for his own understanding, as well as for the\ninstruction of his friends.  He who in discussing his method of\nprayer falls into vain-glory will do so also when he hears Mass\ndevoutly, if he is seen of men, and in doing other good works,\nwhich must be done under pain of being no Christian; and yet\nthese things must not be omitted through fear of vain-glory.\n\n35. Moreover, it is a most important matter for those souls who\nare not strong in virtue; for they have so many people, enemies\nas well as friends, to urge them the wrong way, that I do not see\nhow this point is capable of exaggeration.  It seems to me that\nSatan has employed this artifice--and it is of the greatest\nservice to him--namely, that men who really wish to love and\nplease God should hide the fact, while others, at his suggestion,\nmake open show of their malicious dispositions; and this is so\ncommon, that it seems a matter of boasting now, and the offences\ncommitted against God are thus published abroad.\n\n36. I do not know whether the things I am saying are foolish or\nnot.  If they be so, your reverence will strike them out.\nI entreat you to help my simplicity by adding a good deal to\nthis, because the things that relate to the service of God are so\nfeebly managed, that it is necessary for those who would serve\nHim to join shoulder to shoulder, if they are to advance at all;\nfor it is considered safe to live amidst the vanities and\npleasures of the world, and few there be who regard them with\nunfavourable eyes.  But if any one begins to give himself up to\nthe service of God, there are so many to find fault with him,\nthat it becomes necessary for him to seek companions, in order\nthat he may find protection among them till he grows strong\nenough not to feel what he may be made to suffer.  If he does\nnot, he will find himself in great straits.\n\n37. This, I believe, must have been the reason why some of the\nSaints withdrew into the desert.  And it is a kind of humility in\nman not to trust to himself, but to believe that God will help\nhim in his relations with those with whom he converses; and\ncharity grows by being diffused; and there are a thousand\nblessings herein which I would not dare to speak of, if I had not\nknown by experience the great importance of it.  It is very true\nthat I am the most wicked and the basest of all who are born of\nwomen; but I believe that he who, humbling himself, though\nstrong, yet trusteth not in himself, and believeth another who in\nthis matter has had experience, will lose nothing.  Of myself I\nmay say that, if our Lord had not revealed to me this truth, and\ngiven me the opportunity of speaking very frequently to persons\ngiven to prayer, I should have gone on falling and rising till I\ntumbled into hell.  I had many friends to help me to fall; but as\nto rising again, I was so much left to myself, that I wonder now\nI was not always on the ground.  I praise God for His mercy; for\nit was He only Who stretched out His hand to me.  May He be\nblessed for ever!  Amen.\n\n\n1. See Way of Perfection, ch. xl.; but ch. xxvii. of the\nformer editions.\n\n2. See Relation, i. \u00a7 18.\n\n3. A.D. 1537, when the Saint was twenty-two years old (Bouix).\nThis passage, therefore, must be one of the additions to the\nsecond Life; for the first was written in 1562, twenty-five years\nonly after the vision.\n\n4. See ch. xxvii. \u00a7 3.\n\n5. In the parlour of the monastery of the Incarnation, Avila, a\npainting of this is preserved to this day (De la Fuente).\n\n6. Ch. vi. \u00a7 4.\n\n7. See Inner Fortress, v. iii. \u00a7 1.\n\n8. Ch. i. \u00a7 i.\n\n9. Ch. xix. \u00a7\u00a7 9, 17.\n\n10. See \u00a7 2, above.\n\n11. See ch. xi. \u00a7 23: Inner Fortress, vi. i. \u00a7 8.\n\n12. \u00a7 16.\n\n13. See Inner Fortress, v. iii. \u00a7 1.\n\n14. In 1541, when the Saint was twenty-five years of age (Bouix).\n\n15. F. Vicente Barron (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xv.).\n\n16. See ch. xxxviii. \u00a7 1.\n\n17. See ch. xix. \u00a7 19.\n\n18. The Spanish editor calls attention to this as a proof of\ngreat laxity in those days--that a nun like St. Teresa should be\nurged to communicate as often as once in a fortnight.\n\n19. See ch. xiii. \u00a7\u00a7 7, 8.\n\n\n\nChapter VIII.\n\n\nThe Saint Ceases Not to Pray.  Prayer the Way to Recover What\nIs Lost.  All Exhorted to Pray.  The Great Advantage of Prayer,\nEven to Those Who May Have Ceased from It.\n\n\n1. It is not without reason that I have dwelt so long on this\nportion of my life.  I see clearly that it will give no one\npleasure to see anything so base; and certainly I wish those who\nmay read this to have me in abhorrence, as a soul so obstinate\nand so ungrateful to Him Who did so much for me.  I could wish,\ntoo, I had permission to say how often at this time I failed in\nmy duty to God, because I was not leaning on the strong pillar of\nprayer.  I passed nearly twenty years on this stormy sea, falling\nand rising, but rising to no good purpose, seeing that I went and\nfell again.  My life was one of perfection; but it was so mean,\nthat I scarcely made any account whatever of venial sins; and\nthough of mortal sins I was afraid, I was not so afraid of them\nas I ought to have been, because I did not avoid the perilous\noccasions of them.  I may say that it was the most painful life\nthat can be imagined, because I had no sweetness in God, and no\npleasure in the world.\n\n2. When I was in the midst of the pleasures of the world, the\nremembrance of what I owed to God made me sad; and when I was\npraying to God, my worldly affections disturbed me.  This is so\npainful a struggle, that I know not how I could have borne it for\na month, let alone for so many years.  Nevertheless, I can trace\ndistinctly the great mercy of our Lord to me, while thus immersed\nin the world, in that I had still the courage to pray.  I say\ncourage, because I know of nothing in the whole world which\nrequires greater courage than plotting treason against the King,\nknowing that He knows it, and yet never withdrawing from His\npresence; for, granting that we are always in the presence of\nGod, yet it seems to me that those who pray arc in His presence\nin a very different sense; for they, as it were, see that He is\nlooking upon them; while others may be for days together without\neven once recollecting that God sees them.\n\n3. It is true, indeed, that during these years there were many\nmonths, and, I believe, occasionally a whole year, in which I so\nkept guard over myself that I did not offend our Lord, gave\nmyself much to prayer, and took some pains, and that\nsuccessfully, not to offend Him.  I speak of this now, because\nall I am saying is strictly true; but I remember very little of\nthose good days, and so they must have been few, while my evil\ndays were many.  Still, the days that passed over without my\nspending a great part of them in prayer were few, unless I was\nvery ill, or very much occupied.\n\n4. When I was ill, I was well with God.  I contrived that those\nabout me should be so, too, and I made supplications to our Lord\nfor this grace, and spoke frequently of Him.  Thus, with the\nexception of that year of which I have been speaking, during\neight-and-twenty years of prayer, I spent more than eighteen in\nthat strife and contention which arose out of my attempts to\nreconcile God and the world.  As to the other years, of which I\nhave now to speak, in them the grounds of the warfare, though it\nwas not slight, were changed; but inasmuch as I was--at least, I\nthink so--serving God, and aware of the vanity of the world, all\nhas been pleasant, as I shall show hereafter. [1]\n\n5. The reason, then, of my telling this at so great a length is\nthat, as I have just said, [2] the mercy of God and my\ningratitude, on the one hand, may become known; and, on the\nother, that men may understand how great is the good which God\nworks in a soul when He gives it a disposition to pray in\nearnest, though it may not be so well prepared as it ought to be.\nIf that soul perseveres in spite of sins, temptations, and\nrelapses, brought about in a thousand ways by Satan, our Lord\nwill bring it at last--I am certain of it--to the harbour of\nsalvation, as He has brought me myself; for so it seems to me\nnow.  May His Majesty grant I may never go back and be lost!\nHe who gives himself to prayer is in possession of a great\nblessing, of which many saintly and good men have written--I am\nspeaking of mental prayer--glory be to God for it; and, if they\nhad not done so, I am not proud enough, though I have but little\nhumility, to presume to discuss it.\n\n6. I may speak of that which I know by experience; and so I say,\nlet him never cease from prayer who has once begun it, be his\nlife ever so wicked; for prayer is the way to amend it, and\nwithout prayer such amendment will be much more difficult.\nLet him not be tempted by Satan, as I was, to give it up, on the\npretence of humility; [3] let him rather believe that His words\nare true Who says that, if we truly repent, and resolve never to\noffend Him, He will take us into His favour again, [4] give us\nthe graces He gave us before, and occasionally even greater, if\nour repentance deserve it.  And as to him who has not begun to\npray, I implore him by the love of our Lord not to deprive\nhimself of so great a good.\n\n7. Herein there is nothing to be afraid of, but everything to\nhope for.  Granting that such a one does not advance, nor make an\neffort to become perfect, so as to merit the joys and\nconsolations which the perfect receive from God, yet he will by\nlittle and little attain to a knowledge of the road which leads\nto heaven.  And if he perseveres, I hope in the mercy of God for\nhim, seeing that no one ever took Him for his friend that was not\namply rewarded; for mental prayer is nothing else, in my opinion,\nbut being on terms of friendship with God, frequently conversing\nin secret with Him Who, we know, loves us.  Now, true love and\nlasting friendship require certain dispositions: those of our\nLord, we know, are absolutely perfect; ours, vicious, sensual,\nand thankless; and you cannot therefore, bring yourselves to love\nHim as He loves you, because you have not the disposition to do\nso; and if you do not love Him, yet, seeing how much it concerns\nyou to have His friendship, and how great is His love for you,\nrise above that pain you feel at being much with Him Who is so\ndifferent from you.\n\n8. O infinite goodness of my God!  I seem to see Thee and myself\nin this relation to one another.  O Joy of the angels! when I\nconsider it, I wish I could wholly die of love!  How true it is\nthat Thou endurest those who will not endure Thee!  Oh, how good\na friend art Thou, O my Lord! how Thou comfortest and endurest,\nand also waitest for them to make themselves like unto Thee, and\nyet, in the meanwhile, art Thyself so patient of the state they\nare in!  Thou takest into account the occasions during which they\nseek Thee, and for a moment of penitence forgettest their\noffences against Thyself.\n\n9. I have seen this distinctly in my own case, and I cannot tell\nwhy the whole world does not labour to draw near to Thee in this\nparticular friendship.  The wicked, who do not resemble Thee,\nought to do so, in order that Thou mayest make them good, and for\nthat purpose should permit Thee to remain with them at least for\ntwo hours daily, even though they may not remain with Thee but,\nas I used to do, with a thousand distractions, and with worldly\nthoughts.  In return for this violence which they offer to\nthemselves for the purpose of remaining in a company so good as\nThine--for at first they can do no more, and even afterwards at\ntimes--Thou, O Lord, defendest them against the assaults of evil\nspirits, whose power Thou restrainest, and even lessenest daily,\ngiving to them the victory over these their enemies.  So it is, O\nLife of all lives, Thou slayest none that put their trust in\nThee, and seek Thy friendship; yea, rather, Thou sustainest their\nbodily life in greater vigour, and makest their soul to live.\n\n10. I do not understand what there can be to make them afraid who\nare afraid to begin mental prayer, nor do I know what it is they\ndread.  The devil does well to bring this fear upon us, that he\nmay really hurt us by putting me in fear, he can make me cease\nfrom thinking of my offences against God, of the great debt I owe\nHim, of the existence of heaven and hell, and of the great\nsorrows and trials He underwent for me.  That was all my prayer,\nand had been, when I was in this dangerous state, and it was on\nthose subjects I dwelt whenever I could; and very often, for some\nyears, I was more occupied with the wish to see the end of the\ntime I had appointed for myself to spend in prayer, and in\nwatching the hour-glass, than with other thoughts that were good.\nIf a sharp penance had been laid upon me, I know of none that I\nwould not very often have willingly undertaken, rather than\nprepare myself for prayer by self-recollection.  And certainly\nthe violence with which Satan assailed me was so irresistible, or\nmy evil habits were so strong, that I did not betake myself to\nprayer; and the sadness I felt on entering the oratory was so\ngreat, that it required all the courage I had to force myself in.\nThey say of me that my courage is not slight, and it is known\nthat God has given me a courage beyond that of a woman; but I\nhave made a bad use of it.  In the end, our Lord came to my help;\nand then, when I had done this violence to myself, I found\ngreater peace and joy than I sometimes had when I had a desire\nto pray.\n\n11. If, then, our Lord bore so long with me, who was so\nwicked--and it is plain that it was by prayer all my evil was\ncorrected--why should any one, how wicked soever he may be, have\nany fear? Let him be ever so wicked, he will not remain in his\nwickedness so many years as I did, after receiving so many graces\nfrom our Lord.  Is there any one who can despair, when He bore so\nlong with me, only because I desired and contrived to find some\nplace and some opportunities for Him to be alone with me--and\nthat very often against my will? for I did violence to myself, or\nrather our Lord Himself did violence to me.\n\n12. If, then, to those who do not serve God, but rather offend\nHim, prayer be all this, and so necessary, and if no one can\nreally find out any harm it can do him, and if the omission of it\nbe not a still greater harm, why, then, should they abstain from\nit who serve and desire to serve God?  Certainly I cannot\ncomprehend it, unless it be that men have a mind to go through\nthe troubles of this life in greater misery, and to shut the door\nin the face of God, so that He shall give them no comfort in it.\nI am most truly sorry for them, because they serve God at their\nown cost; for of those who pray, God Himself defrays the charges,\nseeing that for a little trouble He gives sweetness, in order\nthat, by the help it supplies, they may bear their trials.\n\n13. But because I have much to say hereafter of this sweetness,\nwhich our Lord gives to those who persevere in prayer, [5] I do\nnot speak of it here; only this will I say: prayer is the door to\nthose great graces which our Lord bestowed upon me.  If this door\nbe shut, I do not see how He can bestow them; for even if He\nentered into a soul to take His delight therein, and to make that\nsoul also delight in Him, there is no way by which He can do so;\nfor His will is, that such a soul should be lonely and pure, with\na great desire to receive His graces.  If we put many hindrances\nin the way, and take no pains whatever to remove them, how can He\ncome to us, and how can we have any desire that He should show us\nHis great mercies?\n\n14. I will speak now--for it is very important to understand\nit--of the assaults which Satan directs against a soul for the\npurpose of taking it, and of the contrivances and compassion\nwherewith our Lord labours to convert it to Himself, in order\nthat men may behold His mercy, and the great good it was for me\nthat I did not give up prayer and spiritual reading, and that\nthey may be on their guard against the dangers against which I\nwas not on my guard myself.  And, above all, I implore them for\nthe love of our Lord, and for the great love with which He goeth\nabout seeking our conversion to Himself, to beware of the\noccasions of sin; for once placed therein, we have no ground to\nrest on--so many enemies then assail us, and our own weakness is\nsuch, that we cannot defend ourselves.\n\n15. Oh, that I knew how to describe the captivity of my soul in\nthose days!  I understood perfectly that I was in captivity, but\nI could not understand the nature of it; neither could I entirely\nbelieve that those things which my confessors did not make so\nmuch of were so wrong as I in my soul felt them to be. One of\nthem--I had gone to him with a scruple--told me that, even if I\nwere raised to high contemplation, those occasions and\nconversations were not unfitting for me.  This was towards the\nend, when, by the grace of God, I was withdrawing more and more\nfrom those great dangers, but not wholly from the occasions\nof them.\n\n16. When they saw my good desires, and how I occupied myself in\nprayer, I seemed to them to have done much; but my soul knew that\nthis was not doing what I was bound to do for Him to Whom I owed\nso much.  I am sorry for my poor soul even now, because of its\ngreat sufferings, and the little help it had from any one except\nGod, and for the wide door that man opened for it, that it might\ngo forth to its pastimes and pleasures, when they said that these\nthings were lawful.\n\n17. Then there was the torture of sermons, and that not a slight\none; for I was very fond of them.  If I heard any one preach well\nand with unction, I felt, without my seeking it, a particular\naffection for him, neither do I know whence it came.  Thus, no\nsermon ever seemed to me so bad, but that I listened to it with\npleasure; though, according to others who heard it, the preaching\nwas not good.  If it was a good sermon, it was to me a most\nspecial refreshment.  To speak of God, or to hear Him spoken of,\nnever wearied me.  I am speaking of the time after I gave myself\nto prayer.  At one time I had great comfort in sermons, at\nanother they distressed me, because they made me feel that I was\nvery far from being what I ought to have been.\n\n18. I used to pray to our Lord for help; but, as it now seems to\nme, I must have committed the fault of not putting my whole trust\nin His Majesty, and of not thoroughly distrusting myself.\nI sought for help, took great pains; but it must be that I did\nnot understand how all is of little profit if we do not root out\nall confidence in ourselves, and place it wholly in God. I wished\nto live, but I saw clearly that I was not living, but rather\nwrestling with the shadow of death; there was no one to give me\nlife, and I was not able to take it.  He Who could have given it\nme had good reasons for not coming to my aid, seeing that He had\nbrought me back to Himself so many times, and I as often had\nleft Him.\n\n\n1. Ch. ix. \u00a7 10.\n\n2. \u00a7 1, above.\n\n3. Ch. vii. \u00a7 17; ch. xix. \u00a7 8.\n\n4. Ezech. xviii. 21: \"Si autem impius egerit poenitentiam,\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\nvita vivet, et non morietur.  Omnium iniquitatum ejus\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\nnon recordabor.\"\n\n5. See ch. x. \u00a7 2, and ch. xi. \u00a7 22.\n\n\n\nChapter IX.\n\n\nThe Means Whereby Our Lord Quickened Her Soul, Gave Her Light in\nHer Darkness, and Made Her Strong in Goodness.\n\n\n1. My soul was now grown weary; and the miserable habits it had\ncontracted would not suffer it to rest, though it was desirous of\ndoing so.  It came to pass one day, when I went into the oratory,\nthat I saw a picture which they had put by there, and which had\nbeen procured for a certain feast observed in the house.  It was\na representation of Christ most grievously wounded; and so\ndevotional, that the very sight of it, when I saw it, moved\nme--so well did it show forth that which He suffered for us.\nSo keenly did I feel the evil return I had made for those wounds,\nthat I thought my heart was breaking.  I threw myself on the\nground beside it, my tears flowing plenteously, and implored Him\nto strengthen me once for all, so that I might never offend Him\nany more.\n\n2. I had a very great devotion to the glorious Magdalene, and\nvery frequently used to think of her conversion--especially when\nI went to Communion.  As I knew for certain that our Lord was\nthen within me, I used to place myself at His feet, thinking that\nmy tears would not be despised.  I did not know what I was\nsaying; only He did great things for me, in that He was pleased I\nshould shed those tears, seeing that I so soon forgot that\nimpression.  I used to recommend myself to that glorious Saint,\nthat she might obtain my pardon.\n\n3. But this last time, before that picture of which I am\nspeaking, I seem to have made greater progress; for I was now\nvery distrustful of myself, placing all my confidence in God.\nIt seems to me that I said to Him then that I would not rise up\ntill He granted my petition.  I do certainly believe that this\nwas of great service to me, because I have grown better\never since. [1]\n\n4. This was my method of prayer: as I could not make reflections\nwith my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ as within\nme; [2] and I used to find myself the better for thinking of\nthose mysteries of His life during which He was most lonely.\nIt seemed to me that the being alone and afflicted, like a person\nin trouble, must needs permit me to come near unto Him.\n\n5. I did many simple things of this kind; and in particular I\nused to find myself most at home in the prayer in the Garden,\nwhither I went in His company.  I thought of the bloody sweat,\nand of the affliction He endured there; I wished, if it had been\npossible, to wipe away that painful sweat from His face; but I\nremember that I never dared to form such a resolution--my sins\nstood before me so grievously.  I used to remain with Him there\nas long as my thoughts allowed me, and I had many thoughts to\ntorment me.  For many years, nearly every night before I fell\nasleep, when I recommended myself to God, that I might sleep in\npeace, I used always to think a little of this mystery of the\nprayer in the Garden--yea, even before I was a nun, because I had\nbeen told that many indulgences were to be gained thereby.\nFor my part, I believe that my soul gained very much in this way,\nbecause I began to practise prayer without knowing what it was;\nand now that it had become my constant habit, I was saved from\nomitting it, as I was from omitting to bless myself with the sign\nof the cross before I slept.\n\n6. And now to go back to what I was saying of the torture which\nmy thoughts inflicted upon me.  This method of praying, in which\nthe understanding makes no reflections, hath this property: the\nsoul must gain much, or lose.  I mean, that those who advance\nwithout meditation, make great progress, because it is done by\nlove.  But to attain to this involves great labour, except to\nthose persons whom it is our Lord's good pleasure to lead quickly\nto the prayer of quiet.  I know of some.  For those who walk in\nthis way, a book is profitable, that by the help thereof they may\nthe more quickly recollect themselves.  It was a help to me also\nto look on fields, water, and flowers. [3] In them I saw traces\nof the Creator--I mean, that the sight of these things was as a\nbook unto me; it roused me, made me recollected, and reminded me\nof my ingratitude and of my sins.  My understanding was so dull,\nthat I could never represent in the imagination either heavenly\nor high things in any form whatever until our Lord placed them\nbefore me in another way. [4]\n\n7. I was so little able to put things before me by the help of my\nunderstanding, that, unless I saw a thing with my eyes, my\nimagination was of no use whatever.  I could not do as others do,\nwho can put matters before themselves so as to become thereby\nrecollected.  I was able to think of Christ only as man.  But so\nit was; and I never could form any image of Him to myself, though\nI read much of His beauty, and looked at pictures of Him.  I was\nlike one who is blind, or in the dark, who, though speaking to a\nperson present, and feeling his presence, because he knows for\ncertain that he is present--I mean, that he understands him to be\npresent, and believes it--yet does not see him.  It was thus with\nme when I used to think of our Lord.  This is why I was so fond\nof images.  Wretched are they who, through their own fault, have\nlost this blessing; it is clear enough that they do not love our\nLord--for if they loved Him, they would rejoice at the sight of\nHis picture, just as men find pleasure when they see the portrait\nof one they love.\n\n8. At this time, the Confessions of St. Augustine were given me.\nOur Lord seems to have so ordained it, for I did not seek them\nmyself, neither had I ever seen them before.  I had a very great\ndevotion to St. Augustine, because the monastery in which I lived\nwhen I was yet in the world was of his Order; [5] and also\nbecause he had been a sinner--for I used to find great comfort in\nthose Saints whom, after they had sinned, our Lord converted to\nHimself.  I thought they would help me, and that, as our Lord had\nforgiven them, so also He would forgive me.  One thing, however,\nthere was that troubled me--I have spoken of it before [6]--our\nLord had called them but once, and they never relapsed; while my\nrelapses were now so many.  This it was that vexed me.\nBut calling to mind the love that He bore me, I took courage\nagain. Of His mercy I never doubted once, but I did very often\nof myself.\n\n9. O my God, I amazed at the hardness of my heart amidst so many\nsuccours from Thee.  I am filled with dread when I see how little\nI could do with myself, and how I was clogged, so that I could\nnot resolve to give myself entirely to God.  When I began to read\nthe Confessions, I thought I saw myself there described, and\nbegan to recommend myself greatly to this glorious Saint. When I\ncame to his conversion, and read how he heard that voice in the\ngarden, it seemed to me nothing less than that our Lord had\nuttered it for me: I felt so in my heart.  I remained for some\ntime lost in tears, in great inward affliction and distress. O my\nGod, what a soul has to suffer because it has lost the liberty it\nhad of being mistress over itself! and what torments it has to\nendure!  I wonder now how I could live in torments so great: God\nbe praised Who gave me life, so that I might escape from so fatal\na death!  I believe that my soul obtained great strength from His\nDivine Majesty, and that He must have heard my cry, and had\ncompassion upon so many tears.\n\n10. A desire to spend more time with Him began to grow within me,\nand also to withdraw from the occasions of sin: for as soon as I\nhad done so, I turned lovingly to His Majesty at once.\nI understood clearly, as I thought, that I loved Him; but I did\nnot understand, as I ought to have understood it, wherein the\ntrue love of God consists.  I do not think I had yet perfectly\ndisposed myself to seek His service when His Majesty turned\ntowards me with His consolations.  What others strive after with\ngreat labour, our Lord seems to have looked out for a way to make\nme willing to accept--that is, in these later years to give me\njoy and comfort.  But as for asking our Lord to give me either\nthese things or sweetness in devotion, I never dared to do it;\nthe only thing I prayed Him to give me was the grace never to\noffend Him, together with the forgiveness of my great sins.\nWhen I saw that my sins were so great, I never ventured\ndeliberately to ask for consolation or for sweetness.  He had\ncompassion enough upon me, I think--and, in truth, He dealt with\nme according to His great mercy--when He allowed me to stand\nbefore Him, and when He drew me into His presence; for I saw\nthat, if He had not drawn me, I should not have come at all.\n\n11. Once only in my life do I remember asking for consolation,\nbeing at the time in great aridities.  When I considered what I\nhad done, I was so confounded, that the very distress I suffered\nfrom seeing how little humility I had, brought me that which I\nhad been so bold as to ask for.  I knew well that it was lawful\nto pray for it; but it seemed to me that it is lawful only for\nthose who are in good dispositions, who have sought with all\ntheir might to attain to true devotion--that is, not to offend\nGod, and to be disposed and resolved for all goodness.  I looked\nupon those tears of mine as womanish and weak, seeing that I did\nnot obtain my desires by them; nevertheless, I believe that they\ndid me some service; for, specially after those two occasions of\ngreat compunction and sorrow of heart, [7] accompanied by tears,\nof which I am speaking, I began in an especial way to give myself\nmore to prayer, and to occupy myself less with those things which\ndid me harm--though I did not give them up altogether.  But God\nHimself, as I have just said, came to my aid, and helped me to\nturn away from them.  As His Majesty was only waiting for some\npreparation on my part, the spiritual graces grew in me as I\nshall now explain.  It is not the custom of our Lord to give\nthese graces to any but to those who keep their consciences in\ngreater pureness. [8]\n\n\n1. In the year 1555 (Bouix).\n\n2. See ch. iv. \u00a7 10; ch. x. \u00a7 1.\n\n3. See Relation, i. \u00a7 12.\n\n4. See ch. iv. \u00a7 11.\n\n5. Ch. ii. \u00a7 8.\n\n6. In the Prologue.\n\n7. \u00a7 1.\n\n8. Ch. iv. \u00a7 11.\n\n\n\nChapter X.\n\n\nThe Graces She Received in Prayer.  What We Can Do Ourselves.\nThe Great Importance of Understanding What Our Lord Is Doing\nfor Us.  She Desires Her Confessors to Keep Her Writings Secret,\nBecause of the Special Graces of Our Lord to Her, Which They Had\nCommanded Her to Describe.\n\n\n1. I used to have at times, as I have said, [1] though it used to\npass quickly away--certain commencements of that which I am going\nnow to describe.  When I formed those pictures within myself of\nthrowing myself at the feet of Christ, as I said before, [2] and\nsometimes even when I was reading, a feeling of the presence of\nGod would come over me unexpectedly, so that I could in no wise\ndoubt either that He was within me, or that I was wholly absorbed\nin Him.  It was not by way of vision; I believe it was what is\ncalled mystical theology.   The soul is suspended in such a way\nthat it seems to be utterly beside itself.  The will loves; the\nmemory, so it seems to me, is as it were lost; and the\nunderstanding, so I think, makes no reflections--yet is not lost:\nas I have just said, it is not at work, but it stands as if\namazed at the greatness of the things it understands; for God\nwills it to understand that it understands nothing whatever of\nthat which His Majesty places before it.\n\n2. Before this, I had a certain tenderness of soul which was very\nabiding, partially attainable, I believe, in some measure, by our\nown efforts: a consolation which is not wholly in the senses, nor\nyet altogether in the spirit, but is all of it the gift of God.\nHowever, I think we can contribute much towards the attaining of\nit by considering our vileness and our ingratitude towards\nGod--the great things He has done for us--His Passion, with its\ngrievous pains--and His life, so full of sorrows; also, by\nrejoicing in the contemplation of His works, of His greatness,\nand of the love that He bears us.  Many other considerations\nthere are which he who really desires to make progress will often\nstumble on, though he may not be very much on the watch for them.\nIf with this there be a little love, the soul is comforted, the\nheart is softened, and tears flow.  Sometimes it seems that we do\nviolence to ourselves and weep; at other times, our Lord seems to\ndo so, so that we have no power to resist Him.  His Majesty seems\nto reward this slight carefulness of ours with so grand a gift as\nis this consolation which He ministers to the soul of seeing\nitself weeping for so great a Lord.  I am not surprised; for the\nsoul has reason enough, and more than enough, for its joy.  Here\nit comforts itself--here it rejoices.\n\n3. The comparison which now presents itself seems to me to be\ngood.  These joys in prayer are like what those of heaven must\nbe.  As the vision of the saints, which is measured by their\nmerits there, reaches no further than our Lord wills, and as the\nblessed see how little merit they had, every one of them is\nsatisfied with the place assigned him: there being the very\ngreatest difference between one joy and another in heaven, and\nmuch greater than between one spiritual joy and another on\nearth--which is, however, very great.  And in truth, in the\nbeginning, a soul in which God works this grace thinks that now\nit has scarcely anything more to desire, and counts itself\nabundantly rewarded for all the service it has rendered Him.\nAnd there is reason for this: for one of those tears--which, as I\nhave just said, are almost in our own power, though without God\nnothing can be done--cannot, in my opinion, be purchased with all\nthe labours of the world, because of the great gain it brings us.\nAnd what greater gain can we have than some testimony of our\nhaving pleased God?  Let him, then, who shall have attained to\nthis, give praise unto God--acknowledge himself to be one of His\ngreatest debtors; because it seems to be His will to take him\ninto His house, having chosen him for His kingdom, if he does not\nturn back.\n\n4. Let him not regard certain kinds of humility which exist, and\nof which I mean to speak. [3]  Some think it humility not to\nbelieve that God is bestowing His gifts upon them.  Let us\nclearly understand this, and that it is perfectly clear God\nbestows His gifts without any merit whatever on our part; and let\nus be grateful to His Majesty for them; for if we do not\nrecognize the gifts received at His hands, we shall never be\nmoved to love Him.  It is a most certain truth, that the richer\nwe see ourselves to be, confessing at the same time our poverty,\nthe greater will be our progress, and the more real our humility.\n\n5. An opposite course tends to take away all courage; for we\nshall think ourselves incapable of great blessings, if we begin\nto frighten ourselves with the dread of vain-glory when our Lord\nbegins to show His mercy upon us. [4]  Let us believe that He Who\ngives these gifts will also, when the devil begins to tempt us\nherein, give us the grace to detect him, and the strength to\nresist him--that is, He will do so if we walk in simplicity\nbefore God, aiming at pleasing Him only, and not men.  It is a\nmost evident truth, that our love for a person is greater, the\nmore distinctly we remember the good he has done us.\n\n6. If, then, it is lawful, and so meritorious, always to remember\nthat we have our being from God, that He has created us out of\nnothing, that He preserves us, and also to remember all the\nbenefits of His death and Passion, which He suffered long before\nHe made us for every one of us now alive--why should it not be\nlawful for me to discern, confess, and consider often that I was\nonce accustomed to speak of vanities, and that now our Lord has\ngiven me the grace to speak only of Himself?\n\n7. Here, then, is a precious pearl, which, when we remember that\nit is given us, and that we have it in possession, powerfully\ninvites us to love.  All this is the fruit of prayer founded on\nhumility.  What, then, will it be when we shall find ourselves in\npossession of other pearls of greater price, such as contempt of\nthe world and of self, which some servants of God have already\nreceived?  It is clear that such souls must consider themselves\ngreater debtors--under greater obligations to serve Him: we must\nacknowledge that we have nothing of ourselves, and confess the\nmunificence of our Lord, Who, on a soul so wretched and poor, and\nso utterly undeserving, as mine is,--for whom the first of these\npearls was enough, and more than enough,--would bestow greater\nriches than I could desire.\n\n8. We must renew our strength to serve Him, and strive not to be\nungrateful, because it is on this condition that our Lord\ndispenses His treasures; for if we do not make a good use of\nthem, and of the high estate to which He raises us, He will\nreturn and take them from us, and we shall be poorer than ever.\nHis Majesty will give the pearls to him who shall bring them\nforth and employ them usefully for himself and others.  For how\nshall he be useful, and how shall he spend liberally, who does\nnot know that he is rich?  It is not possible, I think, our\nnature being what it is, that he can have the courage necessary\nfor great things who does not know that God is on his side; for\nso miserable are we, so inclined to the things of this world,\nthat he can hardly have any real abhorrence of, with great\ndetachment from, all earthly things who does not see that he\nholds some pledges for those things that are above.  It is by\nthese gifts that our Lord gives us that strength which we through\nour sins have lost.\n\n9. A man will hardly wish to be held in contempt and abhorrence,\nnor will he seek after the other great virtues to which the\nperfect attain, if he has not some pledges of the love which God\nbears him, together with a living faith.  Our nature is so dead,\nthat we go after that which we see immediately before us; and it\nis these graces, therefore, that quicken and strengthen our\nfaith.  It may well be that I, who am so wicked, measure others\nby myself, and that others require nothing more than the verities\nof the faith, in order to render their works most perfect; while\nI, wretched that I am! have need of everything.\n\n10. Others will explain this.  I speak from my own experience, as\nI have been commanded; and if what I say be not correct, let\nhim [5] to whom I send it destroy it; for he knows better than I\ndo what is wrong in it.  I entreat him, for the love of our Lord,\nto publish abroad what I have thus far said of my wretched life,\nand of my sins.  I give him leave to do so; and to all my\nconfessors, also,--of whom he is one--to whom this is to be sent,\nif it be their pleasure, even during my life, so that I may no\nlonger deceive people who think there must be some good in\nme.  [6] Certainly, I speak in all sincerity, so far as I\nunderstand myself.  Such publication will give me great comfort.\n\n11. But as to that which I am now going to say, I give no such\nleave; nor, if it be shown to any one, do I consent to its being\nsaid who the person is whose experience it describes, nor who\nwrote it.  This is why I mention neither my own name, nor that of\nany other person whatever.  I have written it in the best way I\ncould, in order not to be known; and this I beg of them for the\nlove of God.  Persons so learned and grave as they are [7] have\nauthority enough to approve of whatever right things I may say,\nshould our Lord give me the grace to do so; and if I should say\nanything of the kind, it will be His, and not mine--because I am\nneither learned nor of good life, and I have no person of\nlearning or any other to teach me; for they only who ordered me\nto write know that I am writing, and at this moment they are not\nhere.  I have, as it were, to steal the time, and that with\ndifficulty, because my writing hinders me from spinning.  I am\nliving in a house that is poor, and have many things to do. [8]\nIf, indeed, our Lord had given me greater abilities and a better\nmemory, I might then profit by what I have seen and read; but my\nabilities are very slight.  If, then, I should say anything that\nis right, our Lord will have it said for some good purpose; that\nwhich may be wrong will be mine, and your reverence will strike\nit out.\n\n12. In neither case will it be of any use to publish my name:\nduring my life, it is clear that no good I may have done ought to\nbe told; after death, there is no reason against it, except that\nit will lose all authority and credit, because related of a\nperson so vile and so wicked as I am.  And because I think your\nreverence and the others who may see this writing will do this\nthat I ask of you, for the love of our Lord, I write with\nfreedom.  If it were not so, I should have great scruples, except\nin declaring my sins: and in that matter I should have none at\nall.  For the rest, it is enough that I am a woman to make my\nsails droop: how much more, then, when I am a woman, and a\nwicked one?\n\n13. So, then, everything here beyond the simple story of my life\nyour reverence must take upon yourself--since you have so pressed\nme to give some account of the graces which our Lord bestowed\nupon me in prayer--if it be consistent with the truths of our\nholy Catholic faith; if it be not, your reverence must burn it at\nonce--for I give my consent.  I will recount my experience, in\norder that, if it be consistent with those truths, your reverence\nmay make some use of it; if not, you will deliver my soul from\ndelusion, so that Satan may gain nothing there where I seemed to\nbe gaining myself.  Our Lord knows well that I, as I shall show\nhereafter, [9] have always laboured to find out those who could\ngive me light.\n\n14. How clear soever I may wish to make my account of that which\nrelates to prayer, it will be obscure enough for those who are\nwithout experience.  I shall speak of certain hindrances, which,\nas I understand it, keep men from advancing on this road--and of\nother things which are dangerous, as our Lord has taught me by\nexperience.  I have also discussed the matter with men of great\nlearning, with persons who for many years had lived spiritual\nlives, who admit that, in the twenty-seven years only during\nwhich I have given myself to prayer--though I walked so ill, and\nstumbled so often on the road--His Majesty granted me that\nexperience which others attain to in seven-and-thirty, or\nseven-and-forty, years; and they, too, being persons who ever\nadvanced in the way of penance and of virtue.\n\n15. Blessed be God for all, and may His infinite Majesty make use\nof me!  Our Lord knoweth well that I have no other end in this\nthan that He may be praised and magnified a little, when men\nshall see that on a dunghill so foul and rank He has made a\ngarden of flowers so sweet.  May it please His Majesty that I may\nnot by my own fault root them out, and become again what I was\nbefore.  And I entreat your reverence, for the love of our Lord,\nto beg this of Him for me, seeing that you have a clearer\nknowledge of what I am than you have allowed me to give of\nmyself here.\n\n\n1. The Saint interrupts her history here to enter on the\ndifficult questions of mystical theology, and resumes it in\nch. xxiii.\n\n2. Ch. ix. \u00a7 4.\n\n3. Ch. xxx. \u00a7\u00a7 10 and 11.\n\n4. See ch. xiii. \u00a7 5.\n\n5. F. Pedro Yba\u00f1ez, of the Order of St. Dominic.\n\n6. See ch. xxxi. \u00a7 17.\n\n7. See ch. xv. \u00a7 12.\n\n8. See ch. xiv. \u00a7 12.\n\n9. See ch. xxiv. \u00a7 5.\n\n\n\nChapter XI.\n\n\nWhy Men Do Not Attain Quickly to the Perfect Love of God.\nOf Four Degrees of Prayer.  Of the First Degree.  The Doctrine\nProfitable for Beginners, and for Those Who Have No\nSensible Sweetness.\n\n\n1. I speak now of those who begin to be the servants of love;\nthat seems to me to be nothing else but to resolve to follow Him\nin the way of prayer, who has loved us so much.  It is a dignity\nso great, that I have a strange joy in thinking of it; for\nservile fear vanishes at once, if we are, as we ought to be, in\nthe first degree.  O Lord of my soul, and my good, how is it\nthat, when a soul is determined to love Thee--doing all it can,\nby forsaking all things, in order that it may the better occupy\nitself with the love of God--it is not Thy will it should have\nthe joy of ascending at once to the possession of perfect love?\nI have spoken amiss; I ought to have said, and my complaint\nshould have been, why is it we do not? for the fault is wholly\nour own that we do not rejoice at once in a dignity so great,\nseeing that the attaining to the perfect possession of this true\nlove brings all blessings with it.\n\n2. We think so much of ourselves, and are so dilatory in giving\nourselves wholly to God, that, as His Majesty will not let us\nhave the fruition of that which is so precious but at a great\ncost, so neither do we perfectly prepare ourselves for it.  I see\nplainly that there is nothing by which so great a good can be\nprocured in this world.  If, however, we did what we could, not\nclinging to anything upon earth, but having all our thoughts and\nconversation in Heaven, I believe that this blessing would\nquickly be given us, provided we perfectly prepared ourselves for\nit at once, as some of the saints have done.  We think we are\ngiving all to God; but, in fact, we are offering only the revenue\nor the produce, while we retain the fee-simple of the land in our\nown possession.\n\n3. We resolve to become poor, and it is a resolution of great\nmerit; but we very often take great care not to be in want, not\nsimply of what is necessary, but of what is superfluous: yea, and\nto make for ourselves friends who may supply us; and in this way\nwe take more pains, and perhaps expose ourselves to greater\ndanger, in order that we may want nothing, than we did formerly,\nwhen we had our own possessions in our own power.\n\n4. We thought, also, that we gave up all desire of honour when we\nbecame religious, or when we began the spiritual life, and\nfollowed after perfection; and yet, when we are touched on the\npoint of honour, we do not then remember that we had given it up\nto God.  We would seize it again, and take it, as they say, out\nof His Hands, even after we had made Him, to all appearance, the\nLord of our own will.  So is it in every thing else.\n\n5. A pleasant way this of seeking the love of God! we retain our\nown affections, and yet will have that love, as they say, by\nhandfuls.  We make no efforts to bring our desires to good\neffect, or to raise them resolutely above the earth; and yet,\nwith all this, we must have many spiritual consolations.  This is\nnot well, and we are seeking things that are incompatible one\nwith the other.  So, because we do not give ourselves up wholly\nand at once, this treasure is not given wholly and at once to us.\nMay it be the good pleasure of our Lord to give it us drop by\ndrop, though it may cost us all the trials in the world.\n\n6. He showeth great mercy unto him to whom He gives the grace and\nresolution to strive for this blessing with all his might; for\nGod withholds Himself from no one who perseveres.  He will by\nlittle and little strengthen that soul, so that it may come forth\nvictorious.  I say resolution, because of the multitude of those\nthings which Satan puts before it at first, to keep it back from\nbeginning to travel on this road; for he knoweth what harm will\nbefall him thereby--he will lose not only that soul, but many\nothers also.  If he who enters on this road does violence to\nhimself, with the help of God, so as to reach the summit of\nperfection, such a one, I believe, will never go alone to Heaven;\nhe will always take many with him: God gives to him, as to a good\ncaptain, those who shall be of his company.\n\n7. Thus, then, the dangers and difficulties which Satan puts\nbefore them are so many, that they have need, not of a little,\nbut of a very great, resolution, and great grace from God, to\nsave them from falling away.\n\n8. Speaking, then, of their beginnings who are determined to\nfollow after this good, and to succeed in their enterprise--what\nI began to say [1] of mystical theology--I believe they call it\nby that name--I shall proceed with hereafter--I have to say that\nthe labour is greatest at first; for it is they who toil, our\nLord, indeed, giving them strength.  In the other degrees of\nprayer, there is more of fruition; although they who are in the\nbeginning, the middle, and the end, have their crosses to carry:\nthe crosses, however, are different.  They who would follow\nChrist, if they do not wish to be lost, must walk in the way He\nwalked Himself.  Blessed labours! even here, in this life, so\nsuperabundantly rewarded!\n\n9. I shall have to make use of a comparison; I should like to\navoid it, because I am a woman, and write simply what I have been\ncommanded.  But this language of spirituality is so difficult of\nutterance for those who are not learned, and such am I.  I have\ntherefore to seek for some means to make the matter plain.\nIt may be that the comparison will very rarely be to the\npurpose--your reverence will be amused when you see my stupidity.\nI think, now, I have either read or heard of this comparison; but\nas my memory is bad, I know not where, nor on what occasion;\nhowever, I am satisfied with it for my present purpose. [2]\n\n10. A beginner must look upon himself as making a garden, wherein\nour Lord may take His delight, but in a soil unfruitful, and\nabounding in weeds.  His Majesty roots up the weeds, and has to\nplant good herbs.  Let us, then, take for granted that this is\nalready done when a soul is determined to give itself to prayer,\nand has begun the practice of it.  We have, then, as good\ngardeners, by the help of God, to see that the plants grow, to\nwater them carefully, that they may not die, but produce\nblossoms, which shall send forth much fragrance, refreshing to\nour Lord, so that He may come often for His pleasure into this\ngarden, and delight Himself in the midst of these virtues.\n\n11. Let us now see how this garden is to be watered, that we may\nunderstand what we have to do: how much trouble it will cost us,\nwhether the gain be greater than the trouble, or how long a time\nit will take us.  It seems to me that the garden may be watered\nin four ways: by water taken out of a well, which is very\nlaborious; or with water raised by means of an engine and\nbuckets, drawn by a windlass--I have drawn it this way\nsometimes--it is a less troublesome way than the first, and gives\nmore water; or by a stream or brook, whereby the garden is\nwatered in a much better way--for the soil is more thoroughly\nsaturated, and there is no necessity to water it so often, and\nthe labour of the gardener is much less; or by showers of rain,\nwhen our Lord Himself waters it, without labour on our part--and\nthis way is incomparably better than all the others of which I\nhave spoken.\n\n12. Now, then, for the application of these four ways of\nirrigation by which the garden is to be maintained; for without\nwater it must fail.  The comparison is to my purpose, and it\nseems to me that by the help of it I shall be able to explain, in\nsome measure, the four degrees of prayer to which our Lord, of\nHis goodness, has occasionally raised my soul.  May He graciously\ngrant that I may so speak as to be of some service to one of\nthose who has commanded me to write, whom our Lord has raised in\nfour months to a greater height than I have reached in seventeen\nyears!  He prepared himself better than I did, and therefore is\nhis garden without labour on his part, irrigated by these four\nwaters--though the last of them is only drop by drop; but it is\ngrowing in such a way, that soon, by the help of our Lord, he\nwill be swallowed up therein, and it will be a pleasure to me, if\nhe finds my explanation absurd, that he should laugh at it.\n\n13. Of those who are beginners in prayer, we may say, that they\nare those who draw the water up out of the well--a process which,\nas I have said, is very laborious; for they must be wearied in\nkeeping the senses recollected, and this is a great labour,\nbecause the senses have been hitherto accustomed to distractions.\nIt is necessary for beginners to accustom themselves to disregard\nwhat they hear or see, and to put it away from them during the\ntime of prayer; they must be alone, and in retirement think over\ntheir past life.  Though all must do this many times, beginners\nas well as those more advanced; all, however, must not do so\nequally, as I shall show hereafter. [3] Beginners at first suffer\nmuch, because they are not convinced that they are penitent for\ntheir sins; and yet they are, because they are so sincerely\nresolved on serving God.  They must strive to meditate on the\nlife of Christ, and the understanding is wearied thereby.\nThus far we can advance of ourselves--that is, by the grace of\nGod--for without that, as every one knows, we never can have one\ngood thought.\n\n14. This is beginning to draw water up out of the well.\nGod grant there may be water in it!  That, however, does not\ndepend on us; we are drawing it, and doing what we can towards\nwatering the flowers.  So good is God, that when, for reasons\nknown to His Majesty--perhaps for our greater good--it is His\nwill the well should be dry, He Himself preserves the flowers\nwithout water--we, like good gardeners, doing what lies in our\npower--and makes our virtues grow.  By water here I mean tears,\nand if there be none, then tenderness and an inward feeling\nof devotion.\n\n15. What, then, will he do here who sees that, for many days, he\nis conscious only of aridity, disgust, dislike, and so great an\nunwillingness to go to the well for water, that he would give it\nup altogether, if he did not remember that he has to please and\nserve the Lord of the garden; if he did not trust that his\nservice was not in vain, and did not hope for some gain by a\nlabour so great as that of lowering the bucket into the well so\noften, and drawing it up without water in it?  It will happen\nthat he is often unable to move his arms for that purpose, or to\nhave one good thought: working with the understanding is drawing\nwater out of the well.\n\n16. What, then, once more, will the gardener do now?  He must\nrejoice and take comfort, and consider it as the greatest favour\nto labour in the garden of so great an Emperor; and as he knows\nthat he is pleasing Him in the matter--and his purpose must not\nbe to please himself, but Him--let him praise Him greatly for the\ntrust He has in him--for He sees that, without any recompense, he\nis taking so much care of that which has been confided to him;\nlet him help Him to carry the Cross, and let him think how He\ncarried it all His life long; let him not seek his kingdom here,\nnor ever intermit his prayer; and so let him resolve, if this\naridity should last even his whole life long, never to let Christ\nfall down beneath the Cross. [4]\n\n17. The time will come when he shall be paid once for all.\nLet him have no fear that his labour is in vain: he serves a good\nMaster, Whose eyes are upon him.  Let him make no account of evil\nthoughts, but remember that Satan suggested them to St. Jerome\nalso in the desert. [5]  These labours have their reward, I know\nit; for I am one who underwent them for many years.  When I drew\nbut one drop of water out of this blessed well, I considered it\nwas a mercy of God.  I know these labours are very great, and\nrequire, I think, greater courage than many others in this world;\nbut I have seen clearly that God does not leave them without a\ngreat recompense, even in this life; for it is very certain that\nin one hour, during which our Lord  gave me to taste His\nsweetness, all the anxieties which I had to bear when persevering\nin prayer seem to me ever afterwards perfectly rewarded.\n\n18. I believe that it is our Lord's good pleasure frequently in\nthe beginning, and at times in the end, to send these torments,\nand many other incidental temptations, to try those who love Him,\nand to ascertain if they will drink the chalice, [6] and help Him\nto carry the Cross, before He intrusts them with His great\ntreasures.  I believe it to be for our good that His Majesty\nshould lead us by this way, so that we may perfectly understand\nhow worthless we are; for the graces which He gives afterwards\nare of a dignity so great, that He will have us by experience\nknow our wretchedness before He grants them, that it may not be\nwith us as it was with Lucifer.\n\n19. What canst Thou do, O my Lord, that is not for the greater\ngood of that soul which Thou knowest to be already Thine, and\nwhich gives itself up to Thee to follow Thee whithersoever Thou\ngoest, even to the death of the Cross; and which is determined to\nhelp Thee to carry that Cross, and not to leave Thee alone with\nit?  He who shall discern this resolution in himself has nothing\nto fear: no, no; spiritual people have nothing to fear.  There is\nno reason why he should be distressed who is already raised to so\nhigh a degree as this is of wishing to converse in solitude with\nGod, and to abandon the amusements of the world.  The greater\npart of the work is done; give praise to His Majesty for it, and\ntrust in His goodness who has never failed those who love Him.\nClose the eyes of your imagination, and do not ask why He gives\ndevotion to this person in so short a time, and none to me after\nso many years.  Let us believe that all is for our greater good;\nlet His Majesty guide us whithersoever He will: we are not our\nown, but His.  He shows us mercy enough when it is His pleasure\nwe should be willing to dig in His garden, and to be so near the\nLord of it: He certainly is near to us.  If it be His will that\nthese plants and flowers should grow--some of them when He gives\nwater we may draw from the well, others when He gives none--what\nis that to me?  Do Thou, O Lord, accomplish Thy will; let me\nnever offend Thee, nor let my virtues perish; if Thou hast given\nme any, it is out of Thy mere goodness.  I wish to suffer,\nbecause Thou, O Lord, hast suffered; do Thou in every way fulfil\nThy will in me, and may it never be the pleasure of Thy Majesty\nthat a gift of so high a price as that of Thy love, be given to\npeople who serve Thee only because of the sweetness they\nfind thereby.\n\n20. It is much to be observed, and I say so because I know by\nexperience, that the soul which, begins to walk in the way of\nmental prayer with resolution, and is determined not to care\nmuch, neither to rejoice nor to be greatly afflicted, whether\nsweetness and tenderness fail it, or our Lord grants them, has\nalready travelled a great part of the road.  Let that soul, then,\nhave no fear that it is going back, though it may frequently\nstumble; for the building is begun on a firm foundation.  It is\ncertain that the love of God does not consist in tears, nor in\nthis sweetness and tenderness which we for the most part desire,\nand with which we console ourselves; but rather in serving Him in\njustice, fortitude, and humility.  That seems to me to be a\nreceiving rather than a giving of anything on our part.\n\n21. As for poor women, such as I am, weak and infirm of purpose,\nit seems to me to be necessary that I should be led on through\nconsolations, as God is doing now, so that I might be able to\nendure certain afflictions which it has pleased His Majesty I\nshould have.  But when the servants of God, who are men of\nweight, learning, and sense, make so much account, as I see they\ndo, whether God gives them sweetness in devotion or not, I am\ndisgusted when I listen to them.  I do not say that they ought\nnot to accept it, and make much of it, when God gives\nit--because, when He gives it, His Majesty sees it to be\nnecessary for them--but I do say that they ought not to grow\nweary when they have it not.  They should then understand that\nthey have no need of it, and be masters of themselves, when His\nMajesty does not give it.  Let them be convinced of this, there\nis a fault here; I have had experience of it, and know it to be\nso.  Let them believe it as an imperfection: they are not\nadvancing in liberty of spirit, but shrinking like cowards from\nthe assault.\n\n22. It is not so much to beginners that I say this--though I do\ninsist upon it, because it is of great importance to them that\nthey should begin with this liberty and resolution--as to others,\nof whom there are many, who make a beginning, but never come to\nthe end; and that is owing, I believe, in great measure, to their\nnot having embraced the Cross from the first.  They are\ndistressed, thinking they are doing nothing; the understanding\nceases from its acts, and they cannot bear it.  Yet, perhaps, at\nthat very time, the will is feeding and gathering strength, and\nthey know it not.\n\n23. We must suppose that our Lord does not regard these things;\nfor though they seem to us to be faults, yet they are not.\nHis Majesty knoweth our misery and natural vileness better than\nwe do ourselves.  He knoweth that these souls long to be always\nthinking of Him and loving Him.  It is this resolution that He\nseeks in us; the other anxieties which we inflict upon ourselves\nserve to no other end but to disquiet the soul--which, if it be\nunable to derive any profit in one hour, will by them be disabled\nfor four.  This comes most frequently from bodily\nindisposition--I have had very great experience in the matter,\nand I know it is true; for I have carefully observed it and\ndiscussed it afterwards with spiritual persons--for we are so\nwretched, that this poor prisoner of a soul shares in the\nmiseries of the body. The changes of the seasons, and the\nalterations of the humours, very often compel it, without fault\nof its own, not to do what it would, but rather to suffer in\nevery way.  Meanwhile, the more we force the soul on these\noccasions, the greater the mischief, and the longer it lasts.\nSome discretion must be used, in order to ascertain whether\nill-health be the occasion or not.  The poor soul must not be\nstifled.  Let those who thus suffer understand that they are ill;\na change should be made in the hour of prayer, and oftentimes\nthat change should be continued for some days. Let souls pass out\nof this desert as they can, for it is very often the misery of\none that loves God to see itself living in such wretchedness,\nunable to do what it would, because it has to keep so evil a\nguest as the body.\n\n24. I spoke of discretion, because sometimes the devil will do\nthe same work; and so it is not always right to omit prayer when\nthe understanding is greatly distracted and disturbed, nor to\ntorment the soul to the doing of that which is out of its power.\nThere are other things then to be done--exterior works, as of\ncharity and spiritual reading--though at times the soul will not\nbe able to do them.  Take care, then, of the body, for the love\nof God, because at many other times the body must serve the soul;\nand let recourse be had to some recreations--holy ones--such as\nconversation, or going out into the fields, as the confessor\nshall advise.  Altogether, experience is a great matter, and it\nmakes us understand what is convenient for us. Let God be served\nin all things--His yoke is sweet; [7] and it is of great\nimportance that the soul should not be dragged, as they say, but\ncarried gently, that it may make greater progress.\n\n25. So, then, I come back to what I advised before [8]--and\nthough I repeat it often, it matters not; it is of great\nimportance that no one should distress himself on account of\naridities, or because his thoughts are restless and distracted;\nneither should he be afflicted thereat, if he would attain to\nliberty of spirit, and not be always in trouble.  Let him begin\nby not being afraid of the Cross, and he will see how our Lord\nwill help him to carry it, how joyfully he will advance, and what\nprofit he will derive from it all.  It is now clear, if there is\nno water in the well, that we at least can put none into it.\nIt is true we must not be careless about drawing it when there is\nany in it, because at that time it is the will of God to multiply\nour virtues by means thereof.\n\nNOTES\n\n1. Ch. x. \u00a7 1.\n\n2. Vide St. Bernard, in Cantic. Serm. 30. n. 7, ed. Ben.\n\n3. Ch. xiii. \u00a7 23.\n\n4. See ch. xv. \u00a7 17.\n\n5. Epist. 22, ad Eustochium: \"O quoties ego ipse in eremo\nconstitutus, et in illa vasta solitudine qu\u00e6 exusta solis\nardoribus horridum monachis pr\u00e6stat habitaculum putabam me\nRomanis interesse deliciis.  Sedebam solus.\u00a0.\u00a0. Horrebant sacco\nmembra deformia.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Ille igitur ego, qui ob Gehenn\u00e6 metum tali\nme carcere damnaveram, scorpionum tantum socius et ferarum, s\u00e6pe\nchoris intereram puellarum, pallebant ora jejuniis, et mens\ndesideriis \u00e6stuabat in frigido corpore, et ante hominem sua jam\ncarne pr\u00e6mortuum sola libidinum incendia bulliebant.\"\n\n6. St. Matt. xx. 22: \"Potestis bibere calicem?\"\n\n7. St. Matt. xi. 30: \"Jugum enim meum suave est.\"\n\n8. \u00a7 18.\n\n\n\nChapter XII.\n\n\nWhat We Can Ourselves Do.  The Evil of Desiring to Attain to\nSupernatural States Before Our Lord Calls Us.\n\n\n1. My aim in the foregoing chapter--though I digressed to many\nother matters, because they seemed to me very necessary--was to\nexplain how much we may attain to of ourselves; and how, in these\nbeginnings of devotion, we are able in some degree to help\nourselves: because thinking of, and pondering on, the sufferings\nof our Lord for our sakes moves us to compassion, and the sorrow\nand tears which result therefrom are sweet.  The thought of the\nblessedness we hope for, of the love our Lord bore us, and of His\nresurrection, kindle within us a joy which is neither wholly\nspiritual nor wholly sensual; but the joy is virtuous, and the\nsorrow is most meritorious.\n\n2. Of this kind are all those things which produce a devotion\nacquired in part by means of the understanding, though it can\nneither be merited nor had, if God grants it not.  It is best for\na soul which God has not raised to a higher state than this not\nto try to rise of itself.  Let this be well considered, because\nall the soul will gain in that way will be a loss.  In this state\nit can make many acts of good resolutions to do much for God, and\nenkindle its love; other acts also, which may help the growth of\nvirtues, according to that which is written in a book called The\nArt of Serving God, [1] a most excellent work, and profitable for\nthose who are in this state, because the understanding is\nactive now.\n\n3. The soul may also place itself in the presence of Christ, and\naccustom itself to many acts of love directed to His sacred\nHumanity, and remain in His presence continually, and speak to\nHim, pray to Him in its necessities, and complain to Him of its\ntroubles; be merry with Him in its joys, and yet not forget Him\nbecause of its joys.  All this it may do without set prayers, but\nrather with words befitting its desires and its needs.\n\n4. This is an excellent way whereby to advance, and that very\nquickly.  He that will strive to have this precious\ncompanionship, and will make much of it, and will sincerely love\nour Lord, to whom we owe so much, is one, in my opinion, who has\nmade some progress.  There is therefore no reason why we should\ntrouble ourselves because we have no sensible devotion, as I said\nbefore. [2]  But let us rather give thanks to our Lord, who\nallows us to have a desire to please Him, though our works be\npoor. This practice of the presence of Christ is profitable in\nall states of prayer, and is a most safe way of advancing in the\nfirst state, and of attaining quickly to the second; and as for\nthe last states, it secures us against those risks which the\ndevil may occasion.\n\n5. This, then, is what we can do.  He who would pass out of this\nstate, and upraise his spirit, in order to taste consolations\ndenied him, will, in my opinion, lose both the one and the\nother. [3]  These consolations being supernatural, and the\nunderstanding inactive, the soul is then left desolate and in\ngreat aridity.  As the foundation of the whole building is\nhumility, the nearer we draw unto God the more this virtue should\ngrow; if it does not, everything is lost.  It seems to be a kind\nof pride when we seek to ascend higher, seeing that God descends\nso low, when He allows us, being what we are, to draw near\nunto Him.\n\n6. It must not be supposed that I am now speaking of raising our\nthoughts to the consideration of the high things of heaven and of\nits glory, or unto God and His great wisdom.  I never did this\nmyself, because I had not the capacity for it--as I said\nbefore; [4] and I was so worthless, that, as to thinking even of\nthe things of earth, God gave me grace to understand this truth:\nthat in me it was no slight boldness to do so.  How much more,\nthen, the thinking of heavenly things?  Others, however, will\nprofit in that way, particularly those who are learned; for\nlearning, in my opinion, is a great treasury in the matter of\nthis exercise, if it be accompanied with humility.  I observed\nthis a few days ago in some learned men who had shortly before\nmade a beginning, and had made great progress.  This is the\nreason why I am so very anxious that many learned men may become\nspiritual. I shall speak of this by and by. [5]\n\n7. What I am saying--namely, let them not rise if God does not\nraise them--is the language of spirituality.  He will understand\nme who has had any experience; and I know not how to explain it,\nif what I have said does not make it plain.\n\n8. In mystical theology--of which I spoke before [6]--the\nunderstanding ceases from its acts, because God suspends it--as I\nshall explain by and by, if I can; [7] and God give me the grace\nto do so.  We must neither imagine nor think that we can of\nourselves bring about this suspension.  That is what I say must\nnot be done; nor must we allow the understanding to cease from\nits acts; for in that case we shall be stupid and cold, and the\nresult will be neither the one nor the other.  For when our Lord\nsuspends the understanding, and makes it cease from its acts, He\nputs before it that which astonishes and occupies it: so that\nwithout making any reflections, it shall comprehend in a\nmoment [8] more than we could comprehend in many years with all\nthe efforts in the world.\n\n9. To have the powers of the mind occupied, and to think that you\ncan keep them at the same time quiet, is folly.  I repeat it,\nthough it be not so understood, there is no great humility in\nthis; and, if it be blameless, it is not left unpunished--it is\nlabour thrown away, and the soul is a little disgusted: it feels\nlike a man about to take a leap, and is held back.  Such a one\nseems to have used up his strength already, and finds himself\nunable to do that which he wished to have done: so here, in the\nscanty gain that remains, he who will consider the matter will\ntrace that slight want of humility of which I have spoken; [9]\nfor that virtue has this excellence: there is no good work\nattended by humility that leaves the soul disgusted.  It seems to\nme that I have made this clear enough; yet, after all, perhaps\nonly for myself.  May our Lord open their eyes who read this, by\ngiving them experience; and then however slight that experience\nmay be, they will immediately understand it.\n\n10. For many years I read much, and understood nothing; and for a\nlong time, too, though God gave me understanding herein, I never\ncould utter a word by which I might explain it to others.\nThis was no little trouble to me.  When His Majesty pleases, He\nteaches everything in a moment, so that I am lost in wonder.\nOne thing I can truly say: though I conversed with many spiritual\npersons, who sought to make me understand what our Lord was\ngiving me, in order that I might be able to speak of it, the fact\nis, that my dulness was so great, that I derived no advantage\nwhatever, much or little, from their teaching.\n\n11. Or it may be, as His Majesty has always been my Master--may\nHe be blessed for ever! for I am ashamed of myself that I can say\nso with truth--that it was His good pleasure I should meet with\nno one to whom I should be indebted in this matter.  So, without\nmy wishing or asking it--I never was careful about this, for that\nwould have been a virtue in me, but only about vanity--God gave\nme to understand with all distinctness in a moment, and also\nenabled me to express myself, so that my confessors were\nastonished but I more than they, because I knew my own dulness\nbetter.  It is not long since this happened.  And so that which\nour Lord has not taught me, I seek not to know it, unless it be a\nmatter that touches my conscience.\n\n12. Again I repeat my advice: it is of great moment not to raise\nour spirit ourselves, if our Lord does not raise it for us; and\nif He does, there can be no mistaking it.  For women, it is\nspecially wrong, because the devil can delude them--though I am\ncertain our Lord will never allow him to hurt any one who labours\nto draw near unto God in humility.  On the contrary, such a one\nwill derive more profit and advantage out of that attack by which\nSatan intended to hurt him.\n\n13. I have dwelt so long upon this matter because this way of\nprayer is the most common with beginners, and because the advice\nI have given is very important.  It will be found much better\ngiven elsewhere: that I admit; and I admit, also, that in writing\nit I am ashamed of myself, and covered with confusion--though not\nso much so as I ought to be.  Blessed for ever be our Lord, of\nwhose will and pleasure it is that I am allowed, being what I am,\nto speak of things which are His, of such a nature, and so deep.\n\n\n1. Arte de servir a Dios, by Rodrigue de Solis, friar of the\nAugustinian Order (Bouix).  Arte para servir a Dios, by\nFra. Alonso de Madrid (De la Fuente).\n\n2. Ch. xi. \u00a7\u00a7 20, 25.\n\n3. That is, he will lose the prayer of acquired quiet, because he\nvoluntarily abandons it before the time; and will not attain to\nthe prayer of infused quiet, because he attempts to rise into it\nbefore he is called (Francis. de Sancto Thoma, Medulla Mystica,\ntr. iv. ch. xi. n. 69).\n\n4. Ch. iv. \u00a7 10.\n\n5. Ch. xxxiv. \u00a7 9.\n\n6. Ch. x. \u00a7 1.\n\n7. Ch. xvi. \u00a7 4.\n\n8. \"En un credo.\"\n\n9. \u00a7 5.\n\n\n\nChapter XIII.\n\n\nOf Certain Temptations of Satan.  Instructions Relating Thereto.\n\n\n1. I have thought it right to speak of certain temptations I have\nobserved to which beginners are liable--some of them I have had\nmyself--and to give some advice about certain things which to me\nseem necessary.  In the beginning, then, we should strive to be\ncheerful and unconstrained; for there are people who think it is\nall over with devotion if they relax themselves ever so little.\nIt is right to be afraid of self; so that, having no confidence\nin ourselves, much or little, we may not place ourselves in those\ncircumstances wherein men usually sin against God; for it is a\nmost necessary fear, till we become very perfect in virtue.\nAnd there are not many who are so perfect as to be able to relax\nthemselves on those occasions which offer temptations to their\nnatural temper; for always while we live, were it only to\npreserve humility, it is well we should know our own miserable\nnature; but there are many occasions on which it is permitted\nus--as I said just now [1]--to take some recreation, in order\nthat we may with more vigour resume our prayer.\n\n2. Discretion is necessary throughout.  We must have great\nconfidence; because it is very necessary for us not to contract\nour desires, but put our trust in God; for, if we do violence to\nourselves by little and little, we shall, though not at once,\nreach that height which many Saints by His grace have reached.\nIf they had never resolved to desire, and had never by little and\nlittle acted upon that resolve, they never could have ascended to\nso high a state.\n\n3. His Majesty seeks and loves courageous souls; but they must be\nhumble in their ways, and have no confidence in themselves.\nI never saw one of those lag behind on the road; and never a\ncowardly soul, though aided by humility, make that progress in\nmany years which the former makes in a few.  I am astonished at\nthe great things done on this road by encouraging oneself to\nundertake great things, though we may not have the strength for\nthem at once; the soul takes a flight upwards and ascends high,\nthough, like a little bird whose wings are weak, it grows weary\nand rests.\n\n4. At one time I used often to think of those words of St. Paul:\n\"That all things are possible in God.\" [2]  I saw clearly that of\nmyself I could do nothing.  This was of great service to me.\nSo also was the saying of St. Augustine: \"Give me, O Lord, what\nThou commandest, and command what Thou wilt.\" [3]  I was often\nthinking how St. Peter lost nothing by throwing himself into the\nsea, though he was afterwards afraid. [4]  These first\nresolutions are a great matter--although it is necessary in the\nbeginning that we should be very reserved, controlled by the\ndiscretion and authority of a director; but we must take care\nthat he be one who does not teach us to crawl like toads, nor one\nwho may be satisfied when the soul shows itself fit only to catch\nlizards.  Humility must always go before: so that we may know\nthat this strength can come out of no strength of our own.\n\n5. But it is necessary we should understand what manner of\nhumility this should be, because Satan, I believe, does great\nharm; for he hinders those who begin to pray from going onwards,\nby suggesting to them false notions of humility.  He makes them\nthink it is pride to have large desires, to wish to imitate the\nSaints, and to long for martyrdom.  He tells us forthwith, or he\nmakes us think, that the actions of the Saints are to be admired,\nnot to be imitated, by us who are sinners.  I, too, say the same\nthing; but we must see what those actions are which we are to\nadmire, and what those are which we are to imitate; for it would\nbe wrong in a person who is weak and sickly to undertake much\nfasting and sharp penances to retire into the desert, where he\ncould not sleep, nor find anything to eat; or, indeed, to\nundertake any austerities of this kind.\n\n6. But we ought to think that we can force ourselves, by the\ngrace of God, to hold the world in profound contempt--to make\nlight of honour, and be detached from our possessions.\nOur hearts, however, are so mean that we think the earth would\nfail us under our feet, if we were to cease to care even for a\nmoment for the body, and give ourselves up to spirituality.\nThen we think that to have all we require contributes to\nrecollection, because anxieties disturb prayer.  It is painful to\nme that our confidence in God is so scanty, and our self-love so\nstrong, as that any anxiety about our own necessities should\ndisturb us. But so it is; for when our spiritual progress is so\nslight, a mere nothing will give us as much trouble as great and\nimportant matters will give to others.  And we think\nourselves spiritual!\n\n7. Now, to me, this way of going on seems to betray a disposition\nto reconcile soul and body together, in order that we may not\nmiss our ease in this world, and yet have the fruition of God in\nthe next; and so it will be if we walk according to justice,\nclinging to virtue; but it is the pace of a hen--it will never\nbring us to liberty of spirit.  It is a course of proceeding, as\nit seems to me, most excellent for those who are in the married\nstate, and who must live according to their vocation; but for the\nother state, I by no means wish for such a method of progress,\nneither can I be made to believe it to be sound; for I have tried\nit, and I should have remained in that way, if our Lord in His\ngoodness had not taught me another and a shorter road.\n\n8. Though, in the matter of desires, I always had generous ones;\nbut I laboured, as I said before, [5] to make my prayer, and, at\nthe same time, to live at my ease.  If there had been any one to\nrouse me to a higher flight, he might have brought me, so I\nthink, to a state in which these desires might have had their\neffects; but, for our sins, so few and so rare are they whose\ndiscretion in that matter is not excessive.  That, I believe, is\nreason enough why those who begin do not attain more quickly to\ngreat perfection; for our Lord never fails us, and it is not His\nfault; the fault and the wretchedness of this being all our own.\n\n9. We may also imitate the Saints by striving after solitude and\nsilence, and many other virtues that will not kill these wretched\nbodies of ours, which insist on being treated so orderly, that\nthey may disorder the soul; and Satan, too, helps much to make\nthem unmanageable.  When he sees us a little anxious about them,\nhe wants nothing more to convince us that our way of life must\nkill us, and destroy our health; even if we weep, he makes us\nafraid of blindness.  I have passed through this, and therefore I\nknow it; but I know of no better sight or better health that we\ncan desire, than the loss of both in such a cause. Being myself\nso sickly, I was always under constraint, and good for nothing,\ntill I resolved to make no account of my body nor of my health;\neven now I am worthless enough.\n\n10. But when it pleased God to let me find out this device of\nSatan, I used to say to the latter, when he suggested to me that\nI was ruining my health, that my death was of no consequence;\nwhen he suggested rest, I replied that I did not want rest, but\nthe Cross.  His other suggestions I treated in the same way.\nI saw clearly that in most things, though I was really very\nsickly, it was either a temptation of Satan, or a weakness on my\npart. My health has been much better since I have ceased to look\nafter my ease and comforts.  It is of great importance not to let\nour own thoughts frighten us in the beginning, when we set\nourselves to pray.  Believe me in this, for I know it by\nexperience.  As a warning to others, it may be that this story of\nmy failures may be useful.\n\n11. There is another temptation, which is very common: when\npeople begin to have pleasure in the rest and the fruit of\nprayer, they will have everybody else be very spiritual also.\nNow, to desire this is not wrong, but to try to bring it about\nmay not be right, except with great discretion and with much\nreserve, without any appearance of teaching.  He who would do any\ngood in this matter ought to be endowed with solid virtues, that\nhe may not put temptation in the way of others.  It happened to\nme--that is how I know it--when, as I said before, [6] I made\nothers apply themselves to prayer, to be a source of temptation\nand disorder; for, on the one hand, they heard me say great\nthings of the blessedness of prayer, and, on the other, saw how\npoor I was in virtue, notwithstanding my prayer.  They had good\nreasons on their side, and afterwards they told me of it; for\nthey knew not how these things could be compatible one with the\nother.  This it was that made them not to regard that as evil\nwhich was really so in itself, namely, that they saw me do it\nmyself, now and then, during the time that they thought well of\nme in some measure.\n\n12. This is Satan's work: he seems to take advantage of the\nvirtues we may have, for the purpose of giving a sanction, so far\nas he can, to the evil he aims at; how slight soever that evil\nmay be, his gain must be great, if it prevail in a religious\nhouse.  How much, then, must his gain have been, when the evil I\ndid was so very great!  And thus, during many years, only three\npersons were the better for what I said to them; but now that our\nLord has made me stronger in virtue, in the course of two or\nthree years many persons have profited, as I shall\nshow hereafter. [7]\n\n13. There is another great inconvenience in addition to this: the\nloss to our own soul; for the utmost we have to do in the\nbeginning is to take care of our own soul only, and consider that\nin the whole world there is only God and our soul.  This is a\npoint of great importance.\n\n14. There is another temptation--we ought to be aware of it, and\nbe cautious in our conduct: persons are carried away by a zeal\nfor virtue, through the pain which the sight of the sins and\nfailings of others occasions them.  Satan tells them that this\npain arises only out of their desire that God may not be\noffended, and out of their anxiety about His honour; so they\nimmediately seek to remedy the evil.  This so disturbs them, that\nthey cannot pray.  The greatest evil of all is their thinking\nthis an act of virtue, of perfection, and of a great zeal for\nGod.  I am not speaking of the pain which public sins occasion,\nif they be habitual in any community, nor of wrongs done to the\nChurch, nor of heresies by which so many souls are visibly lost;\nfor this pain is most wholesome, and being wholesome is no source\nof disquiet.  The security, therefore, of that soul which would\napply itself to prayer lies in casting away from itself all\nanxiety about persons and things, in taking care of itself, and\nin pleasing God.  This is the most profitable course.\n\n15. If I were to speak of the mistakes which I have seen people\nmake, in reliance on their own good intentions, I should never\ncome to an end.  Let us labour, therefore, always to consider the\nvirtues and the good qualities which we discern in others, and\nwith our own great sins cover our eyes, so that we may see none\nof their failings.  This is one way of doing our work; and though\nwe may not be perfect in it at once, we shall acquire one great\nvirtue--we shall look upon all men as better than ourselves; and\nwe begin to acquire that virtue in this way, by the grace of God,\nwhich is necessary in all things--for when we have it not, all\nour endeavours are in vain--and by imploring Him to give us this\nvirtue; for He never fails us, if we do what we can.\n\n16. This advice, also, they must take into their consideration\nwho make much use of their understanding, eliciting from one\nsubject many thoughts and conceptions.  As to those who, like\nmyself, cannot do it, I have no advice to give, except that they\nare to have patience, until our Lord shall send them both matter\nand light; for they can do so little of themselves, that their\nunderstanding is a hindrance to them rather than a help.\n\n17. To those, then, who can make use of their understanding, I\nsay that they are not to spend the whole time in that way; for\nthough it be most meritorious, yet they must not, when prayer is\nsweet, suppose that there never will be a Sunday or a time when\nno work ought to be done.  They think it lost time to do\notherwise; but I think that loss their greatest gain.  Let them\nrather, as I have said, [8] place themselves in the presence of\nChrist, and, without fatiguing the understanding, converse with\nHim, and in Him rejoice, without wearying themselves in searching\nout reasons; but let them rather lay their necessities before\nHim, and the just reasons there are why He should not suffer us\nin His presence: at one time this, at another time that, lest the\nsoul should be wearied by always eating of the same food.  These\nmeats are most savoury and wholesome, if the palate be accustomed\nto them; they will furnish a great support for the life of the\nsoul, and they have many other advantages also.\n\n18. I will explain myself further; for the doctrine of prayer is\ndifficult, and, without a director, very hard to understand.\nThough I would willingly be concise, and though a mere hint is\nenough for his clear intellect who has commanded me to write on\nthe subject of prayer, yet so it is, my dulness does not allow me\nto say or explain in a few words that which it is so important to\nexplain well.  I, who have gone through so much, am sorry for\nthose who begin only with books; for there is a strange\ndifference between that which we learn by reading, and that which\nwe learn by experience.\n\n19. Going back, then, to what I was saying.  We set ourselves to\nmeditate upon some mystery of the Passion: let us say, our Lord\nat the pillar.  The understanding goeth about seeking for the\nsources out of which came the great dolours and the bitter\nanguish which His Majesty endured in that desolation.\nIt considers that mystery in many lights, which the intellect, if\nit be skilled in its work, or furnished with learning, may there\nobtain.  This is a method of prayer which should be to everyone\nthe beginning, the middle, and the end: a most excellent and safe\nway, until our Lord shall guide them to other supernatural ways.\n\n20. I say to all, because there are many souls who make greater\nprogress by meditation on other subjects than on the Sacred\nPassion; for as there are many mansions in heaven, so there are\nalso many roads leading thither.  Some persons advance by\nconsidering themselves in hell, others in heaven--and these are\ndistressed by meditations on hell.  Others meditate on death;\nsome persons, if tender-hearted, are greatly fatigued by\ncontinual meditations on the Passion; but are consoled and make\nprogress when they meditate on the power and greatness of God in\nHis creatures, and on His love visible in all things.  This is an\nadmirable method--not omitting, however, from time to time, the\nPassion and Life of Christ, the Source of all good that ever\ncame, and that ever shall come.\n\n21. He who begins is in need of instruction, whereby he may\nascertain what profits him most.  For this end it is very\nnecessary he should have a director, who ought to be a person of\nexperience; for if he be not, he will make many mistakes, and\ndirect a soul without understanding its ways, or suffering it to\nunderstand them itself; for such a soul, knowing that obedience\nto a director is highly meritorious, dares not transgress the\ncommandments it receives.  I have met with souls cramped and\ntormented, because he who directed them had no experience: that\nmade me sorry for them.  Some of them knew not what to do with\nthemselves; for directors who do not understand the spirit of\ntheir penitents afflict them soul and body, and hinder\ntheir progress. [9]\n\n22. One person I had to do with had been kept by her director for\neight years, as it were, in prison; he would not allow her to\nquit the subject of self-knowledge; and yet our Lord had already\nraised her to the prayer of quiet; so she had much to suffer.\n\n23. Although this matter of self-knowledge must never be put\naside--for there is no soul so great a giant on this road but has\nfrequent need to turn back, and be again an infant at the breast;\nand this must never be forgotten.  I shall repeat it, [10]\nperhaps, many times, because of its great importance--for among\nall the states of prayer, however high they may be, there is not\none in which it is not often necessary to go back to the\nbeginning.  The knowledge of our sins, and of our own selves, is\nthe bread which we have to eat with all the meats, however\ndelicate they may be, in the way of prayer; without this bread,\nlife cannot be sustained, though it must be taken by measure.\nWhen a soul beholds itself resigned, and clearly understands that\nthere is no goodness in it--when it feels itself abashed in the\npresence of so great a King, and sees how little it pays of the\ngreat debt it owes Him--why should it be necessary for it to\nwaste its time on this subject?  Why should it not rather proceed\nto other matters which our Lord places before it, and for\nneglecting which there is no reason?  His Majesty surely knows\nbetter than we do what kind of food is proper for us.\n\n24. So, then, it is of great consequence that the director should\nbe prudent--I mean, of sound understanding--and a man of\nexperience.  If, in addition to this, he is a learned man, it is\na very great matter.  But if these three qualities cannot be had\ntogether, the first two are the most important, because learned\nmen may be found with whom we can communicate when it is\nnecessary.  I mean, that for beginners learned men are of little\nuse, if they are not men of prayer.  I do not say that they are\nto have nothing to do with learned men, because a spirituality,\nthe foundations of which are not resting on the truth, I would\nrather were not accompanied with prayer.  Learning is a great\nthing, for it teaches us who know so little, and enlightens us;\nso when we have come to the knowledge of the truths contained in\nthe holy writings, we do what we ought to do.  From silly\ndevotions, God deliver us!\n\n25. I will explain myself further, for I am meddling, I believe,\nwith too many matters.  It has always been my failing that I\ncould never make myself understood--as I said before [11]--but at\nthe cost of many words.  A nun begins to practise prayer; if her\ndirector be silly, and if he should take it into his head, he\nwill make her feel that it is better for her to obey him than her\nown superior.  He will do all this without any evil purpose,\nthinking that he is doing right.  For if he be not a religious\nhimself, he will think this right enough.  If his penitent be a\nmarried woman, he will tell her that it is better for her to give\nherself unto prayer, when she ought to attend to her house,\nalthough she may thereby displease her husband.  And so it is, he\nknows not how to make arrangements for time and business, so that\neverything may be done as it ought to be done; he has no light\nhimself, and can therefore give none to others, however much he\nmay wish to do so.\n\n26. Though learning does not seem necessary for discretion, my\nopinion has always been, and will be, that every Christian should\ncontinue to be guided by a learned director if he can, and the\nmore learned the better.  They who walk in the way of prayer have\nthe greater need of learning; and the more spiritual they are the\ngreater is that need.  Let them not say that learned men not\ngiven to prayer are not fit counsellors for those who pray: that\nis a delusion.  I have conversed with many; and now for some\nyears I have sought them the more, because of my greater need of\nthem.  I have always been fond of them; for though some of them\nhave no experience, they do not dislike spirituality, neither are\nthey ignorant of what it is, because in the sacred writings with\nwhich they are familiar they always find the truth about\nspirituality.  I am certain myself that a person given to prayer,\nwho treats of these matters with learned men, unless he is\ndeceived with his own consent, will never be carried away by any\nillusions of the devil.  I believe that the evil spirits are\nexceedingly afraid of learned men who are humble and virtuous,\nknowing that they will be found out and defeated by them.\n\n27. I have said this because there are opinions held to the\neffect that learned men, if they are not spiritual, are not\nsuited for persons given to prayer.  I have just said that a\nspiritual director is necessary; but if he be not a learned man,\nhe is a great hindrance.  It will help us much if we consult\nthose who are learned, provided they be virtuous; even if they be\nnot spiritual, they will be of service to me, and God will enable\nthem to understand what they should teach; He will even make them\nspiritual, in order that they may help us on.  I do not say this\nwithout having had experience of it; and I have met with more\nthan two.\n\n28. I say, then, that a person who shall resign his soul to be\nwholly subject to one director will make a great mistake, if he\nis in religion, unless he finds a director of this kind, because\nof the obedience due to his own superior.  His director may be\ndeficient in the three requisites I speak of, [12] and that will\nbe no slight cross, without voluntarily subjecting the\nunderstanding to one whose understanding is none of the best.\nAt least, I have never been able to bring myself to do it,\nneither does it seem to me to be right.\n\n29. But if he be a person living in the world, let him praise God\nfor the power he has of choosing whom he will obey, and let him\nnot lose so excellent a liberty; yea, rather let him be without a\ndirector till he finds him--for our Lord will give him one, if he\nis really humble, and has a desire to meet with the right person.\nI praise God greatly--we women, and those who are unlearned,\nought always to render Him unceasing thanks--because there are\npersons who, by labours so great, have attained to the truth, of\nwhich we unlearned people are ignorant. I often wonder at learned\nmen--particularly those who are in religion--when I think of the\ntrouble they have had in acquiring that which they communicate to\nme for my good, and that without any more trouble to me than the\nasking for it.  And yet there are people who will not take\nadvantage of their learning: God grant it may not be so!\n\n30. I see them undergo the poverty of the religious life, which\nis great, together with its penances, its meagre food, the yoke\nof obedience, which makes me ashamed of myself at times; and with\nall this, interrupted sleep, trials everywhere, everywhere the\nCross.  I think it would be a great evil for any one to lose so\ngreat a good by his own fault.  It may be some of us, who are\nexempted from these burdens--who have our food put into our\nmouths, as they say, and live at our ease--may think, because we\ngive ourselves a little more to prayer, that we are raised above\nthe necessity of such great hardships.  Blessed be Thou, O Lord,\nwho hast made me so incapable and so useless; but I bless Thee\nstill more for this--that Thou quickenest so many to quicken us.\nOur prayer must therefore be very earnest for those who give us\nlight.  What should we be without them in the midst of these\nviolent storms which now disturb the Church?  If some have\nfallen, the good will shine more and more. [13]  May it please\nour Lord to hold them in His hand, and help them, that they may\nhelp us.\n\n31. I have gone far away from the subject I began to speak of;\nbut all is to the purpose for those who are beginners, that they\nmay begin a journey which is so high in such a way as that they\nshall go on by the right road.  Coming back, then, to what I\nspoke of before, [14] the meditation on Christ bound to the\npillar, it is well we should make reflections for a time, and\nconsider the sufferings He there endured, for whom He endured\nthem, who He is who endured them, and the love with which He bore\nthem.  But a person should not always fatigue himself in making\nthese reflections, but rather let him remain there with Christ,\nin the silence of the understanding.\n\n32. If he is able, let him employ himself in looking upon Christ,\nwho is looking upon him; let him accompany Him, and make his\npetitions to Him; let him humble himself, and delight himself in\nChrist, and keep in mind that he never deserved to be there.\nWhen he shall be able to do this, though it may be in the\nbeginning of his prayer, he will find great advantage; and this\nway of prayer brings great advantages with it--at least, so my\nsoul has found it.  I do not know whether I am describing it\naright; you, my father, will see to it.  May our Lord grant me to\nplease Him rightly for ever!  Amen.\n\n\n1. Ch. xi. \u00a7 24.\n\n2. Philipp. iv. 13; \"Omnia possum in Eo.\"\n\n3. Confess. x. ch. 29: \"Da quod jubes, et jube quod vis.\"\n\n4. St. Matt. xiv. 30: \"Videns vero ventum validum, timuit.\"\n\n5. Ch. vii. \u00a7\u00a7 27, 31.\n\n6. Ch. vii. \u00a7 16.\n\n7. See ch. xxxi. \u00a7 7, and ch. xxxix. \u00a7 14.\n\n8. Ch. xii. \u00a7 3.\n\n9. See St. John of the Cross, Living Flame, pp. 267,\n278-284, Engl. trans.\n\n10. See ch. xv. \u00a7 20.\n\n11. \u00a7 18.\n\n12. Prudence, experience, and learning; see \u00a7 24.\n\n13. Dan. xii. 3: \"Qui autem docti fuerint, fulgebunt quasi\nsplendor firmamenti.\"\n\n14. \u00a7 19.\n\n\n\nChapter XIV.\n\n\nThe Second State of Prayer.  Its Supernatural Character.\n\n\n1. Having spoken of the toilsome efforts and of the strength\nrequired for watering the garden when we have to draw the water\nout of the well, let us now speak of the second manner of drawing\nthe water, which the Lord of the vineyard has ordained; of the\nmachine of wheel and buckets whereby the gardener may draw more\nwater with less labour, and be able to take some rest without\nbeing continually at work.  This, then, is what I am now going to\ndescribe; and I apply it to the prayer called the prayer\nof quiet.\n\n2. Herein the soul begins to be recollected; it is now touching\non the supernatural--for it never could by any efforts of its own\nattain to this.  True, it seems at times to have been wearied at\nthe wheel, labouring with the understanding, and filling the\nbuckets; but in this second degree the water is higher, and\naccordingly the labour is much less than it was when the water\nhad to be drawn up out of the well; I mean, that the water is\nnearer to it, for grace reveals itself more distinctly to\nthe soul.\n\n3. This is a gathering together of the faculties of the soul\nwithin itself, in order that it may have the fruition of that\ncontentment in greater sweetness; but the faculties are not lost,\nneither are they asleep: the will alone is occupied in such a way\nthat, without knowing how it has become a captive, it gives a\nsimple consent to become the prisoner of God; for it knows well\nwhat is to be the captive of Him it loves.  O my Jesus and my\nLord, how pressing now is Thy love! [1]  It binds our love in\nbonds so straitly, that it is not in its power at this moment to\nlove anything else but Thee.\n\n4. The other two faculties help the will, that it may render\nitself capable of the fruition of so great a good; nevertheless,\nit occasionally happens, even when the will is in union, that\nthey hinder it very much: but then it should never heed them at\nall, simply abiding in its fruition and quiet. [2]  For if it\ntried to make them recollected, it would miss its way together\nwith them, because they are at this time like doves which are not\nsatisfied with the food the master of the dovecot gives them\nwithout any labouring for it on their part, and which go forth in\nquest of it elsewhere, and so hardly find it that they come back.\nAnd so the memory and the understanding come and go, seeking\nwhether the will is going to give them that into the fruition of\nwhich it has entered itself.\n\n5. If it be our Lord's pleasure to throw them any food, they\nstop; if not, they go again to seek it.  They must be thinking\nthat they are of some service to the will; and now and then the\nmemory or the imagination, seeking to represent to it that of\nwhich it has the fruition, does it harm.  The will, therefore,\nshould be careful to deal with them as I shall explain.\nEverything that takes place now in this state brings the very\ngreatest consolation; and the labour is so slight, that prayer,\neven if persevered in for some time, is never wearisome.\nThe reason is, that the understanding is now working very gently,\nand is drawing very much more water than it drew out of the well.\nThe tears, which God now sends, flow with joy; though we feel\nthem, they are not the result of any efforts of our own.\n\n6. This water of grand blessings and graces, which our Lord now\nsupplies, makes the virtues thrive much more, beyond all\ncomparison, than they did in the previous state of prayer; for\nthe soul is already ascending out of its wretched state, and some\nlittle knowledge of the blissfulness of glory is communicated to\nit.  This, I believe, is it that makes the virtues grow the more,\nand also to draw nearer to essential virtue, God Himself, from\nWhom all virtues proceed; for His Majesty has begun to\ncommunicate Himself to this soul, and will have it feel how He is\ncommunicating Himself.\n\n7. As soon as the soul has arrived thus far, it begins to lose\nthe desire of earthly things, [3] and no wonder; for it sees\nclearly that, even for a moment, this joy is not to be had on\nearth; that there are no riches, no dominion, no honours, no\ndelights, that can for one instant, even for the twinkling of an\neye, minister such a joy; for it is a true satisfaction, and the\nsoul sees that it really does satisfy.  Now, we who are on earth,\nas it seems to me, scarcely ever understand wherein our\nsatisfaction lies, for it is always liable to disappointment; but\nin this, at that time, there is none: the disappointment cometh\nafterwards, when the soul sees that all is over, and that it has\nno power to recover it, neither does it know how; for if it cut\nitself in pieces by penance and prayer, and every other kind of\nausterities, all would be of little use, if our Lord did not\ngrant it.  God, in His great mercy, will have the soul comprehend\nthat His Majesty is so near to it, that it need not send\nmessengers to Him, but may speak to Him itself, and not with a\nloud crying, because so near is He already, that He understands\neven the movements of its lips.\n\n8. It seems absurd to say this, seeing that we know that God\nunderstands us always, and is present with us.  It is so, and\nthere can be no doubt of it; but our Emperor and Lord will have\nus now understand that He understands us; and also have us\nunderstand what His presence bringeth about, and that He means in\na special way to begin a work in the soul, which is manifested in\nthe great joy, inward and outward, which He communicates, and in\nthe difference there is, as I said just now, between this joy and\ndelight and all the joys of earth; for He seems to be filling up\nthe void in our souls occasioned by our sins.\n\n9. This satisfaction lies in the innermost part of the soul, and\nthe soul knows not whence, nor how, it came, very often it knows\nnot what to do, or wish, or pray for.  It seems to find all this\nat once, and knoweth not what it hath found; nor do I know how to\nexplain it, because learning is necessary for many things.  Here,\nindeed, learning would be very much to the purpose, in order to\nexplain the general and particular helps of grace; for there are\nmany who know nothing about them.  Learning would serve to show\nhow our Lord now will have the soul to see, as it were, with the\nnaked eye, as men speak, this particular help of grace, and be\nalso useful in many other ways wherein I am likely to go astray.\nBut as what I write is to be seen by those who have the learning\nto discover whether I make mistakes or not, I go on without\nanxiety; for I know I need have none whatever about either the\nletter or the spirit, because it is in their power to whom it is\nto be sent to do with it as they will: they will understand it,\nand blot out whatever may be amiss.\n\n10. I should like them to explain this, because it is a principal\npoint, and because a soul, when our Lord begins to bestow these\ngraces upon it, does not understand them, and does not know what\nto do with itself; for if God leads it by the way of fear, as He\nled me, its trial will be heavy, if there be no one who\nunderstands the state it is in; and to see itself as in a picture\nis a great comfort; and then it sees clearly that it is\ntravelling on that road.  The knowledge of what it has to do is a\ngreat blessing for it, so that it may advance forwards in every\none of these degrees of prayer; for I have suffered greatly, and\nlost much time, because I did not know what to do; and I am very\nsorry for those souls who find themselves alone when they come to\nthis state; for though I read many spiritual books, wherein this\nvery matter is discussed, they threw very little light upon it.\nAnd if it be not a soul much exercised in prayer, it will find it\nenough to understand its state, be the books ever so clear.\n\n11. I wish much that our Lord would help me to describe the\neffects on the soul of these things, now that they begin to be\nsupernatural, so that men might know by these effects whether\nthey come from the Spirit of God.  I mean, known as things are\nknown here below--though it is always well to live in fear, and\non our guard; for even if they do come from God, now and then the\ndevil will be able to transform himself into an angel of\nlight; [4] and the soul, if not experienced herein, will not\nunderstand the matter; and it must have so much experience for\nthe understanding thereof, that it is necessary it should have\nattained to the highest perfection of prayer.\n\n12. The little time I have helps me but little, and it is\ntherefore necessary His Majesty should undertake it Himself; for\nI have to live in community, and have very many things to employ\nme, as I am in a house which is newly founded--as will appear\nhereafter; [5] and so I am writing, with very many interruptions,\nby little and little at a time.  I wish I had leisure; for when\nour Lord gives the spirit, it is more easily and better done; it\nis then as with a person working embroidery with the pattern\nbefore her; but if the spirit be wanting, there is no more\nmeaning in the words than in gibberish, so to speak, though many\nyears may have been spent in prayer.  And thus I think it a very\ngreat advantage to be in this state of prayer when I am writing\nthis; for I see clearly that it is not I who speak, nor is it I\nwho with her understanding has arranged it; and afterwards I do\nnot know how I came to speak so accurately. [6]  It has often\nhappened to me thus.\n\n13. Let us now return to our orchard, or flower-garden, and\nbehold now how the trees begin to fill with sap for the bringing\nforth of the blossoms, and then of the fruit--the flowers and the\nplants, also, their fragrance.  This illustration pleases me; for\nvery often, when I was beginning--and our Lord grant that I have\nreally begun to serve His Majesty--I mean, begun in relation to\nwhat I have to say of my life,--it was to me a great joy to\nconsider my soul as a garden, and our Lord as walking in it.\nI used to beseech Him to increase the fragrance of the little\nflowers of virtues--which were beginning, as it seemed to\nbud--and preserve them, that they might be to His glory; for I\ndesired nothing for myself.  I prayed Him to cut those He liked,\nbecause I already knew that they would grow the better.\n\n14. I say cut; for there are times in which the soul has no\nrecollection of this garden--everything seems parched, and there\nis no water to be had for preserving it--and in which it seems as\nif the soul had never possessed any virtue at all.  This is the\nseason of heavy trials; for our Lord will have the poor gardener\nsuppose all the trouble he took in maintaining and watering the\ngarden to have been taken to no purpose.  Then is the time really\nfor weeding and rooting out every plant, however small it may be,\nthat is worthless, in the knowledge that no efforts of ours are\nsufficient, if God withholds from us the waters of His grace; and\nin despising ourselves as being nothing, and even less than\nnothing.  In this way we gain great humility--the flowers\ngrow afresh.\n\n15. O my Lord and my Good!  I cannot utter these words without\ntears, and rejoicing in my soul; for Thou wilt be thus with us,\nand art with us, in the Sacrament.  We may believe so most truly;\nfor so it is, and the comparison I make is a great truth; and, if\nour sins stand not in the way, we may rejoice in Thee, because\nThou rejoicest in us; for Thou hast told us that Thy delight is\nto be with the children of men. [7]  O my Lord, what does it\nmean?  Whenever I hear these words, they always give me great\nconsolation, and did so even when I was most wicked.\n\n16. Is it possible, 0 Lord, that there can be a soul which, after\nattaining to this state wherein Thou bestowest upon it the like\ngraces and consolations, and wherein it understands that Thou\ndelightest to be with it, can yet fall back and offend Thee after\nso many favours, and such great demonstrations of the love Thou\nbearest it, and of which there cannot be any doubt, because the\neffect of it is so visible?  Such a soul there certainly is; for\nI have done so, not once, but often.  May it please Thy goodness,\nO Lord, that I may be alone in my ingratitude--the only one who\nhas committed so great an iniquity, and whose ingratitude has\nbeen so immeasurable!  But even out of my ingratitude Thine\ninfinite goodness has brought forth some good; and the greater my\nwickedness, the greater the splendour of the great mercy of Thy\ncompassions.  Oh, what reasons have I to magnify them for ever!\n\n17. May it be so, I beseech Thee, O my God, and may I sing of\nthem for ever, now that Thou hast been pleased to show mercies so\ngreat unto me that they who see them are astonished, mercies\nwhich draw me out of myself continually, that I may praise Thee\nmore and more! for, remaining in myself, without Thee, I could do\nnothing, O my Lord, but be as the withered flowers of the garden;\nso that this miserable earth of mine becomes a heap of refuse, as\nit was before.  Let it not be so, O Lord!--let not a soul which\nThou hast purchased with so many labours be lost, one which Thou\nhast so often ransomed anew, and delivered from between the teeth\nof the hideous dragon!\n\n18. You, my father, must forgive me for wandering from the\nsubject; and, as I am speaking to the purpose I have in view, you\nmust not be surprised.  What I write is what my soul has\nunderstood; and it is very often hard enough to abstain from the\npraises of God when, in the course of writing, the great debt I\nowe Him presents itself before me.  Nor do I think that it can be\ndisagreeable to you; because both of us, I believe, may sing the\nsame song, though in a different way; for my debt is much the\ngreater, seeing that God has forgiven me more, as you, my\nfather, know.\n\n\n1. 2 Cor. v. 14: \"Charitas enim Christi urget nos.\"\n\n2. See ch. xvii. \u00a7 12; Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but xxxi. of\nthe old editions.\n\n3. See Relation, i. \u00a7 12.\n\n4. 2 Cor. xi. 14: \"Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in\nangelum lucis.\"\n\n5. See ch. x. \u00a7 11.  As that passage refers probably to the\nmonastery of the Incarnation, this must refer to that of\nSt. Joseph, newly founded in Avila; for that of the Incarnation\nwas founded a short time before the Saint was born; and she could\nhardly say of it, now that she was at least in her forty-seventh\nyear, that it was newly founded.  The house, however, was poor;\nfor she says, ch. xxxii. \u00a7 12, that the nuns occasionally quitted\nthe monastery for a time, because of its\u00a0poverty.\n\n6. See ch. xviii. \u00a7 10.  In the second Report of the Rota,\np. 477--quoted by Benedict XIV., De Canoniz. iii. 26, n. 12, and\nby the Bollandists in the Acta, 1315--we have these words, and\nthey throw great light on the text: \"Sunt et alli testes de visu\naffirmantes quod quando beata Teresa scribebat libros, facies\nejus resplendebat.\"  In the information taken in Granada, the\nMother Anne of the Incarnation says she saw the Saint one night,\nwhile writing the Fortress of the Soul, with her face shining;\nand Mary of St. Francis deposes to the same effect in the\ninformations taken in Medina (De la Fuente,\nvol. ii. pp. 389,\u00a0392).\n\n7. Prov. viii. 31: \"Delici\u00e6 me\u00e6 esse cum filiis hominum.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XV.\n\n\nInstructions for Those Who Have Attained to the Prayer of Quiet.\nMany Advance So Far, but Few Go Farther.\n\n\n1. Let us now go back to the subject.  This quiet and\nrecollection of the soul makes itself in great measure felt in\nthe satisfaction and peace, attended with very great joy and\nrepose of the faculties, and most sweet delight, wherein the soul\nis established. [1]  It thinks, because it has not gone beyond\nit, that there is nothing further to wish for, but that its abode\nmight be there, and it would willingly say so with St. Peter. [2]\nIt dares not move nor stir, because it thinks that this blessing\nit has received must then escape out of its hands; now and then,\nit could wish it did not even breathe. [3]  The poor little soul\nis not aware that, as of itself it could do nothing to draw down\nthis blessing on itself, it is still less able to retain it a\nmoment longer than our Lord wills it should remain.\n\n2. I have already said that, in the prior recollection and\nquiet, [4] there is no failure of the powers of the soul; but the\nsoul is so satisfied in God that, although two of its powers be\ndistracted, yet, while the recollection lasts, as the will abides\nin union with God, so its peace and quiet are not disturbed; on\nthe contrary, the will by degrees brings the understanding and\nthe memory back again; for though the will is not yet altogether\nabsorbed, it continues still occupied without knowing how, so\nthat, notwithstanding all the efforts of the memory and the\nunderstanding, they cannot rob it of its delight and\njoy [5]--yea, rather, it helps without any labour at all to keep\nthis little spark of the love of God from being quenched.\n\n3. Oh, that His Majesty would be gracious unto me, and enable me\nto give a clear account of the matter; for many are the souls who\nattain to this state, and few are they who go farther: and I know\nnot who is in fault; most certainly it is not God; for when His\nMajesty shows mercy unto a soul, so that it advances so far, I\nbelieve that He will not fail to be more merciful still, if there\nbe no shortcomings on our part.\n\n4. And it is of great importance for the soul that has advanced\nso far as this to understand the great dignity of its state, the\ngreat grace given it by our Lord, and how in all reason it should\nnot belong to earth; because He, of His goodness, seems to make\nit here a denizen of heaven, unless it be itself in fault.\nAnd miserable will that soul be if it turns back; it will go\ndown, I think so, even to the abyss, as I was going myself, if\nthe mercy of our Lord had not brought me back; because, for the\nmost part, it must be the effect of grave faults--that is my\nopinion: nor is it possible to forsake so great a good otherwise\nthan through the blindness occasioned by much evil.\n\n5. Therefore, for the love of our Lord, I implore those souls to\nwhom His Majesty has given so great a grace--the attainment of\nthis state--to know and make much of themselves, with a humble\nand holy presumption, in order that they may never return to the\nflesh-pots of Egypt.  And if through weakness and wickedness, and\na mean and wretched nature, they should fall, as I did, let them\nalways keep in mind the good they have lost; let them suspect and\nfear--they have reason to do so--that, if they do not resume\ntheir prayer, they may go on from bad to worse.  I call that a\nreal fall which makes us hate the way by which so great a good\nwas obtained.  I address myself to those souls; but I am not\nsaying that they will never offend God, nor fall into\nsin,--though there are good reasons why those who have received\nthese graces should keep themselves carefully from sin; but we\nare miserable creatures.  What I earnestly advise is this: let\nthere be no giving up of prayer; it is by prayer they will\nunderstand what they are doing, and obtain from our Lord the\ngrace to repent, and strength to rise again; they must believe\nand believe again that, if they cease from praying, they run--so\nI think--into danger.  I know not if I understand what I am\nsaying; for, as I said before, I measure others by myself. [6]\n\n6. The prayer of quiet, then, is a little spark of the true love\nof Himself, which our Lord begins to enkindle in the soul; and\nHis will is, that the soul should understand what this love is by\nthe joy it brings.  This quiet and recollection and little spark,\nif it is the work of the Spirit of God, and not a sweetness\nsupplied by Satan, or brought about by ourselves, produces great\nresults.  A person of experience, however, cannot possibly fail\nto understand at once that it is not a thing that can be\nacquired, were it not that our nature is so greedy of sweetness,\nthat it seeks for it in every way.  But it becomes cold very\nsoon; for, however much we try to make the fire burn, in order to\nobtain this sweetness, it does not appear that we do anything\nelse but throw water on it, to put it out.  This spark, then,\ngiven of God, however slight it may be, causes a great crackling;\nand if men do not quench it by their faults, it is the beginning\nof the great fire, which sends forth--I shall speak of it in the\nproper place [7]--the flames of that most vehement love of God\nwhich His Majesty will have perfect souls to possess.\n\n7. This little spark is a sign or pledge which God gives to a\nsoul, in token of His having chosen it for great things, if it\nwill prepare to receive them.  It is a great gift, much too great\nfor me to be able to speak of it.  It is a great sorrow to me;\nbecause, as I said before, [8] I know that many souls come thus\nfar, and that those who go farther, as they ought to go, are so\nfew, that I am ashamed to say it.  I do not mean that they are\nabsolutely few: there must be many, because God is patient with\nus, for some reasons; I speak of what I have seen.\n\n8. I should like much to recommend these souls to take care that\nthey do not hide their talent; for it may be that God has chosen\nthem to be the edification of many others, especially in these\ndays, when the friends of God should be strong, in order that\nthey may support the weak.  Those who discern in themselves this\ngrace, must look upon themselves as such friends, if they would\nfulfil the law which even the honourable friendship of the world\nrespects; if not, as I said just now, [9] let them fear and\ntremble, lest they should be doing mischief to themselves--and\nGod grant it be to themselves only!\n\n9. What the soul has to do at those seasons wherein it is raised\nto the prayer of quiet is nothing more than to be gentle and\nwithout noise.  By noise, I mean going about with the\nunderstanding in search of words and reflections whereby to give\nGod thanks for this grace, and heaping up its sins and\nimperfections together to show that it does not deserve it.\nAll this commotion takes place now, and the understanding comes\nforward, and the memory is restless, and certainly to me these\npowers bring much weariness at times; for, though my memory is\nnot strong, I cannot control it.  Let the will quietly and wisely\nunderstand that it is not by dint of labour on our part that we\ncan converse to any good purpose with God, and that our own\nefforts are only great logs of wood, laid on without discretion\nto quench this little spark; and let it confess this, and in\nhumility say, O Lord, what can I do here? what has the servant to\ndo with her Lord, and earth with heaven? or words of love that\nsuggest themselves now, firmly grounded in the conviction that\nwhat it says is truth; and let it make no account of the\nunderstanding, which is simply tiresome.\n\n10. And if the will wishes to communicate to the understanding\nany portion of that the fruition of which itself has entered on,\nor if it labours to make the understanding recollected, it shall\nnot succeed; for it will often happen that the will is in union\nand at rest, while the understanding is in extreme disorder.\nIt is better for it to leave it alone, and not to run after it--I\nam speaking of the will; for the will should abide in the\nfruition of that grace, recollected itself, like the prudent bee;\nfor if no bees entered the hive, and each of them wandered abroad\nin search of the rest, the honey would hardly be made.  In the\nsame way, the soul will lose much if it be not careful now,\nespecially if the understanding be acute; for when it begins to\nmake reflections and search for reasons, it will think at once\nthat it is doing something if its reasons and reflections\nare good.\n\n11. The only reason that ought to be admitted now is to\nunderstand clearly that there is no reason whatever, except His\nmere goodness, why God should grant us so great a grace, and to\nbe aware that we are so near Him, and to pray to His Majesty for\nmercies, to make intercession for the Church, for those who had\nbeen recommended to us, and for the souls in purgatory,--not,\nhowever, with noise of words, but with a heartfelt desire to be\nheard.  This is a prayer that contains much, and by it more is\nobtained than by many reflections of the understanding.  Let the\nwill stir up some of those reasons, which proceed from reason\nitself, to quicken its love, such as the fact of its being in a\nbetter state, and let it make certain acts of love, as what it\nwill do for Him to whom it owes so much,--and that, as I said\njust now, without any noise of the understanding, in the search\nafter profound reflections.  A little straw,--and it will be less\nthan straw, if we bring it ourselves,--laid on with humility,\nwill be more effectual here, and will help to kindle a fire more\nthan many fagots of most learned reasons, which, in my opinion,\nwill put it out in a moment.\n\n12. This is good for those learned men who have commanded me to\nwrite, [10] and who all, by the goodness of God, have come to\nthis state; for it may be that they spend the time in making\napplications of passages of the Scriptures.  And though learning\ncould not fail to be of great use to them, both before and after\nprayer, still, in the very time of prayer itself, there is little\nnecessity for it, in my opinion, unless it be for the purpose of\nmaking the will tepid; for the understanding then, because of its\nnearness to the light, is itself illuminated; so that even I, who\nam what I am, seem to be a different person.  And so it is; for\nit has happened to me, who scarcely understand a word of what I\nread in Latin, and specially in the Psalms, when in the prayer of\nquiet, not only to understand the Latin as if it were Spanish,\nbut, still more, to take a delight in dwelling on the meaning of\nthat I knew through the Spanish.  We must make an exception: if\nthese learned men have to preach or to teach, they will do well\nto take advantage of their learning, that they may help poor\npeople of little learning, of whom I am one.  Charity is a great\nthing; and so always is ministering unto souls, when done simply\nfor God.\n\n13. So, then, when the soul is in the prayer of quiet, let it\nrepose in its rest--let learning be put on one side.  The time\nwill come when they may make use of it in the service of our\nLord--when they that possess it will appreciate it so highly as\nto be glad that they had not neglected it even for all the\ntreasures of the world, simply because it enables them to serve\nHis Majesty; for it is a great help.  But in the eyes of Infinite\nWisdom, believe me, a little striving after humility, and a\nsingle act thereof, are worth more than all the science in the\nworld.  This is not the time for discussing, but for\nunderstanding plainly what we are, and presenting ourselves in\nsimplicity before God, who will have the soul make itself as a\nfool--as, indeed, it is--in His presence, seeing that His Majesty\nso humbles Himself as to suffer it to be near Him, we being what\nwe are.\n\n14. Moreover, the understanding bestirs itself to make its\nthanksgiving in phrases well arranged; but the will, in peace,\nnot daring to lift up its eyes with the publican, [11] makes\nperhaps a better act of thanksgiving than the understanding, with\nall the tropes of its rhetoric.  In a word, mental prayer is not\nto be abandoned altogether now, nor even vocal prayer, if at any\ntime we wish, or can, to make use of either of them; for if the\nstate of quiet be profound, it becomes difficult to speak, and it\ncan be done only with great pain.\n\n15. I believe myself that we know whether this proceeds from the\nSpirit of God, or is brought about by endeavours of our own, in\nthe commencement of devotion which God gives; and we seek of\nourselves, as I said before, [12] to pass onwards to this quiet\nof the will.  Then, no effect whatever is produced; it is quickly\nover, and aridity is the result.  If it comes from Satan, the\npractised soul, in my opinion, will detect it, because it leaves\ntrouble behind, and scant humility and poor dispositions for\nthose effects which are wrought if it comes from God; it leaves\nneither light in the understanding nor steadiness in\nthe truth. [13]\n\n16. Here Satan can do little or no harm, if the soul directs unto\nGod the joy and sweetness it then feels; and if it fixes the\nthoughts and desires on Him, according to the advice already\ngiven, the devil can gain nothing whatever--on the contrary, by\nthe permission of God, he will lose much by that very joy which\nhe causes in the soul, because that joy will help the soul,\ninasmuch as it thinks the joy comes from God, to betake itself\noften to prayer in its desire for it.  And if the soul is humble,\nindifferent to, and detached from, all joy, however spiritual,\nand if it loves the cross, it will make no account of the\nsweetness which Satan sends.  But it cannot so deal with that\nwhich comes from the Spirit of God; of that it will make much.\nNow, when Satan sends it, as he is nothing but a lie, and when he\nsees that the soul humbles itself through that joy and\nsweetness--and here, in all things relating to prayer and\nsweetness, we must be very careful to endeavour to make ourselves\nhumble,--Satan will not often repeat his work, when he sees that\nhe loses by it.\n\n17. For this and for many other reasons, when I was speaking of\nthe first degree of prayer, and of the first method of drawing\nthe water, [14] I insisted upon it that the great affair of souls\nis, when they begin to pray, to begin also to detach themselves\nfrom every kind of joy, and to enter on it resolved only on\nhelping to carry the cross of Christ like good soldiers, willing\nto serve their King without present pay, because they are sure of\nit at last, having their eyes directed to the true and\neverlasting kingdom at the conquest of which we are aiming.\n\n18. It is a very great matter to have this always before our\neyes, especially in the beginning; afterwards, it becomes so\nclear, that it is rather a matter of necessity to forget it, in\norder to live on.  Now, labouring to keep in mind that all things\nhere below are of short duration, that they are all nothing, that\nthe rest we have here is to be accounted as none,--all this, I\nsay, seems to be exceedingly low; and so, indeed, it is,--because\nthose who have gone on to greater perfection would look upon it\nas a reproach, and be ashamed of themselves, if they thought that\nthey were giving up the goods of this world because they are\nperishable, or that they would not be glad to give them up for\nGod--even if they were to last for ever.  The greater the\nperfection of these persons, the greater their joy, and the\ngreater also would that joy be if the duration of these worldly\ngoods were greater.\n\n19. In these persons, thus far advanced, love is already grown,\nand love is that which does this work.  But as to beginners, to\nthem it is of the utmost importance, and they must not regard\nthis consideration as unbecoming, for the blessings to be gained\nare great,--and that is why I recommend it so much to them; for\nthey will have need of it--even those who have attained to great\nheights of prayer--at certain times, when God will try them, and\nwhen His Majesty seems to have forsaken them.\n\n20. I have said as much already, and I would not have it\nforgotten, [15] in this our life on earth, the growth of the soul\nis not like that of the body.  We, however, so speak of it--and,\nin truth, it does grow.  A youth that is grown up, whose body is\nformed, and who is become a man, does not ungrow, nor does his\nbody lessen in size; but as to the soul, it so is by our Lord's\nwill, so far as I have seen it in my own experience,--but I know\nnothing of it in any other way.  It must be in order to humble us\nfor our greater good, and to keep us from being careless during\nour exile; seeing that he who has ascended the higher has the\nmore reason to be afraid, and to be less confident in himself.\nA time may come when they whose will is so wrapt up in the will\nof God--and who, rather than fall into a single imperfection,\nwould undergo torture and suffer a thousand deaths--will find it\nnecessary, if they would be delivered from offending God, and\nfrom the commission of sin, to make use of the first armour of\nprayer, to call to mind how everything is coming to an end, that\nthere is a heaven and a hell, and to make use of other\nreflections of that nature, when they find themselves assailed by\ntemptations and persecutions.\n\n21. Let us go back to what I was saying.  The great source of our\ndeliverance from the cunning devices and the sweetness which\nSatan sends is to begin with a resolution to walk in the way of\nthe Cross from the very first, and not to desire any sweetness at\nall, seeing that our Lord Himself has pointed out to us the way\nof perfection, saying, \"Take up thy cross and follow Me.\" [16]\nHe is our example; and whosoever follows His counsels only to\nplease Him has nothing to fear.  In the improvement which they\ndetect in themselves, they who do so will see that this is no\nwork of Satan and if they fall, they have a sign of the presence\nof our Lord in their rising again at once.  They have other\nsigns, also, of which I am going to speak.\n\n22. When it is the work of the Spirit of God, there is no\nnecessity for going about searching for reasons, on the strength\nof which we may elicit acts of humility and of shame, because our\nLord Himself supplies them in a way very different from that by\nwhich we could acquire them by our own poor reflections, which\nare as nothing in comparison with that real humility arising out\nof the light which our Lord here gives us, and which begets a\nconfusion of face that undoes us.  The knowledge with which God\nsupplies us, in order that we may know that of ourselves we have\nno good in us, is perfectly apprehended--and the more perfectly,\nthe greater the graces.  It fills us with a great desire of\nadvancing in prayer, and of never giving it up, whatever troubles\nmay arise.  The soul offers to suffer everything.  A certain\nsecurity, joined with humility and fear concerning our salvation,\ncasts out servile fear at once from the soul, and in its place\nplants a loyal fear [17] of more perfect growth. [18]  There is a\nvisible beginning of a love of God, utterly divested of all\nself-interest, together with a longing after seasons of solitude,\nin order to obtain a greater fruition of this good.\n\n23. In short, not to weary myself, it is the beginning of all\ngood; the flowers have so thriven, that they are on the point of\nbudding.  And this the soul sees most clearly, and it is\nimpossible to persuade it now that God was not with it, till it\nturns back upon itself, and beholds its own failings and\nimperfections.  Then it fears for everything; and it is well it\nshould do so--though there are souls whom the certain conviction\nthat God is with them benefits more than all the fear they may\never have.  If a soul love greatly, and is thankful naturally,\nthe remembrance of the mercies of God makes it turn to Him more\neffectually than all the chastisements of hell it can ever\npicture to itself--at least, it was so with me, though I am\nso wicked.\n\n24. As I shall speak at greater length of the signs of a good\nspirit [19]--it has cost me much labour to be clear about them--I\ndo not treat of them here.  I believe, too, that, with the help\nof God, I shall be able to speak somewhat to the point,\nbecause--setting aside the experience I have had, and by which I\nlearned much--I have had the help of some most learned men and\npersons of great holiness, whom we may reasonably believe in the\nmatter. Souls, therefore, are not to weary themselves so much as\nI did, when, by the goodness of our Lord, they may have come to\nthis state.\n\n\n1. See Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but ch. xxxii of the\nold edition.\n\n2. St. Matt. xvii. 4: \"Bonum est nos hic esse.\"\n\n3. See ch. xvii. \u00a7 6.\n\n4. Ch. x. \u00a7 1.\n\n5. Ch. xiv. \u00a7\u00a7 3, 4.\n\n6. Ch. x. \u00a7 9.\n\n7. Ch. xviii. \u00a7 4, and ch. xxi. \u00a7 9.\n\n8. \u00a7 3.\n\n9. \u00a7 5.\n\n10. Ch. x. \u00a7 1.\n\n11. St. Luke xviii. 13: \"Nolebat nec oculos ad coelum\u00a0levare.\"\n\n12. Ch. xii. \u00a7 5.\n\n13. \"Firmeza en la verdad.\"  Francisco de St. Thoma, in his\nMedulla Mystica, p. 204, quoting this passage, has, \"firmeza en\nla voluntad.\"  Philip a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. p. 354,\nand his Abbreviator, Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iv.\ndisp. i. \u00a7 11, n. 94, seem also to have preferred \"voluntad\" to\n\"verdad;\" for the words they use are, \"nec intellectui lux nec\nvoluntati firmitas;\" and, \"defectus lucis in intellectu, et\nfirmitatis in\u00a0voluntate.\"\n\n14. Ch. xi. \u00a7 16.\n\n15. Ch. xiii. \u00a7 23.\n\n16. St. Matt. xvi. 24: \"Tollat crucem suam et sequatur Me.\"\n\n17. \"Fiel temor.\"  In the previous editions it was filial.\n\n18. Ch. xi. \u00a7 1.\n\n19. See ch. xxv.\n\n\n\nChapter XVI.\n\n\nThe Third State of Prayer.  Deep Matters.  What the Soul Can Do\nThat Has Reached It.  Effects of the Great Graces of Our Lord.\n\n\n1. Let us now speak of the third water wherewith this garden is\nwatered,--water running from a river or from a brook,--whereby\nthe garden is watered with very much less trouble, although there\nis some in directing the water. [1]  In this state our Lord will\nhelp the gardener, and in such a way as to be, as it were, the\nGardener Himself, doing all the work.  It is a sleep of the\npowers of the soul, which are not wholly lost, nor yet\nunderstanding how they are at work.  The pleasure, sweetness, and\ndelight are incomparably greater than in the former state of\nprayer; and the reason is, that the waters of grace have risen up\nto the neck of the soul, so that it can neither advance nor\nretreat--nor does it know how to do so; it seeks only the\nfruition of exceeding bliss.  It is like a dying man with the\ncandle in his hand, on the point of dying the death desired.\nIt is rejoicing in this agony with unutterable joy; to me it\nseems to be nothing else but a death, as it were, to all the\nthings of this world, and a fruition of God.  I know of no other\nwords whereby to describe it or to explain it; neither does the\nsoul then know what to do,--for it knows not whether to speak or\nbe silent, whether it should laugh or weep.  It is a glorious\nfolly, a heavenly madness, wherein true wisdom is acquired; and\nto the soul a kind of fruition most full of delight. [2]\n\n2. It is now some five or six years, I believe, since our Lord\nraised me to this state of prayer, in its fulness, and that more\nthan once,--and I never understood it, and never could explain\nit; and so I was resolved, when I should come thus far in my\nstory, to say very little or nothing at all.  I knew well enough\nthat it was not altogether the union of all the faculties, and\nyet most certainly it was higher than the previous state of\nprayer; but I confess that I could not determine and understand\nthe difference.\n\n3. The humility of your reverence, willing to be helped by a\nsimplicity so great as mine, has been the cause, I believe, why\nour Lord, to-day, after Communion, admitted me to this state of\nprayer, without the power of going further, and suggested to me\nthese comparisons, and taught me how to speak of it, and of what\nthe soul must do therein.  Certainly, I was amazed, and in a\nmoment understood it all.  I have often been thus, as it were,\nbeside myself, drunk with love, and yet never could understand\nhow it was.  I knew well that it was the work of God, but I never\nwas able to understand the manner of His working here; for, in\nfact, the faculties are almost all completely in union, yet not\nso absorbed that they do not act.  I have been singularly\ndelighted in that I have been able to comprehend the matter at\nlast.  Blessed be our Lord, who has thus consoled me!\n\n4. The faculties of the soul now retain only the power of\noccupying themselves wholly with God; not one of them ventures to\nstir, neither can we move one of them without making great\nefforts to distract ourselves--and, indeed, I do not think we can\ndo it at all at this time.  Many words are then uttered in praise\nof God--but disorderly, unless it be that our Lord orders them\nhimself.  At least, the understanding is utterly powerless here;\nthe soul longs to send forth words of praise, but it has no\ncontrol over itself,--it is in a state of sweet restlessness.\nThe flowers are already opening; they are beginning to send forth\ntheir fragrance.\n\n5. The soul in this state would have all men behold and know of\nits bliss, to the praise of God, and help it to praise Him.\nIt would have them to be partakers of its joy; for its joy is\ngreater than it can bear.  It seems to me that it is like the\nwoman in the Gospel, who would, or used to, call in her\nneighbours. [3]  The admirable spirit of David, the royal\nprophet, must have felt in the same way, so it seems to me, when\nhe played on the harp, singing the praises of God.  I have a very\ngreat devotion to this glorious king; [4] and I wish all had it,\nparticularly those who are sinners like myself.\n\n6. O my God, what must that soul be when it is in this state?\nIt wishes it were all tongue, in order that it may praise our\nLord. It utters a thousand holy follies, striving continually to\nplease Him by whom it is thus possessed.  I know one [5] who,\nthough she was no poet, yet composed, without any preparation,\ncertain stanzas, full of feeling, most expressive of her pain:\nthey were not the work of her own understanding; but, in order to\nhave a greater fruition of that bliss which so sweet a pain\noccasioned her, she complained of it in that way to God. She was\nwilling to be cut in pieces, soul and body, to show the delight\nshe felt in that pain.  To what torments could she be then\nexposed, that would not be delicious to endure for her Lord?\nShe sees clearly that the martyrs did little or nothing, so far\nas they were concerned, when they endured their tortures, because\nthe soul is well aware that its strength is derived from\nanother source.\n\n7. But what will be its sufferings when it returns to the use of\nthe senses, to live in the world, and go back to the anxieties\nand the fashions thereof?  I do not think that I have exaggerated\nin any way, but rather have fallen short, in speaking of that\njoy, which our Lord, of His good pleasure, gives to the soul in\nthis its exile.  Blessed for ever be Thou, O Lord! and may all\ncreated things praise Thee for ever!\n\n8. O my King, seeing that I am now, while writing this, still\nunder the power of this heavenly madness, an effect of Thy mercy\nand goodness,--and it is a mercy I never deserved,--grant, I\nbeseech Thee, that all those with whom I may have to converse may\nbecome mad through Thy love, or let me converse with none, or so\norder it that I may have nothing to do in the world, or take me\naway from it.  This Thy servant, O my God, is no longer able to\nendure sufferings so great as those are which she must bear when\nshe sees herself without Thee if she must live, she seeks no\nrepose in this life,--and do Thou give her none.  This my soul\nlongs to be free--eating is killing it, and sleep is wearisome;\nit sees itself wasting the time of this life in comforts, and\nthat there is no comfort for it now but in Thee; it seems to be\nliving contrary to nature--for now, it desires to live not in\nitself, but in Thee.\n\n9. O my true Lord and my happiness! what a cross hast Thou\nprepared for those who attain to this state!--light and most\nheavy at the same time: light, because sweet; heavy, because now\nand then there is no patience left to endure it--and yet the soul\nnever wishes to be delivered from it, unless it be that it may\ncome to Thee.  When the soul remembers that it has never served\nThee at all, and that by living on it may do Thee some service,\nit longs for a still heavier cross, and never to die before the\nend of the world.  Its own repose it counts as nothing in\ncomparison with doing a slight service to Thee.  It knows not\nwhat to desire; but it clearly understands that it desires\nnothing else but Thee.\n\n10. O my son, [6] so humble is he to whom this writing is\ndirected, and who has commanded me to write, that he suffers\nhimself to be thus addressed,--you, my father, only must see\nthese things, in which I seem to have transgressed all bounds;\nfor no reason can keep me reasonable when our Lord draws me out\nof myself.  Since my communion this morning, [7] I do not believe\nthat I am the person who is speaking; I seem to be dreaming the\nthings I see, and I wish I might never see any but people ill, as\nI am now.  I beseech you, my father, let us all be mad, for the\nlove of Him who for our sakes suffered men to say of Him that He\nwas mad. [8]\n\n11. You, my father, say that you wish me well.  I wish you would\nprove it by disposing yourself so that God may bestow this grace\nupon you; for I see very few people who have not too much sense\nfor everything they have to do: and it may be that I have more\nthan anybody else.  Your reverence must not allow it; you are my\nfather, for you are my confessor, and the person to whom I have\ntrusted my soul; disperse my delusions by telling the truth; for\ntruths of this sort are very rarely told.\n\n12. I wish we five, who now love one another in our Lord, had\nmade some such arrangement as this: as others in these times have\nmet together in secret [9] to plot wickedness and heresies\nagainst His Majesty, so we might contrive to meet together now\nand then, in order to undeceive one another, to tell each other\nwherein we might improve ourselves, and be more pleasing unto\nGod; for there is no one that knows himself as well as he is\nknown of others who see him, if it be with eyes of love and the\nwish to do him good. I say; in secret; for language of this kind\nis no longer in use; even preachers go about arranging their\nsermons so as to displease no one. [10]  They have a good\nintention, and their work is good; yet still few amend their\nlives.  But how is it that they are not many who, in consequence\nof these sermons, abstain from public sins?  Well, I think it is\nbecause the preachers are highly sensible men.  They are not\nburning with the great fire of the love of God, as the Apostles\nwere, casting worldly prudence aside; and so their fire throws\nout but little heat.  I do not say that their fire ought to burn\nlike that of the Apostles, but I do wish it were a stronger fire\nthan I see it is.  Do you, my father, know wherein much of this\nfire consists?  In the hatred of this life, in the desertion of\nits honours, in being utterly indifferent whether we lose or gain\nanything or everything, provided the truth be told and maintained\nfor the glory of God; for he who is courageously in earnest for\nGod, looks upon loss or gain indifferently.  I do not say that I\nam a person of this kind, but I wish I was.\n\n13. Oh, grand freedom, to regard it as a captivity to be obliged\nto live and converse with men according to the laws of the world!\nIt is the gift of our Lord; there is not a slave who would not\nimperil everything that he might escape and return to his\ncountry; and as this is the true road, there is no reason why we\nshould linger; for we shall never effectually gain a treasure so\ngreat, so long as this life is not ended.  May our Lord give us\nHis grace for that end!  You, my father, if it shall seem good to\nyou, will tear up what I have written, and consider it as a\nletter for yourself alone, and forgive me that I have been\nvery bold.\n\n\n1. \"The third degree, or third water, of the Saint, must begin, I\nthink, with the prayer of infused recollection, include that of\ninfused quiet, and end in that of inebriation; because it is not\nin our power to draw this water--all we can do is to direct the\nstream.\" (Francis. de St. Thoma, Medulla Mystica,\ntr. iv. ch. xii. p.\u00a0208).\n\n2. See St. John of the Cross, Spirit. Canticle, stanza\nxvii. vol. ii. p. 98, Engl. trans.\n\n3. St. Luke xv. 9: \"Convocat amicas et vicinas.\"\n\n4. Foundations, ch. xxix. \u00a7 9.\n\n5. The Saint herself (De la Fuente).\n\n6. This was either F. Yba\u00f1ez or the Inquisitor Soto, if the\nexpression did not occur in the first Life.  F. Dom. Ba\u00f1es struck\nout \"son,\" and wrote \"father\" in its place, omitting the words,\n\"so humble is he\" (De la Fuente).\n\n7. See \u00a7 3, above.\n\n8. St. John x. 20: \"D\u00e6monium habet et insanit.\"\n\n9. The Saint refers to the secret meetings of heretics in\nValladolid, under the direction of a fallen priest, the Doctor\nAgostino Cazalla, whose vanity led him to imitate Luther.\nSome nuns in Valladolid were imprisoned, Cazalla strangled, and\nhis body burnt, in 1559 (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n10. Father Ba\u00f1es wrote here on the margin of the Saint's MS,\n\"Legant pr\u00e6dicatores\" (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n\n\nChapter XVII.\n\n\nThe Third State of Prayer.  The Effects Thereof.  The Hindrance\nCaused by the Imagination and the Memory.\n\n\n1. Enough has been said of this manner of prayer, and of what the\nsoul has to do, or rather, to speak more correctly, of what God\nis doing within it; for it is He who now takes upon Himself the\ngardener's work, and who will have the soul take its ease; except\nthat the will is consenting to the graces, the fruition of which\nit has, and that it must resign itself to all that the True\nWisdom would accomplish in it--for which it is certain it has\nneed of courage; because the joy is so great, that the soul seems\nnow and then to be on the very point of going forth out of the\nbody: and what a blessed death that would be!  Now, I think it is\nfor the soul's good--as you, my father, have been told--to\nabandon itself into the arms of God altogether; if He will take\nit to heaven, let it go; if to hell, no matter, as it is going\nthither with its sovereign Good.  If life is to come to an end\nfor ever, so it wills; if it is to last a thousand years, it\nwills that also: His Majesty may do with it as with His own\nproperty,--the soul no longer belongs to itself, it has been\ngiven wholly to our Lord; let it cast all care utterly away.\n\n2. My meaning is that, in a state of prayer, so high as this, the\nsoul understands that God is doing His work without any fatiguing\nof the understanding, except that, as it seems to me, it is as if\namazed in beholding our Lord taking upon Himself the work of the\ngood gardener, refusing to let the soul undergo any labour\nwhatever, but that of taking its pleasure in the flowers\nbeginning to send forth their fragrance; for when God raises a\nsoul up to this state, it can do all this, and much more,--for\nthese are the effects of it.\n\n3. In one of these visits, how brief soever it may be, the\nGardener, being who He is,--in a word, the Creator of the\nwater,--pours the water without stint; and what the poor soul,\nwith the labour, perhaps, of twenty years in fatiguing the\nunderstanding, could not bring about, that the heavenly Gardener\naccomplishes in an instant, causing the fruit both to grow and\nripen; so that the soul, such being the will of our Lord, may\nderive its sustenance from its garden.  But He allows it not to\ndivide the fruit with others, until by eating thereof, it is\nstrong enough not to waste it in the mere tasting of it,--giving\nto Him none of the produce, nor making any compensation for it to\nHim who supplies it,--lest it should be maintaining others,\nfeeding them at its own cost, and itself perhaps dying of\nhunger. [1]  The meaning of this is perfectly clear for those who\nhave understanding enough to apply it--much more clear than I can\nmake it; and I am tired.\n\n4. Finally, the virtues are now stronger than they were during\nthe preceding prayer of quiet; for the soul sees itself to be\nother than it was, and it knows not how it is beginning to do\ngreat things in the odour which the flowers send forth; it being\nour Lord's will that the flowers should open, in order that the\nsoul may believe itself to be in possession of virtue; though it\nsees most clearly that it cannot, and never could, acquire them\nin many years, and that the heavenly Gardener has given them to\nit in that instant.  Now, too, the humility of the soul is much\ngreater and deeper than it was before; because it sees more\nclearly that it did neither much nor little, beyond giving its\nconsent that our Lord might work those graces in it, and then\naccepting them willingly.\n\n5. This state of prayer seems to me to be a most distinct union\nof the whole soul with God, but for this, that His Majesty\nappears to give the faculties leave to be intent upon, and have\nthe fruition of, the great work He is doing then.  It happens at\ntimes, and indeed very often, that, the will being in union, the\nsoul should be aware of it, and see that the will is a captive\nand in joy, that the will alone is abiding in great\npeace,--while, on the other hand, the understanding and the\nmemory are so free, that they can be employed in affairs and be\noccupied in works of charity.  I say this, that you, my father,\nmay see it is so, and understand the matter when it shall happen\nto yourself; at least, it carried me out of myself, and that is\nthe reason why I speak of it here.\n\n6. It differs from the prayer of quiet, of which I have\nspoken, [2] though it does seem as if it were all one with it.\nIn that prayer, the soul, which would willingly neither stir nor\nmove, is delighting in the holy repose of Mary; but in this\nprayer it can be like Martha also. [3]  Accordingly, the soul is,\nas it were, living the active and contemplative life at once, and\nis able to apply itself to works of charity and the affairs of\nits state, and to spiritual reading.  Still, those who arrive at\nthis state, are not wholly masters of themselves, and are well\naware that the better part of the soul is elsewhere.  It is as if\nwe were speaking to one person, and another speaking to us at the\nsame time, while we ourselves are not perfectly attentive either\nto the one or the other.  It is a state that is most easily\nascertained, and one, when attained to, that ministers great joy\nand contentment, and that prepares the soul in the highest\ndegree, by observing times of solitude, or of freedom from\nbusiness, for the attainment of the most tranquil quietude.\nIt is like the life of a man who is full, requiring no food, with\nhis appetite satisfied, so that he will not eat of everything set\nbefore him, yet not so full either as to refuse to eat if he saw\nany desirable food.  So the soul has no satisfaction in the\nworld, and seeks no pleasure in it then; because it has in itself\nthat which gives it a greater satisfaction, greater joys in God,\nlongings for the satisfaction of its longing to have a deeper joy\nin being with Him--this is what the soul seeks.\n\n7. There is another kind of union, which, though not a perfect\nunion, is yet more so than the one of which I have just spoken;\nbut not so much so as this spoken of as the third water. You, my\nfather, will be delighted greatly if our Lord should bestow them\nall upon you, if you have them not already, to find an account of\nthe matter in writing, and to understand it; for it is one grace\nthat our Lord gives grace; and it is another grace to understand\nwhat grace and what gift it is; and it is another and further\ngrace to have the power to describe and explain it to others.\nThough it does not seem that more than the first of these--the\ngiving of the grace--is necessary to enable the soul to advance\nwithout confusion and fear, and to walk with the greater courage\nin the way of our Lord, trampling under foot all the things of\nthis world, it is a great advantage and a great grace to\nunderstand it; for every one who has it has great reason to\npraise our Lord; and so, also, has he who has it not: because His\nMajesty has bestowed it upon some person living who is to make us\nprofit by it.\n\n8. This union, of which I would now speak, frequently occurs,\nparticularly to myself.  God has very often bestowed such a grace\nupon me, whereby He constrains the will, and even the\nunderstanding, as it seems to me, seeing that it makes no\nreflections, but is occupied in the fruition of God: like a\nperson who looks on, and sees so many things, that he knows not\nwhere to look--one object puts another out of sight, and none of\nthem leaves any impression behind.\n\n9. The memory remains free, and it must be so, together with the\nimagination; and so, when it finds itself alone, it is marvellous\nto behold what war it makes on the soul, and how it labours to\nthrow everything into disorder.  As for me, I am wearied by it,\nand I hate it; and very often do I implore our Lord to deprive me\nof it on these occasions, if I am to be so much troubled by it.\nNow and then, I say to Him: O my God, when shall my soul praise\nThee without distraction, not dissipated in this way, unable to\ncontrol itself!  I understand now the mischief that sin has done,\nin that it has rendered us unable to do what we desire--to be\nalways occupied in God. [4]\n\n10. I say that it happens to me from time to time,--it has done\nso this very day, and so I remember it well,--to see my soul tear\nitself, in order to find itself there where the greater part of\nit is, and to see, at the same time, that it is impossible:\nbecause the memory and the imagination assail it with such force,\nthat it cannot prevail against them; yet, as the other faculties\ngive them no assistance, they are not able to do it any\nharm--none whatever; they do enough when they trouble its rest.\nWhen I say they do no harm, my meaning is, that they cannot\nreally hurt it, because they have not strength enough, and\nbecause they are too discursive.  As the understanding gives no\nhelp, neither much nor little, in the matters put before the\nsoul, they never rest anywhere, but hurry to and fro, like\nnothing else but gnats at night, troublesome and unquiet: and so\nthey go about from one subject to another.\n\n11. This comparison seems to me to be singularly to the purpose;\nfor the memory and the imagination, though they have no power to\ndo any harm, are very troublesome.  I know of no remedy for it;\nand, hitherto, God has told me of none.  If He had, most gladly\nwould I make use of it; for I am, as I say, tormented very often.\nThis shows our wretchedness and brings out most distinctly the\ngreat power of God, seeing that the faculty which is free hurts\nand wearies us so much; while the others, occupied with His\nMajesty, give us rest.\n\n12. The only remedy I have found, after many years of weariness,\nis that I spoke of when I was describing the prayer of quiet: [5]\nto make no more account of it than of a madman, but let it go\nwith its subject; for God alone can take it from it,--in short,\nit is a slave here.  We must bear patiently with it, as Jacob\nbore with Lia; for our Lord showeth us mercy enough when we are\nallowed to have Rachel with us.\n\n13. I say that it remains a slave; for, after all, let it do what\nit will, it cannot drag the other faculties in its train; on the\ncontrary, they, without taking any trouble, compel it to follow\nafter them.  Sometimes God is pleased to take pity on it, when He\nsees it so lost and so unquiet, through the longing it has to be\nunited with the other faculties, and His Majesty consents to its\nburning itself in the flame of that divine candle by which the\nothers are already reduced to ashes, and their nature lost,\nbeing, as it were, supernaturally in the fruition of blessings\nso great.\n\n14. In all these states of prayer of which I have spoken, while\nexplaining this last method of drawing the water out of the well,\nso great is the bliss and repose of the soul, that even the body\nmost distinctly shares in its joy and delight,--and this is most\nplain; and the virtues continue to grow, as I said before. [6]\nIt seems to have been the good pleasure of our Lord to explain\nthese states of prayer, wherein the soul finds itself, with the\nutmost clearness possible, I think, here on earth.\n\n15. Do you, my father, discuss it with any spiritual person who\nhas arrived at this state, and is learned. If  he says of it, it\nis well, you may believe that God has spoken it, and you will\ngive thanks to His Majesty; for, as I said just now, [7] in the\ncourse of time you will rejoice greatly in that you have\nunderstood it.  Meanwhile, if He does not allow you to understand\nwhat it is, though He does give you the possession of it, yet,\nwith your intellect and learning, seeing that His Majesty has\ngiven you the first, you will know what it is, by the help of\nwhat I have written here.  Unto Him be praise for ever and\never!  Amen.\n\n\n1. See ch. xix. \u00a7 4.\n\n2. Ch. xv. \u00a7 1.\n\n3. See Relation, viii. \u00a7 6; and Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but\nch xxxi. of former editions.  See also Concept. of the Love of\nGod, ch. vii.\n\n4. See Relation, viii. \u00a7 17.\n\n5. Ch. xiv. \u00a7 4.  See also Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but\nch. xxxi. of the old editions.\n\n6. Ch. xiv. \u00a7 6.\n\n7. \u00a7 7.\n\n\n\nChapter XVIII.\n\n\nThe Fourth State of Prayer.  The Great Dignity of the Soul Raised\nto It by Our Lord.  Attainable on Earth, Not by Our Merit, but by\nthe Goodness of Our Lord.\n\n\n1. May our Lord teach me words whereby I may in some measure\ndescribe the fourth water. [1]  I have great need of His\nhelp--even more than I had while speaking of the last; for in\nthat the soul still feels that it is not dead altogether.  We may\nthus speak, seeing that to the world it is really dead.  But, as\nI have said, [2] it retains the sense to see that it is in the\nworld, and to feel its own loneliness; and it makes use of that\nwhich is outward for the purpose of manifesting its feelings, at\nleast by signs.  In the whole of the prayer already spoken of,\nand in all the states of it, the gardener undergoes some labour:\nthough in the later states the labour is attended with so much\nbliss and comfort of the soul, that the soul would never\nwillingly pass out of it,--and thus the labour is not felt as\nlabour, but as bliss.\n\n2. In this the fourth state there is no sense of anything, only\nfruition, without understanding what that is the fruition of\nwhich is granted.  It is understood that the fruition is of a\ncertain good containing in itself all good together at once; but\nthis good is not comprehended.  The senses are all occupied in\nthis fruition in such a way that not one of them is at liberty,\nso as to be able to attend to anything else, whether outward\nor inward.\n\n3. The senses were permitted before, as I have said, [3] to give\nsome signs of the great joy they feel; but now, in this state,\nthe joy of the soul is incomparably greater, and the power of\nshowing it is still less; for there is no power in the body, and\nthe soul has none, whereby this fruition can be made known.\nEverything of that kind would be a great hindrance, a torment,\nand a disturbance of its rest.  And I say, if it really be a\nunion of all the faculties, that the soul, even if it wished,--I\nmean, when it is in union,--cannot make it known; and if it can,\nthen it is not union at all.\n\n4. How this, which we call union, is effected, and what it is, I\ncannot tell.  Mystical theology explains it, and I do not know\nthe terms of that science; nor can I understand what the mind is,\nnor how it differs from the soul or the spirit either: all three\nseem to me but one; though I do know that the soul sometimes\nleaps forth out of itself, like a fire that is burning and is\nbecome a flame; and occasionally this fire increases\nviolently--the flame ascends high above the fire; but it is not\ntherefore a different thing: it is still the same flame of the\nsame fire.  Your learning, my fathers, will enable you to\nunderstand the matter; I can go no further.\n\n5. What I undertake to explain is that which the soul feels when\nit is in the divine union.  It is plain enough what union is--two\ndistinct things becoming one.  O my Lord, how good Thou art!\nBlessed be Thou for ever, O my God!  Let all creatures praise\nThee, Who hast so loved us that we can truly speak of this\ncommunication which Thou hast with souls in this our exile!\nYea, even if they be good souls, it is on Thy part great\nmunificence and magnanimity,--in a word, it is Thy munificence, O\nmy Lord, seeing that Thou givest like Thyself.  O infinite\nMunificence!--how magnificent are Thy works!  Even he whose\nunderstanding is not occupied with the things of earth is amazed\nthat he is unable to understand these truths.  Why, then, give\ngraces so high to souls who have been such great sinners?\nTruly, this passeth my understanding; and when I come to think of\nit, I can get no further.  Is there any way at all for me to go\non which is not a going back?  For, as to giving Thee thanks for\nmercies so great, I know not how to do it.  Sometimes I relieve\nmyself by giving utterance to follies.  It often happens to me,\neither when I receive these graces, or when God is about to\nbestow them,--for, in the midst of them, I have already said, [4]\nI was able to do nothing,--that I would break out into words\nlike these.\n\n6. O Lord, consider what Thou art doing; forget not so soon the\ngreat evils that I have done.  To forgive me, Thou must already\nhave forgotten them; yet, in order that there may be some limit\nto Thy graces, I beseech Thee remember them.  O my Creator, pour\nnot a liquor so precious into a vessel so broken; for Thou hast\nalready seen how on other occasions I allowed it to run waste.\nLay not up treasure like this, where the longing after the\nconsolations of this life is not so mortified as it ought to be;\nfor it will be utterly lost.  How canst Thou commit the defence\nof the city, and the keys of its fortress to a commander so\ncowardly, who at the first assault will let the enemy enter\nwithin?  Oh, let not Thy love be so great, O King Eternal, as to\nimperil jewels so precious!  O my Lord, to me it seems that it\nbecomes a ground for undervaluing them, when Thou puttest them in\nthe power of one so wretched, so vile, so frail, so miserable,\nand so worthless as I am, who, though she may labour not to lose\nthem, by the help of Thy grace,--and I have need of no little\ngrace for that end, being what I am,--is not able to win over any\none to Thee,--in short, I am a woman, not good, but wicked.\nIt seems to me that the talents are not only hidden, but buried,\nwhen they are committed to earth so vile.  It is not Thy wont, O\nLord, to bestow graces and mercies like these upon a soul, unless\nit be that it may edify many.\n\n7. Thou, O my God, knowest already that I beg this of Thee with\nmy whole will, from the bottom of my heart, and that I have done\nso more than once, and I account it a blessing to lose the\ngreatest blessings which may be had on earth, if Thou wouldst but\nbestow these graces upon him who will make a better use of them\nto the increase of Thy glory.  These, and expressions like these,\nit has happened to me often to utter.  I saw afterwards my own\nfoolishness and want of humility; for our Lord knoweth well what\nis expedient, and that there is no strength in my soul to be\nsaved, if His Majesty did not give it with graces so great.\n\n8. I purpose also to speak of the graces and effects which abide\nin the soul, and of that which the soul itself can do, or rather,\nif it can do anything of itself towards attaining to a state so\nhigh.  The elevation of the spirit, or union, comes together with\nheavenly love but, as I understand it, union is a different thing\nfrom elevation in union itself.  To him who may not have had any\nexperience of the latter, it must seem that it is not; and,\naccording to my view of it, even if they are both one, the\noperations of our Lord therein are different: there is a growth\nof the soul's detachment from creatures more abundantly still in\nthe flight of the spirit. [5]  I have clearly seen that this is a\nparticular grace, though, as I say, it may be the same, or seem\nto be so, with the other; but a little fire, also, is as much\nfire as a great fire--and yet there is a visible difference\nbetween them.  Before a small piece of iron is made red-hot in a\nlittle fire, some time must pass; but if the fire be great, the\niron very quickly, though bulky, loses its nature altogether\nin appearance.\n\n9. So, it seems to me, is it with these two kinds of graces which\nour Lord bestows.  He who has had raptures will, I am sure,\nunderstand it well; to him who has not had that experience, it\nmust appear folly.  And, indeed, it may well be so; for if a\nperson like myself should speak of a matter of this kind, and\ngive any explanation at all of that for the description of which\nno words ever can possibly be found, it is not to be wondered at\nthat I may be speaking foolishly.\n\n10. But I have this confidence in our Lord, that He will help me\nhere; for His Majesty knoweth that my object in writing--the\nfirst is to obey--is to inspire souls with a longing after so\nhigh a good.  I will speak of nothing that I do not know by great\nexperience: and so, when I began to describe the last kind of\nwater, I thought it more impossible for me to speak of it at all\nthan to speak Greek.  It is a very difficult matter; so I left\nit, and went to Communion.  Blessed be our Lord, who is merciful\nto the ignorant!  Oh, virtue of obedience! it can do everything!\nGod enlightened my understanding--at one time suggesting the\nwords, at another showing me how to use them; for, as in the\npreceding state of prayer, so also now, His Majesty seems to\nutter what I can neither speak nor understand. [6]\n\n11. What I am saying is the simple truth; and therefore whatever\nis good herein is His teaching; what is erroneous, clearly comes\nout of that sea of evil--myself.  If there be any--and there must\nbe many--who, having attained to these states of prayer whereunto\nour Lord in His mercy has brought me--wretch that I am!--and who,\nthinking they have missed their way, desire to treat of these\nmatters with me, I am sure that our Lord will help His servant to\ndeclare the truth more plainly.\n\n12. I am now speaking of the water which cometh down from heaven\nto fill and saturate in its abundance the whole of this garden\nwith water.  If our Lord never ceased to pour it down whenever it\nwas necessary, the gardener certainly would have plenty of rest;\nand if there were no winter, but an ever temperate season, fruits\nand flowers would never fail.  The gardener would have his\ndelight therein; but in this life that is impossible.  We must\nalways be careful, when one water fails, to obtain another.\nThis water from heaven comes down very often when the gardener\nleast expects it.\n\n13. The truth is that, in the beginning, this almost always\nhappens after much mental prayer.  Our Lord advances step by step\nto lay hold of the little bird, and to lay it in the nest where\nit may repose.  He observed it fluttering for a long time,\nstriving with the understanding and the will, and with all its\nmight, to seek God and to please Him; so now it is His pleasure\nto reward it even in this life.  And what a reward!--one moment\nis enough to repay all the possible trials of this life.\n\n14. The soul, while thus seeking after God, is conscious, with a\njoy excessive and sweet, that it is, as it were, utterly fainting\naway in a kind of trance: breathing, and all the bodily strength,\nfail it, so that it cannot even move the hands without great\npain; the eyes close involuntarily, and if they are open, they\nare as if they saw nothing; nor is reading possible,--the very\nletters seem strange, and cannot be distinguished,--the letters,\nindeed, are visible, but, as the understanding furnishes no help,\nall reading is impracticable, though seriously attempted.\nThe ear hears; but what is heard is not comprehended.  The senses\nare of no use whatever, except to hinder the soul's fruition; and\nso they rather hurt it.  It is useless to try to speak, because\nit is not possible to conceive a word; nor, if it were conceived,\nis there strength sufficient to utter it; for all bodily strength\nvanishes, and that of the soul increases, to enable it the better\nto have the fruition of its joy.  Great and most perceptible,\nalso, is the outward joy now felt.\n\n15. This prayer, however long it may last, does no harm--at\nleast, it has never done any to me; nor do I remember, however\nill I might have been when our Lord had mercy upon me in this\nway, that I ever felt the worse for it--on the contrary, I was\nalways better afterwards.  But so great a blessing, what harm can\nit do?  The outward effects are so plain as to leave no doubt\npossible that there must have been some great cause, seeing that\nit thus robs us of our bodily powers with so much joy, in order\nto leave them greater.\n\n16. The truth is, it passes away so quickly in the beginning--at\nleast, so it was with me--that neither by the outward signs, nor\nby the failure of the senses, can it be perceived when it passes\nso quickly away.  But it is plain, from the overflowing abundance\nof grace, that the brightness of the sun which had shone there\nmust have been great, seeing that it has thus made the soul to\nmelt away.  And this is to be considered; for, as it seems to me,\nthe period of time, however long it may have been, during which\nthe faculties of the soul were entranced, is very short; if half\nan hour, that would be a long time.  I do not think that I have\never been so long. [7]  The truth of the matter is this: it is\nextremely difficult to know how long, because the senses are in\nsuspense; but I think that at any time it cannot be very long\nbefore some one of the faculties recovers itself.  It is the will\nthat persists in the work; the other two faculties quickly begin\nto molest it.  As the will is calm, it entrances them again; they\nare quiet for another moment, and then they recover themselves\nonce more.\n\n17. In this way, some hours may be, and are, passed in prayer;\nfor when the two faculties begin to drink deep, and to perceive\nthe taste of this divine wine, they give themselves up with great\nreadiness, in order to be the more absorbed: they follow the\nwill, and the three rejoice together.  But this state of complete\nabsorption, together with the utter rest of the imagination,--for\nI believe that even the imagination is then wholly at\nrest,--lasts only for a short time; though the faculties do not\nso completely recover themselves as not to be for some hours\nafterwards as if in disorder: God, from time to time, drawing\nthem to Himself.\n\n18. Let us now come to that which the soul feels interiorly.\nLet him describe it who knows it; for as it is impossible to\nunderstand it, much more is it so to describe it.  When I\npurposed to write this, I had just communicated, and had risen\nfrom the very prayer of which I am speaking.  I am thinking of\nwhat the soul was then doing.  Our Lord said to me: It undoes\nitself utterly, My daughter, in order that it may give itself\nmore and more to Me: it is not itself that then lives, it is I.\nAs it cannot comprehend what it understands, it understands by\nnot understanding. [8]\n\n19. He who has had experience of this will understand it in some\nmeasure, for it cannot be more clearly described, because what\nthen takes place is so obscure.  All I am able to say is, that\nthe soul is represented as being close to God; and that there\nabides a conviction thereof so certain and strong, that it cannot\npossibly help believing so.  All the faculties fail now, and are\nsuspended in such a way that, as I said before, [9] their\noperations cannot be traced.  If the soul is making a meditation\non any subject, the memory of it is lost at once, just as if it\nhad never been thought of.  If it reads, what is read is not\nremembered nor dwelt upon; neither is it otherwise with vocal\nprayer.  Accordingly, the restless little butterfly of the memory\nhas its wings burnt now, and it cannot fly.  The will must be\nfully occupied in loving, but it understands not how it loves;\nthe understanding, if it understands, does not understand how it\nunderstands--at least, it can comprehend nothing of that it\nunderstands: it does not understand, as it seems to me, because,\nas I said just now, this cannot be understood.  I do not\nunderstand it at all myself.\n\n20. In the beginning, it happened to me that I was ignorant of\none thing--I did not know that God was in all things: [10] and\nwhen He seemed to me to be so near, I thought it impossible.\nNot to believe that He was present, was not in my power; for it\nseemed to me, as it were, evident that I felt there His very\npresence.  Some unlearned men used to say to me, that He was\npresent only by His grace.  I could not believe that, because, as\nI am saying, He seemed to me to be present Himself: so I was\ndistressed.  A most learned man, of the Order of the glorious\nPatriarch St. Dominic, delivered me from this doubt; for he told\nme that He was present, and how He communed with us: this was a\ngreat comfort to me.\n\n21. It is to be observed and understood that this water from\nheaven,--this greatest grace of our Lord--always leaves in the\nsoul the greatest fruits, as I shall now show.\n\n1. See ch. xi. \u00a7 11.\n\n2. Ch. xvi. \u00a7\u00a7 7, 8.\n\n3. Ch. xvii. \u00a7 5.\n\n4. \u00a7 3.\n\n5. See ch. xx. \u00a7 10; and Relation, viii. \u00a7 10.\n\n6. See ch. xiv. \u00a7 12.\n\n7. See Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Director. Mystic. tr. iv. \u00a7 9, n.\u00a072.\n\n8. Thomas \u00e0 Jesu, De Contemplatione Divina, lib. v. c. xiii.:\n\"Quasi dicat: cum intellectus non possit Dei immensam illam\nclaritatem et incomprehensibilem plenitudinem comprehendere, hoc\nipsum est illam conspicere ac intelligere, intelligere se non\nposse intellectu cognoscere: quod quidem nihil aliud est quam\nDeum sub ratione incomprehensibilitatis videre ac\u00a0cognoscere.\"\n\nPhilip. \u00e0 SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. Disc. Proem. art.\niv. p. 6: \"Cum ipsa [S. Teresa] scire vellet, quid in illa\nmystica unione operaretur intellectus, respondit [Christus] illi,\ncum non possit comprehendere quod intelligit, est non intelligere\nintelligendo: tum quia pr\u00e6 claritate nimia quodammodo offuscatur\nintellectus, unde pr\u00e6 altissima et supereminentissima Dei\ncognitione videtur anima potius Deum ignorare quam\u00a0cognoscere.\"\n\n9. Ch. x. \u00a7 1, and ch. xviii. \u00a7 16.\n\n10. See Inner Fortress, v. ch. i. \u00a7 11.\n\n\n\nChapter XIX.\n\n\nThe Effects of This Fourth State of Prayer.  Earnest Exhortations\nto Those Who Have Attained to It Not to Go Back, Nor to Cease\nfrom Prayer, Even if They Fall.  The Great Calamity of\nGoing Back.\n\n\n1. There remains in the soul, when the prayer of union is over,\nan exceedingly great tenderness; so much so, that it would undo\nitself--not from pain, but through tears of joy it finds itself\nbathed therein, without being aware of it, and it knows not how\nor when it wept them.  But to behold the violence of the fire\nsubdued by the water, which yet makes it burn the more, gives it\ngreat delight.  It seems as if I were speaking an unknown\nlanguage.  So it is, however.\n\n2. It has happened to me occasionally, when this prayer was over,\nto be so beside myself as not to know whether I had been\ndreaming, or whether the bliss I felt had really been mine; and,\non finding myself in a flood of tears--which had painlessly\nflowed, with such violence and rapidity that it seemed as if a\ncloud from heaven [1] had shed them--to perceive that it was no\ndream.  Thus it was with me in the beginning, when it passed\nquickly away.  The soul remains possessed of so much courage,\nthat if it were now hewn in pieces for God, it would be a great\nconsolation to it.  This is the time of resolutions, of heroic\ndeterminations, of the living energy of good desires, of the\nbeginning of hatred of the world, and of the most clear\nperception of its vanity.  The soul makes greater and higher\nprogress than it ever made before in the previous states of\nprayer; and grows in humility more and more, because it sees\nclearly that neither for obtaining nor for retaining this grace,\ngreat beyond all measure, has it ever done, or ever been able to\ndo, anything of itself. It looks upon itself as most\nunworthy--for in a room into which the sunlight enters strongly,\nnot a cobweb can be hid; it sees its own misery; self-conceit is\nso far away, that it seems as if it never could have had any--for\nnow its own eyes behold how very little it could ever do, or\nrather, that it never did anything, that it hardly gave even its\nown consent, but that it rather seemed as if the doors of the\nsenses were closed against its will in order that it might have\nmore abundantly the fruition of our Lord.  It is abiding alone\nwith Him: what has it to do but to love Him?  It neither sees nor\nhears, unless on compulsion: no thanks to it.  Its past life\nstands before it then, together with the great mercy of God, in\ngreat distinctness; and it is not necessary for it to go forth to\nhunt with the understanding, because what it has to eat and\nruminate upon, it sees now ready prepared.  It sees, so far as\nitself is concerned, that it has deserved hell, and that its\npunishment is bliss.  It undoes itself in the praises of God, and\nI would gladly undo myself now.\n\n3. Blessed be Thou, O my Lord, who, out of a pool so filthy as I\nam, bringest forth water so clean as to be meet for Thy table!\nPraised be Thou, O Joy of the Angels, who hast been thus pleased\nto exalt so vile a worm!\n\n4. The good effects of this prayer abide in the soul for some\ntime.  Now that it clearly apprehends that the fruit is not its\nown, the soul can begin to share it with others, and that without\nany loss to itself.  It begins to show signs of its being a soul\nthat is guarding the treasures of heaven, and to be desirous of\ncommunicating them to others, [2] and to pray to God that itself\nmay not be the only soul that is rich in them.  It begins to\nbenefit its neighbours, as it were, without being aware of it, or\ndoing anything consciously: its neighbours understand the matter,\nbecause the odour of the flowers has grown so strong as to make\nthem eager to approach them.  They understand that this soul is\nfull of virtue: they see the fruit, how delicious it is, and they\nwish to help that soul to eat it.\n\n5. If this ground be well dug by troubles, by persecutions,\ndetractions, and infirmities,--they are few who ascend so high\nwithout this,--if it be well broken up by great detachment from\nall self-interest, it will drink in so much water that it can\nhardly ever be parched again.  But if it be ground which is mere\nwaste, and covered with thorns (as I was when I began); if the\noccasions of sin be not avoided; if it be an ungrateful soil,\nunfitted for so great a grace,--it will be parched up again.\nIf the gardener become careless,--and if our Lord, out of His\nmere goodness, will not send down rain upon it,--the garden is\nruined. Thus has it been with me more than once, so that I am\namazed at it; and if I had not found it so by experience, I could\nnot have believed it.\n\n6. I write this for the comfort of souls which are weak, as I am,\nthat they may never despair, nor cease to trust in the power of\nGod; even if they should fall after our Lord has raised them to\nso high a degree of prayer as this is, they must not be\ndiscouraged, unless they would lose themselves utterly.\nTears gain everything, and one drop of water attracts another.\n\n7. One of the reasons that move me, who am what I am, under\nobedience to write this, and give an account of my wretched life,\nand of the graces our Lord has wrought in me,--though I never\nserved Him, but offended Him rather,--is what I have just given:\nand, certainly, I wish I was a person of great authority, that\npeople might believe what I say.  I pray to our Lord that His\nMajesty would be pleased to grant me this grace.  I repeat it,\nlet no one who has begun to give himself to prayer be\ndiscouraged, and say: If I fall into sin, it will be worse for me\nif I go on now with the practice of prayer.  I think so too, if\nhe gives up prayer, and does not correct his evil ways; but if he\ndoes not give up prayer, let him be assured of this--prayer will\nbring him to the haven of light.\n\n8. In this the devil turned his batteries against me, and I\nsuffered so much because I thought it showed but little humility\nif I persevered in prayer when I was so wicked, that--as I have\nalready said [3]--I gave it up for a year and a half--at least,\nfor a year, but I do not remember distinctly the other six\nmonths.  This could not have been, neither was it, anything else\nbut to throw myself down into hell; there was no need of any\ndevils to drag me thither.  O my God, was there ever blindness so\ngreat as this?  How well Satan prepares his measures for his\npurpose, when he pursues us in this way!  The traitor knows that\nhe has already lost that soul which perseveres in prayer, and\nthat every fall which he can bring about helps it, by the\ngoodness of God, to make greater progress in His service.\nSatan has some interest in this.\n\n9. O my Jesus, what a sight that must be--a soul so highly\nexalted falling into sin, and raised up again by Thee; who, in\nThy mercy, stretchest forth Thine hand to save!  How such a soul\nconfesses Thy greatness and compassion and its own wretchedness!\nIt really looks on itself as nothingness, and confesses Thy\npower.  It dares not lift up its eyes; it raises them, indeed,\nbut it is to acknowledge how much it oweth unto Thee.  It becomes\ndevout to the Queen of Heaven, that she may propitiate Thee; it\ninvokes the Saints, who fell after Thou hadst called them, for\nsuccour.  Thou seemest now to be too bountiful in Thy gifts,\nbecause it feels itself to be unworthy of the earth it treads on.\nIt has recourse to the Sacraments, to a quickened faith, which\nabides in it at the contemplation of the power which Thou hast\nlodged in them.  It praises Thee because Thou hast left us such\nmedicines and ointment for our wounds, which not only heal them\non the surface, but remove all traces whatever of them.\n\n10. The soul is amazed at it.  Who is there, O Lord of my soul,\nthat is not amazed at compassion so great and mercy so\nsurpassing, after treason so foul and so hateful?  I know not how\nit is that my heart does not break when I write this, for I am\nwicked.  With these scanty tears which I am now weeping, but yet\nThy gift,--water out of a well, so far as it is mine, so\nimpure,--I seem to make Thee some recompense for treachery so\ngreat as mine, in that I was always doing evil, labouring to make\nvoid the graces Thou hast given me.  Do Thou, O Lord, make my\ntears available; purify the water which is so muddy; at least,\nlet me not be to others a temptation to rash judgments, as I have\nbeen to myself, when I used to think such thoughts as these.\nWhy, O Lord, dost Thou pass by most holy persons, who have always\nserved Thee, and who have been tried; who have been brought up in\nreligion, and are really religious--not such as I am, having only\nthe name--so as to make it plain that they are not recipients of\nthose graces which Thou hast bestowed upon me?\n\n11. I see clearly now, O Thou my Good, Thou hast kept the reward\nto give it them all at once: my weakness has need of these\nsuccours.  They, being strong, serve Thee without them, and Thou\ndealest with them as with a strong race, free from all\nself-interest.  But yet Thou knowest, O my Lord, that I have\noften cried unto Thee, making excuses for those who murmured\nagainst me; for I thought they had reason on their side.  This I\ndid then when Thou of Thy goodness hadst kept me back from\noffending Thee so much, and when I was departing from everything\nwhich I thought displeasing unto Thee.  It was when I did this\nthat Thou, O Lord, didst begin to lay open Thy treasures for Thy\nservant.  It seemed as if Thou wert looking for nothing else but\nthat I should be willing and ready to receive them; accordingly,\nThou didst begin at once, not only to give them, but also to make\nothers know that Thou wert giving them.\n\n12. When this was known, there began to prevail a good opinion of\nher, of whom all had not yet clearly understood how wicked she\nwas, though much of that wickedness was plain enough. Calumny and\npersecution began at once, and, as I think, with good reason; so\nI looked on none of them as an enemy, but made my supplications\nto Thee, imploring Thee to consider the grounds they had.\nThey said that I wished to be a saint, and that I invented\nnovelties; but I had not then attained in many things even to the\nobservance of my rule; nor had I come near those excellent and\nholy nuns who were in the house,--and I do not believe I ever\nshall, if God of His goodness will not do that for me Himself; on\nthe contrary, I was there only to do away with what was good, and\nintroduce customs which were not good; at least, I did what I\ncould to bring them in, and I was very powerful for evil.\nThus it was that they were blameless, when they blamed me.  I do\nnot mean the nuns only, but the others as well: they told me\ntruths; for it was Thy will.\n\n13. I was once saying the Office,--I had had this temptation for\nsome time,--and when I came to these words, \"Justus es, Domine,\net rectum judicium tuum,\" [4] I began to think what a deep truth\nit was.  Satan never was strong enough to tempt me in any way to\ndoubt of Thy goodness, or of any article of the faith: on the\ncontrary, it seems to me that the more these truths were above\nnature, the more firmly I held them, and my devotion grew; when I\nthought of Thy omnipotence, I accepted all Thy wonderful works,\nand I say it again, I never had a doubt.  Then, as I was thinking\nhow it could be just in Thee to allow so many, who, as I said,\nare Thy most faithful servants, to remain without those\nconsolations and graces which Thou hast given to me, who am what\nI am, Thou, O my Lord, didst answer me: Serve thou Me, and meddle\nnot with this.\n\n14. This was the first word which I ever heard Thee speak to me,\nand it made me greatly afraid.  But as I shall speak\nhereafter [5] of this way of hearing, and of other matters, I say\nnothing here; for to do so would be to digress from my subject,\nand I have already made digressions enough.  I scarcely know what\nI have said, nor can it be otherwise; but you, my father, must\nbear with these interruptions; for when I consider what God must\nhave borne with from me, and when I see the state I am in, it is\nnot strange that I should wander in what I am saying, and what I\nhave still to say.\n\n15. May it please our Lord that my wanderings may be of this\nkind, and may His Majesty never suffer me to have strength to\nresist Him even in the least; yea, rather than that, may He\ndestroy me this moment.  It is evidence enough of His great\ncompassions, that He has forgiven so much ingratitude, not once,\nbut often.  He forgave St. Peter once; but I have been forgiven\nmany times.  Satan had good reasons for tempting me: I ought\nnever to have pretended to a strict friendship with One, my\nhatred of whom I made so public.  Was there ever blindness so\ngreat as mine?  Where could I think I should find help but in\nThee?  What folly to run away from the light, to be for ever\nstumbling!  What a proud humility was that which Satan devised\nfor me, when I ceased to lean upon the pillar, and threw the\nstaff away which supported me, in order that my fall might not\nbe great! [6]\n\n16. I make the sign of the cross this moment.  I do not think I\never escaped so great a danger as this device of Satan, which he\nwould have imposed upon me in the disguise of humility. [7]\nHe filled me with such thoughts as these: How could I make my\nprayer, who was so wicked, and yet had received so many mercies?\nIt was enough for me to recite the Office, as all others did; but\nas I did not that much well, how could I desire to do more?\nI was not reverential enough, and made too little of the mercies\nof God.  There was no harm in these thoughts and feelings in\nthemselves; but to act upon them, that was an exceedingly great\nwickedness.  Blessed be Thou, O Lord; for Thou camest to my help.\nThis seems to me to be in principle the temptation of Judas, only\nthat Satan did not dare to tempt me so openly.  But he might have\nled me by little and little, as he led Judas, to the same pit\nof destruction.\n\n17. Let all those who give themselves to prayer, for the love of\nGod, look well to this.  They should know that when I was\nneglecting it, my life was much worse than it had ever been; let\nthem reflect on the excellent help and the pleasant humility\nwhich Satan provided for me: it was a grave interior disquietude.\nBut how could my spirit be quiet?  It was going away in its\nmisery from its true rest.  I remembered the graces and mercies I\nhad received, and felt that the joys of this world were\nloathsome.  I am astonished that I was able to bear it.  It must\nhave been the hope I had; for, as well as I can remember now, it\nis more than twenty-one years ago.  I do not think I ever gave up\nmy purpose of resuming my prayer; but I was waiting to be very\nfree from sin first.\n\n18. Oh, how deluded I was in this expectation!  The devil would\nhave held it out before me till the day of judgment, that he\nmight then take me with him to hell.  Then, when I applied myself\nto prayer and to spiritual reading,--whereby I might perceive\nthese truths, and the evil nature of the way I was walking in,\nand was often importunate with our Lord in tears,--I was so\nwicked, that it availed me nothing; when I gave that up, and\nwasted my time in amusing myself, in great danger of falling into\nsin, and with scanty helps,--and I may venture to say no help at\nall, unless it was a help to my ruin,--what could I expect but\nthat of which I have spoken?\n\n19. I believe that a certain Dominican friar, a most learned man,\nhas greatly merited in the eyes of God; for it was he who roused\nme from this slumber.  He made me--I think I said so\nbefore [8]--go to Communion once a fortnight, and be less given\nto evil; I began to be converted, though I did not cease to\noffend our Lord all at once: however, as I had not lost my way, I\nwalked on in it, though slowly, falling and rising again; and he\nwho does not cease to walk and press onwards, arrives at last,\neven if late.  To lose one's way is--so it seems to me--nothing\nelse but the giving up of prayer.  God, of His mercy, keeps us\nfrom this!\n\n20. It is clear from this,--and, for the love of God, consider it\nwell,--that a soul, though it may receive great graces from God\nin prayer, must never rely on itself, because it may fall, nor\nexpose itself in any way whatever to any risks of sin.  This\nshould be well considered because much depends on it; for the\ndelusion here, wherein Satan is able to entangle us afterwards,\nthough the grace be really from God, lies in the traitor's making\nuse of that very grace, so far as he can, for his own purpose,\nand particularly against persons not grown strong in virtues, who\nare neither mortified nor detached; for these are not at present\nstrong enough--as I shall explain hereafter [9]--to expose\nthemselves to dangerous occasions, notwithstanding the noble\ndesires and resolutions they may have.\n\n21. This doctrine is excellent, and not mine, but the teaching of\nGod, and accordingly I wish ignorant people like myself knew it;\nfor even if a soul were in this state, it must not rely so much\nupon itself as to go forth to the battle, because it will have\nenough to do in defending itself.  Defensive armour is the\npresent necessity; the soul is not yet strong enough to assail\nSatan, and to trample him under foot, as those are who are in the\nstate of which I shall speak further on. [10]\n\n22. This is the delusion by which Satan prevails: when a soul\nsees itself so near unto God, when it sees the difference there\nis between the things of heaven and those of earth, and when it\nsees the love which our Lord bears it, there grows out of that\nlove a certain trust and confidence that there is to be no\nfalling away from that the fruition of which it then possesses.\nIt seems to see the reward distinctly, as if it were impossible\nfor it to abandon that which, even in this life, is so delicious\nand sweet, for anything so mean and impure as worldly joy.\nThrough this confidence, Satan robs it of that distrust which it\nought to have in itself; and so, as I have just said, [11] the\nsoul exposes itself to dangers, and begins, in the fulness of its\nzeal, to give away without discretion the fruit of its garden,\nthinking that now it has no reason to be afraid for itself.\nYet this does not come out of pride; for the soul clearly\nunderstands that of itself it can do no good thing; but rather\nout of an excessive confidence in God, without discretion:\nbecause the soul does not see itself to be unfledged.  It can go\nforth out of its nest, and God Himself may take it out, but still\nit cannot fly, because the virtues are not strong, and itself has\nno experience wherewith to discern the dangers; nor is it aware\nof the evil which trusting to itself may do it.\n\n23. This it was that ruined me.  Now, to understand this, and\neverything else in the spiritual life, we have great need of a\ndirector, and of conference with spiritual persons.  I fully\nbelieve, with respect to that soul which God raises to this\nstate, that He will not cease to be gracious to it, nor suffer it\nto be lost, if it does not utterly forsake His Majesty.  But when\nthat soul--as I said--falls, let it look to it again and again,\nfor the love of our Lord, that Satan deceive it not by tempting\nit to give up prayer, as he tempted me, through that false\nhumility of which I have spoken before, [12] and would gladly\nspeak of again and again.  Let it rely on the goodness of God,\nwhich is greater than all the evil we can do.  When we,\nacknowledging our own vileness, desire to return into His grace,\nHe remembers our ingratitude no more,--no, not even the graces He\nhas given us, for the purpose of chastising us, because of our\nmisuse of them; yea, rather, they help to procure our pardon the\nsooner, as of persons who have been members of His household, and\nwho, as they say, have eaten of His bread.\n\n24. Let them remember His words, and behold what He hath done\nunto me, who grew weary of sinning before He grew weary of\nforgiving.  He is never weary of giving, nor can His compassion\nbe exhausted.  Let us not grow weary ourselves of receiving.\nMay He be blessed for ever, Amen; and may all created things\npraise Him!\n\n\n1. See ch. xx. \u00a7 2.\n\n2. See ch. xvii. \u00a7 3.\n\n3. Ch. vii. \u00a7 17, and ch. viii. \u00a7 5.\n\n4. Psalm cxviii. 137: \"Thou art just, O Lord, and Thy judgment\nis\u00a0right.\"\n\n5. See ch. xxv.\n\n6. See ch. viii. \u00a7 1.\n\n7. Ch. vii. \u00a7 17.\n\n8. Ch. vii. \u00a7 27.\n\n9. Ch. xxxi. \u00a7 21.\n\n10. Ch. xx. \u00a7 33, and ch. xxv. \u00a7 24.\n\n11. Ch. xix. \u00a7 4.\n\n12. See \u00a7 16.\n\n\n\nChapter XX.\n\n\nThe Difference Between Union and Rapture.  What Rapture Is.\nThe Blessing It Is to the Soul.  The Effects of It.\n\n\n1. I wish I could explain, with the help of God, wherein union\ndiffers from rapture, or from transport, or from flight of the\nspirit, as they speak, or from a trance, which are all one. [1]\nI mean, that all these are only different names for that one and\nthe same thing, which is also called ecstasy. [2]  It is more\nexcellent than union, the fruits of it are much greater, and its\nother operations more manifold; for union is uniform in the\nbeginning, the middle, and the end, and is so also interiorly.\nBut as raptures have ends of a much higher kind, they produce\neffects both within and without. [3]  As our Lord has explained\nthe other matters, so also may He explain this; for certainly, if\nHe had not shown me in what way and by what means this\nexplanation was in some measure possible, I should never have\nbeen able to do it.\n\n2. Consider we now that this last water, of which I am speaking,\nis so abundant that, were it not that the ground refuses to\nreceive it, we might suppose that the cloud of His great Majesty\nis here raining down upon us on earth.  And when we are giving\nHim thanks for this great mercy, drawing near to Him in earnest,\nwith all our might, then it is our Lord draws up the soul, as the\nclouds, so to speak, gather the mists from the face of the earth,\nand carries it away out of itself,--I have heard it said that the\nclouds, or the sun, draw the mists together, [4]--and as a cloud,\nrising up to heaven, takes the soul with Him, and begins to show\nit the treasures of the kingdom which He has prepared for it.\nI know not whether the comparison be accurate or not; but the\nfact is, that is the way in which it is brought about.\nDuring rapture, the soul does not seem to animate the body, the\nnatural heat of which is perceptibly lessened; the coldness\nincreases, though accompanied with exceeding joy\nand sweetness. [5]\n\n3. A rapture is absolutely irresistible; whilst union, inasmuch\nas we are then on our own ground, may be hindered, though that\nresistance be painful and violent; it is, however, almost always\nimpossible.  But rapture, for the most part, is irresistible.\nIt comes, in general, as a shock, quick and sharp, before you can\ncollect your thoughts, or help yourself in any way, and you see\nand feel it as a cloud, or a strong eagle rising upwards, and\ncarrying you away on its wings.\n\n4. I repeat it: you feel and see yourself carried away, you know\nnot whither.  For though we feel how delicious it is, yet the\nweakness of our nature makes us afraid at first, and we require a\nmuch more resolute and courageous spirit than in the previous\nstates, in order to risk everything, come what may, and to\nabandon ourselves into the hands of God, and go willingly whither\nwe are carried, seeing that we must be carried away, however\npainful it may be; and so trying is it, that I would very often\nresist, and exert all my strength, particularly at those times\nwhen the rapture was coming on me in public.  I did so, too, very\noften when I was alone, because I was afraid of delusions.\nOccasionally I was able, by great efforts, to make a slight\nresistance; but afterwards I was worn out, like a person who had\nbeen contending with a strong giant; at other times it was\nimpossible to resist at all: my soul was carried away, and almost\nalways my head with it,--I had no power over it,--and now and\nthen the whole body as well, so that it was lifted up from\nthe ground.\n\n5. This has not happened to me often: once, however, it took\nplace when we were all together in choir, and I, on my knees, on\nthe point of communicating.  It was a very sore distress to me;\nfor I thought it a most extraordinary thing, and was afraid it\nwould occasion much talk; so I commanded the nuns--for it\nhappened after I was made Prioress--never to speak of it.  But at\nother times, the moment I felt that our Lord was about to repeat\nthe act, and once, in particular, during a sermon,--it was the\nfeast of our house, some great ladies being present,--I threw\nmyself on the ground; then the nuns came around me to hold me;\nbut still the rapture was observed.\n\n6. I made many supplications to our Lord, that He would be\npleased to give me no more of those graces which were outwardly\nvisible; for I was weary of living under such great restraint,\nand because His Majesty could not bestow such graces on me\nwithout their becoming known.  It seems that, of His goodness, He\nhas been pleased to hear my prayer; for I have never been\nenraptured since.  It is true that it was not long ago. [6]\n\n7. It seemed to me, when I tried to make some resistance, as if a\ngreat force beneath my feet lifted me up.  I know of nothing with\nwhich to compare it; but it was much more violent than the other\nspiritual visitations, and I was therefore as one ground to\npieces; for it is a great struggle, and, in short, of little use,\nwhenever our Lord so wills it.  There is no power against\nHis power.\n\n8. At other times He is pleased to be satisfied when He makes us\nsee that He is ready to give us this grace, and that it is not He\nthat withholds it.  Then, when we resist it out of humility, He\nproduces those very effects which would have resulted if we had\nfully consented to it.\n\n9. The effects of rapture are great: one is that the mighty power\nof our Lord is manifested; and as we are not strong enough, when\nHis Majesty wills it, to control either soul or body, so neither\nhave we any power over it; but, whether we like it or not, we see\nthat there is one mightier than we are, that these graces are His\ngifts, and that of ourselves we can do nothing whatever; and\nhumility is deeply imprinted in us.  And further, I confess that\nit threw me into great fear, very great indeed at first; for when\nI saw my body thus lifted up from the earth, how could I help it?\nThough the spirit draws it upwards after itself, and that with\ngreat sweetness, if unresisted, the senses are not lost; at\nleast, I was so much myself as to be able to see that I was being\nlifted up.  The majesty of Him who can effect this so manifests\nitself, that the hairs of my head stand upright, [7] and a great\nfear comes upon me of offending God, who is so mighty.  This fear\nis bound up in exceedingly great love, which is acquired anew,\nand directed to Him, who, we see, bears so great a love to a worm\nso vile, and who seems not to be satisfied with attracting the\nsoul to Himself in so real a way, but who will have the body\nalso, though it be mortal and of earth so foul, such as it is\nthrough our sins, which are so great.\n\n10. Rapture leaves behind a certain strange detachment also,\nwhich I shall never be able to describe; I think I can say that\nit is in some respects different from--yea, higher than--the\nother graces, which are simply spiritual; for though these effect\na complete detachment in spirit from all things, it seems that in\nthis of rapture our Lord would have the body itself to be\ndetached also: and thus a certain singular estrangement from the\nthings of earth is wrought, which makes life much more\ndistressing.  Afterwards it causes a pain, which we can never\ninflict of ourselves, nor remove when once it has come.\n\n11. I should like very much to explain this great pain, and I\nbelieve I shall not be able; however, I will say something if I\ncan.  And it is to be observed that this is my present state, and\none to which I have been brought very lately, after all the\nvisions and revelations of which I shall speak, and after that\ntime, wherein I gave myself to prayer, in which our Lord gave me\nso much sweetness and delight. [8]  Even now I have that\nsweetness occasionally; but it is the pain of which I speak that\nis the most frequent and the most common.  It varies in its\nintensity.  I will now speak of it when it is sharpest; for I\nshall speak later on [9] of the great shocks I used to feel when\nour Lord would throw me into those trances, and which are, in my\nopinion, as different from this pain as the most corporeal thing\nis from the most spiritual; and I believe that I am not\nexaggerating much. For though the soul feels that pain, it is in\ncompany with the body; [10] both soul and body apparently share\nit, and it is not attended with that extremity of abandonment\nwhich belongs to this.\n\n12. As I said before, [11] we have no part in causing this pain;\nbut very often there springs up a desire unexpectedly,--I know\nnot how it comes,--and because of this desire, which pierces the\nsoul in a moment, the soul begins to be wearied, so much so that\nit rises upwards above itself, and above all created things. God\nthen so strips it of everything, that, do what it may, there is\nnothing on earth that can be its companion.  Neither, indeed,\nwould it wish to have any; it would rather die in that\nloneliness.  If people spoke to it, and if itself made every\neffort possible to speak, it would be of little use: the spirit,\nnotwithstanding all it may do, cannot be withdrawn from that\nloneliness; and though God seems, as it were, far away from the\nsoul at that moment, yet He reveals His grandeurs at times in the\nstrangest way conceivable.  That way is indescribable; I do not\nthink any one can believe or comprehend it who has not previously\nhad experience of it.  It is a communication made, not to\nconsole, but to show the reason why the soul must be weary;\nbecause it is far away from the Good which in itself comprehends\nall good.\n\n13. In this communication the desire grows, so also does the\nbitterness of that loneliness wherein the soul beholds itself,\nsuffering a pain so sharp and piercing that, in that very\nloneliness in which it dwells, it may literally say of\nitself,--and perhaps the royal prophet said so, being in that\nvery loneliness himself, except that our Lord may have granted to\nhim, being a saint, to feel it more deeply,--\"Vigilavi, et factus\nsum sicut passer solitarius in tecto.\" [12]  These words\npresented themselves to me in such a way that I thought I saw\nthem fulfilled in myself.  It was a comfort to know that others\nhad felt this extreme loneliness; how much greater my comfort,\nwhen these persons were such as David was!  The soul is then--so\nI think--not in itself, but on the house-top, or on the roof,\nabove itself, and above all created things; for it seems to me to\nhave its dwelling higher than even in the highest part of itself.\n\n14. On other occasions, the soul seems to be, as it were, in the\nutmost extremity of need, asking itself, and saying, \"Where is\nThy God?\" [13]  And it is to be remembered, that I did not know\nhow to express in Spanish the meaning of those words.\nAfterwards, when I understood what it was, I used to console\nmyself with the thought, that our Lord, without any effort of\nmine, had made me remember them.  At other times, I used to\nrecollect a saying of St. Paul's, to the effect that he was\ncrucified to the world. [14] I do not mean that this is true of\nme: I know it is not; but I think it is the state of the\nenraptured soul.  No consolation reaches it from heaven, and it\nis not there itself; it wishes for none from earth, and it is not\nthere either; but it is, as it were, crucified between heaven and\nearth, enduring its passion: receiving no succour from either.\n\n15. Now, the succour it receives from heaven--which, as I have\nsaid, [15] is a most marvellous knowledge of God, above all that\nwe can desire--brings with it greater pain; for the desire then\nso grows, that, in my opinion, its intense painfulness now and\nthen robs the soul of all sensation; only, it lasts but for a\nshort time after the senses are suspended.  It seems as if it\nwere the point of death; only, the agony carries with it so great\na joy, that I know of nothing wherewith to compare it.  It is a\nsharp martyrdom, full of sweetness; for if any earthly thing be\nthen offered to the soul, even though it may be that which it\nhabitually found most sweet, the soul will have none of it; yea,\nit seems to throw it away at once.  The soul sees distinctly that\nit seeks nothing but God; yet its love dwells not on any\nattribute of Him in particular; it seeks Him as He is, and knows\nnot what it seeks.  I say that it knows not, because the\nimagination forms no representation whatever; and, indeed, as I\nthink, during much of that time the faculties are at rest.\nPain suspends them then, as joy suspends them in union and in\na trance.\n\n16. O Jesus! oh, that some one would clearly explain this to you,\nmy father, were it only that you may tell me what it means,\nbecause this is the habitual state of my soul!  Generally, when I\nam not particularly occupied, I fall into these agonies of death,\nand I tremble when I feel them coming on, because they are not\nunto death.  But when I am in them, I then wish to spend therein\nall the rest of my life, though the pain be so very great, that I\ncan scarcely endure it.  Sometimes my pulse ceases, as it were,\nto beat at all,--so the sisters say, who sometimes approach me,\nand who now understand the matter better,--my bones are racked,\nand my hands become so rigid, that I cannot always join them.\nEven on the following day I have a pain in my wrists, and over my\nwhole body, as if my bones were out of joint. [16]  Well, I think\nsometimes, if it continues as at present, that it will end, in\nthe good pleasure of our Lord, by putting an end to my life; for\nthe pain seems to me sharp enough to cause death; only, I do not\ndeserve it.\n\n17. All my anxiety at these times is that I should die: I do not\nthink of purgatory, nor of the great sins I have committed, and\nby which I have deserved hell.  I forget everything in my\neagerness to see God; and this abandonment and loneliness seem\npreferable to any company in the world.  If anything can be a\nconsolation in this state, it is to speak to one who has passed\nthrough this trial, seeing that, though the soul may complain of\nit, no one seems disposed to believe in it.\n\n18. The soul is tormented also because the pain has increased so\nmuch, that it seeks solitude no longer, as it did before, nor\ncompanionship, unless it be that of those to whom it may make its\ncomplaint.  It is now like a person, who, having a rope around\nhis neck, and being strangled, tries to breathe. This desire of\ncompanionship seems to me to proceed from our weakness; for, as\npain brings with it the risk of death,--which it certainly does;\nfor I have been occasionally in danger of death, in my great\nsickness and infirmities, as I have said before, [17] and I think\nI may say that this pain is as great as any,--so the desire not\nto be parted, which possesses soul and body, is that which raises\nthe cry for succour in order to breathe, and by speaking of it,\nby complaining, and distracting itself, causes the soul to seek\nmeans of living very much against the will of the spirit, or the\nhigher part of the soul, which would not wish to be delivered\nfrom this pain.\n\n19. I am not sure that I am correct in what I say, nor do I know\nhow to express myself, but to the best of my knowledge it comes\nto pass in this way.  See, my father, what rest I can have in\nthis life, now that what I once had in prayer and\nloneliness--therein our Lord used to comfort me--has become in\ngeneral a torment of this kind; while, at the same time, it is so\nfull of sweetness, that the soul, discerning its inestimable\nworth, prefers it to all those consolations which it formerly\nhad.  It seems also to be a safer state, because it is the way of\nthe cross; and involves, in my opinion, a joy of exceeding worth,\nbecause the state of the body in it is only pain.  It is the soul\nthat suffers and exults alone in that joy and contentment which\nsuffering supplies.\n\n20. I know not how this can be, but so it is; it comes from the\nhand of our Lord, and, as I said before, [18] is not anything\nthat I have acquired myself, because it is exceedingly\nsupernatural, and I think I would not barter it for all the\ngraces of which I shall speak further on: I do not say for all of\nthem together, but for any one of them separately.  And it must\nnot be forgotten that, as I have just said, these impetuosities\ncame upon me after I had received those graces from our Lord [19]\nwhich I am speaking of now, and all those described in this book,\nand it is in this state our Lord keeps me at this moment. [20]\n\n21. In the beginning I was afraid--it happens to me to be almost\nalways so when our Lord leads me by a new way, until His Majesty\nreassures me as I proceed--and so our Lord bade me not to fear,\nbut to esteem this grace more than all the others He had given\nme; for the soul was purified by this pain--burnished, or refined\nas gold in the crucible, so that it might be the better enamelled\nwith His gifts, and the dross burnt away in this life, which\nwould have to be burnt away in purgatory.\n\n22. I understood perfectly that this pain was a great grace; but\nI was much more certain of it now and my confessor tells me I did\nwell.  And though I was afraid, because I was so wicked, I never\ncould believe it was anything wrong: on the other hand, the\nexceeding greatness of the blessing made me afraid, when I called\nto mind how little I had deserved it.  Blessed be our Lord, who\nis so good!  Amen.\n\n23. I have, it seems, wandered from my subject; for I began by\nspeaking of raptures, and that of which I have been speaking is\neven more than a rapture, and the effects of it are what I have\ndescribed.  Now let us return to raptures, and speak of their\nordinary characteristics.  I have to say that, when the rapture\nwas over, my body seemed frequently to be buoyant, as if all\nweight had departed from it; so much so, that now and then I\nscarcely knew that my feet touched the ground.  But during the\nrapture itself the body is very often as if it were dead,\nperfectly powerless.  It continues in the position it was in when\nthe rapture came upon it--if sitting, sitting; if the hands were\nopen, or if they were shut, they will remain open or shut. [21]\nFor though the senses fail but rarely, it has happened to me\noccasionally to lose them wholly--seldom, however, and then only\nfor a short time.  But in general they are in disorder; and\nthough they have no power whatever to deal with outward things,\nthere remains the power of hearing and seeing; but it is as if\nthe things heard and seen were at a great distance, far away.\n\n24. I do not say that the soul sees and hears when the rapture is\nat the highest,--I mean by at the highest, when the faculties are\nlost, because profoundly united with God,--for then it neither\nsees, nor hears, nor perceives, as I believe; but, as I said of\nthe previous prayer of union, [22] this utter transformation of\nthe soul in God continues only for an instant; yet while it\ncontinues no faculty of the soul is aware of it, or knows what is\npassing there.  Nor can it be understood while we are living on\nthe earth--at least, God will not have us understand it, because\nwe must be incapable of understanding it.  I know it\nby experience.\n\n25. You, my father, will ask me: How comes it, then, that a\nrapture occasionally lasts so many hours?  What has often\nhappened to me is this,--I spoke of it before, when writing of\nthe previous state of prayer, [23]--the rapture is not\ncontinuous, the soul is frequently absorbed, or, to speak more\ncorrectly, our Lord absorbs it in Himself; and when He has held\nit thus for a moment, the will alone remains in union with Him.\nThe movements of the two other faculties seem to me to be like\nthose of the needle of sun-dials, which is never at rest; yet\nwhen the Sun of Justice will have it so, He can hold it still.\n\n26. This I speak of lasts but a moment; yet, as the impulse and\nthe upraising of the spirit were vehement, and though the other\nfaculties bestir themselves again, the will continues absorbed,\nand causes this operation in the body, as if it were the absolute\nmistress; for now that the two other faculties are restless, and\nattempt to disturb it, it takes care--for if it is to have\nenemies, the fewer the better--that the senses also shall not\ntrouble it: and thus it comes to pass that the senses are\nsuspended; for so our Lord wills it.  And for the most part the\neyes are closed, though we may not wish to close them; and if\noccasionally they remain open, as I said just now, the soul\nneither discerns nor considers what it sees.\n\n27. What the body then can do here is still less in order that,\nwhen the faculties come together again, there may not be so much\nto do.  Let him, therefore, to whom our Lord has granted this\ngrace, be not discouraged when he finds himself in this\nstate--the body under constraint for many hours, the\nunderstanding and the memory occasionally astray.  The truth is\nthat, in general, they are inebriated with the praises of God, or\nwith searching to comprehend or understand that which has passed\nover them.  And yet even for this they are not thoroughly awake,\nbut are rather like one who has slept long, and dreamed, and is\nhardly yet awake.\n\n28. I dwell so long on this point because I know that there are\npersons now, even in this place, [24] to whom our Lord is\ngranting these graces; and if their directors have had no\nexperience in the matter, they will think, perhaps, that they\nmust be as dead persons during the trance--and they will think so\nthe more if they have no learning.  It is piteous to see what\nthose confessors who do not understand this make people suffer.\nI shall speak of it by and by. [25]  Perhaps I do not know what I\nam saying.  You, my father, will understand it, if I am at all\ncorrect; for our Lord has admitted you to the experience of it:\nyet, because that experience is not very great, it may be,\nperhaps, that you have not considered the matter so much as I\nhave done.\n\n29. So then, though I do all I can, my body has no strength to\nmove for some time; the soul took it all away.  Very often, too,\nhe who was before sickly and full of pain remains healthy, and\neven stronger; for it is something great that is given to the\nsoul in rapture; and sometimes, as I have said already, [26] our\nLord will have the body rejoice, because it is obedient in that\nwhich the soul requires of it.  When we recover our\nconsciousness, the faculties may remain, if the rapture has been\ndeep, for a day or two, and even for three days, so absorbed, or\nas if stunned,--so much so, as to be in appearance no\nlonger themselves.\n\n30. Here comes the pain of returning to this life; here it is the\nwings of the soul grew, to enable it to fly so high: the weak\nfeathers are fallen off.  Now the standard of Christ is raised up\naloft, which seems to be nothing else but the going up, or the\ncarrying up, of the Captain of the fort to the highest tower of\nit, there to raise up the standard of God.  The soul, as in a\nplace of safety, looks down on those below; it fears no dangers\nnow--yea, rather, it courts them, as one assured beforehand of\nvictory.  It sees most clearly how lightly are the things of this\nworld to be esteemed, and the nothingness thereof. The soul now\nseeks not, and possesses not, any other will but that of doing\nour Lord's will, [27] and so it prays Him to let it be so; it\ngives to Him the keys of its own will.  Lo, the gardener is now\nbecome the commander of a fortress!  The soul will do nothing but\nthe will of our Lord; it will not act as the owner even of\nitself, nor of anything, not even of a single apple in the\norchard; only, if there be any good thing in the garden, it is at\nHis Majesty's disposal; for from henceforth the soul will have\nnothing of its own,--all it seeks is to do everything for His\nglory, and according to His will.\n\n31. This is really the way in which these things come to pass; if\nthe raptures be true raptures, the fruits and advantages spoken\nof abide in the soul; but if they did not, I should have great\ndoubts about their being from God--yea, rather, I should be\nafraid they were those frenzies of which St. Vincent speaks. [28]\nI have seen it myself, and I know it by experience, that the soul\nin rapture is mistress of everything, and acquires such freedom\nin one hour, and even in less, as to be unable to recognize\nitself.  It sees distinctly that all this does not belong to it,\nneither knows it how it came to possess so great a good; but it\nclearly perceives the very great blessing which every one of\nthese raptures always brings.  No one will believe this who has\nnot had experience of it, and so they do not believe the poor\nsoul: they saw it lately so wicked, and now they see it pretend\nto things of so high an order; for it is not satisfied with\nserving our Lord in the common way,--it must do so forthwith in\nthe highest way it can.  They consider this a temptation and a\nfolly; yet they would not be astonished, if they knew that it\ncomes not from the soul, but from our Lord, to whom it has given\nup the keys of its will.\n\n32. For my part, I believe that a soul which has reached this\nstate neither speaks nor acts of itself, but rather that the\nsupreme King takes care of all it has to do.  O my God, how clear\nis the meaning of those words, and what good reason the Psalmist\nhad, and all the world will ever have, to pray for the wings of a\ndove! [29]  It is plain that this is the flight of the spirit\nrising upwards above all created things, and chiefly above\nitself: but it is a sweet flight, a delicious flight--a flight\nwithout noise.\n\n33. Oh, what power that soul possesses which our Lord raises to\nthis state! how it looks down upon everything, entangled by\nnothing! how ashamed it is of the time when it was entangled! how\nit is amazed at its own blindness! how it pities those who are\nstill in darkness, especially if they are men of prayer, and have\nreceived consolations from God!  It would like to cry out to\nthem, that they might be made to see the delusions they are in:\nand, indeed, it does so now and then; and then a thousand\npersecutions fall upon it as a shower.  People consider it\nwanting in humility, and think it means to teach those from whom\nit should learn, particularly if it be a woman.  Hence its\ncondemnation; and not without reason; because they know not how\nstrong the influence is that moves it.  The soul at times cannot\nhelp itself; nor can it refrain from undeceiving those it loves,\nand whom it longs to see delivered out of the prison of this\nlife; for that state in which the soul itself had been before\nneither is, nor seems to be, anything else but a prison.\n\n34. The soul is weary of the days during which it respected\npoints of honour, and the delusion which led it to believe that\nto be honour which the world calls by that name; now it sees it\nto be the greatest lie, and that we are all walking therein.\nIt understands that true honour is not delusive, but real,\nesteeming that which is worthy of esteem, and despising that\nwhich is despicable; for everything is nothing, and less than\nnothing, whatever passeth away, and is not pleasing unto God.\nThe soul laughs at itself when it thinks of the time in which it\nregarded money, and desired to possess it,--though, as to this, I\nverily believe that I never had to confess such a fault; it was\nfault enough to have regarded money at all.  If I could purchase\nwith money the blessings which I possess, I should make much of\nit; but it is plain that these blessings are gained by abandoning\nall things.\n\n35. What is there that is procurable by this money which we\ndesire?  Is it anything of worth, and anything lasting?\nWhy, then, do we desire it?  A dismal resting place it provides,\nwhich costs so dear!  Very often it obtains for us hell itself,\nfire everlasting, and torments without end.  Oh, if all men would\nbut regard it as profitless dross, how peaceful the world would\nbe! how free from bargaining!  How friendly all men would be one\nwith another, if no regard were paid to honour and money!\nI believe it would be a remedy for everything.\n\n36. The soul sees how blind men are to the nature of\npleasure--how by means of it they provide for themselves trouble\nand disquietude even in this life.  What restlessness! how little\nsatisfaction! what labour in vain!  It sees, too, not only the\ncobwebs that cover it, and its great faults, but also the specks\nof dirt, however slight they may be; for the sun shines most\nclearly; and thus, however much the soul may have laboured at its\nown perfection, it sees itself to be very unclean, if the rays of\nthe sun fall really upon it.  The soul is like water in a vessel,\nwhich appears pellucid when the sun does not shine through it;\nbut if it does, the water then is found to be full of motes.\n\n37. This comparison is literally correct.  Before the soul fell\ninto the trance, it thought itself to be careful about not\noffending God, and that it did what it could in proportion to its\nstrength; but now that it has attained to this state, in which\nthe Sun of Justice shines upon it, and makes it open its eyes, it\nbeholds so many motes, that it would gladly close them again.\nIt is not so truly the child of the noble eagle, that it can gaze\nupon the sun; but, for the few instants it can keep them open, it\nbeholds itself wholly unclean.  It remembers the words: \"Who\nshall be just in Thy presence?\" [30]  When it looks on this\nDivine Sun, the brightness thereof dazzles it,--when it looks on\nitself, its eyes are blinded by the dust: the little dove is\nblind.  So it happens very often: the soul is utterly blinded,\nabsorbed, amazed, dizzy at the vision of so much grandeur.\n\n38. It is in rapture that true humility is acquired--humility\nthat will never say any good of self, nor suffer others to do so.\nThe Lord of the garden, not the soul, distributes the fruit\nthereof, and so none remains in its hands; all the good it has,\nit refers to God; if it says anything about itself, it is for His\nglory.  It knows that it possesses nothing here; and even if it\nwished, it cannot continue ignorant of that.  It sees this, as it\nwere, with the naked eye; for, whether it will or not, its eyes\nare shut against the things of this world, and open to see\nthe truth.\n\n\n1. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v.; Philippus a SS. Trinitate,\nTheolog. Mystic. par. iii. tr. i, disp. iii., art. 3; \"H\u00e6c oratio\nraptus superior est pr\u00e6cedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam\noratione unionis ordinari\u00e6, et habet effectus multo\nexcellentiores et multas alias operationes.\"\n\n2. \"She says that rapture is more excellent than union; that is,\nthat the soul in a rapture has a greater fruition of God, and\nthat God takes it then more into His own hands.  That is\nevidently so; because in a rapture the soul loses the use of its\nexterior and interior faculties.  When she says that union is the\nbeginning, middle, and end, she means that pure union is almost\nalways uniform; but that there are degrees in rapture, of which\nsome are, as it were, the beginning, some the middle, others the\nend.  That is the reason why it is called by different names;\nsome of which denote the least, others the most, perfect form of\nit, as it will appear hereafter.\"--Note in the Spanish edition of\nLopez (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n3. Anton. a Spirit. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. 4, d. i. n. 95:\n\"Licet oratio raptus idem sit apud mysticos ac oratio volatus,\nseu elevationis spiritus seu extasis; reipsa tamen raptus aliquid\naddit super extasim; nam extasis importat simplicem excessum\nmentis in seipso secundum quem aliquis extra suam cognitionem\nponitur.  Raptus vero super hoc addit violentiam quandam ab\naliquo\u00a0extrinseco.\"\n\n4. The words between the dashes are in the handwriting of the\nSaint--not however, in the text, but on the margin (De\nla\u00a0Fuente).\n\n5. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v.  \"Primus effectus orationis\necstatic\u00e6 est in corpore, quod ita remanet, ac si per animam non\ninformaretur, infrigidatur enim calore naturali deficiente,\nclauduntur suaviter oculi, et alii sensus amittuntur: contingit\ntamen quod corpus infirmum in hac oratione sanitatem recuperat.\"\nAnton. a Spirit. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iv. d. 2, \u00a7 4,\nn.\u00a0150.\n\n6. This passage could not have been in the first Life; for that\nwas written before she had ever been Prioress.\n\n7. Job. iv. 15: \"Inhorruerunt pili carnis me\u00e6.\"  (See St. John of\nthe Cross.  Spiritual Canticle, sts. 14, 15, vol. ii p. 83,\nEngl.\u00a0trans.)\n\n8. See ch. xxix.\n\n9. See ch. xx. \u00a7 21.\n\n10. \u00a7 9, supra.\n\n11. \u00a7 10.\n\n12. Psalm ci. 8: \"I have watched, and become as a sparrow alone\non the house-top.\"\n\n13. Psalm xli. 4: \"Ubi est Deus tuus?\"\n\n14. Galat. vi. 14: \"In cruce Jesu Christi: per quem mihi mundus\ncrucifixus est, et ego mundo.\"\n\n15. \u00a7\u00a7 9 and 12.\n\n16. Daniel x. 16: \"In visione tua dissolut\u00e6 sunt compages me\u00e6.\"\nSee St. John of the Cross, Spiritual Canticle, st. 14,\nvol. ii. p. 84, Engl. trans.; and also Relation, viii. \u00a7 13,\nwhere this is repeated.\n\n17. Ch. v. \u00a7 18.\n\n18. \u00a7 12.\n\n19. The words from \"I have just said\" to \"our Lord\" are in the\nmargin of the text, but in the handwriting of the Saint (De\nla\u00a0Fuente).\n\n20. See \u00a7 11.\n\n21. See Relation, viii. \u00a7 8.\n\n22. Ch. xviii. \u00a7 16.\n\n23. Ch. xviii. \u00a7 17.\n\n24. Avila.\n\n25. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 18.\n\n26. \u00a7 9.\n\n27. \"Other will\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Lord's will.\"  These words--in Spanish,\n\"Otra voluntad, sino hacer la de nuestro Se\u00f1or\"--are not in the\nhandwriting of the Saint; perhaps it was Father Ba\u00f1es who wrote\nthem.  The MS. is blurred, and the original text seems to have\nbeen, \"libre alvedrio ni guerra\" (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n28. St. Vincent. Ferrer, Instruct. de Vit. Spirit. c. xiv. p. 14:\n\"Si dicerent tibi aliquid quod sit contra fidem, et contra\nScripturam Sacram, aut contra bonos mores, ahhorreas earum\nvisionem et judicia, tanquam stultas dementias, et earum raptus,\nsicut rabiamenta\"--which word the Saint translates\nby\u00a0\"rabiamientos.\"\n\n29. Psalm liv. 7: \"Quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columb\u00e6?\"\n\n30. Job iv. 17: \"Numquid homo Dei comparatione\u00a0justificabitur?\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXI.\n\n\nConclusion of the Subject.  Pain of the Awakening.\nLight Against Delusions.\n\n\n1. To bring this matter to an end, I say that it is not necessary\nfor the soul to give its consent here; it is already given: the\nsoul knows that it has given up its will into His hands, [1] and\nthat it cannot deceive Him, because He knoweth all things.  It is\nnot here as it is in the world, where all life is full of deceit\nand double-dealing.  When you think you have gained one man's\ngood will, because of the outward show he makes, you afterwards\nlearn that all was a lie.  No one can live in the midst of so\nmuch scheming, particularly if there be any interests at stake.\n\n2. Blessed, then, is that soul which our Lord draws on to the\nunderstanding of the truth!  Oh, what a state for kings!\nHow much better it would be for them if they strove for this,\nrather than for great dominions!  How justice would prevail under\ntheir rule!  What evils would be prevented, and might have been\nprevented already!  Here no man fears to lose life or honour for\nthe love of God.  What a grand thing this would be to him who is\nmore bound than those beneath him to regard the honour of our\nLord!--for it is kings whom the crowd must follow.  To make one\nstep in the propagation of the faith, and to give one ray of\nlight to heretics, I would forfeit a thousand kingdoms.  And with\ngood reason: for it is another thing altogether to gain a kingdom\nthat shall never end, because one drop of the water of that\nkingdom, if the soul but tastes it, renders the things of this\nworld utterly loathsome.\n\n3. If, then, the soul should be wholly engulfed, what then?\nO Lord, if Thou wert to give me the right to publish this abroad,\npeople would not believe me--as they do not believe many who are\nable to speak of it in a way very different from mine; but I\nshould satisfy myself, at least.  I believe I should count my\nlife as nothing, if I might make others understand but one of\nthese truths.  I know not what I shall do afterwards, for I\ncannot trust myself; though I am what I am, I have a violent\ndesire, which is wasting me, to say this to those who are in\nauthority.  And now that I can do no more, I betake myself to\nThee, O my Lord, to implore a remedy for all.  Thou knowest well\nthat I would gladly divest myself of all the graces which Thou\nhast given me,--provided I remained in a condition never to\noffend Thee,--and give them up to those who are kings; for I know\nit would then be impossible for them to allow what they allow\nnow, or fail to receive the very greatest blessings.\n\n4. O my God, make kings to understand how far their obligations\nreach!  Thou hast been pleased to distinguish them on earth in\nsuch a way that--so I have heard--Thou showest signs in the\nheavens when Thou takest any of them away.  Certainly, when I\nthink of this, my devotion is stirred, because Thou wilt have\nthem learn, O my King, even from this, that they must imitate\nThee in their lives, seeing that, when they die, signs are\nvisible in the heavens, as it was when Thou wert dying Thyself.\n\n5. I am very bold; if it be wrong, you, my father, will tear this\nout: only believe that I should speak much more to the purpose in\nthe presence of kings,--if I might, or thought they would listen\nto me,--for I recommend them greatly to God, and I wish I might\nbe of service to them.  All this makes one risk life; for I long\nfrequently to lose mine,--and that would be to lose a little for\nthe chance of gaining much; for surely it is not possible to\nlive, when we see with our eyes the great delusion wherein we are\nwalking, and the blindness in which we are living.\n\n6. A soul that has attained to this is not limited to the desires\nit has to serve God; for His Majesty gives it strength to bring\nthose desires to good effect.  Nothing can be put before it into\nwhich it will not throw itself, if only it thinks that God may be\nserved thereby: and yet it is doing nothing, because, as I said\nbefore, [2] it sees clearly that all is nothing, except pleasing\nGod.  The trial is, that those who are so worthless as I am, have\nno trial of the kind.  May it be Thy good pleasure, O my God,\nthat the time may come in which I may be able to pay one farthing\nat least, of the heavy debt I owe Thee!  Do Thou, O Lord, so\ndispose matters according to Thy will, that this Thy servant may\ndo Thee some service.  Other women there have been who did heroic\ndeeds for Thee; I am good only to talk; and so it has not been\nThy pleasure, O my God, that I should do any thing: all ends in\ntalk and desires--that is all my service.  And yet even in this I\nam not free, because it is possible I might fail altogether.\n\n7. Strengthen Thou my soul, and prepare it, O Good of all good;\nand, my Jesus, then ordain Thou the means whereby I may do\nsomething for Thee, so that there may be not even one who can\nbear to receive so much, and make no payment in return.  Cost\nwhat it may, O Lord, let me not come before Thee with hands so\nempty, [3] seeing that the reward of every one will be according\nto his works. [4]  Behold my life, behold my good name and my\nwill; I have given them all to Thee; I am Thine: dispose of me\naccording to Thy will.  I see well enough, O Lord, how little I\ncan do; but now, having drawn near to Thee,--having ascended to\nthis watchtower, from which the truth may be seen,--and while\nThou departest not from me, I can do all things; but if Thou\ndepartest from me, were it but for a moment, I shall go thither\nwhere I was once--that is, to hell. [5]\n\n8. Oh, what it is for a soul in this state to have to return to\nthe commerce of the world, to see and look on the farce of this\nlife, [6] so ill-ordered; to waste its time in attending to the\nbody by sleeping and eating! [7]  All is wearisome; it cannot run\naway,--it sees itself chained and imprisoned; it feels then most\nkeenly the captivity into which the body has brought us, and the\nwretchedness of this life.  It understands the reason why\nSt. Paul prayed to God to deliver him from it. [8]  The soul\ncries with the Apostle, and calls upon God to deliver it, as I\nsaid on another occasion. [9]  But here it often cries with so\nmuch violence, that it seems as if it would go out of the body in\nsearch of its freedom, now that they do not take it away.  It is\nas a slave sold into a strange land; and what distresses it most\nis, that it cannot find many who make the same complaint and the\nsame prayer: the desire of life is more common.\n\n9. Oh, if we were utterly detached,--if we never placed our\nhappiness in anything of this world,--how the pain, caused by\nliving always away from God, would temper the fear of death with\nthe desire of enjoying the true life!  Sometimes I consider, if a\nperson like myself--because our Lord has given this light to me,\nwhose love is so cold, and whose true rest is so uncertain, for I\nhave not deserved it by my works--frequently feels her banishment\nso much, what the feelings of the Saints must have been.\nWhat must St. Paul and the Magdalene, and others like them, have\nsuffered, in whom the fire of the love of God has grown so\nstrong?  Their life must have been a continual martyrdom.\nIt seems to me that they who bring me any comfort, and whose\nconversation is any relief, are those persons in whom I find\nthese desires--I mean, desires with acts.  I say with acts, for\nthere are people who think themselves detached, and who say so of\nthemselves,--and it must be so, for their vocation demands it, as\nwell as the many years that are passed since some of them began\nto walk in the way of perfection,--but my soul distinguishes\nclearly, and afar off, between those who are detached in words,\nand those who make good those words by deeds.  The little\nprogress of the former, and the great progress of the latter,\nmake it plain.  This is a matter which a person of any experience\ncan see into most clearly.\n\n10. So far, then, of the effects of those raptures which come\nfrom the Spirit of God.  The truth is, that these are greater or\nless.  I say less, because in the beginning, though the effects\nare wrought, they are not tested by works, and so it cannot be\nclear that a person has them; and perfection, too, is a thing of\ngrowth, and of labouring after freedom from the cobwebs of\nmemory; and this requires some time.  Meanwhile, the greater the\ngrowth of love and humility in the soul, the stronger the perfume\nof the flowers of virtues is for itself and for others. The truth\nis, that our Lord can so work in the soul in an instant during\nthese raptures, that but little remains for the soul to do in\norder to attain to perfection.  No one, who has not had\nexperience of it, will ever be able to believe what our Lord now\nbestows on the soul.  No effort of ours--so I think--can ever\nreach so far.\n\n11. However, I do not mean to say that those persons who during\nmany years make use of the method prescribed by writers on\nprayer,--who discuss the principles thereof, and the means\nwhereby it may be acquired,--will not, by the help of our Lord,\nattain to perfection and great detachment with much labour; but\nthey will not attain to it so rapidly as by the way of raptures,\nin which our Lord works independently of us, draws the soul\nutterly away from earth, and gives it dominion over all things\nhere below, though the merits of that soul may not be greater\nthan mine were: I cannot use stronger language, for my merits are\nas nothing.  Why His Majesty doeth this is, because it is His\npleasure, and He doeth it according to His pleasure; even if the\nsoul be without the fitting disposition, He disposes it for the\nreception of that blessing which He is giving to it.  Although it\nbe most certain that He never fails to comfort those who do well,\nand strive to be detached, still He does not always give these\neffects because they have deserved them at His hands by\ncultivating the garden, but because it is His will to show His\ngreatness at times in a soil which is most worthless, as I have\njust said, and to prepare it for all good: and all this in such a\nway that it seems as if the soul was now, in a manner, unable to\ngo back and live in sin against God, as it did before.\n\n12. The mind is now so inured to the comprehension of that which\nis truth indeed, that everything else seems to it to be but\nchild's play.  It laughs to itself, at times, when it sees grave\nmen--men given to prayer, men of religion--make much of points of\nhonour, which itself is trampling beneath its feet.  They say\nthat discretion, and the dignity of their callings, require it of\nthem as a means to do more good; but that soul knows perfectly\nwell that they would do more good in one day by preferring the\nlove of God to this their dignity, than they will do in ten years\nby considering it.\n\n13. The life of this soul is a life of trouble: the cross is\nalways there, but the progress it makes is great.  When those who\nhave to do with it think it has arrived at the summit of\nperfection, within a little while they see it much more advanced;\nfor God is ever giving it grace upon grace.  God is the soul of\nthat soul now; it is He who has the charge of it; and so He\nenlightens it; for He seems to be watching over it, always\nattentive to it, that it may not offend Him,--giving it grace,\nand stirring it up in His service.  When my soul reached this\nstate, in which God showed me mercy so great, my wretchedness\ncame to an end, and our Lord gave me strength to rise above it.\nThe former occasions of sin, as well as the persons with whom I\nwas accustomed to distract myself, did me no more harm than if\nthey had never existed; on the contrary, that which ordinarily\ndid me harm, helped me on.  Everything contributed to make me\nknow God more, and to love Him; to make me see how much I owed\nHim, as well as to be sorry for being what I had been.\n\n14. I saw clearly that this did not come from myself, that I had\nnot brought it about by any efforts of my own, and that there was\nnot time enough for it.  His Majesty, of His mere goodness, had\ngiven me strength for it.  From the time our Lord began to give\nme the grace of raptures, until now, this strength has gone on\nincreasing.  He, of His goodness, hath held me by the hand, that\nI might not go back.  I do not think that I am doing anything\nmyself--certainly I do not; for I see distinctly that all this is\nthe work of our Lord.  For this reason, it seems to me that the\nsoul in which our Lord worketh these graces,--if it walks in\nhumility and fear, always acknowledging the work of our Lord, and\nthat we ourselves can do, as it were, nothing,--may be thrown\namong any companions, and, however distracted and wicked these\nmay be, will neither be hurt nor disturbed in any way; on the\ncontrary, as I have just said, that will help it on, and be a\nmeans unto it whereby it may derive much greater profit.\n\n15. Those souls are strong which are chosen by our Lord to do\ngood to others; still, this their strength is not their own.\nWhen our Lord brings a soul on to this state, He communicates to\nit of His greatest secrets by degrees.  True revelations--the\ngreat gifts and visions--come by ecstasies, all tending to make\nthe soul humble and strong, to make it despise the things of this\nworld, and have a clearer knowledge of the greatness of the\nreward which our Lord has prepared for those who serve Him. [10]\n\n16. May it please His Majesty that the great munificence with\nwhich He hath dealt with me, miserable sinner that I am, may have\nsome weight with those who shall read this, so that they may be\nstrong and courageous enough to give up everything utterly for\nGod.  If His Majesty repays us so abundantly, that even in this\nlife the reward and gain of those who serve Him become visible,\nwhat will it be in the next?\n\n\n1. Ch. xx. \u00a7 30.\n\n2. Ch. xx. \u00a7 34.\n\n3. Exod. xxiii. 15: \"Non apparebis in conspectu meo vacuus.\"\n\n4. Apoc. ii. 23: \"Dabo unicuique vestrum secundum opera\u00a0sua.\"\n\n5. See ch. xxxii. \u00a7 1.\n\n6. \"Farsa de esta vida tan mal concertada.\"\n\n7. Inner Fortress, iv. ch. i. \u00a7 11.\n\n8. Rom. vii. 24: \"Quis me liberabit de corpore mortis\u00a0hujus?\"\n\n9. Ch. xvi. \u00a7 7.\n\n10. 1 Cor. ii. 9: \"Qu\u00e6 pr\u00e6paravit Deus his qui diligunt\u00a0Illum.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXII.\n\n\nThe Security of Contemplatives Lies in Their Not Ascending to\nHigh Things if Our Lord Does Not Raise Them.  The Sacred Humanity\nMust Be the Road to the Highest Contemplation.  A Delusion in\nWhich the Saint Was Once Entangled.\n\n\n1. There is one thing I should like to say--I think it important:\nand if you, my father, approve, it will serve for a lesson that\npossibly may be necessary; for in some books on prayer the\nwriters say that the soul, though it cannot in its own strength\nattain to this state,--because it is altogether a supernatural\nwork wrought in it by our Lord,--may nevertheless succeed, by\nlifting up the spirit above all created things, and raising it\nupwards in humility, after some years spent in a purgative life,\nand advancing in the illuminative.  I do not very well know what\nthey mean by illuminative: I understand it to mean the life of\nthose who are making progress.  And they advise us much to\nwithdraw from all bodily imagination, and draw near to the\ncontemplation of the Divinity; for they say that those who have\nadvanced so far would be embarrassed or hindered in their way to\nthe highest contemplation, if they regarded even the Sacred\nHumanity itself. [1]  They defend their opinion [2] by bringing\nforward the words [3] of our Lord to the Apostles, concerning the\ncoming of the Holy Ghost; I mean that Coming which was after the\nAscension.  If the Apostles had believed, as they believed after\nthe Coming of the Holy Ghost, that He is both God and Man, His\nbodily Presence would, in my opinion, have been no hindrance; for\nthose words were not said to the Mother of God, though she loved\nHim more than all. [4]  They think that, as this work of\ncontemplation is wholly spiritual, any bodily object whatever can\ndisturb or hinder it.  They say that the contemplative should\nregard himself as being within a definite space, God everywhere\naround, and himself absorbed in Him.  This is what we should\naim at.\n\n2. This seems to me right enough now and then; but to withdraw\naltogether from Christ, and to compare His divine Body with our\nmiseries or with any created thing whatever, is what I cannot\nendure.  May God help me to explain myself!  I am not\ncontradicting them on this point, for they are learned and\nspiritual persons, understanding what they say: God, too, is\nguiding souls by many ways and methods, as He has guided mine.\nIt is of my own soul that I wish to speak now,--I do not\nintermeddle with others,--and of the danger I was in because I\nwould comply with the directions I was reading.  I can well\nbelieve that he who has attained to union, and advances no\nfurther,--that is, to raptures, visions, and other graces of God\ngiven to souls,--will consider that opinion to be best, as I did\nmyself: and if I had continued in it, I believe I should never\nhave reached the state I am in now.  I hold it to be a delusion:\nstill, it may be that it is I who am deluded.  But I will tell\nyou what happened to me.\n\n3. As I had no director, I used to read these books, where, by\nlittle and little, I thought I might understand something.\nI found out afterwards that, if our Lord had not shown me the\nway, I should have learned but little from books; for I\nunderstood really nothing till His Majesty made me learn by\nexperience: neither did I know what I was doing.  So, in the\nbeginning, when I attained to some degree of supernatural\nprayer,--I speak of the prayer of quiet,--I laboured to remove\nfrom myself every thought of bodily objects; but I did not dare\nto lift up my soul, for that I saw would be presumption in me,\nwho was always so wicked. I thought, however, that I had a sense\nof the presence of God: this was true, and I contrived to be in a\nstate of recollection before Him.  This method of prayer is full\nof sweetness, if God helps us in it, and the joy of it is great.\nAnd so, because I was conscious of the profit and delight which\nthis way furnished me, no one could have brought me back to the\ncontemplation of the Sacred Humanity; for that seemed to me to be\na real hindrance to prayer.\n\n4. O Lord of my soul, and my Good!  Jesus Christ crucified!\nI never think of this opinion, which I then held, without pain; I\nbelieve it was an act of high treason, though done in ignorance.\nHitherto, I had been all my life long so devout to the Sacred\nHumanity--for this happened but lately; I mean by lately, that it\nwas before our Lord gave me the grace of raptures and visions.\nI did not continue long of this opinion, [5] and so I returned to\nmy habit of delighting in our Lord, particularly at Communion.\nI wish I could have His picture and image always before my eyes,\nsince I cannot have Him graven in my soul as deeply as I wish.\n\n5. Is it possible, O my Lord, that I could have had the thought,\nif only for an hour, that Thou couldst be a hindrance to my\ngreatest good?  Whence are all my blessings? are they not from\nThee?  I will not think that I was blamable, for I was very sorry\nfor it, and it was certainly done in ignorance.  And so it\npleased Thee, in Thy goodness, to succour me, by sending me one\nwho has delivered me from this delusion; and afterwards by\nshowing Thyself to me so many times, as I shall relate\nhereafter, [6] that I might clearly perceive how great my\ndelusion was, and also tell it to many persons; which I have\ndone, as well as describe it as I am doing now.  I believe myself\nthat this is the reason why so many souls, after advancing to the\nprayer of union, make no further progress, and do not attain to\nvery great liberty of spirit.\n\n6. It seems to me, that there are two considerations on which I\nmay ground this opinion.  Perhaps I am saying nothing to the\npurpose, yet what I say is the result of experience; for my soul\nwas in a very evil plight, till our Lord enlightened it: all its\njoys were but sips; and when it had come forth therefrom, it\nnever found itself in that company which afterwards it had in\ntrials and temptations.\n\n7. The first consideration is this: there is a little absence of\nhumility--so secret and so hidden, that we do not observe it.\nWho is there so proud and wretched as I, that, even after\nlabouring all his life in penances and prayers and persecutions,\ncan possibly imagine himself not to be exceedingly rich, most\nabundantly rewarded, when our Lord permits him to stand with\nSt. John at the foot of the cross?  I know not into whose head it\ncould have entered to be not satisfied with this, unless it be\nmine, which has gone wrong in every way where it should have gone\nright onwards.\n\n8. Then, if our constitution--or perhaps sickness--will not\npermit us always to think of His Passion, because it is so\npainful, who is to hinder us from thinking of Him risen from the\ngrave, seeing that we have Him so near us in the Sacrament, where\nhe is glorified, and where we shall not see Him in His great\nweariness--scourged, streaming with blood, faint by the way,\npersecuted by those to whom He had done good, and not believed in\nby the Apostles?  Certainly it is not always that one can bear to\nmeditate on sufferings so great as were those He underwent.\nBehold Him here, before His ascension into heaven, without pain,\nall-glorious, giving strength to some and courage to others.\nIn the most Holy Sacrament, He is our companion, as if it was not\nin His power to withdraw Himself for a moment from us.  And yet\nit was in my power to withdraw from Thee, O my Lord, that I might\nserve Thee better!  It may be that I knew Thee not when I sinned\nagainst Thee; but how could I, having once known Thee, ever think\nI should gain more in this way?  O Lord, what an evil way I took!\nand I was going out of the way, if Thou hadst not brought me back\nto it.  When I see Thee near me, I see all good things together.\nNo trial befalls me that is not easy to bear, when I think of\nThee standing before those who judged Thee.\n\n9. With so good a Friend and Captain ever present, Himself the\nfirst to suffer, everything can be borne.  He helps, He\nstrengthens, He never fails, He is the true Friend.  I see\nclearly, and since then have always seen, that if we are to\nplease God, and if He is to give us His great graces, everything\nmust pass through the hands of His most Sacred Humanity, in whom\nHis Majesty said that He is well pleased. [7]  I know this by\nrepeated experience: our Lord has told it me.  I have seen\nclearly that this is the door [8] by which we are to enter, if we\nwould have His supreme Majesty reveal to us His great secrets.\n\n10. So, then, I would have your reverence seek no other way, even\nif you were arrived at the highest contemplation.  This way is\nsafe.  Our Lord is He by whom all good things come to us; He will\nteach you.  Consider His life; that is the best example. What\nmore can we want than so good a Friend at our side, who will not\nforsake us when we are in trouble and distress, as they do who\nbelong to this world!  Blessed is he who truly loves Him, and who\nalways has Him near him!  Let us consider the glorious St. Paul,\nwho seems as if Jesus was never absent from his lips, as if he\nhad Him deep down in his heart.  After I had heard this of some\ngreat Saints given to contemplation, I considered the matter\ncarefully; and I see that they walked in no other way.\nSt. Francis with the stigmata proves it, St. Antony of Padua with\nthe Infant Jesus; St. Bernard rejoiced in the Sacred Humanity; so\ndid St. Catherine of Siena, and many others, as your reverence\nknows better than I do.\n\n11. This withdrawing from bodily objects must no doubt be good,\nseeing that it is recommended by persons who are so spiritual;\nbut, in my opinion, it ought to be done only when the soul has\nmade very great progress; for until then it is clear that the\nCreator must be sought for through His creatures.  All this\ndepends on the grace which our Lord distributes to every soul.\nI do not intermeddle here.  What I would say is, that the most\nSacred Humanity of Christ is not to be counted among the objects\nfrom which we have to withdraw.  Let this be clearly understood.\nI wish I knew how to explain it. [9]\n\n12. When God suspends all the powers of the soul,--as we see He\ndoes in the states of prayer already described,--it is clear\nthat, whether we wish it or not, this presence is withdrawn.\nBe it so, then.  The loss is a blessed one, because it takes\nplace in order that we may have a deeper fruition of what we seem\nto have lost; for at that moment the whole soul is occupied in\nloving Him whom the understanding has toiled to know; and it\nloves what it has not comprehended, and rejoices in what it could\nnot have rejoiced in so well, if it had not lost itself, in\norder, as I am saying, to gain itself the more.  But that we\nshould carefully and laboriously accustom ourselves not to strive\nwith all our might to have always--and please God it be\nalways!--the most Sacred Humanity before our eyes,--this, I say,\nis what seems to me not to be right: it is making the soul, as\nthey say, to walk in the air; for it has nothing to rest on, how\nfull soever of God it may think itself to be.\n\n13. It is a great matter for us to have our Lord before us as Man\nwhile we are living and in the flesh.  This is that other\ninconvenience which I say must be met with.  The first--I have\nalready begun to describe it--is a little failure in humility, in\nthat the soul desires to rise of itself before our Lord raises\nit, and is not satisfied with meditation on so excellent a\nsubject,--seeking to be Mary before it has laboured with Martha.\nIf our Lord will have a soul to be Mary, even on the first day,\nthere is nothing to be afraid of; but we must not be self-invited\nguests, as I think I said on another occasion. [10]  This little\nmote of want of humility, though in appearance a mere nothing,\ndoes a great deal of harm to those who wish to advance\nin contemplation.\n\n14. I now come back to the second consideration.  We are not\nangels, for we have a body; to seek to make ourselves angels\nwhile we are on the earth, and so much on the earth as I was, is\nan act of folly.  In general, our thoughts must have something to\nrest on, though the soul may go forth out of itself now and then,\nor it may be very often so full of God as to be in need of no\ncreated thing by the help of which it may recollect itself.\nBut this is not so common a case; for when we have many things to\ndo, when we are persecuted and in trouble, when we cannot have\nmuch rest, and when we have our seasons of dryness, Christ is our\nbest Friend; for we regard Him as Man, and behold Him faint and\nin trouble, and He is our Companion; and when we shall have\naccustomed ourselves in this way, it is very easy to find Him\nnear us, although there will be occasions from time to time when\nwe can do neither the one nor the other.\n\n15. For this end, that is useful which I spoke of before: [11] we\nmust not show ourselves as labouring after spiritual\nconsolations; come what may, to embrace the cross is the great\nthing.  The Lord of all consolation was Himself forsaken: they\nleft Him alone in His sorrows.  Do not let us forsake Him; for\nHis hand will help us to rise more than any efforts we can make;\nand He will withdraw Himself when He sees it be expedient for us,\nand when He pleaseth will also draw the soul forth out of itself,\nas I said before. [12]\n\n16. God is greatly pleased when He beholds a soul in its humility\nmaking His Son a Mediator between itself and Him, and yet loving\nHim so much as to confess its own unworthiness, even when He\nwould raise it up to the highest contemplation, and saying with\nSt. Peter: [13] \"Go Thou away from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful\nman.\"  I know this by experience: it was thus that God directed\nmy soul.  Others may walk, as I said before, [14] by another and\na shorter road.  What I have understood of the matter is this:\nthat the whole foundation of prayer must be laid in humility, and\nthat the more a soul humbles itself in prayer, the more God lifts\nit up.  I do not remember that He ever showed me any of those\nmarvellous mercies, of which I shall speak hereafter, [15] at any\nother time than when I was as one brought to nothing, [16] by\nseeing how wicked I was.  Moreover, His Majesty contrived to make\nme understand matters that helped me to know myself, but which I\ncould never have even imagined of myself.\n\n17. I believe myself that if a soul makes any efforts of its own\nto further itself in the way of the prayer of union, and though\nit may seem to make immediate progress, it will quickly fall\nback, because the foundations were not duly laid.  I fear, too,\nthat such a soul will never attain to true poverty of spirit,\nwhich consists in seeking consolation or sweetness, not in\nprayer,--the consolations of the earth are already\nabandoned,--but rather in sorrows, for the love of Him who always\nlived in sorrows Himself; [17] and in being calm in the midst of\nsorrows and aridities.  Though the soul may feel it in some\nmeasure, there is no disquiet, nor any of that pain which some\npersons suffer, who, if they are not always labouring with the\nunderstanding and with a sense of devotion, think everything\nlost,--as if their efforts merited so great a blessing!\n\n18. I am not saying that men should not seek to be devout, nor\nthat they should not stand with great reverence in the presence\nof God, but only that they are not to vex themselves if they\ncannot find even one good thought, as I said in another\nplace; [18] for we are unprofitable servants. [19]  What do we\nthink we can do?  Our Lord grant that we understand this, and\nthat we may be those little asses who drive the windlass I spoke\nof: [20] these, though their eyes are bandaged, and they do not\nunderstand what they are doing, yet draw up more water than the\ngardener can draw with all his efforts.  We must walk in liberty\non this road, committing ourselves into the hands of God.  If it\nbe His Majesty's good pleasure to raise us and place us among His\nchamberlains and secret councillors, we must go willingly; if\nnot, we must serve Him in the lower offices of His house, and not\nsit down on the upper seats. [21]  As I have sometimes said, [22]\nGod is more careful of us than we are ourselves, and knows what\neach one of us is fit for.\n\n19. What use is there in governing oneself by oneself, when the\nwhole will has been given up to God? I think this less endurable\nnow than in the first state of prayer, and it does much greater\nharm; for these blessings are supernatural.  If a man has a bad\nvoice, let him force himself ever so much to sing, he will never\nimprove it; but if God gives him a good voice, he has no need to\ntry it twice.  Let us, then, pray Him always to show His mercy\nupon us, with a submissive spirit, yet trusting in the goodness\nof God.  And now that the soul is permitted to sit at the feet of\nChrist, let it contrive not to quit its place, but keep it\nanyhow.  Let it follow the example of the Magdalene; and when it\nshall be strong enough, God will lead it into\nthe wilderness. [23]\n\n20. You, then, my father, must be content with this until you\nmeet with some one of more experience and better knowledge than I\nam.  If you see people who are beginning to taste of God, do not\ntrust them if they think that they advance more, and have a\ndeeper fruition of God, when they make efforts of their own.\nOh, when God wills it, how He discovers Himself without these\nlittle efforts of ours!  We may do what we like, but He throws\nthe spirit into a trance as easily as a giant takes up a straw;\nno resistance is possible.  What a thing to believe, that God\nwill wait till the toad shall fly of itself, when He has already\nwilled it should do so!  Well, it seems to me still more\ndifficult and hard for our spirit to rise upwards, if God does\nnot raise it, seeing that it is burdened with earth, and hindered\nin a thousand ways.  Its willingness to rise is of no service to\nit; for, though an aptness for flying be more natural to it than\nto a toad, yet is it so sunk in the mire as to have lost it by\nits own fault.\n\n21. I come, then, to this conclusion: whenever we think of\nChrist, we should remind ourselves of the love that made Him\nbestow so many graces upon us, and also how great that love is\nwhich our Lord God has shown us, in giving us such a pledge of\nthe love He bears us; for love draws forth love.  And though we\nare only at the very beginning, and exceedingly wicked, yet let\nus always labour to keep this in view, and stir ourselves up to\nlove; for if once our Lord grants us this grace, of having this\nlove imprinted in our hearts, everything will be easy, and we\nshall do great things in a very short time, and with very little\nlabour.  May His Majesty give us that love,--He knows the great\nneed we have of it,--for the sake of that love which He bore us,\nand of His glorious Son, to whom it cost so much to make it known\nto us!  Amen.\n\n22. There is one thing I should like to ask you, my father.\nHow is it that, when our Lord begins to bestow upon a soul a\ngrace so great as this of perfect contemplation, it is not, as it\nought to be, perfect at once?  Certainly, it seems it should be\nso; for he who receives a grace so great ought never more to seek\nconsolations on earth.  How is it, I ask, that a soul which has\necstasies and so far is more accustomed to receive graces, should\nyet seem to bring forth fruits still higher and higher,--and the\nmore so, the more it is detached,--when our Lord might have\nsanctified it at once, the moment He came near it?  How is it, I\nask again, that the same Lord brings it to the perfection of\nvirtue only in the course of time?  I should be glad to learn the\nreason, for I know it not.  I do know, however, that in the\nbeginning, when a trance lasts only the twinkling of an eye, and\nis almost imperceptible but for the effects it produces, the\ndegree of strength which God then gives is very different from\nthat which He gives when this grace is a trance of\nlonger duration.\n\n23. Very often, when thinking of this, have I imagined the reason\nmight be, that the soul does not despise itself all at once, till\nour Lord instructs it by degrees, and makes it resolute, and\ngives it the strength of manhood, so that it may trample utterly\nupon everything.  He gave this strength to the Magdalene in a\nmoment.  He gives the same grace to others, according to the\nmeasure of their abandonment of themselves into the hands of His\nMajesty, that He may do with them as He will. We never thoroughly\nbelieve that God rewards a hundredfold even in this life. [24]\n\n24. I also thought of this comparison: supposing grace given to\nthose who are far advanced to be the same with that given to\nthose who are but beginners, we may then liken it to a certain\nfood of which many persons partake: they who eat a little retain\nthe savour of it for a moment, they who eat more are nourished by\nit, but those who eat much receive life and strength.  Now, the\nsoul may eat so frequently and so abundantly of this food of life\nas to have no pleasure in eating any other food, because it sees\nhow much good it derives from it.  Its taste is now so formed\nupon it, that it would rather not live than have to eat any other\nfood; for all food but this has no other effect than to take away\nthe sweet savour which this good food leaves behind.\n\n25. Further, the conversation of good people does not profit us\nin one day as much as it does in many; and we may converse with\nthem long enough to become like them, by the grace of God.\nIn short, the whole matter is as His Majesty wills.  He gives His\ngrace to whom He pleases; but much depends on this: he who begins\nto receive this grace must make a firm resolution to detach\nhimself from all things, and esteem this grace according\nto reason.\n\n26. It seems also to me as if His Majesty were going about to try\nthose who love Him,--now one, now another,--revealing Himself in\nsupreme joy, so as to quicken our belief, if it should be dead,\nin what He will give us, saying, Behold! this is but a drop of\nthe immense sea of blessings; for He leaves nothing undone for\nthose He loves; and as He sees them receive it, so He gives, and\nHe gives Himself.  He loves those who love Him.  Oh, how dear He\nis!--how good a Friend!  O my soul's Lord, who can find words to\ndescribe what Thou givest to those who trust in Thee, and what\nthey lose who come to this state, and yet dwell in themselves!\nOh, let not this be so, O my Lord! for Thou doest more than this\nwhen Thou comest to a lodging so mean as mine.  Blessed be Thou\nfor ever and ever!\n\n27. I now humbly ask you, my father, if you mean to discuss what\nI have written on prayer with spiritual persons, to see that they\nare so really; for if they be persons who know only one way, or\nwho have stood still midway, they will not be able to understand\nthe matter.  There are also some whom God leads at once by the\nhighest way; these think that others might advance in the same\nmanner--quiet the understanding, and make bodily objects none of\ntheir means; but these people will remain dry as a stick.\nOthers, also, there are who, having for a moment attained to the\nprayer of quiet, think forthwith that, as they have had the one,\nso they may have the other.  These instead of advancing, go back,\nas I said before. [25]  So, throughout, experience and discretion\nare necessary.  May our Lord, of His goodness, bestow them on us!\n\n\n1. See Inner Fortress, vi. 7, \u00a7 4.\n\n2. This opinion is supposed to be justified by the words of\nSt. Thomas, 3 Sent. dist. 22, qu. 3, art. 1, ad quintum.\n\"Corporalis pr\u00e6sentia Christi in duobus poterat esse nociva.\nPrimo, quantum ad fidem, quia videntes Eum in forma in qua erat\nminor Patre, non ita de facili crederent Eum \u00e6qualem Patri, ut\ndicit glossa super Joannem.  Secundo, quantum ad dilectionem,\nquia Eum non solum spiritualiter, sed etiam carnaliter\ndiligeremus, conversantes cum Ipso corporaliter, et hoc est de\nimperfectione\u00a0dilectionis.\"\n\n3. St. John xvi. 7: \"Expedit vobis ut Ego vadam; si enim non\nabiero, Paracletus non veniet ad vos.\"\n\n4. This sentence is in the margin of the original MS., not in the\ntext, but in the handwriting of the Saint (De la Fuente).\n\n5. \"I mean by lately . . . and visions\" is in the margin of the\nMS., but in the handwriting of the Saint (De la Fuente).\n\n6. Ch. xxviii. \u00a7 4.\n\n7. St. Matt. iii. 17: \"Hic est Filius Meus dilectus, in quo\nMihi complacui.\"\n\n8. St. John x. 7, 9: \"Ego sum ostium.\"\n\n9. See St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel,\nbk. iii. ch. i. p.\u00a0212.\n\n10. Ch. xii. \u00a7\u00a7 5, 7.\n\n11. Ch. xv. \u00a7 21.\n\n12. Ch. xx. \u00a7 2.\n\n13. St. Luke v. 8: \"Exi a me, quia homo peccator sum,\u00a0Domine.\"\n\n14. Ch. xii. \u00a7 6.\n\n15. Ch. xxviii.\n\n16. Psalm lxxii. 22: \"Et ego ad nihilum redactus sum,\net\u00a0nescivi.\"\n\n17. Isaias liii. 3: \"Virum dolorum, et scientem\u00a0infirmitatem.\"\n\n18. Ch. xi. \u00a7 15.\n\n19. St. Luke xvii. 10: \"Servi inutiles sumus.\"\n\n20. Ch. xi. \u00a7 11.\n\n21. St. Luke xiv. 8: \"Non discumbas in primo loco.\"  See Way of\nPerfection, ch. xxvi. \u00a7 1; but ch. xvii. of the old editions.\n\n22. Ch. xi. \u00a7 23, ch. xviii. \u00a7 6.\n\n23. Os. ii. 14: \"Ducam eam in solitudinem.\"\n\n24. St. Matt. xix. 29: \"Qui reliquerit domum,\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\ncentuplum\u00a0accipiet.\"\n\n25. Ch. xii. \u00a7 5.\n\n\n\nChapter XXIII.\n\n\nThe Saint Resumes the History of Her Life.  Aiming at Perfection.\nMeans Whereby It May Be Gained.  Instructions for Confessors.\n\n\n1. I shall now return to that point in my life where I broke\noff, [1] having made, I believe, a longer digression than I need\nhave made, in order that what is still to come may be more\nclearly understood.  Henceforth, it is another and a new book,--I\nmean, another and a new life.  Hitherto, my life was my own; my\nlife, since I began to explain these methods of prayer, is the\nlife which God lived in me,--so it seems to me; for I feel it to\nbe impossible that I should have escaped in so short a time from\nways and works that were so wicked.  May our Lord be praised, who\nhas delivered me from myself!\n\n2. When, then, I began to avoid the occasions of sin, and to give\nmyself more unto prayer, our Lord also began to bestow His graces\nupon me, as one who desired, so it seemed, that I too should be\nwilling to receive them.  His Majesty began to give me most\nfrequently the grace of the prayer of quiet, and very often that\nof union, which lasted some time.  But as, in these days, women\nhave fallen into great delusions and deceits of Satan, [2] I\nbegan to be afraid, because the joy and sweetness which I felt\nwere so great, and very often beyond my power to avoid.  On the\nother hand, I felt in myself a very deep conviction that God was\nwith me, especially when I was in prayer.  I saw, too, that I\ngrew better and stronger thereby.\n\n3. But if I was a little distracted, I began to be afraid, and to\nimagine that perhaps it was Satan that suspended my\nunderstanding, making me think it to be good, in order to\nwithdraw me from mental prayer, hinder my meditation on the\nPassion, and debar me the use of my understanding: this seemed to\nme, who did not comprehend the matter, to be a grievous loss but,\nas His Majesty was pleased to give me light to offend Him no\nmore, and to understand how much I owed Him, this fear so grew\nupon me, that it made me seek diligently for spiritual persons\nwith whom I might treat of my state.  I had already heard of\nsome; for the Fathers of the Society of Jesus had come\nhither; [3] and I, though I knew none of them, was greatly\nattracted by them, merely because I had heard of their way of\nlife and of prayer; but I did not think myself fit to speak to\nthem, or strong enough to obey them; and this made me still more\nafraid; for to converse with them, and remain what I was, seemed\nto me somewhat rude.\n\n4. I spent some time in this state, till, after much inward\ncontention and fear, I determined to confer with some spiritual\nperson, to ask him to tell me what that method of prayer was\nwhich I was using, and to show me whether I was in error.  I was\nalso resolved to do everything I could not to offend God; for the\nwant of courage of which I was conscious, as I said before, [4]\nmade me so timid.  Was there ever delusion so great as mine, O my\nGod, when I withdrew from good in order to become good!\nThe devil must lay much stress on this in the beginning of a\ncourse of virtue; for I could not overcome my repugnance.\nHe knows that the whole relief of the soul consists in conferring\nwith the friends of God.  Hence it was that no time was fixed in\nwhich I should resolve to do this.  I waited to grow better\nfirst, as I did before when I ceased to pray, [5]--and perhaps I\nnever should have become better; for I had now sunk so deeply\ninto the petty ways of an evil habit,--I could not convince\nmyself that they were wrong,--that I needed the help of others,\nwho should hold out a hand to raise me up.  Blessed be Thou, O\nLord!--for the first hand outstretched to me was Thine.\n\n5. When I saw that my fear was going so far, it struck\nme--because I was making progress in prayer--that this must be a\ngreat blessing, or a very great evil; for I understood perfectly\nthat what had happened was something supernatural, because at\ntimes I was unable to withstand it; to have it when I would was\nalso impossible.  I thought to myself that there was no help for\nit, but in keeping my conscience pure, avoiding every occasion\neven of venial sins; for if it was the work of the Spirit of God,\nthe gain was clear; and if the work of Satan, so long as I strove\nto please, and did not offend, our Lord, Satan could do me little\nharm; on the contrary, he must lose in the struggle.\nDetermined on this course, and always praying God to help me,\nstriving also after purity of conscience for some days, I saw\nthat my soul had not strength to go forth alone to a perfection\nso great.  I had certain attachments to trifles, which, though\nnot very wrong in themselves, were yet enough to ruin all.\n\n6. I was told of a learned ecclesiastic, [6] dwelling in this\ncity, whose goodness and pious life our Lord was beginning to\nmake known to the world.  I contrived to make his acquaintance\nthrough a saintly nobleman [7] living in the same place.\nThis latter is a married man; but his life is so edifying and\nvirtuous, so given to prayer, and so full of charity, that the\ngoodness and perfection of it shine forth in all he does: and\nmost justly so; for many souls have been greatly blessed through\nhim, because of his great gifts, which, though his condition of a\nlayman be a hindrance to him, never lie idle.  He is a man of\ngreat sense, and very gentle with all people; his conversation is\nnever wearisome, but so sweet and gracious, as well as upright\nand holy, that he pleases everybody very much with whom he has\nany relations.  He directs it all to the great good of those\nsouls with whom he converses and he seems to have no other end in\nview but to do all he may be permitted to do for all men, and\nmake them content.\n\n7. This blessed and holy man, then, seems to me, by the pains he\ntook, to have been the beginning of salvation to my soul.\nHis humility in his relations with me makes me wonder; for he had\nspent, I believe, nearly forty years in prayer,--it may be two or\nthree years less,--and all his life was ordered with that\nperfection which his state admitted.  His wife is so great a\nservant of God, and so full of charity, that nothing is lost to\nhim on her account, [8]--in short, she was the chosen wife of one\nwho God knew would serve Him so well.  Some of their kindred are\nmarried to some of mine.  Besides, I had also much communication\nwith another great servant of God, married to one of my\nfirst cousins.\n\n8. It was thus I contrived that the ecclesiastic I speak of, who\nwas so great a servant of God, and his great friend, should come\nto speak to me, intending to confess to him, and to take him for\nmy director.  When he had brought him to speak to me, I, in the\ngreatest confusion at finding myself in the presence of so holy a\nman, revealed to him the state of my soul, and my way of prayer.\nHe would not be my confessor; he said that he was very much\noccupied: and so, indeed, he was.  He began with a holy\nresolution to direct me as if I was strong,--I ought to have been\nstrong, according to the method of prayer which he saw I\nused,--so that I should in nothing offend God.  When I saw that\nhe was resolved to make me break off at once with the petty ways\nI spoke of before, [9] and that I had not the courage to go forth\nat once in the perfection he required of me, I was distressed;\nand when I perceived that he ordered the affairs of my soul as if\nI ought to be perfect at once, I saw that much more care was\nnecessary in my case.  In a word, I felt that the means he would\nhave employed were not those by which my soul could be helped\nonwards; for they were fitted for a soul more perfect than mine;\nand though the graces I had received from God were very many, I\nwas still at the very beginning in the matter of virtue and\nof mortification.\n\n9. I believe certainly, if I had only had this ecclesiastic to\nconfer with, that my soul would have made no progress; for the\npain it gave me to see that I was not doing--and, as I thought,\ncould not do--what he told me, was enough to destroy all hope,\nand make me abandon the matter altogether.  I wonder at times how\nit was that he, being one who had a particular grace for the\ndirection of beginners in the way of God, was not permitted to\nunderstand my case, or to undertake the care of my soul.  I see\nit was all for my greater good, in order that I might know and\nconverse with persons so holy as the members of the Society\nof Jesus.\n\n10. After this, I arranged with that saintly nobleman that he\nshould come and see me now and then.  It shows how deep his\nhumility was; for he consented to converse with a person so\nwicked as I was.  He began his visits, he encouraged me, and told\nme that I ought not to suppose I could give up everything in one\nday; God would bring it about by degrees: he himself had for some\nyears been unable to free himself from some very slight\nimperfections.  O humility! what great blessings thou bringest to\nthose in whom thou dwellest, and to them who draw near to those\nwho possess thee!  This holy man--for I think I may justly call\nhim so--told me of weaknesses of his own, in order to help me.\nHe, in his humility, thought them weaknesses; but, if we consider\nhis state, they were neither faults nor imperfections; yet, in my\nstate, it was a very great fault to be subject to them.\n\n11. I am not saying this without a meaning, though I seem to be\nenlarging on trifles; but these trifles contribute so much\ntowards the beginning of the soul's progress and its flight\nupwards, though it has no wings, as they say; and yet no one will\nbelieve it who has not had experience of it; but, as I hope in\nGod that your reverence will help many a soul, I speak of it\nhere.  My whole salvation depended on his knowing how to treat\nme, on his humility, on the charity with which he conversed with\nme, and on his patient endurance of me when he saw that I did not\nmend my ways at once.  He went on discreetly, by degrees showing\nme how to overcome Satan.  My affection for him so grew upon me,\nthat I never was more at ease than on the day I used to see him.\nI saw him, however, very rarely.  When he was long in coming, I\nused to be very much distressed, thinking that he would not see\nme because I was so wicked.\n\n12. When he found out my great imperfections, they might well\nhave been sins, though since I conversed with him I am somewhat\nimproved,--and when I recounted to him, in order to obtain light\nfrom him, the great graces which God had bestowed upon me, he\ntold me that these things were inconsistent one with another;\nthat these consolations were given to people who had made great\nprogress, and led mortified lives; that he could not help being\nvery much afraid--he thought that the evil spirit might have\nsomething to do in my case; he would not decide that question,\nhowever, but he would have me carefully consider my whole method\nof prayer, and then tell him of it.  That was the difficulty: I\ndid not understand it myself, and so I could tell him nothing of\nmy prayer; for the grace to understand it--and, understanding it,\nto describe it--has only lately been given me of God.\nThis saying of his, together with the fear I was in, distressed\nme exceedingly, and I cried; for certainly I was anxious to\nplease God, and I could not persuade myself that Satan had\nanything to do with it.  But I was afraid, on account of my great\nsins, that God might leave me blind, so that I should\nunderstand nothing.\n\n13. Looking into books to see if I could find anything there by\nwhich I might recognise the prayer I practised, I found in one of\nthem, called the Ascent of the Mount, [10] and in that part of it\nwhich relates to the union of the soul with God, all those marks\nwhich I had in myself, in that I could not think of anything.\nThis is what I most dwelt on--that I could think of nothing when\nI was in prayer.  I marked that passage, and gave him the book,\nthat he, and the ecclesiastic mentioned before, [11] saint and\nservant of God, might consider it, and tell me what I should do.\nIf they thought it right, I would give up that method of prayer\naltogether; for why should I expose myself to danger, when, at\nthe end of nearly twenty years, during which I had used it, I had\ngained nothing, but had fallen into a delusion of the devil?\nIt was better for me to give it up.  And yet this seemed to me\nhard; for I had already discovered what my soul would become\nwithout prayer.  Everything seemed full of trouble.  I was like a\nperson in the middle of a river, who, in whatever direction he\nmay turn, fears a still greater danger, and is well-nigh drowned.\nThis is a very great trial, and I have gone through many like it,\nas I shall show hereafter; [12] and though it does not seem to be\nof any importance, it will perhaps be advantageous to understand\nhow the spirit is to be tried.\n\n14. And certainly the affliction to be borne is great, and\ncaution is necessary, particularly in the case of women,--for our\nweakness is great,--and much evil may be the result of telling\nthem very distinctly that the devil is busy with them; yea,\nrather, the matter should be very carefully considered, and they\nshould be removed out of reach of the dangers that may arise.\nThey should be advised to keep things secret; and it is\nnecessary, also, that their secret should be kept.  I am speaking\nof this as one to whom it has been a sore trouble; for some of\nthose with whom I spoke of my prayer did not keep my secret, but,\nmaking inquiries one of another, for a good purpose, did me much\nharm; for they made things known which might well have remained\nsecret, because not intended for every one and it seemed as if I\nhad made them public myself. [13]\n\n15. I believe that our Lord permitted [14] this to be done\nwithout sin on their part, in order that I might suffer.  I do\nnot say that they revealed anything I discussed with them in\nconfession; still, as they were persons to whom, in my fears, I\ngave a full account of myself, in order that they might give me\nlight, I thought they ought to have been silent.  Nevertheless, I\nnever dared to conceal anything from such persons.  My meaning,\nthen, is, that women should be directed with much discretion;\ntheir directors should encourage them, and bide the time when our\nLord will help them, as He has helped me.  If He had not, the\ngreatest harm would have befallen me, for I was in great fear and\ndread; and as I suffered from disease of the heart, [15] I am\nastonished that all this did not do me a great deal of harm.\n\n16. Then, when I had given him the book, and told the story of my\nlife and of my sins, the best way I could in general,--for I was\nnot in confession, because he was a layman; yet I gave him\nclearly to understand how wicked I was,--those two servants of\nGod, with great charity and affection, considered what was best\nfor me.  When they had made up their minds what to say,--I was\nwaiting for it in great dread, having begged many persons to pray\nto God for me, and I too had prayed much during those days,--the\nnobleman came to me in great distress, and said that, in the\nopinion of both, I was deluded by an evil spirit; that the best\nthing for me to do was to apply to a certain father of the\nSociety of Jesus, who would come to me if I sent for him, saying\nI had need of him; that I ought, in a general confession, to give\nhim an account of my whole life, and of the state I was in,--and\nall with great clearness: God would, in virtue of the Sacrament\nof Confession, give him more light concerning me; for those\nfathers were very experienced men in matters of spirituality.\nFurther, I was not to swerve in a single point from the counsels\nof that father; for I was in great danger, if I had no one to\ndirect me.\n\n17. This answer so alarmed and distressed me, that I knew not\nwhat to do--I did nothing but cry.  Being in an oratory in great\naffliction, not knowing what would become of me, I read in a\nbook--it seemed as if our Lord had put it into my hands--that\nSt. Paul said, God is faithful; [16] that He will never permit\nSatan to deceive those who love Him.  This gave me great\nconsolation. I began to prepare for my general confession, and to\nwrite out all the evil and all the good: a history of my life, as\nclearly as I understood it, and knew how to make it, omitting\nnothing whatever.  I remember, when I saw I had written so much\nevil, and scarcely anything that was good, that I was exceedingly\ndistressed and sorrowful.  It pained me, also, that the nuns of\nthe community should see me converse with such holy persons as\nthose of the Society of Jesus; for I was afraid of my own\nwickedness, and I thought I should be obliged to cease from it,\nand give up my amusements; and that if I did not do so, I should\ngrow worse: so I persuaded the sacristan and the portress to tell\nno one of it.  This was of little use, after all; for when I was\ncalled down there was one at the door, as it happened, who told\nit to the whole convent.  But what difficulties and what terrors\nSatan troubles them with who would draw near unto God!\n\n18. I communicated the whole state of my soul to that servant of\nGod [17] and he was a great servant of His, and very prudent.\nHe understood all I told him, explained it to me, and encouraged\nme greatly.  He said that all was very evidently the work of the\nSpirit of God; only it was necessary for me to go back again to\nmy prayer, because I was not well grounded, and had not begun to\nunderstand what mortification meant,--that was true, for I do not\nthink I knew it even by name,--that I was by no means to give up\nprayer; on the contrary, I was to do violence to myself in order\nto practise it, because God had bestowed on me such special\ngraces as made it impossible to say whether it was, or was not,\nthe will of our Lord to do good to many through me. He went\nfurther, for he seems to have prophesied of that which our Lord\nafterwards did with me, and said that I should be very much to\nblame if I did not correspond with the graces which God bestowed\nupon me.  It seems to me that the Holy Ghost was speaking by his\nmouth in order to heal my soul, so deep was the impression he\nmade.  He made me very much ashamed of myself, and directed me by\na way which seemed to change me altogether.  What a grand thing\nit is to understand a soul!  He told me to make my prayer every\nday on some mystery of the Passion, and that I should profit by\nit, and to fix my thoughts on the Sacred Humanity only, resisting\nto the utmost of my power those recollections and delights, to\nwhich I was not to yield in any way till he gave me further\ndirections in the matter.\n\n19. He left me consoled and fortified: our Lord came to my\nsuccour and to his, so that he might understand the state I was\nin, and how he was to direct me.  I made a firm resolution not to\nswerve from anything he might command me, and to this day I have\nkept it.  Our Lord be praised, who has given me grace to be\nobedient to my confessors, [18] however imperfectly!--and they\nhave almost always been those blessed men of the Society of\nJesus; though, as I said, I have but imperfectly obeyed them.\nMy soul began to improve visibly, as I am now going to say.\n\n\n1. At the end of ch. ix.  The thirteen chapters interposed\nbetween that and this--the twenty-third--are a treatise on\nmystical\u00a0theology.\n\n2. She refers to Magdalene of the Cross (Reforma de los\nDescal\u00e7os, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. \u00a7\u00a02).\n\n3. The college of the Society at Avila was founded in 1555; but\nsome of the Fathers had come thither in 1553 (De la Fuente).\n\n4. Ch. vii. \u00a7 37.\n\n5. Ch. xix. \u00a7\u00a7 7, 8.\n\n6. Gaspar Daza had formed a society of priests in Avila, and was\na very laborious and holy man.  It was he who said the first Mass\nin the monastery of St. Joseph, founded by 5t. Teresa, whom he\nsurvived, dying Nov. 24, 1592.  He committed the direction of his\npriests to F. Baltasar Alvarez (Bouix).  Juan of Avila acted much\nin the same way when the Jesuits settled in Avila (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n7. Don Francisco de Salcedo.  After the death of his wife, he\nbecame a priest, and was chaplain and confessor of the Carmelite\nnuns of St. Joseph.  For twenty years of his married life he\nattended regularly the theological lectures of the Dominicans, in\nthe house of St. Thomas.  His death took place Sept. 12, 1580,\nwhen he had been a priest for ten years (St. Teresa's Letters,\nvol. iv. letter 43, note 13: letter 368, ed. of De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n8. Do\u00f1a Mencia del Aguila (De la Fuente, in a note on letter 10,\nvol. ii. p. 9, where he corrects himself,--having previously\ncalled her Mencia de\u00a0Avila).\n\n9. \u00a7 4.\n\n10. Subida del Monte Sion, by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de\nLaredo (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. \u00a7\u00a07).\n\n11. \u00a7 6.\n\n12. See ch. xxv. \u00a7 18.\n\n13. See ch. xxviii. \u00a7 18.\n\n14. See Relation, vii. \u00a7 17.\n\n15. See ch. iv. \u00a7 6.\n\n16. 1 Cor. x. 13: \"Fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos\ntentari supra id quod\u00a0potestis.\"\n\n17. F. Juan de Padranos, whom St. Francis de Borja had sent in\n1555, with F. Fernando Alvarez del Aguila, to found the house of\nthe Society in Avila (De la Fuente).  Ribera, i. 5, says he heard\nthat F. Juan de Padranos gave in part the Exercises of\nSt.\u00a0Ignatius to the\u00a0Saint.\n\n18. See Relation, i. \u00a7 9.\n\n\n\nChapter XXIV.\n\n\nProgress Under Obedience.  Her Inability to Resist the Graces\nof God.  God Multiplies His Graces.\n\n\n1. After this my confession, my soul was so docile that, as it\nseems to me, there was nothing in the world I was not prepared to\nundertake.  I began at once to make a change in many things,\nthough my confessor never pressed me--on the contrary, he seemed\nto make light of it all.  I was the more influenced by this,\nbecause he led me on by the way of the love of God; he left me\nfree, and did not press me, unless I did so myself, out of love.\nI continued thus nearly two months, doing all I could to resist\nthe sweetness and graces that God sent.  As to my outward life,\nthe change was visible; for our Lord gave me courage to go\nthrough with certain things, of which those who knew me--and even\nthose in the community--said that they seemed to them extreme;\nand, indeed, compared with what I had been accustomed to do, they\nwere extreme: people, therefore, had reason to say so.  Yet, in\nthose things which were of obligation, considering the habit I\nwore, and the profession I had made, I was still deficient.\nBy resisting the sweetness and joys which God sent me, I gained\nthis, that His Majesty taught me Himself; for, previously, I used\nto think that, in order to obtain sweetness in prayer, it was\nnecessary for me to hide myself in secret places, and so I\nscarcely dared to stir.  Afterwards, I saw how little that was to\nthe purpose; for the more I tried to distract myself, the more\nour Lord poured over me that sweetness and joy which seemed to me\nto be flowing around me, so that I could not in any way escape\nfrom it: and so it was.  I was so careful about this resistance,\nthat it was a pain to me.  But our Lord was more careful to show\nHis mercies, and during those two months to reveal Himself more\nthan before, so that I might the better comprehend that it was no\nlonger in my power to resist Him.\n\n2. I began with a renewed love of the most Sacred Humanity; my\nprayer began to be solid, like a house, the foundations of which\nare strong; and I was inclined to practise greater penance,\nhaving been negligent in this matter hitherto because of my great\ninfirmities.  The holy man who heard my confession told me that\ncertain penances would not hurt me, and that God perhaps sent me\nso much sickness because I did no penance; His Majesty would\ntherefore impose it Himself.  He ordered me to practise certain\nacts of mortification not very pleasant for me. [1] I did so,\nbecause I felt that our Lord was enjoining it all, and giving him\ngrace to command me in such a way as to make me obedient\nunto him.\n\n3. My soul was now sensitive to every offence I committed against\nGod, however slight it might be; so much so, that if I had any\nsuperfluity about me, I could not recollect myself in prayer till\nI had got rid of it.  I prayed earnestly that our Lord would hold\nme by the hand, and not suffer me to fall again, now that I was\nunder the direction of His servants.  I thought that would be a\ngreat evil, and that they would lose their credit through me.\n\n4. At this time, Father Francis, who was Duke of Gandia, [2] came\nhere; he had left all he possessed some years before, and had\nentered the Society of Jesus.  My confessor, and the nobleman of\nwhom I spoke before, [3] contrived that he should visit me, in\norder that I might speak to him, and give him an account of my\nway of prayer; for they knew him to be greatly favoured and\ncomforted of God: he had given up much, and was rewarded for it\neven in this life.  When he had heard me, he said to me that it\nwas the work of the Spirit of God, [4] and that he thought it was\nnot right now to prolong that resistance; that hitherto it had\nbeen safe enough,--only, I should always begin my prayer by\nmeditating on some part of the Passion and that if our Lord\nshould then raise up my spirit, I should make no resistance, but\nsuffer His Majesty to raise it upwards, I myself not seeking it.\nHe gave both medicine and advice, as one who had made great\nprogress himself; for experience is very important in these\nmatters.  He said that further resistance would be a mistake.\nI was exceedingly consoled; so, too, was the nobleman, who\nrejoiced greatly when he was told that it was the work of God.\nHe always helped me and gave me advice according to his\npower,--and that power was great.\n\n5. At this time, they changed my confessor's residence.  I felt\nit very much, for I thought I should go back to my wickedness,\nand that it was not possible to find another such as he.  My soul\nwas, as it were, in a desert, most sorrowful and afraid.  I knew\nnot what to do with myself.  One of my kinswomen contrived to get\nme into her house, and I contrived at once to find another\nconfessor, [5] in the Society of Jesus.  It pleased our Lord that\nI should commence a friendship with a noble lady, [6] a widow,\nmuch given to prayer, who had much to do with the fathers.\nShe made her own confessor [7] hear me, and I remained in her\nhouse some days.  She lived near, and I delighted in the many\nconferences I had with the fathers; for merely by observing the\nholiness of their way of life, I felt that my soul\nprofited exceedingly.\n\n6. This father began by putting me in the way of greater\nperfection.  He used to say to me, that I ought to leave nothing\nundone that I might be wholly pleasing unto God.  He was,\nhowever, very prudent and very gentle at the same time; for my\nsoul was not at all strong, but rather very weak, especially as\nto giving up certain friendships, though I did not offend God by\nthem: there was much natural affection in them, and I thought it\nwould be an act of ingratitude if I broke them off.  And so, as I\ndid not offend God, I asked him if I must be ungrateful.  He told\nme to lay the matter before God for a few days, and recite the\nhymn, \"Veni, Creator,\" that God might enlighten me as to the\nbetter course.  One day, having prayed for some time, and\nimplored our Lord to help me to please Him in all things, I began\nthe hymn; and as I was saying it, I fell into a trance--so\nsuddenly, that I was, as it were, carried out of myself.  I could\nhave no doubt about it, for it was most plain.\n\n7. This was the first time that our Lord bestowed on me the grace\nof ecstasy.  I heard these words: \"I will not have thee converse\nwith men, but with angels.\"  This made me wonder very much; for\nthe commotion of my spirit was great, and these words were\nuttered in the very depth of my soul.  They made me\nafraid,--though, on the other hand, they gave me great comfort,\nwhich, when I had lost the fear,--caused, I believe, by the\nstrangeness of the visitation,--remained with me.\n\n8. Those words have been fulfilled; for I have never been able to\nform friendship with, nor have any comfort in, nor any particular\nlove for, any persons whatever except those who, as I believe,\nlove God, and who strive to serve Him.  It has not been in my\npower to do it.  It is nothing to me that they are my kindred, or\nmy friends, if I do not know them to be lovers of God, or persons\ngiven to prayer.  It is to me a painful cross to converse with\nany one.  This is the truth, so far as I can judge. [8]\nFrom that day forth, I have had courage so great as to leave all\nthings for God, who in one moment--and it seems to me but a\nmoment--was pleased to change His servant into another person.\nAccordingly, there was no necessity for laying further commands\nupon me in this matter.  When my confessor saw how much I clung\nto these friendships, he did not venture to bid me distinctly to\ngive them up.  He must have waited till our Lord did the work--as\nHe did Himself.  Nor did I think myself that I could succeed; for\nI had tried before, and the pain it gave me was so great that I\nabandoned the attempt, on the ground that there was nothing\nunseemly in those attachments.  Now our Lord set me at liberty,\nand gave me strength also to use it.\n\n9. So I told my confessor of it, and gave up everything,\naccording to his advice.  It did a great deal of good to those\nwith whom I used to converse, to see my determination.  God be\nblessed for ever! Who in one moment set me free, while I had been\nfor many years making many efforts, and had never succeeded, very\noften also doing such violence to myself as injured my health;\nbut, as it was done by Him Who is almighty, and the true Lord of\nall, it gave me no pain whatever.\n\n\n1. The Saint now treated her body with extreme severity,\ndisciplining herself even unto blood (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c.\nxx. \u00a7\u00a04).\n\n2. St. Francis de Borja came to Avila, where St. Teresa lived, in\n1557 (De la Fuente).  This passage must have been written after\nthe foundation of St. Joseph, for it was not in the first Life,\nas the Saint says, ch. x. \u00a7 11, that he kept secret the names of\nherself and all others.\n\n3. Ch. xxiii. \u00a7 6.\n\n4. See Relation, viii. \u00a7 6.\n\n5. Who he was is not certainly known.  The Bollandists decline to\ngive an opinion: but F. Bouix thinks it was F. Ferdinand Alvarez,\nwho became her confessor on the removal of F. Juan de Padranos,\nand that it was to him she confessed till she placed herself\nunder the direction of F. Baltasar Alvarez, the confessor of Do\u00f1a\nGuiomar, as it is stated in the next paragraph,--unless the\nconfessor there mentioned was F.\u00a0Ferdinand.\n\n6. Do\u00f1a Guiomar de Ulloa.  See below, ch. xxxii. \u00a7 13.\n\n7. If this confessor was F. Baltasar Alvarez, the Saint, F. Bouix\nobserves, passes rapidly over the history of the year 1557, and\nthe greater part, perhaps, of 1558; for F. Baltasar was ordained\npriest only in the latter\u00a0year.\n\n8. See Relation, i. \u00a7 6.\n\n\n\nChapter XXV.\n\n\nDivine Locutions.  Discussions on That Subject.\n\n\n1. It will be as well, I think, to explain these locutions of\nGod, and to describe what the soul feels when it receives them,\nin order that you, my father, may understand the matter; for ever\nsince that time of which I am speaking, when our Lord granted me\nthat grace, it has been an ordinary occurrence until now, as will\nappear by what I have yet to say. [1]\n\n2. The words are very distinctly formed; but by the bodily ear\nthey are not heard.  They are, however, much more clearly\nunderstood than they would be if they were heard by the ear.\nIt is impossible not to understand them, whatever resistance we\nmay offer.  When we wish not to hear anything in this world, we\ncan stop our ears, or give attention to something else: so that,\neven if we do hear, at least we can refuse to understand.\nIn this locution of God addressed to the soul there is no escape,\nfor in spite of ourselves we must listen; and the understanding\nmust apply itself so thoroughly to the comprehension of that\nwhich God wills we should hear, that it is nothing to the purpose\nwhether we will it or not; for it is His will, Who can do all\nthings.  We should understand that His will must be done; and He\nreveals Himself as our true Lord, having dominion over us.\nI know this by much experience; for my resistance lasted nearly\ntwo years, [2] because of the great fear I was in: and even now I\nresist occasionally; but it is of no use.\n\n3. I should like to explain the delusions which may happen here,\nthough he who has had much experience will run little or no risk,\nI think; but the experience must be great.  I should like to\nexplain also how those locutions which come from the Good Spirit\ndiffer from those which come from an evil spirit; and, further,\nhow they may be but an apprehension of the understanding,--for\nthat is possible,--or even words which the mind addressed to\nitself.  I do not know if it be so but even this very day I\nthought it possible.  I know by experience in many ways, when\nthese locutions come from God.  I have been told things two or\nthree years beforehand, which have all come to pass; and in none\nof them have I been hitherto deceived.  There are also other\nthings in which the Spirit of God may be clearly traced, as I\nshall relate by and by. [3]\n\n4. It seems to me that a person commending a matter to God with\ngreat love and earnestness may think that he hears in some way or\nother whether his prayer will be granted or not, and this is\nquite possible; but he who has heard the divine locution will see\nclearly enough what this is, because there is a great difference\nbetween the two.  If it be anything which the understanding has\nfashioned, however cunningly it may have done so, he sees that it\nis the understanding which has arranged that locution, and that\nit is speaking of itself.  This is nothing else but a word\nuttered by one, and listened to by another: in that case, the\nunderstanding will see that it has not been listening only, but\nalso forming the words; and the words it forms are something\nindistinct, fantastic, and not clear like the divine locutions.\nIt is in our power to turn away our attention from these\nlocutions of our own, just as we can be silent when we are\nspeaking; but, with respect to the former, that cannot be done.\n\n5. There is another test more decisive still.  The words formed\nby the understanding effect nothing; but, when our Lord speaks,\nit is at once word and work; and though the words may not be\nmeant to stir up our devotion, but are rather words of reproof,\nthey dispose a soul at once, strengthen it, make it tender, give\nit light, console and calm it; and if it should be in dryness, or\nin trouble and uneasiness, all is removed, as if by the action of\na hand, and even better; for it seems as if our Lord would have\nthe soul understand that He is all-powerful, and that His words\nare deeds.\n\n6. It seems to me that there is as much difference between these\ntwo locutions as there is between speaking and listening, neither\nmore nor less; for when I speak, as I have just said, [4] I go on\nwith my understanding arranging what I am saying; but if I am\nspoken to by others, I do nothing else but listen, without any\nlabour.  The human locution is as something which we cannot well\nmake out, as if we were half asleep; but the divine locution is a\nvoice so clear that not a syllable of its utterance is lost.\nIt may occur, too, when the understanding and the soul are so\ntroubled and distracted that they cannot form one sentence\ncorrectly; and yet grand sentences, perfectly arranged, such as\nthe soul in its most recollected state never could have formed,\nare uttered, and at the first word, as I said, [5] change it\nutterly.  Still less could it have formed them if they are\nuttered in an ecstasy, when the faculties of the soul are\nsuspended; for how should the soul then comprehend anything, when\nit remembers nothing?--yea, rather, how can it remember them\nthen, when the memory can hardly do anything at all, and the\nimagination is, as it were, suspended?\n\n7. But it is to be observed, that if we see visions and hear\nwords it never is as at the time when the soul is in union in the\nvery rapture itself,--so it seems to me.  At that moment, as I\nhave shown,--I think it was when I was speaking of the second\nwater, [6]--all the faculties of the soul are suspended; and, as\nI think, neither vision, nor understanding, nor hearing, is\npossible at that time.  The soul is then wholly in the power of\nanother; and in that instant--a very brief one, in my\nopinion--our Lord leaves it free for nothing whatever; but when\nthis instant is passed, the soul continuing still entranced, then\nis the time of which I am speaking; for the faculties, though not\ncompletely suspended, are so disposed that they are scarcely\nactive, being, as it were, absorbed, and incapable of making\nany reflections.\n\n8. There are so many ways of ascertaining the nature of these\nlocutions, that if a person be once deceived, he will not be\ndeceived often.  I mean, that a soul accustomed to them, and on\nits guard, will most clearly see what they are; for, setting\nother considerations aside which prove what I have said, the\nhuman locution produces no effect, neither does the soul accept\nit,--though it must admit the other, whether we like it or\nnot,--nor does it believe it; on the contrary, it is known to be\na delusion of the understanding, and is therefore put away as we\nwould put away the ravings of a lunatic.\n\n9. But as to the divine locution, we listen to that as we do to a\nperson of great holiness, learning, or authority, whom we know to\nbe incapable of uttering a falsehood.  And yet this is an\ninadequate illustration; for these locutions proceed occasionally\nin such great majesty that, without our recollecting who it is\nthat utters them, they make us tremble if they be words of\nreproof, and die of love if words of love.  They are also, as I\nhave said, [7] matters of which the memory has not the least\nrecollection; and expressions so full are uttered so rapidly,\nthat much time must have been spent in arranging them, if we\nformed them ourselves; and so it seems to me that we cannot\npossibly be ignorant at the time that we have never formed them\nourselves at all.\n\n10. There is no reason, therefore, why I should dwell longer on\nthis matter.  It is a wonder to me that any experienced person,\nunless he deliberately chooses to do so, can fall into delusions.\nIt has often happened to me, when I had doubts, to distrust what\nI had heard, and to think that it was all imagination,--but this\nI did afterwards: for at the moment that is impossible,--and at a\nlater time to see the whole fulfilled; for our Lord makes the\nwords dwell in the memory so that they cannot be forgotten.\nNow, that which comes forth from our understanding is, as it\nwere, the first movement of thought, which passes away and is\nforgotten; but the divine locution is a work done; and though\nsome of it may be forgotten, and time have lapsed, yet is not so\nwholly forgotten that the memory loses all traces of what was\nonce spoken,--unless, indeed, after very long time, or unless the\nlocution were words of grace or of instruction.  But as to\nprophetic words, they are never forgotten, in my opinion; at\nleast, I have never forgotten any,--and yet my memory is weak.\n\n11. I repeat it, unless a soul be so wicked as to pretend that it\nhas these locutions, which would be a great sin, and say that it\nhears divine words when it hears nothing of the kind, it cannot\npossibly fail to see clearly that itself arranges the words, and\nutters them to itself.  That seems to me altogether impossible\nfor any soul that has ever known the Spirit of God.  If it has\nnot, it may continue all its life long in this delusion, and\nimagine that it hears and understands, though I know not how that\ncan be.  A soul desires to hear these locutions, or it does not;\nif it does not, it is distressed because it hears them, and is\nunwilling to listen to them, because of a thousand fears which\nthey occasion, and for many other reasons it has for being quiet\nin prayer without these interruptions.  How is it that the\nunderstanding has time enough to arrange these locutions?\nThey require time.\n\n12. But, on the other side, the divine locutions instruct us\nwithout loss of time, and we understand matters which seem to\nrequire a month on our part to arrange.  The understanding\nitself, and the soul, stand amazed at some of the things we\nunderstand.  So it is; and he who has any experience of it will\nsee that what I am saying is literally true.  I give God thanks\nthat I have been able thus to explain it.  I end by saying that,\nin my opinion, we may hear the locutions that proceed from the\nunderstanding whenever we like, and think that we hear them\nwhenever we pray.  But it is not so with the divine locutions:\nfor many days I may desire to hear them, and I cannot; and at\nother times, even when I would not, as I said before, [8] hear\nthem, I must.  It seems to me that any one disposed to deceive\npeople by saying that he heard from God that which he has\ninvented himself, might as easily say that he heard it with his\nbodily ears.  It is most certainly true that I never imagined\nthere was any other way of hearing or understanding till I had\nproof of it in myself; and so, as I have said before, [9] it gave\nme trouble enough.\n\n13. Locutions that come from Satan not only do not leave any good\neffects behind, but do leave evil effects.  This has happened to\nme; but not more than two or three times.  Our Lord warned me at\nonce that they came from Satan.  Over and above the great aridity\nwhich remains in the soul after these evil locutions, there is\nalso a certain disquiet, such as I have had on many other\noccasions, when, by our Lord's permission, I fell into great\ntemptations and travail of soul in diverse ways; and though I am\nin trouble often enough, as I shall show hereafter, [10] yet this\ndisquiet is such that I know not whence it comes; only the soul\nseems to resist, is troubled and distressed, without knowing why;\nfor the words of Satan are good, and not evil.  I am thinking\nwhether this may not be so because one spirit is conscious of the\npresence of another.\n\n14. The sweetness and joy which Satan gives are, in my opinion,\nof a very different kind.  By means of these sweetnesses he may\ndeceive any one who does not, or who never did, taste of the\nsweetness of God,--by which I mean a certain sweet, strong,\nimpressive, delightsome, and calm refreshing.  Those little,\nfervid bursts of tears, and other slight emotions,--for at the\nfirst breath of persecution these flowers wither,--I do not call\ndevotion, though they are a good beginning, and are holy\nimpressions; but they are not a test to determine whether these\nlocutions come from a good or an evil spirit.  It is therefore\nbest for us to proceed always with great caution; for those\npersons who have advanced in prayer only so far as this may most\neasily fall into delusions, if they have visions or revelations.\nFor myself, I never had a single vision or revelation till God\nhad led me on to the prayer of union,--unless it be on that\noccasion, of which I have spoken before, [11] now many years ago,\nwhen I saw our Lord.  Oh, that His Majesty had been pleased to\nlet me then understand that it was a true vision, as I have since\nunderstood it was! it would have been no slight blessing to me.\n\n15. After these locutions of the evil one, the soul is never\ngentle, but is, as it were, terrified, and greatly disgusted.\n\n16. I look upon it as a most certain truth, that the devil will\nnever deceive, and that God will not suffer him to deceive, the\nsoul which has no confidence whatever in itself; which is strong\nin faith, and resolved to undergo a thousand deaths for any one\narticle of the creed; which in its love of the faith, infused of\nGod once for all,--a faith living and strong,--always labours,\nseeking for further light on this side and on that, to mould\nitself on the teaching of the Church, as one already deeply\ngrounded in the truth.  No imaginable revelations, not even if it\nsaw the heavens open, could make that soul swerve in any degree\nfrom the doctrine of the Church.  If, however, it should at any\ntime find itself wavering even in thought on this point, or\nstopping to say to itself, If God says this to me, it may be\ntrue, as well as what He said to the Saints--the soul must not be\nsure of it.  I do not mean that it so believes, only that Satan\nhas taken the first step towards tempting it; and the giving way\nto the first movements of a thought like this is evidently most\nwrong.  I believe, however, that these first movements will not\ntake place if the soul is so strong in the matter--as that soul\nis to whom our Lord sends these graces--that it seems as if it\ncould crush the evil spirits in defence of the very least of the\ntruths which the Church holds.\n\n17. If the soul does not discern this great strength in itself,\nand if the particular devotion or vision help it not onwards,\nthen it must not look upon it as safe.  For though at first the\nsoul is conscious of no harm, great harm may by degrees ensue;\nbecause, so far as I can see, and by experience understand, that\nwhich purports to come from God is received only in so far as it\ncorresponds with the sacred writings; but if it varies therefrom\never so little, I am incomparably more convinced that it comes\nfrom Satan than I am now convinced it comes from God, however\ndeep that conviction may be.  In this case, there is no need to\nask for signs, nor from what spirit it proceeds, because this\nvarying is so clear a sign of the devil's presence, that if all\nthe world were to assure me that it came from God, I would not\nbelieve it.  The fact is, that all good seems to be lost out of\nsight, and to have fled from the soul, when the devil has spoken\nto it; the soul is thrown into a state of disgust, and is\ntroubled, able to do no good thing whatever--for if it conceives\ngood desires, they are not strong; its humility is fictitious,\ndisturbed, and without sweetness.  Any one who has ever tasted of\nthe Spirit of God will, I think, understand it.\n\n18. Nevertheless, Satan has many devices; and so there is nothing\nmore certain than that it is safer to be afraid, and always on\nour guard, under a learned director, from whom nothing is\nconcealed.  If we do this, no harm can befall us, though much has\nbefallen me through the excessive fears which possessed some\npeople.  For instance, it happened so once to me, when many\npersons in whom I had great confidence, and with good reason, had\nassembled together,--five or six in number, I think,--and all\nvery great servants of God.  It is true, my relations were with\none of them only; but by his orders made my state known to the\nothers.  They had many conferences together about my necessities;\nfor they had great affection for me, and were afraid I was under\na delusion.  I, too, was very much afraid whenever I was not\noccupied in prayer; but when I prayed, and our Lord bestowed His\ngraces upon me, I was instantly reassured.  My confessor told me\nthey were all of opinion that I was deceived by Satan; that I\nmust communicate less frequently, and contrive to distract myself\nin such a way as to be less alone.\n\n19. I was in great fear myself, as I have just said, and my\ndisease of the heart [12] contributed thereto, so that very often\nI did not dare to remain alone in my cell during the day.  When I\nfound so many maintain this, and myself unable to believe them, I\nhad at once a most grievous scruple; for it seemed to me that I\nhad very little humility, especially as they all led lives\nincomparably better than mine: they were also learned men.\nWhy should I not believe them?  I did all I could to believe\nthem.  I reflected on my wicked life, and therefore what they\nsaid to me must be true.\n\n20. In this distress, I quitted the church, [13] and entered an\noratory.  I had not been to Communion for many days, nor had I\nbeen alone, which was all my comfort.  I had no one to speak to,\nfor every one was against me.  Some, I thought, made a mock of me\nwhen I spoke to them of my prayer, as if I were a person under\ndelusions of the imagination; others warned my confessor to be on\nhis guard against me; and some said it was clear the whole was an\noperation of Satan.  My confessor, though he agreed with them for\nthe sake of trying me, as I understood afterwards, always\ncomforted me: and he alone did so.  He told me that, if I did not\noffend God, my prayer, even if it was the work of Satan, could do\nme no harm; that I should be delivered from it.  He bade me pray\nmuch to God: he himself, and all his penitents, and many others\ndid so earnestly; I, too, with all my might, and as many as I\nknew to be servants of God, prayed that His Majesty would be\npleased to lead me by another way.  This lasted, I think, about\ntwo years; and this was the subject of my continual prayer to\nour Lord.\n\n21. But there was no comfort for me when I thought of the\npossibility that Satan could speak to me so often.  Now that I\nwas never alone for prayer, our Lord made me recollected even\nduring conversation: He spoke what He pleased,--I could not avoid\nit; and, though it distressed me, I was forced to listen.  I was\nby myself, having no one in whom I could find any comfort; unable\nto pray or read, like a person stunned by heavy trials, and by\nthe dread that the evil one had deluded me; utterly disquieted\nand wearied, not knowing what would become of me.  I have been\noccasionally--yea, very often--in distress, but never before in\ndistress so great.  I was in this state for four or five hours;\nthere was no comfort for me, either from heaven or on earth--only\nour Lord left me to suffer, afraid of a thousand dangers.\n\n22. O my Lord, how true a friend art Thou! how powerful!\nThou showest Thy power when Thou wilt; and Thou dost will it\nalways, if only we will it also.  Let the whole creation praise\nThee, O Thou Lord of the world!  Oh, that a voice might go forth\nover all the earth, proclaiming Thy faithfulness to those who\nlove Thee! All things fail; but Thou, Lord of all, never failest!\nThey who love Thee, oh, how little they have to suffer! oh, how\ngently, how tenderly, how sweetly Thou, O my Lord, dealest with\nthem! Oh, that no one had ever been occupied with any other love\nthan Thine!  It seems as if Thou didst subject those who love\nThee to a severe trial: but it is in order that they may learn,\nin the depths of that trial, the depths of Thy love.  O my God,\noh, that I had understanding and learning, and a new language, in\norder to magnify Thy works, according to the knowledge of them\nwhich my soul possesses!  Everything fails me, O my Lord; but if\nThou wilt not abandon me, I will never fail Thee.  Let all the\nlearned rise up against me,--let the whole creation persecute\nme,--let the evil spirits torment me,--but do Thou, O Lord, fail\nme not; for I know by experience now the blessedness of that\ndeliverance which Thou dost effect for those who trust only in\nThee.  In this distress,--for then I had never had a single\nvision,--these Thy words alone were enough to remove it, and give\nme perfect peace: \"Be not afraid, my daughter: it is I; and I\nwill not abandon thee.  Fear not.\" [14]\n\n23. It seems to me that, in the state I was in then, many hours\nwould have been necessary to calm me, and that no one could have\ndone it.  Yet I found myself, through these words alone, tranquil\nand strong, courageous and confident, at rest and enlightened; in\na moment, my soul seemed changed, and I felt I could maintain\nagainst all the world that my prayer was the work of God.\nOh, how good is God! how good is our Lord, and how powerful!\nHe gives not counsel only, but relief as well.  His words are\ndeeds. O my God! as He strengthens our faith, love grows.  So it\nis, in truth; for I used frequently to recollect how our Lord,\nwhen the tempest arose, commanded the winds to be still over the\nsea. [15] So I said to myself: Who is He, that all my faculties\nshould thus obey Him?  Who is He, that gives light in such\ndarkness in a moment; who softens a heart that seemed to be made\nof stone; who gives the waters of sweet tears, where for a long\ntime great dryness seems to have prevailed; who inspires these\ndesires; who bestows this courage?  What have I been thinking of?\nwhat am I afraid of? what is it?  I desire to serve this my Lord;\nI aim at nothing else but His pleasure; I seek no joy, no rest,\nno other good than that of doing His will.  I was so confident\nthat I had no other desire, that I could safely assert it.\n\n24. Seeing, then, that our Lord is so powerful,--as I see and\nknow He is,--and that the evil spirits are His slaves, of which\nthere can be no doubt, because it is of faith,--and I a servant\nof this our Lord and King,--what harm can Satan do unto me?\nWhy have I not strength enough to fight against all hell?  I took\nup the cross in my hand,--I was changed in a moment into another\nperson, and it seemed as if God had really given me courage\nenough not to be afraid of encountering all the evil spirits.\nIt seemed to me that I could, with the cross, easily defeat them\naltogether.  So I cried out, Come on, all of you; I am the\nservant of our Lord: I should like to see what you can do\nagainst me.\n\n25. And certainly they seemed to be afraid of me, for I was left\nin peace: I feared them so little, that the terrors, which until\nnow oppressed me, quitted me altogether; and though I saw them\noccasionally,--I shall speak of this by and by, [16]--I was never\nagain afraid of them--on the contrary, they seemed to be afraid\nof me. [17]  I found myself endowed with a certain authority over\nthem, given me by the Lord of all, so that I cared no more for\nthem than for flies.  They seem to be such cowards; for their\nstrength fails them at the sight of any one who despises them.\nThese enemies have not the courage to assail any but those whom\nthey see ready to give in to them, or when God permits them to do\nso, for the greater good of His servants, whom they may try\nand torment.\n\n26. May it please His Majesty that we fear Him whom we ought to\nfear, [18] and understand that one venial sin can do us more harm\nthan all hell together; for that is the truth.  The evil spirits\nkeep us in terror, because we expose ourselves to the assaults of\nterror by our attachments to honours, possessions, and pleasures.\nFor then the evil spirits, uniting themselves with us,--we become\nour own enemies when we love and seek what we ought to hate,--do\nus great harm.  We ourselves put weapons into their hands, that\nthey may assail us; those very weapons with which we should\ndefend ourselves.  It is a great pity.  But if, for the love of\nGod, we hated all this, and embraced the cross, and set about His\nservice in earnest, Satan would fly away before such realities,\nas from the plague.  He is the friend of lies, and a lie\nhimself. [19]  He will have nothing to do with those who walk in\nthe truth.  When he sees the understanding of any one obscured,\nhe simply helps to pluck out his eyes; if he sees any one already\nblind, seeking peace in vanities,--for all the things of this\nworld are so utterly vanity, that they seem to be but the\nplaythings of a child,--he sees at once that such a one is a\nchild; he treats him as a child, and ventures to wrestle with\nhim--not once, but often.\n\n27. May it please our Lord that I be not one of these; and may\nHis Majesty give me grace to take that for peace which is really\npeace, that for honour which is really honour, and that for\ndelight which is really a delight.  Let me never mistake one\nthing for another--and then I snap my fingers at all the devils,\nfor they shall be afraid of me.  I do not understand those\nterrors which make us cry out, Satan, Satan! when we may say,\nGod, God! and make Satan tremble.  Do we not know that he cannot\nstir without the permission of God?  What does it mean?  I am\nreally much more afraid of those people who have so great a fear\nof the devil, than I am of the devil himself.  Satan can do me no\nharm whatever, but they can trouble me very much, particularly if\nthey be confessors.  I have spent some years of such great\nanxiety, that even now I am amazed that I was able to bear it.\nBlessed be our Lord, who has so effectually helped me!\n\n\n1. Philip. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. par. 2,\ntr. iii. disc. iv. art. v.: \"Tres sunt modi divin\u00e6 locutionis;\ncompletur enim divina locutio vel verbis successivis, vel verbis\nformalibus, vel verbis substantialibus.  Completur verbis\nsuccessivis cum anima in semetipsa multum collecta quosdam\ndiscursus internos de Deo vel de aliis divina format directione;\nhujusmodi quippe discursus, quamvis ab ipsa sibi formati, a Deo\ntamen dirigente procedunt.  Completur verbis formalibus cum anima\nvel in se collecta, vel aliis occupata, percipit qu\u00e6dam verba\nformaliter ac distincte divinitus expressa, ad quorum formationem\nanima passive penitus se habet.  Completur verbis substantialibus\ncum anima vel in se collecta, vel etiam distracta, percipit\nqu\u00e6dam verba viva et efficacia, divinitus ad se directa, qu\u00e6\nvirtutem aut substantialem effectum per ipsa significatum\nfortiter ac infallibiliter causant.\"  See also St. John of the\nCross, Ascent of Mount Carmel, b. ii. ch. xxviii. and the\nfollowing, p.\u00a0188.\n\n2. From 1555 to 1557, when the Saint was advised by St. Francis\nde Borja to make no further resistance\u00a0(Bouix).\n\n3. See ch. xxvii. \u00a7 4.\n\n4. \u00a7 4.\n\n5. \u00a7 5.\n\n6. The doctrine here laid down is not that of the second\nwater,--chs. xiv. and xv.,--but that of the third, ch. xvi.\nThe Saint herself speaks doubtfully; and as she had but little\ntime for writing, she could not correct nor read again what she\nhad written (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n7. \u00a7 6.\n\n8. \u00a7 2.\n\n9. Ch. vii. \u00a7 12.\n\n10. Ch. xxviii. \u00a7 6, ch. xxx. \u00a7 10.\n\n11. Ch. vii. \u00a7 11.\n\n12. Ch. iv. \u00a7 6, ch. v. \u00a7 14.\n\n13. It was the church of the Jesuits (Bouix).\n\n14. See Inner Fortress, vi. 3, \u00a7 5.\n\n15. St. Matt. viii. 26; \"Imperavit ventis et mari, et facta est\ntranquillitas\u00a0magna.\"\n\n16. Ch. xxxi. \u00a7 2.\n\n17. St. John of the Cross, Spiritual Canticle, st. 24, p. 128,\nEng.\u00a0trans.\n\n18. St. Matt. x. 26, 28; \"Ne ergo timueritis eos,\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. sed\npotius timete\u00a0Eum.\"\n\n19. St. John viii. 44: \"Mendax est, et pater ejus.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXVI.\n\n\nHow the Fears of the Saint Vanished.  How She Was Assured That\nHer Prayer Was the Work of the Holy Spirit.\n\n\n1. I look upon the courage which our Lord has implanted in me\nagainst evil spirits as one of the greatest mercies which He has\nbestowed upon me; for a cowardly soul, afraid of anything but sin\nagainst God, is a very unseemly thing, when we have on our side\nthe King omnipotent, our Lord most high, who can do all things,\nand subjects all things to Himself.  There is nothing to be\nafraid of if we walk, as I said before, [1] in the truth, in the\nsight of His Majesty, with a pure conscience.  And for this end,\nas I said in the same place, I would have myself all fears, that\nI may not for one instant offend Him who in that instant is able\nto destroy us.  If His Majesty is pleased with us, whoever\nresists us--be he who he may--will be utterly disappointed.\n\n2. It may be so, you will say; but, then, where is that soul so\njust as to please Him in everything?--and that is the reason why\nwe are afraid.  Certainly it is not my soul, which is most\nwretched, unprofitable, and full of misery.  God is not like man\nin His ways; He knows our weakness.  But the soul perceives, by\nthe help of certain great signs, whether it loves God of a truth;\nfor the love of those souls who have come to this state is not\nhidden as it was at first, but is full of high impulses, and of\nlongings for the vision of God, as I shall show hereafter--or\nrather, as I have shown already. [2]  Everything wearies,\neverything distresses, everything torments the soul, unless it be\nsuffered with God, or for God.  There is no rest which is not a\nweariness, because the soul knows itself to be away from its true\nrest; and so love is made most manifest, and, as I have just\nsaid, impossible to hide.\n\n3. It happened to me, on another occasion to be grievously tried,\nand much spoken against on account of a certain affair,--of which\nI will speak hereafter, [3]--by almost everybody in the place\nwhere I am living, and by the members of my Order.  When I was in\nthis distress, and afflicted by many occasions of disquiet\nwherein I was placed, our Lord spoke to me, saying: \"What art\nthou afraid of? knowest thou not that I am almighty?  I will do\nwhat I have promised thee.\"  And so, afterwards, was it done.\nI found myself at once so strong, that I could have undertaken\nanything, so it seemed, immediately, even if I had to endure\ngreater trials for His service, and had to enter on a new state\nof suffering.  These locutions are so frequent, that I cannot\ncount them; many of them are reproaches, and He sends them when I\nfall into imperfections.  They are enough to destroy a soul.\nThey correct me, however; for His Majesty--as I said\nbefore [4]--gives both counsel and relief.  There are others\nwhich bring my former sins into remembrance,--particularly when\nHe is about to bestow upon me some special grace,--in such a way\nthat the soul beholds itself as being really judged; for those\nreproaches of God put the truth before it so distinctly, that it\nknows not what to do with itself.  Some are warnings against\ncertain dangers to myself or others; many of them are prophecies\nof future things, three or four years beforehand; and all of them\nhave been fulfilled: some of them I could mention.  Here, then,\nare so many reasons for believing that they come from God, as\nmake it impossible, I believe, for anybody to mistake them.\n\n4. The safest course in these things is to declare, without fail,\nthe whole state of the soul, together with the graces our Lord\ngives me, to a confessor who is learned, and obey him.  I do so;\nand if I did not, I should have no peace.  Nor is it right that\nwe women, who are unlearned, should have any: there can be no\ndanger in this, but rather great profit.  This is what our Lord\nhas often commanded me to do, and it is what I have often done.\nI had a confessor [5] who mortified me greatly, and now and then\ndistressed me: he tried me heavily, for he disquieted me\nexceedingly; and yet he was the one who, I believe, did me the\nmost good.  Though I had a great affection for him, I was\noccasionally tempted to leave him; I thought that the pain he\ninflicted on me disturbed my prayer.  Whenever I was resolved on\nleaving him, I used to feel instantly that I ought not to do so;\nand one reproach of our Lord would press more heavily upon me\nthan all that my confessor did.  Now and then, I was worn\nout--torture on the one hand, reproaches on the other.\nI required it all, for my will was but little subdued.  Our Lord\nsaid to me once, that there was no obedience where there was no\nresolution to suffer; that I was to think of His sufferings, and\nthen everything would be easy.\n\n5. One of my confessors, to whom I went in the beginning, advised\nme once, now that my spiritual state was known to be the work of\nGod, to keep silence, and not speak of these things to any one,\non the ground that it was safer to keep these graces secret.\nTo me, the advice seemed good, because I felt it so much whenever\nI had to speak of them to my confessor; [6] I was also so ashamed\nof myself, that I felt it more keenly at times to speak of them\nthan I should have done in confessing grave sins, particularly\nwhen the graces I had to reveal were great.  I thought they did\nnot believe me, and that they were laughing at me.  I felt it so\nmuch,--for I look on this as an irreverent treatment of the\nmarvels of God,--that I was glad to be silent. I learned then\nthat I had been ill-advised by that confessor, because I ought\nnever to hide anything from my confessor; for I should find great\nsecurity if I told everything; and if I did otherwise, I might at\nany time fall into delusions. [7]\n\n6. Whenever our Lord commanded me to do one thing in prayer, and\nif my confessor forbade it, our Lord Himself told me to obey my\nconfessor.  His Majesty afterwards would change the mind of that\nconfessor, so that he would have me do what he had forbidden\nbefore.  When we were deprived of many books written in Spanish,\nand forbidden to read them,--I felt it deeply, for some of these\nbooks were a great comfort to me, and I could not read them in\nLatin,--our Lord said to me, \"Be not troubled; I will give thee a\nliving book.\"  I could not understand why this was said to me,\nfor at that time I had never had a vision. [8]  But, a very few\ndays afterwards, I understood it well enough; for I had so much\nto think of, and such reasons for self-recollection in what I saw\nbefore me and our Lord dealt so lovingly with me, in teaching me\nin so many ways, that I had little or no need whatever of books.\nHis Majesty has been to me a veritable Book, in which I saw all\ntruth.  Blessed be such a Book, which leaves behind an impression\nof what is read therein, and in such a way that it cannot\nbe forgotten!\n\n7. Who can look upon our Lord, covered with wounds, and bowed\ndown under persecutions, without accepting, loving, and longing\nfor them?  Who can behold but a part of that glory which He will\ngive to those who serve Him without confessing that all he may\ndo, and all he may suffer, are altogether as nothing, when we may\nhope for such a reward?  Who can look at the torments of lost\nsouls without acknowledging the torments of this life to be\njoyous delights in comparison, and confessing how much they owe\nto our Lord in having saved them so often from the place of\ntorments? [9]  But as, by the help of God, I shall speak more at\nlarge of certain things, I wish now to go on with the story of my\nlife.  Our Lord grant that I have been clear enough in what I\nhave hitherto said!  I feel assured that he will understand me\nwho has had experience herein, and that he will see I have\npartially succeeded; but as to him who has had no such\nexperience, I should not be surprised if he regarded it all as\nfolly.  It is enough for him that it is I who say it, in order to\nbe free from blame; neither will I blame any one who shall so\nspeak of it.  Our Lord grant that I may never fail to do His\nwill!  Amen.\n\n\n1. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 26.\n\n2. Ch. xv. \u00a7 6.\n\n3. Ch. xxxiii.; the foundation of the house of St. Joseph.\n\n4. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 23.\n\n5. The Bollandists, n. 185, attribute some of the severity with\nwhich her confessor treated the Saint to the spirit of desolation\nwith which he was then tried himself; and, in proof of it, refer\nto the account which F. Baltasar Alvarez gave of his own prayer\nto the General of the\u00a0Society.\n\n6. See Relation, vii. \u00a7 7.\n\n7. St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. 22, \u00a7\u00a014.\n\n8. The visions of the Saint began in 1558 (De la Fuente) or,\naccording to Father Bouix, in\u00a01559.\n\n9. St. Luke xvi. 28: \"Ne et ipsi veniant in hunc\nlocum\u00a0tormentorum.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXVII.\n\n\nThe Saint Prays to Be Directed by a Different Way.\nIntellectual Visions.\n\n\n1. I now resume the story of my life.  I was in great pain and\ndistress; and many prayers, as I said, [1] were made on my\nbehalf, that our Lord would lead me by another and a safer way;\nfor this, they told me, was so suspicious.  The truth is, that\nthough I was praying to God for this, and wished I had a desire\nfor another way, yet, when I saw the progress I was making, I was\nunable really to desire a change,--though I always prayed for\nit,--excepting on those occasions when I was extremely cast down\nby what people said to me, and by the fears with which they\nfilled me.\n\n2. I felt that I was wholly changed; I could do nothing but put\nmyself in the hands of God: He knew what was expedient for me;\nlet Him do with me according to His will in all things.  I saw\nthat by this way I was directed heavenwards, and that formerly I\nwas going down to hell.  I could not force myself to desire a\nchange, nor believe that I was under the influence of Satan.\nThough I was doing all I could to believe the one and to desire\nthe other, it was not in my power to do so.  I offered up all my\nactions, if there should be any good in them, for this end; I had\nrecourse to the Saints for whom I had a devotion, that they might\ndeliver me from the evil one; I made novenas; I commended myself\nto St. Hilarion, to the Angel St. Michael, to whom I had recently\nbecome devout, for this purpose; and many other Saints I\nimportuned, that our Lord might show me the way,--I mean, that\nthey might obtain this for me from His Majesty.\n\n3. At the end of two years spent in prayer by myself and others\nfor this end, namely, that our Lord would either lead me by\nanother way, or show the truth of this,--for now the locutions of\nour Lord were extremely frequent,--this happened to me.  I was in\nprayer one day,--it was the feast of the glorious\nSt. Peter, [2]--when I saw Christ close by me, or, to speak more\ncorrectly, felt Him; for I saw nothing with the eyes of the body,\nnothing with the eyes of the soul.  He seemed to me to be close\nbeside me; and I saw, too, as I believe, that it was He who was\nspeaking to me. As I was utterly ignorant that such a vision was\npossible, [3] I was extremely afraid at first, and did nothing\nbut weep; however, when He spoke to me but one word to reassure\nme, I recovered myself, and was, as usual, calm and comforted,\nwithout any fear whatever.  Jesus Christ seemed to be by my side\ncontinually, and, as the vision was not imaginary, I saw no form;\nbut I had a most distinct feeling that He was always on my right\nhand, a witness of all I did; and never at any time, if I was but\nslightly recollected, or not too much distracted, could I be\nignorant of His near presence. [4]\n\n4. I went at once to my confessor, [5] in great distress, to tell\nhim of it.  He asked in what form I saw our Lord.  I told him I\nsaw no form.  He then said: \"How did you know that it was\nChrist?\"  I replied, that I did not know how I knew it; but I\ncould not help knowing that He was close beside me,--that I saw\nHim distinctly, and felt His presence,--that the recollectedness\nof my soul was deeper in the prayer of quiet, and more\ncontinuous,--that the effects thereof were very different from\nwhat I had hitherto experienced,--and that it was most certain.\nI could only make comparisons in order to explain myself; and\ncertainly there are no comparisons, in my opinion, by which\nvisions of this kind can be described.  Afterwards I learnt from\nFriar Peter of Alcantara, a holy man of great spirituality,--of\nwhom I shall speak by and by, [6]--and from others of great\nlearning, that this vision was of the highest order, and one with\nwhich Satan can least interfere; and therefore there are no words\nwhereby to explain,--at least, none for us women, who know so\nlittle: learned men can explain it better.\n\n5. For if I say that I see Him neither with the eyes of the body,\nnor with those of the soul,--because it was not an imaginary\nvision,--how is it that I can understand and maintain that He\nstands beside me, and be more certain of it than if I saw Him?\nIf it be supposed that it is as if a person were blind, or in the\ndark, and therefore unable to see another who is close to him,\nthe comparison is not exact.  There is a certain likelihood about\nit, however, but not much, because the other senses tell him who\nis blind of that presence: he hears the other speak or move, or\nhe touches him; but in these visions there is nothing like this.\nThe darkness is not felt; only He renders Himself present to the\nsoul by a certain knowledge of Himself which is more clear than\nthe sun. [7]  I do not mean that we now see either a sun or any\nbrightness, only that there is a light not seen, which illumines\nthe understanding so that the soul may have the fruition of so\ngreat a good.  This vision brings with it great blessings.\n\n6. It is not like that presence of God which is frequently felt,\nparticularly by those who have attained to the prayer of union\nand of quiet, when we seem, at the very commencement of our\nprayer, to find Him with whom we would converse, and when we seem\nto feel that He hears us by the effects and the spiritual\nimpressions of great love and faith of which we are then\nconscious, as well as by the good resolutions, accompanied by\nsweetness, which we then make.  This is a great grace from God;\nand let him to whom He has given it esteem it much, because it is\na very high degree of prayer; but it is not vision.  God is\nunderstood to be present there by the effects He works in the\nsoul: that is the way His Majesty makes His presence felt; but\nhere, in this vision, it is seen clearly that Jesus Christ is\npresent, the Son of the Virgin.  In the prayer of union and of\nquiet, certain inflowings of the Godhead are present; but in the\nvision, the Sacred Humanity also, together with them, is pleased\nto be our visible companion, and to do us good.\n\n7. My confessor next asked me, who told me it was Jesus\nChrist. [8]  I replied that He often told me so Himself; but,\neven before He told me so, there was an impression on my\nunderstanding that it was He; and before this He used to tell me\nso, and I saw Him not.  If a person whom I had never seen, but of\nwhom I had heard, came to speak to me, and I were blind or in the\ndark, and told me who he was, I should believe him; but I could\nnot so confidently affirm that he was that person, as I might do\nif I had seen him.  But in this vision I could do so, because so\nclear a knowledge is impressed on the soul that all doubt seems\nimpossible, though He is not seen.  Our Lord wills that this\nknowledge be so graven on the understanding, that we can no more\nquestion His presence than we can question that which we see with\nour eyes: not so much even; for very often there arises a\nsuspicion that we have imagined things we think we see; but here,\nthough there may be a suspicion in the first instant, there\nremains a certainty so great, that the doubt has no force\nwhatever.  So also is it when God teaches the soul in another\nway, and speaks to it without speaking, in the way I\nhave described.\n\n8. There is so much of heaven in this language, that it cannot\nwell be understood on earth, though we may desire ever so much to\nexplain it, if our Lord will not teach it experimentally.\nOur Lord impresses in the innermost soul that which He wills that\nsoul to understand; and He manifests it there without images or\nformal words, after the manner of the vision I am speaking of.\nConsider well this way in which God works, in order that the soul\nmay understand what He means--His great truths and mysteries; for\nvery often what I understand, when our Lord explains to me the\nvision, which it is His Majesty's pleasure to set before me, is\nafter this manner; and it seems to me that this is a state with\nwhich the devil can least interfere, for these reasons; but if\nthese reasons are not good, I must be under a delusion.  The\nvision and the language are matters of such pure spirituality,\nthat there is no toil of the faculties, or of the senses, out of\nwhich--so seems to me--the devil can derive any advantage.\n\n9. It is only at intervals, and for an instant, that this occurs;\nfor generally--so I think--the senses are not taken away, and the\nfaculties are not suspended: they preserve their ordinary state.\nIt is not always so in contemplation; on the contrary, it is very\nrarely so; but when it is so, I say that we do nothing whatever\nourselves: no work of ours is then possible; all that is done is\napparently the work of our Lord.  It is as if food had been\nreceived into the stomach which had not first been eaten, and\nwithout our knowing how it entered; but we do know well that it\nis there, though we know not its nature, nor who it was that\nplaced it there.  In this vision, I know who placed it; but I do\nnot know how He did it.  I neither saw it, nor felt it; I never\nhad any inclination to desire it, and I never knew before that\nsuch a thing was possible.\n\n10. In the locutions of which I spoke before, [9] God makes the\nunderstanding attentive, though it may be painful to understand\nwhat is said; then the soul seems to have other ears wherewith it\nhears; and He forces it to listen, and will not let it be\ndistracted.  The soul is like a person whose hearing was good,\nand who is not suffered to stop his ears, while people standing\nclose beside him speak to him with a loud voice.  He may be\nunwilling to hear, yet hear he must.  Such a person contributes\nsomething of his own; for he attends to what is said to him; but\nhere there is nothing of the kind: even that little, which is\nnothing more than the bare act of listening, which is granted to\nit in the other case, is now out of its power.  It finds its food\nprepared and eaten; it has nothing more to do but to enjoy it.\nIt is as if one without ever learning, without taking the pains\neven to learn to read, and without studying any subject whatever,\nshould find himself in possession of all knowledge, not knowing\nhow or whence it came to him, seeing that he had never taken the\ntrouble even to learn the alphabet.  This last comparison seems\nto me to throw some light on this heavenly gift; for the soul\nfinds itself learned in a moment, and the mystery of the most\nHoly Trinity so clearly revealed to it, together with other most\ndeep doctrines, that there is no theologian in the world with\nwhom it would hesitate to dispute for the truth of these matters.\n\n11. It is impossible to describe the surprise of the soul when it\nfinds that one of these graces is enough to change it utterly,\nand make it love nothing but Him who, without waiting for\nanything itself might do, renders it fit for blessings so high,\ncommunicates to it His secrets, and treats it with so much\naffection and love.  Some of the graces He bestows are liable to\nsuspicion because they are so marvellous, and given to one who\nhas deserved them so little--incredible, too, without a most\nlively faith.  I intend, therefore, to mention very few of those\ngraces which our Lord has wrought in me, if I should not be\nordered otherwise; but there are certain visions of which I shall\nspeak, an account of which may be of some service.  In doing so,\nI shall either dispel his fears to whom our Lord sends them, and\nwho, as I used to do, thinks them impossible, or I shall explain\nthe way or the road by which our Lord has led me; and that is\nwhat I have been commanded to describe.\n\n12. Now, going back to speak of this way of understanding, what\nit is seems to me to be this: it is our Lord's will in every way\nthat the soul should have some knowledge of what passes in\nheaven; and I think that, as the blessed there without speech\nunderstand one another,--I never knew this for certain till our\nLord of His goodness made me see it; He showed it to me in a\ntrance,--so is it here: God and the soul understand one another,\nmerely because His Majesty so wills it, without the help of other\nmeans, to express the love there is between them both.  In the\nsame way on earth, two persons of sound sense, if they love each\nother much, can even, without any signs, understand one another\nonly by their looks.  It must be so here, though we do not see\nhow, as these two lovers earnestly regard each the other: the\nbridegroom says so to the bride in the Canticle, so I believe,\nand I have heard that it is spoken of there. [10]\n\n13. Oh, marvellous goodness of God, in that Thou permittest eyes\nwhich have looked upon so much evil as those of my soul to look\nupon Thee!  May they never accustom themselves, after looking on\nThee, to look upon vile things again! and may they have pleasure\nin nothing but in Thee, O Lord!  Oh, ingratitude of men, how far\nwill it go!  I know by experience that what I am saying is true,\nand that all we can say is exceedingly little, when we consider\nwhat Thou doest to the soul which Thou hast led to such a state\nas this.  O souls, you who have begun to pray, and you who\npossess the true faith, what can you be in search of even in this\nlife, let alone that which is for ever, that is comparable to the\nleast of these graces?  Consider, and it is true, that God gives\nHimself to those who give up everything for Him.  God is not an\naccepter of persons. [11]  He loves all; there is no excuse for\nany one, however wicked he may be, seeing that He hath thus dealt\nwith me, raising me to the state I am in. Consider, that what I\nam saying is not even an iota of what may be said; I say only\nthat which is necessary to show the kind of the vision and of the\ngrace which God bestows on the soul; for that cannot be told\nwhich it feels when our Lord admits it to the understanding of\nHis secrets and of His mighty works.  The joy of this is so far\nabove all conceivable joys, that it may well make us loathe all\nthe joys of earth; for they are all but dross; and it is an\nodious thing to make them enter into the comparison, even if we\nmight have them for ever.  Those which our Lord gives, what are\nthey?  One drop only of the waters of the overflowing river which\nHe is reserving for us.\n\n14. It is a shame!  And, in truth, I am ashamed of myself; if\nshame could have a place in heaven, I should certainly be the\nmost ashamed there.  Why do we seek blessings and joys so great,\nbliss without end, and all at the cost of our good Jesus?\nShall we not at least weep with the daughters of Jerusalem, [12]\nif we do not help to carry his cross with the Cyrenean? [13]\nIs it by pleasure and idle amusements that we can attain to the\nfruition of what He purchased with so much blood?  It is\nimpossible.  Can we think that we can, by preserving our honour,\nwhich is vanity, recompense Him for the sufferings He endured,\nthat we might reign with Him for ever?  This is not the way; we\nare going by the wrong road utterly, and we shall never arrive\nthere.  You, my father, must lift up your voice, and utter these\ntruths aloud, seeing that God has taken from me the power of\ndoing it.  I should like to utter them to myself for ever.\nI listened to them myself, and came to the knowledge of God so\nlate, as will appear by what I have written, that I am ashamed of\nmyself when I speak of this; and so I should like to be silent.\n\n15. Of one thing, however, I will speak, and I think of it now\nand then,--may it be the good pleasure of our Lord to bring me\non, so that I may have the fruition of it!--what will be the\naccidental glory and the joy of the blessed who have entered on\nit, when they see that, though they were late, yet they left\nnothing undone which it was possible for them to do for God, who\nkept nothing back they could give Him, and who gave what they\ngave in every way they could, according to their strength and\ntheir measure,--they who had more gave more.  How rich will he be\nwho gave up all his riches for Christ!  How honourable will he be\nwho, for His sake, sought no honours whatever, but rather took\npleasure in seeing himself abased!  How wise he will be who\nrejoiced when men accounted him as mad!--they did so of Wisdom\nItself! [14]  How few there are of this kind now, because of our\nsins!  Now, indeed, they are all gone whom people regarded as\nmad, [15] because they saw them perform heroic acts, as true\nlovers of Christ.\n\n16. O world, world! how thou art gaining credit because they are\nfew who know thee!  But do we suppose that God is better pleased\nwhen men account us wise and discreet persons?  We think\nforthwith that there is but little edification given when people\ndo not go about, every one in his degree, with great gravity, in\na dignified way.  Even in the friar, the ecclesiastic, and the\nnun, if they wear old and patched garments, we think it a\nnovelty, and a scandal to the weak; and even if they are very\nrecollected and given to prayer.  Such is the state of the world,\nand so forgotten are matters of perfection, and those grand\nimpetuosities of the Saints.  More mischief, I think, is done in\nthis way, than by any scandal that might arise if the religious\nshowed in their actions, as they proclaim it in words, that the\nworld is to be held in contempt.  Out of scandals such as this,\nour Lord obtains great fruit.  If some people took scandal,\nothers are filled with remorse: anyhow, we should have before us\nsome likeness of that which our Lord and His Apostles endured;\nfor we have need of it now more than ever.\n\n17. And what an excellent likeness in the person of that blessed\nfriar, Peter of Alcantara, God has just taken from us! [16]\nThe world cannot bear such perfection now; it is said that men's\nhealth is grown feebler, and that we are not now in those former\ntimes.  But this holy man lived in our day; he had a spirit\nstrong as those of another age, and so he trampled on the world.\nIf men do not go about barefooted, nor undergo sharp penances, as\nhe did, there are many ways, as I have said before, [17] of\ntrampling on the world; and our Lord teaches them when He finds\nthe necessary courage. How great was the courage with which His\nMajesty filled the Saint I am speaking of!  He did penance--oh,\nhow sharp it was!--for seven-and-forty years, as all men know.\nI should like to speak of it, for I know it to be all true.\n\n18. He spoke of it to me and to another person, from whom he kept\nfew or no secrets.  As for me, it was the affection he bore me\nthat led him to speak; for it was our Lord's will that he should\nundertake my defence, and encourage me, at a time when I was in\ngreat straits, as I said before, and shall speak of again. [18]\nHe told me, I think, that for forty years he slept but an hour\nand a half out of the twenty-four, and that the most laborious\npenance he underwent, when he began, was this of overcoming\nsleep.  For that purpose, he was always either kneeling or\nstanding.  When he slept, he sat down, his head resting against a\npiece of wood driven into the wall.  Lie down he could not, if he\nwished it; for his cell, as every one knows, was only four feet\nand a half in length.  In all these years, he never covered his\nhead with his hood, even when the sun was hottest, or the rain\nheaviest.  He never covered his feet: the only garment he wore\nwas made of sackcloth, and that was as tight as it could be, with\nnothing between it and his flesh; over this, he wore a cloak of\nthe same stuff.  He told me that, in the severe cold, he used to\ntake off his cloak, and open the door and the window of his cell,\nin order that when he put his cloak on again, after shutting the\ndoor and the window, he might give some satisfaction to his body\nin the pleasure it might have in the increased warmth.\nHis ordinary practice was to eat but once in three days.  He said\nto me, \"Why are you astonished at it? it is very possible for any\none who is used to it.\"  One of his companions told me that he\nwould be occasionally eight days without eating: that must have\nbeen when he was in prayer; for he was subject to trances, and to\nthe impetuosities of the love of God, of which I was once a\nwitness myself.\n\n19. His poverty was extreme; and his mortification, from his\nyouth, was such,--so he told me,--that he was three years in one\nof the houses of his Order without knowing how to distinguish one\nfriar from another, otherwise than by the voice; for he never\nraised his eyes: and so, when he was obliged to go from one part\nof the house to the other, he never knew the way, unless he\nfollowed the friars.  His journeys, also, were made in the same\nway.  For many years, he never saw a woman's face.  He told me\nthat it was nothing to him then whether he saw it or not: but he\nwas an aged man when I made his acquaintance; and his weakness\nwas so great, that he seemed like nothing else but the roots of\ntrees.  With all his sanctity, he was very agreeable; though his\nwords were few, unless when he was asked questions; he was very\npleasant to speak to, for he had a most clear understanding.\n\n20. Many other things I should like to say of him, if I were not\nafraid, my father, that you will say, Why does she meddle here?\nand it is in that fear I have written this.  So I leave the\nsubject, only saying that his last end was like his\nlife--preaching to, and exhorting, his brethren.  When he saw\nthat the end was comes he repeated the Psalm, [19] \"L\u00e6tatus sum\nin his qu\u00e6 dicta sunt mihi;\" and then, kneeling down, he\u00a0died.\n\n21. Since then, it has pleased our Lord that I should find more\nhelp from him than during his life.  He advises me in many\nmatters.  I have often seen him in great glory.  The first time\nhe appeared to me, he said: \"O blessed penance, which has merited\nso great a reward!\" with other things.  A year before his death,\nhe appeared to me being then far away.  I knew he was about to\ndie, and so I sent him word to that effect, when he was some\nleagues from here.  When he died, he appeared to me, and said\nthat he was going to his rest.  I did not believe it.  I spoke of\nit to some persons, and within eight days came the news that he\nwas dead--or, to speak more correctly, he had begun to live\nfor evermore. [20]\n\n22. Behold here, then, how that life of sharp penance is\nperfected in such great glory: and now he is a greater comfort to\nme, I do believe, than he was on earth.  Our Lord said to me on\none occasion, that persons could not ask Him anything in his\nname, and He not hear them.  I have recommended many things to\nhim that he was to ask of our Lord, and I have seen my petitions\ngranted.  God be blessed for ever!  Amen.\n\n23. But how I have been talking in order to stir you up never to\nesteem anything in this life!--as if you did not know this, or as\nif you were not resolved to leave everything, and had already\ndone it!  I see so much going wrong in the world, that though my\nspeaking of it is of no other use than to weary me by writing of\nit, it is some relief to me that all I am saying makes against\nmyself.  Our Lord forgive me all that I do amiss herein; and you\ntoo, my father, for wearying you to no purpose.  It seems as if I\nwould make you do penance for my sins herein.\n\n\n1. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 20.\n\n2. See ch. xxviii. \u00a7 5, and ch. xxix. \u00a7 1.  The vision took\nplace, it seems, on the 29th June.  See ch. xxix. \u00a7\u00a06.\n\n3. See ch. vii. \u00a7 12.\n\n4. See Anton. a Spiritu Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iii. disp. v.\n\u00a7\u00a03.\n\n5. See Inner Fortress, vi. 8, \u00a7 3.\n\n6. \u00a7 17, infra.\n\n7. See Relation, vii. \u00a7 26.\n\n8. Inner Fortress, vi. 8, \u00a7 3.\n\n9. Ch. xxv. \u00a7\u00a01.\n\n10. Cant. vi. 4: \"Averte oculos tuos a me, quia ipsi me avolare\nfecerunt.\"  St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel,\nbk. ii. ch. xxix. n. 6, Engl.\u00a0trans.\n\n11. Acts x. 34: \"Non est personarum acceptor Deus.\"\n\n12. St. Luke xxiii. 28: \"Fili\u00e6 Jerusalem, nolite flere super Me,\nsed super vos ipsas\u00a0flete.\"\n\n13. St. Matt. xxvii. 32: \"Hunc angariaverunt ut tolleret\ncrucem\u00a0Ejus.\"\n\n14. St. John x. 20: \"D\u00e6monium habet et insanit: quid\nEum\u00a0auditis?\"\n\n15. Sap. v. 4: \"Nos insensati vitam illorum\n\u00e6stimabamus\u00a0insaniam.\"\n\n16. 18th Oct. 1562.  As the Saint finished the first relation of\nher life in June, 1562, this is one of the additions\nsubsequently\u00a0made.\n\n17. Ch. xiv. \u00a7 7.\n\n18. Ch. xxvi. \u00a7 3, ch. xxxii. \u00a7 16.\n\n19. Psalm cxxi.  The words in the MS. are: \"Letatun sun yn is que\ndita sun miqui\" (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n20. See ch. xxx. \u00a7 2.\n\n\n\nChapter XXVIII.\n\n\nVisions of the Sacred Humanity, and of the Glorified Bodies.\nImaginary Visions.  Great Fruits Thereof When They Come from God.\n\n\n1. I now resume our subject.  I spent some days, not many, with\nthat vision [1] continually before me.  It did me so much good,\nthat I never ceased to pray.  Even when I did cease, I contrived\nthat it should be in such a way as that I should not displease\nHim whom I saw so clearly present, an eye-witness of my acts.\nAnd though I was occasionally afraid, because so much was said to\nme about delusions, that fear lasted not long, because our Lord\nreassured me.\n\n2. It pleased our Lord, one day that I was in prayer, to show me\nHis Hands, and His Hands only.  The beauty of them was so great,\nthat no language can describe it.  This put me in great fear; for\neverything that is strange, in the beginning of any new grace\nfrom God, makes me very much afraid.  A few days later, I saw His\ndivine Face, and I was utterly entranced.  I could not understand\nwhy our Lord showed Himself in this way, seeing that, afterwards,\nHe granted me the grace of seeing His whole Person.  Later on, I\nunderstood that His Majesty was dealing with me according to the\nweakness of my nature.  May He be blessed for ever!  A glory so\ngreat was more than one so base and wicked could bear; and our\nmerciful Lord, knowing this, ordered it in this way.\n\n3. You will think, my father, that it required no great courage\nto look upon Hands and Face so beautiful.  But so beautiful are\nglorified bodies, that the glory which surrounds them renders\nthose who see that which is so supernatural and beautiful beside\nthemselves.  It was so with me: I was in such great fear,\ntrouble, and perplexity at the sight.  Afterwards there ensued a\nsense of safety and certainty, together with other results, so\nthat all fear passed immediately away. [2]\n\n4. On one of the feasts of St. Paul, [3] when I was at Mass,\nthere stood before me the most Sacred Humanity, [4] as painters\nrepresent Him after the resurrection, in great beauty and\nmajesty, as I particularly described it to you, my father, when\nyou had insisted on it.  It was painful enough to have to write\nabout it, for I could not describe it without doing great\nviolence to myself.  But I described it as well as I could, and\nthere is no reason why I should now recur to it.  One thing,\nhowever, I have to say: if in heaven itself there were nothing\nelse to delight our eyes but the great beauty of glorified\nbodies, that would be an excessive bliss, particularly the vision\nof the Humanity of Jesus Christ our Lord.  If here below, where\nHis Majesty shows Himself to us according to the measure which\nour wretchedness can bear, it is so great, what must it be there,\nwhere the fruition of it is complete!\n\n5. This vision, though imaginary, I never saw with my bodily\neyes, nor, indeed, any other, but only with the eyes of the soul.\nThose who understand these things better than I do, say that the\nintellectual vision is more perfect than this; and this, the\nimaginary vision, much more perfect than those visions which are\nseen by the bodily eyes.  The latter kind of visions, they say,\nis the lowest; and it is by these that the devil can most delude\nus. [5]  I did not know it then; for I wished, when this grace\nhad been granted me, that it had been so in such a way that I\ncould see it with my bodily eyes, in order that my confessor\nmight not say to me that I indulged in fancies.\n\n6. After the vision was over, it happened that I too\nimagined--the thought came at once--I had fancied these things;\nso I was distressed, because I had spoken of them to my\nconfessor, thinking that I might have been deceiving him.\nThere was another lamentation: I went to my confessor, and told\nhim of my doubts. He would ask me whether I told him the truth so\nfar as I knew it; or, if not, had I intended to deceive him?\nI would reply, that I told the truth; for, to the best of my\nbelief, I did not lie, nor did I mean anything of the kind;\nneither would I tell a lie for the whole world. [6]  This he knew\nwell enough; and, accordingly, he contrived to quiet me; and I\nfelt so much the going to him with these doubts, that I cannot\ntell how Satan could have put it into my head that I invented\nthose things for the purpose of tormenting myself.\n\n7. But our Lord made such haste to bestow this grace upon me, and\nto declare the reality of it, that all doubts of the vision being\na fancy on my part were quickly taken away, and ever since I see\nmost clearly how silly I was.  For if I were to spend many years\nin devising how to picture to myself anything so beautiful, I\nshould never be able, nor even know how, to do it for it is\nbeyond the reach of any possible imagination here below: the\nwhiteness and brilliancy alone are inconceivable.  It is not a\nbrilliancy which dazzles, but a delicate whiteness and a\nbrilliancy infused, furnishing the most excessive delight to the\neyes, never wearied thereby, nor by the visible brightness which\nenables us to see a beauty so divine.  It is a light so different\nfrom any light here below, that the very brightness of the sun we\nsee, in comparison with the brightness and light before our eyes,\nseems to be something so obscure, that no one would ever wish to\nopen his eyes again.\n\n8. It is like most pellucid water running in a bed of crystal,\nreflecting the rays of the sun, compared with most muddy water on\na cloudy day, flowing on the surface of the earth.  Not that\nthere is anything like the sun present here, nor is the light\nlike that of the sun: this light seems to be natural; and, in\ncomparison with it, every other light is something artificial.\nIt is a light which knows no night; but rather, as it is always\nlight, nothing ever disturbs it.  In short, it is such that no\nman, however gifted he may be, can ever, in the whole course of\nhis life, arrive at any imagination of what it is.  God puts it\nbefore us so instantaneously, that we could not open our eyes in\ntime to see it, if it were necessary for us to open them at all.\nBut whether our eyes be open or shut, it makes no difference\nwhatever; for when our Lord wills, we must see it, whether we\nwill or not.  No distraction can shut it out, no power can resist\nit, nor can we attain to it by any diligence or efforts of our\nown.  I know this by experience well, as I shall show you.\n\n9. That which I wish now to speak of is the manner in which our\nLord manifests Himself in these visions.  I do not mean that I am\ngoing to explain how it is that a light so strong can enter the\ninterior sense, or so distinct an image the understanding, so as\nto seem to be really there; for this must be work for learned\nmen.  Our Lord has not been pleased to let me understand how it\nis.  I am so ignorant myself, and so dull of understanding, that,\nalthough people have very much wished to explain it to me, I have\nnever been able to understand how it can be.\n\n10. This is the truth: though you, my father, may think that I\nhave a quick understanding, it is not so; for I have found out,\nin many ways, that my understanding can take in only, as they\nsay, what is given to it to eat.  Sometimes my confessor used to\nbe amazed at my ignorance: and he never explained to me--nor,\nindeed, did I desire to understand--how God did this, nor how it\ncould be.  Nor did I ever ask; though, as I have said, [7] I had\nconverse for many years with men of great learning.  But I did\nask them if this or that were a sin or not: as for everything\nelse, the thought that God did it all was enough for me.  I saw\nthere was no reason to be afraid, but great reason to praise Him.\nOn the other hand, difficulties increase my devotion; and the\ngreater the difficulty the greater the increase.\n\n11. I will therefore relate what my experience has shown me; but\nhow our Lord brought it about, you, my father, will explain\nbetter than I can, and make clear all that is obscure, and beyond\nmy skill to explain.  Now and then it seemed to me that what I\nsaw was an image; but most frequently it was not so.  I thought\nit was Christ Himself, judging by the brightness in which He was\npleased to show Himself.  Sometimes the vision was so indistinct,\nthat I thought it was an image; but still not like a picture,\nhowever well painted--and I have seen many good pictures.\nIt would be absurd to suppose that the one bears any resemblance\nwhatever to the other, for they differ as a living person differs\nfrom his portrait, which, however well drawn, cannot be lifelike,\nfor it is plain that it is a dead thing.  But let this pass,\nthough to the purpose, and literally true.\n\n12. I do not say this by way of comparison, for comparisons are\nnever exact, but because it is the truth itself, as there is the\nsame difference here that there is between a living subject and\nthe portrait thereof, neither more nor less: for if what I saw\nwas an image, it was a living image,--not a dead man, but the\nliving Christ: and He makes me see that He is God and man,--not\nas He was in the sepulchre, but as He was when He had gone forth\nfrom it, risen from the dead.  He comes at times in majesty so\ngreat, that no one can have any doubt that it is our Lord\nHimself, especially after Communion: we know that He is then\npresent, for faith says so.  He shows Himself so clearly to be\nthe Lord of that little dwelling-place, that the soul seems to be\ndissolved and lost in Christ.  O my Jesus, who can describe the\nmajesty wherein Thou showest Thyself!  How utterly Thou art the\nLord of the whole world, and of heaven, and of a thousand other\nand innumerable worlds and heavens, the creation of which is\npossible to Thee!  The soul understands by that majesty wherein\nThou showest Thyself that it is nothing for Thee to be Lord of\nall this.\n\n13. Here it is plain, O my Jesus, how slight is the power of all\nthe devils in comparison with Thine, and how he who is pleasing\nunto Thee is able to tread all hell under his feet.  Here we see\nwhy the devils trembled when Thou didst go down to Limbus, and\nwhy they might have longed for a thousand hells still lower, that\nthey might escape from Thy terrible Majesty.  I see that it is\nThy will the soul should feel the greatness of Thy Majesty, and\nthe power of Thy most Sacred Humanity, united with Thy Divinity.\nHere, too, we see what the day of judgment will be, when we shall\nbehold the King in His Majesty, and in the rigour of His justice\nagainst the wicked.  Here we learn true humility, imprinted in\nthe soul by the sight of its own wretchedness, of which now it\ncannot be ignorant.  Here, also, is confusion of face, and true\nrepentance for sins; for though the soul sees that our Lord shows\nhow He loves it, yet it knows not where to go, and so is\nutterly dissolved.\n\n14. My meaning is, that so exceedingly great is the power of this\nvision, when our Lord shows the soul much of His grandeur and\nmajesty, that it is impossible, in my opinion, for any soul to\nendure it, if our Lord did not succour it in a most supernatural\nway, by throwing it into a trance or ecstasy, whereby the vision\nof the divine presence is lost in the fruition thereof.  It is\ntrue that afterwards the vision is forgotten; but there remains\nso deep an impression of the majesty and beauty of God, that it\nis impossible to forget it, except when our Lord is pleased that\nthe soul should suffer from aridity and desolation, of which I\nshall speak hereafter; [8] for then it seems to forget God\nHimself.  The soul is itself no longer, it is always inebriated;\nit seems as if a living love of God, of the highest kind, made a\nnew beginning within it; for though the former vision, which I\nsaid represented God without any likeness of Him, [9] is of a\nhigher kind, yet because of our weakness, in order that the\nremembrance of the vision may last, and that our thoughts may be\nwell occupied, it is a great matter that a presence so divine\nshould remain and abide in our imagination. These two kinds of\nvisions come almost always together, and they do so come; for we\nbehold the excellency and beauty and glory of the most Holy\nHumanity with the eyes of the soul.  And in the other way I have\nspoken of,--that of intellectual vision,--we learn how He is God,\nis mighty, can do all things, commands all things, governs all\nthings, and fills all things with His love.\n\n15. This vision is to be esteemed very highly; nor is there, in\nmy opinion, any risk in it, because the fruits of it show that\nthe devil has no power here.  I think he tried three or four\ntimes to represent our Lord to me, in this way, by a false image\nof Him.  He takes the appearance of flesh, but he cannot\ncounterfeit the glory which it has when the vision is from God.\nSatan makes his representations in order to undo the true vision\nwhich the soul has had: but the soul resists instinctively; is\ntroubled, disgusted, and restless; it loses that devotion and joy\nit previously had, and cannot pray at all.  In the beginning, it\nso happened to me three or four times.  These satanic visions are\nvery different things; and even he who shall have attained to the\nprayer of quiet only will, I believe, detect them by those\nresults of them which I described when I was speaking of\nlocutions. [10]  They are most easily recognised; and if a soul\nconsents not to its own delusion, I do not think that Satan will\nbe able to deceive it, provided it walks in humility and\nsingleness of heart.  He who shall have had the true vision,\ncoming from God, detects the false visions at once; for, though\nthey begin with a certain sweetness and joy, the soul rejects\nthem of itself; and the joy which Satan ministers must be, I\nthink, very different--it shows no traces of pure and holy love:\nSatan very quickly betrays himself.\n\n16. Thus, then, as I believe, Satan can do no harm to anyone who\nhas had experience of these things; for it is the most impossible\nof all impossible things that all this may be the work of the\nimagination.  There is no ground whatever for the supposition;\nfor the very beauty and whiteness of one of our Lord's Hands [11]\nare beyond our imagination altogether.  How is it that we see\npresent before us, in a moment, what we do not remember, what we\nhave never thought of, and, moreover, what, in a long space of\ntime, the imagination could not compass, because, as I have just\nsaid, [12] it far transcends anything we can comprehend in this\nlife?  This, then, is not possible.  Whether we have any power in\nthe matter or not will appear by what I am now going to say.\n\n17. If the vision were the work of a man's own\nunderstanding,--setting aside that such a vision would not\naccomplish the great results of the true one, nor, indeed, any at\nall,--it would be as the act of one who tries to go to sleep, and\nyet continues awake, because sleep has not come.  He longs for\nit, because of some necessity or weakness in his head: and so he\nlulls himself to sleep, and makes efforts to procure it, and now\nand then thinks he has succeeded; but, if the sleep be not real,\nit will not support him, nor supply strength to his head: on the\ncontrary, his head will very often be the worse for it.  So will\nit be here, in a measure; the soul will be dissipated, neither\nsustained nor strengthened; on the contrary, it will be wearied\nand disgusted.  But, in the true vision, the riches which abide\nin the soul cannot be described; even the body receives health\nand comfort.\n\n18. I urged this argument, among others, when they told me that\nmy visions came from the evil one, and that I imagined them\nmyself,--and it was very often,--and made use of certain\nillustrations, as well as I could, and as our Lord suggested to\nme.  But all was to little purpose; for as there were most holy\npersons in the place,--in comparison with whom I was a mass of\nperdition,--whom God did not lead by this way, they were at once\nfilled with fear; they thought it all came through my sins.\nAnd so my state was talked about, and came to the knowledge of\nmany; though I had spoken of it to no one, except my confessor,\nor to those to whom he commanded [13] me to speak of it.\n\n19. I said to them once, If they who thus speak of my state were\nto tell me that a person with whom I had just conversed, and whom\nI knew well, was not that person, but that I was deluding myself,\nand that they knew it, I should certainly trust them rather than\nmy own eyes.  But if that person left with me certain\njewels,--and if, possessing none previously, I held the jewels in\nmy hand as pledges of a great love,--and if I were now rich,\ninstead of poor as before,--I should not be able to believe this\nthat they said, though I might wish it.  These jewels I could now\nshow them, for all who knew me saw clearly that my soul was\nchanged,--and so my confessor said; for the difference was very\ngreat in every way--not a pretence, but such as all might most\nclearly observe.  As I was formerly so wicked, I said, I could\nnot believe that Satan, if he wished to deceive me and take me\ndown to hell, would have recourse to means so adverse to his\npurpose as this, of rooting out my faults, implanting virtues and\nspiritual strength; for I saw clearly that I had become at once\nanother person through the instrumentality of these visions.\n\n20. My confessor, who was, as I said before, [14] one of the\nfathers of the Society of Jesus, and a really holy man, answered\nthem in the same way,--so I learnt afterwards.  He was a most\ndiscreet man, and of great humility; but this great humility of\nhis brought me into serious trouble: for, though he was a man\nmuch given to prayer, and learned, he never trusted his own\njudgment, because our Lord was not leading him by this way.\nHe had, therefore, much to suffer on my account, in many ways.\nI knew they used to say to him that he must be on his guard\nagainst me, lest Satan should delude him through a belief in\nanything I might say to him.  They gave instances of others who\nwere deluded. [15]  All this distressed me.  I began to be afraid\nI should find no one to hear my confession, [16] and that all\nwould avoid me.  I did nothing but weep.\n\n21. It was a providence of God that he was willing to stand by me\nand hear my confession.  But he was so great a servant of God,\nthat he would have exposed himself to anything for His sake.\nSo he told me that if I did not offend God, nor swerve from the\ninstructions he gave me, there was no fear I should be deserted\nby him.  He encouraged me always, and quieted me.  He bade me\nnever to conceal anything from him; and I never did. [17]\nHe used to say that, so long as I did this, the devil, if it were\nthe devil, could not hurt me; on the contrary, out of that evil\nwhich Satan wished to do me, our Lord would bring forth good.\nHe laboured with all his might to make me perfect.  As I was very\nmuch afraid myself, I obeyed him in everything, though\nimperfectly.  He had much to suffer on my account during three\nyears of trouble and more, because he heard my confession all\nthat time; for in the great persecutions that fell upon me, and\nthe many harsh judgments of me which our Lord permitted,--many of\nwhich I did not deserve,--everything was carried to him, and he\nwas found fault with because of me,--he being all the while\nutterly blameless.\n\n22. If he had not been so holy a man, and if our Lord had not\nbeen with him, it would have, been impossible for him to bear so\nmuch; for he had to answer those who regarded me as one going to\ndestruction; and they would not believe what he said to them.\nOn the other hand, he had to quiet me, and relieve me of my\nfears; when my fears increased, he had again to reassure me; for,\nafter every vision which was strange to me, our Lord permitted me\nto remain in great fear.  All this was the result of my being\nthen, and of having been, a sinner.  He used to console me out of\nhis great compassion; and, if he had trusted to his own\nconvictions, I should not have had so much to suffer; for God\nrevealed the whole truth to him.  I believe that he received this\nlight from the Blessed Sacrament.\n\n23. Those servants of God who were not satisfied had many\nconversations with me. [18]  As I spoke to them carelessly, so\nthey misunderstood my meaning in many things.  I had a great\nregard for one of them; for my soul owed him more than I can\ntell.  He was a most holy man, and I felt it most acutely when I\nsaw that he did not understand me.  He had a great desire for my\nimprovement, and hoped our Lord would enlighten me.  So, then,\nbecause I spoke, as I was saying, without careful consideration,\nthey looked upon me as deficient in humility; and when they\ndetected any of my faults--they might have detected many--they\ncondemned me at once.  They used to put certain questions to me,\nwhich I answered simply and carelessly.  Then they concluded\nforthwith that I wished to teach them, and that I considered\nmyself to be a learned woman.  All this was carried to my\nconfessor,--for certainly they desired my amendment--and so he\nwould reprimand me.  This lasted some time, and I was distressed\non many sides; but, with the graces which our Lord gave me, I\nbore it all.\n\n24. I relate this in order that people may see what a great trial\nit is not to find any one who knows this way of the spirit by\nexperience.  If our Lord had not dealt so favourably with me, I\nknow not what would have become of me.  There were some things\nthat were enough to take away my reason; and now and then I was\nreduced to such straits that I could do nothing but lift up my\neyes to our Lord. [19]  The contradiction of good people, which a\nwretched woman, weak, wicked, and timid as I am, must bear with,\nseems to be nothing when thus described; but I, who in the course\nof my life passed through very great trials, found this one of\nthe heaviest. [20]\n\n25. May our Lord grant that I may have pleased His Majesty a\nlittle herein; for I am sure that they pleased Him who condemned\nand rebuked me, and that it was all for my great good.\n\n\n1. Ch. xxvii. \u00a7 3.\n\n2. Philipp. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. par. 2, tr. 3,\ndisc. iv., art. 8: \"Quamvis in principio visiones a d\u00e6mone fict\u00e6\naliquam habeant pacem ac dulcedinem, in fine tamen confusionum et\namaritudinem in anima relinquunt; cujus contrarium est in divinis\nvisionibus, qu\u00e6 s\u00e6pe turbant in principio, sed semper in fine\npacem anim\u00e6 relinquunt.\"  St. John of the Cross, Spiritual\nCanticle, st. 14, p. 84: \"In the spiritual passage from the sleep\nof natural ignorance to the wakefulness of the supernatural\nunderstanding, which is the beginning of trance or ecstasy, the\nspiritual vision then revealed makes the soul fear and\u00a0tremble.\"\n\n3. See ch. xxix. \u00a7 4.\n\n4. \"The holy Mother, Teresa of Jesus, had these imaginary visions\nfor many years, seeing our Lord continually present before her in\ngreat beauty, risen from the dead, with His wounds and the crown\nof thorns.  She had a picture made of Him, which she gave to me,\nand which I gave to Don Fernando de Toledo, Duke of Alva\" (Jerome\nGratian, Union del Alma, cap. 5.  Madrid,\u00a01616).\n\n5. Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iii. disp. 5, \u00a7 I,\nn. 315: \"Visio corporea est infima, visio imaginaria est media,\nvisio intellectualis est suprema.\"  N. 322: \"Apparitio visibilis,\ncum sit omnium infima, est magis exposita illusioni diaboli, nisi\nforte huic visioni corporali visio intellectualis adjungatur, ut\nin apparitione S. Gabrielis archangeli facta Beat\u00e6\u00a0Virgini.\"\n\n6. See ch. xxx. \u00a7 18.\n\n7. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 18.\n\n8. Ch. xxx. \u00a7\u00a7 9, 10.  See St. John of the Cross, Obscure Night,\nbk. ii. ch.\u00a07.\n\n9. Ch. xxvii. \u00a7 3.\n\n10. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 8.\n\n11. See \u00a7 2.\n\n12. \u00a7 7, supra.\n\n13. See ch. xxiii. \u00a7 14.\n\n14. Ch. xxiv. \u00a7 5.\n\n15. There were in Spain, and elsewhere, many women who were\nhypocrites, or deluded.  Among others was the prioress of Lisbon,\nafterwards notorious, who deceived Luis of Granada (De\nla\u00a0Fuente).\n\n16. Inner Fortress, vi. 1, \u00a7 4.\n\n17. Ch. xxvi. \u00a7 5; Inner Fortress, vi. 9, \u00a7 7.\n\n18. See ch. xxv. \u00a7 18.\n\n19. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: \"Sed cum ignoremus quid agere debeamus,\nhoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus ad\u00a0Te.\"\n\n20. See ch. xxx. \u00a7 6.\n\n\n\nChapter XXIX.\n\n\nOf Visions.  The Graces Our Lord Bestowed on the Saint.\nThe Answers Our Lord Gave Her for Those Who Tried Her.\n\n\n1. I have wandered far from the subject; for I undertook to\ngive reasons why the vision was no work of the imagination.\nFor how can we, by any efforts of ours, picture to ourselves the\nHumanity of Christ, and imagine His great beauty?  No little time\nis necessary, if our conception is in any way to resemble it.\nCertainly, the imagination may be able to picture it, and a\nperson may for a time contemplate that picture,--the form and the\nbrightness of it,--and gradually make it more perfect, and so lay\nup that image in his memory.  Who can hinder this, seeing that it\ncould be fashioned by the understanding?  But as to the vision of\nwhich I am speaking, there are no means of bringing it about;\nonly we must behold it when our Lord is pleased to present it\nbefore us, as He wills and what He wills; and there is no\npossibility of taking anything away from it, or of adding\nanything to it; nor is there any way of effecting it, whatever we\nmay do, nor of seeing it when we like, nor of abstaining from\nseeing; if we try to gaze upon it--part of the vision in\nparticular--the vision of Christ is lost at once.\n\n2. For two years and a half God granted me this grace very\nfrequently; but it is now more than three years since He has\ntaken away from me its continual presence, through another of a\nhigher nature, as I shall perhaps explain hereafter. [1]\nAnd though I saw Him speaking to me, and though I was\ncontemplating His great beauty, and the sweetness with which\nthose words of His came forth from His divine mouth,--they were\nsometimes uttered with severity,--and though I was extremely\ndesirous to behold the colour of His eyes, or the form of them,\nso that I might be able to describe them, yet I never attained to\nthe sight of them, and I could do nothing for that end; on the\ncontrary, I lost the vision altogether.  And though I see that He\nlooks upon me at times with great tenderness, yet so strong is\nHis gaze, that my soul cannot endure it; I fall into a trance so\ndeep, that I lose the beautiful vision, in order to have a\ngreater fruition of it all.\n\n3. Accordingly, willing or not willing, the vision has\nnothing to do with it.  Our Lord clearly regards nothing but\nhumility and confusion of face, the acceptance of what He wishes\nto give, and the praise of Himself, the Giver.  This is true of\nall visions without exception: we can contribute nothing towards\nthem--we cannot add to them, nor can we take from them; our own\nefforts can neither make nor unmake them.  Our Lord would have us\nsee most clearly that it is no work of ours, but of His Divine\nMajesty; we are therefore the less able to be proud of it: on the\ncontrary, it makes us humble and afraid; for we see that, as our\nLord can take from us the power of seeing what we would see, so\nalso can He take from us these mercies and His grace, and we may\nbe lost for ever.  We must therefore walk in His fear while we\nare living in this our exile.\n\n4. Our Lord showed Himself to me almost always as He is\nafter His resurrection.  It was the same in the Host; only at\nthose times when I was in trouble, and when it was His will to\nstrengthen me, did He show His wounds.  Sometimes I saw Him on\nthe cross, in the Garden, crowned with thorns,--but that was\nrarely; sometimes also carrying His cross because of my\nnecessities,--I may say so,--or those of others; but always in\nHis glorified body.  Many reproaches and many vexations have I\nborne while telling this--many suspicions and much persecution\nalso.  So certain were they to whom I spoke that I had an evil\nspirit, that some would have me exorcised.  I did not care much\nfor this; but I felt it bitterly when I saw that my confessors\nwere afraid to hear me, or when I knew that they were told of\nanything about me.\n\n5. Notwithstanding all this, I never could be sorry that I\nhad had these heavenly visions; nor would I exchange even one of\nthem for all the wealth and all the pleasures of the world.\nI always regarded them as a great mercy from our Lord; and to me\nthey were the very greatest treasure,--of this our Lord assured\nme often.  I used to go to Him to complain of all these\nhardships; and I came away from prayer consoled, and with renewed\nstrength.  I did not dare to contradict those who were trying me;\nfor I saw that it made matters worse, because they looked on my\ndoing so as a failure in humility.  I spoke of it to my\nconfessor; he always consoled me greatly when he saw me\nin distress.\n\n6. As my visions grew in frequency, one of those who used to\nhelp me before--it was to him I confessed when the\nfather-minister [2] could not hear me--began to say that I was\ncertainly under the influence of Satan.  He bade me, now that I\nhad no power of resisting, always to make the sign of the cross\nwhen I had a vision, to point my finger at it by way of\nscorn, [3] and be firmly persuaded of its diabolic nature.  If I\ndid this, the vision would not recur.  I was to be without fear\non the point; God would watch over me, and take the vision\naway. [4]  This was a great hardship for me; for, as I could not\nbelieve that the vision did not come from God, it was a fearful\nthing for me to do; and I could not wish, as I said before, that\nthe visions should be withheld.  However, I did at last as I was\nbidden.  I prayed much to our Lord, that He would deliver me from\ndelusions. I was always praying to that effect, and with many\ntears.  I had recourse also to St. Peter and St. Paul; for our\nLord had said to me--it was on their feast that He had appeared\nto me the first time [5]--that they would preserve me from\ndelusion.  I used to see them frequently most distinctly on my\nleft hand; but that vision was not imaginary.  These glorious\nSaints were my very good lords.\n\n7. It was to me a most painful thing to make a show of\ncontempt whenever I saw our Lord in a vision; for when I saw Him\nbefore me, if I were to be cut in pieces, I could not believe it\nwas Satan.  This was to me, therefore, a heavy kind of penance;\nand accordingly, that I might not be so continually crossing\nmyself, I used to hold a crucifix in my hand.  This I did almost\nalways; but I did not always make signs of contempt, because I\nfelt that too much.  It reminded me of the insults which the Jews\nheaped upon Him; and so I prayed Him to forgive me, seeing that I\ndid so in obedience to him who stood in His stead, and not to lay\nthe blame on me, seeing that he was one of those whom He had\nplaced as His ministers in His Church.  He said to me that I was\nnot to distress myself--that I did well to obey; but He would\nmake them see the truth of the matter.  He seemed to me to be\nangry when they made me give up my prayer. [6]  He told me to say\nto them that this was tyranny.  He gave me reasons for believing\nthat the vision was not satanic; some of them I mean to repeat by\nand by.\n\n8. On one occasion,when I was holding in my hand the cross\nof my rosary, He took it from me into His own hand.  He returned\nit; but it was then four large stones incomparably more precious\nthan diamonds; for nothing can be compared with what is\nsupernatural.  Diamonds seem counterfeits and imperfect when\ncompared with these precious stones.  The five wounds were\ndelineated on them with most admirable art.  He said to me, that\nfor the future that cross would appear so to me always; and so it\ndid.  I never saw the wood of which it was made, but only the\nprecious stones.  They were seen, however, by no one else,--only\nby myself. [7]\n\n9. When they had begun to insist on my putting my visions to\na test like this, and resisting them, the graces I received were\nmultiplied more and more.  I tried to distract myself; I never\nceased to be in prayer: even during sleep my prayer seemed to be\ncontinual; for now my love grew, I made piteous complaints to our\nLord, and told Him I could not bear it.  Neither was it in my\npower--though I desired, and, more than that, even strove--to\ngive up thinking of Him.  Nevertheless, I obeyed to the utmost of\nmy power; but my power was little or nothing in the matter; and\nour Lord never released me from that obedience; but though He\nbade me obey my confessor, He reassured me in another way, and\ntaught me what I was to say.  He has continued to do so until\nnow; and He gave me reasons so sufficient, that I felt myself\nperfectly safe.\n\n10. Not long afterwards His Majesty began, according to His\npromise, to make it clear that it was He Himself who appeared, by\nthe growth in me of the love of God so strong, that I knew not\nwho could have infused it; for it was most supernatural, and I\nhad not attained to it by any efforts of my own.  I saw myself\ndying with a desire to see God, and I knew not how to seek that\nlife otherwise than by dying.  Certain great impetuosities [8] of\nlove, though not so intolerable as those of which I have spoken\nbefore, [9] nor yet of so great worth, overwhelmed me.  I knew\nnot what to do; for nothing gave me pleasure, and I had no\ncontrol over myself.  It seemed as if my soul were really torn\naway from myself.  Oh, supreme artifice of our Lord! how tenderly\ndidst Thou deal with Thy miserable slave!  Thou didst hide\nThyself from me, and didst yet constrain me with Thy love, with a\ndeath so sweet, that my soul would never wish it over.\n\n11. It is not possible for any one to understand these\nimpetuosities if he has not experienced them himself.  They are\nnot an upheaving of the breast, nor those devotional sensations,\nnot uncommon, which seem on the point of causing suffocation, and\nare beyond control.  That prayer is of a much lower order; and\nthose agitations should be avoided by gently endeavouring to be\nrecollected; and the soul should be kept in quiet.  This prayer\nis like the sobbing of little children, who seem on the point of\nchoking, and whose disordered senses are soothed by giving them\nto drink.  So here reason should draw in the reins, because\nnature itself may be contributing to it and we should consider\nwith fear that all this may not be perfect, and that much\nsensuality may be involved in it.  The infant soul should be\nsoothed by the caresses of love, which shall draw forth its love\nin a gentle way, and not, as they say, by force of blows.\nThis love should be inwardly under control, and not as a caldron,\nfiercely boiling because too much fuel has been applied to it,\nand out of which everything is lost.  The source of the fire must\nbe kept under control, and the flame must be quenched in sweet\ntears, and not with those painful tears which come out of these\nemotions, and which do so much harm.\n\n12. In the beginning, I had tears of this kind.  They left\nme with a disordered head and a wearied spirit, and for a day or\ntwo afterwards unable to resume my prayer.  Great discretion,\ntherefore, is necessary at first, in order that everything may\nproceed gently, and that the operations of the spirit may be\nwithin; all outward manifestations should be carefully avoided.\n\n13. These other impetuosities are very different.  It is not\nwe who apply the fuel; the fire is already kindled, and we are\nthrown into it in a moment to be consumed.  It is by no efforts\nof the soul that it sorrows over the wound which the absence of\nour Lord has inflicted on it; it is far otherwise; for an arrow\nis driven into the entrails to the very quick, [10] and into the\nheart at times, so that the soul knows not what is the matter\nwith it, nor what it wishes for.  It understands clearly enough\nthat it wishes for God, and that the arrow seems tempered with\nsome herb which makes the soul hate itself for the love of our\nLord, and willingly lose its life for Him.  It is impossible to\ndescribe or explain the way in which God wounds the soul, nor the\nvery grievous pain inflicted, which deprives it of all\nself-consciousness; yet this pain is so sweet, that there is no\njoy in the world which gives greater delight.  As I have just\nsaid, [11] the soul would wish to be always dying of this wound.\n\n14. This pain and bliss together carried me out of myself,\nand I never could understand how it was.  Oh, what a sight a\nwounded soul is!--a soul, I mean, so conscious of it, as to be\nable to say of itself that it is wounded for so good a cause; and\nseeing distinctly that it never did anything whereby this love\nshould come to it, and that it does come from that exceeding love\nwhich our Lord bears it.  A spark seems to have fallen suddenly\nupon it, that has set it all on fire.  Oh, how often do I\nremember, when in this state, those words of David: \"Quemadmodum\ndesiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum\"! [12] They seem to me to be\nliterally true of myself.\n\n15. When these impetuosities are not very violent they seem\nto admit of a little mitigation--at least, the soul seeks some\nrelief, because it knows not what to do--through certain\npenances; the painfulness of which, and even the shedding of its\nblood, are no more felt than if the body were dead.  The soul\nseeks for ways and means to do something that may be felt, for\nthe love of God; but the first pain is so great, that no bodily\ntorture I know of can take it away.  As relief is not to be had\nhere, these medicines are too mean for so high a disease.\nSome slight mitigation may be had, and the pain may pass away a\nlittle, by praying God to relieve its sufferings: but the soul\nsees no relief except in death, by which it thinks to attain\ncompletely to the fruition of its good.  At other times, these\nimpetuosities are so violent, that the soul can do neither this\nnor anything else; the whole body is contracted, and neither hand\nnor foot can be moved: if the body be upright at the time, it\nfalls down, as a thing that has no control over itself.\nIt cannot even breathe; all it does is to moan--not loudly,\nbecause it cannot: its moaning, however, comes from a keen sense\nof pain.\n\n16. Our Lord was pleased that I should have at times a\nvision of this kind: I saw an angel close by me, on my left side,\nin bodily form.  This I am not accustomed to see, unless very\nrarely.  Though I have visions of angels frequently, yet I see\nthem only by an intellectual vision, such as I have spoken of\nbefore. [13]  It was our Lord's will that in this vision I should\nsee the angel in this wise.  He was not large, but small of\nstature, and most beautiful--his face burning, as if he were one\nof the highest angels, who seem to be all of fire: they must be\nthose whom we call cherubim. [14]  Their names they never tell\nme; but I see very well that there is in heaven so great a\ndifference between one angel and another, and between these and\nthe others, that I cannot explain it.\n\n17. I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the\niron's point there seemed to be a little fire.  He appeared to me\nto be thrusting it at times into my heart, [15] and to pierce my\nvery entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out\nalso, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God.\nThe pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so\nsurpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could\nnot wish to be rid of it.  The soul is satisfied now with nothing\nless than God.  The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the\nbody has its share in it, even a large one.  It is a caressing of\nlove so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God,\nthat I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may\nthink that I am lying. [16]\n\n18. During the days that this lasted, I went about as if\nbeside myself.  I wished to see, or speak with, no one, but only\nto cherish my pain, which was to me a greater bliss than all\ncreated things could give me. [17]\n\n19. I was in this state from time to time, whenever it was\nour Lord's pleasure to throw me into those deep trances, which I\ncould not prevent even when I was in the company of others, and\nwhich, to my deep vexation, came to be publicly known.\nSince then, I do not feel that pain so much, but only that which\nI spoke of before,--I do not remember the chapter, [18]--which is\nin many ways very different from it, and of greater worth.\nOn the other hand, when this pain, of which I am now speaking,\nbegins, our Lord seems to lay hold of the soul, and to throw it\ninto a trance, so that there is no time for me to have any sense\nof pain or suffering, because fruition ensues at once.  May He be\nblessed for ever, who hath bestowed such great graces on one who\nhas responded so ill to blessings so great!\n\n\n1. Ch. xl.\n\n2. Baltasar Alvarez was father-minister of the house of\nSt. Giles, Avila, in whose absence she had recourse to another\nfather of that house (Ribera, i. ch.\u00a06).\n\n3. Y diese higas.  \"Higa es una manera de menosprecio que hacemos\ncerrando el pu\u00f1o, y mostrando el dedo pulgar por entre el dedo\nindice, y el medio\" (Cobarruvias, in\u00a0voce).\n\n4. See Book of the Foundations, ch. viii. \u00a7 3, where the Saint\nrefers to this advice, and to the better advice given her later\nby F. Dominic Ba\u00f1es, one of her confessors.  See also Inner\nFortress, vi. 9, \u00a7\u00a07.\n\n5. See ch. xxvii. \u00a7 3, and ch. xxviii. \u00a7 4.\n\n6. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 18.\n\n7. The cross was made of ebony (Ribera).  It is not known where\nthat cross is now.  The Saint gave it to her sister, Do\u00f1a Juana\nde Ahumada, who begged it of her.  Some say that the Carmelites\nof Madrid possess it; and others, those of Valladolid (De\nla\u00a0Fuente).\n\n8. See Relation, i. \u00a7 3.\n\n9. Ch. xx. \u00a7 11.\n\n10. Inner Fortress, vi. 11, \u00a7 2; St. John of the Cross, Spiritual\nCanticle, st. 1, p. 22, Engl. trans.\n\n11. \u00a7 10.\n\n12. Psalm xli. 2: \"As the longing of the hart for the fountains\nof waters, so is the longing of my soul for Thee, O my\u00a0God.\"\n\n13. Ch. xxvii. \u00a7 3.\n\n14. In the MS. of the Saint preserved in the Escurial, the word\nis \"cherubines;\" but all the editors before Don Vicente de la\nFuente have adopted the suggestion, in the margin, of Ba\u00f1es, who\npreferred \"seraphim.\"  F. Bouix, in his translation, corrected\nthe mistake; but, with his usual modesty, did not call the\nreader's attention to\u00a0it.\n\n15. See Relation, viii. \u00a7 16.\n\n16. \"The most probable opinion is, that the piercing of the heart\nof the Saint took place in 1559.  The hymn which she composed on\nthat occasion was discovered in Seville in 1700 (\"En las internas\nentra\u00f1as\").  On the high altar of the Carmelite church in Alba de\nTormes, the heart of the Saint thus pierced is to be seen; and I\nhave seen it myself more than once\" (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n17. Brev. Rom. in fest. S. Teresi\u00e6, Oct. 15, Lect. v.: \"Tanto\nautem divini amoris incendio cor ejus conflagravit, ut merito\nviderit Angelum ignito jaculo sibi pr\u00e6cordia transverberantem.\"\nThe Carmelites keep the feast of this piercing of the Saint's\nheart on the 27th of\u00a0August.\n\n18. Ch. xx. \u00a7 11.\n\n\n\nChapter XXX.\n\n\nSt. Peter of Alcantara Comforts the Saint.  Great Temptations and\nInterior Trials.\n\n\n1. When I saw that I was able to do little or nothing towards\navoiding these great impetuosities, I began also to be afraid of\nthem, because I could not understand how this pain and joy could\nsubsist together.  I knew it was possible enough for bodily pain\nand spiritual joy to dwell together; but the coexistence of a\nspiritual pain so excessive as this, and of joy so deep, troubled\nmy understanding.  Still, I tried to continue my resistance; but\nI was so little able, that I was now and then wearied.  I used to\ntake up the cross for protection, and try to defend myself\nagainst Him who, by the cross, is the Protector of us all.  I saw\nthat no one understood me.  I saw it very clearly myself, but I\ndid not dare to say so to any one except my confessor; for that\nwould have been a real admission that I had no humility.\n\n2. Our Lord was pleased to succour me in a great measure,--and,\nfor the moment, altogether,--by bringing to the place where I was\nthat blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara.  Of him I spoke before,\nand said something of his penance. [1]  Among other things, I\nhave been assured that he wore continually, for twenty years, a\ngirdle made of iron. [2]  He is the author of certain little\nbooks, in Spanish, on prayer, which are now in common use; for,\nas he was much exercised therein, his writings are very\nprofitable to those who are given to prayer.  He kept the first\nrule of the blessed St. Francis in all its rigour, and did those\nthings besides of which I spoke before.\n\n3. When that widow, the servant of God and my friend, of whom I\nhave already spoken, [3] knew that so great a man had come, she\ntook her measures.  She knew the straits I was in, for she was an\neye-witness of my afflictions, and was a great comfort to me.\nHer faith was so strong, that she could not help believing that\nwhat others said was the work of the devil was really the work of\nthe Spirit of God; and as she is a person of great sense and\ngreat caution, and one to whom our Lord is very bountiful in\nprayer, it pleased His Majesty to let her see what learned men\nfailed to discern.  My confessors gave me leave to accept relief\nin some things from her, because in many ways she was able to\nafford it.  Some of those graces which our Lord bestowed on me\nfell to her lot occasionally, together with instructions most\nprofitable for her soul.  So, then, when she knew that the\nblessed man was come, without saying a word to me, she obtained\nleave from the Provincial for me to stay eight days in her house,\nin order that I might the more easily confer with him.  In that\nhouse, and in one church or another, I had many conversations\nwith him the first time he came here; for, afterwards, I had many\ncommunications with him at diverse times.\n\n4. I gave him an account, as briefly as I could, of my life, and\nof my way of prayer, with the utmost clearness in my power.\nI have always held to this, to be perfectly frank and exact with\nthose to whom I make known the state of my soul. [4]  Even my\nfirst impulses I wish them to know; and as for doubtful and\nsuspicious matters, I used to make the most of them by arguing\nagainst myself.  Thus, then, without equivocation or concealment,\nI laid before him the state of my soul.  I saw almost at once\nthat he understood me, by reason of his own experience.  That was\nall I required; for at that time I did not know myself as I do\nnow,so as to give an account of my state.  It was at a later time\nthat God enabled me to understand myself, and describe the graces\nwhich His Majesty bestows upon me.  It was necessary, then, that\nhe who would clearly understand and explain my state should have\nhad experience of it himself.\n\n5. The light he threw on the matter was of the clearest; for as\nto these visions, at least, which were not imaginary, I could not\nunderstand how they could be.  And it seemed that I could not\nunderstand, too, how those could be which I saw with the eyes of\nthe soul; for, as I said before, [5] those visions only seemed to\nme to be of consequence which were seen with the bodily eyes: and\nof these I had none.  The holy man enlightened me on the whole\nquestion, explained it to me, and bade me not to be distressed,\nbut to praise God, and to abide in the full conviction that this\nwas the work of the Spirit of God; for, saving the faith, nothing\ncould be more true, and there was nothing on which I could more\nfirmly rely.  He was greatly comforted in me, was most kind and\nserviceable, and ever afterwards took great care of me, and told\nme of his own affairs and labours; and when he saw that I had\nthose very desires which in himself were fulfilled already,--for\nour Lord had given me very strong desires,--and also how great my\nresolution was, he delighted in conversing with me.\n\n6. To a person whom our Lord has raised to this state, there is\nno pleasure or comfort equal to that of meeting with another whom\nour Lord has begun to raise in the same way.  At that time,\nhowever, it must have been only a beginning with me, as I\nbelieve; and God grant I may not have gone back now.  He was\nextremely sorry for me.  He told me that one of the greatest\ntrials in this world was that which I had borne,--namely, the\ncontradiction of good people, [6]--and that more was in reserve\nfor me: I had need, therefore, of some one--and there was no one\nin this city--who understood me; but he would speak to my\nconfessor, and to that married nobleman, already spoken of, [7]\nwho was one of those who tormented me most, and who, because of\nhis great affection for me, was the cause of all these attacks.\nHe was a holy but timid man, and could not feel safe about me,\nbecause he had seen how wicked I was, and that not long before.\nThe holy man did so; he spoke to them both, explained the matter,\nand gave them reasons why they should reassure themselves, and\ndisturb me no more.  My confessor was easily satisfied,--not so\nthe nobleman; for though they were not enough to keep him quiet,\nyet they kept him in some measure from frightening me so much as\nhe used to do.\n\n7. We made an agreement that I should write to him and tell him\nhow it fared with me, for the future, and that we should pray\nmuch for each other.  Such was his humility, that he held to the\nprayers of a wretch like me.  It made me very much ashamed of\nmyself.  He left me in the greatest consolation and joy, bidding\nme continue my prayer with confidence, and without any doubt that\nit was the work of God.  If I should have any doubts, for my\ngreater security, I was to make them known to my confessor, and,\nhaving done so, be in peace.  Nevertheless, I was not able at all\nto feel that confidence, for our Lord was leading me by the way\nof fear; and so, when they told me that the devil had power over\nme, I believed them.  Thus, then, not one of them was able to\ninspire me with confidence on the one hand, or fear on the other,\nin such a way as to make me believe either of them, otherwise\nthan as our Lord allowed me.  Accordingly, though the holy friar\nconsoled and calmed me, I did not rely so much on him as to be\naltogether without fear, particularly when our Lord forsook me in\nthe afflictions of my soul, of which I will now speak.\nNevertheless, as I have said, I was very much consoled.\n\n8. I could not give thanks enough to God, and to my glorious\nfather St. Joseph, who seemed to me to have brought him here.\nHe was the commissary-general of the custody [8] of St. Joseph,\nto whom, and to our Lady, I used to pray much.\n\n9. I suffered at times--and even still, though not so often--the\nmost grievous trials, together with bodily pains and afflictions\narising from violent sicknesses; so much so, that I could\nscarcely control myself.  At other times, my bodily sickness was\nmore grievous; and as I had no spiritual pain, I bore it with\ngreat joy: but, when both pains came upon me together, my\ndistress was so heavy, that I was reduced to sore straits.\n\n10. I forgot all the mercies our Lord had shown me, and\nremembered them only as a dream, to my great distress; for my\nunderstanding was so dull, that I had a thousand doubts and\nsuspicions whether I had ever understood matters aright, thinking\nthat perhaps all was fancy, and that it was enough for me to have\ndeceived myself, without also deceiving good men.  I looked upon\nmyself as so wicked as to have been the cause, by my sins, of all\nthe evils and all the heresies that had sprung up.  This is but a\nfalse humility, and Satan invented it for the purpose of\ndisquieting me, and trying whether he could thereby drive my soul\nto despair.  I have now had so much experience, that I know this\nwas his work; so he, seeing that I understand him, does not\ntorment me in the same way as much as he used to do.  That it is\nhis work is clear from the restlessness and discomfort with which\nit begins, and the trouble it causes in the soul while it lasts;\nfrom the obscurity and distress, the aridity and indisposition\nfor prayer and for every good work, which it produces.  It seems\nto stifle the soul and trammel the body, so as to make them good\nfor nothing.\n\n11. Now, though the soul acknowledges itself to be miserable, and\nthough it is painful to us to see ourselves as we are, and though\nwe have most deep convictions of our own wickedness,--deep as\nthose spoken of just now, [9] and really felt,--yet true humility\nis not attended with trouble; it does not disturb the soul; it\ncauses neither obscurity nor aridity: on the contrary, it\nconsoles.  It is altogether different, bringing with it calm,\nsweetness, and light.  It is no doubt painful; but, on the other\nhand, it is consoling, because we see how great is the mercy of\nour Lord in allowing the soul to have that pain, and how well the\nsoul is occupied.  On the one hand, the soul grieves over its\noffences against God; on the other, His compassion makes it glad.\nIt has light, which makes it ashamed of itself; and it gives\nthanks to His Majesty, who has borne with it so long.  That other\nhumility, which is the work of Satan, furnishes no light for any\ngood work; it pictures God as bringing upon everything fire and\nsword; it dwells upon His justice; and the soul's faith in the\nmercy of God--for the power of the devil does not reach so far as\nto destroy faith--is of such a nature as to give me no\nconsolation: on the contrary, the consideration of mercies so\ngreat helps to increase the pain, because I look upon myself as\nbound to render greater service.\n\n12. This invention of Satan is one of the most painful, subtle,\nand crafty that I have known him to possess; I should therefore\nlike to warn you, my father, of it, in order that, if Satan\nshould tempt you herein, you may have some light, and be aware of\nhis devices, if your understanding should be left at liberty:\nbecause you must not suppose that learning and knowledge are of\nany use here; for though I have none of them myself, yet now that\nI have escaped out of his hands I see clearly that this is folly.\nWhat I understood by it is this: that it is our Lord's pleasure\nto give him leave and license, as He gave him of old to tempt\nJob; [10] though in my case, because of my wretchedness, the\ntemptation is not so sharp.\n\n13. It happened to me to be tempted once in this way; and I\nremember it was on the day before the vigil of Corpus Christi,--a\nfeast to which I have great devotion, though not so great as I\nought to have.  The trial then lasted only till the day of the\nfeast itself.  But, on other occasions, it continued one, two,\nand even three weeks and--I know not--perhaps longer.  But I was\nspecially liable to it during the Holy Weeks, when it was my\nhabit to make prayer my joy.  Then the devil seizes on my\nunderstanding in a moment; and occasionally, by means of things\nso trivial that I should laugh at them at any other time, he\nmakes it stumble over anything he likes.  The soul, laid in\nfetters, loses all control over itself, and all power of thinking\nof anything but the absurdities he puts before it, which, being\nmore or less unsubstantial, inconsistent, and disconnected, serve\nonly to stifle the soul, so that it has no power over itself; and\naccordingly--so it seems to me--the devils make a football of it,\nand the soul is unable to escape out of their hands.  It is\nimpossible to describe the sufferings of the soul in this state.\nIt goes about in quest of relief, and God suffers it to find\nnone.  The light of reason, in the freedom of its will, remains,\nbut it is not clear; it seems to me as if its eyes were covered\nwith a veil.  As a person who, having travelled often by a\nparticular road, knows, though it be night and dark, by his past\nexperience of it, where he may stumble, and where he ought to be\non his guard against that risk, because he has seen the place by\nday, so the soul avoids offending God: it seems to go on by\nhabit--that is, if we put out of sight the fact that our Lord\nholds it by the hand, which is the true explanation of\nthe matter.\n\n14. Faith is then as dead, and asleep, like all the other\nvirtues; not lost, however,--for the soul truly believes all that\nthe church holds; but its profession of the faith is hardly more\nthan an outward profession of the mouth.  And, on the other hand,\ntemptations seem to press it down, and make it dull, so that its\nknowledge of God becomes to it as that of something which it\nhears of far away.  So tepid is its love that, when it hears God\nspoken of, it listens and believes that He is what He is, because\nthe Church so teaches; but it recollects nothing of its own\nformer experience.  Vocal prayer or solitude is only a greater\naffliction, because the interior suffering--whence it comes, it\nknows not--is unendurable, and, as it seems to me, in some\nmeasure a counterpart of hell.  So it is, as our Lord showed me\nin a vision; [11] for the soul itself is then burning in the\nfire, knowing not who has kindled it, nor whence it comes, nor\nhow to escape it, nor how to put it out: if it seeks relief from\nthe fire by spiritual reading, it cannot find any, just as if it\ncould not read at all.  On one occasion, it occurred to me to\nread a life of a Saint, that I might forget myself, and be\nrefreshed with the recital of what he had suffered.  Four or five\ntimes, I read as many lines; and, though they were written in\nSpanish, I understood them less at the end than I did when I\nbegan: so I gave it up.  It so happened to me on more occasions\nthan one, but I have a more distinct recollection of this.\n\n15. To converse with any one is worse, for the devil then sends\nso offensive a spirit of bad temper, that I think I could eat\npeople up; nor can I help myself.  I feel that I do something\nwhen I keep myself under control; or rather our Lord does so,\nwhen He holds back with His hand any one in this state from\nsaying or doing something that may be hurtful to his neighbours\nand offensive to God.  Then, as to going to our confessor, that\nis of no use; for the certain result is--and very often has it\nhappened to me--what I shall now describe.  Though my confessors,\nwith whom I had to do then, and have to do still, are so holy,\nthey spoke to me and reproved me with such harshness, that they\nwere astonished at it afterwards when I told them of it.\nThey said that they could not help themselves; for, though they\nhad resolved not to use such language, and though they pitied me\nalso very much,--yea, even had scruples on the subject, because\nof my grievous trials of soul and body,--and were, moreover,\ndetermined to console me, they could not refrain.  They did not\nuse unbecoming words--I mean, words offensive to God; yet their\nwords were the most offensive that could be borne with in\nconfession. They must have aimed at mortifying me.  At other\ntimes, I used to delight in this, and was prepared to bear it;\nbut it was then a torment altogether.  I used to think, too, that\nI deceived them; so I went to them, and cautioned them very\nearnestly to be on their guard against me, for it might be that I\ndeceived them.  I saw well enough that I would not do so\nadvisedly, nor tell them an untruth; [12] but everything made me\nafraid.  One of them, on one occasion, when he had heard me speak\nof this temptation, told me not to distress myself; for, even if\nI wished to deceive him, he had sense enough not to be deceived.\nThis gave me great comfort.\n\n16. Sometimes, almost always,--at least, very frequently,--I used\nto find rest after Communion; now and then, even, as I drew near\nto the most Holy Sacrament, all at once my soul and body would be\nso well, that I was amazed. [13]  It seemed to be nothing else but\nan instantaneous dispersion of the darkness that covered my soul:\nwhen the sun rose, I saw how silly I had been.\n\n17. On other occasions, if our Lord spoke to me but one word,\nsaying only, \"Be not distressed, have no fear,\"--as I said\nbefore, [14]--I was made whole at once; or, if I saw a vision, I\nwas as if I had never been amiss.  I rejoiced in God, and made my\ncomplaint to Him, because He permitted me to undergo such\nafflictions; yet the recompense was great; for almost always,\nafterwards, His mercies descended upon me in great abundance.\nThe soul seemed to come forth as gold out of the crucible, most\nrefined, and made glorious to behold, our Lord dwelling within\nit.  These trials afterwards are light, though they once seemed\nto be unendurable; and the soul longs to undergo them again, if\nthat be more pleasing to our Lord.  And though trials and\npersecutions increase, yet, if we bear them without offending our\nLord, rejoicing in suffering for His sake, it will be all the\ngreater gain: I, however, do not bear them as they ought to be\nborne, but rather in a most imperfect way.  At other times, my\ntrials came upon me--they come still--in another form; and then\nit seems to me as if the very possibility of thinking a good\nthought, or desiring the accomplishment of it, were utterly taken\nfrom me: both soul and body are altogether useless and a heavy\nburden.  However, when I am in this state, I do not suffer from\nthe other temptations and disquietudes, but only from a certain\nloathing of I know not what, and my soul finds pleasure\nin nothing.\n\n18. I used to try exterior good works, in order to occupy myself\npartly by violence; and I know well how weak a soul is when grace\nis hiding itself.  It did not distress me much, because the sight\nof my own meanness gave me some satisfaction. On other occasions,\nI find myself unable to pray or to fix my thoughts with any\ndistinctness upon God, or anything that is good, though I may be\nalone; but I have a sense that I know Him. It is the\nunderstanding and the imagination, I believe, which hurt me here;\nfor it seems to me that I have a good will, disposed for all\ngood; but the understanding is so lost, that it seems to be\nnothing else but a raving lunatic, which nobody can restrain, and\nof which I am not mistress enough to keep it quiet for\na minute. [15]\n\n19. Sometimes I laugh at myself, and recognise my wretchedness: I\nwatch my understanding, and leave it alone to see what it will\ndo.  Glory be to God, for a wonder, it never runs on what is\nwrong, but only on indifferent things, considering what is going\non here, or there, or elsewhere.  I see then, more and more, the\nexceeding great mercy of our Lord to me, when He keeps this\nlunatic bound in the chains of perfect contemplation.  I wonder\nwhat would happen if those people who think I am good knew of my\nextravagance.  I am very sorry when I see my soul in such bad\ncompany; I long to see it delivered therefrom, and so I say to\nour Lord: When, O my God, shall I see my whole soul praising\nThee, that it may have the fruition of Thee in all its faculties?\nLet me be no longer, O Lord, thus torn to pieces, and every one\nof them, as it were, running in a different direction.  This has\nbeen often the case with me, but I think that my scanty bodily\nhealth was now and then enough to bring it about.\n\n20. I dwell much on the harm which original sin has done us; that\nis, I believe, what has rendered us incapable of the fruition of\nso great a good.  My sins, too, must be in fault; for, if I had\nnot committed so many, I should have been more perfect in\ngoodness.  Another great affliction which I suffered was this:\nall the books which I read on the subject of prayer, I thought I\nunderstood thoroughly, and that I required them no longer,\nbecause our Lord had given me the gift of prayer.  I therefore\nceased to read those books, and applied myself to lives of\nSaints, thinking that this would improve me and give me courage;\nfor I found myself very defective in every kind of service which\nthe Saints rendered unto God.  Then it struck me that I had very\nlittle humility, when I could think that I had attained to this\ndegree of prayer; and so, when I could not come to any other\nconclusion, I was greatly distressed, until certain learned\npersons, and the blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara, told me not\nto trouble myself about the matter.\n\n21. I see clearly enough that I have not yet begun to serve God,\nthough He showers down upon me those very graces which He gives\nto many good people.  I am a mass of imperfection, except in\ndesire and in love; for herein I see well that our Lord has been\ngracious to me, in order that I may please Him in some measure.\nI really think that I love Him; but my conduct, and the many\nimperfections I discern in myself, make me sad.\n\n22. My soul, also, is subject occasionally to a certain\nfoolishness,--that is the right name to give it,--when I seem to\nbe doing neither good nor evil, but following in the wake of\nothers, as they say, without pain or pleasure, indifferent to\nlife and death, pleasure and pain.  I seem to have no feeling.\nThe soul seems to me like a little ass, which feeds and thrives,\nbecause it accepts the food which is given it, and eats it\nwithout reflection.  The soul in this state must be feeding on\nsome great mercies of God, seeing that its miserable life is no\nburden to it, and that it bears it patiently but it is conscious\nof no sensible movements or results, whereby it may ascertain the\nstate it is in.\n\n23. It seems to me now like sailing with a very gentle wind, when\none makes much way without knowing how; for in the other states,\nso great are the effects, that the soul sees almost at once an\nimprovement in itself, because the desires instantly are on fire,\nand the soul is never satisfied.  This comes from those great\nimpetuosities of love, spoken of before, [16] in those to whom\nGod grants them.  It is like those little wells I have seen\nflowing, wherein the upheaving of the sand never ceases.\nThis illustration and comparison seem to me to be a true\ndescription of those souls who attain to this state; their love\nis ever active, thinking what it may do; it cannot contain\nitself, as the water remains not in the earth, but is continually\nwelling upwards.  So is the soul, in general; it is not at rest,\nnor can it contain itself, because of the love it has: it is so\nsaturated therewith, that it would have others drink of it,\nbecause there is more than enough for itself, in order that they\nmight help it to praise God.\n\n24. I call to remembrance--oh, how often!--that living water of\nwhich our Lord spoke to the Samaritan woman.  That Gospel [17]\nhas a great attraction for me; and, indeed, so it had even when I\nwas a little child, though I did not understand it then as I do\nnow. I used to pray much to our Lord for that living water; and I\nhad always a picture of it, representing our Lord at the well,\nwith this inscription, \"Domine, da mihi aquam.\" [18]\n\n25. This love is also like a great fire, which requires fuel\ncontinually, in order that it may not burn out.  So those souls I\nam speaking of, however much it may cost them, will always bring\nfuel, in order that the fire may not be quenched.  As for me, I\nshould be glad, considering what I am, if I had but straw even to\nthrow upon it.  And so it is with me occasionally--and, indeed,\nvery often.  At one time, I laugh at myself; and at another, I am\nvery much distressed.  The inward stirring of my love urges me to\ndo something for the service of God; and I am not able to do more\nthan adorn images with boughs and flowers, clean or arrange an\noratory, or some such trifling acts, so that I am ashamed of\nmyself.  If I undertook any penitential practice, the whole was\nso slight, and was done in such a way, that if our Lord did not\naccept my good will, I saw it was all worthless, and so I laughed\nat myself.  The failure of bodily strength, sufficient to do\nsomething for God, is no light affliction for those souls to whom\nHe, in His goodness, has communicated this fire of His love in\nits fulness.  It is a very good penance; for when souls are not\nstrong enough to heap fuel on this fire, and die of fear that the\nfire may go out, it seems to me that they become fuel themselves,\nare reduced to ashes, or dissolved in tears, and burn away: and\nthis is suffering enough, though it be sweet.\n\n26. Let him, then, praise our Lord exceedingly, who has attained\nto this state; who has received the bodily strength requisite for\npenance; who has learning, ability, and power to preach, to hear\nconfessions, and to draw souls unto God.  Such a one neither\nknows nor comprehends the blessing he possesses, unless he knows\nby experience what it is to be powerless to serve God in\nanything, and at the same time to be receiving much from Him.\nMay He be blessed for ever, and may the angels glorify\nHim!  Amen.\n\n27. I know not if I do well to write so much in detail.  But as\nyou, my father, bade me again not to be troubled by the\nminuteness of my account, nor to omit anything, I go on\nrecounting clearly and truly all I can call to mind.  But I must\nomit much; for if I did not, I should have to spend more\ntime--and, as I said before, [19] I have so little to spend, and\nperhaps, after all, nothing will be gained.\n\n\n1. Ch. xxvii. \u00a7\u00a7 17, 18, 19.\n\n2. Hoja de lata, \"cierta hoja de hierro muy delgada\"\n(Cobarruvias, Tesoro, in\u00a0voce).\n\n3. Ch. xxiv. \u00a7 5. Do\u00f1a Guiomar de Ulloa.\n\n4. Ch. xxvi. \u00a7 5.\n\n5. Ch. vii. \u00a7 12.\n\n6. See ch. xxviii. \u00a7 24.\n\n7. Ch. xxiii. \u00a7 7.\n\n8. A \"custody\" is a division of the province, in the Order of\nSt. Francis, comprising a certain number of\u00a0convents.\n\n9. \u00a7 10.\n\n10. Job i.\n\n11. See ch. xxxii. \u00a7 1, &c.\n\n12. See ch. xxviii. \u00a7 6.\n\n13. See Way of Perfection, ch. lxi. \u00a7 2; but ch. xxxiv. \u00a7 8 of\nthe earlier\u00a0editions.\n\n14. Ch. xx. \u00a7 21, ch. xxv. \u00a7 22, ch. xxvi. \u00a7 3.\n\n15. \"Un Credo.\"\n\n16. Ch. xxix. \u00a7 11.\n\n17. St. John iv. 5-42: the Gospel of Friday after the Third\nSunday in Lent, where the words are, \"hanc\u00a0aquam.\"\n\n18. \"Lord, give me this water\" (St. John iv. 15).  See ch. i. \u00a7\n6; and Way of Perfection, ch. xxix. \u00a7 5; ch. xix. \u00a7 5 of the\nearlier\u00a0editions.\n\n19. Ch. xiv. \u00a7 12.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXI.\n\n\nOf Certain Outward Temptations and Appearances of Satan.  Of the\nSufferings Thereby Occasioned.  Counsels for Those Who Go on\n\nUnto Perfection.\n\n1. Now that I have described certain temptations and troubles,\ninterior and secret, of which Satan was the cause, I will speak\nof others which he wrought almost in public, and in which his\npresence could not be ignored. [1]\n\n2. I was once in an oratory, when Satan, in an abominable shape,\nappeared on my left hand.  I looked at his mouth in particular,\nbecause he spoke, and it was horrible.  A huge flame seemed to\nissue out of his body, perfectly bright, without any shadow.\nHe spoke in a fearful way, and said to me that, though I had\nescaped out of his hands, he would yet lay hold of me again.\nI was in great terror, made the sign of the cross as well as I\ncould, and then the form vanished--but it reappeared instantly.\nThis occurred twice; I did not know what to do; there was some\nholy water at hand; I took some, and threw it in the direction of\nthe figure, and then Satan never returned.\n\n3. On another occasion, I was tortured for five hours with such\nterrible pains, such inward and outward sufferings, that it\nseemed to me as if I could not bear them.  Those who were with me\nwere frightened; they knew not what to do, and I could not help\nmyself.  I am in the habit, when these pains and my bodily\nsuffering are most unendurable, to make interior acts as well as\nI can, imploring our Lord, if it be His will, to give me\npatience, and then to let me suffer on, even to the end of the\nworld.  So, when I found myself suffering so cruelly, I relieved\nmyself by making those acts and resolutions, in order that I\nmight be able to endure the pain.  It pleased our Lord to let me\nunderstand that it was the work of Satan; for I saw close beside\nme a most frightful little negro, gnashing his teeth in despair\nat losing what he attempted to seize.  When I saw him, I laughed,\nand had no fear; for there were some then present who were\nhelpless, and knew of no means whereby so great a pain could be\nrelieved.  My body, head, and arms were violently shaken; I could\nnot help myself: but the worst of all was the interior pain, for\nI could find no ease in any way.  Nor did I dare to ask for holy\nwater, lest those who were with me should be afraid, and find out\nwhat the matter really was.\n\n4. I know by frequent experience that there is nothing which puts\nthe devils to flight like holy water.  They run away before the\nsign of the cross also, but they return immediately: great, then,\nmust be the power of holy water.  As for me, my soul is conscious\nof a special and most distinct consolation whenever I take it.\nIndeed, I feel almost always a certain refreshing, which I cannot\ndescribe, together with an inward joy, which comforts my whole\nsoul.  This is no fancy, nor a thing which has occurred once\nonly; for it has happened very often, and I have watched it very\ncarefully.  I may compare what I feel with that which happens to\na person in great heat, and very thirsty, drinking a cup of cold\nwater--his whole being is refreshed.  I consider that everything\nordained by the Church is very important; and I have a joy in\nreflecting that the words of the Church are so mighty, that they\nendow water with power, so that there shall be so great a\ndifference between holy water and water that has never been\nblessed.  Then, as my pains did not cease, I told them, if they\nwould not laugh, I would ask for some holy water.  They brought\nme some, and sprinkled me with it; but I was no better.  I then\nthrew some myself in the direction of the negro, when he fled in\na moment.  All my sufferings ceased, just as if some one had\ntaken them from me with his hand; only I was wearied, as if I had\nbeen beaten with many blows.  It was of great service to me to\nlearn that if, by our Lord's permission, Satan can do so much\nevil to a soul and body not in his power, he can do much more\nwhen he has them in his possession.  It gave me a renewed desire\nto be delivered from a fellowship so dangerous.\n\n5. Another time, and not long ago, the same thing happened to me,\nthough it did not last so long, and I was alone at the moment.\nI asked for holy water; and they who came in after the devil had\ngone away,--they were two nuns, worthy of all credit, and would\nnot tell a lie for anything,--perceived a most offensive smell,\nlike that of brimstone.  I smelt nothing myself; but the odour\nlasted long enough to become sensible to them.\n\n6. On another occasion, I was in choir, when, in a moment, I\nbecame profoundly recollected.  I went out in order that the\nsisters might know nothing of it; yet those who were near heard\nthe sound of heavy blows where I was, and I heard voices myself,\nas of persons in consultation, but I did not hear what they said:\nI was so absorbed in prayer that I understood nothing, neither\nwas I at all afraid.  This took place almost always when our Lord\nwas pleased that some soul or other, persuaded by me, advanced in\nthe spiritual life.  Certainly, what I am now about to describe\nhappened to me once; there are witnesses to testify to it,\nparticularly my present confessor, for he saw the account in a\nletter.  I did not tell him from whom the letter came, but he\nknew perfectly who the person was.\n\n7. There came to me a person who, for two years and a half, had\nbeen living in mortal sin of the most abominable nature I ever\nheard.  During the whole of that time, he neither confessed it\nnor ceased from it; and yet he said Mass.  He confessed his other\nsins but of this one he used to say, How can I confess so foul a\nsin?  He wished to give it up, but he could not prevail on\nhimself to do so.  I was very sorry for him, and it was a great\ngrief to me to see God offended in such a way.  I promised him\nthat I would pray to God for his amendment, and get others who\nwere better than I to do the same.  I wrote to one person, and\nthe priest undertook to get the letter delivered.  It came to\npass that he made a full confession at the first opportunity; for\nour Lord God was pleased, on account of the prayers of those most\nholy persons to whom I had recommended him, to have pity on this\nsoul.  I, too, wretched as I am, did all I could for the\nsame end.\n\n8. He wrote to me, and said that he was so far improved, that he\nhad not for some days repeated his sin; but he was so tormented\nby the temptation, that it seemed to him as if he were in hell\nalready, so great were his sufferings.  He asked me to pray to\nGod for him.  I recommended him to my sisters, through whose\nprayers I must have obtained this mercy from our Lord; for they\ntook the matter greatly to heart; and he was a person whom no one\ncould find out.  I implored His Majesty to put an end to these\ntorments and temptations, and to let the evil spirits torment me\ninstead, provided I did not offend our Lord.  Thus it was that\nfor one month I was most grievously tormented; and then it was\nthat these two assaults of Satan, of which I have just spoken,\ntook place.\n\n9. Our Lord was pleased to deliver him out of this temptation, so\nI was informed; for I told him what happened to myself that\nmonth.  His soul gained strength, and he continued free; he could\nnever give thanks enough to our Lord and to me as if I had been\nof any service--unless it be that the belief he had that our Lord\ngranted me such graces was of some advantage to him.  He said\nthat, when he saw himself in great straits, he would read my\nletters, and then the temptation left him.  He was very much\nastonished at my sufferings, and at the manner of his own\ndeliverance: even I myself am astonished, and I would suffer as\nmuch for many years for the deliverance of that soul.  May our\nLord be praised for ever! for the prayers of those who serve Him\ncan do great things; and I believe the sisters of this house do\nserve Him.  The devils must have been more angry with me only\nbecause I asked them to pray, and because our Lord permitted it\non account of my sins.  At that time, too, I thought the evil\nspirits would have suffocated me one night, and when the sisters\nthrew much holy water about I saw a great troop of them rush away\nas if tumbling over a precipice.  These cursed spirits have\ntormented me so often, and I am now so little afraid of\nthem,--because I see they cannot stir without our Lord's\npermission,--that I should weary both you, my father, and\nmyself, if I were to speak of these things in detail.\n\n10. May this I have written be of use to the true servant of God,\nwho ought to despise these terrors, which Satan sends only to\nmake him afraid!  Let him understand that each time we despise\nthose terrors, their force is lessened, and the soul gains power\nover them.  There is always some great good obtained; but I will\nnot speak of it, that I may not be too diffuse.  I will speak,\nhowever, of what happened to me once on the night of All Souls.\nI was in an oratory, and, having said one Nocturn, was saying\nsome very devotional prayers at the end of our Breviary, when\nSatan put himself on the book before me, to prevent my finishing\nmy prayer.  I made the sign of the cross, and he went away.\nI then returned to my prayer, and he, too, came back; he did so,\nI believe, three times, and I was not able to finish the prayer\nwithout throwing holy water at him.  I saw certain souls at that\nmoment come forth out of purgatory--they must have been near\ntheir deliverance, and I thought that Satan might in this way\nhave been trying to hinder their release.  It is very rarely that\nI saw Satan assume a bodily form; I know of his presence through\nthe vision I have spoken of before, [2] the vision wherein no\nform is seen.\n\n11. I wish also to relate what follows, for I was greatly alarmed\nat it: on Trinity Sunday, in the choir of a certain monastery,\nand in a trance, I saw a great fight between evil spirits and the\nangels.  I could not make out what the vision meant.  In less\nthan a fortnight, it was explained clearly enough by the dispute\nthat took place between persons given to prayer and many who were\nnot, which did great harm to that house; for it was a dispute\nthat lasted long and caused much trouble.  On another occasion, I\nsaw a great multitude of evil spirits round about me, and, at the\nsame time, a great light, in which I was enveloped, which kept\nthem from coming near me.  I understood it to mean that God was\nwatching over me, that they might not approach me so as to make\nme offend Him.  I knew the vision was real by what I saw\noccasionally in myself.  The fact is, I know now how little power\nthe evil spirits have, provided I am not out of the grace of God;\nI have scarcely any fear of them at all, for their strength is as\nnothing, if they do not find the souls they assail give up the\ncontest, and become cowards; it is in this case that they show\ntheir power.\n\n12. Now and then, during the temptations I am speaking of, it\nseemed to me as if all my vanity and weakness in times past had\nbecome alive again within me; so I had reason enough to commit\nmyself into the hands of God.  Then I was tormented by the\nthought that, as these things came back to my memory, I must be\nutterly in the power of Satan, until my confessor consoled me;\nfor I imagined that even the first movement towards an evil\nthought ought not to have come near one who had received from our\nLord such great graces as I had.\n\n13. At other times, I was much tormented--and even now I am\ntormented--when I saw people make much of me, particularly great\npeople, and when they spake well of me.  I have suffered, and\nstill suffer, much in this way.  I think at once of the life of\nChrist and of the Saints, and then my life seems the reverse of\ntheirs, for they received nothing but contempt and ill-treatment.\nAll this makes me afraid; I dare not lift up my head, and I wish\nnobody saw me at all.  It is not thus with me when I am\npersecuted; then my soul is so conscious of strength, though the\nbody suffers, and though I am in other ways afflicted, that I do\nnot know how this can be; but so it is,--and my soul seems then\nto be a queen in its kingdom, having everything under its feet.\n\n14. I had such a thought now and then--and, indeed, for many days\ntogether.  I regarded it as a sign of virtue and of humility; but\nI see clearly now it was nothing else but a temptation.\nA Dominican friar, of great learning, showed it to me very\nplainly. When I considered that the graces which our Lord had\nbestowed upon me might come to the knowledge of the public, my\nsufferings became so excessive as greatly to disturb my soul.\nThey went so far, that I made up my mind, while thinking of it,\nthat I would rather be buried alive than have these things known.\nAnd so, when I began to be profoundly recollected, or to fall\ninto a trance, which I could not resist even in public, I was so\nashamed of myself, that I would not appear where people might\nsee me.\n\n15. Once, when I was much distressed at this, our Lord said to\nme, What was I afraid of? one of two things must happen--people\nwould either speak ill of me, or give glory to Him.  He made me\nunderstand by this, that those who believed in the truth of what\nwas going on in me would glorify Him; and that those who did not\nwould condemn me without cause: in both ways I should be the\ngainer, and I was therefore not to distress myself. [3]  This\nmade me quite calm, and it comforts me whenever I think of it.\n\n16. This temptation became so excessive, that I wished to leave\nthe house, and take my dower to another monastery, where\nenclosure was more strictly observed than in that wherein I was\nat this time.  I had heard great things of that other house,\nwhich was of the same Order as mine; it was also at a great\ndistance, and it would have been a great consolation to me to\nlive where I was not known; but my confessor would never let me\ngo.  These fears deprived me in a great measure of all liberty of\nspirit; and I understood afterwards that this was not true\nhumility, because it disturbed me so much.  And our Lord taught\nme this truth; if I was convinced, and certainly persuaded, that\nall that was good in me came wholly and only from God, and if it\ndid not distress me to hear the praises of others,--yea, rather,\nif I was pleased and comforted when I saw that God was working in\nthem,--then neither should I be distressed if He showed forth His\nworks in me.\n\n17. I fell, too, into another extreme.  I begged of God, and made\nit a particular subject of prayer, that it might please His\nMajesty, whenever any one saw any good in me, that such a one\nmight also become acquainted with my sins, in order that he might\nsee that His graces were bestowed on me without any merit on my\npart: and I always greatly desire this.  My confessor told me not\nto do it.  But almost to this day, if I saw that any one thought\nwell of me, I used in a roundabout way, or any how, as I could,\nto contrive he should know of my sins: [4] that seemed to relieve\nme.  But they have made me very scrupulous on this point.\nThis, it appears to me, was not an effect of humility, but\noftentimes the result of temptation.  It seemed to me that I was\ndeceiving everybody--though, in truth, they deceived themselves,\nby thinking that there was any good in me. [5]  I did not wish to\ndeceive them, nor did I ever attempt it, only our Lord permitted\nit for some end; and so, even with my confessors, I never\ndiscussed any of these matters if I did not see the necessity of\nit, for that would have occasioned very considerable scruples.\n\n18. All these little fears and distresses, and semblance of\nhumility, I now see clearly were mere imperfections, and the\nresult of my unmortified life; for a soul left in the hands of\nGod cares nothing about evil or good report, if it clearly\ncomprehends, when our Lord is pleased to bestow upon it His\ngrace, that it has nothing of its own.  Let it trust the Giver;\nit will know hereafter why He reveals His gifts, and prepare\nitself for persecution, which in these times is sure to come,\nwhen it is our Lord's will it should be known of any one that He\nbestows upon him graces such as these; for a thousand eyes are\nwatching that soul, while a thousand souls of another order are\nobserved of none.  In truth, there was no little ground for fear,\nand that fear should have been mine: I was therefore not humble,\nbut a coward; for a soul which God permits to be thus seen of men\nmay well prepare itself to be the world's martyr--because, if it\nwill not die to the world voluntarily, that very world will\nkill it.\n\n19. Certainly, I see nothing in the world that seems to me good\nexcept this, that it tolerates no faults in good people, and\nhelps them to perfection by dint of complaints against them.\nI mean, that it requires greater courage in one not yet perfect\nto walk in the way of perfection than to undergo an instant\nmartyrdom; for perfection is not attained to at once, unless our\nLord grant that grace by a special privilege: yet the world, when\nit sees any one beginning to travel on that road, insists on his\nbecoming perfect at once, and a thousand leagues off detects in\nhim a fault, which after all may be a virtue.  He who finds fault\nis doing the very same thing,--but, in his own case,\nviciously,--and he pronounces it to be so wrong in the other.\nHe who aims at perfection, then, must neither eat nor\nsleep,--nor, as they say, even breathe; and the more men respect\nsuch a one, the more do they forget that he is still in the body;\nand, though they may consider him perfect, he is living on the\nearth, subject to its miseries, however much he may tread them\nunder his feet. And so, as I have just said, great courage is\nnecessary here for, though the poor soul have not yet begun to\nwalk, the world will have it fly; and, though its passions be not\nwholly overcome, men will have it that they must be under\nrestraint, even upon trying occasions, as those of the Saints\nare, of whom they read, after they are confirmed in grace.\n\n20. All this is a reason for praising God, and also for great\nsorrow of heart, because very many go backwards who, poor souls,\nknow not how to help themselves; and I too, I believe, would have\ngone back also, if our Lord had not so mercifully on His part\ndone everything for me.  And until He, of His goodness, had done\nall, nothing was done by me, as you, my father, may have seen\nalready, beyond falling and rising again.  I wish I knew how to\nexplain it, because many souls, I believe, delude themselves in\nthis matter; they would fly before God gives them wings.\n\n21. I believe I have made this comparison on another\noccasion, [6] but it is to the purpose here, for I see certain\nsouls are very greatly afflicted on that ground.  When these\nsouls begin, with great fervour, courage, and desire, to advance\nin virtue,--some of them, at least outwardly, giving up all for\nGod,--when they see in others, more advanced than themselves,\ngreater fruits of virtue given them by our Lord,--for we cannot\nacquire these of ourselves,--when they see in all the books\nwritten on prayer and on contemplation an account of what we have\nto do in order to attain thereto, but which they cannot\naccomplish themselves,--they lose heart.  For instance, they read\nthat we must not be troubled when men speak ill of us, that we\nare to be then more pleased than when they speak well of us; that\nwe must despise our own good name, be detached from our kindred;\navoid their company, which should be wearisome to us, unless they\nbe given to prayer; with many other things of the same kind.\nThe disposition to practise this must be, in my opinion, the gift\nof God; for it seems to me a supernatural good, contrary to our\nnatural inclinations.  Let them not distress themselves; let them\ntrust in our Lord: what they now desire, His Majesty will enable\nthem to attain to by prayer, and by doing what they can\nthemselves; for it is very necessary for our weak nature that we\nshould have great confidence, that we should not be fainthearted,\nnor suppose that, if we do our best, we shall fail to obtain the\nvictory at last.  And as my experience here is large, I will say,\nby way of caution to you, my father, do not think--though it may\nseem so--that a virtue is acquired when we have not tested it by\nits opposing vice: we must always be suspicious of ourselves, and\nnever negligent while we live; for much evil clings to us if, as\nI said before, [7] grace be not given to us fully to understand\nwhat everything is: and in this life there is nothing without\ngreat risks.\n\n22. I thought a few years ago, not only that I was detached from\nmy kindred, but that they were a burden to me; and certainly it\nwas so, for I could not endure their conversation.  An affair of\nsome importance had to be settled, and I had to remain with a\nsister of mine, for whom I had always before had a great\naffection.  The conversation we had together, though she is\nbetter than I am, did not please me; for it could not always be\non subjects I preferred, owing to the difference of our\nconditions--she being married.  I was therefore as much alone as\nI could; yet I felt that her troubles gave me more trouble than\ndid those of my neighbours, and even some anxiety.  In short, I\nfound out that I was not so detached as I thought, and that it\nwas necessary for me to flee from dangerous occasions, in order\nthat the virtue which our Lord had begun to implant in me might\ngrow; and so, by His help, I have striven to do from that time\ntill now.\n\n23. If our Lord bestows any virtue upon us, we must make much of\nit, and by no means run the risk of losing it; so it is in those\nthings which concern our good name, and many other matters.\nYou, my father, must believe that we are not all of us detached,\nthough we think we are; it is necessary for us never to be\ncareless on this point.  If any one detects in himself any\ntenderness about his good name, and yet wishes to advance in the\nspiritual life, let him believe me and throw this embarrassment\nbehind his back, for it is a chain which no file can sever; only\nthe help of God, obtained by prayer and much striving on his\npart, can do it.  It seems to me to be a hindrance on the road,\nand I am astonished at the harm it does.  I see some persons so\nholy in their works, and they are so great as to fill people with\nwonder.  O my God, why is their soul still on the earth?  Why has\nit not arrived at the summit of perfection?  What does it mean?\nWhat keeps him back who does so much for God?  Oh, there it\nis!--self-respect! and the worst of it is, that these persons\nwill not admit that they have it, merely because Satan now and\nthen convinces them that they are under an obligation to\nobserve it.\n\n24. Well, then, let them believe me: for the love of our Lord,\nlet them give heed to the little ant, who speaks because it is\nHis pleasure.  If they take not this caterpillar away, though it\ndoes not hurt the whole tree, because some virtues remain, the\nworm will eat into every one of them.  Not only is the tree not\nbeautiful, but it also never thrives, neither does it suffer the\nothers near it to thrive; for the fruit of good example which it\nbears is not sound, and endures but a short time.  I say it again\nand again, let our self-respect be ever so slight, it will have\nthe same result as the missing of a note on the organ when it is\nplayed,--the whole music is out of tune.  It is a thing which\nhurts the soul exceedingly in every way, but it is a pestilence\nin the way of prayer.\n\n25. Are we striving after union with God? and do we wish to\nfollow the counsels of Christ,--who was loaded with reproaches\nand falsely accused,--and, at the same time, to keep our own\nreputation and credit untouched?  We cannot succeed, for these\nthings are inconsistent one with another.  Our Lord comes to the\nsoul when we do violence to ourselves, and strive to give up our\nrights in many things.  Some will say, I have nothing that I can\ngive up, nor have I any opportunity of doing so.  I believe that\nour Lord will never suffer any one who has made so good a\nresolution as this to miss so great a blessing.  His Majesty will\nmake so many arrangements for him, whereby he may acquire this\nvirtue,--more frequently, perhaps, than he will like.  Let him\nput his hand to the work.  I speak of the little nothings and\ntrifles which I gave up when I began--or, at least, of some of\nthem: the straws which I said [8] I threw into the fire; for I am\nnot able to do more.  All this our Lord accepted: may He be\nblessed for evermore!\n\n26. One of my faults was this: I had a very imperfect knowledge\nof my Breviary and of my duties in choir, simply because I was\ncareless and given to vanities; and I knew the other novices\ncould have taught me.  But I never asked them, that they might\nnot know how little I knew.  It suggested itself to me at once,\nthat I ought to set a good example: this is very common.\nNow, however, that God has opened my eyes a little, even when I\nknow a thing, but yet am very slightly in doubt about it, I ask\nthe children.  I have lost neither honour nor credit by it--on\nthe contrary, I believe our Lord has been pleased to strengthen\nmy memory.  My singing of the Office was bad, and I felt it much\nif I had not learned the part intrusted to me,--not because I\nmade mistakes before our Lord, which would have been a virtue,\nbut because I made them before the many nuns who heard me.  I was\nso full of my own reputation, that I was disturbed, and therefore\ndid not sing what I had to sing even so well as I might have\ndone.  Afterwards, I ventured, when I did not know it very well,\nto say so.  At first, I felt it very much; but afterwards I found\npleasure in doing it.  So, when I began to be indifferent about\nits being known that I could not sing well, it gave me no pain at\nall, and I sang much better.  This miserable self-esteem took\nfrom me the power of doing that which I regarded as an honour,\nfor every one regards as honourable that which he likes.\n\n27. By trifles such as these, which are nothing,--and I am\naltogether nothing myself, seeing that this gave me pain,--by\nlittle and little, doing such actions, and by such slight\nperformances,--they become of worth because done for God,--His\nMajesty helps us on towards greater things; and so it happened to\nme in the matter of humility.  When I saw that all the nuns\nexcept myself were making great progress,--I was always myself\ngood for nothing,--I used to fold up their mantles when they left\nthe choir.  I looked on myself as doing service to angels who had\nbeen there praising God.  I did so till they--I know not\nhow--found it out; and then I was not a little ashamed, because\nmy virtue was not strong enough to bear that they should know of\nit. But the shame arose, not because I was humble, but because I\nwas afraid they would laugh at me, the matter being so trifling.\n\n28. O Lord, what a shame for me to lay bare so much wickedness,\nand to number these grains of sand, which yet I did not raise up\nfrom the ground in Thy service without mixing them with a\nthousand meannesses!  The waters of Thy grace were not as yet\nflowing beneath them, so as to make them ascend upwards.  O my\nCreator, oh, that I had anything worth recounting amid so many\nevil things, when I am recounting the great mercies I received at\nThy hands!  So it is, O my Lord.  I know not how my heart could\nhave borne it, nor how any one who shall read this can help\nhaving me in abhorrence when he sees that mercies so great had\nbeen so ill-requited, and that I have not been ashamed to speak\nof these services.  Ah! they are only mine, O my Lord; but I am\nashamed I have nothing else to say of myself; and that it is that\nmakes me speak of these wretched beginnings, in order that he who\nhas begun more nobly may have hope that our Lord, who has made\nmuch of mine, will make more of his.  May it please His Majesty\nto give me this grace, that I may not remain for ever at the\nbeginning!  Amen. [9]\n\n\n1. 2 Cor. ii. 11: \"Non enim ignoramus cogitationes ejus.\"\n\n2. Ch. xxvii. \u00a7 4.\n\n3. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. iv. \u00a7 12.\n\n4. Way of Perfection, ch. lxv. \u00a7 2; but ch. xxxvi. of the\nprevious\u00a0editions.\n\n5. See ch. x. \u00a7 10.\n\n6. Ch. xiii. \u00a7 3.\n\n7. Ch. xx. \u00a7 38.\n\n8. Ch. xxx. \u00a7 25.\n\n9. Don Vicente de la Fuente thinks the first \"Life\" ended here;\nthat which follows was written under obedience to her confessor,\nF. Garcia of Toledo, and after the foundation of the monastery of\nSt. Joseph,\u00a0Avila.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXII.\n\n\nOur Lord Shows St. Teresa the Place Which She Had by Her Sins\nDeserved in Hell.  The Torments There.  How the Monastery\nof St. Joseph Was Founded.\n\n\n1. Some considerable time after our Lord had bestowed upon me the\ngraces I have been describing, and others also of a higher\nnature, I was one day in prayer when I found myself in a moment,\nwithout knowing how, plunged apparently into hell.  I understood\nthat it was our Lord's will I should see the place which the\ndevils kept in readiness for me, and which I had deserved by my\nsins.  It was but a moment, but it seems to me impossible I\nshould ever forget it even if I were to live many years.\n\n2. The entrance seemed to be by a long narrow pass, like a\nfurnace, very low, dark, and close.  The ground seemed to be\nsaturated with water, mere mud, exceedingly foul, sending forth\npestilential odours, and covered with loathsome vermin.  At the\nend was a hollow place in the wall, like a closet, and in that I\nsaw myself confined.  All this was even pleasant to behold in\ncomparison with what I felt there.  There is no exaggeration in\nwhat I am saying.\n\n3. But as to what I then felt, I do not know where to begin, if I\nwere to describe it; it is utterly inexplicable.  I felt a fire\nin my soul.  I cannot see how it is possible to describe it.\nMy bodily sufferings were unendurable.  I have undergone most\npainful sufferings in this life, and, as the physicians say, the\ngreatest that can be borne, such as the contraction of my sinews\nwhen I was paralysed, [1] without speaking of others of different\nkinds, yea, even those of which I have also spoken, [2] inflicted\non me by Satan; yet all these were as nothing in comparison with\nwhat I felt then, especially when I saw that there would be no\nintermission, nor any end to them.\n\n4. These sufferings were nothing in comparison with the anguish\nof my soul, a sense of oppression, of stifling, and of pain so\nkeen, accompanied by so hopeless and cruel an infliction, that I\nknow not how to speak of it.  If I said that the soul is\ncontinually being torn from the body, it would be nothing, for\nthat implies the destruction of life by the hands of another but\nhere it is the soul itself that is tearing itself in pieces.\nI cannot describe that inward fire or that despair, surpassing\nall torments and all pain.  I did not see who it was that\ntormented me, but I felt myself on fire, and torn to pieces, as\nit seemed to me; and, I repeat it, this inward fire and despair\nare the greatest torments of all.\n\n5. Left in that pestilential place, and utterly without the power\nto hope for comfort, I could neither sit nor lie down: there was\nno room.  I was placed as it were in a hole in the wall; and\nthose walls, terrible to look on of themselves, hemmed me in on\nevery side.  I could not breathe.  There was no light, but all\nwas thick darkness.  I do not understand how it is; though there\nwas no light, yet everything that can give pain by being seen\nwas visible.\n\n6. Our Lord at that time would not let me see more of hell.\nAfterwards, I had another most fearful vision, in which I saw the\npunishment of certain sins.  They were most horrible to look at;\nbut, because I felt none of the pain, my terror was not so great.\nIn the former vision, our Lord made me really feel those\ntorments, and that anguish of spirit, just as if I had been\nsuffering them in the body there.  I know not how it was, but I\nunderstood distinctly that it was a great mercy that our Lord\nwould have me see with mine own eyes the very place from which\nHis compassion saved me.  I have listened to people speaking of\nthese things, and I have at other times dwelt on the various\ntorments of hell, though not often, because my soul made no\nprogress by the way of fear; and I have read of the diverse\ntortures, and how the devils tear the flesh with red-hot pincers.\nBut all is as nothing before this; it is a wholly different\nmatter.  In short, the one is a reality, the other a picture; and\nall burning here in this life is as nothing in comparison with\nthe fire that is there.\n\n7. I was so terrified by that vision,--and that terror is on me\neven now while I am writing,--that, though it took place nearly\nsix years ago, [3] the natural warmth of my body is chilled by\nfear even now when I think of it.  And so, amid all the pain and\nsuffering which I may have had to bear, I remember no time in\nwhich I do not think that all we have to suffer in this world is\nas nothing.  It seems to me that we complain without reason.\nI repeat it, this vision was one of the grandest mercies of our\nLord.  It has been to me of the greatest service, because it has\ndestroyed my fear of trouble and of the contradiction of the\nworld, and because it has made me strong enough to bear up\nagainst them, and to give thanks to our Lord, who has been my\nDeliverer, as it now seems to me, from such fearful and\neverlasting pains.\n\n8. Ever since that time, as I was saying, everything seems\nendurable in comparison with one instant of suffering such as\nthose I had then to bear in hell.  I am filled with fear when I\nsee that, after frequently reading books which describe in some\nmanner the pains of hell, I was not afraid of them, nor made any\naccount of them.  Where was I?  How could I possibly take any\npleasure in those things which led me directly to so dreadful a\nplace?  Blessed for ever be Thou, O my God! and, oh, how manifest\nis it that Thou didst love me much more than I did love Thee!\nHow often, O Lord, didst Thou save me from that fearful prison!\nand how I used to get back to it contrary to Thy will.\n\n9. It was that vision that filled me with the very great distress\nwhich I feel at the sight of so many lost souls,--especially of\nthe Lutherans,--for they were once members of the Church by\nbaptism,--and also gave me the most vehement desires for the\nsalvation of souls; for certainly I believe that, to save even\none from those overwhelming torments, I would most willingly\nendure many deaths.  If here on earth we see one whom we\nspecially love in great trouble or pain, our very nature seems to\nbid us compassionate him; and if those pains be great, we are\ntroubled ourselves.  What, then, must it be to see a soul in\ndanger of pain, the most grievous of all pains, for ever?\nWho can endure it?  It is a thought no heart can bear without\ngreat anguish.  Here we know that pain ends with life at last,\nand that there are limits to it; yet the sight of it moves our\ncompassion so greatly.  That other pain has no ending; and I know\nnot how we can be calm, when we see Satan carry so many souls\ndaily away.\n\n10. This also makes me wish that, in a matter which concerns us\nso much, we did not rest satisfied with doing less than we can do\non our part,--that we left nothing undone.  May our Lord\nvouchsafe to give us His grace for that end!  When I consider\nthat, notwithstanding my very great wickedness, I took some pains\nto please God, and abstained from certain things which I know the\nworld makes light of,--that, in short, I suffered grievous\ninfirmities, and with great patience, which our Lord gave me;\nthat I was not inclined to murmur or to speak ill of anybody;\nthat I could not--I believe so--wish harm to any one; that I was\nnot, to the best of my recollection, either avaricious or\nenvious, so as to be grievously offensive in the sight of God;\nand that I was free from many other faults,--for, though so\nwicked, I had lived constantly in the fear of God,--I had to look\nat the very place which the devils kept ready for me.  It is true\nthat, considering my faults, I had deserved a still heavier\nchastisement; but for all that, I repeat it, the torment was\nfearful, and we run a great risk whenever we please ourselves.\nNo soul should take either rest or pleasure that is liable to\nfall every moment into mortal sin.  Let us, then, for the love of\nGod, avoid all occasions of sin, and our Lord will help us, as He\nhas helped me.  May it please His Majesty never to let me out of\nHis hands, lest I should turn back and fall, now that I have seen\nthe place where I must dwell if I do.  I entreat our Lord, for\nHis Majesty's sake, never to permit it.  Amen.\n\n11. When I had seen this vision, and had learned other great and\nhidden things which our Lord, of His goodness, was pleased to\nshow me,--namely, the joy of the blessed and the torment of the\nwicked,--I longed for the way and the means of doing penance for\nthe great evil I had done, and of meriting in some degree, so\nthat I might gain so great a good; and therefore I wished to\navoid all society, and to withdraw myself utterly from the world.\nI was in spirit restless, yet my restlessness was not harassing,\nbut rather pleasant.  I saw clearly that it was the work of God,\nand that His Majesty had furnished my soul with fervour, so that\nI might be able to digest other and stronger food than I had been\naccustomed to eat.  I tried to think what I could do for God, and\nthought that the first thing was to follow my vocation to a\nreligious life, which His Majesty had given me, by keeping my\nrule in the greatest perfection possible.\n\n12. Though in that house in which I then lived there were many\nservants of God, and God was greatly served therein, yet, because\nit was very poor, the nuns left it very often and went to other\nplaces, where, however, we could serve God in all honour and\nobservances of religion.  The rule also was kept, not in its\noriginal exactness, but according to the custom of the whole\nOrder, authorised by the Bull of Mitigation.  There were other\ninconveniences also: we had too many comforts, as it seemed to\nme; for the house was large and pleasant.  But this inconvenience\nof going out, though it was I that took most advantage of it, was\na very grievous one for me; for many persons, to whom my\nsuperiors could not say no, were glad to have me with them.\nMy superiors, thus importuned, commanded me to visit these\npersons; and thus it was so arranged that I could not be long\ntogether in the monastery.  Satan, too, must have had a share in\nthis, in order that I might not be in the house, where I was of\ngreat service to those of my sisters to whom I continually\ncommunicated the instructions which I received from\nmy confessors.\n\n13. It occurred once to a person with whom I was speaking to say\nto me and the others that it was possible to find means for the\nfoundation of a monastery, if we were prepared to become nuns\nlike those of the Barefooted Orders. [4]  I, having this desire,\nbegan to discuss the matter with that widowed lady who was my\ncompanion,--I have spoken of her before, [5]--and she had the\nsame wish that I had.  She began to consider how to provide a\nrevenue for the home.  I see now that this was not the way,--only\nthe wish we had to do so made us think it was; but I, on the\nother hand, seeing that I took the greatest delight in the house\nin which I was then living, because it was very pleasant to me,\nand, in my own cell, most convenient for my purpose, still held\nback.  Nevertheless, we agreed to commit the matter with all\nearnestness to God.\n\n14. One day, after Communion, our Lord commanded me to labour\nwith all my might for this end.  He made me great promises,--that\nthe monastery would be certainly built; that He would take great\ndelight therein; that it should be called St. Joseph's; that\nSt. Joseph would keep guard at one door, and our Lady at the\nother; that Christ would be in the midst of us; that the\nmonastery would be a star shining in great splendour; that,\nthough the religious Orders were then relaxed, I was not to\nsuppose that He was scantily served in them,--for what would\nbecome of the world, if there were no religious in it?--I was to\ntell my confessor what He commanded me, and that He asked him not\nto oppose nor thwart me in the matter.\n\n15. So efficacious was the vision, and such was the nature of the\nwords our Lord spoke to me, that I could not possibly doubt that\nthey came from Him.  I suffered most keenly, because I saw in\npart the great anxieties and troubles that the work would cost\nme, and I was also very happy in the house I was in then; and\nthough I used to speak of this matter in past times, yet it was\nnot with resolution nor with any confidence that the thing could\never be done.  I saw that I was now in a great strait; and when I\nsaw that I was entering on a work of great anxiety, I hesitated;\nbut our Lord spoke of it so often to me, and set before me so\nmany reasons and motives, which I saw could not be gainsaid,--I\nsaw, too, that such was His will; so I did not dare do otherwise\nthan put the whole matter before my confessor, and give him an\naccount in writing of all that took place.\n\n16. My confessor did not venture definitely to bid me abandon my\npurpose; but he saw that naturally there was no way of carrying\nit out; because my friend, who was to do it, had very little or\nno means available for that end.  He told me to lay the matter\nbefore my superior, [6] and do what he might bid me do.  I never\nspoke of my visions to my superior, but that lady who desired to\nfound the monastery communicated with him.  The Provincial was\nvery much pleased, for he loves the whole Order, gave her every\nhelp that was necessary, and promised to acknowledge the house.\nThen there was a discussion about the revenues of the monastery,\nand for many reasons we never would allow more than thirteen\nsisters together.  Before we began our arrangements, we wrote to\nthe holy friar, Peter of Alcantara, telling him all that was\ntaking place; and he advised us not to abandon our work, and gave\nus his sanction on all points.\n\n17. As soon as the affair began to be known here, there fell upon\nus a violent persecution, which cannot be very easily\ndescribed--sharp sayings and keen jests.  People said it was\nfolly in me, who was so well off in my monastery; as to my\nfriend, the persecution was so continuous, that it wearied her.\nI did not know what to do, and I thought that people were partly\nin the right.  When I was thus heavily afflicted, I commended\nmyself to God, and His Majesty began to console and encourage me.\nHe told me that I could then see what the Saints had to go\nthrough who founded the religious Orders: that I had much heavier\npersecutions to endure than I could imagine, but I was not to\nmind them.  He told me also what I was to say to my friend; and\nwhat surprised me most was, that we were consoled at once as to\nthe past, and resolved to withstand everybody courageously.\nAnd so it came to pass; for among people of prayer, and indeed in\nthe whole neighbourhood, there was hardly one who was not against\nus, and who did not think our work the greatest folly.\n\n18. There was so much talking and confusion in the very monastery\nwherein I was, that the Provincial began to think it hard for him\nto set himself against everybody; so he changed his mind, and\nwould not acknowledge the new house.  He said that the revenue\nwas not certain, and too little, while the opposition was great.\nOn the whole, it seemed that he was right; he gave it up at last,\nand would have nothing to do with it.  It was a very great pain\nto us,--for we seemed now to have received the first blow,--and\nin particular to me, to find the Provincial against us; for when\nhe approved of the plan, I considered myself blameless before\nall.  They would not give absolution to my friend, if she did not\nabandon the project; for they said she was bound to remove\nthe scandal.\n\n19. She went to a very learned man, and a very great servant of\nGod, of the Order of St. Dominic, [7] to whom she gave an account\nof all this matter.  This was even before the Provincial had\nwithdrawn his consent; for in this place we had no one who would\ngive us advice; and so they said that it all proceeded solely\nfrom our obstinacy.  That lady gave an account of everything, and\ntold the holy man how much she received from the property of her\nhusband.  Having, a great desire that he would help us,--for he\nwas the most learned man here, and there are few in his Order\nmore learned than he,--I told him myself all we intended to do,\nand some of my motives.  I never said a word of any revelation\nwhatever, speaking only of the natural reasons which influenced\nme; for I would not have him give an opinion otherwise than on\nthose grounds.  He asked us to give him eight days before he\nanswered, and also if we had made up our minds to abide by what\nhe might say.  I said we had; but though I said so, and though I\nthought so, I never lost a certain confidence that the monastery\nwould be founded.  My friend had more faith than I; nothing they\ncould say could make her give it up.  As for myself, though, as I\nsaid, it seemed to me impossible that the work should be finally\nabandoned, yet my belief in the truth of the revelation went no\nfurther than in so far as it was not against what is contained in\nthe sacred writings, nor against the laws of the Church, which we\nare bound to keep.  Though the revelation seemed to me to have\ncome really from God, yet, if that learned man had told me that\nwe could not go on without offending God and going against our\nconscience, I believe I should have given it up, and looked out\nfor some other way; but our Lord showed me no other way\nthan this.\n\n20. The servant of God told me afterwards that he had made up his\nmind to insist on the abandonment of our project, for he had\nalready heard the popular cry: moreover, he, as everybody did,\nthought it folly; and a certain nobleman also, as soon as he knew\nthat we had gone to him, had sent him word to consider well what\nhe was doing, and to give us no help; that when he began to\nconsider the answer he should make us, and to ponder on the\nmatter, the object we had in view, our manner of life, and the\nOrder, he became convinced that it was greatly for the service of\nGod, and that we must not give it up.  Accordingly, his answer\nwas that we should make haste to settle the matter.  He told us\nhow and in what way it was to be done; and if our means were\nscanty, we must trust somewhat in God.  If anyone made any\nobjections, they were to go to him--he would answer them; and in\nthis way he always helped us, as I shall show by and by. [8]\n\n21. This answer was a great comfort to us; so also was the\nconduct of certain holy persons who were usually against us: they\nwere now pacified, and some of them even helped us.  One of them\nwas the saintly nobleman [9] of whom I spoke before; [10] he\nlooked on it--so, indeed, it was--as a means of great perfection,\nbecause the whole foundation was laid in prayer.  He saw also\nvery many difficulties before us, and no way out of them,--yet he\ngave up his own opinion, and admitted that the work might be of\nGod.  Our Lord Himself must have touched his heart, as He also\ndid that of the doctor, the priest and servant of God, to whom,\nas I said before, [11] I first spoke, who is an example to the\nwhole city,--being one whom God maintains there for the relief\nand progress of many souls: he, too, came now to give us\nhis assistance.\n\n22. When matters had come to this state, and always with the help\nof many prayers, we purchased a house in a convenient spot; and\nthough it was small, I cared not at all for that, for our Lord\nhad told me to go into it as well as I could,--that I should see\nafterwards what He would do; and how well I have seen it!  I saw,\ntoo, how scanty were our means; and yet I believed our Lord\nwould order these things by other ways, and be gracious unto us.\n\n\n1. See ch. v. \u00a7 14, ch. vi. \u00a7 1.\n\n2. Ch. xxxi. \u00a7 3.\n\n3. In 1558 (De la Fuente).\n\n4. This was said by Maria de Ocampo, niece of St. Teresa, then\nliving in the monastery of the Incarnation, but not a religious;\nafterwards Maria Bautista, Prioress of the Carmelites at\nValladolid (Ribera, i.\u00a07).\n\n5. Ch. xxiv. \u00a7 5.  Do\u00f1a Guiomar de Ulloa.\n\n6. The Provincial of the Carmelites: F. Angel de Salasar (De\nla\u00a0Fuente).\n\n7. F. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez (De la Fuente).\n\n8. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 8.\n\n9. Francis de Salcedo.\n\n10. Ch. xxiii. \u00a7 6.\n\n11. Gaspar Daza.  See ch. xxiii. \u00a7 6.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIII.\n\n\nThe Foundation of the Monastery Hindered.  Our Lord Consoles\nthe Saint.\n\n\n1. When the matter was in this state--so near its conclusion,\nthat on the very next day the papers were to be signed--then it\nwas that the Father Provincial changed his mind.  I believe that\nthe change was divinely ordered--so it appeared afterwards; for\nwhile so many prayers were made, our Lord was perfecting His work\nand arranging its execution in another way.  When the Provincial\nrefused us, my confessor bade me forthwith to think no more of\nit, notwithstanding the great trouble and distress which our Lord\nknows it cost me to bring it to this state.  When the work was\ngiven up and abandoned, people were the more convinced that it\nwas altogether the foolishness of women; and the complaints\nagainst me were multiplied, although I had until then this\ncommandment of my Provincial to justify me.\n\n2. I was now very much disliked throughout the whole monastery,\nbecause I wished to found another with stricter enclosure.\nIt was said I insulted my sisters; that I could serve God among\nthem as well as elsewhere, for there were many among them much\nbetter than I; that I did not love the house, and that it would\nhave been better if I had procured greater resources for it than\nfor another.  Some said I ought to be put in prison; others--but\nthey were not many--defended me in some degree.  I saw well\nenough that they were for the most part right, and now and then I\nmade excuses for myself; though, as I could not tell them the\nchief reason, which was the commandment of our Lord, I knew not\nwhat to do, and so was silent.\n\n3. In other respects God was most merciful unto me, for all this\ncaused me no uneasiness; and I gave up our design with much\nreadiness and joy, as if it cost me nothing.  No one could\nbelieve it, not even those men of prayer with whom I conversed;\nfor they thought I was exceedingly pained and sorry: even my\nconfessor himself could hardly believe it.  I had done, as it\nseemed to me, all that was in my power.  I thought myself obliged\nto do no more than I had done to fulfil our Lord's commandment,\nand so I remained in the house where I was, exceedingly happy and\njoyful; though, at the same time, I was never able to give up my\nconviction that the work would be done.  I had now no means of\ndoing it, nor did I know how or when it would be done; but I\nfirmly believed in its accomplishment.\n\n4. I was much distressed at one time by a letter which my\nconfessor wrote to me, as if I had done anything in the matter\ncontrary to his will.  Our Lord also must have meant that\nsuffering should not fail me there where I should feel it most;\nand so, amid the multitude of my persecutions, when, as it seemed\nto me, consolations should have come from my confessor, he told\nme that I ought to recognise in the result that all was a dream;\nthat I ought to lead a new life by ceasing to have anything to do\nfor the future with it, or even to speak of it any more, seeing\nthe scandal it had occasioned.  He made some further remarks, all\nof them very painful.  This was a greater affliction to me than\nall the others together.  I considered whether I had done\nanything myself, and whether I was to blame for anything that was\nan offence unto God; whether all my visions were illusions, all\nmy prayers a delusion, and I, therefore, deeply deluded and lost.\nThis pressed so heavily upon me, that I was altogether disturbed\nand most grievously distressed.  But our Lord, who never failed\nme in all the trials I speak of, so frequently consoled and\nstrengthened me, that I need not speak of it here.  He told me\nthen not to distress myself; that I had pleased God greatly, and\nhad not sinned against Him throughout the whole affair; that I\nwas to do what my confessors required of me, and be silent on the\nsubject till the time came to resume it.  I was so comforted and\nso happy, that the persecution which had befallen me seemed to be\nas nothing at all.\n\n5. Our Lord now showed me what an exceedingly great blessing it\nis to be tried and persecuted for His sake; for the growth of the\nlove of God in my soul, which I now discerned, as well as of many\nother virtues, was such as to fill me with wonder.  It made me\nunable to abstain from desiring trials, and yet those about me\nthought I was exceedingly disheartened; and I must have been so,\nif our Lord in that extremity had not succoured me with His great\ncompassion.  Now was the beginning of those more violent\nimpetuosities of the love of God of which I have spoken\nbefore, [1] as well as of those profounder trances.  I kept\nsilence, however, and never spoke of those graces to any one.\nThe saintly Dominican [2] was as confident as I was that the work\nwould be done; and as I would not speak of it, in order that\nnothing might take place contrary to the obedience I owed my\nconfessor, he communicated with my companion, and they wrote\nletters to Rome and made their preparations.\n\n6. Satan also contrived now that persons should hear one from\nanother that I had had a revelation in the matter; and people\ncame to me in great terror, saying that the times were dangerous,\nthat something might be laid to my charge, and that I might be\ntaken before the Inquisitors.  I heard this with pleasure, and it\nmade me laugh, because I never was afraid of them; for I knew\nwell enough that in matters of faith I would not break the least\nceremony of the Church, that I would expose myself to die a\nthousand times rather than that any one should see me go against\nit or against any truth of Holy Writ.  So I told them I was not\nafraid of that, for my soul must be in a very bad state if there\nwas anything the matter with it of such a nature as to make me\nfear the Inquisition; I would go myself and give myself up, if I\nthought there was anything amiss; and if I should be denounced,\nour Lord would deliver me, and I should gain much.\n\n7. I had recourse to my Dominican father; for I could rely upon\nhim, because he was a learned man.  I told him all about my\nvisions, my way of prayer, the great graces our Lord had given\nme, as clearly as I could, and I begged him to consider the\nmatter well, and tell me if there was anything therein at\nvariance with the Holy Writings, and give me his opinion on the\nwhole matter.  He reassured me much, and, I think, profited\nhimself; for though he was exceedingly good, yet, from this time\nforth, he gave himself more and more to prayer, and retired to a\nmonastery of his Order which was very lonely, that he might apply\nhimself more effectually to prayer, where he remained more than\ntwo years.  He was dragged out of his solitude by obedience, to\nhis great sorrow: his superiors required his services; for he was\na man of great ability.  I, too, on my part, felt his retirement\nvery much, because it was a great loss to me, though I did not\ndisturb him.  But I knew it was a gain to him; for when I was so\nmuch distressed at his departure, our Lord bade me be comforted,\nnot to take it to heart, for he was gone under good guidance.\n\n8. So, when he came back, his soul had made such great progress,\nand he was so advanced in the ways of the spirit, that he told me\non his return he would not have missed that journey for anything\nin the world.  And I, too, could say the same thing; for where he\nreassured and consoled me formerly by his mere learning, he did\nso now through that spiritual experience he had gained of\nsupernatural things.  And God, too, brought him here in time; for\nHe saw that his help would be required in the foundation of the\nmonastery, which His Majesty willed should be laid.\n\n9. I remained quiet after this for five or six months, neither\nthinking nor speaking of the matter; nor did our Lord once speak\nto me about it.  I know not why, but I could never rid myself of\nthe thought that the monastery would be founded.  At the end of\nthat time, the then Rector [3] of the Society of Jesus having\ngone away, His Majesty brought into his place another, [4] of\ngreat spirituality, high courage, strong understanding, and\nprofound learning, at the very time when I was in great straits.\nAs he who then heard my confession had a superior over him--the\nfathers of the Society are extremely strict about the virtue of\nobedience and never stir but in conformity with the will of their\nsuperiors,--so he would not dare, though he perfectly understood\nmy spirit, and desired the accomplishment of my purpose, to come\nto any resolution; and he had many reasons to justify his\nconduct.  I was at the same time subject to such great\nimpetuosities of spirit, that I felt my chains extremely heavy;\nnevertheless, I never swerved from the commandment he gave me.\n\n10. One day, when in great distress, because I thought my\nconfessor did not trust me, our Lord said to me, Be not troubled;\nthis suffering will soon be over.  I was very much delighted,\nthinking I should die shortly; and I was very happy whenever I\nrecalled those words to remembrance.  Afterwards I saw clearly\nthat they referred to the coming of the rector of whom I am\nspeaking, for never again had I any reason to be distressed.\nThe rector that came never interfered with the father-minister\nwho was my confessor.  On the contrary, he told him to console\nme,--that there was nothing to be afraid of,--and not to direct\nme along a road so narrow, but to leave the operations of the\nSpirit of God alone; for now and then it seemed as if these great\nimpetuosities of the spirit took away the very breath of\nthe soul.\n\n11. The rector came to see me, and my confessor bade me speak to\nhim in all freedom and openness.  I used to feel the very\ngreatest repugnance to speak of this matter; but so it was, when\nI went into the confessional, I felt in my soul something, I know\nnot what.  I do not remember to have felt so either before or\nafter towards any one.  I cannot tell what it was, nor do I know\nof anything with which I could compare it.  It was a spiritual\njoy, and a conviction in my soul that his soul must understand\nmine, that it was in unison with it, and yet, as I have said, I\nknew not how.  If I had ever spoken to him, or had heard great\nthings of him, it would have been nothing out of the way that I\nshould rejoice in the conviction that he would understand me; but\nhe had never spoken to me before, nor I to him, and, indeed, he\nwas a person of whom I had no previous knowledge whatever.\n\n12. Afterwards, I saw clearly that my spirit was not deceived;\nfor my relations with him were in every way of the utmost service\nto me and my soul, because his method of direction is proper for\nthose persons whom our Lord seems to have led far on the way,\nseeing that He makes them run, and not to crawl step by step.\nHis plan is to render them thoroughly detached and mortified, and\nour Lord has endowed him with the highest gifts herein as well as\nin many other things beside.  As soon as I began to have to do\nwith him, I knew his method at once, and saw that he had a pure\nand holy soul, with a special grace of our Lord for the\ndiscernment of spirits.  He gave me great consolation.\nShortly after I had begun to speak to him, our Lord began to\nconstrain me to return to the affair of the monastery, and to lay\nbefore my confessor and the father-rector many reasons and\nconsiderations why they should not stand in my way.  Some of\nthese reasons made them afraid, for the father-rector never had a\ndoubt of its being the work of the Spirit of God, because he\nregarded the fruits of it with great care and attention.  At\nlast, after much consideration, they did not dare to\nhinder me. [5]\n\n13. My confessor gave me leave to prosecute the work with all my\nmight.  I saw well enough the trouble I exposed myself to, for I\nwas utterly alone, and able to do so very little.  We agreed that\nit should be carried on with the utmost secrecy; and so I\ncontrived that one of my sisters, [6] who lived out of the town,\nshould buy a house, and prepare it as if for herself, with money\nwhich our Lord provided for us. [7]  I made it a great point to\ndo nothing against obedience; but I knew that if I spoke of it to\nmy superiors all was lost, as on the former occasion, and worse\neven might happen.  In holding the money, in finding the house,\nin treating for it, in putting it in order, I had so much to\nsuffer; and, for the most part, I had to suffer alone, though my\nfriend did what she could: she could do but little, and that was\nalmost nothing.  Beyond giving her name and her countenance, the\nwhole of the trouble was mine; and that fell upon me in so many\nways, that I am astonished now how I could have borne it. [8]\nSometimes, in my affliction, I used to say: O my Lord, how is it\nthat Thou commandest me to do that which seems impossible?--for,\nthough I am a woman, yet, if I were free, it might be done; but\nwhen I am tied in so many ways, without money, or the means of\nprocuring it, either for the purpose of the Brief or for any\nother,--what, O Lord, can I do?\n\n14. Once when I was in one of my difficulties, not knowing what\nto do, unable to pay the workmen, St. Joseph, my true father and\nlord, appeared to me, and gave me to understand that money would\nnot be wanting, and I must hire the workmen.  So I did, though I\nwas penniless; and our Lord, in a way that filled those who heard\nof it with wonder, provided for me.  The house offered me was too\nsmall,--so much so, that it seemed as if it could never be made\ninto a monastery,--and I wished to buy another, but had not the\nmeans, and there was neither way nor means to do so. I knew not\nwhat to do.  There was another little house close to the one we\nhad, which might have formed a small church.  One day, after\nCommunion, our Lord said to me, I have already bidden thee to go\nin anyhow.  And then, as if exclaiming, said: Oh, covetousness of\nthe human race, thinking that even the whole earth is too little\nfor it! how often have I slept in the open air, because I had no\nplace to shelter Me! [9]  I was alarmed, and saw that He had good\nreasons to complain.  I went to the little house, arranged the\ndivisions of it, and found that it would make a sufficient,\nthough small, monastery.  I did not care now to add to the site\nby purchase, and so I did nothing but contrive to have it\nprepared in such a way that it could be lived in.  Everything was\ncoarse, and nothing more was done to it than to render it not\nhurtful to health--and that must be done everywhere.\n\n15. As I was going to Communion on her feast, St. Clare appeared\nto me in great beauty, and bade me take courage, and go on with\nwhat I had begun; she would help me.  I began to have a great\ndevotion to St. Clare; and she has so truly kept her word, that a\nmonastery of nuns of her Order in our neighbourhood helped us to\nlive; and, what is of more importance, by little and little she\nso perfectly fulfilled my desire, that the poverty which the\nblessed Saint observes in her own house is observed in this, and\nwe are living on alms.  It cost me no small labour to have this\nmatter settled by the plenary sanction and authority of the Holy\nFather, [10] so that it shall never be otherwise, and we possess\nno revenues.  Our Lord is doing more for us--perhaps we owe it to\nthe prayers of this blessed Saint; for, without our asking\nanybody, His Majesty supplies most abundantly all our wants.\nMay He be blessed for ever!  Amen.\n\n16. On one of these days--it was the Feast of the Assumption of\nour Lady--I was in the church of the monastery of the Order of\nthe glorious St. Dominic, thinking of the events of my wretched\nlife, and of the many sins which in times past I had confessed in\nthat house.  I fell into so profound a trance, that I was as it\nwere beside myself.  I sat down, and it seemed as if I could\nneither see the Elevation nor hear Mass.  This afterwards became\na scruple to me.  I thought then, when I was in that state, that\nI saw myself clothed with a garment of excessive whiteness and\nsplendour.  At first I did not see who was putting it on me.\nAfterwards I saw our Lady on my right hand, and my father\nSt. Joseph on my left, clothing me with that garment.  I was\ngiven to understand that I was then cleansed from my sins.\nWhen I had been thus clad--I was filled with the utmost delight\nand joy--our Lady seemed at once to take me by both hands.\nShe said that I pleased her very much by being devout to the\nglorious St. Joseph; that I might rely on it my desires about the\nmonastery were accomplished, and that our Lord and they too would\nbe greatly honoured in it; that I was to be afraid of no failure\nwhatever, though the obedience under which it would be placed\nmight not be according to my mind, because they would watch over\nus, and because her Son had promised to be with us [11]--and, as\na proof of this, she would give me that jewel.  She then seemed\nto throw around my neck a most splendid necklace of gold, from\nwhich hung a cross of great value.  The stones and gold were so\ndifferent from any in this world, that there is nothing wherewith\nto compare them.  The beauty of them is such as can be conceived\nby no imagination,--and no understanding can find out the\nmaterials of the robe, nor picture to itself the splendours which\nour Lord revealed, in comparison with which all the splendours of\nearth, so to say, are a daubing of soot.  This beauty, which I\nsaw in our Lady, was exceedingly grand, though I did not trace it\nin any particular feature, but rather in the whole form of her\nface. She was clothed in white and her garments shone with\nexcessive lustre that was not dazzling, but soft.  I did not see\nSt. Joseph so distinctly, though I saw clearly that he was there,\nas in the visions of which I spoke before, [12] in which nothing\nis seen.  Our Lady seemed to be very young.\n\n17. When they had been with me for a while,--I, too, in the\ngreatest delight and joy, greater than I had ever had before, as\nI think, and with which I wished never to part,--I saw them, so\nit seemed, ascend up to heaven, attended by a great multitude of\nangels.  I was left in great loneliness, though so comforted and\nraised up, so recollected in prayer and softened, that I was for\nsome time unable to move or speak--being, as it were, beside\nmyself.  I was now possessed by a strong desire to be consumed\nfor the love of God, and by other affections of the same kind.\nEverything took place in such a way that I could never have a\ndoubt--though I often tried--that the vision came from God. [13]\nIt left me in the greatest consolation and peace.\n\n18. As to that which the Queen of the Angels spoke about\nobedience, it is this: it was painful to me not to subject the\nmonastery to the Order, and our Lord had told me that it was\ninexpedient to do so.  He told me the reasons why it was in no\nwise convenient that I should do it but I must send to Rome in a\ncertain way, which He also explained; He would take care that I\nfound help there: and so I did.  I sent to Rome, as our Lord\ndirected me,--for we should never have succeeded otherwise,--and\nmost favourable was the result.\n\n19. And as to subsequent events, it was very convenient to be\nunder the Bishop, [14] but at that time I did not know him, nor\ndid I know what kind of a superior he might be.  It pleased our\nLord that he should be as good and favourable to this house as it\nwas necessary he should be on account of the great opposition it\nmet with at the beginning, as I shall show hereafter, [15] and\nalso for the sake of bringing it to the condition it is now in.\nBlessed be He who has done it all!  Amen.\n\n\n1. Ch. xxi. \u00a7 6, ch. xxix. \u00a7\u00a7 10, 11.\n\n2. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.  See ch. xxxviii. \u00a7 15.\n\n3. Dionisio Vasquez.  Of him the Bollandists say that he was very\naustere and harsh to his subjects, notwithstanding his great\nlearning: \"homini egregie docto ac rebus gestis claro, sed in\nsubditos, ut ex historia Societatis Jesu liquet, valde immiti\"\n(n.\u00a0309).\n\n4. Gaspar de Salazar was made rector of the house in Avila in\n1561, therein succeeding Vasquez (Bollandists,\u00a0ibid.).\n\n5. St. Teresa was commanded by our Lord to ask Father Baltasar\nAlvarez to make a meditation on Psalm xci. 6: \"Quam magnificata\nsunt opera Tua.\"  The Saint obeyed, and the meditation was made.\nFrom that moment, as F. Alvarez afterwards told Father de Ribera\n(Life of St. Teresa, i. ch. vii.), there was no further\nhesitation on the part of the Saint's\u00a0confessor.\n\n6. Juana de Ahumada, wife of Juan de Ovalle.\n\n7. The money was a present from her brother, Don Lorenzo de\nCepeda; and the Saint acknowledges the receipt of it, and\nconfesses the use made of it, in a letter to her brother, written\nin Avila, Dec. 31, 1561 (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n8. One day, she went with her sister--she was staying in her\nhouse--to hear a sermon in the church of St. Thomas.  The zealous\npreacher denounced visions and revelations; and his observations\nwere so much to the point, that there was no need of his saying\nthat they were directed against St. Teresa, who was present.\nHer sister was greatly hurt, and persuaded the Saint to return to\nthe monastery at once (Reforma, i. ch. xlii. \u00a7\u00a01).\n\n9. St. Luke ix. 58: \"Filius autem hominis non habet ubi\ncaput\u00a0reclinet.\"\n\n10. Pius IV., on Dec. 5, 1562, (Bouix).  See ch. xxxix. \u00a7\u00a019.\n\n11. Ch. xxxii. \u00a7 14.\n\n12. See ch. xxvii. \u00a7 7.\n\n13. \"Nuestro Se\u00f1or,\" \"our Lord,\" though inserted in the printed\neditions after the word \"God,\" is not in the MS., according to\nDon V. de la\u00a0Fuente.\n\n14. Don Alvaro de Mendoza, Bishop of Avila, afterwards\nof\u00a0Palencia.\n\n15. See ch. xxxvi. \u00a7 15; Way of Perfection, ch. v. \u00a7 10;\nFoundations, ch. xxxi. \u00a7\u00a01.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIV.\n\n\nThe Saint Leaves Her Monastery of the Incarnation for a Time, at\nthe Command of Her Superior.  Consoles an Afflicted Widow.\n\n\n1. Now, though I was very careful that no one should know what we\nwere doing, all this work could not be carried on so secretly as\nnot to come to the knowledge of divers persons; some believed, in\nit, others did not, I was in great fear lest the Provincial\nshould be spoken to about it when he came, and find himself\ncompelled to order me to give it up; and if he did so, it would\nhave been abandoned at once.  Our Lord provided against it in\nthis way.  In a large city, more than twenty leagues distant, was\na lady in great distress on account of her husband's death. [1]\nShe was in such extreme affliction, that fears were entertained\nabout her life.  She had heard of me, a poor sinner,--for our\nLord had provided that,--and men spoke well to her of me, for the\nsake of other good works which resulted from it.  This lady knew\nthe Provincial well; and as she was a person of some\nconsideration, and knew that I lived in a monastery the nuns of\nwhich were permitted to go out, our Lord made her desire much to\nsee me.  She thought that my presence would be a consolation to\nher, and that she could not be comforted otherwise.\nShe therefore strove by all the means in her power to get me into\nher house, sending messages to the Provincial, who was at a\ndistance far away.\n\n2. The Provincial sent me an order, charging me in virtue of my\nobedience to go immediately, with one companion.  I knew of it on\nChristmas night.  It caused me some trouble and much suffering to\nsee that they sent for me because they thought there was some\ngood in me; I, knowing myself to be so wicked, could not bear it.\nI commended myself earnestly to God, and during Matins, or the\ngreater part of them, was lost in a profound trance.  Our Lord\ntold me I must go without fail, and give no heed to the opinions\nof people, for they were few who would not be rash in their\ncounsel; and though I should have troubles, yet God would be\nserved greatly: as to the monastery, it was expedient I should be\nabsent till the Brief came, because Satan had contrived a great\nplot against the coming of the Provincial; that I was to have no\nfear,--He would help me.  I repeated this to the rector, and he\ntold me that I must go by all means, though others were saying I\nought not to go, that it was a trick of Satan to bring some evil\nupon me there, and that I ought to send word to the Provincial.\n\n3. I obeyed the rector, and went without fear, because of what I\nhad understood in prayer, though in the greatest confusion when I\nthought of the reasons why they sent for me, and how very much\nthey were deceived.  It made me more and more importunate with\nour Lord that He would not abandon me.  It was a great comfort\nthat there was a house of the Society of Jesus there whither I\nwas going, and so I thought I should be in some degree safe under\nthe direction of those fathers, as I had been here.\n\n4. It was the good pleasure of our Lord that the lady who sent\nfor me should be so much consoled that a visible improvement was\nthe immediate result she was comforted every day more and more.\nThis was very remarkable, because, as I said before, her\nsuffering had reduced her to great straits.  Our Lord must have\ndone this in answer to the many prayers which the good people of\nmy acquaintance made for me, that I might prosper in my work.\nShe had a profound fear of God, and was so good, that her great\ndevotion supplied my deficiencies.  She conceived a great\naffection for me--I, too, for her, because of her goodness; but\nall was as it were a cross for me; for the comforts of her house\nwere a great torment, and her making so much of me made me\nafraid.  I kept my soul continually recollected--I did not dare\nto be careless: nor was our Lord careless of me; for while I was\nthere, He bestowed the greatest graces upon me, and those graces\nmade me so free, and filled me with such contempt for all I\nsaw,--and the more I saw, the greater my contempt,--that I never\nfailed to treat those ladies, whom to serve would have been a\ngreat honour for me, with as much freedom as if I had been\ntheir equal.\n\n5. I derived very great advantages from this, and I said so.\nI saw that she was a woman, and as much liable to passion and\nweakness as I was; that rank is of little worth, and the higher\nit is, the greater the anxiety and trouble it brings.\nPeople must be careful of the dignity of their state, which will\nnot suffer them to live at ease; they must eat at fixed hours and\nby rule, for everything must be according to their state, and not\naccording to their constitutions; and they have frequently to\ntake food fitted more for their state than for their liking.\n\n6. So it was that I came to hate the very wish to be a great\nlady.  God deliver me from this wicked, artificial life!--though\nI believe that this lady, notwithstanding that she was one of the\nchief personages of the realm, was a woman of great simplicity,\nand that few were more humble than she was.  I was very sorry for\nher, for I saw how often she had to submit to much that was\ndisagreeable to her, because of the requirements of her rank.\nThen, as to servants, though this lady had very good servants,\nhow slight is that little trust that may be put in them!\nOne must not be conversed with more than another; otherwise, he\nwho is so favoured is envied by the rest.  This of itself is a\nslavery, and one of the lies of the world is that it calls such\npersons masters, who, in my eyes, are nothing else but slaves in\na thousand ways.\n\n7. It was our Lord's pleasure that the household of that lady\nimproved in the service of His Majesty during my stay there,\nthough I was not exempted from some trials and some jealousies on\nthe part of some of its members, because of the great affection\ntheir mistress had for me.  They perhaps must have thought I had\nsome personal interest to serve.  Our Lord must have permitted\nsuch matters, and others of the same kind, to give me trouble, in\norder that I might not be absorbed in the comforts which\notherwise I had there; and He was pleased to deliver me out of it\nall with great profit to my soul.\n\n8. When I was there, a religious person of great consideration,\nand with whom I had conversed occasionally some years ago, [2]\nhappened to arrive.  When I was at Mass, in a monastery of his\nOrder, near the house in which I was staying, I felt a longing to\nknow the state of his soul,--for I wished him to be a great\nservant of God,--and I rose up in order to go and speak to him.\nBut as I was then recollected in prayer, it seemed to me a waste\nof time--for what had I to do in that matter?--and so I returned\nto my place.  Three times, I think I did this, and at last my\ngood angel prevailed over the evil one, and I went and asked for\nhim; and he came to speak to me in one of the confessionals.\nWe began by asking one another of our past lives, for we had not\nseen one another for many years.  I told him that my life had\nbeen one in which my soul had had many trials.  He insisted much\non my telling him what those trials were.  I said that they were\nnot to be told, and that I was not to tell them.  He replied that\nthe Dominican father, [3] of whom I have spoken, knew them, and\nthat, as they were great friends, he could learn them from him,\nand so I had better tell them without hesitation.\n\n9. The fact is, that it was not in his power not to insist, nor\nin mine, I believe, to refuse to speak; for notwithstanding all\nthe trouble and shame I used to feel formerly, I spoke of my\nstate, to him, and to the rector whom I have referred to\nbefore, [4] without any difficulty whatever; on the contrary, it\nwas a great consolation to me; and so I told him all in\nconfession.  He seemed to me then more prudent than ever; though\nI had always looked upon him as a man of great understanding.\nI considered what high gifts and endowments for great services he\nhad, if he gave himself wholly unto God.  I had this feeling now\nfor many years, so that I never saw any one who pleased me much\nwithout wishing at once he were given wholly unto God; and\nsometimes I feel this so keenly, that I can hardly contain\nmyself.  Though I long to see everybody serve God, yet my desire\nabout those who please me is very vehement, and so I importune\nour Lord on their behalf.\n\n10. So it happened with respect to this religious.  He asked me\nto pray much for him to God.  There was no necessity for his\ndoing so, because I could not do anything else, and so I went\nback to my place where I was in the habit of praying alone, and\nbegan to pray to our Lord, being extremely recollected, in that\nmy simple, silly way, when I speak without knowing very often\nwhat I am saying.  It is love that speaks, and my soul is so\nbeside itself, that I do not regard the distance between it and\nGod.  That love which I know His Majesty has for it makes it\nforget itself, and think itself to be one with Him; and so, as\nbeing one with Him, and not divided from Him, the soul speaks\nfoolishly.  When I had prayed with many tears that the soul of\nthis religious might serve Him truly,--for, though I considered\nit good, it was not enough for me; I would have it much\nbetter,--I remember I said, \"O Lord, Thou must not refuse me this\ngrace; behold him,--he is a fit person to be our friend.\"\n\n11. Oh, the great goodness and compassion of God!  How He regards\nnot the words, but the desire and the will with which they are\nspoken!  How He suffered such a one as I am to speak so boldly\nbefore His Majesty!  May He be blessed for evermore!\n\n12. I remember that during those hours of prayer on that very\nnight I was extremely distressed by the thought whether I was in\nthe grace of God, and that I could never know whether I was so or\nnot,--not that I wished to know it; I wished, however, to die, in\norder that I might not live a life in which I was not sure that I\nwas not dead in sin, for there could be no death more dreadful\nfor me than to think that I had sinned against God.  I was in\ngreat straits at this thought.  I implored Him not to suffer me\nto fall into sin, with great sweetness, dissolved in tears.\nThen I heard that I might console myself, and trust [5] that I\nwas in a state of grace, because a love of God like mine,\ntogether with the graces and feelings with which His Majesty\nfilled my soul, was of such a nature as to be inconsistent with a\nstate of mortal sin.\n\n13. I was now confident that our Lord would grant my prayer as to\nthat religious.  He bade me repeat certain words to him.  This I\nfelt much, because I knew not how to speak to him; for this\ncarrying messages to a third person, as I have said, [6] is what\nI have always felt the most, especially when I did not know how\nthat person would take them, nor whether he would not laugh at\nme.  This placed me in great difficulties, but at last I was so\nconvinced I ought to do it, that I believe I made a promise to\nGod I would not neglect that message; and because of the great\nshame I felt, I wrote it out, and gave it in that way.\nThe result showed clearly enough that it was a message from God,\nfor that religious resolved with great earnestness to give\nhimself to prayer, though he did not do so at once.  Our Lord\nwould have him for Himself, so He sent me to tell him certain\ntruths which, without my understanding them, were so much to the\npurpose that he was astonished.  Our Lord must have prepared him\nto receive them as from His Majesty; and though I am but a\nmiserable sinner myself, yet I made many supplications to our\nLord to convert him thoroughly, and to make him hate the\npleasures and the things of this life.  And so he did--blessed be\nGod!--for every time that he spoke to me I was in a manner beside\nmyself; and if I had not seen it, I should never have believed\nthat our Lord would have given him in so short a time graces so\nmatured, and filled him so full of God, that he seemed to be\nalive to nothing on earth.\n\n14. May His Majesty hold him in His hand!  If he will go on--and\nI trust in our Lord he will do so, now that he is so well\ngrounded in the knowledge of himself--he will be one of the most\ndistinguished servants of God, to the great profit of many souls,\nbecause he has in a short time had great experience in spiritual\nthings: that is a gift of God, which He gives when He will and as\nHe will, and it depends not on length of time nor extent of\nservice.  I do not mean that time and service, are not great\nhelps, but very often our Lord will not give to some in twenty\nyears the grace of contemplation, while He gives it to others in\none,--His Majesty knoweth why.  We are under a delusion when we\nthink that in the course of years we shall come to the knowledge\nof that which we can in no way attain to but by experience; and\nthus many are in error, as I have said [7] when they would\nunderstand spirituality without being spiritual themselves.  I do\nnot mean that a man who is not spiritual, if he is learned, may\nnot direct one that is spiritual; but it must be understood that\nin outward and inward things, in the order of nature, the\ndirection must be an act of reason; and in supernatural things,\naccording to the teaching of the sacred writings.  In other\nmatters, let him not distress himself, nor think that he can\nunderstand that which he understandeth not; neither let him\nquench the Spirit; [8] for now another Master, greater than he,\nis directing these souls, so that they are not left without\nauthority over them.\n\n15. He must not be astonished at this, nor think it impossible:\nall things are possible to our Lord; [9] he must strive rather to\nstrengthen his faith, and humble himself, because in this matter\nour Lord imparts perhaps a deeper knowledge to some old woman\nthan to him, though he may be a very learned man.  Being thus\nhumble, he will profit souls and himself more than if he affected\nto be a contemplative without being so; for, I repeat it, if he\nhave no experience, if he have not a most profound humility,\nwhereby he may see that he does not understand, and that the\nthing is not for that reason impossible, he will do himself but\nlittle good, and still less to his penitent.  But if he is\nhumble, let him have no fear that our Lord will allow either the\none or the other to fall into delusion.\n\n16. Now as to this father I am speaking of, as our Lord has given\nhim light in many things, so has he laboured to find out by study\nthat which in this matter can be by study ascertained; for he is\na very learned man, and that of which he has no experience\nhimself he seeks to find out from those who have it,--and our\nLord helps him by increasing his faith, and so he has greatly\nbenefited himself and some other souls, of whom mine is one.\nAs our Lord knew the trials I had to undergo, His Majesty seems\nto have provided that, when He took away unto Himself some of\nthose who directed me, others might remain, who helped me in my\ngreat afflictions, and rendered me great services.\n\n17. Our Lord wrought a complete change in this father, so much so\nthat he scarcely knew himself, so to speak.  He has given him\nbodily health, so that he may do penance, such as he never had\nbefore; for he was sickly.  He has given him courage to undertake\ngood works, with other gifts, so that he seems to have received a\nmost special vocation from our Lord.  May He be blessed for ever!\n\n18. All these blessings, I believe, came to him through the\ngraces our Lord bestowed upon him in prayer; for they are real.\nIt has been our Lord's pleasure already to try him in certain\ndifficulties, out of which he has come forth like one who knows\nthe true worth of that merit which is gained by suffering\npersecutions.  I trust in the munificence of our Lord that great\ngood will, by his means, accrue to some of his Order and to the\nOrder itself.  This is beginning to be understood.  I have had\ngreat visions on the subject, and our Lord has told me wonderful\nthings of him and of the Rector of the Society of Jesus, whom I\nam speaking of, [10] and also of two other religious of the Order\nof St. Dominic, particularly of one who, to his own profit, has\nactually learned of our Lord certain things which I had formerly\nunderstood of him.  But there were greater things made known of\nhim to whom I am now referring: one of them I will now relate.\n\n19. I was with him once in the parlour, when in my soul and\nspirit I felt what great love burned within him, and became as it\nwere lost in ecstasy by considering the greatness of God, who had\nraised that soul in so short a time to a state so high.  It made\nme ashamed of myself when I saw him listen with so much humility\nto what I was saying about certain matters of prayer, when I had\nso little myself that I could speak on the subject to one like\nhim.  Our Lord must have borne with me in this on account of the\ngreat desire I had to see that religious making great progress.\nMy interview with him did me great good,--it seems as if it left\na new fire in my soul, burning with desire to serve our Lord as\nin the beginning.  O my Jesus! what is a soul on fire with Thy\nlove!  How we ought to prize it, and implore our Lord to let it\nlive long upon earth!  He who has this love should follow after\nsuch souls, if it be possible.\n\n20. It is a great thing for a person ill of this disease to find\nanother struck down by it,--it comforts him much to see that he\nis not alone; they help one another greatly to suffer and to\nmerit.  They are strong with a double strength who are resolved\nto risk a thousand lives for God, and who long for an opportunity\nof losing them.  They are like soldiers who, to acquire booty,\nand therewith enrich themselves, wish for war, knowing well that\nthey cannot become rich without it.  This is their work--to\nsuffer.  Oh, what a blessing it is when our Lord gives light to\nunderstand how great is the gain of suffering for Him!  This is\nnever understood till we have left all things; for if anybody is\nattached to any one thing, that is a proof that he sets some\nvalue upon it; and if he sets any value upon it, it is painful to\nbe compelled to give it up.  In that case, everything is\nimperfect and lost.  The saying is to the purpose here,--he who\nfollows what is lost, is lost himself; and what greater loss,\nwhat greater blindness, what greater calamity, can there be than\nmaking much of that which is nothing!\n\n21. I now return to that which I had begun to speak of.  I was in\nthe greatest joy, beholding that soul.  It seemed as if our Lord\nwould have me see clearly the treasures He had laid up in it; and\nso, when I considered the favour our Lord had shown me, in that I\nshould be the means of so great a good, I recognised my own\nunworthiness for such an end.  I thought much of the graces our\nLord had given him, and held myself as indebted for them more\nthan if they had been given to myself.  So I gave thanks to our\nLord, when I saw that His Majesty had fulfilled my desires and\nheard my petition that He would raise up persons like him.\nAnd now my soul, no longer able to bear the joy that filled it,\nwent forth out of itself, losing itself that it might gain the\nmore. It lost sight of the reflections it was making; and the\nhearing of that divine language which the Holy Ghost seemed to\nspeak threw me into a deep trance, which almost deprived me of\nall sense, though it did not last long.  I saw Christ, in\nexceeding great majesty and glory, manifesting His joy at what\nwas then passing.  He told me as much, and it was His pleasure\nthat I should clearly see that He was always present at similar\ninterviews, and how much He was pleased when people thus found\ntheir delight in speaking of Him.\n\n22. On another occasion, when far away from this place, I saw him\ncarried by angels in great glory.  I understood by that vision\nthat his soul was making great progress: so it was; for an evil\nreport was spread abroad against him by one to whom he had\nrendered a great service, and whose reputation and whose soul he\nhad saved.  He bore it with much joy.  He did also other things\ngreatly to the honour of God, and underwent more persecutions.\nI do not think it expedient now to speak further on this point;\nif, however, you, my father, who know all, should hereafter think\notherwise, more might be said to the glory of our Lord.\n\n23. All the prophecies spoken of before, [11] relating to this\nhouse, as well as others, of which I shall speak hereafter,\nrelating to it and to other matters, have been accomplished.\nSome of them our Lord revealed to me three years before they\nbecame known, others earlier and others later.  But I always made\nthem known to my confessor, and to the widow my friend; for I had\nleave to communicate with her, as I said before. [12]  She, I\nknow, repeated them to others, and these know that I lie not.\nMay God never permit me, in any matter whatever,--much more in\nthings of this importance,--to say anything but the whole truth!\n\n24. One of my brothers-in-law [13] died suddenly; and as I was in\ngreat distress at this, because he had no opportunity of making\nhis confession, our Lord said to me in prayer that my sister also\nwas to die in the same way; that I must go to her, and make her\nprepare herself for such an end.  I told this to my confessor;\nbut as he would not let me go, I heard the same warning again;\nand now, when he saw this, he told me I might go, and that I\nshould lose nothing by going.  My sister was living in the\ncountry; and as I did not tell her why I came, I gave her what\nlight I could in all things.  I made her go frequently to\nconfession, and look to her soul in everything.  She was very\ngood, and did as I asked her.  Four or five years after she had\nbegun this practice, and keeping a strict watch over her\nconscience, she died, with nobody near her, and without being\nable to go to confession.  This was a blessing to her, for it was\nlittle more than a week since she had been to her accustomed\nconfession.  It was a great joy to me when I heard of her death.\nShe was but a short time in purgatory.\n\n25. I do not think it was quite eight days afterwards when, after\nCommunion, our Lord appeared to me, and was pleased that I should\nsee Him receive my sister into glory.  During all those years,\nafter our Lord had spoken to me, until her death, what I then\nlearnt with respect to her was never forgotten either by myself\nor by my friend, who, when my sister was thus dead, came to me in\ngreat amazement at the fulfilment of the prophecy.  God be\npraised for ever, who takes such care of souls that they may not\nbe lost!\n\n\n1. Do\u00f1a Luisa de la Cerda, sister of the Duke of Medina-Coeli,\nwas now the widow of Arias Pardo, Marshal of Castille, Lord of\nMalagon and Paracuellos.  Don Arias was nephew of Cardinal\nTabera, Archbishop of Toledo (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n2. F. Vicente Barron, Dominican (see ch. v. \u00a7 8), according to\nF. Bouix, on the authority of Ribera and Yepez; but the Carmelite\nFather, Fr. Antonio of St. Joseph, in his note on the first\nFragment (Letters, vol. iv. p. 408), says that it was Fr. Garcia\nof Toledo, brother of Don Fernando, Duke of Alva; and Don Vicente\nde la Fuente thinks the opinion of Fr. Antonio the more\u00a0probable.\n\n3. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez (Bouix).\n\n4. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 11.\n\n5. Father Bouix says that here the word \"confiar,\" \"trust,\" in\nthe printed text, has been substituted by some one for the words\n\"estar cierta,\" \"be certain,\" which he found in the MS.  But Don\nVicente de la Fuente retains the old reading \"confiar,\" and makes\nno observation on the alleged discrepancy between the MS. and the\nprinted text.  The observation of F. Bouix, however, is more\nimportant, and deserves credit,--for Don Vicente may have failed,\nthrough mere inadvertence, to see what F. Bouix saw; and it is\nalso to be remembered that Don Vicente does not say that the\nMS. on this point has been so closely inspected as to throw any\ndoubt on the positive testimony of F. Bouix.  Six years after\nthis note was written Don Vicente published a facsimile by\nphotography of the original text in the handwriting of the Saint,\npreserved in the Escurial.  The words are not \"confiar,\" but\n\"estar\u00a0cierta.\"\n\n6. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 12.\n\n7. Ch. xiv. \u00a7 10.\n\n8. 1 Thess. v. 19: \"Spiritum nolite extinguere.\"\n\n9. St. Matt. xix. 26: \"Apud Deum autem omnia possibilia\u00a0sunt.\"\n\n10. F. Gaspar de Salazar.\n\n11. Ch. xxvi. \u00a7 3.\n\n12. Ch. xxx. \u00a7 3.  Do\u00f1a Guiomar de Ulloa.\n\n13. Don Martin de Guzman y Barrientos, husband of Maria de\nCepeda, the Saint's\u00a0sister.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXV.\n\n\nThe Foundation of the House of St. Joseph.  The Observation of\nHoly Poverty Therein.  How the Saint Left Toledo.\n\n\n1. When I was staying with this lady, [1] already spoken of, in\nwhose house I remained more than six months, our Lord ordained\nthat a holy woman [2] of our Order should hear of me, who was\nmore than seventy leagues away from the place.  She happened to\ntravel this way, and went some leagues out of her road that she\nmight see me.  Our Lord had moved her in the same year, and in\nthe same month of the year, that He had moved me, to found\nanother monastery of the Order; and as He had given her this\ndesire, she sold all she possessed, and went to Rome to obtain\nthe necessary faculties.  She went on foot, and barefooted.\nShe is a woman of great penance and prayer, and one to whom our\nLord gave many graces; and our Lady appeared to her, and\ncommanded her to undertake this work.  Her progress in the\nservice of our Lord was so much greater than mine, that I was\nashamed to stand in her presence.  She showed me Briefs she\nbrought from Rome, and during the fortnight she remained with me\nwe laid our plan for the founding of these monasteries.\n\n2. Until I spoke to her, I never knew that our rule, before it\nwas mitigated, required of us that we should possess nothing; [3]\nnor was I going to found a monastery without revenue, [4] for my\nintention was that we should be without anxiety about all that\nwas necessary for us, and I did not think of the many anxieties\nwhich the possession of property brings in its train.  This holy\nwoman, taught of our Lord, perfectly understood--though she could\nnot read--what I was ignorant of, notwithstanding my having read\nthe Constitutions [5] so often; and when she told me of it, I\nthought it right, though I feared they would never consent to\nthis, but would tell me I was committing follies, and that I\nought not to do anything whereby I might bring suffering upon\nothers.  If this concerned only myself, nothing should have kept\nme back,--on the contrary, it would have been my great joy to\nthink that I was observing the counsels of Christ our Lord; for\nHis Majesty had already given me great longings for poverty. [6]\n\n3. As for myself, I never doubted that this was the better part;\nfor I had now for some time wished it were possible in my state\nto go about begging, for the love of God--to have no house of my\nown, nor anything else.  But I was afraid that others--if our\nLord did not give them the same desire--might live in discontent.\nMoreover, I feared that it might be the cause of some\ndistraction: for I knew some poor monasteries not very\nrecollected, and I did not consider that their not being\nrecollected was the cause of their poverty, and that their\npoverty was not the cause of their distraction: distraction never\nmakes people richer, and God never fails those who serve Him.\nIn short, I was weak in faith; but not so this servant of God.\n\n4. As I took the advice of many in everything, I found scarcely\nany one of this opinion--neither my confessor, nor the learned\nmen to whom I spoke of it.  They gave me so many reasons the\nother way, that I did not know what to do.  But when I saw what\nthe rule required, and that poverty was the more perfect way, I\ncould not persuade myself to allow an endowment.  And though they\ndid persuade me now and then that they were right, yet, when I\nreturned to my prayer, and saw Christ on the cross, so poor and\ndestitute, I could not bear to be rich, and I implored Him with\ntears so to order matters that I might be poor as He was.\n\n5. I found that so many inconveniences resulted from an\nendowment, and saw that it was the cause of so much trouble, and\neven distraction, that I did nothing but dispute with the\nlearned.  I wrote to that Dominican friar [7] who was helping us,\nand he sent back two sheets by way of reply, full of objections\nand theology against my plan, telling me that he had thought much\non the subject.  I answered that, in order to escape from my\nvocation, the vow of poverty I had made, and the perfect\nobservance of the counsels of Christ, I did not want any theology\nto help me, and in this case I should not thank him for his\nlearning.  If I found any one who would help me, it pleased me\nmuch.  The lady in whose house I was staying was a great help to\nme in this matter.  Some at first told me that they agreed with\nme; afterwards, when they had considered the matter longer, they\nfound in it so many inconveniences that they insisted on my\ngiving it up.  I told them that, though they changed their\nopinion so quickly, I would abide by the first.\n\n6. At this time, because of my entreaties,--for the lady had\nnever seen the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara,--it pleased our\nLord to bring him to her house.  As he was a great lover of\npoverty, and had lived in it for so many years, he knew well the\ntreasures it contains, and so he was a great help to me; he\ncharged me on no account whatever to give up my purpose.\nNow, having this opinion and sanction,--no one was better able to\ngive it, because he knew what it was by long experience,--I  made\nup my mind to seek no further advice.\n\n7. One day, when I was very earnestly commending the matter to\nGod, our Lord told me that I must by no means give up my purpose\nof founding the monastery in poverty; it was His will, and the\nwill of His Father: He would help me.  I was in a trance; and the\neffects were such, that I could have no doubt it came from God.\nOn another occasion, He said to me that endowments bred\nconfusion, with other things in praise of poverty; and assured me\nthat whosoever served Him would never be in want of the necessary\nmeans of living: and this want, as I have said, [8] I never\nfeared myself.  Our Lord changed the dispositions also of the\nlicentiate,--I am speaking of the Dominican friar, [9]--who, as I\nsaid, wrote to me that I should not found the monastery without\nan endowment.  Now, I was in the greatest joy at hearing this;\nand having these opinions in my favour, it seemed to me nothing\nless than the possession of all the wealth of the world, when I\nhad resolved to live in poverty for the love of God.\n\n8. At this time, my Provincial withdrew the order and the\nobedience, in virtue of which I was staying in that house. [10]\nHe left it to me to do as I liked: if I wished to return I might\ndo so; if I wished to remain I might also do so for a certain\ntime. But during that time the elections in my monastery [11]\nwould take place and I was told that many of the nuns wished to\nlay on me the burden of superiorship.  The very thought of this\nalone was a great torment to me; for though I was resolved to\nundergo readily any kind of martyrdom for God, I could not\npersuade myself at all to accept this; for, putting aside the\ngreat trouble it involved,--because the nuns were so many,--and\nother reasons, such as that I never wished for it, nor for any\nother office,--on the contrary, had always refused them,--it\nseemed to me that my conscience would be in great danger; and so\nI praised God that I was not then in my convent.  I wrote to my\nfriends and asked them not to vote for me.\n\n9. When I was rejoicing that I was not in that trouble, our Lord\nsaid to me that I was on no account to keep away; that as I\nlonged for a cross, there was one ready for me, and that a heavy\none: that I was not to throw it away, but go on with resolution;\nHe would help me, and I must go at once.  I was very much\ndistressed, and did nothing but weep, because I thought that my\ncross was to be the office of prioress; and, as I have just said,\nI could not persuade myself that it would be at all good for my\nsoul--nor could I see any means by which it would be.  I told my\nconfessor of it, and he commanded me to return at once: that to\ndo so was clearly the most perfect way; and that, because the\nheat was very great,--it would be enough if I arrived before the\nelection,--I might wait a few days, in order that my journey\nmight do me no harm.\n\n10. But our Lord had ordered it otherwise.  I had to go at once,\nbecause the uneasiness I felt was very great; and I was unable to\npray, and thought I was failing in obedience to the commandments\nof our Lord, and that as I was happy and contented where I was, I\nwould not go to meet trouble.  All my service of God there was\nlip-service: why did I, having the opportunity of living in\ngreater perfection, neglect it?  If I died on the road, let me\ndie.  Besides, my soul was in great straits, and our Lord had\ntaken from me all sweetness in prayer.  In short, I was in such a\nstate of torment, that I begged the lady to let me go; for my\nconfessor, when he saw the plight I was in, had already told me\nto go, God having moved him as He had moved me.  The lady felt my\ndeparture very much, and that was another pain to bear; for it\nhad cost her much trouble, and diverse importunities of the\nProvincial, to have me in her house.\n\n11. I considered it a very great thing for her to have given her\nconsent, when she felt it so much; but, as she was a person who\nfeared God exceedingly,--and as I told her, among many other\nreasons, that my going away tended greatly to His service, and\nheld out the hope that I might possibly return,--she gave way,\nbut with much sorrow.  I was now not sorry myself at coming away,\nfor I knew that it was an act of greater perfection, and for the\nservice of God.  So the pleasure I had in pleasing God took away\nthe pain of quitting that lady,--whom I saw suffering so\nkeenly,--and others to whom I owed much, particularly my\nconfessor of the Society of Jesus, in whom I found all I needed.\nBut the greater the consolations I lost for our Lord's sake, the\ngreater was my joy in losing them.  I could not understand it,\nfor I had a clear consciousness of these two contrary\nfeelings--pleasure, consolation, and joy in that which weighed\ndown my soul with sadness.  I was joyful and tranquil, and had\nopportunities of spending many hours in prayer; and I saw that I\nwas going to throw myself into a fire; for our Lord had already\ntold me that I was going to carry a heavy cross,--though I never\nthought it would be so heavy as I afterwards found it to be,--yet\nI went forth rejoicing.  I was distressed because I had not\nalready begun the fight, since it was our Lord's will that I\nshould be in it.  Thus His Majesty gave me strength, and\nestablished it in my weakness. [12]\n\n12. As I have just said, I could not understand how this could\nbe.  I thought of this illustration: if I were possessed of a\njewel, or any other thing which gave me great pleasure, and it\ncame to my knowledge that a person whom I loved more than myself,\nand whose satisfaction I preferred to my own, wished to have it,\nit would give me great pleasure to deprive myself of it, because\nI would give all I possessed to please that person.  Now, as the\npleasure of giving pleasure to that person surpasses any pleasure\nI have in that jewel myself, I should not be distressed in giving\naway that or anything else I loved, nor at the loss of that\npleasure which the possession of it gave me.  So now, though I\nwished to feel some distress when I saw that those whom I was\nleaving felt my going so much, yet, notwithstanding my naturally\ngrateful disposition,--which, under other circumstances, would\nhave been enough to have caused me great pain,--at this time,\nthough I wished to feel it, I could feel none.\n\n13. The delay of another day was so serious a matter in the\naffairs of this holy house, that I know not how they would have\nbeen settled if I had waited.  Oh, God is great!  I am often lost\nin wonder when I consider and see the special help which His\nMajesty gave me towards the establishment of this little cell of\nGod,--for such I believe it to be,--the lodging wherein His\nMajesty delights; for once, when I was in prayer, He told me that\nthis house was the paradise of his delight. [13]  It seems, then,\nthat His Majesty has chosen these whom he has drawn hither, among\nwhom I am living very much ashamed of myself. [14]  I could not\nhave even wished for souls such as they are for the purpose of\nthis house, where enclosure, poverty, and prayer are so strictly\nobserved; they submit with so much joy and contentment, that\nevery one of them thinks herself unworthy of the grace of being\nreceived into it,--some of them particularly; for our Lord has\ncalled them out of the vanity and dissipation of the world, in\nwhich, according to its laws, they might have lived contented.\nOur Lord has multiplied their joy, so that they see clearly how\nHe had given them a hundredfold for the one thing they have\nleft, [15] and for which they cannot thank His Majesty enough.\nOthers He has advanced from well to better.  To the young He\ngives courage and knowledge, so that they may desire nothing\nelse, and also to understand that to live away from all things in\nthis life is to live in greater peace even here below.  To those\nwho are no longer young, and whose health is weak, He gives--and\nhas given--the strength to undergo the same austerities and\npenance with all the others.\n\n14. O my Lord! how Thou dost show Thy power!  There is no need to\nseek reasons for Thy will; for with Thee, against all natural\nreason, all things are possible: so that thou teachest clearly\nthere is no need of anything but of loving Thee [16] in earnest,\nand really giving up everything for Thee, in order that Thou, O\nmy Lord, might make everything easy.  It is well said that Thou\nfeignest to make Thy law difficult: [17] I do not see it, nor do\nI feel that the way that leadeth unto Thee is narrow. I see it as\na royal road, and not a pathway; a road upon which whosoever\nreally enters, travels most securely.  No mountain passes and no\ncliffs are near it: these are the occasions of sin. I call that a\npass,--a dangerous pass,--and a narrow road, which has on one\nside a deep hollow, into which one stumbles, and on the other a\nprecipice, over which they who are careless fall, and are dashed\nto pieces.  He who loves Thee, O my God, travels safely by the\nopen and royal road, far away from the precipice: he has scarcely\nstumbled at all, when Thou stretchest forth Thy hand to save him.\nOne fall--yea, many falls--if he does but love Thee, and not the\nthings of the world, are not enough to make him perish; he\ntravels in the valley of humility.  I cannot understand what it\nis that makes men afraid of the way of perfection.\n\n15. May our Lord of His mercy make us see what a poor security we\nhave in the midst of dangers so manifest, when we live like the\nrest of the world; and that true security consists in striving to\nadvance in the way of God!  Let us fix our eyes upon Him, and\nhave no fear that the Sun of justice will ever set, or suffer us\nto travel to our ruin by night, unless we first look away from\nHim.  People are not afraid of living in the midst of lions,\nevery one of whom seems eager to tear them: I am speaking of\nhonours, pleasures, and the like joys, as the world calls them:\nand herein the devil seems to make us afraid of ghosts.  I am\nastonished a thousand times, and ten thousand times would I\nrelieve myself by weeping, and proclaim aloud my own great\nblindness and wickedness, if, perchance, it might help in some\nmeasure to open their eyes.  May He, who is almighty, of His\ngoodness open their eyes, and never suffer mine to be\nblind again!\n\n\n1. Do\u00f1a Luisa de la Cerda.\n\n2. Maria of Jesus was the daughter of a Reporter of Causes in the\nChancery of Granada; but his name and that of his wife are not\nknown.  Maria married, but became a widow soon afterwards.\nShe then became a novice in the Carmelite monastery in Granada,\nand during her noviciate had revelations, like those of\nSt. Teresa, about a reform of the Order.  Her confessor made\nlight of her revelations, and she then referred them to F. Gaspar\nde Salazar, a confessor of St. Teresa, who was then in Granada.\nHe approved of them, and Maria left the noviciate, and went to\nRome with two holy women of the Order of St. Francis.  The three\nmade the journey on foot, and, moreover, barefooted.  Pope Pius\nIV. heard her prayer, and, looking at her torn and bleeding feet,\nsaid to her, \"Woman of strong courage, let it be as thou wilt.\"\nShe returned to Granada, but both the Carmelites and the city\nrefused her permission to found her house there, and some went so\nfar as to threaten to have her publicly whipped.  Do\u00f1a Leonor de\nMascare\u00f1as gave her a house in Alcala de Henares, of which she\ntook possession Sept. 11, 1562; but the house was formally\nconstituted July 23, 1563, and subjected to the Bishop ten days\nafter (Reforma, i. c. 59; and Don Vicente, vol. i. p. 255).\nThe latter says that the Chronicler is in error when he asserts\nthat this monastery of Maria of Jesus was\u00a0endowed.\n\n3. The sixth chapter of the rule is: \"Nullus fratrum sibi aliquid\nproprium, esse dicat, sed sint vobis omnia\u00a0communia.\"\n\n4. See ch. xxxii. \u00a7 13.\n\n5. The Constitutions which the Saint read in the Monastery of the\nIncarnation must have been the Constitutions grounded on the\nMitigated Rule which was sanctioned by Eugenius IV. (Romani\nPontificis, A.D.\u00a01432).\n\n6. See Relation, i. \u00a7 10.\n\n7. F. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.\n\n8. Ch. xi. \u00a7 3.\n\n9. F. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.\n\n10. The house of Do\u00f1a Luisa, in Toledo.\n\n11. The monastery of the Incarnation, Avila.\n\n12. 2 Cor. xii. 9: \"Virtus in infirmitate perficitur.\"\n\n13. See Way of Perfection, ch. xxii.; but ch. xiii. ed.\u00a0Doblado.\n\n14. See Foundations, ch. I, \u00a7 1.\n\n15. St. Matt. xix. 29: \"Et omnis qui reliquerit domum\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\npropter nomen Meum, centuplum accipiet, et vitam\n\u00e6ternam\u00a0possidebit.\"\n\n16. When the workmen were busy with the building, a nephew of the\nSaint, the child of her sister and Don Juan de Ovalle, was struck\nby some falling stones and killed.  The workmen took the child to\nhis mother: and the Saint, then in the house of Do\u00f1a Guiomar de\nUlloa, was sent for.  Do\u00f1a Guiomar took the dead boy into her\narms, gave him to the Saint, saying that it was a grievous blow\nto the father and mother, and that she must obtain his life from\nGod.  The Saint took the body, and, laying it in her lap, ordered\nthose around her to cease their lamentations, of whom her sister\nwas naturally the loudest, and be silent.  Then, covering her\nface and her body with her veil, she prayed to God, and God gave\nthe child his life again.  The little boy soon after ran up to\nhis aunt and thanked her for what she had done. In after years\nthe child used to say to the Saint that, as she had deprived him\nof the bliss of heaven by bringing him back to life, she was\nbound to see that he did not suffer loss.  Don Gonzalo died three\nyears after St. Teresa, when he was twenty-eight years of age\n(Reforma, i. c. 42, \u00a7\u00a02).\n\n17. Psalm xciii. 20: \"Qui fingis laborem in pr\u00e6cepto.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXXVI.\n\n\nThe Foundation of the Monastery of St. Joseph.\nPersecution and Temptations.  Great Interior Trial of the Saint,\nand Her Deliverance.\n\n\n1. Having now left that city, [1] I travelled in great joy,\nresolved to suffer most willingly whatever our Lord might be\npleased to lay upon me.  On the night of my arrival here, [2]\ncame also from Rome the commission and the Brief for the erection\nof the monastery. [3]  I was astonished myself, and so were those\nwho knew how our Lord hastened my coming, when they saw how\nnecessary it was, and in what a moment our Lord had brought me\nback. [4]  I found here the Bishop and the holy friar, [5] Peter\nof Alcantara, and that nobleman, [6] the great servant of God, in\nwhose house the holy man was staying; for he was a man who was in\nthe habit of receiving the servants of God in his house.\nThese two prevailed on the Bishop to accept the monastery, which\nwas no small thing, because it was founded in poverty; but he was\nso great a lover of those whom he saw determined to serve our\nLord, that he was immediately drawn to give them His protection.\nIt was the approbation of the holy old man, [7] and the great\ntrouble he took to make now this one, now that one, help us, that\ndid the whole work.  If I had not come at the moment, as I have\njust said, I do not see how it could have been done; for the holy\nman was here but a short time,--I think not quite eight\ndays,--during which he was also ill; and almost immediately\nafterwards our Lord took him to Himself. [8]  It seems as if His\nMajesty reserved him till this affair was ended, because now for\nsome time--I think for more than two years--he had been very ill.\n\n2. Everything was done in the utmost secrecy; and if it had not\nbeen so, I do not see how anything could have been done at all;\nfor the people of the city were against us, as it appeared\nafterwards.  Our Lord ordained that one of my brothers-in-law [9]\nshould be ill, and his wife away, and himself in such straits\nthat my superiors gave me leave to remain with him.\nNothing, therefore, was found out, though some persons had their\nsuspicions;--still, they did not believe.  It was very wonderful,\nfor his illness lasted only no longer than was necessary for our\naffair; and when it was necessary he should recover his health,\nthat I might be disengaged, and he leave the house empty, our\nLord restored him; and he was astonished at it himself. [10]\n\n3. I had much trouble in persuading this person and that to allow\nthe foundation; I had to nurse the sick man, and obtain from the\nworkmen the hasty preparation of the house, so that it might have\nthe form of a monastery; but much remained still to be done.\nMy friend was not here, [11] for we thought it best she should be\naway, in order the better to hide our purpose.  I saw that\neverything depended on haste, for many, reasons, one of which was\nthat I was afraid I might be ordered back to my monastery at any\nmoment.  I was troubled by so many things, that I suspected my\ncross had been sent me, though it seemed but a light one in\ncomparison with that which I understood our Lord meant me\nto carry.\n\n4. When everything was settled, our Lord was pleased that some of\nus should take the habit on St. Bartholomew's Day.  The most Holy\nSacrament began to dwell in the house at the same time. [12]\nWith full sanction and authority, then, our monastery of our most\nglorious father St. Joseph was founded in the year 1562. [13]\nI was there myself to give the habit, with two nuns [14] of the\nhouse to which we belonged, who happened then to be absent from\nit.  As the house which thus became a monastery was that of my\nbrother-in-law--I said before [15] that he had bought it, for the\npurpose of concealing our plan--I was there myself with the\npermission of my superiors; and I did nothing without the advice\nof learned men, in order that I might not break, in a single\npoint, my vow of obedience.  As these persons considered what I\nwas doing to be most advantageous for the whole Order, on many\naccounts, they told me--though I was acting secretly, and taking\ncare my superiors should know nothing--that I might go on.\nIf they had told me that there was the slightest imperfection in\nthe whole matter, I would have given up the founding of a\nthousand monasteries,--how much more, then, this one!  I am\ncertain of this; for though I longed to withdraw from everything\nmore and more, and to follow my rule and vocation in the greatest\nperfection and seclusion, yet I wished to do so only\nconditionally: for if I should have learnt that it would be for\nthe greater honour of our Lord to abandon it, I would have done\nso, as I did before on one occasion, [16] in all peace\nand contentment.\n\n5. I felt as if I were in bliss, when I saw the most Holy\nSacrament reserved, with four poor orphans, [17]--for they were\nreceived without a dowry,--and great servants of God, established\nin the house.  It was our aim from the beginning to receive only\nthose who, by their example, might be the foundation on which we\ncould build up what we had in view--great perfection and\nprayer--and effect a work which I believed to be for the service\nof our Lord, and to the honour of the habit of His glorious\nMother. This was my anxiety.  It was also a great consolation to\nme that I had done that which our Lord had so often commanded me\nto do, and that there was one church more in this city dedicated\nto my glorious father St. Joseph.  Not that I thought I had done\nanything myself, for I have never thought so, and do not think so\neven now; I always looked upon it as the work of our Lord.\nMy part in it was so full of imperfections, that I look upon\nmyself rather as a person in fault than as one to whom any thanks\nare due.  But it was a great joy to me when I saw His Majesty\nmake use of me, who am so worthless, as His instrument in so\ngrand a work.  I was therefore in great joy,--so much so, that I\nwas, as it were, beside myself, lost in prayer.\n\n6. When all was done--it might have been about three or four\nhours afterwards--Satan returned to the spiritual fight against\nme, as I shall now relate.  He suggested to me that perhaps I had\nbeen wrong in what I had done; perhaps I had failed in my\nobedience, in having brought it about without the commandment of\nthe Provincial.  I did certainly think that the Provincial would\nbe displeased because I had placed the monastery under the\njurisdiction of the Bishop [18] without telling him of it\nbeforehand; though, as he would not acknowledge the monastery\nhimself, and as I had not changed mine, it seemed to me that\nperhaps he would not care much about the matter.  Satan also\nsuggested whether the nuns would be contented to live in so\nstrict a house, whether they could always find food, whether I\nhad not done a silly thing, and what had I to do with it, when I\nwas already in a monastery?  All our Lord had said to me, all the\nopinions I had heard, and all the prayers which had been almost\nuninterrupted for more than two years, were completely blotted\nout of my memory, just as if they had never been.  The only thing\nI remembered was my own opinion; and every virtue, with faith\nitself, was then suspended within me, so that I was without\nstrength to practise any one of them, or to defend myself against\nso many blows.\n\n7. The devil also would have me ask myself how I could think of\nshutting myself up in so strict a house, when I was subject to so\nmany infirmities; how could I bear so penitential a life, and\nleave a house large and pleasant, where I had been always so\nhappy, and where I had so many friends?--perhaps I might not like\nthose of the new monastery; I had taken on myself a heavy\nobligation, and might possibly end in despair.  He also suggested\nthat perhaps it was he himself who had contrived it, in order to\nrob me of my peace and rest, so that, being unable to pray, I\nmight be disquieted, and so lose my soul.  Thoughts of this kind\nhe put before me; and they were so many, that I could think of\nnothing else; and with them came such distress, obscurity, and\ndarkness of soul as I can never describe.  When I found myself in\nthis state, I went and placed myself before the most Holy\nSacrament, though I could not pray to Him; so great was my\nanguish, that I was like one in the agony of death.  I could not\nmake the matter known to any one, because no confessor had as yet\nbeen appointed.\n\n8. O my God, how wretched is this life!  No joy is lasting;\neverything is liable to change.  Only a moment ago, I do not\nthink I would have exchanged my joy with any man upon earth; and\nthe very grounds of that joy so tormented me now, that I knew not\nwhat to do with myself.  Oh, if we did but consider carefully the\nevents of our life, every one of us would learn from experience\nhow little we ought to make either of its pleasures or of its\npains!  Certainly this was, I believe, one of the most\ndistressing moments I ever passed in all my life; my spirit\nseemed to forecast the great sufferings in store for me, though\nthey never were so heavy as this was, if it had continued.\nBut our Lord would not let His poor servant suffer, for in all my\ntroubles He never failed to succour me; so it was now.  He gave\nme a little light, so that I might see it was the work of the\ndevil, and might understand the truth,--namely, that it was\nnothing else but an attempt on his part to frighten me with his\nlies.  So I began to call to mind my great resolutions to serve\nour Lord, and my desire to suffer for His sake; and I thought\nthat if I carried them out, I must not seek to be at rest; that\nif I had my trials, they would be meritorious; and that if I had\ntroubles, and endured them in order to please God, it would serve\nme for purgatory.  What was I, then, afraid of?  If I longed for\ntribulations, I had them now; and my gain lay in the greatest\nopposition.  Why, then, did I fail in courage to serve One to\nwhom I owed so much?\n\n9. After making these and other reflections, and doing great\nviolence to myself, I promised before the most Holy Sacrament to\ndo all in my power to obtain permission to enter this house, and,\nif I could do it with a good conscience, to make a vow of\nenclosure.  When I had done this, the devil fled in a moment, and\nleft me calm and peaceful, and I have continued so ever since;\nand the enclosure, penances, and other rules of this house are to\nme, in their observance, so singularly sweet and light, the joy I\nhave is so exceedingly great, that I am now and then thinking\nwhat on earth I could have chosen which should be more\ndelightful.  I know not whether this may not be the cause of my\nbeing in better health than I was ever before, or whether it be\nthat our Lord, because it is needful and reasonable that I should\ndo as all the others do, gives me this comfort of keeping the\nwhole rule, though with some difficulty.  However, all who know\nmy infirmities, are astonished at my strength.  Blessed be He who\ngiveth it all, and in whose strength I am strong!\n\n10. Such a contest left me greatly fatigued, and laughing at\nSatan; for I saw clearly it was he.  As I have never known what\nit is to be discontented because I am a nun--no, not for an\ninstant--during more than twenty-eight years of religion, I\nbelieve that our Lord suffered me to be thus tempted, that I\nmight understand how great a mercy He had shown me herein, and\nfrom what torment He had delivered me, and that if I saw any one\nin like trouble I might not be alarmed at it, but have pity on\nher, and be able to console her.\n\n11. Then, when this was over, I wished to rest myself a little\nafter our dinner; for during the whole of that night I had\nscarcely rested at all, and for some nights previously I had had\nmuch trouble and anxiety, while every day was full of toil; for\nthe news of what we had done had reached my monastery, and was\nspread through the city.  There arose a great outcry, for the\nreasons I mentioned before, [19] and there was some apparent\nground for it.  The prioress [20] sent for me to come to her\nimmediately.  When I received the order, I went at once, leaving\nthe nuns in great distress.  I saw clearly enough that there were\ntroubles before me; but as the work was really done, I did not\ncare much for that.  I prayed and implored our Lord to help me,\nand my father St. Joseph to bring me back to his house.\nI offered up to him all I was to suffer, rejoicing greatly that I\nhad the opportunity of suffering for his honour and of doing him\nservice.  I went persuaded that I should be put in prison at once\nbut this would have been a great comfort, because I should have\nnobody to speak to, and might have some rest and solitude, of\nwhich I was in great need; for so much intercourse with people\nhad worn me out.\n\n12. When I came and told the prioress what I had done, she was\nsoftened a little.  They all sent for the Provincial, and the\nmatter was reserved for him.  When he came, I was summoned to\njudgment, rejoicing greatly at seeing that I had something to\nsuffer for our Lord.  I did not think I had offended against His\nMajesty, or against my Order, in anything I had done; on the\ncontrary, I was striving with all my might to exalt my Order, for\nwhich I would willingly have died,--for my whole desire was that\nits rule might be observed in all perfection.  I thought of\nChrist receiving sentence, and I saw how this of mine would be\nless than nothing.  I confessed my fault, as if I had been very\nmuch to blame; and so I seemed to every one who did not know all\nthe reasons.  After the Provincial had rebuked me sharply--though\nnot with the severity which my fault deserved, nor according to\nthe representations made to him--I would not defend myself, for I\nwas determined to bear it all; on the contrary, I prayed him to\nforgive and punish, and be no longer angry with me.\n\n13. I saw well enough that they condemned me on some charges of\nwhich I was innocent, for they said I had founded the monastery\nthat I might be thought much of, and to make myself a name, and\nfor other reasons of that kind.  But on other points I understood\nclearly that they were speaking the truth, as when they said that\nI was more wicked than the other nuns.  They asked, how could I,\nwho had not kept the rule in that house, think of keeping it in\nanother of stricter observance?  They said I was giving scandal\nin the city, and setting up novelties.  All this neither troubled\nnor distressed me in the least, though I did seem to feel it,\nlest I should appear to make light of what they were saying.\n\n14. At last the Provincial commanded me to explain my conduct\nbefore the nuns, and I had to do it.  As I was perfectly calm,\nand our Lord helped me, I explained everything in such a way that\nneither the Provincial nor those who were present found any\nreason to condemn me.  Afterwards I spoke more plainly to the\nProvincial alone; he was very much satisfied, and promised, if\nthe new monastery prospered, and the city became quiet, to give\nme leave to live in it.  Now the outcry in the city was very\ngreat, as I am going to tell.  Two or three days after this, the\ngovernor, certain members of the council of the city and of the\nChapter, came together, and resolved that the new monastery\nshould not be allowed to exist, that it was a visible wrong to\nthe state, that the most Holy Sacrament should be removed, and\nthat they would not suffer us to go on with our work.\n\n15. They assembled all the Orders--that is, two learned men from\neach--to give their opinion.  Some were silent, others condemned;\nin the end, they resolved that the monastery should be broken up.\nOnly one [21]--he was of the Order of St. Dominic, and objected,\nnot to the monastery itself, but to the foundation of it in\npoverty--said that there was no reason why it should be thus\ndissolved, that the matter ought to be well considered, that\nthere was time enough, that it was the affair of the bishop, with\nother things of that kind.  This was of great service to us, for\nthey were angry enough to proceed to its destruction at once, and\nit was fortunate they did not.  In short, the monastery must\nexist; our Lord was pleased to have it, and all of them could do\nnothing against His will.  They gave their reasons, and showed\ntheir zeal for good, and thus, without offending God, made me\nsuffer together with all those who were in favour of the\nmonastery; there were not many, but they suffered much\npersecution.  The inhabitants were so excited, that they talked\nof nothing else; every one condemned me, and hurried to the\nProvincial and to my monastery.\n\n16. I was no more distressed by what they said of me than if they\nhad said nothing; but I was afraid the monastery would be\ndestroyed: that was painful; so also was it to see those persons\nwho helped me lose their credit and suffer so much annoyance.\nBut as to what was said of myself I was rather glad, and if I had\nhad any faith I should not have been troubled at all.  But a\nslight failing in one virtue is enough to put all the others to\nsleep. I was therefore extremely distressed during the two days\non which those assemblies of which I have spoken were held.\nIn the extremity of my trouble, our Lord said to me: \"Knowest\nthou not that I am the Almighty? what art thou afraid of?\"\nHe made me feel assured that the monastery would not be broken\nup, and I was exceedingly comforted.  The informations taken were\nsent up to the king's council, and an order came back for a\nreport on the whole matter.\n\n17. Here was the beginning of a grand lawsuit: the city sent\ndelegates to the court, and some must be sent also to defend the\nmonastery: but I had no money, nor did I know what to do.\nOur Lord provided for us for the Father Provincial never ordered\nme not to meddle in the matter.  He is so great a lover of all\nthat is good, that, though he did not help us, he would not be\nagainst our work.  Neither did he authorise me to enter the house\ntill he saw how it would end.  Those servants of God who were in\nit were left alone, and did more by their prayers than I did with\nall my negotiations, though the affair needed the utmost\nattention.  Now and then everything seemed to fail; particularly\none day, before the Provincial came, when the prioress ordered me\nto meddle no more with it, and to give it up altogether.\nI betook myself to God, and said, \"O Lord, this house is not\nmine; it was founded for Thee; and now that there is no one to\ntake up the cause, do Thou protect it.\"  I now felt myself in\npeace, and as free from anxiety as if the whole world were on my\nside in the matter; and at once I looked upon it as safe. [22]\n\n18. A very great servant of God, and a lover of all perfection, a\npriest [23] who had helped me always, went to the court on this\nbusiness, and took great pains.  That holy nobleman [24] of whom\nI have often spoken laboured much on our behalf, and helped us in\nevery way.  He had much trouble and persecution to endure, and I\nalways found a father in him, and do so still.  All those who\nhelped us, our Lord filled with such fervour as made them\nconsider our affair as their own, as if their own life and\nreputation were at stake; and yet it was nothing to them, except\nin so far as it regarded the service of our Lord.  His Majesty\nvisibly helped the priest I have spoken of before, [25] who was\nalso one of those who gave us great help when the Bishop sent him\nas his representative to one of the great meetings.  There he\nstood alone against all; at last he pacified them by means of\ncertain propositions, which obtained us a little respite.\nBut that was not enough; for they were ready to spend their\nlives, if they could but destroy the monastery.  This servant of\nGod was he who gave the habit and reserved the most Holy\nSacrament, and he was the object of much persecution.\nThis attack lasted about six months: to relate in detail the\nheavy trials we passed through would be too tedious.\n\n19. I wondered at what Satan did against a few poor women, and\nalso how all people thought that merely twelve women, with a\nprioress, could be so hurtful to the city,--for they were not to\nbe more,--I say this to those who opposed us,--and living such\naustere lives; for if any harm or error came of it, it would all\nfall upon them.  Harm to the city there could not be in any way;\nand yet the people thought there was so much in it, that they\nopposed us with a good conscience.  At last they resolved they\nwould tolerate us if we were endowed, and in consideration of\nthat would suffer us to remain.  I was so distressed at the\ntrouble of all those who were on our side--more than at my\nown--that I thought it would not be amiss, till the people were\npacified, to accept an endowment, but afterwards to resign it.\nAt other times, too, wicked and imperfect as I am, I thought that\nperhaps our Lord wished it to be so, seeing that, without\naccepting it, we could not succeed; and so I consented to\nthe compromise.\n\n20. The night before the settlement was to be made, I was in\nprayer,--the discussion of the terms of it had already\nbegun,--when our Lord said to me that I must do nothing of the\nkind; for if we began with an endowment, they would never allow\nus to resign it.  He said some other things also.  The same\nnight, the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara, appeared to me.\nHe was then dead. [26]  But he had written to me before his\ndeath--for he knew the great opposition and persecution we had to\nbear--that he was glad the foundation was so much spoken against;\nit was a sign that our Lord would be exceedingly honoured in the\nmonastery, seeing that Satan was so earnest against it; and that\nI was by no means to consent to an endowment.  He urged this upon\nme twice or thrice in that letter, and said that if I persisted\nin this everything would succeed according to my wish.\n\n21. At this time I had already seen him twice since his death,\nand the great glory he was in, and so I was not afraid,--on the\ncontrary, I was very glad; for he always appeared as a glorified\nbody in great happiness, and the vision made me very happy too.\nI remember that he told me, the first time I saw him, among other\nthings, when speaking of the greatness of his joy, that the\npenance he had done was a blessed thing for him, in that it had\nobtained so great a reward.  But, as I think I have spoken of\nthis before, [27] I will now say no more than that he showed\nhimself severe on this occasion: he merely said that I was on no\naccount to accept an endowment, and asked why it was I did not\ntake his advice.  He then disappeared. I remained in\nastonishment, and the next day told the nobleman--for I went to\nhim in all my trouble, as to one who did more than others for us\nin the matter,--what had taken place, and charged him not to\nconsent to the endowment, but to let the lawsuit go on.  He was\nmore firm on this point than I was, and was therefore greatly\npleased; he told me afterwards how much he disliked\nthe compromise.\n\n22. After this, another personage--a great servant of God, and\nwith good intentions--came forward, who, now that the matter was\nin good train, advised us to put it in the hands of learned men.\nThis brought on trouble enough; for some of those who helped me\nagreed to do so; and this plot of Satan was one of the most\ndifficult of all to unravel.  Our Lord was my helper throughout.\nWriting thus briefly, it is impossible for me to explain what\ntook place during the two years that passed between the beginning\nand the completion of the monastery: the last six months and the\nfirst six months were the most painful.\n\n23. When at last the city was somewhat calm, the licentiate\nfather, the Dominican friar [28] who helped us, exerted himself\nmost skilfully on our behalf.  Though not here at the time, our\nLord brought him here at a most convenient moment for our\nservice, and it seems that His Majesty brought him for that\npurpose only.  He told me afterwards that he had no reasons for\ncoming, and that he heard of our affair as if by chance.\nHe remained here as long as we wanted him, and on going away he\nprevailed, by some means, on the Father Provincial to permit me\nto enter this house, and to take with me some of the\nnuns [29]--such a permission seemed impossible in so short a time\nfor the performance of the Divine Office--and the training of\nthose who were in this house: the day of our coming was a most\njoyful day for me. [30]\n\n24. While praying in the church, before I went into the house,\nand being as it were in a trance, I saw Christ; who, as it seemed\nto me, received me with great affection, placed a crown on my\nhead, and thanked me for what I had done for His Mother.\nOn another occasion, when all of us remained in the choir in\nprayer after Compline, I saw our Lady in exceeding glory, in a\nwhite mantle, with which she seemed to cover us all.\nI understood by that the high degree of glory to which our Lord\nwould raise the religious of this house.\n\n25. When we had begun to sing the Office, the people began to\nhave a great devotion to the monastery; more nuns were received,\nand our Lord began to stir up those who had been our greatest\npersecutors to become great benefactors, and give alms to us.\nIn this way they came to approve of what they had condemned; and\nso, by degrees, they withdrew from the lawsuit, and would say\nthat they now felt it to be a work of God, since His Majesty had\nbeen pleased to carry it on in the face of so much opposition.\nAnd now there is not one who thinks that it would have been right\nnot to have founded the monastery: so they make a point of\nfurnishing us with alms; for without any asking on our part,\nwithout begging of any one, our Lord moves them to, succour us;\nand so we always have what is necessary for us, and I trust in\nour Lord it will always be so. [31]  As the sisters are few in\nnumber, if they do their duty as our Lord at present by His grace\nenables them to do, I am confident that they will always have it,\nand that they need not be a burden nor troublesome to anybody;\nfor our Lord will care for them, as He has hitherto done.\n\n26. It is the greatest consolation to me to find myself among\nthose who are so detached.  Their occupation is to learn how they\nmay advance in the service of God.  Solitude is their delight;\nand the thought of being visited by any one, even of their\nnearest kindred, is a trial, unless it helps them to kindle more\nand more their love of the Bridegroom.  Accordingly, none come to\nthis house who do not aim at this; otherwise they neither give\nnor receive any pleasure from their visits.  Their conversation\nis of God only; and so he whose conversation is different does\nnot understand them, and they do not understand him.\n\n27. We keep the rule of our Lady of Carmel, not the rule of the\nMitigation, but as it was settled by Fr. Hugo, Cardinal of Santa\nSabina, and given in the year 1248, in the fifth year of the\npontificate of Innocent IV., Pope.  All the trouble we had to go\nthrough, as it seems to me, will have been endured to\ngood purpose.\n\n28. And now, though the rule be somewhat severe,--for we never\neat flesh except in cases of necessity, fast eight months in the\nyear, and practise some other austerities besides, according to\nthe primitive rule, [32]--yet the sisters think it light on many\npoints, and so they have other observances, which we have thought\nnecessary for the more perfect keeping of it.  And I trust in our\nLord that what we have begun will prosper more and more,\naccording to the promise of His Majesty.\n\n29. The other house, which the holy woman of whom I spoke\nbefore [33] laboured to establish, has been also blessed of our\nLord, and is founded in Alcala: it did not escape serious\nopposition, nor fail to endure many trials.  I know that all\nduties of religion are observed in it, according to our primitive\nrule.  Our Lord grant that all may be to the praise and glory of\nHimself and of the glorious Virgin Mary, whose habit we\nwear.  Amen.\n\n30. I think you must be wearied, my father, by the tedious\nhistory of this monastery; and yet it is most concise, if you\ncompare it with our labours, and the wonders which our Lord has\nwrought here.  There are many who can bear witness to this on\noath.  I therefore beg of your reverence, for the love of God,\nshould you think fit to destroy the rest of this my writing, to\npreserve that part of it which relates to this monastery, and\ngive it, when I am dead, to the sisters who may then be living in\nit.  It will encourage them greatly, who shall come here both to\nserve God and to labour, that what has been thus begun may not\nfall to decay, but ever grow and thrive, when they see how much\nour Lord has done through one so mean and vile as I.  As our Lord\nhas been so particularly gracious to us in the foundation of this\nhouse it seems to me that she will do very wrong, and that she\nwill be heavily chastised of God, who shall be the first to relax\nthe perfect observance of the rule, which our Lord has here begun\nand countenanced, so that it may be kept with so much sweetness:\nit is most evident that the observance of it is easy, and that it\ncan be kept with ease, by the arrangement made for those who long\nto be alone with their Bridegroom Christ, in order to live for\never in Him.\n\n31. This is to be the perpetual aim of those who are here, to be\nalone with Him alone.  They are not to be more in number than\nthirteen: I know this number to be the best, for I have had many\nopinions about it; and I have seen in my own experience, that to\npreserve our spirit, living on alms, without asking of anyone, a\nlarger number would be inexpedient.  May they always believe one\nwho with much labour, and by the prayers of many people,\naccomplished that which must be for the best!  That this is most\nexpedient for us will be seen from the joy and cheerfulness, and\nthe few troubles, we have all had in the years we have lived in\nthis house, as well as from the better health than usual of us\nall.  If any one thinks the rule hard, let her lay the fault on\nher want of the true spirit, and not on the rule of the house,\nseeing that delicate persons, and those not saints,--because they\nhave the true spirit,--can bear it all with so much sweetness.\nLet others go to another monastery, where they may save their\nsouls in the way of their own spirit.\n\n\n1. Toledo.\n\n2. Avila.  In the beginning of June, 1562.\n\n3. See ch. xxxiv. \u00a7 2.  The Brief was dated Feb. 7, 1562, the\nthird year of Pius IV. (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n4. The Brief was addressed to Do\u00f1a Aldonza de Guzman, and to Do\u00f1a\nGuiomar de Ulloa, her\u00a0daughter.\n\n5. Don Alvaro de Mendoza (De la Fuente).\n\n6. Don Francisco de Salcedo.\n\n7. St. Peter of Alcantara.  \"Truly this is the house of\nSt. Joseph,\" were the Saint's words when he saw the rising\nmonastery; \"for I see it is the little hospice of Bethlehem\" (De\nla\u00a0Fuente).\n\n8. In less than three months, perhaps; for St. Peter died in the\nsixty-third year of his age, Oct. 18, 1562, and in less than\neight weeks after the foundation of the monastery of St.\u00a0Joseph.\n\n9. Don Juan de Ovalle.\n\n10. When he saw that the Saint had made all her arrangements, he\nknew the meaning of his illness, and said to her, \"It is not\nnecessary I should be ill any longer\" (Ribera, i. c.\u00a08).\n\n11. Do\u00f1a Guiomar de Ulloa was now in her native place,\nCiudad\u00a0Toro.\n\n12. The Mass was said by Gaspar Daza.  See infra, \u00a7 18; Reforma,\ni. c. xlvi. \u00a7\u00a03.\n\n13. The bell which the Saint had provided for the convent weighed\nless than three pounds, and remained in the monastery for a\nhundred years, till it was sent, by order of the General, to the\nmonastery of Pastrana, where the general chapters were held.\nThere the friars assembled at the sound of the bell, which rang\nfor the first Mass of the Carmelite Reform (Reforma,\ni. c. xlvi. \u00a7\u00a01).\n\n14. They were Do\u00f1a Ines and Do\u00f1a Ana de Tapia, cousins of the\nSaint.  There were present also Don Gonzalo de Aranda, Don\nFrancisco Salcedo, Julian of Avila, priest; Do\u00f1a Juana de\nAhumada, the Saint's sister; with her husband, Juan de Ovalle.\nThe Saint herself retained her own habit, making no change,\nbecause she had not the permission of her superiors (Reforma,\ni. c. xlvi. \u00a7\u00a02).\n\n15. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 13.\n\n16. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 3.\n\n17. The first of these was Antonia de Henao, a penitent of\nSt. Peter of Alcantara, and who wished to enter a religious house\nfar away from Avila, her home.  St. Peter kept her for\nSt. Teresa.  She was called from this day forth Antonia of the\nHoly Ghost.  The second was Maria de la Paz, brought up by Do\u00f1a\nGuiomar de Ulloa.  Her name was Maria of the Cross.  The third\nwas Ursola de los Santos.  She retained her family name as Ursola\nof the Saints.  It was Gaspar Daza who brought her to the Saint.\nThe fourth was Maria de Avila, sister of Julian the priest, and\nshe was called Mary of St. Joseph.  It was at this house, too,\nthat the Saint herself exchanged her ordinary designation of Do\u00f1a\nTeresa de Ahumada for Teresa of Jesus (Reforma, i. c. xlvi. \u00a7\u00a02).\n\n18. See Foundations, ch. ii. \u00a7 1, and ch. xxxi, \u00a7 1.\n\n19. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7\u00a7 1, 2.\n\n20. Of the Incarnation.\n\n21. F. Domingo Ba\u00f1es, the great commentator on St. Thomas.\nOn the margin of the MS., Ba\u00f1es has with his own hand written:\n\"This was at the end of August, 1562.  I was present, and gave\nthis opinion.  I am writing this in May\" (the day of the month is\nnot legible) \"1575, and the mother has now founded nine\nmonasteries en gran religion\" (De la Fuente).  At this time Ba\u00f1es\ndid not know, and had never seen, the Saint; he undertook her\ndefence simply because he saw that her intentions were good, and\nthe means she made use of for founding the monastery lawful,\nseeing that she had received the commandment to do so from the\nPope. Ba\u00f1es testifies thus in the depositions made in Salamanca\nin 1591 in the Saint's process.  See vol. ii. p. 376 of Don\nVicente's\u00a0edition.\n\n22. See Ch. xxxix. \u00a7 25.\n\n23. Gonzalo de Aranda (De la Fuente).\n\n24. Don Francisco de Salcedo (ibid.).\n\n25. Ch. xxiii. \u00a7 6; Gaspar Daza (ibid.).\n\n26. He died Oct. 18, 1562.\n\n27. Ch. xxvii. \u00a7 21.\n\n28. \"El Padre Presentado, Dominico.  Presentado en algunas\nReligiones es cierto titulo de grado que es respeto del Maestro\ncomo Licenciado\" (Cobarruvias, in voce Presente).  The father was\nFra Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.  See ch. xxxviii. \u00a7\u00a015.\n\n29. From the monastery of the Incarnation.  These were Ana of\nSt. John, Ana of All the Angels, Maria Isabel, and Isabel of\nSt. Paul.  St. Teresa was a simple nun, living under obedience to\nthe prioress of St. Joseph, Ana of St. John, and intended so to\nremain.  But the nuns applied to the Bishop of Avila and to the\nProvincial of the Order, who, listening to the complaints of the\nsisters, compelled the Saint to be their prioress.  See Reforma,\ni. c. xlix. \u00a7\u00a04.\n\n30. Mid-Lent of 1563.\n\n31. See Way of Perfection, ch. ii.\n\n32. \"Jejunium singulis diebus, exceptis Dominicis, observetis a\nFesto Exaltationis Sanct\u00e6 Crucis usque ad diem Dominic\u00e6\nResurrectionis, nisi infirmitas vel debilitas corporis, aut alia\njusta causa, jejunium solvi suadeat; quia necessitas non habet\nlegem.  Ab esu carnium abstineatis, nisi pro infirmitatis aut\ndebilitatis remedio sint sumantur.\"  That is the tenth section of\nthe\u00a0rule.\n\n33. See ch. xxxv. \u00a7 1.  Maria of Jesus had founded her house in\nAlcala de Henares; but the austerities practised in it, and the\nabsence of the religious mitigations which long experience had\nintroduced, were too much for the fervent nuns there assembled.\nMaria of Jesus begged Do\u00f1a Leonor de Mascare\u00f1as to persuade\nSt. Teresa to come to Alcala.  The Saint went to the monastery,\nand was received there with joy, and even entreated to take the\nhouse under her own government (Reforma, ii. c. x. \u00a7\u00a7 3,\u00a04).\n\n\n\nChapter XXXVII.\n\n\nThe Effects of the Divine Graces in the Soul.  The Inestimable\nGreatness of One Degree of Glory.\n\n\n1. It is painful to me to recount more of the graces which our\nLord gave me than these already spoken of; and they are so many,\nthat nobody can believe they were ever given to one so wicked:\nbut in obedience to our Lord, who has commanded me to do it, [1]\nand you, my fathers, I will speak of some of them to His glory.\nMay it please His Majesty it may be to the profit of some soul!\nFor if our Lord has been thus gracious to so--miserable a thing\nas myself, what will He be to those who shall serve Him truly?\nLet all people resolve to please His Majesty, seeing that He\ngives such pledges as these even in this life. [2]\n\n2. In the first place, it must be understood that, in those\ngraces which God bestows on the soul, there are diverse degrees\nof joy: for in some visions the joy and sweetness and comfort of\nthem so far exceed those of others, that I am amazed at the\ndifferent degrees of fruition even in this life; for it happens\nthat the joy and consolation which God gives in a vision or a\ntrance are so different, that it seems impossible for the soul to\nbe able to desire anything more in this world: and, so, in fact,\nthe soul does not desire, nor would it ask for, a greater joy.\nStill, since our Lord has made me understand how great a\ndifference there is in heaven itself between the fruition of one\nand that of another, I see clearly enough that here also, when\nour Lord wills, He gives not by measure; [3] and so I wish that I\nmyself observed no measure in serving His Majesty, and in using\nmy whole life and strength and health therein; and I would not\nhave any fault of mine rob me of the slightest degree\nof fruition.\n\n3. And so I say that if I were asked which I preferred, to endure\nall the trials of the world until the end of it, and then receive\none slight degree of glory additional, or without any suffering\nof any kind to enter into glory of a slightly lower degree, I\nwould accept--oh, how willingly!--all those trials for one slight\ndegree of fruition in the contemplation of the greatness of God;\nfor I know that he who understands Him best, loves Him and\npraises Him best.  I do not mean that I should not be satisfied,\nand consider myself most blessed, to be in heaven, even if I\nshould be in the lowest place; for as I am one who had that place\nin hell, it would be a great mercy of our Lord to admit me at\nall; and may it please His Majesty to bring me thither, and take\naway His eyes from beholding my grievous sins. What I mean is\nthis,--if it were in my power, even if it cost me everything, and\nour Lord gave me the grace to endure much affliction, I would not\nthrough any fault of mine lose one degree of glory.  Ah, wretched\nthat I am, who by so many faults had forfeited all!\n\n4. It is also to be observed that, in every vision or revelation\nwhich our Lord in His mercy sent me, a great gain accrued to my\nsoul, and that in some of the visions this gain was very great.\nThe vision of Christ left behind an impression of His exceeding\nbeauty, and it remains with me to this day.  One vision alone of\nHim is enough to effect this; what, then, must all those visions\nhave done, which our Lord in His mercy sent me? One exceedingly\ngreat blessing has resulted therefrom, and it is this,--I had one\nvery grievous fault, which was the source of much evil; namely,\nwhenever I found anybody well disposed towards myself, and I\nliked him, I used to have such an affection for him as compelled\nme always to remember and think of him, though I had no intention\nof offending God: however, I was pleased to see him, to think of\nhim and of his good qualities.  All this was so hurtful, that it\nbrought my soul to the very verge of destruction.\n\n5. But ever since I saw the great beauty [4] of our Lord, I never\nsaw any one who in comparison with Him seemed even endurable, or\nthat could occupy my thoughts.  For if I but turn mine eyes\ninwardly for a moment to the contemplation of the image which I\nhave within me, I find myself so free, that from that instant\neverything I see is loathsome in comparison with the excellences\nand graces of which I had a vision in our Lord.  Neither is there\nany sweetness, nor any kind of pleasure, which I can make any\naccount of, compared with that which comes from hearing but one\nword from His divine mouth.  What, then, must it be when I hear\nso many?  I look upon it as impossible--unless our Lord, for my\nsins, should permit the loss of this remembrance--that I should\nhave the power to occupy myself with anything in such a way as\nthat I should not instantly recover my liberty by thinking of\nour Lord.\n\n6. This has happened to me with some of my confessors, for I\nalways have a great affection for those who have the direction of\nmy soul.  As I really saw in them only the representatives of\nGod, I thought my will was always there where it is most\noccupied; and as I felt very safe in the matter, I always showed\nmyself glad to see them. [5]  They, on the other hand, servants\nof God, and fearing Him, were afraid that I was attaching and\nbinding myself too much to them, though in a holy way, and\ntreated me with rudeness.  This took place after I had become so\nready to obey them; for before that time I had no affection\nwhatever for them.  I used to laugh to myself, when I saw how\nmuch they were deceived.  Though I was not always putting before\nthem how little I was attached to anybody, as clearly as I was\nconvinced of it myself, yet I did assure them of it; and they, in\ntheir further relations with me, acknowledged how much I owed to\nour Lord in the matter.  These suspicions of me always arose in\nthe beginning.\n\n7. My love of, and trust in, our Lord, after I had seen Him in a\nvision, began to grow, for my converse with Him was so continual.\nI saw that, though He was God, He was man also; that He is not\nsurprised at the frailties of men, that He understands our\nmiserable nature, liable to fall continually, because of the\nfirst sin, for the reparation of which He had come.  I could\nspeak to Him as to a friend, though He is my Lord, because I do\nnot consider Him as one of our earthly Lords, who affect a power\nthey do not possess, who give audience at fixed hours, and to\nwhom only certain persons may speak.  If a poor man have any\nbusiness with these, it will cost him many goings and comings,\nand currying favour with others, together with much pain and\nlabour before he can speak to them.  Ah, if such a one has\nbusiness with a king!  Poor people, not of gentle blood, cannot\napproach him, for they must apply to those who are his friends,\nand certainly these are not persons who tread the world under\ntheir feet; for they who do this speak the truth, fear nothing,\nand ought to fear nothing; they are not courtiers, because it is\nnot the custom of a court, where they must be silent about those\nthings they dislike, must not even dare to think about them, lest\nthey should fall into disgrace.\n\n8. O King of glory, and Lord of all kings! oh, how Thy kingly\ndignity is not hedged about by trifles of this kind!  Thy kingdom\nis for ever.  We do not require chamberlains to introduce us into\nThy presence.  The very vision of Thy person shows us at once\nthat Thou alone art to be called Lord.  Thy Majesty is so\nmanifest that there is no need of a retinue or guard to make us\nconfess that Thou art King.  An earthly king without attendants\nwould be hardly acknowledged; and though he might wish ever so\nmuch to be recognised, people will not own him when he appears as\nothers; it is necessary that his dignity should be visible, if\npeople are to believe in it.  This is reason enough why kings\nshould affect so much state; for if they had none, no one would\nrespect them; this their semblance of power is not in themselves,\nand their authority must come to them from others.\n\n9. O my Lord!  O my King! who can describe Thy Majesty?  It is\nimpossible not to see that Thou art Thyself the great Ruler of\nall, that the beholding of Thy Majesty fills men with awe.  But I\nam filled with greater awe, O my Lord, when I consider Thy\nhumility, and the love Thou hast for such as I am.  We can\nconverse and speak with Thee about everything whenever we will;\nand when we lose our first fear and awe at the vision of Thy\nMajesty, we have a greater dread of offending Thee,--not arising\nout of the fear of punishment, O my Lord, for that is as nothing\nin comparison with the loss of Thee!\n\n10. Thus far of the blessings of this vision, without speaking of\nothers, which abide in the soul when it is past.  If it be from\nGod, the fruits thereof show it, when the soul receives light;\nfor, as I have often said, [6] the will of our Lord is that the\nsoul should be in darkness, and not see this light.  It is,\ntherefore, nothing to be wondered at that I, knowing myself to be\nso wicked as I am, should be afraid.\n\n11. It is only just now it happened to me to be for eight days in\na state wherein it seemed that I did not, and could not, confess\nmy obligations to God, or remember His mercies; but my soul was\nso stupefied, and occupied with I know not what nor how: not that\nI had any bad thoughts; only I was so incapable of good thoughts,\nthat I was laughing at myself, and even rejoicing to see how mean\na soul can be if God is not always working in it. [7]  The soul\nsees clearly that God is not away from it in this state, and that\nit is not in those  great tribulations which I have spoken of as\nbeing occasionally mine.  Though it heaps up fuel, and does the\nlittle it can do of itself, it cannot make the fire of the love\nof God burn: it is a great mercy that even the smoke is visible,\nshowing that it is not altogether quenched.  Our Lord will return\nand kindle it; and until then the soul--though it may lose its\nbreath in blowing and arranging the fuel--seems to be doing\nnothing but putting it out more and more.\n\n12. I believe that now the best course is to be absolutely\nresigned, confessing that we can do nothing, and so apply\nourselves--as I said before [8]--to something else which is\nmeritorious.  Our Lord, it may be, takes away from the soul the\npower of praying, that it may betake itself to something else,\nand learn by experience how little it can do in its own strength.\n\n13. It is true I have this day been rejoicing in our Lord, and\nhave dared to complain of His Majesty.  I said unto Him: How is\nit, O my God, that it is not enough for Thee to detain me in this\nwretched life, and that I should have to bear with it for the\nlove of Thee, and be willing to live where everything hinders the\nfruition of Thee; where, besides, I must eat and sleep, transact\nbusiness, and converse with every one, and all for Thy love? how\nis it, then,--for Thou well knowest, O my Lord, all this to be\nthe greatest torment unto me,--that, in the rare moments when I\nam with Thee, Thou hidest Thyself from me?  How is this\nconsistent with Thy compassion?  How can that love Thou hast for\nme endure this?  I believe, O Lord, if it were possible for me to\nhide myself from Thee, as Thou hidest Thyself from me--I think\nand believe so--such is Thy love, that Thou wouldest not endure\nit at my hands.  But Thou art with me, and seest me always.  O my\nLord, I beseech Thee look to this; it must not be; a wrong is\ndone to one who loves Thee so much.\n\n14. I happened to utter these words, and others of the same kind,\nwhen I should have been thinking rather how my place in hell was\npleasant in comparison with the place I deserved.  But now and\nthen my love makes me foolish, so that I lose my senses; only it\nis with all the sense I have that I make these complaints, and\nour Lord bears it all.  Blessed be so good a King!\n\n15. Can we be thus bold with the kings of this world?  And yet I\nam not surprised that we dare not thus speak to a king, for it is\nonly reasonable that men should be afraid of him, or even to the\ngreat lords who are his representatives.  The world is now come\nto such a state, that men's lives ought to be longer than they\nare if we are to learn all the new customs and ceremonies of good\nbreeding, and yet spend any time in the service of God.  I bless\nmyself at the sight of what is going on.  The fact is, I did not\nknow how I was to live when I came into this house.\nAny negligence in being much more ceremonious with people than\nthey deserve is not taken as a jest; on the contrary, they look\nupon it as an insult deliberately offered; so that it becomes\nnecessary for you to satisfy them of your good intentions, if\nthere happens, as I have said, to have been any negligence; and\neven then, God grant they may believe you.\n\n16. I repeat it,--I certainly did not know how to live; for my\npoor soul was worn out.  It is told to employ all its thoughts\nalways on God, and that it is necessary to do so if it would\navoid many dangers.  On the other hand, it finds it will not do\nto fail in any one point of the world's law, under the penalty of\naffronting those who look upon these things as touching their\nhonour.  I was worn out in unceasingly giving satisfaction to\npeople; for, though I tried my utmost, I could not help failing\nin many ways in matters which, as I have said, are not slightly\nthought of in the world.\n\n17. Is it true that in religious houses no explanations are\nnecessary, for it is only reasonable we should be excused these\nobservances?  Well, that is not so; for there are people who say\nthat monasteries ought to be courts in politeness and\ninstruction.  I certainly cannot understand it.  I thought that\nperhaps some saint may have said that they ought to be courts to\nteach those who wish to be the courtiers of heaven, and that\nthese people misunderstood their meaning; for if a man be careful\nto please God continually, and to hate the world, as he ought to\ndo, I do not see how he can be equally careful to please those\nwho live in the world in these matters which are continually\nchanging.  If they could be learnt once for all, it might be\nborne with: but as to the way of addressing letters, there ought\nto be a professor's chair founded, from which lectures should be\ngiven, so to speak, teaching us how to do it; for the paper\nshould on one occasion be left blank in one corner, and on\nanother in another corner; and a man must be addressed as the\nillustrious who was not hitherto addressed as the magnificent.\n\n18. I know not where this will stop: I am not yet fifty, and yet\nI have seen so many changes during my life, that I do not know\nhow to live.  What will they do who are only just born, and who\nmay live many years?  Certainly I am sorry for those spiritual\npeople who, for certain holy purposes, are obliged to live in the\nworld; the cross they have to carry is a dreadful one.  If they\ncould all agree together, and make themselves ignorant, and be\nwilling to be considered so in these sciences, they would set\nthemselves free from much trouble.  But what folly am I about!\nfrom speaking of the greatness of God I am come to speak of the\nmeanness of the world!  Since our Lord has given me the grace to\nquit it, I wish to leave it altogether.   Let them settle these\nmatters who maintain these follies with so much labour.\nGod grant that in the next life, where there is no changing, we\nmay not have to pay for them!  Amen.\n\n\n1. The Saint, having interrupted her account of her interior life\nin order to give the history of the foundation of the monastery\nof St. Joseph, Avila,--the first house of the Reformed\nCarmelites,--here resumes that account broken off at the end of \u00a7\n10 of ch.\u00a0xxxii.\n\n2. Ephes. i. 14: \"Pignus h\u00e6reditatis nostr\u00e6.\"\n\n3. St. John iii. 34: \"Non enim ad mensuram dat Deus\u00a0spiritum.\"\n\n4. Ch. xxviii. \u00a7\u00a7 1-5.\n\n5. See ch. xl. \u00a7 24; Way of Perfection, ch. vii. \u00a7 1; but\nch. iv. of the previous\u00a0editions.\n\n6. See ch. xx. \u00a7 14.\n\n7. See ch. xxx. \u00a7 19.\n\n8. See ch. xxx. \u00a7\u00a7 18, 25.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXVIII.\n\n\nCertain Heavenly Secrets, Visions, and Revelations.  The Effects\nof Them in Her Soul.\n\n\n1. One night I was so unwell that I thought I might be excused\nmaking my prayer; so I took my rosary, that I might employ myself\nin vocal prayer, trying not to be recollected in my\nunderstanding, though outwardly I was recollected, being in my\noratory.  These little precautions are of no use when our Lord\nwill have it otherwise.  I remained there but a few moments thus,\nwhen I was rapt in spirit with such violence that I could make no\nresistance whatever.  It seemed to me that I was taken up to\nheaven; and the first persons I saw there were my father and my\nmother.  I saw other things also; but the time was no longer than\nthat in which the Ave Maria might be said, and I was amazed at\nit, looking on it all as too great a grace for me.  But as to the\nshortness of the time, it might have been longer, only it was all\ndone in a very short space.\n\n2. I was afraid it might be an illusion; but as I did not think\nso, I knew not what to do, because I was very much ashamed to go\nto my confessor about it.  It was not, as it seemed to me,\nbecause I was humble, but because I thought he would laugh at me,\nand say: Oh, what a St. Paul!--she sees the things of heaven; or\na St. Jerome.  And because these glorious Saints had had such\nvisions, I was so much the more afraid, and did nothing but cry;\nfor I did not think it possible for me to see what they saw.\nAt last, though I felt it exceedingly, I went to my confessor;\nfor I never dared to keep secret anything of this kind, however\nmuch it distressed me to speak of them, owing to the great fear I\nhad of being deceived.  When my confessor saw how much I was\nsuffering, he consoled me greatly, and gave me plenty of good\nreasons why I should have no fear.\n\n3. It happened, also, as time went on, and it happens now from\ntime to time, that our Lord showed me still greater secrets.\nThe soul, even if it would, has neither the means not the power\nto see more than what He shows it; and so, each time, I saw\nnothing more than what our Lord was pleased to let me see.\nBut such was the vision, that the least part of it was enough to\nmake my soul amazed, and to raise it so high that it esteems and\ncounts as nothing all the things of this life.  I wish I could\ndescribe, in some measure, the smallest portion of what I saw;\nbut when I think of doing it, I find it impossible; for the mere\ndifference alone between the light we have here below, and that\nwhich is seen in a vision,--both being light,--is so great, that\nthere is no comparison between them; the brightness of the sun\nitself seems to be something exceedingly loathsome.  In a word,\nthe imagination, however strong it may be, can neither conceive\nnor picture to itself this light, nor any one of the things which\nour Lord showed me in a joy so supreme that it cannot be\ndescribed; for then all the senses exult so deeply and so sweetly\nthat no description is possible; and so it is better to say\nnothing more.\n\n4. I was in this state once for more than an hour, our Lord\nshowing me wonderful things.  He seemed as if He would not leave\nme.  He said to me, \"See, My daughter, what they lose who are\nagainst Me; do not fail to tell them of it.\"  Ah, my Lord, how\nlittle good my words will do them, who are made blind by their\nown conduct, if Thy Majesty will not give them light!  Some, to\nwhom Thou hast given it, there are, who have profited by the\nknowledge of Thy greatness; but as they see it revealed to one so\nwicked and base as I am, I look upon it as a great thing if there\nshould be any found to believe me.  Blessed be Thy name, and\nblessed be Thy compassion; for I can trace, at least in my own\nsoul, a visible improvement.  Afterwards I wished I had continued\nin that trance for ever, and that I had not returned to\nconsciousness, because of an abiding sense of contempt for\neverything here below; all seemed to be filth; and I see how\nmeanly we employ ourselves who are detained on earth.\n\n5. When I was staying with that lady of whom I have been\nspeaking, [1] it happened to me once when I was suffering from my\nheart,--for, as I have said, [2] I suffered greatly at one time,\nthough not so much now,--that she, being a person of great\ncharity, brought out her jewels set in gold, and precious stones\nof great price, and particularly a diamond, which she valued very\nmuch.  She thought this might amuse me; but I laughed to myself,\nand was very sorry to see what men made much of; for I thought of\nwhat our Lord had laid up for us, and considered how impossible\nit was for me, even if I made the effort, to have any\nappreciation whatever of such things, provided our Lord did not\npermit me to forget what He was keeping for us.\n\n6. A soul in this state attains to a certain freedom, which is so\ncomplete that none can understand it who does not possess it.\nIt is a real and true detachment, independent of our efforts; God\neffects it all Himself; for His Majesty reveals the truth in such\na way, that it remains so deeply impressed on our souls as to\nmake it clear that we of ourselves could not thus acquire it in\nso short a time.\n\n7. The fear of death, also, was now very slight in me, who had\nalways been in great dread of it; now it seems to me that death\nis a very light thing for one who serves God, because the soul is\nin a moment delivered thereby out of its prison, and at rest.\nThis elevation of the spirit, and the vision of things so high,\nin these trances seem to me to have a great likeness to the\nflight of the soul from the body, in that it finds itself in a\nmoment in the possession of these good things.  We put aside the\nagonies of its dissolution, of which no great account is to be\nmade; for they who love God in truth, and are utterly detached\nfrom the things of this life, must die with the\ngreater sweetness.\n\n8. It seems to me, also, that the rapture was a great help to\nrecognise our true home, and to see that we are pilgrims\nhere; [3] it is a great thing to see what is going on there and\nto know where we have to live; for if a person has to go and\nsettle in another country, it is a great help to him, in\nundergoing the fatigues of his journey, that he has discovered it\nto be a country where he may live in the most perfect peace.\nMoreover, it makes it easy for us to think of the things of\nheaven, and to have our conversation there. [4]  It is a great\ngain, because the mere looking up to heaven makes the soul\nrecollected; for as our Lord has been pleased to reveal heaven in\nsome degree, my soul dwells upon it in thought; and it happens\noccasionally that they who are about me, and with whom I find\nconsolation, are those whom I know to be living in heaven, and\nthat I look upon them only as really alive; while those who are\non earth are so dead, that the whole world seems unable to\nfurnish me with companions, particularly when these impetuosities\nof love are upon me. Everything seems a dream, and what I see\nwith the bodily eyes an illusion.  What I have seen with the eyes\nof the soul is that which my soul desires; and as it finds itself\nfar away from those things, that is death.\n\n9. In a word, it is a very great mercy which our Lord gives to\nthat soul to which He grants the like visions, for they help it\nin much, and also in carrying a heavy cross, since nothing\nsatisfies it, and everything is against it; and if our Lord did\nnot now and then suffer these visions to be forgotten, though\nthey recur again and again to the memory, I know not how life\ncould be borne.  May He be blessed and praised for ever and ever!\nI implore His Majesty by that Blood which His Son shed for me,\nnow that, of His good pleasure, I know something of these great\nblessings, and begin to have the fruition of them, that it may\nnot be with me as it was with Lucifer, who by his own fault\nforfeited it all.  I beseech Thee, for Thine own sake, not to\nsuffer this; for I am at times in great fear, though at others,\nand most frequently, the mercy of God reassures me, for He who\nhas delivered me from so many sins will not withdraw His hand\nfrom under me, and let me be lost.  I pray you, my father, to beg\nthis grace for me always.\n\n10. The mercies, then, hitherto described, are not, in my\nopinion, so great as those which I am now going to speak of, on\nmany accounts, because of the great blessings they have brought\nwith them, and because of the great fortitude which my soul\nderived from them; and yet every one separately considered is so\ngreat, that there is nothing to be compared with them.\n\n11. One day--it was the eve of Pentecost--I went after Mass to a\nvery lonely spot, where I used to pray very often, and began to\nread about the feast in the book of a Carthusian; [5] and reading\nof the marks by which beginners, proficients, and the perfect may\nknow that they have the Holy Ghost, it seemed to me, when I had\nread of these three states, that by the goodness of God, so far\nas I could understand, the Holy Ghost was with me.  I praised God\nfor it; and calling to mind how on another occasion, when I read\nthis, I was very deficient,--for I saw most distinctly at that\ntime how deficient I was then from what I saw I was now,--I\nrecognised herein the great mercy of our Lord to me, and so began\nto consider the place which my sins had earned for me in hell,\nand praised God exceedingly, because it seemed as if I did not\nknow my own soul again, so great a change had come over it.\n\n12. While thinking of these things, my soul was carried away with\nextreme violence, and I knew not why.  It seemed as if it would\nhave gone forth out of the body, for it could not contain itself,\nnor was it able to hope for so great a good.  The impetuosity was\nso excessive that I had no power left, and, as I think, different\nfrom what I had been used to.  I knew not what ailed my soul, nor\nwhat it desired, for it was so changed.  I leaned for support,\nfor I could not sit, because my natural strength had\nutterly failed.\n\n13. Then I saw over my head a dove, very different from those we\nusually see, for it had not the same plumage, but wings formed of\nsmall shells shining brightly.  It was larger than an ordinary\ndove; I thought I heard the rustling of its wings.  It hovered\nabove me during the space of an Ave Maria.  But such was the\nstate of my soul, that in losing itself it lost also the sight of\nthe dove.  My spirit grew calm with such a guest; and yet, as I\nthink, a grace so wonderful might have disturbed and frightened\nit; and as it began to rejoice in the vision, it was delivered\nfrom all fear, and with the joy came peace, my soul continuing\nentranced.  The joy of this rapture was exceedingly great; and\nfor the rest of that festal time I was so amazed and bewildered\nthat I did not know what I was doing, nor how I could have\nreceived so great a grace.  I neither heard nor saw anything, so\nto speak, because of my great inward joy.  From that day forth I\nperceived in myself a very great progress in the highest love of\nGod, together with a great increase in the strength of my\nvirtues.  May He be blessed and praised for ever!  Amen.\n\n14. On another occasion I saw that very dove above the head of\none of the Dominican fathers; but it seemed to me that the rays\nand brightness of the wings were far greater.  I understood by\nthis that he was to draw souls unto God.\n\n15. At another time I saw our Lady putting a cope of exceeding\nwhiteness on that Licentiate of the same Order, of whom I have\nmade mention more than once. [6]  She told me that she gave him\nthat cope in consideration of the service he had rendered her by\nhelping to found this house, [7] that it was a sign that she\nwould preserve his soul pure for the future, and that he should\nnot fall into mortal sin.  I hold it for certain that so it came\nto pass, for he died within a few years; his death and the rest\nof his life were so penitential, his whole life and death so\nholy, that, so far as anything can be known, there cannot be a\ndoubt on the subject.  One of the friars present at his death\ntold me that, before he breathed his last, he said to him that\nSt. Thomas was with him. [8]  He died in great joy, longing to\ndepart out of this land of exile.\n\n16. Since then he has appeared to me more than once in\nexceedingly great glory, and told me certain things.  He was so\ngiven to prayer, that when he was dying, and would have\ninterrupted it if he could because of his great weakness, he was\nnot able to do so; for he was often in a trance.  He wrote to me\nnot long before he died, and asked me what he was to do; for as\nsoon as he had said Mass he fell into a trance which lasted a\nlong time, and which he could not hinder.  At last God gave him\nthe reward of the many services of his whole life.\n\n17. I had certain visions, too, of the great graces which our\nLord bestowed upon that rector of the Society of Jesus, of whom I\nhave spoken already more than once; [9] but I will not say\nanything of them now, lest I should be too tedious.  It was his\nlot once to be in great trouble, to suffer great persecution and\ndistress.  One day, when I was hearing Mass, I saw Christ on the\nCross at the elevation of the Host.  He spoke certain words to\nme, which I was to repeat to that father for his comfort,\ntogether with others, which were to warn him beforehand of what\nwas coming, and to remind him of what He had suffered on his\nbehalf, and that he must prepare for suffering.  This gave him\ngreat consolation and courage; and everything came to pass\nafterwards as our Lord had told me.\n\n18. I have seen great things of members of the Order to which\nthis father belongs, which is the Society of Jesus, and of the\nwhole Order itself; I have occasionally seen them in heaven with\nwhite banners in their hands, and I have had other most wonderful\nvisions, as I am saying, about them, and therefore have a great\nveneration for this Order; for I have had a great deal to do with\nthose who are of it, and I see that their lives are conformed to\nthat which our Lord gave me to understand about them.\n\n19. One night, when I was in prayer, our Lord spoke to me certain\nwords, whereby He made me remember the great wickedness of my\npast life.  They filled me with shame and distress; for though\nthey were not spoken with severity, they caused a feeling and a\npainfulness which were too much for me: and we feel that we make\ngreater progress in the knowledge of ourselves when we hear one\nof these words, than we can make by a meditation of many days on\nour own misery, because these words impress the truth upon us at\nthe same time in such a way that we cannot resist it.  He set\nbefore me the former inclinations of my will to vanities, and\ntold me to make much of the desire I now had that my will, which\nhad been so ill employed, should be fixed on Him, and that He\nwould accept it.\n\n20. On other occasions He told me to remember how I used to think\nit an honourable thing to go against His honour; and, again, to\nremember my debt to Him, for when I was most rebellious He was\nbestowing His graces upon me.  If I am doing anything wrong--and\nmy wrong-doings are many--His Majesty makes me see it in such a\nway that I am utterly confounded; and as I do so often, that\nhappens often also.  I have been found fault with by my\nconfessors occasionally; and on betaking myself to prayer for\nconsolation, have received a real reprimand.\n\n21. To return to what I was speaking of.  When our Lord made me\nremember my wicked life, I wept; for as I considered that I had\nthen never done any good, I thought He might be about to bestow\nupon me some special grace; because most frequently, when I\nreceive any particular mercy from our Lord, it is when I have\nbeen previously greatly humiliated, in order that I may the more\nclearly see how far I am from deserving it.  I think our Lord\nmust do it for that end.\n\n22. Almost immediately after this I was so raised up in spirit\nthat I thought myself to be, as it were, out of the body; at\nleast, I did not know that I was living in it. [10]  I had a\nvision of the most Sacred Humanity in exceeding glory, greater\nthan I had ever seen It in before.  I beheld It in a wonderful\nand clear way in the bosom of the Father.  I cannot tell how it\nwas, for I saw myself, without seeing, as it seemed to me, in the\npresence of God.  My amazement was such that I remained, as I\nbelieve, some days before I could recover myself.  I had\ncontinually before me, as present, the Majesty of the Son of God,\nthough not so distinctly as in the vision.  I understood this\nwell enough; but the vision remained so impressed on my\nimagination, that I could not get rid of it for some time, though\nit had lasted but a moment; it is a great comfort to me, and also\na great blessing.\n\n23. I have had this vision on three other occasions, and it is, I\nthink, the highest vision of all the visions which our Lord in\nHis mercy showed me.  The fruits of it are the very greatest, for\nit seems to purify the soul in a wonderful way, and destroy, as\nit were utterly, altogether the strength of our sensual nature.\nIt is a grand flame of fire, which seems to burn up and\nannihilate all the desires of this life.  For though now--glory\nbe to God!--I had no desire after vanities, I saw clearly in the\nvision how all things are vanity, and how hollow are all the\ndignities of earth; it was a great lesson, teaching me to raise\nup my desires to the Truth alone.  It impresses on the soul a\nsense of the presence of God such as I cannot in any way\ndescribe, only it is very different from that which it is in our\nown power to acquire on earth.  It fills the soul with profound\nastonishment at its own daring, and at any one else being able to\ndare to offend His most awful Majesty.\n\n24. I must have spoken now and then of the effects of\nvisions, [11] and of other matters of the same kind, and I have\nalready said that the blessings they bring with them are of\nvarious degrees; but those of this vision are the highest of all.\nWhen I went to Communion once I called to mind the exceeding\ngreat majesty of Him I had seen, and considered that it was He\nwho is present in the most Holy Sacrament, and very often our\nLord was pleased to show Himself to me in the Host; the very\nhairs on my head stood, [12] and I thought I should come\nto nothing.\n\n25. O my Lord! ah, if Thou didst not throw a veil over Thy\ngreatness, who would dare, being so foul and miserable, to come\nin contact with Thy great Majesty?  Blessed be Thou, O Lord; may\nthe angels and all creation praise Thee, who orderest all things\naccording to the measure of our weakness, so that, when we have\nthe fruition of Thy sovereign mercies, Thy great power may not\nterrify us, so that we dare not, being a frail and miserable\nrace, persevere in that fruition!\n\n26. It might happen to us as it did to the labourer--I know it to\nbe a certain fact--who found a treasure beyond his expectations,\nwhich were mean.  When he saw himself in possession of it, he was\nseized with melancholy, which by degrees brought him to his grave\nthrough simple distress and anxiety of mind, because he did not\nknow what to do with his treasure.  If he had not found it all at\nonce, and if others had given him portions of it by degrees,\nmaintaining him thereby, he might have been more happy than he\nhad been in his poverty, nor would it have cost him his life.\n\n27. O Thou Treasure of the poor! how marvellously Thou sustainest\nsouls, showing to them, not all at once, but by little and\nlittle, the abundance of Thy riches!  When I behold Thy great\nMajesty hidden beneath that which is so slight as the Host is, I\nam filled with wonder, ever since that vision, at Thy great\nwisdom; and I know not how it is that our Lord gives me the\nstrength and courage necessary to draw near to him, were it not\nthat He who has had such compassion on me, and still has, gives\nme strength, nor would it be possible for me to be silent, or\nrefrain from making known marvels so great.\n\n28. What must be the thoughts of a wretched person such as I am,\nfull of abominations, and who has spent her life with so little\nfear of God, when she draws near to our Lord's great Majesty, at\nthe moment He is pleased to show Himself to my soul?  How can I\nopen my mouth, that has uttered so many words against Him, to\nreceive that most glorious Body, purity and compassion itself?\nThe love that is visible in His most beautiful Face, sweet and\ntender, pains and distresses the soul, because it has not served\nHim, more than all the terrors of His Majesty.  What should have\nbeen my thoughts, then, on those two occasions when I saw what I\nhave described?  Truly, O my Lord and my joy, I am going to say\nthat in some way, in these great afflictions of my soul, I have\ndone something in Thy service.  Ah!  I know not what I am saying,\nfor I am writing this as if the words were not mine, [13] because\nI am troubled, and in some measure beside myself, when I call\nthese things to remembrance.  If these thoughts were really mine,\nI might well say that I had done something for Thee, O my Lord;\nbut as I can have no good thought if Thou givest it not, no\nthanks are due to me; I am the debtor, O Lord, and it is Thou who\nart the offended One.\n\n29. Once, when I was going to Communion, I saw with the eyes of\nthe soul, more distinctly than with those of the body, two devils\nof most hideous shape; their horns seemed to encompass the throat\nof the poor priest; and I beheld my Lord, in that great majesty\nof which I have spoken, [14] held in the hands of that priest, in\nthe Host he was about to give me.  It was plain that those hands\nwere those of a sinner, and I felt that the soul of that priest\nwas in mortal sin.  What must it be, O my Lord, to look upon Thy\nbeauty amid shapes so hideous!  The two devils were so frightened\nand cowed in Thy presence, that they seemed as if they would have\nwillingly run away, hadst Thou but given them leave.  So troubled\nwas I by the vision, that I knew not how I could go to Communion.\nI was also in great fear, for I thought, if the vision was from\nGod, that His Majesty would not have allowed me to see the evil\nstate of that soul. [15]\n\n30. Our Lord Himself told me to pray for that priest; that He had\nallowed this in order that I might understand the power of the\nwords of consecration, and how God failed not to be present,\nhowever wicked the priest might be who uttered them; and that I\nmight see His great goodness in that He left Himself in the very\nhands of His enemy, for my good and for the good of all.\nI understood clearly how the priests are under greater\nobligations to be holy than other persons; and what a horrible\nthing it is to receive this most Holy Sacrament unworthily, and\nhow great is the devil's dominion over a soul in mortal sin.\nIt did me a great service, and made me fully understand what I\nowe to God.  May He be blessed for evermore!\n\n31. At another time I had a vision of a different kind, which\nfrightened me very much.  I was in a place where a certain person\ndied, who as I understood had led a very bad life, and that for\nmany years.  But he had been ill for two years, and in some\nrespects seemed to have reformed.  He died without confession;\nnevertheless, I did not think he would be damned.  When the body\nhad been wrapped in the winding-sheet, I saw it laid hold of by a\nmultitude of devils, who seemed to toss it to and fro, and also\nto treat it with great cruelty.  I was terrified at the sight,\nfor they dragged it about with great hooks.  But when I saw it\ncarried to the grave with all the respect and ceremoniousness\ncommon to all, I began to think of the goodness of God, who would\nnot allow that person to be dishonoured, but would have the fact\nof his being His enemy concealed.\n\n32. I was almost out of my senses at the sight.  During the whole\nof the funeral service, I did not see one of the evil spirits.\nAfterwards, when the body was about to be laid in the grave, so\ngreat a multitude of them was therein waiting to receive it, that\nI was beside myself at the sight, and it required no slight\ncourage on my part not to betray my distress. I thought of the\ntreatment which that soul would receive, when the devils had such\npower over the wretched body.  Would to God that all who live in\nmortal sin might see what I then saw,--it was a fearful sight; it\nwould go, I believe, a great way towards making them lead\nbetter lives.\n\n33. All this made me know more of what I owe to God, and of the\nevils from which He has delivered me.  I was in great terror.\nI spoke of it to my confessor, and I thought it might be an\nillusion of Satan, in order to take away my good opinion of that\nperson, who yet was not accounted a very good Christian.\nThe truth is, that, whether it was an illusion or not, it makes\nme afraid whenever I think of it.\n\n34. Now that I have begun to speak of the visions I had\nconcerning the dead, I will mention some matters which our Lord\nwas pleased to reveal to me in relation to certain souls.  I will\nconfine myself to a few for the sake of brevity, and because they\nare not necessary; I mean that they are not for our profit.\nThey told me that one who had been our Provincial--he was then of\nanother province--was dead.  He was a man of great virtue, with\nwhom I had had a great deal to do, and to whom I was under many\nobligations for certain kindnesses shown me.  When I heard that\nhe was dead, I was exceedingly troubled, because I trembled for\nhis salvation, seeing that he had been superior for twenty years.\nThat is what I dread very much; for the cure of souls seems to me\nto be full of danger.  I went to an oratory in great distress,\nand gave up to him all the good I had ever done in my whole\nlife,--it was little enough,--and prayed our Lord that His merits\nmight fill up what was wanting, in order that this soul might be\ndelivered up from purgatory.\n\n35. While I was thus praying to our Lord as well as I could, he\nseemed to me to rise up from the depths of the earth on my right\nhand, and I saw him ascend to heaven in exceeding great joy.\nHe was a very old man then, but I saw him as if he were only\nthirty years old, and I thought even younger, and there was a\nbrightness in his face.  This vision passed away very quickly;\nbut I was so exceedingly comforted by it, that I could never\nagain mourn his death, although many persons were distressed at\nit, for he was very much beloved.  So greatly comforted was my\nsoul, that nothing disturbed it, neither could I doubt the truth\nof the vision; I mean that it was no illusion.\n\n36. I had this vision about a fortnight after he was dead;\nnevertheless, I did not omit to obtain prayers for him and I\nprayed myself, only I could not pray with the same earnestness\nthat I should have done if I had not seen that vision.  For when\nour Lord showed him thus to me, it seemed to me afterwards, when\nI prayed for him to His Majesty,--and I could not help it,--that\nI was like one who gave alms to a rich man.  Later on I heard an\naccount of the death he died in our Lord--he was far away from\nhere; it was one of such great edification, that he left all\nwondering to see how recollected, how penitent, and how humble he\nwas when he died.\n\n37. A nun, who was a great servant of God, died in this house.\nOn the next day one of the sisters was reciting the lesson in the\nOffice of the Dead, which was said in choir for that nun's soul,\nand I was standing myself to assist her in singing the versicle,\nwhen, in the middle of the lesson, I saw the departed nun as I\nbelieve, in a vision; her soul seemed to rise on my right hand\nlike the soul of the Provincial, and ascend to heaven.\nThis vision was not imaginary, like the preceding, but like those\nothers of which I have spoken before; [16] it is not less\ncertain, however, than the other visions I had.\n\n38. Another nun died in this same house of mine, she was about\neighteen or twenty years of age, and had always been sickly.\nShe was a great servant of God, attentive in choir, and a person\nof great virtue.  I certainly thought that she would not go to\npurgatory, on account of her exceeding merits, because the\ninfirmities under which she had laboured were many.  While I was\nsaying the Office, before she was buried,--she had been dead\nabout four hours,--I saw her rise in the same place and ascend\nto heaven.\n\n39. I was once in one of the colleges of the Society of Jesus,\nand in one of those great sufferings which, as I have said, [17]\nI occasionally had, and still have, both in soul and body, and\nthen so grievously that I was not able, as it seemed to me, to\nhave even one good thought.  The night before, one of the\nbrothers of that house had died in it; and I, as well as I could,\nwas commending his soul to God, and hearing the Mass which\nanother father of that Society was saying for him when I became\nrecollected at once, and saw him go up to heaven in great glory,\nand our Lord with him.  I understood that His Majesty went with\nhim by way of special grace.\n\n40. Another brother of our Order, a good friar, was very ill; and\nwhen I was at Mass, I became recollected and saw him dead,\nentering into heaven without going through purgatory.  He died,\nas I afterwards learned, at the very time of my vision.  I was\namazed that he had not gone to purgatory.  I understood that,\nhaving become a friar and carefully kept the rule, the Bulls of\nthe Order had been of use to him, so that he did not pass into\npurgatory.  I do not know why I came to have this revealed to me;\nI think it must be because I was to learn that it is not enough\nfor a man to be a friar in his habit--I mean, to wear the\nhabit--to attain to that state of high perfection which that of a\nfriar is.\n\n41. I will speak no more of these things, because as I have just\nsaid, [18] there is no necessity for it, though our Lord has been\nso gracious to me as to show me much.  But in all the visions I\nhad, I saw no souls escape purgatory except this Carmelite\nfather, the holy friar Peter of Alcantara, and that Dominican\nfather of whom I spoke before. [19]  It pleased our Lord to let\nme see the degree of glory to which some souls have been raised,\nshowing them to me in the places they occupy.  There is a great\ndifference between one place and another.\n\n\n1. Ch. xxxiv.  Do\u00f1a Luisa de la Cerda, at Toledo.\n\n2. Ch. iv. \u00a7 6.\n\n3. 1 St. Peter ii. 11: \"Advenas et peregrinos.\"\n\n4. Philipp. iii. 20: \"Nostra autem conversatio in coelis\u00a0est.\"\n\n5. The Life of Christ, by Ludolf of Saxony.\n\n6. F. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.  See ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 5, ch. xxxvi. \u00a7 23.\n\"This father died Prior of Trianos,\" is written on the margin of\nthe MS. by F. Ba\u00f1es (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n7. St. Joseph, Avila, where St. Teresa was living at this\u00a0time.\n\n8. See below, \u00a7 41.\n\n9. F. Gaspar de Salazar: see ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 9, ch. xxxiv. \u00a7 2.\nIt appears from the 179th letter of the Saint (lett. 20,\nvol. i. of the Doblado edition) that F. Salazar was reported to\nhis Provincial, F. Juan Suarez, as having desire to quit the\nSociety for the Carmelite\u00a0Order.\n\n10. 2 Cor. xii. 2: \"Sive in corpore nescio, sive extra\ncorpus\u00a0nescio.\"\n\n11. See ch. xxviii.\n\n12. Job iv. 15: \"Inhorruerunt pili carnis me\u00e6.\"\n\n13. The biographers of the Saint say that she often found, on\nreturning from an ecstasy, certain passages written, but not by\nherself; this seems to be alluded to here (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n14. \u00a7 22.\n\n15. St. John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,\nbk. ii. ch. xxvi. vol. i. p.\u00a0183.\n\n16. See ch. xxvii.\n\n17. Ch. xxx. \u00a7 9.\n\n18. \u00a7 34.\n\n19. \u00a7 15.  Fr. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIX.\n\n\nOther Graces Bestowed on the Saint.  The Promises of Our Lord\nto Her.  Divine Locutions and Visions.\n\n\n1. I was once importuning our Lord exceedingly to restore the\nsight of a person who had claims upon me, and who was almost\nwholly blind.  I was very sorry for him, and afraid our Lord\nwould not hear me because of my sins.  He appeared to me as at\nother times, and began to show the wound in His left hand; with\nthe other He drew out the great nail that was in it, and it\nseemed to me that, in drawing the nail, He tore the flesh.\nThe greatness of the pain was manifest, and I was very much\ndistressed thereat.  He said to me, that He who had borne that\nfor my sake would still more readily grant what I asked Him, and\nthat I was not to have any doubts about it.  He promised me there\nwas nothing I should ask that He would not grant; that He knew I\nshould ask nothing that was not for His glory, and that He would\ngrant me what I was now praying for.  Even during the time when I\ndid not serve Him, I should find, if I considered it, I had asked\nnothing that He had not granted in an ampler manner than I had\nknown how to ask; how much more amply still would He grant what I\nasked for, now that He knew I loved Him!  I was not to doubt.\nI do not think that eight days passed before our Lord restored\nthat person to sight.  My confessor knew it forthwith.  It might\nbe that it was not owing to my prayer; but, as I had had the\nvision, I have a certain conviction that it was a grace accorded\nto me.  I gave thanks to His Majesty.\n\n2. Again, a person was exceedingly ill of a most painful disease;\nbut, as I do not know what it was, I do not describe it by its\nname here.  What he had gone through for two months was beyond\nall endurance; and his pain was so great that he tore his own\nflesh.  My confessor, the rector of whom I have spoken, [1] went\nto see him; he was very sorry for him, and told me that I must\nanyhow go myself and visit him; he was one whom I might visit,\nfor he was my kinsman.  I went, and was moved to such a tender\ncompassion for him that I began, with the utmost importunity, to\nask our Lord to restore him to health.  Herein I saw clearly how\ngracious our Lord was to me, so far as I could judge; for\nimmediately, the next day, he was completely rid of that pain.\n\n3. I was once in the deepest distress, because I knew that a\nperson to whom I was under great obligations was about to commit\nan act highly offensive to God and dishonourable to himself.\nHe was determined upon it.  I was so much harassed by this that I\ndid not know what to do in order to change his purpose; and it\nseemed to me as if nothing could be done.  I implored God, from\nthe bottom of my heart, to find a way to hinder it; but till I\nfound it I could find no relief for the pain I felt.  In my\ndistress, I went to a very lonely hermitage,--one of those\nbelonging to this monastery,--in which there is a picture of\nChrist bound to the pillar; and there, as I was imploring our\nLord to grant me this grace, I heard a voice of exceeding\ngentleness, speaking, as it were, in a whisper. [2]  My whole\nbody trembled, for it made me afraid.  I wished to understand\nwhat was said, but I could not, for it all passed away in\na moment.\n\n4. When my fears had subsided, and that was immediately, I became\nconscious of an inward calmness, a joy and delight, which made me\nmarvel how the mere hearing a voice,--I heard it with my bodily\nears,--without understanding a word, could have such an effect on\nthe soul.  I saw by this that my prayer was granted; and so it\nwas; and I was freed from my anxieties about a matter not yet\naccomplished, as it afterwards was, as completely as if I saw it\ndone.  I told my confessors of it, for I had two at this time,\nboth of them learned men, and great servants of God.\n\n5. I knew of a person who had resolved to serve God in all\nearnestness, and had for some days given himself to prayer, in\nwhich he bad received many graces from our Lord, but who had\nabandoned his good resolutions because of certain occasions of\nsin in which he was involved, and which he would not avoid; they\nwere extremely perilous.  This caused me the utmost distress,\nbecause the person was one for whom I had a great affection, and\none to whom I owed much.  For more than a month I believe I did\nnothing else but pray to God for his conversion.  One day, when I\nwas in prayer, I saw a devil close by in a great rage, tearing to\npieces some paper which he had in his hands.  That sight consoled\nme greatly, because it seemed that my prayer had been heard.\nSo it was, as I learnt afterwards; for that person had made his\nconfession with great contrition, and returned to God so\nsincerely, that I trust in His Majesty he will always advance\nfurther and further.  May He be blessed for ever!  Amen.\n\n6. In answer to my prayers, our Lord has very often rescued souls\nfrom mortal sins and led others on to greater perfection. But as\nto the delivering of souls out of purgatory, and other remarkable\nacts, so many are the mercies of our Lord herein, that were I to\nspeak of them I should only weary myself and my reader. But He\nhas done more by me for the salvation of souls than for the\nhealth of the body.  This is very well known, and there are many\nto bear witness to it.\n\n7. At first it made me scrupulous, because I could not help\nthinking that our Lord did these things in answer to my prayer; I\nsay nothing of the chief reason of all--His pure compassion.  But\nnow these graces are so many, and so well known to others, that\nit gives me no pain to think so.  I bless His Majesty, and abase\nmyself, because I am still more deeply in His debt; and I believe\nthat He makes my desire to serve Him grow, and my love revive.\n\n8. But what amazes me most is this: however much I may wish to\npray for those graces which our Lord sees not to be expedient, I\ncannot do it; and if I try, I do so with little earnestness,\nforce, and spirit: it is impossible to do more, even if I would.\nBut it is not so as to those which His Majesty intends to grant.\nThese I can pray for constantly, and with great importunity;\nthough I do not carry them in my memory, they seem to present\nthemselves to me at once. [3]\n\n9. There is a great difference between these two ways of praying,\nand I know not how to explain it.  As to the first, when I pray\nfor those graces which our Lord does not mean to grant,--even\nthough they concern me very nearly,--I am like one whose tongue\nis tied; who, though he would speak, yet cannot; or, if he\nspeaks, sees that people do not listen to him.  And yet I do not\nfail to force myself to pray, though not conscious of that\nfervour which I have when praying for those graces which our Lord\nintends to give.  In the second case, I am like one who speaks\nclearly and intelligibly to another, whom he sees to be a\nwilling listener.\n\n10. The prayer that is not to be heard is, so to speak, like\nvocal prayer; the other is a prayer of contemplation so high that\nour Lord shows Himself in such a way as to make us feel He hears\nus, and that He delights in our prayer, and that He is about to\ngrant our petition.  Blessed be He for ever who gives me so much\nand to whom I give so little!  For what is he worth, O my Lord,\nwho does not utterly abase himself to nothing for Thee?  How\nmuch, how much, how much,--I might say so a thousand times,--I\nfall short of this!  It is on this account that I do not wish to\nlive,--though there be other reasons also,--because I do not live\naccording to the obligations which bind me to Thee.\nWhat imperfections I trace in myself! what remissness in Thy\nservice! Certainly, I could wish occasionally I had no sense,\nthat I might be unconscious of the great evil that is in me.\nMay He who can do all things help me!\n\n11. When I was staying in the house of that lady of whom I have\nspoken before, [4] it was necessary for me to be very watchful\nover myself, and keep continually in mind the intrinsic vanity of\nall the things of this life, because of the great esteem I was\nheld in, and of the praises bestowed on me.  There was much there\nto which I might have become attached, if I had looked only to\nmyself; but I looked to Him who sees things as they really are,\nnot to let me go out of His hand.  Now that I speak of seeing\nthings as they really are, I remember how great a trial it is for\nthose to whom God has granted a true insight into the things of\nearth to have to discuss them with others.  They wear so many\ndisguises, as our Lord once told me,--and much of what I am\nsaying of them is not from myself, but rather what my Heavenly\nMaster has taught me; and therefore, in speaking of them, when I\nsay distinctly I understood this, or our Lord told me this, I am\nvery scrupulous neither to add nor to take away one single\nsyllable; so, when I do not clearly remember everything exactly,\nthat must be taken as coming from myself, and some things,\nperhaps, are so altogether.  I do not call mine that which is\ngood, for I know there is no other good in me but only that which\nour Lord gave me when I was so far from deserving it: I call that\nmine which I speak without having had it made known to me\nby revelation.\n\n12. But, O my God, how is it that we too often judge even\nspiritual things, as we do those of the world, by our own\nunderstanding, wresting them grievously from their true meaning?\nWe think we may measure our progress by the years which we have\ngiven to the exercise of prayer; we even think we can prescribe\nlimits to Him who bestows His gifts not by measure [5] when He\nwills, and who in six months can give to one more than to another\nin many years.  This is a fact which I have so frequently\nobserved in many persons, that I am surprised how any of us can\ndeny it.\n\n13. I am certainly convinced that he will not remain under this\ndelusion who possesses the gift of discerning spirits, and to\nwhom our Lord has given real humility; for such a one will judge\nof them by the fruits, by the good resolutions and love,--and our\nLord gives him light to understand the matter; and herein He\nregards the progress and advancement of souls, not the years they\nmay have spent in prayer; for one person may make greater\nprogress in six months than another in twenty years, because, as\nI said before, our Lord gives to whom He will, particularly to\nhim who is best disposed.\n\n14. I see this in certain persons of tender years who have come\nto this monastery,--God touches their hearts, and gives them a\nlittle light and love.  I speak of that brief interval in which\nHe gives them sweetness in prayer, and then they wait for nothing\nfurther, and make light of every difficulty, forgetting the\nnecessity even of food; for they shut themselves up for ever in a\nhouse that is unendowed, as persons who make no account of their\nlife, for His sake, who, they know, loves them.  They give up\neverything, even their own will; and it never enters into their\nmind that they might be discontented in so small a house, and\nwhere enclosure is so strictly observed.  They offer themselves\nwholly in sacrifice to God.\n\n15. Oh, how willingly do I admit that they are better than I am!\nand how I ought to be ashamed of myself before God!  What His\nMajesty has not been able to accomplish in me in so many\nyears,--it is long ago since I began to pray, and He to bestow\nHis graces upon me,--He accomplished in them in three months, and\nin some of them even in three days, though he gives them much\nfewer graces than He gave to me: and yet His Majesty rewards them\nwell; most assuredly they are not sorry for what they have done\nfor Him.\n\n16. I wish, therefore, we reminded ourselves of those long years\nwhich have gone by since we made our religious profession.  I say\nthis to those persons, also, who have given themselves long ago\nto prayer, but not for the purpose of distressing those who in a\nshort time have made greater progress than we have made, by\nmaking them retrace their steps, so that they may proceed only as\nwe do ourselves.  We must not desire those who, because of the\ngraces God has given them, are flying like eagles, to become like\nchickens whose feet are tied.  Let us rather look to His Majesty,\nand give these souls the reins, if we see that they are humble;\nfor our Lord, who has had such compassion upon them, will not let\nthem fall into the abyss.\n\n17. These souls trust themselves in the hands of God, for the\ntruth, which they learn by faith, helps them to do it; and shall\nnot we also trust them to Him, without seeking to measure them by\nour measure which is that of our meanness of spirit?  We must not\ndo it; for if we cannot ascend to the heights of their great love\nand courage,--without experience none can comprehend them--let us\nhumble ourselves, and not condemn them; for, by this seeming\nregard to their progress, we hinder our own, and miss the\nopportunity our Lord gives us to humble ourselves, to ascertain\nour own shortcomings, and learn how much more detached and more\nnear to God these souls must be than we are, seeing that His\nMajesty draws so near to them Himself.\n\n18. I have no other intention here, and I wish to have no other,\nthan to express my preference for the prayer that in a short time\nresults in these great effects, which show themselves at once;\nfor it is impossible they should enable us to leave all things\nonly to please God, if they were not accompanied with a vehement\nlove.  I would rather have that prayer than that which lasted\nmany years, but which at the end of the time, as well as at the\nbeginning, never issued in a resolution to do anything for God,\nwith the exception of some trifling services, like a grain of\nsalt, without weight or bulk, and which a bird might carry away\nin its mouth.  Is it not a serious and mortifying thought that we\nare making much of certain services which we render our Lord, but\nwhich are too pitiable to be considered, even if they were many\nin number?  This is my case, and I am forgetting every moment the\nmercies of our Lord.  I do not mean that His Majesty will not\nmake much of them Himself, for He is good; but I wish I made no\naccount of them myself, or even perceived that I did them, for\nthey are nothing worth.\n\n19. But, O my Lord, do Thou forgive me, and blame me not, if I\ntry to console myself a little with the little I do, seeing that\nI do not serve Thee at all; for if I rendered Thee any great\nservices, I should not think of these trifles.  Blessed are they\nwho serve Thee in great deeds; if envying these, and desiring to\ndo what they do, were of any help to me, I should not be so far\nbehind them as I am in pleasing Thee; but I am nothing worth, O\nmy Lord; do Thou make me of some worth, Thou who lovest me\nso much.\n\n20. During one of those days, when this monastery, which seems to\nhave cost me some labour, was fully founded by the arrival of the\nBrief from Rome, which empowered us to live without an\nendowment; [6] and I was comforting myself at seeing the whole\naffair concluded, and thinking of all the trouble I had had, and\ngiving thanks to our Lord for having been pleased to make some\nuse of me,--it happened that I began to consider all that we had\ngone through.  Well, so it was; in every one of my actions, which\nI thought were of some service, I traced so many faults and\nimperfections, now and then but little courage, very frequently a\nwant of faith; for until this moment, when I see everything\naccomplished, I never absolutely believed; neither, however, on\nthe other hand, could I doubt what our Lord said to me about the\nfoundation of this house.  I cannot tell how it was; very often\nthe matter seemed to me, on the one hand, impossible; and, on the\nother hand, I could not be in doubt; I mean, I could not believe\nthat it would not be accomplished.  In short, I find that our\nLord Himself, on His part, did all the good that was done, while\nI did all the evil.  I therefore ceased to think of the matter,\nand wished never to be reminded of it again, lest I should do\nmyself some harm by dwelling on my many faults. Blessed be He\nwho, when He pleases, draws good out of all my failings!  Amen.\n\n21. I say, then, there is danger in counting the years we have\ngiven to prayer; for, granting that there is nothing in it\nagainst humility, it seems to me to imply something like an\nappearance of thinking that we have merited, in some degree, by\nthe service rendered.  I do not mean that there is no merit in it\nat all, nor that it will not be well rewarded; yet if any\nspiritual person thinks, because he has given himself to prayer\nfor many years, that he deserves any spiritual consolations, I am\nsure he will never attain to spiritual perfection.  Is it not\nenough that a man has merited the protection of God, which keeps\nhim from committing those sins into which he fell before he began\nto pray, but he must also, as they say, sue God for His\nown money?\n\n22. This does not seem to me to be deep humility, and yet it may\nbe that it is; however, I look on it as great boldness, for I,\nwho have very little humility, have never ventured upon it.\nIt may be that I never asked for it, because I had never served\nHim; perhaps, if I had served Him, I should have been more\nimportunate than all others with our Lord for my reward.\n\n23. I do not mean that the soul makes no progress in time, or\nthat God will not reward it, if its prayer has been humble; but I\ndo mean that we should forget the number of years we have been\npraying, because all that we can do is utterly worthless in\ncomparison with one drop of blood out of those which our Lord\nshed for us.  And if the more we serve Him, the more we become\nHis debtors, what is it, then, we are asking for? for, if we pay\none farthing of the debt, He gives us back a thousand ducats.\nFor the love of God, let us leave these questions alone, for they\nbelong to Him.  Comparisons are always bad, even in earthly\nthings; what, then, must they be in that, the knowledge of which\nGod has reserved to Himself? His Majesty showed this clearly\nenough, when those who came late and those who came early to His\nvineyard received the same wages. [7]\n\n24. I have sat down so often to write, and have been so many days\nwriting these three leaves,--for, as I have said, [8] I had, and\nhave still, but few opportunities,--that I forgot what I had\nbegun with, namely, the following vision. [9]\n\n25. I was in prayer, and saw myself on a wide plain all alone.\nRound about me stood a great multitude of all kinds of people,\nwho hemmed me in on every side; all of them seemed to have\nweapons of war in their hands, to hurt me; some had spears,\nothers swords; some had daggers, and others very long rapiers.\nIn short, I could not move away in any direction without exposing\nmyself to the hazard of death, and I was alone, without any one\nto take my part.  In this my distress of mind, not knowing what\nto do, I lifted up my eyes to heaven, and saw Christ, not in\nheaven, but high above me in the air, holding out His hand to me,\nand there protecting me in such a way that I was no longer afraid\nof all that multitude, neither could they, though they wished it,\ndo me any harm.\n\n26. At first the vision seemed to have no results; but it has\nbeen of the greatest help to me, since I understood what it\nmeant.  Not long afterwards, I saw myself, as it were, exposed to\nthe like assault, and I saw that the vision represented the\nworld, because everything in it takes up arms against the poor\nsoul.  We need not speak of those who are not great servants of\nour Lord, nor of honours, possessions, and pleasures, with other\nthings of the same nature; for it is clear that the soul, if it\nbe not watchful, will find itself caught in a net,--at least, all\nthese things labour to ensnare it; more than this, so also do\nfriends and relatives, and--what frightens me most--even good\npeople.  I found myself afterwards so beset on all sides, good\npeople thinking they were doing good, and I knowing not how to\ndefend myself, nor what to do.\n\n27. O my God, if I were to say in what way, and in how many ways,\nI was tried at that time, even after that trial of which I have\njust spoken, what a warning I should be giving to men to hate the\nwhole world utterly!  It was the greatest of all the persecutions\nI had to undergo.  I saw myself occasionally so hemmed in on\nevery side, that I could do nothing else but lift up my eyes to\nheaven, and cry unto God. [10] I recollected well what I had seen\nin the vision, and it helped me greatly not to trust much in any\none, for there is no one that can be relied on except God.\nIn all my great trials, our Lord--He showed it to me--sent always\nsome one on His part to hold out his hand to help me, as it was\nshown to me in the vision, so that I might attach myself to\nnothing, but only please our Lord; and this has been enough to\nsustain the little virtue I have in desiring to serve Thee: be\nThou blessed for evermore!\n\n28. On one occasion I was exceedingly disquieted and troubled,\nunable to recollect myself, fighting and struggling with my\nthoughts, running upon matters which did not relate to\nperfection; and, moreover, I did not think I was so detached from\nall things as I used to be.  When I found myself in this wretched\nstate, I was afraid that the graces I had received from our Lord\nwere illusions, and the end was that a great darkness covered my\nsoul.  In this my distress our Lord began to speak to me: He bade\nme not to harass myself, but learn, from the consideration of my\nmisery, what it would be if He withdrew Himself from me, and that\nwe were never safe while living in the flesh.  It was given me to\nunderstand how this fighting and struggling are profitable to us,\nbecause of the reward, and it seemed to me as if our Lord were\nsorry for us who live in the world.  Moreover, He bade me not to\nsuppose that He had forgotten me; He would never abandon me, but\nit was necessary I should do all that I could myself.\n\n29. Our Lord said all this with great tenderness and sweetness;\nHe also spoke other most gracious words, which I need not repeat.\nHis Majesty, further showing His great love for me, said to me\nvery often: \"Thou art Mine, and I am thine.\"  I am in the habit\nof saying myself, and I believe in all sincerity: \"What do I care\nfor myself?--I care only for Thee, O my Lord.\"\n\n30. These words of our Lord, and the consolation He gives me,\nfill me with the utmost shame, when I remember what I am.  I have\nsaid it before, I think, [11] and I still say now and then to my\nconfessor, that it requires greater courage to receive these\ngraces than to endure the heaviest trials.  When they come, I\nforget, as it were, all I have done, and there is nothing before\nme but a picture of my wretchedness, and my understanding can\nmake no reflections; this, also, seems to me at times to\nbe supernatural.\n\n31. Sometimes I have such a vehement longing for Communion; I do\nnot think it can be expressed.  One morning it happened to rain\nso much as to make it seem impossible to leave the house.  When I\nhad gone out, I was so beside myself with that longing, that if\nspears had been pointed at my heart, I should have rushed upon\nthem; the rain was nothing.  When I entered the church I fell\ninto a deep trance, and saw heaven open--not a door only, as I\nused to see at other times.  I beheld the throne which, as I have\ntold you, my father, I saw at other times, with another throne\nabove it, whereon, though I saw not, I understood by a certain\ninexplicable knowledge that the Godhead dwelt.\n\n32. The throne seemed to me to be supported by certain animals; I\nbelieve I saw the form of them: I thought they might be the\nEvangelists.  But how the throne was arrayed, and Him who sat on\nit I did not see, but only an exceedingly great multitude of\nangels, who seemed to me more beautiful, beyond all comparison,\nthan those I had seen in heaven.  I thought they were, perhaps,\nthe seraphim or cherubim, for they were very different in their\nglory, and seemingly all on fire.  The difference is great, as I\nsaid before; [12] and the joy I then felt cannot be described,\neither in writing or by word of mouth; it is inconceivable to any\none what has not had experience of it. I felt that everything man\ncan desire was all there together, and I saw nothing; they told\nme, but I know not who, that all I could do there was to\nunderstand that I could understand nothing, and see how\neverything was nothing in comparison with that.  So it was; my\nsoul afterwards was vexed to see that it could rest on any\ncreated thing: how much more, then, if it had any affection\nthereto; for everything seemed to me but an ant-hill.\nI communicated, and remained during Mass.  I know not how it was:\nI thought I had been but a few minutes, and was amazed when the\nclock struck; I had been two hours in that trance and joy.\n\n33. I was afterwards amazed at this fire, which seems to spring\nforth out of the true love of God; for though I might long for\nit, labour for it, and annihilate myself in the effort to obtain\nit, I can do nothing towards procuring a single spark of it\nmyself, because it all comes of the good pleasure of His Majesty,\nas I said on another occasion. [13]  It seems to burn up the old\nman, with his faults, his lukewarmness, and misery; so that it is\nlike the phoenix, of which I have read that it comes forth, after\nbeing burnt, out of its own ashes into a new life.  Thus it is\nwith the soul: it is changed into another, whose desires are\ndifferent, and whose strength is great.  It seems to be no longer\nwhat it was before, and begins to walk renewed in purity in the\nways of our Lord.  When I was praying to Him that thus it might\nbe with me, and that I might begin His service anew, He said to\nme: \"The comparison thou hast made is good; take care never to\nforget it, that thou mayest always labour to advance.\"\n\n34. Once, when I was doubting, as I said just now, [14] whether\nthese visions came from God or not, our Lord appeared, and, with\nsome severity, said to me: \"O children of men, how long will you\nremain hard of heart!\"  I was to examine myself carefully on one\nsubject,--whether I had given myself up wholly to Him, or not.\nIf I had,--and it was so,--I was to believe that He would not\nsuffer me to perish.  I was very much afflicted when He spoke\nthus, but He turned to me with great tenderness and sweetness,\nand bade me not to distress myself, for He knew already that, so\nfar as it lay in my power, I would not fail in anything that was\nfor His service; that He Himself would do what I wished,--and so\nHe did grant what I was then praying for; that I was to consider\nmy love for Him, which was daily growing in me, for I should see\nby this that these visions did not come from Satan; that I must\nnot imagine that God would ever allow the devil to have so much\npower over the souls of His servants as to give them such\nclearness of understanding and such peace as I had.\n\n35. He gave me also to understand that, when such and so many\npersons had told me the visions were from God, I should do wrong\nif I did not believe them. [15]\n\n36. Once, when I was reciting the psalm Quicumque vult, [16] I\nwas given to understand the mystery of One God and Three Persons\nwith so much clearness, that I was greatly astonished and\nconsoled at the same time.  This was of the greatest help to me,\nfor it enabled me to know more of the greatness and marvels of\nGod; and when I think of the most Holy Trinity, or hear It spoken\nof, I seem to understand the mystery, and a great joy it is.\n\n37. One day--it was the Feast of the Assumption of the Queen of\nthe Angels, and our Lady--our Lord was pleased to grant me this\ngrace.  In a trance He made me behold her going up to heaven, the\njoy and solemnity of her reception there, as well as the place\nwhere she now is.  To describe it is more than I can do; the joy\nthat filled my soul at the sight of such great glory was\nexcessive.  The effects of the vision were great; it made me long\nto endure still greater trials: and I had a vehement desire to\nserve our Lady, because of her great merits.\n\n38. Once, in one of the colleges of the Society of Jesus, when\nthe brothers of the house were communicating, I saw an\nexceedingly rich canopy above their heads.  I saw this twice; but\nI never saw it when others were receiving Communion.\n\n\n1. Ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 10.  F. Gaspar de Salazar.\n\n2. 3 Kings xix. 12: \"Sibilus aur\u00e6 tenuis.\"\n\n3. See St. John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,\nbk. iii. ch. i, p.\u00a0210).\n\n4. Ch. xxxiv. \u00a7 1.\n\n5. St. John iii. 34: \"Non enim ad mensuram dat Deus\u00a0spiritum.\"\n\n6. See ch. xxxiii. \u00a7 15.\n\n7. St. Matt. xx. 9-14: \"Volo autem et huic novissimo dare sicut\net\u00a0tibi.\"\n\n8. Ch. xiv. \u00a7 12.\n\n9. The Saint had this vision when she was in the house of Do\u00f1a\nLuisa de la Cerda in Toledo, and it was fulfilled in the\nopposition she met with in the foundation of St. Joseph of Avila.\nSee ch. xxxvi. \u00a7\u00a018.\n\n10. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: \"Hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos\nnostros dirigamus ad\u00a0Te.\"\n\n11. Ch. xx. \u00a7 4.\n\n12. Ch. xxix. \u00a7 16.\n\n13. Ch. xxix. \u00a7 13.\n\n14. \u00a7 28.\n\n15. See ch. xxviii. \u00a7\u00a7 19, 20.\n\n16. Commonly called the Creed of St. Athanasius.\n\n\n\nChapter XL.\n\n\nVisions, Revelations, and Locutions.\n\n\n1. One day, in prayer, the sweetness of which was so great that,\nknowing how unworthy I was of so great a blessing, I began to\nthink how much I had deserved to be in that place which I had\nseen prepared for me in hell,--for, as I said before, [1] I never\nforget the way I saw myself there,--as I was thinking of this, my\nsoul began to be more and more on fire, and I was carried away in\nspirit in a way I cannot describe.  It seemed to me as if I had\nbeen absorbed in, and filled with, that grandeur of God which, on\nanother occasion, I had felt. [2]  In that majesty it was given\nme to understand one truth, which is the fulness of all truth,\nbut I cannot tell how, for I saw nothing.  It was said to me, I\nsaw not by whom, but I knew well enough it was the Truth Itself:\n\"This I am doing to thee is not a slight matter; it is one of\nthose things for which thou owest Me much; for all the evil in\nthe world comes from ignorance of the truths of the holy writings\nin their clear simplicity, of which not one iota shall pass\naway.\" [3]  I thought that I had always believed this, and that\nall the faithful also believed it.  Then he said,: \"Ah, My\ndaughter, they are few who love Me in truth; for if men loved Me,\nI should not hide My secrets from them.  Knowest thou what it is\nto love Me in truth?  It is to admit everything to be a lie which\nis not pleasing unto Me.  Now thou dost not understand it, but\nthou shalt understand it clearly hereafter, in the profit it will\nbe to thy soul.\"\n\n2. Our Lord be praised, so I found it; for after this vision I\nlook upon everything which does not tend to the service of God as\nvanity and lies.  I cannot tell how much I am convinced of this,\nnor how sorry I am for those whom I see living in darkness, not\nknowing the truth.  I derived other great blessings also from\nthis, some of which I will here speak of, others I cannot\ndescribe.\n\n3. Our Lord at the same time uttered a special word of most\nexceeding graciousness.  I know not how it was done, for I saw\nnothing; but I was filled, in a way which also I cannot describe,\nwith exceeding strength and earnestness of purpose to observe\nwith all my might everything contained in the divine writings.\nI thought that I could rise above every possible hindrance put in\nmy way.\n\n4. Of this divine truth, which was put before me I know not how,\nthere remains imprinted within me a truth--I cannot give it a\nname--which fills me with a new reverence for God; it gives me a\nnotion of His Majesty and power in a way which I cannot explain.\nI can understand that it is something very high.  I had a very\ngreat desire never to speak of anything but of those deep truths\nwhich far surpass all that is spoken of here in the world,--and\nso the living in it began to be painful to me.\n\n5. The vision left me in great tenderness, joy, and humility.\nIt seemed to me, though I knew not how, that our Lord now gave me\ngreat things; and I had no suspicion whatever of any illusion.\nI saw nothing; but I understood how great a blessing it is to\nmake no account of anything which does not lead us nearer unto\nGod.  I also understood what it is for a soul to be walking in\nthe truth, in the presence of the Truth itself.  What I\nunderstood is this: that our Lord gave me to understand that He\nis Himself the very Truth.\n\n6. All this I am speaking of I learnt at times by means of words\nuttered; at other times I learnt some things without the help of\nwords, and that more clearly than those other things which were\ntold me in words.  I understood exceedingly deep truths\nconcerning the Truth, more than I could have done through the\nteaching of many learned men.  It seems to me that learned men\nnever could have thus impressed upon me, nor so clearly explained\nto me, the vanity of this world.\n\n7. The Truth of which I am speaking, and which I was given to\nsee, is Truth Itself, in Itself.  It has neither beginning nor\nend.  All other truths depend on this Truth, as all other loves\ndepend on this love, and all other grandeurs on this grandeur.\nI understood it all, notwithstanding that my words are obscure in\ncomparison with that distinctness with which it pleased our Lord\nto show it to me.  What think you must be the power of His\nMajesty, seeing that in so short a time it leaves so great a\nblessing and such an impression on the soul?  O Grandeur!\nMajesty of mine! what is it Thou art doing, O my Lord Almighty!\nConsider who it is to whom Thou givest blessings so great!  Dost\nThou not remember that this my soul has been an abyss of lies and\na sea of vanities, and all my fault?  Though Thou hadst given me\na natural hatred of lying yet I did involve myself in many lying\nways.  How is this, O my God? how can it be that mercies and\ngraces so great should fall to the lot of one who has so ill\ndeserved them at Thy hands?\n\n8. Once, when I was with the whole community reciting the Office,\nmy soul became suddenly recollected, and seemed to me all bright\nas a mirror, clear behind, sideways, upwards, and downwards; and\nin the centre of it I saw Christ our Lord, as I usually see Him.\nIt seemed to me that I saw Him distinctly in every part of my\nsoul, as in a mirror, and at the same time the mirror was all\nsculptured--I cannot explain it--in our Lord Himself by a most\nloving communication which I can never describe.  I know that\nthis vision was a great blessing to me, and is still whenever I\nremember it, particularly after Communion.\n\n9. I understood by it, that, when a soul is in mortal sin, this\nmirror becomes clouded with a thick vapour, and utterly obscured,\nso that our Lord is neither visible nor present, though He is\nalways present in the conservation of its being.  In heretics,\nthe mirror is, as it were, broken in pieces, and that is worse\nthan being dimmed.  There is a very great difference between\nseeing this and describing it, for it can hardly be explained.\nBut it has done me great good; it has also made me very sorry on\naccount of those times when I dimmed the lustre of my soul by my\nsins, so that I could not see our Lord.\n\n10. This vision seems to me very profitable to recollected\npersons, to teach them to look upon our Lord as being in the\ninnermost part of their soul.  It is a method of looking upon Him\nwhich penetrates us more thoroughly, and is much more fruitful,\nthan that of looking upon Him as external to us, as I have said\nelsewhere, [4] and as it is laid down in books on prayer, where\nthey speak of where we are to seek God.  The glorious\nSt. Augustin, [5] in particular, says so, when he says that\nneither in the streets of the city, nor in pleasures, nor in any\nplace whatever where he sought Him, did he find Him as he found\nHim within himself.  This is clearly the best way; we need not go\nup to heaven, nor any further than our own selves, for that would\nonly distress the spirit and distract the soul, and bring but\nlittle fruit.\n\n11. I should like to point out one result of a deep trance; it\nmay be that some are aware of it.  When the time is over during\nwhich the soul was in union, wherein all its powers were wholly\nabsorbed,--it lasts, as I have said, [6] but a moment,--the soul\ncontinues still to be recollected, unable to recover itself even\nin outward things; for the two powers--the memory and the\nunderstanding--are, as it were, in a frenzy, extremely\ndisordered.  This, I say, happens occasionally, particularly in\nthe beginnings.  I am thinking whether it does not result from\nthis: that our natural weakness cannot endure the vehemence of\nthe spirit, which is so great, and that the imagination is\nenfeebled.  I know it to be so with some.  I think it best for\nthese to force themselves to give up prayer at that time, and\nresume it afterwards, when they may recover what they have lost,\nand not do everything at once, for in that case much harm might\ncome of it.  I know this by experience, as well as the necessity\nof considering what our health can bear.\n\n12. Experience is necessary throughout, so also is a spiritual\ndirector; for when the soul has reached this point, there are\nmany matters which must be referred to the director.  If, after\nseeking such a one, the soul cannot find him, our Lord will not\nfail that soul, seeing that He has not failed me, who am what I\nam: They are not many, I believe, who know by experience so many\nthings, and without experience it is useless to treat a soul at\nall, for nothing will come of it, save only trouble and distress.\nBut our Lord will take this also into account, and for that\nreason it is always best to refer the matter to the director.\nI have already more than once said this, [7] and even all I am\nsaying now, only I do not distinctly remember it; but I do see\nthat it is of great importance, particularly to women, that they\nshould go to their confessor, and that he should be a man of\nexperience herein.  There are many more women than men to whom\nour Lord gives these graces; I have heard the holy friar Peter of\nAlcantara say so, and, indeed, I know it myself.  He used to say\nthat women made greater progress in this way than men did; and he\ngave excellent reasons for his opinion, all in favour of women;\nbut there is no necessity for repeating them here.\n\n13. Once, when in prayer, I had a vision, for a moment,--I saw\nnothing distinctly, but the vision was most clear,--how all\nthings are seen in God and how all things are comprehended in\nHim.  I cannot in any way explain it, but the vision remains most\ndeeply impressed on my soul, and is one of those grand graces\nwhich our Lord wrought in me, and one of those which put me to\nthe greatest shame and confusion whenever I call my sins to\nremembrance.  I believe, if it had pleased our Lord that I had\nseen this at an earlier time, or if they saw it who sin against\nHim, we should have neither the heart nor the daring to do so.\nI had the vision, I repeat it, but I cannot say that I saw\nanything; however, I must have seen something, seeing that I\nexplain it by an illustration, only it must have been in a way so\nsubtile and delicate that the understanding is unable to reach\nit, or I am so ignorant in all that relates to these visions,\nwhich seem to be not imaginary.  In some of these visions there\nmust be something imaginary, only, as the powers of the soul are\nthen in a trance, they are not able afterwards to retain the\nforms, as our Lord showed them to it then, and as He would have\nit rejoice in them.\n\n14. Let us suppose the Godhead to be a most brilliant diamond,\nmuch larger than the whole world, or a mirror like that to which\nI compared the soul in a former vision, [8] only in a way so high\nthat I cannot possibly describe it; and that all our actions are\nseen in that diamond, which is of such dimensions as to include\neverything, because nothing can be beyond it.  It was a fearful\nthing for me to see, in so short a time, so many things together\nin that brilliant diamond, and a most piteous thing too, whenever\nI think of it, to see such foul things as my sins present in the\npure brilliancy of that light.\n\n15. So it is, whenever I remember it, I do not know how to bear\nit, and I was then so ashamed of myself that I knew not where to\nhide myself.  Oh, that some one could make this plain to those\nwho commit most foul and filthy sins, that they may remember\ntheir sins are not secret, and that God most justly resents them,\nseeing that they are wrought in the very presence of His Majesty,\nand that we are demeaning ourselves so irreverently before Him!\nI saw, too, how completely hell is deserved for only one mortal\nsin, and how impossible it is to understand the exceeding great\nwickedness of committing it in the sight of majesty so great, and\nhow abhorrent to His nature such actions are.  In this we see\nmore and more of His mercifulness, who, though we all know His\nhatred of sin, yet suffers us to live.\n\n16. The vision made me also reflect, that if one such vision as\nthis fills the souls with such awe, what will it be in the day of\njudgment, when His Majesty will appear distinctly, and when we\ntoo shall look on the sins we have committed!  O my God, I have\nbeen, oh, how blind!  I have often been amazed at what I have\nwritten; and you, my father, be you not amazed at anything, but\nthat I am still living,--I, who see such things, and know myself\nto be what I am.  Blessed for ever be He who has borne with me\nso long!\n\n17. Once, in prayer, with much recollection, sweetness, and\nrepose, I saw myself, as it seemed to me, surrounded by angels,\nand was close unto God.  I began to intercede with His Majesty on\nbehalf of the church.  I was given to understand the great\nservices which a particular Order would render in the latter\ndays, and the courage with which its members would maintain\nthe faith.\n\n18. I was praying before the most Holy Sacrament one day; I had a\nvision of a Saint, whose Order was in some degree fallen. In his\nhands he held a large book, which he opened, and then told me to\nread certain words, written in large and very legible letters;\nthey were to this effect: \"In times to come this Order will\nflourish; it will have many martyrs.\" [9]\n\n19. On another occasion, when I was at Matins in choir, six or\nseven persons, who seemed to me to be of this Order, appeared and\nstood before me with swords in their hands.  The meaning of that,\nas I think, is that they are to be defenders of the faith; for at\nanother time, when I was in prayer, I fell into a trance, and\nstood in spirit on a wide plain, where many persons were\nfighting; and the members of this Order were fighting with great\nzeal.  Their faces were beautiful, and as it were on fire.\nMany they laid low on the ground defeated, others they killed.\nIt seemed to me to be a battle with heretics.\n\n20. I have seen this glorious Saint occasionally, and he has told\nme certain things, and thanked me for praying for his Order, and\nhe has promised to pray for me to our Lord.  I do not say which\nOrders these are,--our Lord, if it so pleased Him, could make\nthem known,--lest the others should be aggrieved.  Let every\nOrder, or every member of them by himself, labour, that by his\nmeans our Lord would so bless his own Order that it may serve Him\nin the present grave necessities of His Church.  Blessed are they\nwhose lives are so spent.\n\n21. I was once asked by a person to pray God to let him know\nwhether his acceptance of a bishopric would be for the service of\nGod.  After Communion our Lord said to me: \"When he shall have\nclearly and really understood that true dominion consists in\npossessing nothing, he may then accept it.\"  I understood by this\nthat he who is to be in dignity must be very far from wishing or\ndesiring it, or at least he must not seek it.\n\n22. These and many other graces our Lord has given, and is giving\ncontinually, to me a sinner.  I do not think it is necessary to\nspeak of them, because the state of my soul can be ascertained\nfrom what I have written; so also can the spirit which our Lord\nhas given me.  May He be blessed for ever, who has been so\nmindful of me!\n\n23. Our Lord said to me once, consoling me, that I was not to\ndistress myself,--this He said most lovingly,--because in this\nlife we could not continue in the same state. [10]  At one time I\nshould be fervent, at another not; now disquieted, and again at\npeace, and tempted; but I must hope in Him, and fear not.\n\n24. I was one day thinking whether it was a want of detachment in\nme to take pleasure in the company of those who had the care of\nmy soul, and to have an affection for them, and to comfort myself\nwith those whom I see to be very great servants of God. [11]\nOur Lord said to me: \"It is not a virtue in a sick man to abstain\nfrom thanking and loving the physician who seems to restore him\nto health when he is in danger of death.  What should I have done\nwithout these persons?  The conversation of good people was never\nhurtful; my words should always be weighed, and holy; and I was\nnot to cease my relations with them, for they would do me good\nrather than harm.\"\n\n25. This was a great comfort to me, because, now and then, I\nwished to abstain from converse with all people; for it seemed to\nme that I was attached to them.  Always, in all things, did our\nLord console me, even to the showing me how I was to treat those\nwho were weak, and some other people also.  Never did He cease to\ntake care of me.  I am sometimes distressed to see how little I\ndo in His service, and how I am forced to spend time in taking\ncare of a body so weak and worthless as mine is, more than\nI wish.\n\n26. I was in prayer one night, when it was time to go to sleep.\nI was in very great pain, and my usual sickness was coming\non. [12]  I saw myself so great a slave to myself, and, on the\nother hand, the spirit asked for time for itself.  I was so much\ndistressed that I began to weep exceedingly, and to be very\nsorry.  This has happened to me not once only, but, as I am\nsaying, very often; and it seems to make me weary of myself, so\nthat at the time I hold myself literally in abhorrence.\nHabitually, however, I know that I do not hate myself, and I\nnever fail to take that which I see to be necessary for me.\nMay our Lord grant that I do not take more than is necessary!--I\nam afraid I do.\n\n27. When I was thus distressed, our Lord appeared unto me.\nHe comforted me greatly, and told me I must do this for His love,\nand bear it; my life was necessary now.  And so, I believe, I\nhave never known real pain since I resolved to serve my Lord and\nmy Consoler with all my strength; for though he would leave me to\nsuffer a little, yet He would console me in such a way that I am\ndoing nothing when I long for troubles.  And it seems to me there\nis nothing worth living for but this, and suffering is what I\nmost heartily pray to God for.  I say to Him sometimes, with my\nwhole heart: \"O Lord, either to die or to suffer!  I ask of Thee\nnothing else for myself.\"  It is a comfort to me to hear the\nclock strike, because I seem to have come a little nearer to the\nvision of God, in that another hour of my life has passed away.\n\n28. At other times I am in such a state that I do not feel that I\nam living, nor yet do I desire to die but I am lukewarm, and\ndarkness surrounds me on every side, as I said before; [13] for I\nam very often in great trouble.  It pleased our Lord that the\ngraces He wrought in me should be published abroad, [14] as He\ntold me some years ago they should be.  It was a great pain to\nme, and I have borne much on that account even to this day, as\nyou, my father, know, because every man explains them in his own\nsense.  But my comfort herein is that it is not my fault that\nthey are become known, for I was extremely cautious never to\nspeak of them but to my confessors, or to persons who I knew had\nheard of them from them.  I was silent, however, not out of\nhumility, but because, as I said before, [15] it gave me great\npain to speak of them even to my confessors.\n\n29. Now, however,--to God be the glory!--though many speak\nagainst me, but out of a zeal for goodness, and though some are\nafraid to speak to me, and even to hear my confession, and though\nothers have much to say about me, because I see that our Lord\nwilled by this means to provide help for many souls,--and also\nbecause I see clearly and keep in mind how much He would suffer,\nif only for the gaining of one,--I do not care about it at all.\n\n30. I know not why it is so, but perhaps the reason may in some\nmeasure be that His Majesty has placed me in this corner out of\nthe way, where the enclosure is so strict, and where I am as one\nthat is dead.  I thought that no one would remember me, but I am\nnot so much forgotten as I wish I was, for I am forced to speak\nto some people.  But as I am in a house where none may see me, it\nseems as if our Lord had been pleased to bring me to a haven,\nwhich I trust in His Majesty will be secure.  Now that I am out\nof the world, with companions holy and few in number, I look down\non the world as from a great height, and care very little what\npeople say or know about me.  I think much more of one soul's\nadvancement, even if it were but slight, than of all that people\nmay say of me; and since I am settled here it has pleased our\nLord that all my desires tend to this.\n\n31. He has made my life to me now a kind of sleep; for almost\nalways what I see seems to me to be seen as in a dream, nor have\nI any great sense either of pleasure or of pain.  If matters\noccur which may occasion either, the sense of it passes away so\nquickly that it astonishes me, and leaves an impression as if I\nhad been dreaming,--and this is the simple truth; for if I wished\nafterwards to delight in that pleasure, or be sorry over that\npain, it is not in my power to do so: just as a sensible person\nfeels neither pain nor pleasure in the memory of a dream that is\npast; for now our Lord has roused my soul out of that state\nwhich, because I was not mortified nor dead to the things of this\nworld, made me feel as I did, and His Majesty does not wish me to\nbecome blind again.\n\n32. This is the way I live now, my lord and father; do you, my\nfather, pray to God that He would take me to Himself, or enable\nme to serve Him.  May it please His Majesty that what I have\nwritten may be of some use to you, my father!  I have so little\ntime, [16] and therefore my trouble has been great in writing;\nbut it will be a blessed trouble if I have succeeded in saying\nanything that will cause one single act of praise to our Lord.\nIf that were the case, I should look upon myself as sufficiently\nrewarded, even if you, my father, burnt at once what I have\nwritten.  I would rather it were not burnt before those three saw\nit, whom you, my father, know of, because they are, and have\nbeen, my confessors; for if it be bad, it is right they should\nlose the good opinion they have of me; and if it be good, they\nare good and learned men, and I know they will recognise its\nsource, and give praise to Him who hath spoken through me.\n\n33. May His Majesty ever be your protector, and make you so great\na saint that your spirit and light may show the way to me a\nmiserable creature, so wanting in humility and so bold as to have\nventured to write on subjects so high!  May our Lord grant I have\nnot fallen into any errors in the matter, for I had the intention\nand the desire to be accurate and obedient, and also that through\nme He might, in some measure, have glory,--because that is what I\nhave been praying for these many years; and as my good works are\ninefficient for that end, I have ventured to put in order this my\ndisordered life.  Still, I have not wasted more time, nor given\nit more attention, than was necessary for writing it; yet I have\nput down all that has happened to me with all the simplicity and\nsincerity possible.\n\n34. May our Lord, who is all-powerful, grant--and He can if He\nwill--that I may attain to the doing of His will in all things!\nMay He never suffer this soul to be lost, which He so often, in\nso many ways, and by so many means, has rescued from hell and\ndrawn unto Himself!  Amen.\n\n\nI.H.S.\n\nThe Holy Spirit be ever with you, my father. [17]  Amen.\nIt would not be anything improper if I were to magnify my labour\nin writing this, to oblige you to be very careful to recommend me\nto our Lord; for indeed I may well do so, considering what I have\ngone through in giving this account of myself, and in retracing\nmy manifold wretchedness.  But, still, I can say with truth that\nI felt it more difficult to speak of the graces which I have\nreceived from our Lord than to speak of my offences against His\nMajesty.  You, my father, commanded me to write at length; that\nis what I have done, on condition that you will do what you\npromised, namely, destroy everything in it that has the\nappearance of being wrong.  I had not yet read it through after I\nhad written it, when your reverence sent for it.  Some things in\nit may not be very clearly explained, and there may be some\nrepetitions; for the time I could give to it was so short, that I\ncould not stop to see what I was writing.  I entreat your\nreverence to correct it and have it copied, if it is to be sent\non to the Father-Master, Avila, [18] for perhaps some one may\nrecognise the handwriting.  I wish very much you would order it\nso that he might see it, for I began to write it with a view to\nthat I shall be greatly comforted if he shall think that I am on\na safe road, now that, so far as it concerns me, there is nothing\nmore to be done.\n\nYour reverence will do in all things that which to you shall seem\ngood, and you will look upon yourself as under an obligation to\ntake care of one who trusts her soul to your keeping.  I will\npray for the soul of your reverence to our Lord, so long as I\nlive.  You will, therefore, be diligent in His service, in order\nthat you may be able to help me; for your reverence will see by\nwhat I have written how profitable it is to give oneself, as your\nreverence has begun to do, wholly unto Him who gives Himself to\nus so utterly without measure.\n\nBlessed be His Majesty for ever!  I hope of His mercy we shall\nsee one another one day, when we, your reverence and myself,\nshall see more clearly the great mercies He has shown us, and\nwhen we shall praise Him for ever and ever.  Amen.  This book was\nfinished in June, 1562.\n\n\n\"This date refers to the first account which the holy Mother\nTeresa of Jesus wrote of her life; it was not then divided into\nchapters.  Afterwards she made this copy, and inserted in it many\nthings which had taken place subsequent to this date, such as the\nfoundation of the monastery of St. Joseph of Avila, as in\np. 169. [19]--Fray Do Ba\u00f1es.\"\n\n\n1. Ch. xxxii. \u00a7 1.\n\n2. Ch. xxviii. \u00a7 14.\n\n3. St. Matt. v. 18: \"Iota unum aut unus apex non pr\u00e6teribit\na\u00a0lege.\"\n\n4. Ch. iv. \u00a7 10.\n\n5. \"Ecce quantum spatiatus sum in memoria mea qu\u00e6rens Te, Domine;\net non Te inveni extra eam.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.  Ex quo didici Te, manes in\nmemoria mea, et illic Te invenio cum reminiscor Tui et delector\nin Te\" (Confess. x. 24).  See Inner Fortress, Sixth Mansion,\nch.\u00a0iv.\n\n6. Ch. xx. \u00a7 26.\n\n7. Ch. xxv. \u00a7 18, ch. xxvi. \u00a7 4.  See St. John of the Cross,\nMount Carmel, bk. ii. ch.\u00a0xxii.\n\n8. \u00a7 8.\n\n9. Yepez says that the Order here spoken of is the Carmelite, and\nRibera understands the Saint to refer to that of St. Dominic.\nThe Bollandists, n. 1638-1646, on the whole, prefer the authority\nof Ribera to that of Yepez and give good reasons for their\npreference, setting aside as insufficient the testimony of Fray\nLuis of the Assumption, who says he heard himself from the\nVenerable Anne of St. Bartholomew that the Order in question is\nthe Order of our Lady of Mount Carmel.  Don Vicente, the Spanish\neditor, rejects the opinion of Ribera, on the ground that it\ncould not have been truly said of the Dominicans in the sixteenth\ncentury that the Order was in \"some degree fallen,\" for it was in\na most flourishing state.  He therefore was inclined to believe\nthat the Saint referred to the Augustinians or to the\nFranciscans.  But, after he had printed this part of his book, he\ndiscovered among the MSS. in the public library of Madrid a\nletter of Anne of St. Bartholomew, addressed to Fray Luis of the\nAssumption, in which the saintly companion of St. Teresa says\nthat the \"Order was ours.\"  Don Vicente has published the letter\nin the Appendix, p.\u00a0566.\n\n10. Job xiv. 2: \"Nunquam in eodem statu permanet.\"\n\n11. See ch. xxxvii. \u00a7\u00a7 4, 6.\n\n12. See ch. vii. \u00a7 18.\n\n13. Ch. xxx. \u00a7 10.\n\n14. Ch. xxxi. \u00a7\u00a7 16, 17.\n\n15. Ch. xxviii. \u00a7 6.\n\n16. See ch. xiv. \u00a7 12.\n\n17. This letter, which seems to have accompanied the \"Life,\" is\nprinted among the other letters of the Saint, and is addressed to\nher confessor, the Dominican friar, Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.  It is the\nfifteenth letter in the first volume of the edition of Madrid;\nbut it is not dated\u00a0there.\n\n18. Juan de Avila, commonly called the Apostle of Andalusia.\n\n19. I.e. of the MS.  See p. 337 [Transcriber's note:\nch. xxxvi. \u00a7 15] of this translation.\n\n\n\n\n\nThe\nRelations or Manifestations\nof Her\nSpiritual State\nWhich\nSt. Teresa Submitted to Her Confessors.\n\n\n\n\nThe Relations.\n\n\nRelation 1.\n\n\nSent to St. Peter of Alcantara in 1560 from the Monastery of the\nIncarnation, Avila. [1]\n\n\n1. The method of prayer I observe at present is this: when I am\nin prayer, it is very rarely that I can use the understanding,\nbecause the soul becomes at once recollected, remains in repose,\nor falls into a trance, so that I cannot in any way have the use\nof the faculties and the senses,--so much so, that the hearing\nalone is left; but then it does not help me to\nunderstand anything.\n\n2. It often happens, when I am not even thinking of the things of\nGod, but engaged in other matters, and when prayer seems to be\nbeyond my power, whatever efforts I might make, because of the\ngreat aridity I am in, bodily pains contributing thereto, that\nthis recollection or elevation of spirit comes upon me so\nsuddenly that I cannot withstand it, and the fruits and blessings\nit brings with it are in a moment mine: and this, without my\nhaving had a vision, or heard anything, or knowing where I am,\nexcept that when the soul seems to be lost I see it make great\nprogress, which I could not have made if I had laboured for a\nwhole year, so great is my gain.\n\n3. At other times certain excessive impetuosities occur,\naccompanied with a certain fainting away of the soul for God, so\nthat I have no control over myself; [2] my life seems to have\ncome to an end, and so it makes me cry out and call upon God; and\nthis comes upon me with great vehemence.  Sometimes I cannot\nremain sitting, so great is the oppression of the heart; and this\npain comes on without my doing anything to cause it, and the\nnature of it is such that my soul would be glad never to be\nwithout it while I live.  And the longings I have are longings\nnot to live; and they come on because it seems as if I must live\non without being able to find any relief, for relief comes from\nthe vision of God, which comes by death, and death is what I\ncannot take; and with all this my soul thinks that all except\nitself are filled with consolations, and that all find help in\ntheir troubles, but not itself.  The distress thus occasioned is\nso intense that, if our Lord did not relieve it by throwing it\ninto a trance, whereby all is made calm, and the soul rests in\ngreat quiet and is satisfied, now by seeing something of that\nwhich it desires, now by hearing other things, it would seem to\nbe impossible for it to be delivered from this pain.\n\n4. At other times there come upon me certain desires to serve\nGod, with a vehemence so great that I cannot describe it, and\naccompanied with a certain pain at seeing how unprofitable I am.\nIt seems to me then that there is nothing in the world, neither\ndeath, nor martyrdom, that I could not easily endure.\nThis conviction, too, is not the result of any reflection, but\ncomes in a moment.  I am wholly changed, and I know not whence\ncometh such great courage.  I think I should live to raise my\nvoice, and publish to all the world how important it is for men\nnot to be satisfied with the common way, and how great the good\nis that God will give us if we prepare ourselves to receive it.\nI say it again, these desires are such that I am melted away in\nmyself, for I seem to desire what I cannot have.  The body seems\nto me to hold me in prison, through its inability to serve God\nand my state [3] in anything; for if it were not for the body, I\nmight do very great things, so far as my strength would allow;\nand thus, because I see myself without any power whatever to\nserve God, I feel this pain in a way wholly indescribable; the\nissue is delight, recollection, and the consolation of God.\n\n5. Again, it has happened, when these longings to serve Him come\nupon me, that I wish to do penance, but I am not able.  It would\nbe a great relief to me, and it does relieve and cheer me, though\nwhat I do is almost nothing, because of my bodily weakness; and\nyet, if I were to give way to these my longings, I believe I\nshould observe no moderation.\n\n6. Sometimes, if I have to speak to any one, I am greatly\ndistressed, and I suffer so much that it makes me weep\nabundantly; for my whole desire is to be alone, and solitude\ncomforts me, though at times I neither pray nor read, and\nconversation--particularly of kindred and connections--seems\noppressive, and myself to be as a slave, except when I speak to\nthose whose conversation is of prayer and matters of the\nsoul,--in these I find comfort and joy; [4] yet these\noccasionally are too much for me, and I would rather not see\nthem, but go where I might be alone: though this is not often the\ncase, for those especially who direct my conscience always\nconsole me.\n\n7. At other times it gives me much pain that I must eat and\nsleep, and that I see I cannot forego these things, being less\nable to do so than any one.  I submit that I may serve God, and\nthus I offer up those actions to him.  Time seems to me too\nshort, and that I have not enough for my prayer, for I should\nnever be tired of being alone.  I am always wishing I had time\nfor reading, for I have been always fond of reading.  I read very\nlittle, for when I take up a book I become recollected through\nthe pleasure it gives me, and thus my reading is turned into\nprayer: and it is but rarely, for I have many occupations; and\nthough they are good, they do not give me the pleasure which\nreading would give.  And thus I am always wishing for more time,\nand everything becomes disagreeable, so I believe, because I see\nI cannot do what I wish and desire.\n\n8. All these desires, with an increase in virtue, have been given\nme by our Lord since He raised me to this prayer of quiet, and\nsent these raptures.  I find myself so improved that I look on\nmyself as being a mass of perdition before this.  These raptures\nand visions leave me in possession of the blessings I shall now\nspeak of; and I maintain that, if there be any good in me, they\nare the occasions of it.\n\n9. I have made a very strong resolution never to offend God, not\neven venially.  I would rather die a thousand deaths than do\nanything of the kind knowingly.  I am resolved never to leave\nundone anything I may consider to be the more perfect, or more\nfor the honour of our Lord, if he who has the care of my soul and\ndirects me tells me I may do it.  Cost me what pain it might, I\nwould not leave such an act undone for all the treasure of the\nworld.  If I were to do so, I do not think I could have the face\nto ask anything of God our Lord, or to make my prayer; and yet,\nfor all this, I have many faults and imperfections.  I am\nobedient to my confessor, [5] though imperfectly; but if I know\nthat he wishes or commands anything, I would not leave that\nundone, so far as I understand it; if I did so, I should think\nmyself under a grievous delusion.\n\n10. I have a longing for poverty, though not free from\nimperfection; however, I believe, if I had wealth, I would not\nreserve any revenue, nor hoard money for myself, nor do I care\nfor it; I wish to have only what is necessary.  Nevertheless, I\nfeel that I am very defective in this virtue; for, though I\ndesire nothing for myself, I should like to have something to\ngive away: still, I desire no revenue, nor anything\nfor myself. [6]\n\n11. In almost all the visions I have had, I have found good, if\nit be not a delusion of Satan; herein I submit myself to the\njudgment of my confessors.\n\n12. As to fine and beautiful things, such as water, fields,\nperfume, music, etc., I think I would rather not have them, so\ngreat is the difference between them and what I am in the habit\nof seeing, and so all pleasure in them is gone from me. [7]\nHence it is that I care not for them, unless it be at the first\nsight: they never make any further impression; to me they seem\nbut dirt.\n\n13. If I speak or converse with people in the world--for I cannot\nhelp it--even about prayer, and if the conversation be long,\nthough to pass away the time, I am under great constraint if it\nbe not necessary, for it gives me much pain.\n\n14. Amusements, of which I used to be fond, and worldly things,\nare all disagreeable to me now, and I cannot look at them.\n\n15. The longings, which I said I have, [8] of loving and serving\nand seeing God, are not helped by any reflections, as formerly,\nwhen I thought I was very devout, and shed many tears; but they\nflow out of a certain fire and heat so excessive that, I repeat\nit, if God did not relieve them by throwing me into a trance,\nwherein the soul seems to find itself satisfied, I believe my\nlife would come to an end at once.\n\n16. When I see persons making great progress, and thus resolved,\ndetached, and courageous, I love them much; and I should like to\nhave my conversation with such persons, and I think they help me\non.  People who are afraid, and seemingly cautious in those\nthings, the doing of which is perfectly reasonable here, seem to\nvex me, and drive me to pray to God and the saints to make them\nundertake such things as these which now frighten us.  Not that I\nam good for anything myself, but because I believe that God helps\nthose who, for His sake, apply themselves to great things, and\nthat He never abandons any one who puts his trust in Him only.\nAnd I should like to find any one who would help me to believe\nso, and to be without thought about food and raiment, but leave\nit all in the hands of God. [9]\n\n17. This leaving in the hands of God the supply of all I need is\nnot to be understood as excluding all labour on my part, but\nmerely solicitude--I mean, the solicitude of care.  And since I\nhave attained to this liberty, it goes well with me, and I labour\nto forget myself as much as I can.  I do not think it is a year\nago since our Lord gave me this liberty.\n\n18. Vainglory [10]--glory, be to God!--so far as I know, there is\nno reason why I should have any; for I see plainly that in these\nthings which God sends me I have no part myself; on the contrary,\nGod makes me conscious of my own wretchedness; for whatever\nreflections I might be able to make, I could never come to the\nknowledge of such deep truths as I attain to in a single rapture.\n\n19. When I speak of these things a few days after, they seem to\nme as if they had happened to another person.  Previously, I\nthought it a wrong to me that they should be known to others; but\nI see now that I am not therefore any the better, but rather\nworse, seeing that I make so little progress after receiving\nmercies so great.  And certainly, in every way, it seems to me\nthat there was not in the world anybody worse than myself; and so\nthe virtues of others seem to me much more meritorious than mine,\nand that I do nothing myself but receive graces, and that God\nmust give to others at once all that He is now giving unto me;\nand I pray Him not to reward me in this life; and so I believe\nthat God has led me along this way because I am weak and wicked.\n\n20. When I am in prayer, and even almost always when I am able to\nreflect at all, I cannot, even if I tried, pray to God for rest,\nor desire it; for I see that His life was one of suffering, and\nthat I ask Him to send me, giving me first the grace to bear it.\n\n21. Everything of this kind, and of the highest perfection, seems\nto make so deep an impression on me in prayer, that I am amazed\nat the sight of truths so great and so clear that the things of\nthe world seem to be folly; and so it is necessary for me to take\npains to reflect on the way I demeaned myself formerly in the\nthings of the world, for it seems to me folly to feel for deaths\nand the troubles of the world,--at least, that sorrow for, or\nlove of, kindred and friends should last long.  I say I have to\ntake pains when I am considering what I was, and what I used to\nfeel.\n\n22. If I see people do anything which clearly seems to be sin, I\ncannot make up my mind that they have offended God; and if I\ndwell upon this at all,--which happens rarely or never,--I never\ncan make up my mind, though I see it plainly enough.  It seems to\nme that everybody is as anxious to serve God as I am.  And herein\nGod has been very gracious unto me, for I never dwell on an evil\ndeed, to remember it afterwards and if I do remember it, I see\nsome virtue or other in that person.  In this way these things\nnever weary me, except generally: but heresies do; they distress\nme very often, and almost always when I think of them they seem\nto me to be the only trouble which should be felt.  And also I\nfeel, when I see people who used to give themselves to prayer\nfall away; this gives me pain, but not much, because I strive not\nto dwell upon it.\n\n23. I find, also, that I am improved in the matter of that\nexcessive neatness which I was wont to observe, [11] though not\nwholly delivered from it.  I do not discern that I am always\nmortified in this; sometimes, however, I do.\n\n24. All this I have described, together with a very constant\ndwelling in thought on God, is the ordinary state of my soul, so\nfar as I can understand it.  And if I must be busy about\nsomething else, without my seeking it, as I said before, [12] I\nknow not who makes me awake,--and this not always, only when I am\nbusy with things of importance; and such--glory be to God!--only\nat intervals demand my attention, and do not occupy me at\nall times.\n\n25. For some days--they are not many, however--for three, or\nfour, or five, all my good and fervent thoughts, and my visions,\nseem to be withdrawn, yea, even forgotten, so that, if I were to\nseek for it, I know of no good that can ever have been in me.  It\nseems to have been all a dream, or, at least, I can call nothing\nto mind.  Bodily pains at the same time distress me.\nMy understanding is troubled, so that I cannot think at all about\nGod, neither do I know under what law I live.  If I read\nanything, I do not understand it; I seem to be full of faults,\nand without any resolution whatever to practise virtue; and the\ngreat resolution I used to have is come to this, that I seem to\nbe unable to resist the least temptation or slander of the world.\nIt suggests itself to me then that I am good for nothing, if any\none would have me undertake more than the common duties.  I give\nway to sadness, thinking I have deceived all those who trusted me\nat all.  I should like to hide myself where nobody could see me;\nbut my desire for solitude arises from want of courage, not from\nlove of virtue.  It seems to me that I should like to dispute\nwith all who contradict me; I am under the influence of these\nimpressions, only God has been so gracious unto me, that I do not\noffend more frequently than I was wont to do, nor do I ask Him to\ndeliver me from them, but only, if it be His will I should always\nsuffer thus, to keep me from offending Him; and I submit myself\nto His will with my whole heart, and I see that it is a very\ngreat grace bestowed upon me that He does not keep me constantly\nin this state.\n\n26. One thing astonishes me; it is that, while I am in this\nstate, through a single word of those I am in the habit of\nhearing, or a single vision, or a little self-recollection,\nlasting but an Ave Maria, or through my drawing near to\ncommunicate, I find my soul and body so calm, so sound, the\nunderstanding so clear, and myself possessing all the strength\nand all the good desires I usually have.  And this I have had\nexperience of very often--at least when I go to Communion; it is\nmore than six months ago that I felt a clear improvement in my\nbodily health, [13] and that occasionally brought about through\nraptures, and I find it last sometimes more than three hours, at\nother times I am much stronger for a whole day; and I do not\nthink it is fancy, for I have considered the matter, and\nreflected on it.  Accordingly, when I am thus recollected, I fear\nno illness.  The truth is, that when I pray, as I was accustomed\nto do before, I feel no improvement.\n\n27. All these things of which I am speaking make me believe that\nit comes from God; for when I see what I once was, that I was in\nthe way of being lost, and that soon, my soul certainly is\nastonished at these things, without knowing whence these virtues\ncame to me; I did not know myself, and saw that all was a gift,\nand not the fruit of my labours.  I understand in all\ntruthfulness and sincerity, and see that I am not deluded, that\nit has been not only the means of drawing me to God in His\nservice, but of saving me also from hell.  This my confessors\nknow, who have heard my general confession.\n\n28. Also, when I see any one who knows anything about me, I wish\nto let him know my whole life, [14] because my honour seems to me\nto consist in the honour of our Lord, and I care for nothing\nelse.  This He knows well, or I am very blind; for neither\nhonour, nor life, nor praise, nor good either of body or of soul,\ncan interest me, nor do I seek or desire any advantage, only His\nglory.  I cannot believe that Satan has sought so many means of\nmaking my soul advance, in order to lose it after all.  I do not\nhold him to be so foolish.  Nor can I believe it of God, though I\nhave deserved to fall into delusions because of my sins, that He\nhas left unheeded so many prayers of so many good people for two\nyears, and I do nothing else but ask everybody to pray to our\nLord that He would show me if this be for His glory, or lead me\nby another way. [15]  I do not believe that these things would\nhave been permitted by His Majesty to be always going on if they\nwere not His work.  These considerations, and the reasons of so\nmany saintly men, give me courage when I am under the pressure of\nfear that they are not from God, I being so wicked myself.\nBut when I am in prayer, and during those days when I am in\nrepose, and my thoughts fixed on God, if all the learned and holy\nmen in the world came together and put me to, all conceivable\ntortures, and I, too, desirous of agreeing with them, they could\nnot make me believe that this is the work of Satan, for I cannot.\nAnd when they would have had me believe it, I was afraid, seeing\nwho it was that said so; and I thought that they must be saying\nwhat was true, and that I, being what I was, must have been\ndeluded.  But all they had said to me was destroyed by the first\nword, or recollection, or vision that came, and I was able to\nresist no longer, and believed it was from God. [16]\n\n29. However, I can think that Satan now and then may intermeddle\nhere, and so it is, as I have seen and said; but he produces\ndifferent results, nor can he, as it seems to me, deceive any one\npossessed of any experience.  Nevertheless, I say that, though I\ndo certainly believe this to be from God, I would never do\nanything, for any consideration whatever, that is not judged by\nhim who has the charge of my soul to be for the better service of\nour Lord, and I never had any intention but to obey without\nconcealing anything, for that is my duty.  I am very often\nrebuked for my faults, and that in such a way as to pierce me to\nthe very quick; and I am warned when there is, or when there may\nbe, any danger in what I am doing.  These rebukes and warnings\nhave done me much good, in often reminding me of my former sins,\nwhich make me exceedingly sorry.\n\n30. I have been very long, but this is the truth,--that, when I\nrise from my prayer, I see that I have received blessings which\nseem too briefly described.  Afterwards I fall into many\nimperfections, and am unprofitable and very wicked.  And perhaps\nI have no perception of what is good, but am deluded; still, the\ndifference in my life is notorious, and compels me to think over\nall I have said--I mean, that which I verily believe I have felt.\nThese are the perfections which I feel our Lord has wrought in\nme, who am so wicked and so imperfect.  I refer it all to your\njudgment, my father, for you know the whole state of my soul.\n\n\n1. Fra Anton. a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this Relation,\nusually published among the letters of the Saint, ed. Doblado,\nvol. ii. letter 11, says it was written for St. Peter of\nAlcantara when he came to Avila in 1560, at the time when the\nSaint was so severely tried by her confessors and the others who\nexamined her spirit, and were convinced that her prayer was a\ndelusion of Satan: see the Life, ch. xxv. \u00a7 18.  The following\nnotes were discovered among the papers of the Saint in the\nmonastery of the Incarnation, and are supposed to refer to this\nRelation.  The Chronicler of the Order, Fra Francis a Sancta\nMaria, is inclined to the belief that they were written by\nSt. Peter of Alcantara, to whom the Relation is addressed, and\nthe more so because Ribera does not claim them for any member of\nthe Society, notwithstanding the reference to them in \u00a7\u00a7 22,\u00a028.\n\n\"1. The end God has in view is the drawing a soul to himself;\nthat of the devil is the withdrawing it from God.  Our Lord never\ndoes anything whereby anyone may be separated from Him, and the\ndevil does nothing whereby any one may be made to draw near unto\nGod.  All the visions and the other operations in the soul of\nthis person draw her nearer unto God, and make her more humble\nand\u00a0obedient.\n\n\"2. It is the teaching of St. Thomas that an angel of light may\nbe recognised by the peace and quietness he leaves in the soul.\nShe is never visited in this way, but she afterwards abides in\npeace and joy; so much so, that all the pleasures of earth\ntogether are not comparable to one of these\u00a0visitations.\n\n\"3. She never commits a fault, nor falls into an imperfection,\nwithout being instantly rebuked by Him who speaks interiorly\nto\u00a0her.\n\n\"4. She has never prayed for nor wished for them: all she wishes\nfor is to do the will of God our Lord in all\u00a0things.\n\n\"5. Everything herein is consistent with the Scriptures and the\nteaching of the Church, and most true, according to the most\nrigorous principles of scholastic\u00a0theology.\n\n\"6. This soul is most pure and sincere, with the most fervent\ndesires of being pleasing unto God, and of trampling on every\nearthly\u00a0thing.\n\n\"7. She has been told that whatever she shall ask of God, being\ngood, she shall have.  She has asked much, and things not\nconvenient to put on paper lest it should be wearisome; all of\nwhich our Lord has\u00a0granted.\n\n\"8. When these operations are from God, they are always directed\nto the good of the recipient, to that of the community, or of\nsome other.  That she has profited by them she knows by\nexperience, and she knows it, too, of other persons\u00a0also.\n\n\"9. No one converses with her, if he be not in evil dispositions,\nwho is not moved thereby to devotion, even though she says\nnothing about\u00a0it.\n\n\"10. She is growing daily in the perfection of virtues, and\nlearns by these things the way of a higher perfection.  And thus,\nduring the whole time in which she had visions, she was making\nprogress, according to the doctrine of St.\u00a0Thomas.\n\n\"11. The spirit that speaks to her soul never tells her anything\nin the way of news, or what is unbecoming, but only that which\ntends to\u00a0edification.\n\n\"12. She has been told of some persons that they were full of\ndevils: but this was for the purpose of enabling her to\nunderstand the state of a soul which has sinned mortally against\nour\u00a0Lord.\n\n\"13. The devil's method is, when he attempts to deceive a soul,\nto advise that soul never to speak of what he says to it; but the\nspirit that speaks to this soul warns her to be open with learned\nmen, servants of our Lord, and that the devil may deceive her if\nshe should conceal anything through\u00a0shame.\n\n\"14. So great is the progress of her soul in this way, and the\nedification she ministers in the good example given, that more\nthan forty nuns in her monastery practise great\u00a0recollection.\n\n\"15. These supernatural things occur after long praying, when she\nis absorbed in God, on fire with His love, or at\u00a0Communion.\n\n\"16. They kindle in her a most earnest desire to be on the right\nroad, and to escape the delusions of\u00a0Satan.\n\n\"17. They are in her the cause of the deepest humility; she\nunderstands that what she receives comes to her from the hand of\nour Lord, and how little worth she is\u00a0herself.\n\n\"18. When they are withheld, anything that occurs is wont to pain\nand distress her; but when she is in this state, she remembers\nnothing; all she is conscious of is a great longing for\nsuffering, and so great is it that she is amazed at\u00a0it.\n\n\"19. They are to her sources of joy and consolation in her\ntroubles, when people speak ill of her, and in her\ninfirmities--and she has fearful pains about the heart,\nsicknesses, and many other afflictions, all of which leave her\nwhen she has these\u00a0visions.\n\n\"20. With all this, she undergoes great penances, fasting, the\ndiscipline, and\u00a0mortifications.\n\n\"21. All that on earth may give her any pleasure, and her trials,\nwhich are many, she bears with equal tranquillity of mind,\nwithout losing the peace and quiet of her\u00a0soul.\n\n\"22. Her resolution never to offend our Lord is so earnest that\nshe has made a vow never to leave undone what she knows herself,\nor is told by those who understand the matter better, to be the\nmore perfect.  And though she holds the members of the Society to\nbe saints, and believes that our Lord made use of them to bestow\non her graces so great, she told me that, if she knew it would be\nmore perfect to have nothing more to do with them, she would\nnever speak to them again, nor see them, notwithstanding the fact\nthat it was through them that her mind had been quieted and\ndirected in these\u00a0things.\n\n\"23. The sweetnesses she commonly receives, her sense of God, her\nlanguishing with love, are certainly marvellous, and through\nthese she is wont to be enraptured the whole day\u00a0long.\n\n\"24. She frequently falls into a trance when she hears God spoken\nof with devotion and earnestness, and cannot resist the rapture,\ndo what she can; and in that state her appearance is such that\nshe excites very great\u00a0devotion.\n\n\"25. She cannot bear to be directed by any one who will not tell\nher of her faults, and rebuke her; all that she accepts with\ngreat\u00a0humility.\n\n\"26. Moreover, she cannot endure people who are in a state of\nperfection, if they do not labour to become perfect, according to\nthe spirit of their\u00a0rule.\n\n\"27. She is most detached from her kindred, has no desire to\nconverse with people, and loves solitude.  She has a great\ndevotion to the saints, and on their feasts, and on the days on\nwhich the Church celebrates the mysteries of the faith, is filled\nwith most fervent affections for our\u00a0Lord.\n\n\"28. If all the members of the Society, and all the servants of\nGod upon earth, tell her that her state is an effect of the\noperations of Satan, or were to say so, she is in fear and\ntrembling before the visions occur; but as soon as she is in\nprayer, and recollected, she cannot be persuaded, were they to\ntear her into a thousand pieces, that it is any other than God\nwho is working in her and speaking to\u00a0her.\n\n\"29. God has given her a most wonderfully strong and valiant\nspirit: she was once timid; now she tramples on all the evil\nspirits.  She has put far away from herself all the littleness\nand silliness of women; she is singularly free from scruples, and\nmost\u00a0sincere.\n\n\"30. Besides, our Lord has given her the gift of most sweet\ntears, great compassion for her neighbours, the knowledge of her\nown faults, a great reverence for good people, and\nself-abasement; and I am certain that she has done good to many,\nof whom I am\u00a0one.\n\n\"31. She is continually reminding herself of God, and has a sense\nof His presence.  All the locutions have been verified, and every\none of them accomplished; and this is a very great\u00a0test.\n\n\"32. Her visions are a source of great clearness in her\nunderstanding, and an admirable illumination in the things\nof\u00a0God.\n\n\"33. It was said to her that she should lead those who were\ntrying her spirit to look into the Scriptures, and that they\nwould not find that any soul desirous of pleasing God had been so\nlong\u00a0deceived.\"\n\n2. See Life, ch. xxix. \u00a7\u00a7 9-13.\n\n3. De la Fuente thinks she means the religious state.\n\n4. See Life, ch. xxiv. \u00a7 8, and ch. xxxi. \u00a7 22.\n\n5. See Life, ch. xxiii. \u00a7 19.\n\n6. See Life, ch. xxxv. \u00a7 2.\n\n7. See Life, ch. ix. \u00a7 6, and ch. xiv. \u00a7 7.\n\n8. See \u00a7 3, above.\n\n9. St. Matt. vi. 31: \"Nolite ergo solliciti esse, dicentes: Quid\nmanducabimus.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. aut quo\u00a0operiemur?\"\n\n10. See Life, ch. vii. \u00a7 2.\n\n11. See Life, ch. ii. \u00a7 2.\n\n12. \u00a7 2, above.\n\n13. See Life, ch. xx. \u00a7 29.\n\n14. See Life, ch. xxxi. \u00a7 17.\n\n15. See Life, ch. xxv. \u00a7 20.\n\n16. See Life, ch. xxv. \u00a7\u00a7 18, 22.\n\n\n\nRelation II.\n\n\nTo One of Her Confessors, from the House of Do\u00f1a Luisa de la Cerda,\nin 1562. [1]\n\n\nJesus.\n\nI think it is more than a year since this was written; God has\nall this time protected me with His hand, so that I have not\nbecome worse; on the contrary, I see a great change for the\nbetter in all I have to say: may He be praised for it all!\n\n1. The visions and revelations have not ceased, but they are of a\nmuch higher kind.  Our Lord has taught me a way of prayer,\nwherein I find myself far more advanced, more detached from the\nthings of this life, more courageous, and more free. [2]  I fall\ninto a trance more frequently, for these ecstasies at times come\nupon me with great violence, and in such a way as to be outwardly\nvisible, I having no power to resist them; and even when I am\nwith others--for they come in such a way as admits of no\ndisguising them, unless it be by letting people suppose that, as\nI am subject to disease of the heart, they are fainting-fits; I\ntake great pains, however, to resist them when they are coming\non--sometimes I cannot do it.\n\n2. As to poverty, God seems to have wrought great things in me;\nfor I would willingly be without even what is necessary, unless\ngiven me as an alms; and therefore my longing is extreme that I\nmay be in such a state as to depend on alms alone for my food.\nIt seems to me that to live, when I am certain of food and\nraiment without fail, is not so complete an observance of my vow\nor of the counsel of Christ as it would be to live where no\nrevenue is possessed, and I should be in want at times; and as to\nthe blessings that come with true poverty, they seem to me to be\ngreat, and I would not miss them.  Many times do I find myself\nwith such great faith, that I do not think God will ever fail\nthose who serve Him, and without any doubt whatever that there\nis, or can be, any time in which His words are not fulfilled: I\ncannot persuade myself to the contrary, nor can I have any fear;\nand so, when they advise me to accept an endowment, I feel it\nkeenly, and betake myself unto God.\n\n3. I think I am much more compassionate towards the poor than I\nused to be, having a great pity for them and a desire to help\nthem; for if I regarded only my good will, I should give them\neven the habit I wear.  I am not fastidious with respect to them,\neven if I had to do with them or touched them with my hands,--and\nthis I now see is a gift of God; for though I used to give alms\nfor His love, I had no natural compassion.  I am conscious of a\ndistinct improvement herein.\n\n4. As to the evil speaking directed against me,--which is\nconsiderable, and highly injurious to me, and done by many,--I\nfind myself herein also very much the better.  I think that what\nthey say makes scarcely any more impression upon me than it would\nupon an idiot.  I think at times, and nearly always, that it is\njust.  I feel it so little that I see nothing in it that I might\noffer to God, as I learn by experience that my soul gains greatly\nthereby; on the contrary, the evil speaking seems to be a favour.\nAnd thus, the first time I go to prayer, I have no ill-feeling\nagainst them; the first time I hear it, it creates in me a little\nresistance, but it neither disturbs nor moves me; on the\ncontrary, when I see others occasionally disturbed, I am sorry\nfor them.  So it is, I put myself out of the question; for all\nthe wrongs of this life seem to me so light, that it is not\npossible to feel them, because I imagine myself to be dreaming,\nand see that all this will be nothing when I awake.\n\n5. God is giving me more earnest desires, a greater love of\nsolitude, a much greater detachment, as I said, with the visions;\nby these He has made me know what all that is, even if I gave up\nall the friends I have, both men and women and kindred.  This is\nthe least part of it: my kindred are rather a very great\nweariness to me; I leave them in all freedom and joy, provided it\nbe to render the least service unto God; and thus on every side I\nfind peace.\n\n6. Certain things, about which I have been warned in prayer, have\nbeen perfectly verified.  Thus, considering the graces received\nfrom God, I find myself very much better; but, considering my\nservice to Him in return, I am exceedingly worthless, for I have\nreceived greater consolation than I have given, though sometimes\nthat gives me grievous pain.  My penance is very scanty, the\nrespect shown me great, much against my own will very often. [3]\nHowever in a word, I see that I live an easy, not a penitential,\nlife; God help me, as He can!\n\n7. It is now nine months, more or less, since I wrote this with\nmine own hand; since then I have not turned my back on the graces\nwhich God has given me; I think I have received, so far as I can\nsee, a much greater liberty of late.  Hitherto I thought I had\nneed of others, and I had more reliance on worldly helps.  Now I\nclearly understand that all men are bunches of dried rosemary,\nand that there is no safety in leaning on them, for if they are\npressed by contradictions or evil speaking they break down.\nAnd so I know by experience that the only way not to fall is to\ncling to the cross, and put our trust in Him who was nailed\nthereto.  I find Him a real Friend, and with Him I find myself\nendowed with such might that, God never failing me, I think I\nshould be able to withstand the whole world if it were\nagainst me.\n\n8. Having a clear knowledge of this truth, I used to be very fond\nof being loved by others; now I do not care for that, yea,\nrather, their love seems to weary me in some measure, excepting\ntheirs who take care of my soul, or theirs to whom I think I do\ngood.  Of the former I wish to be loved, in order that they may\nbear with me; and of the latter, that they may be more inclined\nto believe me when I tell them that all is vanity.\n\n9. In the very grievous trials, persecutions, and contradictions\nof these months, [4] God gave me great courage; and the more\ngrievous they were, the greater the courage, without weariness in\nsuffering.  Not only had I no ill-feeling against those who spoke\nevil of me, but I had, I believe, conceived a deeper affection\nfor them.  I know not how it was; certainly it was a gift from\nthe hand of our Lord.\n\n10. When I desire anything, I am accustomed naturally to desire\nit with some vehemence; now my desires are so calm, that I do not\neven feel that I am pleased when I see them fulfilled. Sorrow and\njoy, excepting in that which relates to prayer, are so moderated,\nthat I seem to be without sense, and in that state I remain for\nsome days.\n\n11. The vehement longings to do penance which come, and have\ncome, upon me are great; and if I do any penance, I feel it to be\nso slight in comparison with that longing, that I regard it\nsometimes, and almost always, as a special consolation; however,\nI do but little, because of my great weakness.\n\n12. It is a very great pain to me very often, and at this moment\nmost grievous, that I must take food, particularly if I am in\nprayer.  It must be very great, for it makes me weep much, and\nspeak the language of affliction, almost without being aware of\nit, and that is what I am not in the habit of doing, for I do not\nremember that I ever did so in the very heaviest trials of my\nlife: I am not a woman in these things, for I have a hard heart.\n\n13. I feel in myself a very earnest desire, more so than usual,\nthat God may find those who will serve Him, particularly learned\nmen, in all detachment, and who will not cleave to anything of\nthis world, for I see it is all a mockery; for when I see the\ngreat needs of the Church, I look upon it as a mockery to be\ndistressed about aught else.  I do nothing but pray to God for\nsuch men, because I see that one person, who is wholly perfect in\nthe true fervour of the love of God, will do more good than many\nwho are lukewarm.\n\n14. In matters concerning the faith, my courage seems to me much\ngreater.  I think I could go forth alone by myself against the\nLutherans, and convince them of their errors.  I feel very keenly\nthe loss of so many souls.  I see many persons making great\nprogress; I see clearly it was the pleasure of God that such\nprogress should have been helped by me; and I perceive that my\nsoul, of His goodness, grows daily more and more in His love.\n\n15. I think I could not be led away by vainglory, even if I\nseriously tried, and I do not see how I could imagine any one of\nmy virtues to be mine, for it is not long since I was for many\nyears without any at all; and now so far as I am concerned, I do\nnothing but receive graces, without rendering any service in\nreturn, being the most worthless creature in the world.  And so\nit is that I consider at times how all, except myself, make\nprogress; I am good for nothing in myself.  This is not humility\nonly, but the simple truth; and the knowledge of my being so\nworthless makes me sometimes think with fear that I must be under\nsome delusion.  Thus I see clearly that all my gain has come\nthrough the revelations and the raptures, in which I am nothing\nmyself, and do no more to effect them than the canvas does for\nthe picture painted on it.  This makes me feel secure and be at\nrest; and I place myself in the hands of God, and trust my\ndesires; for I know for certain that my desires are to die for\nHim, and to lose all ease, and that whatever may happen.\n\n16. There are days wherein I remember times without number the\nwords of St. Paul, [5]--though certainly they are not true of\nme,--that I have neither life, nor speech, nor will of my own,\nbut that there is One in me by whom I am directed and made\nstrong; and I am, as it were, beside myself, and thus life is a\nvery grievous burden to me.  And the greatest oblation I make to\nGod, as the highest service on my part, is that I, when I feel it\nso painfully to be absent from Him, am willing to live on for the\nlove of Him.  I would have my life also full of great\ntribulations and persecutions; now that I am unprofitable, I\nshould like to suffer; and I would endure all the tribulations in\nthe world to gain ever so little more merit--I mean, by a more\nperfect doing of His will.\n\n17. Everything that I have learnt in prayer, though it may be two\nyears previously, I have seen fulfilled.  What I see and\nunderstand of the grandeurs of God, and of the way He has shown\nthem, is so high, that I scarcely ever begin to think of them but\nmy understanding fails me,--for I am as one that sees things far\nhigher than I can understand,--and I become recollected.\n\n18. God so keeps me from offending Him, that I am verily amazed\nat times.  I think I discern the great care He takes of me,\nwithout my taking scarcely any care at all, being as I was,\nbefore these things happened to me, a sea of wickedness and sins,\nand without a thought that I was mistress enough of myself to\nleave them undone.  And the reason why I would have this known is\nthat the great power of God might be made manifest.  Unto Him be\npraise for ever and ever!  Amen.\n\n\nJesus.\n\nThis Relation here set forth, not in my handwriting, is one that\nI gave to my confessor, and which he with his own hand copied,\nwithout adding or diminishing a word.  He was a most spiritual\nman and a theologian: I discussed the state of my soul with him,\nand he with other learned men, among whom was Father Mancio. [6]\nThey found nothing in it that is not in perfect agreement with\nthe holy writings.  This makes me calm now, though, while God is\nleading me by this way, I feel that it is necessary for me to put\nno trust whatever in myself.  And so I have always done, though\nit is painful enough.  You, my father, will be careful that all\nthis goes under the seal of confession, according to my request.\n\n\n1. Addressed, it is believed, to her confessor, F. Pedro Iba\u00f1ez.\nThis Relation corresponds with ch. xxxiv. of the Life (De\nla\u00a0Fuente).\n\n2. See Life, ch. xxvii.\n\n3. See Life, ch. xxxi. \u00a7 15.\n\n4. The Saint is supposed to refer to the troubles she endured\nduring the foundation of the monastery of St.\u00a0Joseph.\n\n5. Gal. ii. 20: \"Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in\nme\u00a0Christus.\"\n\n6. A celebrated Dominican, professor of theology in\nSalamanca\u00a0(Bouix).\n\n\n\nRelation III.\n\n\nOf Various Graces Granted to the Saint from the Year 1568 to\n1571 Inclusive.\n\n\n1. When I was in the monastery of Toledo, and some people were\nadvising me not to allow any but noble persons to be buried\nthere, [1] our Lord said to me: \"Thou wilt be very inconsistent,\nMy daughter, if thou regardest the laws of the world.  Look at\nMe, poor and despised of men: are the great people of the world\nlikely to be great in My eyes? or is it descent or virtue that is\nto make you esteemed?\"\n\n2. After Communion, the second day of Lent, in St. Joseph of\nMalagon, our Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me in an imaginary\nvision, as He is I wont to do; and when I was looking upon Him I\nsaw that He had on His head, instead of the crown of thorns, a\ncrown of great splendour, over the part where the wounds of that\ncrown must have been.  And as I have a great devotion to the\ncrowning with thorns, I was exceedingly consoled, and began to\nthink how great the pain must have been because of the many\nwounds, and to be sorrowful.  Our Lord told me not to be sad\nbecause of those wounds, but for the many wounds which men\ninflict upon Him now.  I asked Him what I could do by way of\nreparation; for I was resolved to do anything.  He replied: \"This\nis not the time for rest;\" that I must hasten on the foundations,\nfor He would take His rest with the souls which entered the\nmonasteries; that I must admit all who offered themselves,\nbecause there were many souls that did not serve Him because they\nhad no place wherein to do it; that those monasteries which were\nto be founded in small towns should be like this; that the merit\nof those in them would be as great, if they only desired to do\nthat which was done in the other houses; that I must contrive to\nput them all under the jurisdiction of one superior, [2] and take\ncare that anxieties about means of bodily maintenance did not\ndestroy interior peace, for He would help us, so that we should\nnever be in want of food.  Especial care was to be had of the\nsick sisters; the prioress who did not provide for and comfort\nthe sick was like the friends of Job: He sent them sickness for\nthe good of their souls, and careless superiors risked the\npatience of their nuns.  I was to write the history of the\nfoundation of the monasteries.  I was thinking how there was\nnothing to write about in reference to the foundation of Medina,\nwhen He asked me, what more did I want to see than that the\nfoundation there was miraculous?  By this He meant to say that He\nalone had done it, when it seemed impossible. [3]  I resolved to\nexecute His commands.\n\n3. Our Lord told me something I was to tell another, and as I was\nconsidering how I did not understand it at all,--though I prayed\nto Him, and was thinking it might be from Satan,--He said to me\nthat it was not, and that He Himself would warn me when the\ntime came.\n\n4. Once, when I was thinking how much more purely they live who\nwithdraw themselves from all business, and how ill it goes with\nme, and how many faults I must be guilty of, when I have business\nto transact, I heard this: \"It cannot be otherwise, My daughter;\nbut strive thou always after a good intention in all things, and\ndetachment; lift up thine eyes to Me, and see that all thine\nactions may resemble Mine.\"\n\n5. Thinking how it was that I scarcely ever fell into a trance of\nlate in public, I heard this: \"It is not necessary now; thou art\nsufficiently esteemed for My purpose; we are considering the\nweakness of the wicked.\"\n\n6. One Tuesday after the Ascension, [4] having prayed for awhile\nafter Communion in great distress, because I was so distracted\nthat I could fix my mind on nothing, I complained of our poor\nnature to our Lord.  The fire began to kindle in my soul, and I\nsaw, as it seemed to me, the most Holy Trinity [5] distinctly\npresent in an intellectual vision, whereby my soul understood\nthrough a certain representation, as a figure of the truth, so\nfar as my dulness could understand, how God is Three and One; and\nthus it seemed to me that all the Three Persons spoke to me, that\nThey were distinctly present in my soul, saying unto me \"that\nfrom that day forth I should see that my soul had grown better in\nthree ways, and that each one of the Three Persons had bestowed\non me a distinct grace,--in charity, in suffering joyfully, in a\nsense of that charity in my soul, accompanied with fervour.\"\nI learnt the meaning of those words of our Lord, that the Three\nDivine Persons will dwell in the soul that is in a state of\ngrace. [6]  Afterwards giving thanks to our Lord for so great a\nmercy, and finding myself utterly unworthy of it, I asked His\nMajesty with great earnestness how it was that He, after showing\nsuch mercies to me, let me go out of His hand, and allowed me to\nbecome so wicked; for on the previous day I had been in great\ndistress on account of my sins, which I had set before me.  I saw\nclearly then how much our Lord on His part had done, ever since\nmy infancy, to draw me to Himself by means most effectual, and\nyet, that all had failed.  Then I had a clear perception of the\nsurpassing love of God for us, in that He forgives us all this\nwhen we turn to Him, and for me more than for any other, for many\nreasons.  The vision of the Three Divine Persons--one God--made\nso profound an impression on my soul, that if it had continued it\nwould have been impossible for me not to be recollected in so\ndivine a company.  What I saw and heard besides is beyond my\npower to describe.\n\n7. Once, when I was about to communicate,--it was shortly before\nI had this vision,--the Host being still in the ciborium, for It\nhad not yet been given me, I saw something like a dove, which\nmoved its wings with a sound.  It disturbed me so much, and so\ncarried me away out of myself, that it was with the utmost\ndifficulty I received the Host.  All this took place in\nSt. Joseph of Avila.  It was Father Francis Salcedo who was\ngiving me the most Holy Sacrament.  Hearing Mass another day, I\nsaw our Lord glorious in the Host; He said to me that his\nsacrifice was acceptable unto Him.\n\n8. I heard this once: \"The time will come when many miracles will\nbe wrought in this church; it will be called the holy church.\"\nIt was in St. Joseph of Avila, in the year 1571.\n\n9. I retain to this day, which is the Commemoration of St. Paul,\nthe presence of the Three Persons of which I spoke in the\nbeginning; [7] they are present almost continually in my soul.\nI, being accustomed to the presence of Jesus Christ only, always\nthought that the vision of the Three Persons was in some degree a\nhindrance, though I know the Three Persons are but One God.\nTo-day, while thinking of this, our Lord said to me \"that I was\nwrong in imagining that those things which are peculiar to the\nsoul can be represented by those of the body; I was to understand\nthat they were very different, and that the soul had a capacity\nfor great fruition.\"  It seemed to me as if this were shown to me\nthus: as water penetrates and is drunk in by the sponge, so, it\nseemed to me, did the Divinity fill my soul, which in a certain\nsense had the fruition and possession of the Three Persons.  And\nI heard Him say also: \"Labour thou not to hold Me within thyself\nenclosed, but enclose thou thyself within Me.\"  It seemed to me\nthat I saw the Three Persons within my soul, and communicating\nThemselves to all creatures abundantly without ceasing to be\nwith me.\n\n10. A few days after this, thinking whether they were right who\ndisapproved of my going out to make new foundations, and whether\nit would not be better for me if I occupied myself always with\nprayer, I heard this: \"During this life, the true gain consists\nnot in striving after greater joy in Me, but in doing My will.\"\nIt seemed to me, considering what St. Paul says about women, how\nthey should stay at home, [8]--people reminded me lately of this,\nand, indeed, I had heard it before,--it might be the will of God\nI should do so too.  He said to me: \"Tell them they are not to\nfollow one part of the Scripture by itself, without looking to\nthe other parts also; perhaps, if they could, they would like to\ntie My hands.\"\n\n11. One day after the octave of the Visitation, in one of the\nhermitages of Mount Carmel, praying to God for one of my\nbrothers, I said to our Lord,--I do not know whether it was only\nin thought or not, for my brother was in a place where his\nsalvation was in peril,--\"If I saw one of Thy brethren, O Lord,\nin this danger, what would I not do to help him!\"  It seemed to\nme there was nothing that I could do which I would not have done.\nOur Lord said to me: \"O daughter, daughter! the nuns of the\nIncarnation are thy sisters, and thou holdest back.\nTake courage, then.  Behold, this is what I would have thee do:\nit is not so difficult as it seems; and though it seems to thee\nthat by going thither thy foundations will be ruined, yet it is\nby thy going that both these and the monastery of the Incarnation\nwill gain; resist not, for My power is great.\" [9]\n\n12. Once, when thinking of the great penance practised by Do\u00f1a\nCatalina de Cardona, [10] and how I might have done more,\nconsidering the desires which our Lord had given me at times, if\nit had not been for my obedience to my confessors, I asked myself\nwhether it would not be as well if I disobeyed them for the\nfuture in this matter.  Our Lord said to me: \"No, My daughter;\nthou art on the sound and safe road.  Seest thou all her penance?\nI think more of thy\u00a0obedience.\"\n\n13. Once, when I was in prayer, He showed me by a certain kind of\nintellectual vision the condition of a soul in a state of grace:\nin its company I saw by intellectual vision the most Holy\nTrinity, from whose companionship the soul derived a power which\nwas a dominion over the whole earth.  I understood the meaning of\nthose words in the Canticle: \"Let my Beloved come into His garden\nand eat.\" [11]  He showed me also the condition of a soul in sin,\nutterly powerless, like a person tied and bound and blindfold,\nwho, though anxious to see, yet cannot, being unable to walk or\nto hear, and in grievous obscurity.  I was so exceedingly sorry\nfor such souls, that, to deliver only one, any trouble seemed to\nme light.  I thought it impossible for any one who saw this as I\nsaw it,--and I can hardly explain it,--willingly to forfeit so\ngreat a good or continue in so evil a state.\n\n14. One day, in very great distress about the state of the Order,\nand casting about for means to succour it, our Lord said to me:\n\"Do thou what is in thy power, and leave Me to Myself, and be not\ndisquieted by anything; rejoice in the blessing thou hast\nreceived, for it is a very great one.  My Father is pleased with\nthee, and the Holy Ghost loves thee.\"\n\n15. \"Thou art ever desiring trials, and, on the other hand,\ndeclining them.  I order things according to what I know thy will\nis, and not according to thy sensuality and weakness.  Be strong,\nfor thou seest how I help thee; I have wished thee to gain this\ncrown. Thou shalt see the Order of the Virgin greatly advanced in\nthy days.\"  I heard this from our Lord about the middle of\nFebruary, 1571.\n\n16. On the eve of St. Sebastian, the first year of my being in\nthe monastery of the Incarnation [12] as prioress there, at the\nbeginning of the Salve, I saw the Mother of God descend with a\nmultitude of angels to the stall of the prioress, where the image\nof our Lady is, and sit there herself.  I think I did not see the\nimage then, but only our Lady.  She seemed to be like that\npicture of her which the Countess [13] gave me; but I had no time\nto ascertain this, because I fell at once into a trance.\nMultitudes of angels seemed to me to be above the canopies of the\nstalls, and on the desks in front of them; but I saw no bodily\nforms, for the vision was intellectual.  She remained there\nduring the Salve, and said to me: \"Thou hast done well to place\nme here; I will be present when the sisters sing the praises of\nmy Son, and will offer them to Him.\"  After this I remained in\nthat prayer which I still practise, and which is that of keeping\nmy soul in the company of the most Holy Trinity; and it seemed to\nme that the Person of the Father drew me to Himself, and spoke to\nme most comfortable words.  Among them were these, while showing\nhow He loved me: \"I give thee My Son, and the Holy Ghost, and the\nVirgin: what canst thou give Me?\" [14]\n\n17. On the octave of the Holy Ghost, our Lord was gracious unto\nme, and gave me hopes of this house, [15] that it would go on\nimproving--I mean the souls that are in it.\n\n18. On the feast of the Magdalene, our Lord again confirmed a\ngrace I had received in Toledo, electing me, in the absence of a\ncertain person, in her place.\n\n19. In the monastery of the Incarnation, and in the second year\nof my being prioress there, on the octave of St. Martin, when I\nwas going to Communion, the Father, Fr. John of the\nCross, [16]--divided the Host between me and another sister.\nI thought it was done, not because there was any want of Hosts,\nbut that he wished to mortify me because I had told him how much\nI delighted in Hosts of a large size.  Yet I was not ignorant\nthat the size of the Host is of no moment; for I knew that our\nLord is whole and entire in the smallest particle.  His Majesty\nsaid to me: \"Have no fear, My daughter; for no one will be able\nto separate thee from Me,\"--giving me to understand that the size\nof the Host mattered not.\n\n20. Then appearing to me, as on other occasions, in an imaginary\nvision, most interiorly, He held out His right hand and said:\n\"Behold this nail! it is the pledge of thy being My bride from\nthis day forth.  Until now thou hadst not merited it; from\nhenceforth thou shalt regard My honour, not only as of one who is\nThy Creator, King, and God, but as thine, My veritable bride; My\nhonour is thine, and thine is Mine.\"  This grace had such an\neffect on me, that I could not contain myself: I became as one\nthat is foolish, and said to our Lord: \"Either ennoble my\nvileness or cease to bestow such mercies on me, for certainly I\ndo not think that nature can bear them.\"  I remained thus the\nwhole day, as one utterly beside herself.  Afterwards I became\nconscious of great progress, and greater shame and distress to\nsee that I did nothing in return for graces so great.\n\n21. Our Lord said this to me one day: \"Thinkest thou, My\ndaughter, that meriting lies in fruition? No; merit lies only in\ndoing, in suffering, and in loving.  You never heard that\nSt. Paul had the fruition of heavenly joys more than once; while\nhe was often in sufferings. [17]  Thou seest how My whole life\nwas full of dolors, and only on Mount Tabor hast thou heard of Me\nin glory. [18]  Do not suppose, when thou seest My Mother hold Me\nin her arms, that she had that joy unmixed with heavy sorrows.\nFrom the time that Simeon spoke to her, My Father made her see in\nclear light all I had to suffer.  The grand Saints of the desert,\nas they were led by God, so also did they undergo heavy penances;\nbesides, they waged serious war with the devil and with\nthemselves, and much of their time passed away without any\nspiritual consolation whatever.  Believe Me, My daughter, his\ntrials are the heaviest whom My Father loves most; trials are the\nmeasure of His love.  How can I show My love for thee better than\nby desiring for thee what I desired for Myself?  Consider My\nwounds; thy pains will never reach to them.  This is the way of\ntruth; thus shalt thou help Me to weep over the ruin of those who\nare in the world, for thou knowest how all their desires,\nanxieties, and thoughts tend the other way.\"  When I began my\nprayer that day, my headache was so violent that I thought I\ncould not possibly go on.  Our Lord said to me: \"Behold now, the\nreward of suffering.  As thou, on account of thy health, wert\nunable to speak to Me, I spoke to thee and comforted thee.\"\nCertainly, so it was; for the time of my recollection lasted\nabout an hour and a half, more or less.  It was then that He\nspoke to me the words I have just related, together with all the\nothers.  I was not able to distract myself, neither knew I where\nI was; my joy was so great as to be indescribable; my headache\nwas gone, and I was amazed, and I had a longing for suffering.\nHe also told me to keep in mind the words He said to His\nApostles: \"The servant is not greater than his Lord.\" [19]\n\n\n1. Alonzo Ramirez wished to have the right of burial in the new\nmonastery, but the nobles of Toledo looked on his request as\nunreasonable.  See Foundations, chs. xv. and xvi.\n\n2. See Way of Perfection, ch. viii.; but ch. v. of the\nprevious editions.\n\n3. See Book of the Foundations, ch. iii.\n\n4. In the copy kept in Toledo, the day is Tuesday after the\nAssumption (De la Fuente).\n\n5. Ch. xxvii. \u00a7 10.\n\n6. St. John xiv. 23: \"Ad eum veniemus, et mansionem apud\neum\u00a0faciemus.\"\n\n7. See \u00a7 6.\n\n8. Titus ii. 5: \"Sobrias, domus curam habentes.\"\n\n9. This took place in 1571, when the Saint had been appointed\nprioress of the monastery of the Incarnation at Avila; the very\nhouse she had left in order to found that of St. Joseph, to keep\nthe rule in its\u00a0integrity.\n\n10. See Book of the Foundations, ch. xxviii.\n\n11. Cant. v. 1: \"Veniat dilectus meus in hortum suum,\net\u00a0comedat.\"\n\n12. A.D. 1572.\n\n13. Maria de Velasco y Aragon, Countess of Osorno (Ribera,\nlib. iii. c.\u00a01).\n\n14. See Relation iv. \u00a7 2.\n\n15. The monastery of the Incarnation, Avila (De la Fuente).\n\n16. St. John of the Cross, at the instance of the Saint, was sent\nto Avila, with another father of the reformed Carmelites, to be\nconfessor of the nuns of the Incarnation, who then disliked the\nobservance of the primitive\u00a0rule.\n\n17. 2 Cor. xi. 27: \"In labore et \u00e6rumna, in vigiliis\u00a0multis.\"\n\n18. St. Matt. xvii. 2: \"Et transfiguratus est ante eos.\"\n\n19. St. John xiii. 16: \"Non est servus major domino suo.\"\n\n\n\nRelation IV.\n\n\nOf the Graces the Saint Received in Salamanca at the End of\nLent, 1571.\n\n\n1. I found myself the whole of yesterday in great desolation,\nand, except at Communion, did not feel that it was the day of the\nResurrection.  Last night, being with the community, I heard\none [1] of them singing how hard it is to be living away from\nGod.  As I was then suffering, the effect of that singing on me\nwas such that a numbness began in my hands, and no efforts of\nmine could hinder it; but as I go out of myself in raptures of\njoy, so then my soul was thrown into a trance through the\nexcessive pain, and remained entranced; and until this day I had\nnot felt this.  A few days previously I thought that the vehement\nimpulses were not so great as they used to be, and now it seems\nto be that the reason is what I have described; I know not if it\nis so.  Hitherto the pain had not gone so far as to make me\nbeside myself; and as it is so unendurable, and as I retained the\ncontrol of my senses, it made me utter loud cries beyond my power\nto restrain.  Now that it has grown, it has reached this point of\npiercing me; and I understand more of that piercing which our\nLady suffered; for until to-day, as I have just said, I never\nknew what that piercing was.  My body was so bruised, that I\nsuffer even now when I am writing this; for my hands are as if\nthe joints were loosed, and in pain. [2]  You, my father, will\ntell me when you see me whether this trance be the effect of\nsuffering, or whether I felt it, or whether I am deceived.\n\n2. I was in this great pain till this morning; and, being in\nprayer, I fell into a profound trance; and it seemed to me that\nour Lord had taken me up in spirit to His Father, and said to\nHim: \"Whom Thou hast given to Me, I give to Thee;\" [3] and He\nseemed to draw me near to Himself.  This is not an imaginary\nvision, but one most certain, and so spiritually subtile that it\ncannot be explained.  He spoke certain words to me which I do not\nremember.  Some of them referred to His grace, which He bestows\non me.  He kept me by Him for some time.\n\n3. As you, my father, went away yesterday so soon, and I consider\nthe many affairs which detain you, so that it is impossible for\nme to have recourse to you for comfort even when necessary,--for\nI see that your occupations are most urgent,--I was for some time\nin pain and sadness.  As I was then in desolation,--as I said\nbefore,--that helped me; and as nothing on earth, I thought, had\nany attractions for me, I had a scruple, and feared I was\nbeginning to lose that liberty.  This took place last night; and\nto-day our Lord answered my doubt, and said to me \"that I was not\nto be surprised; for as men seek for companions with whom they\nmay speak of their sensual satisfactions, so the soul--when there\nis any one who understands it--seeks those to whom it may\ncommunicate its pleasures and its pains, and is sad and mourns\nwhen it can find none.\"  He said to me: \"Thou art prosperous now,\nand thy works please Me.\"  As He remained with me for some time,\nI remembered that I had told you, my father, that these visions\npass quickly away; He said to me \"that there was a difference\nbetween these and the imaginary visions, and that there could not\nbe an invariable law concerning the graces He bestowed on us; for\nit was expedient to give them now in one way, now in another.\"\n\n4. After Communion, I saw our Lord most distinctly close beside\nme; and He began to comfort me with great sweetness, and said to\nme, among other things: \"Thou beholdest Me present, My\ndaughter,--it is I.  Show me thy hands.\"  And to me He seemed to\ntake them and to put them to His side, and said: \"Behold My\nwounds; thou art not without Me.  Finish the short course of thy\nlife.\"  By some things He said to me, I understood that, after\nHis Ascension, He never came down to the earth except in the most\nHoly Sacrament to communicate Himself to any one.  He said to me,\nthat when He rose again He showed Himself to our Lady, because\nshe was in great trouble; for sorrow had so pierced her soul that\nshe did not even recover herself at once in order to have the\nfruition of that joy.  By this I saw how different was my\npiercing. [4]  But what must that of the Virgin have been?\nHe remained long with her then because it was necessary to\nconsole her.\n\n5. On Palm Sunday, at Communion, I was in a deep trance,--so much\nso, that I was not able even to swallow the Host; and, still\nhaving It in my mouth, when I had come a little to myself, I\nverily believed that my mouth was all filled with Blood; and my\nface and my whole body seemed to be covered with It, as if our\nLord had been shedding It at that moment.  I thought It was warm,\nand the sweetness I then felt was exceedingly great; and our Lord\nsaid to me: \"Daughter, My will is that My Blood should profit\nthee; and be not thou afraid that My compassion will fail thee.\nI shed It in much suffering, and, as thou seest, thou hast the\nfruition of It in great joy.  I reward thee well for the pleasure\nthou gavest me to-day.\"  He said this because I have been in the\nhabit of going to Communion, if possible, on this day for more\nthan thirty years, and of labouring to prepare my soul to be the\nhost of our Lord; for I considered the cruelty of the Jews to be\nvery great, after giving Him so grand a reception, in letting Him\ngo so far for supper; and I used to picture Him as remaining with\nme, and truly in a poor lodging, as I see now.  And thus I used\nto have such foolish thoughts--they must have been acceptable to\nour Lord, for this was one of the visions which I regard as most\ncertain; and, accordingly it has been a great blessing to me in\nthe matter of Communion.\n\n6. Previous to this, I had been, I believe, for three days in\nthat great pain, which I feel sometimes more than at others,\nbecause I am away from God; and during those days it had been\nvery great, and seemingly more than I could bear.  Being thus\nexceedingly wearied by it, I saw it was late to take my\ncollation, nor could I do so,--for if I do not take it a little\nearlier, it occasions great weakness because of my sickness; and\nthen, doing violence to myself, I took up some bread to prepare\nfor collation, and on the instant Christ appeared, and seemed to\nbe breaking the bread and putting it into my mouth.  He said to\nme: \"Eat, My daughter, and bear it as well as thou canst.\nI condole with thee in thy suffering; but it is good for thee\nnow.\" My pain was gone, and I was comforted; for He seemed to be\nreally with me then, and the whole of the next day; and with this\nmy desires were then satisfied.  The word \"condole\" made me\nstrong; for now I do not think I am suffering at all.\n\n\n1. Isabel of Jesus, born in Segovia, and whose family name was\nJimena, told Ribera (vide lib. iv. c. v.) that she was the\nsinger, being then a novice in\u00a0Salamanca.\n\n2. See Fortress of the Soul, vi. ch. xi.\n\n3. See Relation, iii. \u00a7 16.\n\n4. See above, \u00a7 1.\n\n\n\nRelation V.\n\n\nObservations on Certain Points of Spirituality.\n\n\n1. \"What is it that distresses thee, little sinner?  Am I not thy\nGod?  Dost thou not see how ill I am treated here?  If thou\nlovest Me, why art thou not sorry for Me?  Daughter, light is\nvery different from darkness.  I am faithful; no one will be lost\nwithout knowing it.  He must be deceiving himself who relies on\nspiritual sweetnesses; the true safety lies in the witness of a\ngood conscience. [1]  But let no one think that of himself he can\nabide in the light, any more than he can hinder the natural night\nfrom coming on; for that depends on My grace.  The best means he\ncan have for retaining the light is the conviction in his soul\nthat he can do nothing of himself, and that it comes from Me;\nfor, even if he were in the light, the instant I withdraw, night\nwill come.  True humility is this: the soul's knowing what itself\ncan do, and what I can do.  Do not neglect to write down the\ncounsels I give thee, that thou mayest not forget them.\nThou seekest to have the counsels of men in writing; why, then,\nthinkest thou that thou art wasting time in writing down those I\ngive thee?  The time will come when thou shalt require them all.\"\n\nOn Union.\n\n2. \"Do not suppose, My daughter, that to be near to Me is union;\nfor they who sin against Me are near Me, though they do not wish\nit.  Nor is union the joys and comforts of union, [2] though they\nbe of the very highest kind, and though they come from Me.\nThese very often are means of winning souls, even if they are not\nin a state of grace.\"  When I heard this, I was in a high degree\nlifted up in spirit.  Our Lord showed me what the spirit was, and\nwhat the state of the soul was then, and the meaning of those\nwords of the Magnificat, \"Exultavit spiritus meus.\"  He showed me\nthat the spirit was the higher part of the will.\n\n3. To return to union; I understood it to be a spirit, pure and\nraised up above all the things of earth, with nothing remaining\nin it that would swerve from the will of God, being a spirit and\na will resigned to His will, and in detachment from all things,\noccupied in God in such a way as to leave no trace of any love of\nself, or of any created thing whatever. [3]  Thereupon, I\nconsidered that, if this be union, it comes to this, that, as my\nsoul is always abiding in this resolution, we can say of it that\nit is always in this prayer of union: and yet it is true that the\nunion lasts but a very short time.  It was suggested to me that,\nas to living in justice, meriting and making progress, it will be\nso; but it cannot be said that the soul is in union as it is when\nin contemplation; and I thought I understood, yet not by words\nheard, that the dust of our wretchedness, faults, and\nimperfections, wherein we bury ourselves, is so great, that it is\nnot possible to live in such pureness as the spirit is in when in\nunion with God, raised up and out of our wretched misery.  And I\nthink, if it be union to have our will and spirit in union with\nthe will and Spirit of God, that it is not possible for any one\nnot in a state of grace to attain thereto; and I have been told\nso.  Accordingly, I believe it is very difficult to know when the\nsoul is in union; to have that knowledge is a special grace of\nGod, because nobody can tell whether he is in a state of grace\nor not. [4]\n\n4. You will show me in writing, my father, what you think of\nthis, and how I am in the wrong, and send me this paper back.\n\n5. I had read in a book that it was an imperfection to possess\npictures well painted,--and I would not, therefore, retain in my\ncell one that I had; and also, before I had read this, I thought\nthat it was poverty to possess none, except those made of\npaper,--and, as I read this afterwards, I would not have any of\nany other material.  I learnt from our Lord, when I was not\nthinking at all about this, what I am going to say: \"that this\nmortification was not right.  Which is better, poverty or\ncharity?  But as love was the better, whatever kindled love in\nme, that I must not give up, nor take away from my nuns; for the\nbook spoke of much adorning and curious devices--not of\npictures. [5]  What Satan was doing among the Lutherans was the\ntaking away from them all those means by which their love might\nbe the more quickened; and thus they were going to perdition.\nThose who are loyal to Me, My daughter, must now, more than ever,\ndo the very reverse of what they do.\"  I understood that I was\nunder great obligations to serve our Lady and St. Joseph,\nbecause, when I was utterly lost, God, through their prayers,\ncame and saved me.\n\n6. One day, after the feast of St. Matthew, [6] I was as is usual\nwith me, after seeing in a vision the most Holy Trinity, and how\nIt is present in a soul in a state of grace. [7]  I understood\nthe mystery most clearly, in such a way that, after a certain\nfashion and comparisons, I saw It in an imaginary vision.\nAnd though at other times I have seen the most Holy Trinity in an\nintellectual vision, for some days after the truth of it did not\nrest with me,--as it does now,--I mean, so that I could dwell\nupon it.  I see now that it is just as learned men told me; and I\ndid not understand it as I do now, though I believed them without\nthe least hesitation; for I never had any temptations against\nthe faith.\n\n7. It seems to us ignorant women that the Persons of the most\nHoly Trinity are all Three, as we see Them painted, in one\nPerson, after the manner of those pictures, which represent a\nbody with three faces; and thus it causes such astonishment in us\nthat we look on it as impossible, and so there is nobody who\ndares to think of it; for the understanding is perplexed, is\nafraid it may come to doubt the truth, and that robs us of a\ngreat blessing.\n\n8. What I have seen is this: Three distinct Persons each one by\nHimself visible, and by Himself speaking. [8]  And afterwards I\nhave been thinking that the Son alone took human flesh, whereby\nthis truth is known.  The Persons love, communicate, and know\nThemselves.  Then, if each one is by Himself, how can we say that\nthe Three are one Essence, and so believe?  That is a most deep\ntruth, and I would die for it a thousand times.  In the Three\nPersons there is but one will and one power and one might;\nneither can One be without Another: so that of all created things\nthere is but one sole Creator.  Could the Son create an ant\nwithout the Father?  No; because the power is all one.  The same\nis to be said of the Holy Ghost.  Thus, there is one God\nAlmighty, and the Three Persons are one Majesty.  Is it possible\nto love the Father without loving the Son and the Holy Ghost?\nNo; for he who shall please One of the Three pleases the Three\nPersons; and he who shall offend One offends All.  Can the Father\nbe without the Son and without the Holy Ghost?  No; for They are\none substance, and where One is there are the Three; for they\ncannot be divided.  How, then, is it that we see the Three\nPersons distinct? and how is it that the Son, not the Father, nor\nthe Holy Ghost, took human flesh?  This is what I have never\nunderstood; theologians know it.  I know well that the Three were\nthere when that marvellous work was done, and I do not busy\nmyself with much thinking thereon.  All my thinking thereon comes\nat once to this: that I see God is almighty, that He has done\nwhat He would, and so can do what He will.  The less I understand\nit, the more I believe it, and the greater the devotion it\nexcites in me.  May He be blessed for ever!  Amen.\n\n9. If our Lord had not been so gracious with me as He has been, I\ndo not think I should have had the courage to do what has been\ndone, nor strength to undergo the labours endured, with the\ncontradictions and the opinions of men.  And accordingly, since\nthe beginning of the foundations, I have lost the fears I\nformerly had, thinking that I was under delusions,--and I had a\nconviction that it was the work of God: having this, I ventured\nupon difficult things, though always with advice and under\nobedience.  I see in this that when our Lord willed to make a\nbeginning of the Order, and of His mercy made use of me, His\nMajesty had to supply all that I was deficient in, which was\neverything, in order that the work might be effected, and that\nHis greatness might be the more clearly revealed in one\nso wicked.\n\n10. Antiochus was unendurable to himself, and to those who were\nabout him, because of the stench of his many sins. [9]\n\n11. Confession is for faults and sins, and not for virtues, nor\nfor anything of the kind relating to prayer.  These things are to\nbe treated of out of confession with one who understands the\nmatter,--and let the prioress see to this; and the nun must\nexplain the straits she is in, in order that the proper helps may\nbe found for her; for Cassian says that he who does not know the\nfact, as well as he who has never seen or learnt, that men can\nswim, will think, when he sees people throw themselves into the\nriver, that they will all be drowned. [10]\n\n12. Our Lord would have Joseph tell the vision to his brethren,\nand have it known, though it was to cost Joseph so much.\n\n13. How the soul has a sense of fear when God is about to bestow\nany great grace upon it; that sense is the worship of the spirit,\nas that of the four [11] elders spoken of in Scripture.\n\n14. How, when the faculties are suspended, it is to be understood\nthat certain matters are suggested to the soul, to be by it\nrecommended to God; that an angel suggests them, of whom it is\nsaid in the Scriptures that he was burning incense and offering\nup the prayers of the saints. [12]\n\n15. How there are no sins where there is no knowledge; and thus\nour Lord did not permit the king to sin with the wife of\nAbraham, for he thought that she was his sister, not his wife.\n\n\n1. 2 Cor. i. 12: \"Gloria nostra h\u00e6c est, testimonium\nconscienti\u00e6\u00a0nostr\u00e6.\"\n\n2. See St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. v.\n\n3. See Foundations, ch. v. \u00a7 10.\n\n4. Eccl. ix. 1: \"Nescit homo utrum amore an odio dignus\u00a0sit.\"\n\n5. See St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. iii. ch.\u00a0xxxiv.\n\n6. The \u00a7\u00a7 6, 7, and 8 are the thirteenth letter of the second\nvolume, ed.\u00a0Doblado.\n\n7. See Relation iii. \u00a7 13.\n\n8. Anton. a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this passage, is\nanxious to save the Thomist doctrine that one of the Divine\nPersons cannot be seen without the other, and so he says that the\nSaint speaks of the Three Persons as she saw Them--not as They\nare in\u00a0Themselves.\n\n9. 2 Maccab. ix. 10, 12: \"Eum nemo poterat propter intolerantiam\nfoetoris portare,\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. nec ipse jam foetorem suum\nferre\u00a0posset.\"\n\n10. Cassian, Collat. vii. cap. iv. p. 311: \"Nec enim si quis\nignarus natandi, sciens pondus corporis sui ferre aquarum\nliquorem non posse, experimento su\u00e6 voluerit imperiti\u00e6 definire,\nneminem penitus posse liquidis elementis solida carne\ncircumdatum\u00a0sustineri.\"\n\n11. Anton. a Sancto Joseph says that the Saint meant to write\nfour-and-twenty, in allusion to\u00a0Apoc. iv. 4.\n\n12. Apoc. viii. 4.\n\n\n\nRelation VI.\n\n\nThe Vow of Obedience to Father Gratian Which the Saint Made\nin 1575.\n\n\n1. In the year 1575, in the month of April, when I was founding\nthe monastery of Veas, Fra Jerome of the Mother of God Gratian\nhappened to come thither. [1]  I began to go to confession to him\nfrom time to time, though not looking upon him as filling the\nplace of the other confessors I had, so as to be wholly directed\nby him.  One day, when I was taking food, but without any\ninterior recollection whatever, my soul began to be recollected\nin such a way that I thought I must fall into a trance; and I had\na vision, that passed away with the usual swiftness, like a\nmeteor.  I seemed to see close beside me Jesus Christ our Lord,\nin the form wherein His Majesty is wont to reveal Himself, with\nF. Gratian on His right.  Our Lord took his right hand and mine,\nand, joining them together, said to me that He would have me\naccept him in His place for my whole life, and that we were both\nto have one mind in all things, for so it was fitting.  I was\nprofoundly convinced that this was the work of God, though I\nremembered with regret two of my confessors whom I frequented in\nturn for a long time, and to whom I owed much; that one for whom\nI have a great affection especially caused a terrible resistance.\nNevertheless, not being able to persuade myself that the vision\nwas a delusion, because it had a great power and influence over\nme, and also because it was said to me on two other occasions\nthat I was not to be afraid, that He wished this,--the words were\ndifferent,--I made up my mind at last to act upon them,\nunderstanding it to be our Lord's will, and to follow that\ncounsel so long as I should live.  I had never before so acted\nwith any one, though I had consulted many persons of great\nlearning and holiness, and who watched over my soul with great\ncare,--but neither had I received any such direction as that I\nshould make no change; for as to my confessors, of some I\nunderstood that they would be profitable to me, and so also\nof these.\n\n2. When I had resolved on this, I found myself in peace and\ncomfort so great that I was amazed, and assured of our Lord's\nwill; for I do not think that Satan could fill the soul with\npeace and comfort such as this: and so, whenever I think of it, I\npraise our Lord, and remember the words, \"posuit fines tuos\npacem,\" [2] and I wish I could wear myself out in the praises\nof God.\n\n3. It must have been about a month after this my resolve was\nmade, on the second day after Pentecost, when I was going to\nfound the monastery in Seville, that we heard Mass in a hermitage\nin Ecija, and rested there during the hottest part of the day.\nThose who were with me remained in the hermitage while I was by\nmyself in the sacristy belonging to it.  I began to think of one\ngreat grace which I received of the Holy Ghost, on one of the\nvigils of His feast, [3] and a great desire arose within me of\ndoing Him some most special service, and I found nothing that was\nnot already done,--at least, resolved upon,--for all I do must be\nfaulty; and I remembered that, though I had already made a vow of\nobedience, it might be made in greater perfection, and I had an\nimpression it would be pleasing unto Him if I promised that which\nI was already resolved upon, to live under obedience to the\nFather-Master, Fr. Jerome.  On the other hand, I seemed to be\ndoing nothing, because I was already bent on doing it; on the\nother hand, it would be a very serious thing, considering that\nour interior state is not made known to the superiors who receive\nour vows, and that they change, and that, if one is not doing his\nwork well, another comes in his place; and I believed I should\nhave none of my liberty all my life long, either outwardly or\ninwardly, and this constrained me greatly to abstain from making\nthe vow.  This repugnance of the will made me ashamed, and I saw\nthat, now I had something I could do for God, I was not doing it;\nit was a sad thing for my resolution to serve Him.  The fact is,\nthat the objection so pressed me, that I do not think I ever did\nanything in my life that was so hard--not even my\nprofession--unless it be that of my leaving my father's house to\nbecome a nun. [4]  The reason of this was that I had forgotten my\naffection for him, and his gifts for directing me; yea, rather, I\nwas looking on it then as a strange thing, which has surprised\nme; feeling nothing but a great fear whether the vow would be for\nthe service of God or not: and my natural self--which is fond of\nliberty--must have been doing its work, though for years now I\nhave no pleasure in it.  But it seemed to me a far other matter\nto give up that liberty by a vow, as in truth it is.  After a\nprotracted struggle, our Lord gave me great confidence; and I saw\nit was the better course, the more I felt about it: if I made\nthis promise in honour of the Holy Ghost, He would be bound to\ngive him light for the direction of my soul; and I remembered at\nthe same time that our Lord had given him to me as my guide.\nThereupon I fell upon my knees, and, to render this tribute of\nservice to the Holy Ghost, made a promise to do whatever he\nshould bid me do while I lived, provided nothing were required of\nme contrary to the law of God and the commands of superiors whom\nI am more bound to obey.  I adverted to this, that the obligation\ndid not extend to things of little importance,--as if I were to\nbe importunate with him about anything, and he bade me cease, and\nI neglected his advice and repeated my request,--nor to things\nrelating to my convenience.  In a word, his commands were not to\nbe about trifles, done without reflection; and I was not\nknowingly to conceal from him my faults and sins, or my interior\nstate; and this, too, is more than we allow to superiors.  In a\nword, I promised to regard him as in the place of God, outwardly\nand inwardly.  I know not if it be so, but I seemed to have done\na great thing in honour of the Holy Ghost--at least, it was all I\ncould do, and very little it was in comparison with what I\nowe Him.\n\n4. I give God thanks, who has created one capable of this work: I\nhave the greatest confidence that His Majesty will bestow on him\ngreat graces; and I myself am so happy and joyous, that I seem to\nbe in every way free from myself; and though I thought that my\nobedience would be a burden, I have attained to the\ngreatest freedom.  May our Lord be praised for ever!\n\n\n1. See Foundations, ch. xxii.\n\n2. Psalm cxlvii. 14: \"He hath made thy borders peace.\"\n\n3. Perhaps the Saint refers to what she has written in her Life,\nch. xxxviii. \u00a7\u00a7 11, 12.\n\n4. Life, ch. iv. \u00a7 1.\n\n\n\nRelation VII.\n\n\nMade for Rodrigo Alvarez, S.J., in the Year 1575, According to\nDon Vicente de la Fuente; but in 1576, According to the\nBollandists and F. Bouix.\n\n\n1. This nun took the habit forty years ago, and from the first\nbegan to reflect on the mysteries of the Passion of Christ our\nLord, and on her own sins, for some time every day, without\nthinking at all of anything supernatural, but only of created\nthings, or of such subjects as suggested to her how soon the end\nof all things must come, discerning in creatures the greatness of\nGod and His love for us.\n\n2. This made her much more willing to serve Him: she was never\nunder the influence of fear, and made no account of it, but had\nalways a great desire to see God honoured, and His glory\nincreased.  To that end were all her prayers directed, without\nmaking any for herself; for she thought that it mattered little\nif she had to suffer in purgatory in exchange for the increase of\nHis glory even in the slightest degree.\n\n3. In this she spent about two-and-twenty years in great\naridities, and never did it enter into her thoughts to desire\nanything else; for she regarded herself as one who, she thought,\ndid not deserve even to think about God, except that His Majesty\nwas very merciful to her in allowing her to remain in His\npresence, saying her prayers, reading also in good books.\n\n4. It must be about eighteen years since she began to arrange\nabout the first monastery of Barefooted Carmelites which she\nfounded.  It was in Avila, three or two years before,--I believe\nit is three,--she began to think that she occasionally heard\ninterior locutions, and had visions and revelations interiorly.\nShe saw with the eyes of the soul, for she never saw anything\nwith her bodily eyes, nor heard anything with her bodily ears;\ntwice, she thinks, she heard a voice, but she understood not what\nwas said.  It was a sort of making things present when she saw\nthese things interiorly; they passed away like a meteor most\nfrequently.  The vision, however, remained so impressed on her\nmind, and produced such effects, that it was as if she saw those\nthings with her bodily eyes, and more.\n\n5. She was then by nature so very timid, that she would not dare\nto be alone even by day, at times.  And as she could not escape\nfrom these visitations, though she tried with all her might, she\nwent about in very great distress, afraid that it was a delusion\nof Satan, and began to consult spiritual men of the Society of\nJesus about it, among whom were Father Araoz, who was Commissary\nof the Society, and who happened to go to that place, and Father\nFrancis, who was Duke of Gandia,--him she consulted twice; [1]\nalso a Provincial, now in Rome, called Gil Gonzalez, and him also\nwho is now Provincial of Castille,--this latter, however, not so\noften,--Father Baltasar Alvarez who is now Rector in Salamanca;\nand he heard her confession for six years at this time; also the\npresent Rector of Cuenca, Salazar by name; the Rector of Segovia,\ncalled Santander; the Rector of Burgos, whose name is\nRipalda,--and he thought very ill of her when he heard of these\nthings, till after he had conversed with her; the Doctor Paul\nHernandez in Toledo, who was a Consultor of the Inquisition, him\nwho was Rector in Salamanca when she talked to him; the Doctor\nGutierrez, and other fathers, some of the Society, whom she knew\nto be spiritual men, these she sought out, if any were in those\nplaces where she went to found monasteries.\n\n6. With the Father Fra Peter of Alcantara, who was a holy man of\nthe Barefooted Friars of St. Francis, she had many\ncommunications, and he it was who insisted so much upon it that\nher spirit should be regarded as good.  They were more than six\nyears trying her spirit minutely, as it is already described at\nvery great length, [2] as will be shown hereafter: and she\nherself in tears and deep affliction; for the more they tried\nher, the more she fell into raptures, and into trances very\noften,--not, however, deprived of her senses.\n\n7. Many prayers were made, and many Masses were said, that our\nLord would lead her by another way, [3] for her fear was very\ngreat when she was not in prayer; though in everything relating\nto the state of her soul she was very much better, and a great\ndifference was visible, there was no vainglory, nor had she any\ntemptation thereto, nor to pride; on the contrary, she was very\nmuch ashamed and confounded when she saw that people knew of her\nstate, and except with her confessors or any one who would give\nher light, she never spoke of these things, and it was more\npainful to speak of them than if they had been grave sins; for it\nseemed to her that people must laugh at her, [4] and that these\nthings were womanish imaginations, which she had always heard of\nwith disgust.\n\n8. About thirteen years ago, more or less, after the house of\nSt. Joseph was founded, into which she had gone from the other\nmonastery, came the present Bishop of Salamanca, Inquisitor, I\nthink, of Toledo, previously of Seville, Soto by name. [5]  She\ncontrived to have a conference with him for her greater security,\nand told him everything.  He replied, that there was nothing in\nall this that concerned his office, because everything that she\nsaw and heard confirmed her the more in the Catholic faith, in\nwhich she always was, and is, firm, with most earnest desires for\nthe honour of God and the good of souls, willing to suffer death\nmany times for one of them.\n\n9. He told her, when he saw how distressed she was, to give an\naccount of it all, and of her whole life, without omitting\nanything, to the Master Avila, who was a man of great learning in\nthe way of prayer, and to rest content with the answer he should\ngive.  She did so, and described her sins and her life.  He wrote\nto her and comforted her, giving her great security.  The account\nI gave was such that all those learned men who saw it--they were\nmy confessors--said that it was very profitable for instruction\nin spiritual things; and they commanded her to make copies of it,\nand write another little book [6] for her daughters,--she was\nprioress,--wherein she might give them some instructions.\n\n10. Notwithstanding all this, she was not without fears at times,\nfor she thought that spiritual men also might be deceived like\nherself.  She told her confessor that he might discuss these\nthings with certain learned men, though they were not much given\nto prayer, for she had no other desire but that of knowing\nwhether what she experienced was in conformity with the sacred\nwritings or not.  Now and then she took comfort in thinking\nthat--though she herself, because of her sins, deserved to fall\ninto delusions--our Lord would not suffer so many good men,\nanxious to give her light, to be led into error.\n\n11. Having this in view, she began to communicate with fathers of\nthe Order of the glorious St. Dominic, to which, before these\nthings took place, she had been to confession--she does not say\nto them, but to the Order. [7]  These are they with whom she\nafterwards had relations.  The Father Fra Vicente Barron, at that\ntime Consultor of the Holy Office, heard her confessions for\neighteen months in Toledo, and he had done so very many years\nbefore these things began.  He was a very learned man.\nHe reassured her greatly, as did also the fathers of the Society\nspoken of before.  All used to say, If she does not sin against\nGod, and acknowledges her own misery, what has she to be afraid\nof?  She confessed to the Father Fra Pedro Iba\u00f1ez, who was reader\nin Avila; to the Father-Master Fra Dominic Ba\u00f1es, who is now in\nValladolid as rector of the college of St. Gregory, I confessed\nfor six years, and whenever I had occasion to do so communicated\nwith him by letter; also to the Master Chaves; to the\nFather-Master Fra Bartholomew of Medina, professor in Salamanca,\nof whom she knew that he thought ill of her; for she, having\nheard this, thought that he, better than any other, could tell\nher if she was deceived, because he had so little confidence in\nher.  This was more than two years ago.  She contrived to go to\nconfession to him, and gave him a full account of everything\nwhile she remained there; and he saw what she had written, [8]\nfor the purpose of attaining to a better understanding of the\nmatter.  He reassured her so much, and more than all the rest,\nand remained her very good\u00a0friend.\n\n12. She went to confession also to Fra Philip de Meneses, when\nshe founded the monastery of Valladolid, for he was rector of the\ncollege of St. Gregory.  He, having before that heard of her\nstate, had gone to Avila, that he might speak to her,--it was an\nact of great charity,--being desirous of ascertaining whether she\nwas deluded, so that he might enlighten her, and, if she was not,\ndefend her when he heard her spoken against; and he was\nmuch\u00a0satisfied.\n\n13. She also conferred particularly with Salinas, Dominican\nProvincial, a man of great spirituality; with another licentiate\nnamed Lunar, who was prior of St. Thomas of Avila; and, in\nSegovia, with a reader, Fra Diego de\u00a0Yang\u00fces.\n\n14. Of these Dominicans some never failed to give themselves\ngreatly to prayer, and perhaps all did.  Some others also she\nconsulted; for in so many years, and because of the fear she was\nin, she had opportunities of doing so, especially as she went\nabout founding monasteries in so many places.  Her spirit was\ntried enough, for everybody wished to be able to enlighten her,\nand thereby reassured her and themselves.  She always, at all\ntimes, wished to submit herself to whatever they enjoined her,\nand she was therefore distressed when, as to these spiritual\nthings, she could not obey them.  Both her own prayer, and that\nof the nuns she has established, are always carefully directed\ntowards the propagation of the faith; and it was for that\npurpose, and for the good of her Order, that she began her\nfirst\u00a0monastery.\n\n15. She used to say that, if any of these things tended to lead\nher against the Catholic faith and the law of God, she would not\nneed to seek for learned men nor tests, because she would see at\nonce that they came from Satan.  She never undertook anything\nmerely because it came to her in prayer; on the contrary, when\nher confessors bade her do the reverse, she did so without being\nin the least troubled thereat, and she always told them\neverything.  For all that they told her that these things came\nfrom God, she never so thoroughly believed them that she could\nswear to it herself, though it did seem to her that they were\nspiritually safe, because of the effects thereof, and of the\ngreat graces which she at times received; but she always desired\nvirtues more than anything else; and this it is that she has\ncharged her nuns to desire, saying to them that the most humble\nand mortified will be the most\u00a0spiritual.\n\n16. All that is told and written she communicated to the\nFather-Master Fra Dominic Ba\u00f1es, who is now in Valladolid, and\nwho is the person with whom she has had, and has still, the most\nfrequent communications.  He sent her writings to the Holy Office\nin Madrid, so it is said.  In all this she submits herself to the\nCatholic faith and the Roman Church.  Nobody has found fault with\nthem, because these things are not in the power of any man, and\nour Lord does not require what is\u00a0impossible.\n\n17. The reason why so much is known about her is that, as she was\nin fear about herself, and described her state to so many, these\ntalked to one another on the subject and also the accident that\nhappened to what she had written. [9]  This has been to her a\nvery grievous torment and cross, and has cost her many tears.\nShe says that this distress is not the effect of humility, but of\nthe causes already mentioned.  Our Lord seems to have given\npermission [10] for this torture for if one spoke more harshly of\nher than others, by little and little he spoke more kindly\nof her.\n\n18. She took the greatest pains not to submit the state of her\nsoul to any one who she thought would believe that these things\ncame from God, for she was instantly afraid that the devil would\ndeceive them both.  If she saw any one timid about these things,\nto him she laid bare her secrets with the greater joy; though\nalso it gave her pain when, for the purpose of trying her, these\nthings were treated with contempt, for she thought some were\nreally from God, and she would not have people, even if they had\ngood cause, condemn them so absolutely; neither would she have\nthem believe that all were from God; and because she knew\nperfectly well that delusion was possible, therefore it was that\nshe never thought herself altogether safe in a matter wherein\nthere might be danger.\n\n19. She used to strive with all her might never in any way to\noffend God, and was always obedient; and by these means she\nthought she might obtain her deliverance, by the help of God,\neven if Satan were the cause.\n\n20. Ever since she became subject to these supernatural\nvisitations, her spirit is always inclined to seek after that\nwhich is most perfect, and she had almost always a great desire\nto suffer; and in the persecutions she underwent, and they were\nmany, she was comforted, and had a particular affection for her\npersecutors.  She had a great desire to be poor and lonely, and\nto depart out of this land of exile in order to see God.\nThrough these effects, and others like them, she began to find\npeace, thinking that a spirit which could leave her with these\nvirtues could not be an evil one, and they who had the charge of\nher soul said so; but it was a peace that came from diminished\nweariness, not from the cessation of fear.\n\n21. The spirit she is of never urged her to make any of these\nthings known, but to be always obedient. [11]  As it has been\nsaid already, [12] she never saw anything with her bodily eyes,\nbut in a way so subtile and so intellectual that at first she\nsometimes thought that all was the effect of imagination; at\nother times she could not think so.  These things were not\ncontinual, but occurred for the most part when she was in some\ntrouble: as on one occasion, when for some days she had to bear\nunendurable interior pains, and a restlessness of soul arising\nout of the fear that she was deluded by Satan, as it is described\nat length in the account she has given of it, [13] and where her\nsins, for they have been so public, are mentioned with the rest:\nfor the fear she was in made her forget her own good name.\n\n22. Being thus in distress such as cannot be described, at the\nmere hearing interiorly these words, [14] \"It is I, be not\nafraid,\" her soul became so calm, courageous, and confident, that\nshe could not understand whence so great a blessing had come; for\nher confessor had not been able--and many learned men, with many\nwords, had not been able--to give her that peace and rest which\nthis one word had given her.  And thus, at other times, some\nvision gave her strength, for without that she could not have\nborne such great trials and contradictions, together with\ninfirmities without number, and which she still has to bear,\nthough they are not so many,--for she is never free from some\nsuffering or other, more or less intense.  Her ordinary state is\nconstant pain, with many other infirmities, though since she\nbecame a nun they are more troublesome, if she is doing anything\nin the service of our Lord.  And the mercies He shows her pass\nquickly out of memory, though she often dwells on those\nmercies,--but she is not able to dwell so long upon these as upon\nher sins; these are always a torment to her, most commonly as\nfilth smelling foully.\n\n23. That her sins are so many, and her service of God so scanty,\nmust be the reason why she is not tempted to vainglory.\nThere never was anything in any of these spiritual visitations\nthat was not wholly pure and clean, nor does she think it can be\notherwise if the spirit be good and the visitations supernatural,\nfor she utterly neglects the body and never thinks of it, being\nwholly intent upon God.\n\n24. She is also living in great fear about sinning against God,\nand doing His will in all things; this is her continual prayer.\nAnd she is, she thinks, so determined never to swerve from this,\nthat there is nothing her confessors might enjoin her, which she\nconsiders to be for the greater honour of our Lord, that she\nwould not undertake and perform, by the help of our Lord.\nAnd confident that His Majesty helps those who have resolved to\nadvance His service and glory, she thinks no more of herself and\nof her own progress, in comparison with that, than if she did not\nexist, so far as she knows herself, and her confessors think\nso too.\n\n25. All that is written in this paper is the simple truth, and\nthey, and all others who have had anything to do with her for\nthese twenty years, can justify it.  Most frequently her spirit\nurged her to praise God, and she wished that all the world gave\nitself up to that, even though it should cost her exceedingly.\nHence the desire she has for the good of souls; and from\nconsidering how vile are the things of this world, and how\nprecious are interior things, with which nothing can be compared,\nshe has attained to a contempt of the world.\n\n26. As for the vision about which you, my father, wish to know\nsomething, it is of this kind: she sees nothing either outwardly\nor inwardly, for the vision is not imaginary: but, without seeing\nanything, she understands what it is, and where it is, more\nclearly than if she saw it, only nothing in particular presents\nitself to her.  She is like a person who feels that another is\nclose beside her; but because she is in the dark she sees him\nnot, yet is certain that he is there present.  Still, this\ncomparison is not exact; for he who is in the dark, in some way\nor other, through hearing a noise or having seen that person\nbefore, knows he is there, or knew it before; but here there is\nnothing of the kind, for without a word, inward or outward, the\nsoul clearly perceives who it is, where he is, and occasionally\nwhat he means. [15]  Why, or how, she perceives it, she knoweth\nnot; but so it is; and while it lasts, she cannot help being\naware of it.  And when it is over,--though she may wish ever so\nmuch to retain the image thereof,--she cannot do it, for it is\nthen clear to her that it would be, in that case, an act of the\nimagination, not the vision itself,--that is not in her power;\nand so it is with the supernatural things.  And it is from this\nit comes to pass that he in whom God works these graces despises\nhimself, and becomes more humble than he was ever before, for he\nsees that this is a gift of God, and that he can neither add to\nit nor take from it.  The love and the desire become greater of\nserving our Lord, who is so mighty that He can do that which is\nmore than our imagination can conceive here, as there are things\nwhich men, however learned they may be, can never know.\nBlessed for ever and ever be He who bestows this!  Amen.\n\n\n1. See Life, ch. xxiv. \u00a7 4.\n\n2. See Life, ch. xxv. \u00a7 18.\n\n3. See Life, ch. xxv. \u00a7 20, and ch. xxvii. \u00a7 1.\n\n4. See Life, ch. xxvi. \u00a7 5.\n\n5. Don Francisco de Soto y Salazar was a native of Bonilli de la\nSierra, and Vicar-General of the Bishops of Astorga and Avila,\nand Canon of Avila; Inquisitor of Cordova, Seville, and Toledo;\nBishop, successively, of Albarracin, Segorve, and Salamanca.\nHe died at Merida, in 1576, poisoned, it was suspected, by the\nsect of the Illuminati, who were alarmed at his faithful zeal and\nholy life (Palafox, note to letter 19, vol. i. ed. Doblado).\n\"She went to the Inquisitor, Don Francisco Soto de Salazar--he\nwas afterwards Bishop of Salamanca--and said to him: 'My lord, I\nam subject to certain extraordinary processes in prayer, such as\necstasies, raptures, and revelations, and do not wish to be\ndeluded or deceived by Satan, or to do anything that is not\nabsolutely safe.  I give myself up to the Inquisition to try me,\nand examine my ways of going on, submitting myself to its\norders.'  The Inquisitor replied: 'Se\u00f1ora, the business of the\nInquisition is not to try the spirit, nor to examine ways of\nprayer, but to correct heretics.  Do you, then, commit your\nexperience to writing, in all simplicity and truth, and send it\nto the Father-Master Avila, who is a man of great spirituality\nand learning, and extremely conversant with matters of prayer;\nand when you shall have his answer, you may be sure there is\nnothing to be afraid of'\" (Jerome Gratian, Lucidario, cap.\u00a0iii.).\n\n6. This book is the Way of Perfection, written by direction of\nF.\u00a0Ba\u00f1es.\n\n7. The Saint had such great affection for the Order of\nSt. Dominic, that she used to say of herself, \"Yo soy la Dominica\nin passione,\" meaning thereby that she was in her heart a\nDominicaness, and a child of the Order (Palafox, note to letter\n16, vol. i. ed.\u00a0Doblado).\n\n8. When this father had read the Life, he had it copied, with the\nassent of F. Gratian, and gave the copy thus made to the Duchess\nof Alba (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n9. See Foundations, ch. xvii. \u00a7 12, note.\n\n10. Life, ch. xxiii. \u00a7 15.\n\n11. Life, ch. xxvi. \u00a7 5.\n\n12. \u00a7 4.\n\n13. Life, ch. xxv. \u00a7 19.\n\n14. Life, ch. xxv. \u00a7 22.\n\n15. See Life, ch. xxvii. \u00a7 5.\n\n\n\nRelation VIII.\n\n\nAddressed to F. Rodrigo Alvarez.\n\n\n1. These interior things of the spirit are so difficult to\ndescribe, and, still more, in such a way as to be\nunderstood,--the more so as they pass quickly away,--that, if\nobedience did not help me, it would be a chance if I succeeded,\nespecially in such difficult things.  I implore you, my father,\nto take for granted that it is not in my mind to think this to be\ncorrect, for it may well be that I do not understand the matter;\nbut what I can assure you of is this, that I will speak of\nnothing I have not had experience of at times, and,\nindeed, often.\n\n2. I think it will please you, my father, if I begin by\ndiscussing that which is at the root of supernatural things; for\nthat which relates to devotion, tenderness, tears, and\nmeditations, which is in our power here to acquire by the help of\nour Lord, is understood.\n\n3. The first prayer of which I was conscious,--in my opinion,\nsupernatural,--so I call that which no skill or effort of ours,\nhowever much we labour, can attain to, though we should prepare\nourselves for it, and that preparation must be of great\nservice,--is a certain interior recollection [1] of which the\nsoul is sensible; the soul seems to have other senses within\nitself then, which bear some likeness to the exterior senses it\npossesses; and thus the soul, withdrawing into itself, seeks to\ngo away from the tumult of its outward senses, and accordingly it\ndrags them away with itself; for it closes the eyes on purpose\nthat it may neither see, nor hear, nor understand anything but\nthat whereon the soul is then intent, which is to be able to\nconverse with God alone.  In this prayer there is no suspension\nof the faculties and powers of the soul; it retains the full use\nof them; but the use of them is retained that they may be\noccupied with God.  This will be easily understood by him whom\nour Lord shall have raised to this state; but by him whom He has\nnot, not; at least, such a one will have need of many words\nand illustrations.\n\n4. Out of this recollection grow a certain quietude and inward\npeace most full of comfort; for the soul is in such a state that\nit does not seem to it that it wants anything; for even speaking\nwearies it,--I mean by this, vocal prayer and meditation; it\nwould do nothing but love.  This lasts some time, and even a\nlong time.\n\n5. Out of this prayer comes usually what is called a sleep of the\nfaculties; but they are not so absorbed nor so suspended as that\nit can be called a trance; nor is it altogether union.\n\n6. Sometimes, and even often, the soul is aware that the will\nalone is in union; and this it sees very clearly,--that is, it\nseems so to it.  The will is wholly intent upon God, and the soul\nsees that it has no power to rest on, or do, anything else; and\nat the same time the two other faculties are at liberty to attend\nto other matters of the service of God,--in a word, Martha and\nMary are together. [2]  I asked Father Francis [3] if this was a\ndelusion, for it made me stupid; and his reply was, that it\noften happened.\n\n7. When all the faculties of the soul are in union, it is a very\ndifferent state of things; for they can then do nothing whatever,\nbecause the understanding is as it were surprised.  The will\nloves more than the understanding knows; but the understanding\ndoes not know that the will loves, nor what it is doing, so as to\nbe able in any way to speak of it.  As to the memory, the soul, I\nthink, has none then, nor any power of thinking, nor are the\nsenses awake, but rather as lost, so that the soul may be the\nmore occupied with the object of its fruition: so it seems to me.\nThey are lost but for a brief interval; it passes quickly away.\nBy the wealth of humility, and other virtues and desires, left in\nthe soul after this may be learnt how great the blessing is that\nflows from this grace, but it cannot be told what it is; for,\nthough the soul applies itself to the understanding of it, it can\nneither understand nor explain it.  This, if it be real, is, in\nmy opinion, the greatest grace wrought by our Lord on this\nspiritual road,--at least, it is one of the greatest.\n\n8. Raptures and trance, in my opinion, are all one, only I am in\nthe habit of using the word trance instead of rapture, because\nthe latter word frightens people; and, indeed, the union of which\nI am speaking may also be called a trance.  The difference\nbetween union and trance is this, that the latter lasts longer\nand is more visible outwardly, because the breathing gradually\ndiminishes, so that it becomes impossible to speak or to open the\neyes; and though this very thing occurs when the soul is in\nunion, there is more violence in a trance for the natural warmth\nvanishes, I know not how, when the rapture is deep; and in all\nthese kinds of prayer there is more or less of this.  When it is\ndeep, as I was saying, the hands become cold, and sometimes stiff\nand straight as pieces of wood; as to the body, if the rapture\ncomes on when it is standing or kneeling, it remains so; [4] and\nthe soul is so full of the joy of that which our Lord is setting\nbefore it, that it seems to forget to animate the body, and\nabandons it.  If the rapture lasts, the nerves are made to\nfeel it.\n\n9. It seems to me that our Lord will have the soul know more of\nthat, the fruition of which it has, in a trance than in union,\nand accordingly in a rapture the soul receives most commonly\ncertain revelations of His Majesty, and the effects thereof on\nthe soul are great,--a forgetfulness of self, through the longing\nit has that God our Lord, who is so high, may be known and\npraised.  In my opinion, if the rapture be from God, the soul\ncannot fail to obtain a deep conviction of its own helplessness,\nand of its wretchedness and ingratitude, in that it has not\nserved Him who, of His own goodness only, bestows upon it graces\nso great; for the feeling and the sweetness are so high above all\nthings that may be compared therewith that, if the recollection\nof them did not pass away, all the satisfactions of earth would\nbe always loathsome to it; and hence comes the contempt for all\nthe things of the world.\n\n10. The difference between trance and transport [5] is this,--in\na trance the soul gradually dies to outward things, losing the\nsenses and living unto God.  A transport comes on by one sole act\nof His Majesty, wrought in the innermost part of the soul with\nsuch swiftness that it is as if the higher part thereof were\ncarried away, and the soul leaving the body.  Accordingly it\nrequires courage at first to throw itself into the arms of our\nLord, that He may take it whithersoever He will; for, until His\nMajesty establishes it in peace there whither He is pleased to\ntake it--by take it I mean the admitting of it to the knowledge\nof deep things--it certainly requires in the beginning to be\nfirmly resolved to die for Him, because the poor soul does not\nknow what this means--that is, at first.  The virtues, as it\nseems to me, remain stronger after this, for there is a growth in\ndetachment, and the power of God, who is so mighty, is the more\nknown, so that the soul loves and fears Him.  For so it is, He\ncarries away the soul, no longer in our power, as the true Lord\nthereof, which is filled with a deep sorrow for having offended\nHim, and astonishment that it ever dared to offend a Majesty so\ngreat, with an exceedingly earnest desire that none may\nhenceforth offend Him, and that all may praise Him.  This, I\nthink, must be the source of those very fervent desires for the\nsalvation of souls, and for some share therein, and for the due\npraising of God.\n\n11. The flight of the spirit--I know not how to call it--is a\nrising upwards from the very depths of the soul.  I remember only\nthis comparison, and I made use of it before, as you know, my\nfather, in that writing where these and other ways of prayer are\nexplained at length, [6] and such is my memory that I forget\nthings at once.  It seems to me that soul and spirit are one and\nthe same thing; but only as a fire, if it is great and ready for\nburning; so, like fire burning rapidly, the soul, in that\npreparation of itself which is the work of God, sends up a\nflame,--the flame ascends on high, but the fire thereof is the\nsame as that below, nor does the flame cease to be fire because\nit ascends: so here, in the soul, something so subtile and so\nswift, seems to issue from it, that ascends to the higher part,\nand goes thither whither our Lord wills.  I cannot go further\nwith the explanation; it seems a flight, and I know of nothing\nelse wherewith to compare it: I know that it cannot be mistaken,\nfor it is most evident when it occurs, and that it cannot\nbe hindered.\n\n12. This little bird of the spirit seems to have escaped out of\nthis wretchedness of the flesh, out of the prison of this body,\nand now, disentangled therefrom, is able to be the more intent on\nthat which our Lord is giving it.  The flight of the spirit is\nsomething so fine, of such inestimable worth, as the soul\nperceives it, that all delusion therein seems impossible, or\nanything of the kind, when it occurs.  It was afterwards that\nfear arose, because she who received this grace was so wicked;\nfor she saw what good reasons she had to be afraid of everything,\nthough in her innermost soul there remained an assurance and a\nconfidence wherein she was able to live, but not enough to make\nher cease from the anxiety she was in not to be deceived.\n\n13. By impetus I mean that desire which at times rushes into the\nsoul, without being preceded by prayer, and this is most\nfrequently the case; it is a sudden remembering that the soul is\naway from God, or of a word it has heard to that effect.\nThis remembering is occasionally so strong and vehement that the\nsoul in a moment becomes as if the reason were gone, just like a\nperson who suddenly hears most painful tidings of which he knew\nnot before, or is surprised; such a one seems deprived of the\npower of collecting his thoughts for his own comfort, and is as\none lost.  So is it in this state, except that the suffering\narises from this, that there abides in the soul a conviction that\nit would be well worth dying in it.  It seems that whatever the\nsoul then perceives does but increase its suffering, and that our\nLord will have its whole being find no comfort in anything, nor\nremember that it is His will that it should live: the soul seems\nto itself to be in great and indescribable loneliness, and\nabandoned of all, because the world, and all that is in it, gives\nit pain; and because it finds no companionship in any created\nthing, the soul seeks its Creator alone, and this it sees to be\nimpossible unless it dies; and as it must not kill itself, it is\ndying to die, and there is really a risk of death, and it sees\nitself hanging between heaven and earth, not knowing what to do\nwith itself.  And from time to time God gives it a certain\nknowledge of Himself, that it may see what it loses, in a way so\nstrange that no explanation of it is possible; and there is no\npain in the world--at least I have felt none--that is equal or\nlike unto this, for if it lasts but half an hour the whole body\nis out of joint, and the bones so racked, that I am not able to\nwrite with my hands: the pains I endure are most grievous. [7]\n\n14. But nothing of all this is felt till the impetus shall have\npassed away.  He to whom it comes has enough to do in enduring\nthat which is going on within him, nor do I believe that he would\nfeel if he were grievously tortured: he is in possession of all\nhis senses, can speak, and even observe; walk about he\ncannot,--the great blow of that love throws him down to the\nground.  If we were to die to have this, it would be of no use,\nfor it cannot be except when God sends it.  It leaves great\neffects and blessings in the soul.  Some learned men say that it\nis this, others that it is that, but no one condemns it.  The\nFather-Master d'Avila wrote to me and said it was good, and so\nsay all.  The soul clearly understands that it is a great grace\nfrom our Lord; were it to occur more frequently, life would not\nlast long.\n\n15. The ordinary impetus is, that this desire of serving God\ncomes on with a certain tenderness, accompanied with tears, out\nof a longing to depart from this land of exile; but as the soul\nretains its freedom, wherein it reflects that its living on is\naccording to our Lord's will, it takes comfort in that thought,\nand offers its life to Him, beseeching Him that it may last only\nfor His glory.  This done, it bears all.\n\n16. Another prayer very common is a certain kind of wounding; [8]\nfor it really seems to the soul as if an arrow were thrust\nthrough the heart, or through itself.  Thus it causes great\nsuffering, which makes the soul complain; but the suffering is so\nsweet, that it wishes it never would end.  The suffering is not\none of sense, neither is the wound physical; it is in the\ninterior of the soul, without any appearance of bodily pain; but\nas I cannot explain it except by comparing it with other pains, I\nmake use of these clumsy expressions,--for such they are when\napplied to this suffering.  I cannot, however, explain it in any\nother way.  It is, therefore, neither to be written of nor spoken\nof, because it is impossible for any one to understand it who has\nnot had experience of it,--I mean, how far the pain can go; for\nthe pains of the spirit are very different from those of earth.\nI gather, therefore, from this, that the souls in hell and\npurgatory suffer more than we can imagine, by considering these\npains of the body.\n\n17. At other times, this wound of love seems to issue from the\ninmost depth of the soul; great are the effects of it; and when\nour Lord does not inflict it, there is no help for it, whatever\nwe may do to obtain it; nor can it be avoided when it is His\npleasure to inflict it.  The effects of it are those longings\nafter God, so quick and so fine that they cannot be described and\nwhen the soul sees itself hindered and kept back from entering,\nas it desires, on the fruition of God, it conceives a great\nloathing for the body, on which it looks as a thick wall which\nhinders it from that fruition which it then seems to have entered\nupon within itself, and unhindered by the body.  It then\ncomprehends the great evil that has befallen us through the sin\nof Adam in robbing us of this liberty. [9]\n\n18. This prayer I had before the raptures and the great\nimpetuosities I have been speaking of.  I forgot to say that\nthese great impetuosities scarcely ever leave me, except through\na trance or great sweetness in our Lord, whereby He comforts the\nsoul, and gives it courage to live on for His sake.\n\n19. All this that I speak of cannot be the effect of the\nimagination; and I have some reasons for saying this, but it\nwould be wearisome to enter on them: whether it be good or not is\nknown to our Lord.  The effects thereof, and how it profits the\nsoul, pass all comprehension, as it seems to me.\n\n20. I see clearly that the Persons are distinct, as I saw it\nyesterday when you, my father, were talking to the Father\nProvincial; only I saw nothing, and heard nothing, as, my father,\nI have already told you.  But there is a strange certainty about\nit, though the eyes of the soul see nothing; and when the\npresence is withdrawn, that withdrawal is felt.  How it is, I\nknow not; but I do know very well that it is not an imagination,\nbecause I cannot reproduce the vision when it is over, even if I\nwere to perish in the effort; but I have tried to do so.  So is\nit with all that I have spoken of here, so far as I can see; for,\nas I have been in this state for so many years, I have been able\nto observe, so that I can say so with this confidence.  The truth\nis,--and you, my father, should attend to this,--that, as to the\nPerson who always speaks, I can certainly say which of Them He\nseems to me to be; of the others I cannot say so much.  One of\nThem I know well has never spoken.  I never knew why, nor do I\nbusy myself in asking more of God than He is pleased to give,\nbecause in that case, I believe, I should be deluded by Satan, at\nonce; nor will I ask now, because of the fear I am in.\n\n21. I think the First spoke to me at times; but as I do not\nremember that very well now, nor what it was that He spoke, I\nwill not venture to say so.  It is all written,--you, my father,\nknow where,--and more at large than it is here; I know not\nwhether in the same words or not. [10]  Though the Persons are\ndistinct in a strange way, the soul knows One only God.  I do not\nremember that our Lord ever seemed to speak to me but in His\nHuman Nature; and--I say it again--I can assure you that this is\nno imagination.\n\n22. What, my father, you say about the water, I know not; nor\nhave I heard where the earthly paradise is.  I have already said\nthat I cannot but listen to what our Lord tells me; I hear it\nbecause I cannot help myself; but, as for asking His Majesty to\nreveal anything to me, that is what I have never done.  In that\ncase, I should immediately think I was imagining things, and that\nI must be in a delusion of Satan.  God be praised, I have never\nbeen curious about things, and I do not care to know more than I\ndo. [11]  What I have learnt, without seeking to learn, as I have\njust said, has been a great trouble to me, though it has been the\nmeans, I believe, which our Lord made use of to save me, seeing\nthat I was so wicked; good people do not need so much to make\nthem serve His Majesty.\n\n23. I remember another way of prayer which I had before the one I\nmentioned first,--namely, a presence of God, which is not a\nvision at all.  It seems that any one, if he recommends himself\nto His Majesty, even if he only prays vocally, finds Him; every\none, at all times, can do this, if we except seasons of aridity.\nMay He grant I may not by my own fault lose mercies so great, and\nmay He have compassion on me!\n\n\n1. Inner Fortress, iv. ch. iii.\n\n2. See Life, ch. xvii. \u00a7 5.\n\n3. Compare Life, ch. xxiv. \u00a7 4.\n\n4. See Life, ch. xx. \u00a7 23.\n\n5. \"Arrobamiento y arrebatamiento.\"\n\n6. See Life, chs. xx. and xxi.\n\n7. Life, ch. xx. \u00a7 16; Inner Fortress, vi. c. xi.\n\n8. See Life, ch. xxix. \u00a7 17.\n\n9. See Life, ch. xvii. \u00a7 9.\n\n10. See Relation, iii. \u00a7 6.\n\n11. See St. John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,\nbk. ii. ch.\u00a0xxii.\n\n\n\nRelation IX.\n\n\nOf Certain Spiritual Graces She Received in Toledo and Avila in\nthe Years 1576 and 1577.\n\n\n1. I had begun to go to confession to a certain person [1] in the\ncity wherein I am at present staying, when he, though he had much\ngood will towards me, and always has had since he took upon\nhimself the charge of my soul, ceased to come here; and one\nnight, when I was in prayer, and thinking how he failed me, I\nunderstood that God kept him from coming because it was expedient\nfor me to treat of the affairs of my soul with a certain person\non the spot. [2]  I was distressed because I had to form new\nrelations--it might be he would not understand me, and would\ndisturb me--and because I had a great affection for him who did\nme this charity, though I was always spiritually content when I\nsaw or heard the latter preach; also, I thought it would not do\nbecause of his many occupations.  Our Lord said to me: \"I will\ncause him to hear and understand thee.  Make thyself known unto\nhim; it will be some relief to thee in thy troubles.\"  The latter\npart was addressed to me, I think, because I was then so worn out\nby the absence of God.  His Majesty also said that He saw very\nwell the trouble I was in; but it could not be otherwise while I\nlived in this land of exile: all was for my good; and he\ncomforted me greatly.  So it has been: he comforts me, and seeks\nopportunities to do so; he has understood me, and given me great\nrelief; he is a most learned and holy man.\n\n2. One day,--it was the Feast of the Presentation,--I was praying\nearnestly to God for a certain person, and thinking that after\nall the possession of property and of freedom was unfitting for\nthat high sanctity which I wished him to attain to; I reflected\non his weak health, and on the spiritual health which he\ncommunicated to souls; and I heard these words: \"He serves Me\ngreatly; but the great thing is to follow Me stripped of\neverything, as I was on the cross.  Tell him to trust in Me.\"\nThese last words were said because I thought he could not, with\nhis weak health, attain to such perfection.\n\n3. Once, when I was thinking of the pain it was to me to eat meat\nand do no penance, I understood that there was at times more of\nself-love in that feeling than of a desire for penance.\n\n4. Once, when I was in great distress because of my offences\nagainst God, He said to me: \"All thy sins in My sight are as if\nthey were not.  For the future, be strong; for thy troubles are\nnot over.\"\n\n5. One day, in prayer, I felt my soul in God in such a way that\nit seemed to me as if the world did not exist, I was so absorbed\nin Him.  He made me then understand that verse of the Magnificat,\n\"Et exultavit spiritus meus,\" so that I can never forget it.\n\n6. Once, when I was thinking how people sought to destroy this\nmonastery of the Barefooted Carmelites, and that they purposed,\nperhaps, to bring about the destruction of them all by degrees, I\nheard: \"They do purpose it; nevertheless, they will never see it\ndone, but very much the reverse.\"\n\n7. Once, in deep recollection, I was praying to God for\nEliseus; [3] I heard this: \"He is My true son; I will never fail\nhim,\" or to that effect; but I am not sure of the latter words.\n\n8. Having one day conversed with a person who had given up much\nfor God, and calling to mind that I had given up nothing for Him,\nand had never served Him in anything, as I was bound to do, and\nthen considering the many graces He had wrought in my soul, I\nbegan to be exceedingly weary; and our Lord said to me: \"Thou\nknowest of the betrothal between thee and Myself, and therefore\nall I have is thine; and so I give thee all the labours and\nsorrows I endured, and thou canst therefore ask of My Father as\nif they were thine.\"  Though I have heard that we are partakers\ntherein, [4] now it was in a way so different that it seemed as\nif I had become possessed of a great principality; for the\naffection with which He wrought this grace cannot be described.\nThe Father seemed to ratify the gift; and from that time forth I\nlook at our Lord's Passion in a very different light, as on\nsomething that belongs to me; and that gives me\ngreat comfort. [5]\n\n9. On the Feast of the Magdalene, when thinking of the great love\nI am bound to have for our Lord, according to the words He spoke\nto, me in reference to this Saint, and having great desires to\nimitate her, our Lord was very gracious unto me, and said, I was\nto be henceforward strong; for I had to serve Him more than I had\nhitherto done. [6]  He filled me with a desire not to die so\nsoon, that I might have the time to occupy myself therein; and I\nremained with a great resolution to suffer.\n\n10. On one occasion, I understood how our Lord was in all things,\nand how He was in the soul; and the illustration of a sponge\nfilled with water was suggested to me.\n\n11. When my brothers came,--and I owe so much to one of\nthem, [7]--I remained in conversation with him concerning his\nsoul and his affairs, which wearied and distressed me; and as I\nwas offering this up to our Lord, and thinking that I did it all\nbecause I was under obligations to him, I remembered that by our\nConstitutions [8] we are commanded to separate ourselves from our\nkindred, and I was set thinking whether I was under any\nobligation, our Lord said to me: \"No, My daughter; the\nregulations of the Order must be only in conformity with My law.\"\nThe truth is, that the end of the Constitutions is, that we are\nnot to be attached to our kindred; and to converse with them, as\nit seems to me, is rather wearisome, and it is painful to have\nanything to do with them.\n\n12. After Communion, on St. Augustine's Day, I understood, and,\nas it were, saw,--I cannot tell how, unless it was by an\nintellectual vision which passed rapidly away,--how the Three\nPersons of the most Holy Trinity, whom I have always imprinted in\nmy soul, are One.  This was revealed in a representation so\nstrange, and in a light so clear, that the impression made upon\nme was very different from that which I have by faith.  From that\ntime forth I have never been able to think of One of the Three\nDivine Persons without thinking of the Three; so that to-day,\nwhen I was considering how, the Three being One, the Son alone\ntook our flesh upon Him, our Lord showed me how, though They are\nOne, They are also distinct.  These are marvels which make the\nsoul desire anew to be rid of the hindrances which the body\ninterposes between it and the fruition of them.  Though this\npasses away in a moment, there remains a gain to the soul\nincomparably greater than any it might have made by meditation\nduring many years; and all without knowing how it happens.\n\n13. I have a special joy on the Feast of our Lady's Nativity.\nWhen this day was come, I thought it would be well to renew our\nvows; and thereupon I saw our Lady, by an illuminative vision;\nand it seemed as if we made them before her and that they were\npleasing unto her.  I had this vision constantly for some days,\nand our Lady was by me on my left hand.  One day, after\nCommunion, it seemed to me that my soul was really one with the\nmost Holy Body of our Lord, then present before me; and that\nwrought a great work and blessing in me.\n\n14. I was once thinking whether I was to be sent to reform a\ncertain monastery; [9] and, distressed at it, I heard: \"What art\nthou afraid of?  What canst thou lose?--only thy life, which thou\nhast so often offered to Me.  I will help thee.\"  This was in\nprayer, which was of such a nature as to ease my\nsoul exceedingly.\n\n15. Once, having a desire to render some service to our Lord, I\nconsidered that I could serve Him but poorly, and said to myself:\n\"Why, O Lord, dost Thou desire my works?\"  And He answered: \"To\nsee thy good will, My child.\"\n\n16. Once our Lord gave me light in a matter that I was very glad\nto understand, and I immediately forgot it, so that I was never\nable to call it again to mind; and so, when I was trying to\nremember it, I heard: \"Thou knowest now that I speak to thee from\ntime to time.  Do not omit to write down what I say; for, though\nit may not profit thee, it may be that it will profit others.\"\nAs I was thinking whether I, for my sins, had to be of use to\nothers, and be lost myself, He said to me: \"Have no fear.\"\n\n17. I was once recollected in that companionship which I ever\nhave in my soul, and it seemed to me that God was present therein\nin such a way that I remembered how St. Peter said: \"Thou art\nChrist, the Son of the living God;\" [10] for the living God was\nin my soul.  This is not like other visions, for it overpowers\nfaith; so that it is impossible to doubt of the indwelling of the\nTrinity in our souls, by presence, power, and essence.  To know\nthis truth is of the very highest gain; and as I stood amazed to\nsee His Majesty in a thing so vile as my soul, I heard: \"It is\nnot vile, My child, for it is made in My image.\" [11]  I also\nlearnt something of the reason why God delights in souls more\nthan in any other creatures: it is so subtile that, though the\nunderstanding quickly comprehended it, I cannot tell it.\n\n18. When I was in such distress, because of the troubles of our\nfather, [12] that I had no rest, and after Communion one day was\nmaking most earnestly my petition to our Lord that, as He had\ngiven him to me, I might not lose him, He said to me: \"Have\nno fear.\"\n\n19. Once, with that presence of the Three Persons which I have in\nmy soul, I was in light so clear that no doubt of the presence of\nthe true and living God was possible; and I then came to the\nknowledge of things which afterwards I could not speak of. One of\nthese things was, how the person of the Son only took human\nflesh.  I cannot, as I have just said, explain it at all; for\nsome of these things were wrought in the secret recesses of the\nsoul, and the understanding seems to grasp them only as one who\nis in his sleep, or half awake, thinks he comprehends what is\ntold him.  I was thinking how hard it was to remain alive, seeing\nthat it was living on that robbed us of that marvellous\ncompanionship; and so I said to myself: \"O Lord, show me some way\nwhereby I may bear this life!\"  He said unto me: \"Think, my\nchild, when life is over, thou canst not serve Me as thou art\nserving Me now, and eat for Me, and sleep for Me.  Whatsoever\nthou doest, let it be done for Me as if thou wert no longer\nliving, but I; for that is what St. Paul said.\" [13]\n\n20. Once, after Communion, I saw how His Father within our soul\naccepts the most Holy Body of Christ.  I have understood and seen\nhow the Divine Persons are there, and how pleasing is this\noffering of His Son, because He has His joy and delight in Him,\nso to speak, here on earth; for it is not the Humanity only that\nis with us in our, souls, but the Divinity as well, and thus is\nit so pleasing and acceptable unto Him, and gives us graces so\ngreat.  I understood also that He accepts the sacrifice, though\nthe priest be in sin; but then the grace of it is not\ncommunicated to his soul as it is to their souls who are in a\nstate of grace: not that the inflowings of grace, which proceed\nfrom this Communion wherein the Father accepts the sacrifice,\ncease to flow in their strength, but because of his fault who has\nto receive them; as it is not the fault of the sun that it does\nnot illumine a lump of pitch, when its rays strike it as it\nillumines a globe of crystal.  If I could now describe it, I\nshould be better understood; it is a great matter to know this,\nbecause there are grand secrets within us when we are at\nCommunion.  It is sad that these bodies of ours do not allow us\nto have the fruition thereof.\n\n21. During the Octave of All Saints, [14] I had two or three days\nof exceeding anguish, the result of my remembrance of my great\nsins, and I was also in great dread of persecutions, which had no\nfoundation except that great accusations were brought against me,\nand all my resolutions to suffer anything for God failed me:\nthough I sought to encourage myself, and made corresponding acts,\nand saw that all would be a great pain for me, it was to little\npurpose, for the fear never left me.  It was a sharp warfare.\nI came across a letter, in which my good father [15] had written\nthat St. Paul said that our God does not suffer us to be tempted\nbeyond our power to bear. [16]  This was a very great relief to\nme, but was not enough; yea, rather, on the next day I was in\ngreat distress at his absence, for I had no one to go to in this\ntrouble, for I seemed to be living in great loneliness.  And it\nadded to my grief to see that I now find no one but he who can\ncomfort me, and he must be more than ever away, which is a very\nsore trouble.\n\n22. The next night after this, reading in a book, I found another\nsaying of St. Paul, with which I began to be comforted; and being\nslightly recollected, I remained thinking how I had our Lord\nbefore present within me, so that I truly saw Him to be the\nliving God.  While thinking on this He spoke to me, and I saw Him\nin my inmost being, as it were beside my heart, in an\nintellectual vision; His words were: \"I am here, only I will have\nthee see how little thou canst do without Me.\"  I was on the\ninstant reassured, and my fears left me; and while at Matins that\nvery night our Lord Himself, in an intellectual vision so clear\nas to seem almost imaginary, laid Himself in my arms, as He is\npainted in the pictures of our Lady of Anguish. [17]  The vision\nmade me very much afraid, for it was so clear, and so close to\nme, that it made me think whether it was an illusion or not.\nHe said to me, \"Be not afraid of it, for the union of My Father\nwith thy soul is incomparably closer than this.\"  The vision has\nremained with me till now.  What I have said of our Lord\ncontinued more than a month: now it has left me.\n\n23. I was one night in great distress, because it was then a long\ntime since I had heard anything of my father; [18] and, moreover,\nhe was not well the last time he wrote to me.  However, my\ndistress was not so great as that I felt before, for I had hopes,\nand distress like that I never was in since; but still my anxiety\nhindered my prayer.  He appeared to me on the instant; it could\nnot have been the effect of imagination, for I saw a light within\nme, and himself coming by the way joyous, with a face all fair.\nIt must have been the light I saw that made his face fair, for\nall the saints in heaven seem so; and I considered whether it be\nthe light and splendour proceeding from our Lord that render them\nthus fair.  I heard this: \"Tell him to begin at once without\nfear, for the victory is his.\"\n\n24. One day, after he came, when I was at night giving thanks to\nour Lord for the many mercies He had given unto me, He said to\nme: \"O my child, what canst thou ask that I have not done?\"\n\n25. Our Lord said to me one day, in the monastery of Veas, that I\nwas to present my petition to Him, for I was His bride.\nHe promised to grant whatever I might ask of Him, and, as a\npledge, gave me a very beautiful ring, with a stone set in it\nlike an amethyst, but of a brilliancy very unlike, which He put\non my finger.  I write this to my own confusion, considering the\ngoodness of God, and my wretched life; for I have deserved hell.\nAh! my daughters, pray to God for me, and be devout to\nSt. Joseph, who can do much.  This folly I write . . . folly\nI write. . . .\n\n26. On the eve of St. Laurence, at Communion, I was so distracted\nand dissipated in mind, that I had no power over it, and began to\nenvy those who dwell in desert places; thinking that, as they see\nand hear nothing, they are exempt from distractions.  I heard\nthis: \"Thou art greatly deceived, My daughter; on the contrary,\nthe temptations of Satan are more violent there.  Have patience\nwhile life lasts, it cannot be helped.\"  While dwelling on this,\nI became suddenly recollected, and I saw a great light within me,\nso that I thought I was in another world, and my spirit found\nitself interiorly in a forest and in a garden of delights, which\nmade me remember those words of the Canticle: [19] \"Veniat\ndilectus meus in hortum suum.\"  I saw my Eliseus [20] there, not\nat all swarthy, but in strange beauty: around his head was a\ngarland of precious stones; a multitude of damsels went before\nhim with palms in their hands, all singing hymns of praise unto\nGod.  I did nothing but open my eyes, to see whether I could not\ndistract myself from the vision, but that failed to divert my\nattention; and I thought there was music also,--the singing of\nbirds and of angels,--which filled my soul with joy, though I did\nnot hear any.  My soul was in joy, and did not consider that\nthere was nobody else there.  I heard these words: \"He has\nmerited to be among you, and all this rejoicing which thou\nbeholdest will take place on the day he shall set aside for the\nhonour of My Mother; [21] and do thou make haste, if thou wouldst\nreach the place where he is.\"  This vision lasted more than an\nhour and a half.  In this respect--differently from my other\nvisions--I could not turn away from it, and it filled me with\ndelight.  The effect of the vision was a great affection for\nEliseus, and a more frequent thinking of him in that beauty.\nI have had a fear of its being a temptation, for work of the\nimagination it could not possibly be. [22]\n\n27. The day after the presentation of the Brief, [23] as I was in\nthe most eager expectation, which utterly disturbed me, so that I\ncould not even pray,--for I had been told that our father was in\ngreat straits because they would not let him come away, and that\nthere was a great tumult,--I heard these words: \"O woman of\nlittle faith, be quiet; everything is going on perfectly well.\"\nIt was the Feast of the Presentation of our Lady, in the year\n1575.  I resolved within myself, if our Lady obtained from her\nSon that we might see ourselves and our father free of these\nfriars, to ask him to order the solemn celebration of that feast\nevery year in our monasteries of the Barefooted Carmelites.\nWhen I made this resolution, I did not remember what I had heard\nin a former vision, that he would establish this solemnity.\nNow, in reading again this little paper, I think this must be the\nfeast referred to. [24]\n\n\n1. F. Yepes, then prior of St. Jerome's, Toledo (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n2. Don Alonzo Velasquez, canon of Toledo, to whom Relation xi. is\naddressed.  The Saint speaks of this in a letter to Fra Gratian\nin 1576.  The letter is numbered 82 in the edition of Don\nVicente, and 23 in the fourth volume of the edition of\u00a0Doblado.\n\n3. Fra Jerome Gratian (De la Fuente).\n\n4. 1 St. Peter iv. 13: \"Communicantes Christi\npassionibus,\u00a0gaudete.\"\n\n5. This took place in 1575, when she was going to found her\nmonastery in Seville (Ribera, l. iv. c. v. n.\u00a0110).\n\n6. See \u00a7 4, above.\n\n7. This was in 1575, when the Saint was founding the monastery of\nSeville; and the brother was Don Lorenzo, returned from the\nIndies, and who now placed himself under the direction of his\nsister (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n8. In the Chapter \"De la Clausura,\" \u00a7 16: \"De tratar con deudos\nse desvien lo mas que\u00a0pudieren.\"\n\n9. The monastery of Paterna, of the unreformed Carmelites.\nThis was in 1576 (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n10. St. Matt. xvi. 16: \"Tu es Christus, Filius Dei vivi.\"\n\n11. Gen. i. 26: \"Ad imaginem et similitudinem Nostram.\"\n\n12. Fra Jerome Gratian.  This took place during the persecution\nthat fell on the reformed Carmelites at the end of the year 1575,\nand during the following year.  See the last paragraph of this\nRelation (De la Fuente; see, also, Relation vi. \u00a7\u00a01).\n\n13. Galat. ii. 20: \"Vivo autem, jam non ego: vivit vero in\nme\u00a0Christus.\"\n\n14. A.D. 1577 (De la Fuente).\n\n15. Jerome Gratian (id.).\n\n16. 1 Cor. x. 13: \"Fidelis autem Deus est qui non patietur vos\ntentari supra id quod\u00a0potestis.\"\n\n17. Don Vicente says, that here is a proof--if any were\nwanting--that the Saint wrote this after her sojourn in Seville;\nbecause in Avila and in Castile and Aragon the expression is,\n\"our Lady of Dolors;\" while in Andalucia it is our Lady of\nAnguish--\"Nuestra Se\u00f1ora de las\u00a0Angustias.\"\n\n18. Fra Jerome Gratian.\n\n19. Cant. v. 1.\n\n20. This was the name given to Fra Jerome Gratian, when the Saint\nwas driven, by the persecution raised against her, to distinguish\nher friends by other designations than those by which they were\nusually known: this fragment cannot have been written before the\nyear 1578 (De la\u00a0Fuente).\n\n21. See the last section.\n\n22. Don Vicente published \u00a7\u00a7 25 and 26 as fragments separately\n(vol. i. pp. 524-526); but, as they seem to form a part of the\nseries of events spoken of in this Relation, they have been\nplaced\u00a0here.\n\n23. Fra Jerome Gratian exhibited the brief which made him\nVisitor-Apostolic to the unreformed Carmelites, who were very\nangry thereat, and rude in their\u00a0vexation.\n\n24. See \u00a7 26.\n\n\n\nRelation X.\n\n\nOf a Revelation to the Saint at Avila, 1579, and of Certain\nDirections Concerning the Government of the Order.\n\n\nIn St. Joseph of Avila, on Pentecost eve, in the hermitage of\nNazareth, thinking of one of the greatest graces our Lord had\ngiven me on that day some twenty years before, [1] more or less,\nmy spirit was vehemently stirred and grew hot within me, [2] and\nI fell into a trance.  In that profound recollection I heard our\nLord say what I am now going to tell: I was to say to the\nBarefooted Fathers, as from Him, that they must strive to observe\nfour things; and that so long as they observed them, the Order\nwould increase more and more; and if they neglected them, they\nshould know that they were falling away from their first estate.\n\nThe first is, the superiors of the monasteries are to be of\none mind.\n\n\nThe second, even if they have many monasteries, to have but few\nfriars in each.\n\nThe third, to converse little with people in the world, and that\nonly for the good of their souls.\n\nThe fourth, to teach more by works than by words.\n\nThis happened in the year 1579; and because it is a great truth,\nI have put my name to it.\n\nTeresa de Jes\u00fas.\n\n\n1. See Life, ch. xxxviii. \u00a7 11.\n\n2. Psalm xxxviii. 3: \"Concaluit cor meum intra me.\"\n\n\n\nRelation XI.\n\n\nWritten from Palencia in May 1581, and Addressed to Don Alonzo\nVelasquez, Bishop of Osma, Who Had Been, When Canon of Toledo,\nOne of the Saint's Confessors. [1]\n\n\nJesus.\n\n1. Oh, that I could clearly explain to your Lordship the peace\nand quiet my soul has found! for it has so great a certainty of\nthe fruition of God, that it seems to be as if already in\npossession, [2] though the joy is withheld.  I am as one to whom\nanother has granted by deed a large revenue, into the enjoyment\nand use of which he is to come at a certain time, but until then\nhas nothing but the right already given him to the revenue.\nIn gratitude for this, my soul would abstain from the joy of it,\nbecause it has not deserved it; it wishes only to serve Him, even\nif in great suffering, and at times it thinks it would be very\nlittle if, till the end of the world, it had to serve Him who has\ngiven it this right; for, in truth, it is in some measure no\nlonger subject, as before, to the miseries of this world; though\nit suffers more, it seems as if only the habit were struck, for\nmy soul is, as it were, in a fortress with authority, and\naccordingly does not lose its peace.  Still, this confidence does\nnot remove from it its great fear of offending God, nor make it\nless careful to put away every hindrance to His service, yea,\nrather, it is more careful than before.  But it is so forgetful\nof its own interests as to seem, in some measure, to have lost\nitself, so forgetful of self is it in this.  Everything is\ndirected to the honour of God, to the doing of His will more and\nmore, and the advancement of His glory.\n\n2. Though this be so, yet, in all that relates to health and the\ncare of the body, it seems to me that I am more careful than I\nwas, that I mortify myself less in my food, and do fewer\npenances: it is not so with the desires I had; they seem to be\ngreater.  All this is done that I may be the better able to serve\nGod in other things, for I offer to Him very often, as a great\nsacrifice, the care I take of my body, and that wearies me much,\nand I try it sometimes in acts of mortification; but, after all,\nthis cannot be done without losing health, and I must not neglect\nwhat my superiors command.  Herein, and in the wish for health,\nmuch self-love also must insinuate itself; but, as it seems to\nme, I feel that it would give me more pleasure, and it gave me\nmore pleasure when I was strong, to do penance, for, at least, I\nseemed to be doing something, and was giving a good example, and\nI was free from the vexation which arises out of the fact that I\nam not serving God at all.  Your Lordship will see what it will\nbe best to do in the matter.\n\n3. The imaginary visions have ceased, but the intellectual vision\nof the Three Persons and of the Sacred Humanity seems ever\npresent, and that, I believe, is a vision of a much higher kind;\nand I understand now, so I think, that the visions I had came\nfrom God, because they prepared my soul for its present state;\nthey were given only because I was so wretched and so weak: God\nled me by the way which He saw was necessary; but they are, in my\nopinion, of great worth when they come from God.\n\n4. The interior locutions have not left me, for, whenever it is\nnecessary, our Lord gives me certain directions; and now, in\nPalencia, were it not for these, there would have been committed\na great blunder, though not a sin. [3]\n\n5. The acts and desires do not seem to be so vigorous as they\nused to be, for, though they are great, I have one much greater\nto see the will of God accomplished and His glory increased; for\nas the soul is well aware that His Majesty knoweth what is\nexpedient herein, and is so far removed from all self-seeking,\nthese acts and desires quickly end, and, as it seems to me, have\nno strength.  Hence the fear I have at times though without\ndisquietude and pain as formerly, that my soul is dulled, and\nthat I am doing nothing, because I can do no penance; acts of\ndesire for suffering, for martyrdom, and of the vision of God,\nhave no strength in them, and, most frequently, I cannot make\nthem.  I seem to live only for eating and drinking, and avoiding\npain in everything; and yet this gives me none, except that\nsometimes, as I said before, I am afraid that this is a delusion;\nbut I cannot believe it, because so far as I can see, I am not\nunder the sway of any strong attachment to any created thing, not\neven to all the bliss of heaven, but only to the love of God; and\nthis does not grow less,--on the contrary, I believe it is\ngrowing, together with the longing that all men may serve Him.\n\n6. But, for all this, one thing amazes me: I have not the\nfeelings I had formerly, so strong and so interior, which\ntormented me when I saw souls go to their ruin, and when I used\nto think I had offended God.  I cannot have these feelings now,\nthough I believe my desire that God be not sinned against is not\nless than it was.\n\n7. Your Lordship must consider that in all this, in my present as\nwell as in my previous state, I can do no more, and that it is\nnot in my power to serve Him better: I might do so, if I were not\nso wicked.  I may say, also, that if I were now to make great\nefforts to wish to die, I could not, nor can I make the acts I\nused to make, nor feel the pains I felt for having offended God,\nnor the great fears I had for so many years when I thought I was\nunder a delusion: and accordingly, I have no need of learned men,\nor of speaking to anybody at all, only to satisfy myself that I\nam going the right road now, and whether I can do anything.\nI have consulted certain persons on this point, with whom I had\ntaken counsel on the others, with Fra Dominic [i.e., Ba\u00f1es], the\nMaster Medina, and certain members of the Society.  I will be\nsatisfied with the answer which you, my Lord, may give me,\nbecause of the great trust I have in your Lordship.  Consider it\ncarefully, for the love of God!  Neither do I cease to learn that\ncertain souls of people connected with me when they died are in\nheaven: of others I learn nothing.  Oh, in what solitude I find\nmyself when I consider that the comparison of which I spoke to\nyou, concerning the return from Egypt, does not apply to the\nchild at my mother's breast. [4]\n\n8. I am at peace within; and my likings and dislikings have so\nlittle power to take from me the Presence of the Three Persons,\nof which, while it continues, it is so impossible to doubt, that\nI seem clearly to know by experience what is recorded by\nSt. John, that God will make His dwelling in the soul: [5] and\nnot only by grace, but because He will have the soul feel that\npresence, and it brings with it so many blessings, particularly\nthis, that there is no need to run after reflections to learn\nthat God is there.  This is almost always the state I am in,\nexcept when my great infirmities oppress me.  Sometimes, God will\nhave me suffer without any inward comfort; but my will never\nswerves--not even in its first movements--from the will of God.\nThis resignation to His will is so efficacious, that I desire\nneither life nor death, except for some moments, when I long to\nsee God; and then the Presence of the Three Persons becomes so\ndistinct as to relieve the pain of the absence, and I wish to\nlive--if such be His good pleasure--to serve Him still longer.\nAnd if I might help, by my prayers, to make but one soul love Him\nmore, and praise Him, and that only for a short time, I think\nthat of more importance than to dwell in glory.\n\nThe unworthy servant and daughter of your Lordship,\nTeresa de Jes\u00fas.\n\n\n1. This Relation is usually printed among the letters of the\nSaint, and Don Vicente did not change the practice, assigning as\nhis reason the Saint's reference in \u00a7 4 to certain transactions\nin which she was engaged.  The letter is the 333rd (336th in the\nsecond edition), and the 4th of vol. ii., ed. Doblado, and is\nprobably the latest account of the state of her soul, for she\ndied on October 4 in the following\u00a0year.\n\n2. See Inner Fortress, vii. ch. ii.\n\n3. This relates to the taking of the hermitage of our Lady de la\nCalle, in Palencia (De la Fuente).  See Foundations, ch.\u00a0xxix.\n\n4. \"La soledad que me hace pensar no se puede dar aquel sentido \u00e0\nel que mama los pechos de mi madre, la ida de\u00a0Egito!\"\nThis passage, Don Vicente observes, was omitted in all editions\nprior to his; he does not know what it means; and the translator\ncan give no corresponding English\u00a0words.  [Transcriber's note:\nThe Spanish quoted here was printed in the body of the text,\np. 479; English rendition supplied from Corrigenda, p. [viii].]\n\n5. St. John xiv. 23: \"Mansionem apud eum faciemus.\"\n\n\n\n\nIndex.\n\n\nAbecedario, Tercer, iv. 8.\n\nAgony in raptures, xx. 15.\n\nAhumada, de, Antonio, iv. 1.\n\nAhumada, de, Do\u00f1a Beatriz, mother of St. Teresa, death of, i. 7;\nseen in heaven by the Saint, xxxviii. 1.\n\nAhumada, de, Juana, sister of the Saint, xxxiii. 13.\n\nAlcala, monastery founded in, xxxvi. 29, note.\n\nAlcantara.  See St. Peter of Alcantara.\n\nAlmsgiving of the Saint, i. 6, Rel. ii. 3.\n\nAlvarez, F. Baltasar, xxiv. 6, xxv. 18; mortifies the Saint,\nxxvi. 4; humility of, xxviii. 20; promise of, to protect the\nSaint, xxviii. 21; always consoled the Saint, xxix. 5; hesitates\nabout the new foundation, xxxii. 16; commands the Saint to\nabandon it, xxxiii. 4; orders her to proceed, xxxiii. 13.\n\nAlvarez, F. Rodrigo, Rel. viii.\n\nAmendment of life, the work of prayer, viii. 6-12.\n\nAmusements, vii. 1, Rel. i. 14.\n\nAngels and evil spirits, vision of, xxxi. 11.\n\nAngel, the Saint's vision of the, xxix. 16-18.\n\nAnswers to the Saint's prayers, xxxix. 1-7.\n\nAntony, St., of Padua, xxii. 10.\n\nAranda, de, Don Gonzalo, xxxvi. 18.\n\nAridity, how it comes on in the second state of prayer, xv. 15.\n\nArt, the, of serving God, xii. 2.\n\nAscent of the Mount, xxiii. 13.\n\nAssumption, the, vision of, xxxix. 37.\n\nAttachments, evil effects of worldly, xi. 5; xxiii. 5.\n\nAugustin, St., Confessions of, ix. 8; effect of reading them on\nthe Saint, ix. 9; saying of, xiii. 4.\n\nAvila, birthplace of St. Teresa, troubled by the new foundation:\nxxxvi. 14.\n\nAvila, Bl., Juan of, Rel. vii. 9.\n\nB\u00e1\u00f1es, Fr. Dom., xxxvi. 15; transmits the Saint's writings to the\nInquisition, Rel. vii. 16.\n\nBarrientos.  See Martin.\n\nBarron, Fra Vicente, confessor of the Saint's father, vii. 26;\nhears the confession of the Saint, vii. 27, xix. 19.\n\nBeauty of our Lord, xxviii. 2, xxix. 2, xxxvii. 5;\nunimaginable, xxviii. 7.\n\nBeginners, must toil, xi. 13; and persevere, xi. 15-17; not to be\nafraid of the cross, xi. 25; must be content, xii. 2; certain\ntemptations of, vii. 16, xiii. 9; must begin humbly, xv. 19.\n\nBernard, St., xxii. 10.\n\nBetrothal spiritual, of the Saint, Rel. ix. 8, 25.\n\nBird, the soul likened to a, xviii. 13, xix. 22.\n\nBishopric, a, the Saint consulted about the acceptance of,\nxl. 21.\n\nBlessed, the, joys of, x. 3.\n\nBlindness healed through the prayer of the Saint, xxxix. 1.\n\nBody, the, shares the joy of the soul in certain states of\nprayer, xvii. 14, xviii. 15; state of, in raptures, xx. 2, 4, 23;\nour Lord seen by the Saint always in His glorified, xxix. 4.\n\nBook, a living, xxvi. 6.\n\nBooks insufficient without a director, xxii. 3.\n\nBorja, de, St. Francis.  See Francis.\n\n\nBrief, the, sanctioning the observances of St. Joseph's,\nxxxiv. 2, xxxvi. 1, xxxix. 20.\n\nBrize\u00f1o, Do\u00f1a Maria, ii. 12; influences the Saint, iii. 1.\n\nBulls, the Sabbatine, xxxviii. 40.\n\nCardona, de, Do\u00f1a Catalina, Rel. iii. 12.\n\nCarmel, the Order of, vision concerning, Rel. iii. 14; advice to,\nRel. x.\n\nCaterpillar of self-respect, xxxi. 24.\n\nCatherine, St., of Siena, xxii. 10.\n\nCensoriousness of the world, xxxi. 19.\n\nCepeda, de, Alfonso Sanchez, father of the Saint, fond of\nspiritual books, i. 1; gives his daughter Maria in marriage,\nii. 4, note, 8; places the Saint at school in a monastery, ii. 8;\nwould not consent to her becoming a nun, iii. 9; takes her to\nBezadas to be cured, v. 5, 6; brings her to his house in Avila,\nv. 15; hinders her from making her confession in an illness,\nv. 17; persuaded by the Saint to practise mental prayer, vii. 16;\nmakes progress therein, vii. 20; holy death of, vii. 22-25; seen\nin heaven by the Saint, xxxviii. 1.\n\nCepeda, de, Don Lorenzo, finds money for the new monastery of\nSt. Joseph, xxxiii. 13.\n\nCepeda, de, Maria, sister of the Saint, ii. 4; sudden death of,\nxxxiv. 24; seen in heaven by the Saint, xxxiv. 25.\n\nCerda, de la, Do\u00f1a Luisa, xxxiv. 1; attracted by the Saint,\nxxxiv. 4; visited by St. Peter of Alcantara, xxxv. 6; tries to\namuse the Saint by showing her diamonds, xxxviii. 5; the Saint's\nwatchfulness over herself in the house of, xxxix. 11.\n\nCheerfulness, importance of, xii. 1.\n\nCherubim, xxix. 16.\n\nChoice of a director, xiii. 28, 29.\n\nChurch, the, ceremonies of, xxxi. 4; the Saint's reverence for,\nxxxiii. 6.\n\nClare, St., encourages the Saint, xxxiii. 15.\n\nComforts, worldly, the Saint's fear of, xxxiv. 4.\n\nCommunion, effects of the Saint's, xvi. 3-10, xviii. 10-18,\nxxx. 16, xxxviii. 24, Rel. iv. 5, Rel. ix. 13; the Saint's\nlonging for, xxxix. 31; graces of, Rel. ix. 20.\n\nComplaint, loving, of the Saint, xxxvii. 13.\n\nConfession, frequent, of the Saint, v. 17; matter of, Rel. v. 11.\n\nConfessors, the Saint's difficulty in finding, iv. 8, 13; harm\ndone by ill-instructed, v. 6, 20, vi. 6; one of them misleads the\nSaint, viii. 15; unskilful, xx. 28; wrong counsel of, xxvi. 5; of\nthe Saint harsh with her, xxx. 15; obedience of the Saint to her,\nxxiii. 19, xxxiii. 4, 5, Rel, i. 9; the Saint rebuked for her\naffection to her, xxxvii. 6; names of the Saint's, Rel. vii. 5,\n11, 12, 13.\n\nConsecration, power of the words of, xxxviii. 30.\n\nConsolations, xi. 21; not to be sought for, xxii. 15.\n\nContemplation, xxii. 1; why granted to imperfect souls,\nxxii. 22, 23.\n\nContempt, Satan shuns, xxxi. 10; the Saint directed to treat her\nvisions with, xxix. 6.\n\nContradiction of good people, xxviii. 24, xxx. 6.\n\nConversation, worldly, vii. 10; danger of, ii. 5, vii. 10;\ndelight of our Lord in spiritual, xxxiv. 20.\n\nConversion of a wicked priest, v. 12; of a sinner, xxxix. 5.\n\nCourage of the Saint, viii. 10; necessity of, x. 8; effects of,\nxiii. 3; necessary in the way of perfection, xxxi. 19.\n\nCovetousness, xxxiii. 14.\n\nCowardice, spiritual, xiii. 6.\n\nCreator, the, traces of, in things visible, ix. 6.\n\nCrosses, xi. 8; desired by souls in the prayer of imperfect\nunion, xvi. 9.\n\nCross, the, way of, xi. 8, xv. 17, 21; necessity of carrying,\nxxvii. 14.\n\nDaza, Gaspar, xxiii. 6; thought the Saint was deluded by an evil\nspirit, xxiii. 16; approved of the new foundation, xxxii. 21.\n\nDelusion, a, into which the Saint fell, xxii. 3; the Saint always\nprayed to be delivered from, xxix. 6.\n\nDelusions incidental to locutions, xxv. 3, 11.\n\nDesires, good, xiii. 8, xxi. 9, Rel. xi. 5.\n\nDesolation, spiritual, of the Saint, xxx. 10.\n\nDetachment, blessing of, xi. 2, xxxiv. 20; necessity of, for\nprayer, xi. 16, xv. 17; of the perfect, xv. 18; an effect of\nraptures, xviii. 8, xx. 10; takes away the fear of death,\nxxxviii. 7; the Saint's, from kindred, xxxi. 22, Rel. ii. 5,\nRel. ix. 11; from directors, Rel. iv. 3.\n\nDetraction, avoided by the Saint, vi. 4, vii. 3; insensibility\nto, Rel. ii. 4.\n\nDetractors, the Saint prays for her, xix. 11.\n\nDevotion, sweetness in, never asked for by the Saint, ix. 10; but\nonce, ix. 11; those who seek it censured, xi. 21; the Saint's,\nincreased by difficulties, xxviii. 10.\n\nDie, either to, or suffer, xl. 27.\n\nDirection, unskilful, viii. 15, 16; importance of, xiii. 4;\nmethods of wrong, xiii. 25; not to be the same for all,\nxxxix. 16.\n\nDirectors ought to be experienced, xiii. 21; and prudent,\nxiii. 24; and learned, xiii. 26; choice of, xiii. 28; charity of,\nxiii. 29; should be secret, xxiii. 14; and humble, xxxiv. 15;\nshould be trusted, xxxix. 35; necessary, xl. 12; the Saint\npreferred those who distrusted her, Rel. vii. 18.\n\nDiscouragements, xi. 15; must be resisted, xix. 6; certain causes\nof, xxxi. 21.\n\nDiscretion, xi. 23, xiii. 2; excessive, xiii. 8.\n\nDistraction of the understanding in the prayer of quiet, xv. 10,\nxxx. 19; in monasteries not caused by poverty, xxxv. 3.\n\nDistrust of self, viii. 18, ix. 3; necessity of, xix. 20.\n\n\"Domine, da mihi aquam,\" xxx. 24.\n\nDominicans, the, help St. Teresa, v. 8, Rel. vii. 11-14.\n\nDominion, true, xl. 21.\n\nDove, vision of a, xxxviii. 13, 14.\n\nEcija, vow of the Saint in the hermitage of, Rel. vi. 3.\n\nEcstasy, xx. 1; how wrought, xx. 2; fear during, xx. 9; first, of\nthe Saint, xxiv. 7.\n\nEgypt, flesh-pots of, xv. 5.\n\nElevation of the spirit not to be attempted in union, xviii. 8.\n\nEliseus.  See Jerome, Fra, of the Mother of God.\n\nEnclosure, observance of, how important, vii. 5.\n\nEndowments not accepted by the Saint for her monasteries,\nxxxv. 4, 5; offered for St. Joseph, xxxvi. 19; and forbidden by a\nBrief, xxxix. 20.\n\nEnvy, a holy, xxxix. 19.\n\nExorcisms, the Saint threatened with, Boll. 211, xxix. 4.\n\nExperience, more valuable than books, xiv. 10; a safeguard\nagainst delusion, xiv. 11.\n\nFaith, the, Satan was never able to make the Saint doubt,\nxix. 13; blessed effects of, xxv. 16.\n\nFalls turn to our good, xix. 8.\n\nFear, xxv. 27; of God, xxvi. 1.\n\nFounders of religious Orders, xxxii. 17.\n\nFrancis, St., xxii. 10.\n\nFrancis, St., de Borja visits the Saint, xxiv. 4; consulted by\nher, Rel. vii. 5.\n\nFriendship, advantages of spiritual, vii. 33-37, xxx. 6; with\nGod, xv. 8; the Saint's detachment from, xxiv. 8.\n\nFriendship, worldly, dangers of, ii. 4, v. 9; deceitfulness of,\nxxi. 1.\n\nGarden, the prayer in the, ix. 5; the soul likened to a, xi. 10,\nxiv. 13.\n\nGifts of God, the, importance of discerning, x. 4; demand our\ngratitude, x. 7; supply strength, x. 8; a grace to understand,\nxvii. 7; the Saint erroneously advised to conceal, xxvi. 5; given\naccording to His will, xxxiv. 14, xxxix. 12; the Saint's joy when\nothers received, xxxiv. 21.\n\nGod, sense of the presence of, x. 1; helps those who love Him,\nxi. 19; never fails those who trust Him, xiii. 15; munificence\nof, xviii. 5; the Saint has a vision of, xl. 13, 14; pain of\nabsence from, Rel. iv. 6.\n\nGrace, prayer the door of, viii. 13; comes after trials, xi. 18;\nthe Saint's distress because she could not know whether she was\nin a state of, xxxiv. 12; vision of a soul in, Rel. iii. 13.\n\nGuzman, de, y Barrientos, Don Martin, sudden death of, xxxiv. 24.\n\nHardships of the religious life, xiii. 30.\n\nHealth, anxiety about, v. 3-8; importance of, in the spiritual\nlife, xi. 23; to be made little of, xiii. 9.\n\nHeaven, Queen of, xix. 9; revealed in raptures, xxxiii. 16,\nxxxviii. 8.\n\nHell, a vision of, xxx. 14, xxxii. 1; effects of, on the Saint,\nxxxii. 7-10.\n\nHeretics, self-condemned, vii. 8; evil state of, xxxii. 9;\nresemble a broken mirror, xl. 9.\n\nHilarion, St., the Saint commends herself to, xxvii. 2.\n\nHonour, point of, xxi. 12.\n\nHugo, Fra, Cardinal of Santa Sabina, xxxvi. 27.\n\nHumanity, the Sacred, xii. 3, xxii. 1; mistake of the Saint\nconcerning, xxii. 3; source of all grace, xxii. 9; never to be\nlost sight of in prayer, xxii. 11; the Saint directed to fix her\nthoughts on, xxiii. 18; the Saint renews her love of, xxiv. 2;\nvision of, xxviii. 4, xxxviii. 22.\n\nHumility, advantages of, vii. 37, xii. 9; false kinds of, x. 4,\nxiii. 4; the foundation of the Christian life, xii. 5; worth more\nthan all the science in the world, xv. 13; grows most in the\nstate of perfect union, xix. 2; dangers of false, xix. 15-23;\nacquired in raptures, xx. 38; foundation of prayer must be laid\nin, xxii. 16; a false, the most crafty device of Satan, xxx. 12;\nasking for consolations not consistent with, xxxix. 21-23.\n\nHypocrisy, the Saint not tempted to, vii. 2, Rel. i. 18.\n\nIba\u00f1ez, Fra Pedro, x. 10, note, xvi. 10; note 6; consulted by the\nSaint about the new foundation, xxxii. 19; encourages the Saint\nto persevere, xxxii. 20; confident of success, xxxiii. 5; departs\nfrom Avila, xxxiii. 7; advises the Saint to accept an endowment\nfor the new foundation, xxxv. 5; changes his opinion, xxxv. 7;\nand helps the Saint, xxxvi. 23; seen by the Saint in a vision,\nxxxviii. 15, 16.\n\nIllness of St. Teresa, iv. 6, v. 4; extreme severity of, v. 14.\n\nImage of our Lord not to be mocked, xxix. 7.\n\nImages, devotion of the Saint to, vii. 3; effects of, on her,\nix. 1-3; great blessing of, ix. 7.\n\nImagination of St. Teresa not active, ix. 6; wearisome to her,\nxvii. 9.\n\nImitation of the Saints, xiii. 5-9.\n\nImperfections, rooting up of, xiv. 14.\n\nImpetuosities in prayer, xxix. 11-13, Rel. i. 3, Rel. viii. 13.\n\nImpetuosities of divine love, xxix. 10, 11, 13, xxxiii. 9;\nphysical effects of, xxix. 15.\n\nIncarnation, the monastery of the, the Saint enters, iv. 1; the\nnuns of, complain of the Saint, xix. 12; the Saint tempted to\nleave, xxxi. 16; the rule not strictly observed in, xxxii. 12;\nthe Saint's affection for, xxxii. 13, xxxiii. 3; nuns of, object\nto the new foundation, xxxiii. 2; election of prioress, xxxv. 8;\nthe Saint returns to, from Toledo, xxxv. 10, xxxvi. 1; troubled\nbecause of the new foundation, xxxvi. 11.\n\nIndisposition, bodily, evil effects of, on the spiritual life,\nxi. 23.\n\nIngratitude, delusion arising from the dread of, xxiv. 6; the\nSaint bewails her, xiv. 16.\n\nInquisition, the, threats of denouncing the Saint to, xxxiii. 6.\n\nInspirations, good, not to be resisted, iv. 3.\n\nIntentions, good, no excuse for an evil act, v. 12.\n\nJerome, Fra, of the Mother of God, Rel. vi. 1-3, Rel. ix. 7, 21,\n23, 26.\n\nJerome, St., xi. 17, xxxviii. 2; the Saint reads the letters of,\niii. 8.\n\nJesus, the Society of, helps the Saint, v. 8; sought by her,\nxxiii. 3, 19; visions concerning, xxxviii. 17, 39.\n\nJob, patience of, v. 16; trial of, xxx. 12.\n\nJohn, St., of the Cross, Rel. iii. 19.\n\nJoseph, St., great devotion of the Saint to, vi. 9, xxx. 8,\nxxxvi. 5; the teacher of prayer, vi. 12; encourages the Saint,\nxxxiii. 14; vision of, xxxiii. 16.\n\nJoseph, St., the monastery of, purchase of the site of,\nxxxii. 22; not to be subject to the Order, xxxiii. 18; paradise\nof God's delight, xxxv. 13; foundation of, xxxvi. 4; destruction\nof, threatened by the council of the city, xxxvi. 14; obtains the\ngood will of the people, xxxvi. 25; goodness of the nuns of,\nxxxix. 14.\n\nJoys, of prayer, x. 3; of visions, xxvii. 13; of the saved,\nxxvii. 15.\n\nJudas, temptation of, xix. 16.\n\nJudgment, day of, xl. 16.\n\nKindred, detachment from, xxxi. 22, Rel. ix. 11.\n\nKings, obligations of, xxi. 2, 4; wherein lies the power of,\nxxxvii. 8.\n\nLabourer, story of a, xxxviii. 26.\n\nLaxity in religious houses, vii. 6-10.\n\nLearning, accompanied with humility, a help to prayer, xii. 6;\nuseful in directors, xiii. 24-26; the Saint wishes for, xiv. 9;\nnot necessary in prayer, xv. 12.\n\nLie, a, Satan is, xxv. 26; the Saint's hatred of, xxviii. 6.\n\nLife, the, of the Saint, under what circumstances written, x. 11.\n\nLife, weariness of, xxi. 8; the illuminative, xxii. 1.\n\nLight of visions, xxviii. 7, xxxviii. 3.\n\nLocutions, divine, xix. 14, xxv. 1, 2; delusions incidental to,\nxxv. 3, 11; efficacy of, xxv. 5, 12; human, xxv. 8; Satanic,\nxxv. 13; tests of the Satanic, xxv. 17; nature of, xxvi. 3; state\nof the understanding during, xxvii. 10; effects of the divine,\nxxxviii. 19-21.\n\nLocutions heard by the Saint, xviii. 18, xix. 13, xxiv. 7,\nxxv. 22, xxvi. 3, 6, xxix. 7, xxx. 17, xxxi. 15, xxxii. 17,\nxxxiii. 10, 14, xxxv. 7, 9, xxxvi. 20, xxxviii. 4, 19, 20,\nxxxix. 29, 34, xl. 1, 21, 24, Rel. iii. 1, passim, Rel. iv. 4, 5,\n6, Rel. ix. 1, passim.\n\nLord, our, accounted mad, xxvii. 15.\n\nLove, joyous, in seeing a picture of Christ, ix. 7; servants of,\nxi. 1; wherein it consists, xi. 20; vehement in perfect souls,\nxv. 6; effects of divine, xxii. 21; makes itself known without\nwords, xxvii. 12; impetuosities of, xxix. 10, 11; fire of,\nxxx. 25.\n\nLoyalty, worldly, v. 9.\n\nLudolf of Saxony, xxxviii. 11.\n\nLukewarmness, vii. 1.\n\nLutherans, xxxii. 9, Rel. ii. 14; destroyers of images,\nRel. v. 5.\n\nMadness, spiritual, xvi. 1-8, xxvii. 15.\n\nMagdalene, the, ix. 2, xxi. 9; her example to be followed,\nxxii. 19.\n\nMancio, F., Rel. ii. 18.\n\nMantles of the religious folded by the Saint, xxxi. 27.\n\nMaria of Jesus, xxxv. 1; founds a house in Alcala de Henares,\nxxxvi. 29.\n\nMartin, Don, Guzman y Barrientos, marries a sister of the Saint,\nii. 4, note, iii. 4; sudden death of, xxxiv. 24.\n\nMartyrdom desired by the Saint, i. 4.\n\nMartyrs, the, sufferings of, xvi. 6.\n\nMary and Martha, xvii. 6, xxii. 13.\n\nMeditation, advantage of, iv. 11; fruits of, xi. 20; example of\na, xiii. 19; the perfect may have to return to, xv. 20.\n\nMemory, the, in the prayer of imperfect union, xvii. 5, 9;\ntroublesome, but not hurtful, xvii. 11.\n\nMendoza, de, Don Alvaro, Bishop of Avila, xxxiii. 19; protects\nthe new monastery of St. Joseph, xxxvi. 18.\n\nMen, great, difficult of access, xxxvii. 7.\n\nMercies of God, the remembrance of, xv. 23.\n\nMichael, St., the Saint commends herself to, xxvii. 2.\n\nMisdirection, a, corrected by the Saint, xiii. 22.\n\nMitigation, the Bull of, xxxii. 12; disused in the new monastery,\nxxxvi. 27, 28.\n\nMonasteries, courts in politeness, xxxvii. 17.\n\nMunificence of God, xviii. 5, xxii. 26.\n\nNeatness, excessive, ii. 2, Rel. i. 23.\n\nNovices in St. Joseph's, xxxix. 15.\n\nNovitiate of the Saint, v. 1.\n\nNun, illness of a, in the monastery of the Incarnation, v. 3;\nvisions concerning a, xxxviii. 37, 38.\n\nObedience, the Saint writes under, xviii. 10; strict observance\nof, in the Society of Jesus, xxxiii. 9; of the Saint to her\nconfessors, xxiii. 19, Rel. i. 9, 29, Rel. vii. 14.\n\nObjects, natural, moved the Saint to devotion, ix. 6.\n\nOcampo, de, Mary, xxxii. 13, note.\n\nOffice, the divine, the Saint's imperfect knowledge of, xxxi. 26.\n\nOrder, vision concerning a certain, xl. 18, 19.\n\nOsorno, Countess of, Rel. iii. 16.\n\nOvalle, de, Don Juan, xxxv. 14, note; providential illness of,\nxxxvi. 2.\n\nPadranos, de, Juan, xxiii. 18; directs the Saint, xxiv. 1;\nremoved from Avila, xxiv. 5.\n\nPain of raptures, xx. 11; sweetness of, xx. 19.\n\nParadise of His delight, xxxv. 13.\n\n\"Passer solitarius,\" xx. 13.\n\nPassion, the, devotion of the Saint to, ix. 5; meditation on,\nxiii. 19, 20, xxii. 8.\n\nPatience of a nun, v. 3; of the Saint, v. 16; of God, viii. 8.\n\nPenance, necessity of, xxvii. 14; of the Saint, xxiv. 2,\nRel. i. 5, Rel. ii. 11, Rel. xi. 2.\n\nPerfection, xxi. 10; true safety lies in, xxxv. 15; not always\nattained to because of many years spent in prayer, xxxix. 21.\n\nPersecution, of the Saint, xix. 12, xxxvi. 12; blessings of,\nxxxiii. 5.\n\nPerseverance in prayer, viii. 5; fruits of, xi. 6; reward of,\ncertain, xi. 17; the Saint prays for, xiv. 17; and recommends,\nxix. 7.\n\nPeter, St., of Alcantara, xxvii. 4; penitential life of,\nxxvii. 17-21, xxx. 2; power of, with God, xxvii. 22; understands\nand comforts the Saint, xxx. 5, 7, Rel. vii. 6; quiets a scruple\nof the Saint, xxx. 20; approves of the new foundation, xxxii. 16;\nand of the observance of poverty in it, xxxv. 6; in Avila when\nthe Saint came back from Toledo, xxxvi. 1; death of, xxxvi. 1,\nnote; appears to the Saint, xxxvi. 20, 21; said that women make\ngreater progress than men, xl. 12.\n\nPhoenix, the, xxxix. 33.\n\nPilgrims, xxxviii. 8.\n\nPillar, the, meditations on Christ at, xiii. 19, 31.\n\nPoliteness, monasteries courts in, xxxvii. 17.\n\nPoverty, effects of defective, xi. 3; of spirit, xxii. 17; the\nSaint's love of, xxxv. 3, Rel. i. 10, Rel. ii. 2.\n\nPrayer, mental, viii. 7; blessings of, viii. 12; joys of, x. 3;\nthe Saint's four states of, xi. 12; fruit of mental, xi. 20;\nvocal, xii. 3; doctrine of, difficult, xiii. 18; importance of\npersevering in, xv. 5; must have its foundations in humility,\nxxii. 16; of the Saint continued in sleep, xxix. 9; effects of\nintercessory, xxxi. 9; two kinds of, xxxix. 8-10; the Saint's\nmethod of, Rel. i. 1.\n\nPreachers, xvi. 12.\n\nPresence of God, the, xviii. 20; practice of the, xii. 3; effects\nof, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 8; different from vision,\nxxvii. 6.\n\nPriest, conversion of an evil-living, v. 9, xxxi. 7; vision\nconcerning a, xxxviii. 29.\n\nProgress made in the way of raptures, xxi. 11.\n\nProphecies made to the Saint, xxxiv. 23; fulfilled,\nRel. ii. 6, 17.\n\nProvincial, the, of the Carmelites offers to accept the new\nfoundation, xxxii. 16; then declines it, xxxii. 18; sends the\nSaint to Toledo, xxxiv. 2; recalls her, xxxv. 8; reprimands the\nSaint, xxxvi. 12; allows the Saint to live in the new monastery,\nxxxvi. 23; death of, xxxviii. 34-36.\n\nPurgatory, the Saint saw certain souls who were not sent to,\nxxxviii. 41; and delivers others from, xxxix. 6.\n\nQueen of heaven, the, devotion to, xix. 9.\n\nQuiet, the prayer of, iv. 9, ix. 6, xiv. 1, passim; disturbed by\nthe memory and the understanding, xiv. 5; joy of the soul in,\nxiv. 7; few souls pass beyond, xv. 3, 7; great fruits of, xv. 6;\nhow the soul is to order itself in, xv. 9; difference between the\ntrue and false, xv. 15.\n\nRank, slavery of, xxxiv. 6.\n\nRapture, xx. 1; irresistible, xx. 3, xxii. 20; effects of, xx. 9,\n30; pain of, xx. 11; loneliness of the soul in, xx. 13;\ncharacteristics of, xx. 23; duration of, xx. 25; physical effects\nof, xx. 29, Rel. i. 26, iv. 1; made the Saint long for heaven,\nxxxviii. 8; good effects of, Rel. i. 8, 15.\n\nReading, spiritual, i. 1, iv. 12, 13; persevered in by the Saint,\nviii. 14; long unprofitable to her, xii. 10; impossible in the\nprayer of perfect union, xviii. 14; a delight, Rel. i. 7.\n\nRecollection, prayer of, xiv. 2, Rel. viii. 3.\n\nRecreation, xiii. 1.\n\nReflections, making, when dangerous in prayer, xv. 11.\n\nReform, the Carmelite, beginning of, xxxii. 13.\n\nReligious must despise the world, xxvii. 16.\n\nResignation of the Saint, xxi. 6, Rel. i. 20.\n\nRevelations, the Saint never spoke of her, when she consulted her\nconfessors, xxxii. 19.\n\nRosary, the, of the Saint, xxix. 8.\n\nRule, the Carmelite, mitigation of, xxxii. 12; restored by the\nSaint, xxxvi. 27; observance of, xxxvi. 30, 31.\n\nSalasar, de, Angel.  See Provincial.\n\nSalazar, de, Gaspar, Rector of the Society of Jesus in Avila,\nxxxiii. 9; understands the state of the Saint, xxxiii. 11; bids\nthe Saint go to Toledo, xxxiv. 2; vision of the Saint concerning,\nxxxviii. 17.\n\nSalcedo, de, Don Francisco, xxiii. 6; gives spiritual advice to\nthe Saint, xxiii. 11; fears delusions, xxiii. 12; helps the Saint\nin her new foundation, xxxii. 21, xxxvi. 21; hospitable,\nxxxvi. 1; gives Communion to the Saint when a priest,\nRel. iii. 7.\n\nSamaria, the woman of, xxx. 24.\n\nSatan, subtlety of, iv. 14; an artifice of, vii. 12, 35; suggests\na false humility, xiii. 5; and a carefulness for health, xiii. 9;\nafraid of learned directors who are humble, xiii. 26; efforts of,\nto deceive, how thwarted, xv. 16; tempted the Saint to give up\nprayer, xix. 8; a lie, xxv. 26; unable to counterfeit\nintellectual visions, xxvii. 4-8; tries to counterfeit imaginary\nvisions, xxviii. 15; appears to the Saint, xxxi. 2; dislikes\ncontempt, xxxi. 10; wiles of, Rel. i. 29.\n\nScandal, xxvii. 16.\n\nScorn, signs of, not to be made during visions, xxix. 6.\n\nSelf, contempt of, necessary in the spiritual life, xxxi. 23.\n\nSelf-denial, necessity of, xxxi. 25.\n\nSelf-knowledge, xiii. 23.\n\nSelf-love, xi. 2; strong and hurtful, xi. 4, 5.\n\nSelf-respect, harm of, xxi. 12.\n\nSenses, the, suspension of, in the prayer of perfect union,\nxviii. 19.\n\nSensitiveness, xi. 4.\n\nSermons, viii. 17; without simplicity, xvi. 12.\n\nShame, good fruits of, v. 9.\n\nSicknesses of the Saint, xxx. 9.\n\nSickness sent for penance, xxiv. 2.\n\nSight restored at the prayer of the Saint, xxxix. 1.\n\nSincerity of the Saint, Rel. i. 28.\n\nSin, occasions of, viii. 14; pain occasioned by the sins of\nothers, xiii. 14; original, xxx. 20; the Saint, by her prayers,\nhinders a great, xxxix. 3; wickedness of, xl. 15; vision of a\nsoul in, Rel. iii. 13.\n\nSins, the Saint consents to the divulging of her, x. 10.\n\nSolitude, longings for, i. 6, vi. 5, Rel. i. 6.\n\nSorcery, v. 10.\n\nSoto, de, the Inquisitor, Rel. vii. 8.\n\nSoul, our own, the first object, xiii. 13, 14; likened to a\ngarden, xi. 10, xiv. 13; in the prayer of quiet, xv. 1; growth\nof, xv. 20; powers of, in the prayer of imperfect union, xvi. 1,\n4; beside itself, xvi. 1-5; crucifixion of, in raptures, xx. 14;\ndetachment of the enraptured, xx. 33; strengthened in raptures,\nxxi. 14; effects of visions in, xxvii. 11; helplessness of,\nwithout God, xxxvii. 11; vision of a lost soul, xxxviii. 31; the\nSaint's vision of her own, xl. 8; and of, in a state of grace,\nRel. iii. 13, Rel. v. 6.\n\nSpirit, liberty of, xi. 25; poverty of, xxii. 17; flight of the,\nxviii. 8, Rel. viii. 11.\n\nSpirits, evil, put to flight, xxv. 25; by holy water, xxxi. 4.\n\nSpirituality influenced by bodily health, xi. 24.\n\nSuarez, Juana, iii. 2; accompanies the Saint to Bezadas, iv. 6.\n\nSufferings, physical, of the Saint, iv. 7, v. 4, 14, vi. 1; of\nraptures, xx. 16; the Saint longs for, xl. 27.\n\nSweetness, spiritual, never sought by the Saint but once, ix. 11;\nseekers of, censured, xi. 21; of the pain of raptures, xx. 19;\nthe Saint unable to resist it at times, xxiv. 1.\n\nTears, gift of, iv. 8, xxix. 11; of the Saint before a picture of\nthe Passion, ix. 1; in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 5; in the prayer\nof perfect union, xix. 1, 2; the Saint prays God to accept her,\nxix. 10.\n\nTemptation, power of, xxx. 13.\n\nTenderness of soul, x. 2.\n\nTeresa, St., desires martyrdom, i. 4; placed in a monastery,\nii. 8; unwilling to become a nun, ii. 10; becomes more fervent,\niii. 2; is resolved to follow her vocation, iii. 6; first\nfervours of, iv. 2; failure of health, iv. 6; God sends her an\nillness, v. 4; suffers grievously, vi. 1; afraid of prayer,\nvi. 5; leads her father to prayer, vii. 16; present at her\nfather's death, vii. 22; perseveres in prayer, viii. 2; found it\nhard to pray, viii. 10; delights in sermons, viii. 17; devout to\nthe Magdalene, ix. 2; never doubted of God's mercy, ix. 8;\ndepreciates herself, x. 9; willing to have her sins divulged,\nx. 10; always sought for light, x. 13; complains of her memory,\nxi. 9; unable to explain the state of her soul, xii. 10;\nsupernaturally enlightened, xii. 11; reads books on prayer to no\npurpose, xiv. 10; writes with many hindrances, xiv. 12, xl. 32;\nbewails her ingratitude, xiv. 16; scarcely understood a word of\nLatin, xv. 12; understands her state in the prayer of imperfect\nunion, xvi. 3; and describes it, xvi. 6; bewails her\nunworthiness, xviii. 6; writes under obedience, xviii. 10;\nconfesses ignorance, xviii. 20; abandons her prayers for a time,\nxix. 8; evil spoken of, xix. 12; misled by false humility,\nxix. 23; prays to be delivered from raptures, xx. 5, 6; never\ncared for money, xx. 34; gives up her whole being to God, xxi. 7;\nunable to learn from books, xxii. 3; afraid of delusions,\nxxiii. 3; is directed by a layman, xxiii. 10; severe to herself,\nxxiv. 2; her first ecstasy, xxiv. 7; had no visions before the\nprayer of union, xxv. 14; told by her confessor that she was\ndeluded by Satan, xxv. 18; prays to be led by a different\nspiritual way, xxv. 20, xxvii. 3, Rel. vii. 7; not afraid of\nSatan, xxv. 27; spoken against, xxvi. 3; troubles of, because of\nvisions, xxvii. 4, xxviii. 6; her defence when told that her\nvisions were false, xxviii. 18, 19; afraid nobody would hear her\nconfession, xxviii. 20; harshly judged by her directors,\nxxviii. 23; would not exchange her visions for all the pleasures\nof the world, xxix. 5; vehemence of her love, xxix. 10; her\nsupernatural wound, xxix. 17; manifests her spiritual state to\nSt. Peter of Alcantara, xxx. 4; bodily trials of, xxx. 17; finds\nno relief in exterior occupations, xxx. 18; buffeted by Satan,\nxxxi. 3; converts a great sinner, xxxi. 7; troubled because well\nthought of, xxxi. 13-17; her singing of the Office, xxxi. 26;\ncommanded to labour for the reform of her Order, xxxii. 14;\ncommanded to abandon her purpose, xxxiii. 1; her vision in the\nDominican church, Avila, xxxiii. 16; goes to Toledo, xxxiv. 3;\nthe nuns wish to have her as their Prioress, xxxv. 8; restores a\nchild to life, xxxv. 14, note; begins the Reform, xxxvi. 4; her\ngrievous trial, xxxvi. 6, 7; her health improved, xxxvi. 9; would\nsuffer all things for one additional degree of glory, xxxvii. 3;\nher affection for her confessors, xxxvii. 6; supernaturally\nhelped when writing, xxxviii. 28; obtains sight for a blind\nperson, xxxix. 1; and the cure of one of her kindred, xxxix. 2;\nher spiritual state became known without her consent, xl. 28;\nsubmits all her writings to the Roman Church, Rel. vii. 16.\n\nTheology, mystical, x. 1, xi. 8, xii. 8; the Saint says she does\nnot know the terms of, xviii. 4.\n\nThomas, St., assisted at the deathbed of Fra P. Iba\u00f1ez,\n  xxxviii. 15.\n\nThrone, vision of a, xxxix. 31, 32.\n\nTrance, a, xviii. 17, xx. 1; outward effects of, xl. 11; gradual,\nRel. viii. 10.\n\nTransport, Rel. viii. 10.\n\nTrials followed by graces, xi. 18; promised to the Saint,\nxxxv. 9; shown her in a vision, xxxix. 25.\n\nTrinity, the, mystery of, revealed to the Saint, xxxix. 36;\nvisions of, Rel. iii. 6, Rel. v. 6-8, Rel. viii. 20, Rel. ix. 12.\n\nTruth, divine, xl. 3-7.\n\nUlloa, de, Do\u00f1a Guiomar, xxiv. 5; takes the Saint to her house,\nxxx. 3; helps the Saint to accomplish the reform, xxxii. 13; is\nrefused absolution, xxxii. 18.\n\nUnderstanding, the, use of in prayer, xiii. 17; disorderly,\nxv. 10; powerless in the state of imperfect union, xvi. 4; and of\nthe perfect union, xviii. 19; the Saint speaks humbly of her,\nxxviii. 10.\n\nUnion, imperfect, prayer of, xvi. 1; a mystical death, ib.; the\nsoul resigned therein, xvii. 1; how it differs from the prayer of\nquiet, xvii. 5, 6; another degree of, xvii. 7; the labour of the\nsoul lessens in the later states of, xviii. 1.\n\nUnion, perfect, prayer of, xviii. 1; the senses wholly absorbed\nin, xviii. 3, 14; duration of, xviii. 16; fruits of, xix. 4.\n\nUnion, prayer of, iv. 9; followed by visions in the Saint,\nxxv. 14.\n\nUnion, what it is, Rel. v. 2; of the faculties of the soul,\nRel. viii. 7.\n\nVainglory, vii. 2, 34, x. 5, Rel. i. 18, Rel. ii. 15,\nRel. vii. 23.\n\nVanity of possessions, xx. 35; the Saint's watchfulness over\nherself herein, xxxix. 11.\n\nVirtue, growth of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 6; and in that of\nimperfect union, xvii. 4.\n\nVisions, our Lord seen in, vii. 11, xxv. 14, xxvii. 3, xxviii. 2;\nintellectual, xxvii. 4; different from the sense of the presence\nof God, xxvii. 6; joy of, xxvii. 13; imaginary, xxviii. 5;\neffects of, in the soul, xxviii. 13; Satan tried to simulate,\nxxviii. 15; effects of, in the Saint, xxviii. 19; cessation of\nthe Saint's imaginary, xxix. 2; of the Sacred Humanity, effects\nof, xxxviii. 23.\n\nWater, holy, puts evil spirits to flight, xxxi. 4, 5, 9, 10.\n\nWater, the first, xi. 13; the second, xiv. 1; the third, xvi. 1;\nthe fourth, xviii. 1.\n\nWill, the state of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 4, xv. 2, 10; in\nthe prayer of imperfect union, xviii. 16.\n\nWomen, great care necessary in the direction of, xxiii. 14, 15;\nmake greater progress than men, xl. 12.\n\nWorld, the, contempt of, x. 7, xxvii. 16; customs of, wearisome,\nxxxvii. 15, 16; hard on good people, xxxi. 19; vanity of,\nRel. i. 21.\n\nWound of the soul, Rel. viii. 16; of love, Rel. viii. 17.\n\nYba\u00f1ez. See Iba\u00f1ez.\n\nYepes, Rel. ix. 1.\n\nZeal, indiscreet, xiii. 11.","title":"The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus, of the Order of Our Lady of Carmel","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":203998}